Supernatural Completion

I finally ordered the proofs for my 6 volume book, Supernatural Hypocrisy: The Cognitive Dissonance of a God Cosmology. It will be available for the Holiday Shopping season.
Volume 1: Cosmology of God & Jesus
Volume 2: Cosmology of Christianity
Volume 3: Cosmology of the Bible
Volume 4: Cosmology of the Dark Side
Volume 5: Cosmology of Science
Volume 6: Cosmology of Atheism

Three years in the making, this is not a project I would like to do very often. It was mentally, emotionally and physically draining. The amount of research, double-checking, rewriting, formatting and other such mundane details were often mind-numbing. Then there was the constant decision-making about what information goes where--the subject of each volume often overlaps the subject of another, and I was constantly trying to keep track of where it all should go. It was, literally, like working on six books at a time. I crashed my Firefox browser and Word frequently.

But I believe this work is unique, in that it is in 6 volumes; I didn't have to hyperfocus on one area of the subject matter, and condense it down so much. I could cover the territory i wanted to cover--share my journey--without leaving out any crucial bits that ultimately led me to my personal cosmology. I addressed each one I felt was primary in the search for understanding. So the book is fairly comprehensive in that way, though i learned quickly that there could have been another 6 volumes.

Just a couple stats:

• In all 6 volumes combined, there are 1,322 pages and I used 477 sources.
• I referenced Wikipedia only once, because it was the only place to get a biographical tidbit on a certain person. Otherwise, i used only reputable sources--science, news magazines, journals, newspapers, books-- including many translations of the Bible, and translations of the Septuagint, Pseudepigrapha and other apocryphal texts.

I drew from a wide array of source-types and areas of study. The information and examination I used considered many different disciplines. Some of those include:

• anthropobiology --  study of human biology
• anthropology -- study of human cultures
• archaeology -- study of human material remains
• astronomy -- study of celestial bodies
• bioecology -- study of interaction of life in the environment
• biology --  study of life
• bionomics  -- study of organisms interacting in their environments
• Egyptology -- study of ancient Egypt
• epistemology -- study of grounds of knowledge
• genesiology  -- study of reproduction and heredity
• genetics -- branch of biology that studies heredity and variation in organisms
• geochronology -- study of measuring geological time
• geogeny --  science of the formation of the earth's crust
• geogony -- study of formation of the earth
• geography -- study of surface of the earth and its inhabitants
• geology -- study of earth's crust
• geomorphogeny -- study of the origins of land forms
• glossology  --  study of language; study of the tongue
• historiology --  study of history
• ichnology  -- science of fossilized footprints
• iconography -- study of drawing symbols
• iconology -- study of icons; symbols
• ideogeny --  study of origins of ideas
• ideology -- science of ideas; system of ideas used to justify behavior
• idiomology -- study of idiom, jargon or dialect
• lexicology --  study of words and their meanings
• liturgiology  -- study of liturgical forms and church rituals
• metaphysics --  study of principles of nature and thought
• microbiology -- study of microscopic organisms
• micropalaeontology --  study of microscopic fossils
• mythology --  study of myths; fables; tales
• neuropsychology -- study of relation between brain and behavior
• noology -- science of the intellect
• palaeoanthropology -- study of early humans
• palaeobiology -- study of fossil plants and animals
• palaeontology -- study of fossils
• patrology -- study of early Christianity
• philology -- study of ancient texts; historical linguistics
• philosophy -- science of knowledge or wisdom
• physics --  study of matter and its motion through spacetime
• pisteology -- science or study of faith
• psychology --  study of mind
• psychopathology -- study of mental illness
• satanology --  study of the devil
• sedimentology  -- study of sediment
• semantics -- study of meaning
• sociobiology -- study of biological basis of human behaviour
• sociology -- study of society
• stratigraphy -- study of geological layers or strata
• theology --  study of religion; religious doctrine
• thermodynamics -- study of relation of heat to motion
• zooarchaeology --  study of animal remains of archaeological sites
• zoogeography -- study of geographic distribution of animals
• zoogeology  -- study of fossil animal remains
• zoology -- study of animals

If understanding belief, religion, God, and truth creates a list like that, then over-simplification of science by Believers,  is a little  infuriating.


This has been a taxing journey for me, but one which had to be taken. I have grown so much in my knowledge and understanding, and I have absolutely no doubt where i stand on the issue of religion. For myself, or for the world. My hope is that readers will find this work compelling, entertaining, informative and helpful in their own discernment of what they do and do not believe.

Supernatural Completion

ISO review on Internet Dating site

Found this review on my Book ISO, on an Internet Dating site:

"This is an excellent source of information for the new and/or young lesbian. It is sort of like a beginners manual rather than an all-inclusive in-depth treatise on all subjects concerning lesbians, sex, and dating. Just about right for my niece, a newly out college student, it will be an educational present for her birthday. I am hoping that Ms Baeli will write a similar manual for the older set of lesbians, who could use advice specifically aimed at internet tips, modern dating protocol, and health concerns for the older sexually active lesbian."

It was, indeed, intended to be a "beginner's manual." In the description of the book was this:

“If there were a ‘user’s manual’ for lesbians, this would be it. Baeli attempts to clarify the questions and provide the answers to some of the most pressing issues that young or new lesbians might have–and accomplishes her goal effectively. She does this with integrity, great insight, sincerity as well as a generous dose of sometimes scathing humor.” ~Lightswitcher Books 

A great gift for emerging lesbians, curious lesbians and any other lesbian who wishes to find and maintain quality relationships, while avoiding the usual pitfalls of online dating, real-time dating, commitment, and intimacy. ~KIWI Club Reviews

Always great to see my work being recognized. I have considered writing another book in the same vein as ISO, so I will definitely take that suggestion under advisement.

ISO review on Internet Dating site

Writing Words of Wisdom

I was recently asked (again) for words of wisdom regarding being a writer and seeking publication. So i thought i would just blog it.

I have some strong opinions about writing and publishing, springing from my own experience over 20-25 years of pursuing it, and numerous blogs, articles, essays, and having written and rewritten 13 books; added to this is also webmastering, book cover design, typography, editing, and publishing. I wanted to learn all the aspects of completing a book.

My most commonly offered caveat is this: don't fall in love with your words; fall in love with your craft. That's when you will begin the process of being a quality writer.

This subject is voluminous, and I can't do it justice in just a few paragraphs, but the other words of wisdom I will offer are these:

The competition to be a published writer is fierce. The dream of getting published has been overly-romanticized in the media so that many beginning writers think not only that writing is easy, but that they have a good chance of getting a contract from a major house. The odds are, realistically, one in a million--maybe worse than that. We hear about the success stories, not the ones who spend their lives toiling for that dream, to the exclusion of everything else, only to wind up poor, alone, lacking in social skills, and profoundly jaded that life has passed them by. There are so many unpublished writers who pursue this dream, and publishers and agents have had to crack down on the criteria to even LOOK at work sent. And it is very expensive for a writer to submit manuscripts, what with an ink cartridge costing around $30 and then adding the paper cost and the mailing costs, and that's just PER MANUSCRIPT. Common advice tells us that we must do this hundreds of times, and continually if we ever hope to get traditionally published. You have to pour lots of money into the endeavor over a period of many years, sometimes. And more often than not, this investment does not return.

Often, then, self-publishing is the only option if a writer wants to get her work out there. There's little point in spending your entire life hoping, while your words stay in a drawer. I believe as writers we are meant to honor that talent, and share it, otherwise, what's the point of having it? Fortunately, we live in an era where technology allows us some autonomy and some tools to make this happen. So, do whatever you have to do to get your work out there. If it's good, it might eventually get noticed and picked up by a major house or agent--that frequently has more to do with who you know, than how much you submit your work. So cultivate connections. And also try to go small or medium press. If you get a contract from one of them, you can use those books to woo larger fish.

Additionally, a writer who aspires to be published traditionally, needs to make sure she has a dependable source of income other than writing. And she needs to have other things and people in her life that bring her joy and satisfaction. This makes the journey pleasing, rather than a chore. And anyway, without a vibrant social life, you run out of things to write about. You must feed the well with people and events and experiences in order to keep your writing vibrant.

Changes are desperately needed in the publishing industry. Old School is just not working in our modern society. Publishers should be more open to self-published submissions. There is still, however, a haughtiness and arrogance among the Industry Insiders, and this does nothing to advance the cause of bringing great writing to the reading public. The process has been politicized by the Bottom Line.

Also, while there's a pretension in the publishing community, this is also true of the writing community, which is that if you self-publish, you must not be a good writer. This is not always accurate (though, admittedly, there ARE writers who self-publish but have not mastered their craft in any way). Still, there are many quality writers who self publish--they are among all the other writers who strive to see their work in print and available to the reading consumer. You might have to dig a little, but they can be found. And you can be among them if you really want to share your work.

You have to ask yourself what's more important: The prestige of major-house publication, or honoring the talent and sharing it? I take a more humanistic view of all this, as you might guess by now. I think it's more important to get the work out there, than cling to it against overwhelming odds. Writers usually are good at living inside their own fiction. This is fine on the page, but doesn't work so well in the real world.

Writing Words of Wisdom

Genre Horizons: RAOB

Random Act of Blindness is unlike any of my other books...I say that with a generous leeway in definition, because none of my books is like any of my other books.

But i was trying to do something that was not only different for me, but different for authors in general. I wanted to take a genre that is relegated to the fringes, and elevate it into a mainstream sensibility. I wanted to write an erotic book with three- dimensional characters, a recognizable plot, and a handling of the material that made a reader care about what happened to the people in the story. I think I accomplished that, and so it is a book I am very proud of.

I think that authors often underestimate their readers--authors and perhaps publishers, agents, editors and marketeers. If a writer gains fame with a breakthrough novel, he then seizes on that formula and begins to write the same story over and over again; the same people, dressed up in different clothes. There are only a handful of authors I feel write with a certain formula, but still manage to write something new each time. Those are the authors Ii continue to read. And I will read everything they write, with little concern for what genre it falls into; in this way, I believe that many formula writers do their readers a disservice. I remain interested in that author because of his/her command of the language, the ability to create characters I care about; the cleverness to keep me guessing, and the presence of mind to tie up the loose ends and give me a satisfactory ending that will not leave me feeling as though I had wasted my precious time. I want to come away from a book feeling good about something. That doesn't mean I need fairy tales, either (although, really, fairy tales are notoriously dramatic, gory and often filled with characters and deeds no child should be privy to--Hansel and Gretel anyone?)

I find it exciting to hear of a favorite author breaking out of one genre and leaping into another. I can't wait to read that book. It's like seeing your love in new clothes; like driving a new car; like a meal you only get to have once a year, but that you love above all other meals. Thus, I hope to see more authors expand their genre-horizons. There are enough clones out there--both stories and writers. Give me a new species and my interest will be as intense as it originally was with the one that preceded it.

Genre Horizons: RAOB

Diction Deja Vu

Even though I tend to have a Swiss cheese memory, there are times when at least I recreate something almost verbatim, without even realizing I have done it before. (Which comes in handy if I do something stupid and delete some writing accidentally).

For example, in doing an edit on As You Were, I came to this one sentence:

She breathed cautiously at first,

--and felt it needed a little more zap, so I added:

...like some wayward astronaut stepping from the ship on some unfamiliar planet.

...and then i read the next sentence that was already there...and saw:

Then she tried to relax into it, as if some off-course astronaut taking first steps off the ship onto an unknown planet.

....call it "Diction DeJa-Vu"--Kinda scary when I do that. But at least I'm consistent.

Diction Deja Vu

My Beginnings

In my readings about writing, I came across several good points about how the beginning of your book is often the most important part--at least, if you intend to grab the attention of an editor, publisher or agent. I wondered what all my beginnings really looked like...and so I gathered them here for kicks. Would these beginnings make you, as a reader, want to keep reading? I welcome all comments.

My beginnings....
The openings (first sentences/paragraphs) of my books.




"Sully's, on South Prospect, was the quintessential biker-bar, complete with hefty, leather-clad Harley worshippers, and stringy-haired heroin-addicted women who made the rounds among the bikers. Its décor was decidedly Medieval Garage Sale, with a dose of Americana thrown in. An old motorcycle carcass dangled from the vaulted section of the beamed ceiling, and the wood plank floors were littered with butts, scarred by bottle caps and splattered with homogenized bodily fluids. The only light to be had was from neon, dying sconces, and lit cigarettes. Various medieval swords perched on each wall, reminiscent of the times of Beowulf and Fire Dragons on the Barrow." ~Achilles Forjan

~

"Early September rain slanted onto his shoulders as he stepped off the bus in Colorado Springs. Today, he would be returning to the house his mother left him. His lawyer had arranged the house to be rented until his release, so unlike most ex-cons, he wouldn't be checking into the YMCA. To-morrow, he'd go visit his cousin, who had promised him a job on his construction crew. The next day, he'd begin his surveillance on the cop. He believed the adage that revenge was a dish best served cold. He'd had five long years to think about it, and now that he was here, he wanted to focus on ways to serve that dish." ~Another Justice

~

"While throwing the paper in the paved, pristine driveway, I glanced up and saw the ghostly vestige moving away from the tiny garden. The vision circled the wrought-iron bench and moved fluidly across the lawn toward my Falcon. The filmy fabric of her white peignoir billowed along behind her. She bent to retrieve yesterday's newspaper, and I was immediately taken with her beauty, though shadows and shy moonlight hid the woman's features; that kind of beauty needed no illumination to be obvious." ~ Armchair Detective

~

"Blue Spruce shouldered clumps of unsullied snow along the icy driveway leading to the secluded brick and cedar house atop Red Mountain. The dream faded, as the dreamer began the process of lifting heavy lids. Eyes focusing, she saw the blond woman standing over her in an apron blotted with a myriad of colors, liberated from the twisted tubes onto her palette. She reached out with the camel hair brush and dotted her lover's nose with Cadmium red." ~As You Were

~

"Ignorance really is bliss, sometimes. She had been blissful these last few months, enjoying the company of a man who reminded her how lonely she'd been. It didn't hurt that he was also handsome, charming and stinking rich." ~ Baggage

~

"I have always been a seeker. I am forever trying to find where I fit in the world, and though I've made great strides in that regard, I have come to a crossroads (pardon the cliché). My beliefs about religion, spirituality and all things related have been sorely tested and now I have embarked on a quest for answers. I spend a good deal of time studying about it, and this book is about that personal journey." ~Supernatural Hypocrisy: The Cognitive Dissonance of a God Cosmology

~

"Any Lesbian who is currently single knows that it's often a great deal less romantic to be unattached than the media would have us believe. Many of us would love to hang out with the kinds of women we see on the L-Word, yet in the Lesbian Community, this is often not an option. Sophisticated, feminine lesbians are simply not the norm, overall. Most of the actresses who play those roles are in fact, heterosexual. I have frequently been chagrined by this. In all of Hollywood, they could not find a cast of feminine, sophisticated lesbians to play those roles? In this case, it seems that art does not imitate life. It warrants consideration." ~ISO (In Search Of): The Art of Dating, Relationships, & Sex for the Discerning Lesbian

~

"Micah believed wholeheartedly in the law of Karma, which, when you peel away the spiritual dogma, is merely the scientific law of cause and effect. This was why she could not make sense of the insipid morass of misfortune that her life had become. The degree of bad luck seemed to suggest that she had perpetrated some atrocity against humanity. Yet she felt wholly victimized. All she had done was try to kick her life into gear. She had become lazy and without direction. She had become fat. She was drifting on a sea of whateverness." ~ Plethora

~

"If you push your luck, expect it to push back. That's what my Grandma Beasley used to say. And she was right. I had it illustrated to me ten days ago, and again on this frigid October night in the middle of Nowhere, Kansas." ~Quintessence









"If I still like dick, does that mean I cannot be a lesbian? Rachel struggled with that question. She shifted the Jaguar, relishing the feel of the gear knob in her hand, and imagined how it would feel inside her. Was the only discerning element strictly about who the dick was attached to? To WHOM the dick was attached, she corrected herself. Damn. Even in her erotic musings, she could not deny the academic portions of her identity. " ~ A Random Act of Blindness

~

"Cornelius paused with vermilion loaded up on his brush, about to make a bold swath across the canvas, when he noticed Daelah. Placing the loaded brush in his teeth, he reached down and readjusted the position of his wheelchair so he could see her better. At the end of the long corridor leading to the kitchen, she stood at the foot of the stairs, looking up at the ceiling, and down at her hands, and touching her own face." ~ Somewhere Else

My Beginnings

Random Act of Fiction

The book I am working on now is an expansion project. Random Act of Blindness began as a short story for an erotic publication, grew into a novella, and now, I am expanding it to a full-length novel. This project is dear to me because I am trying to do something that I don't think happens very much in the genre: making a truly erotic story rich with all the elements of any other good novel.

I have always wondered why erotica seems to be sequestered in a dark corner, like a misbehaving red-headed step-child. Why can't we have stories that are interesting, filled with three-dimensional characters, and a plot that keeps you turning pages? Why are erotica and quality fiction so often mutually exclusive? I mean, we all know that we all have sex (unless we don't, and that's another subject). So why do we pretend that sexual activity is not a part of our existence? It is at once one of the most motivating factors in our every day lives. It melts hearts, it wrecks marriages, it defines us, moves us, reveals us, and keeps us in touch with both our humanity and our spiritual selves. So why do we pretend, in our fiction, it is only an afterthought?

Perhaps the crux of the issue revolves around the degree to which we describe our sexual encounters in novels. But then, I have to wonder if this is some atavistic mentality that smacks of our historical shame regarding the sex act itself. I contend that sex is not dirty, unless you haven't bathed.

Another challenge I have found with Random Act is that in expanding a story like this, one can only show the characters having sex so many times before it becomes tedious. It has to become, to a degree, less about the sex, and more about the characters and the story. This precarious balance I seek will no doubt make me a better writer, if I manage to pull it off. It remains to be seen if any publisher finds it a viable and respectable offering in the fiction milieu.

Random Act of Fiction

Retarded Houdini

Where do my ideas come from?
Often, I get them while sleeping and dreaming.
For example, this morning, this opening "voice" was given to me just before I woke up.

I'm hanging upside down, wrapped in tarp, like some retarded Houdini.

How did this happen, you ask? (I heard you ask). Well, it all started with me, walking along the sidewalk, minding my own business. I always mind my own business because I know there are plenty of other people out there who will mind it for me, if I let them, and I don't feel they're more qualified to fuck up my life than I am.

Retarded Houdini

Veteran Aspiring Author

I won't apologize for letting this blog sit and gather a few cob webs. I've been engaged in the work this blog espouses. Writing. Reading. Editing. Learning. Oh, and periodically, living my life, too, outside of the literary pursuits--such as it is. Blogging is a spurt-sport for me. I do it in spurts. Not so with the writing of my books.

Currently, I am pitching my books to agents and publishers, and while this is a fresh endeavor, it's not due to any greenness on my part. I have said many times that I spent 20 years falling in love with my craft, rather than with my words. The tide has shifted so that I finally feel I can offer my work for public consumption in a more professional and acceptable way. So I'm doing that now.

In the midst of sending two different queries for two different commercial novels, and receiving my first two rejections (yeah! Two down, an unknown number to go!), I am also in the middle of three queries for three different books to three different small publishers. And I am also writing five other books. (I don't work on them at once, really, but sometimes I get stuck on one, or inspired about another and I switch off. Different writers have different modus operandi. ).

The issue that has reared its mottled head, is that because I have been at this writing endeavor so long, I find myself in a strange netherworld of "Veteran Aspiring Author." I do not feel like I "aspire" to be an author. I already am one. But then you have to get into the quagmire of definition. What is the difference between an "Aspiring Author" and "An Author"? An author, in its simplest definition, and the one to which I refer, is a person who writes a book. Not "tries" to write it. But writes it. Completes it. When you begin your first book, you are a writer. When you have finished it, you then become an author. That is to me the most concise way of framing what an author is.

So, having said all that, I am an author. I have written 13 books. I am currently writing 5 others. Imagine my discomfort when I try to find my peers. I join writing groups and the discussion is "How do i get ideas to write about?" or "do i need to start a new paragraph when each character speaks?" or "Why dont publashers except my writeing?"

Okay, not on that level anymore... But having peer reviews from other "unpublished" writers can be equally frustrating, when I've read their work and know that they are still making horrendous stylistic, grammatical and plotting errors in their own material, while seeking to help me "improve" mine. That's a risky thing to say, as it can easily come off arrogant. I assure you, there's a difference between arrogance and substantiated confidence.

Anyway. That's where I am. Veteran Aspiring Author.

Veteran Aspiring Author

Moratorium on " i "

i'm declaring Jihad on capital " i's "....okay, maybe just a moratorium.

i can't seem to type them with any regularity. They always come out in lower case.

Maybe it's subliminal indication that i don't think too highly of myself.

signed,

KELLI JAE BAELI

Moratorium on " i "

Style Editing: Word Choice & Attributions

What is meant by a writer's "style"? I'm not referring to MLA or Harvard or APA style; nor am I referring to terms such as "expository," "Journalistic," or "academic." In the context of book authors, I'm talking about a writer's unique voice; the way a writer strings words and phrases together on a page; the method by which a writer can engender fear or sympathy or suspense in a reader. These things can be as much about setting, atmosphere, and characters, as they can be about sentence construction and word usage. I'll focus on word choice and attributions in this post.

The first word choice for me is always Microsoft Word. (Sorry, I couldn't resist.) While it has its own inherent shortcomings, as does all software, it is by far the most powerful word processing program. For the purpose of this post, It has some very useful features (as you probably know, since most writers use this program). For those who might find this helpful, here's some tips.

Use Search and Replace to find all those overused words and phrases. When your search lands on one of those words, click that word once (on the highlight on the page) and then re-write that sentence, or replace that word with something more vivid, more unusual, more powerful, more meaningful.

I have a personal list of the words and phrases I have overused in the past (I think I'm better about it now, after editing for it so often). While you're writing, don't worry about those things. It's okay, because then, you are getting the story down, and now, you're putting on your editing hat.

My list included:
"reached for"
"just"
variations of "pull" and "push"
"looked"
"she was sure"
"she knew"

You get the idea.

Here's a little heads-up. You know that text program, NoteTab Lite, I've mentioned? It has a feature called Text Statistics where you can paste in your text and check it for the frequency of word use. ("Yes, I use words frequently" -are you saying? Well, then, you are a smart ass. And it takes one to know one). This feature also does word and character count.

Okay, back to the list of words.

Here is a list of commonly overused words you can search for in your manuscript. Also look for the variations thereof, or et al, such as walk/walked/walking.


This list is by no means comprehensive, and can be as endless as each writer's individuality. Mainly, just be aware of plain words that don't color your descriptions properly. It's a fabulous exercise to try to find another way to say something. It stretches your writing muscles in a most satisfying way. (Careful not to pull a Writing Ligament, there's no salve for that). There are so many nuances, and you can miss out on some fantastic writing by not keeping this in mind. Here is a list (not comprehensive, either, but important) of errors or amateurish mistakes to eliminate from your manuscript, to keep an agent or editor reading it from rolling her eyes and tossing it into the Round File.

Stylistic things to avoid:

PASSIVE VOICE
Try to avoid it. It's not immediate, and is usually boring and verbose. The only time you should use past tense is when you're referring to the past and that needs to be clear. For instance, in a flashback

• Use Word's search and replace tool again. Look for GERUNDS-words ending in "ing"-and was/were/had and make them present tense, if at all possible

ADJECTIVE ABUSE
Your writing can become bloated, flowery, predictable and even confusing Try to avoid using adjectives and adverbs altogether.

• Instead use more descriptive nouns and verbs

WEAK ATTRIBUTIONS
They clutter up the dialogue, are distracting, and smack of ineptitude

• Leave most "saids" out; In other cases, show action along with the statement

Here's an excerpt from my novel, Baggage, to illustrate the conservative style of attributions:

"Mental fugues?" Sienna asked. "You'll have to elaborate on that over dinner." "Not until you tell me how you met that vermin." "I'll think about it." She started walking toward her car. "Where are you going?" "Back to the hotel." "It's almost dinner time, why don't you follow me home?" She continued to her car, as he strode after her. "Because I'm not a puppy." "Oh my god, woman. You are really playing me, aren't you?" She opened her door and turned to him. "Not at all. I simply don't want to appear desperate." "You don't. See, the way I figure it, we keep crossing paths for a reason. Don't you find that strange?" "It's a lot stranger than you could possibly know." "What does that mean?" "Maybe I'll tell you one day. Today is not that day." He chewed the inside of his cheek, regarding her. "What am I going to do with you, Sienna Bachman?" The answer, something good, I hope dashed through her mind, and she pushed it away. She could not very well let herself get involved with the son of Dominic Fontaine. . .and yet, Noah had been right. There did seem to be some cosmic manipulation going on. He continued to goad her, weighing the imaginary choices in each hand. "Let's see. . .go back to the hotel . . .go to Jerrin's for dinner. . .hotel. . . Jerrin. . ." "Oh all right. Lead and I shall follow." "That's more like it." He turned and headed for his Element.

The points to notice are that if your characters are distinct individuals, it is often not necessary to have an attribution at all, and instead of telling the reader "he said," or "she said", you can insert what playwrights call "Stage business" which merely means what they are doing, or some mannerism, in place of the attribution, or at least, not having to do with the attribution at all. But it does set the tone for what a character is saying.

Watch for upcoming blogs on style and other writing tips.

Style Editing: Word Choice & Attributions

I Heard You the First Time

...Repetition as enemy to style and cadence.

Even great writers make mistakes. I can usually tell when it's an editing oversight, or the fault of the author. An editor's oversight seems a simultaneous contradiction, in that it can mean "overlook", but also "seeing-over," as in monitoring--same word, two opposite meanings. Accordingly, when I use the word "mistake" in this context, it doesn't necessarily imply the condition of being WRONG. I use the word, "mistake" loosely. What I'm really talking about are stylistic errors. But telling someone how to have a writing style, is like telling someone how to have clothing style. It's up to them how important it is. But you can learn how to have an impressive style in your writing, just like you can learn to have it in your wardrobe.

Some authors write only, and don't do much editing. Others do both, and endeavor to keep them separated. But I feel that most common stylistic errors are just plain laziness. For instance, to repeat an already established fact is simply careless, (just careless, I tell you! Careless!) unless it's intentional for effect (as in the outburst I just had) or in the case of the first mention being so far away from the second that the reader might need their memory jogged. Recently, I found an example in this passage from a popular novel:

Christopher Stewart Hughes was one of Johnston's graduate students.

Then four paragraphs later,

Chris was a graduate student in the history of science--

Then a paragraph later,

Chris had been an undergraduate, in his junior year, when his parents were killed in an automobile accident. Chris, an only child, was devastated;

Okay, so once an author has established who someone is, and what part they play in the story (i.e., graduate student) it then becomes superfluous, especially within the span of a page and a half of text, to remind the reader. And it frankly aggravates me, and I talk back to the book. "Yes, I know he's a graduate student, you said that three times already."

The last snippet of quoted text falls into stylistic issues, as well, though perhaps it is more a preference on my part, and not necessarily considered an "error." The sentence,

Chris had been an undergraduate, in his junior year, when his parents were killed in an automobile accident. Chris, an only child, was devastated;

...it is part of the previous style point, but also includes what I feel to be awkward phrasing. I would have revised the sentence to read,

In Chris's junior year, his parents were killed in an automobile accident. An only child, Chris was devastated.

This says the same thing without the repetition that Chris was a graduate student, (saying "in his junior year" refers to the fact that he was a student, and need not be reiterated) and it also avoids beginning too many sentences with the same word.

It's something on my (long) list of edits I do after I've written most of the story. I go back and read like an editor, and make sure I haven't repeated myself, started paragraphs and sentences with the same word, or used the same construction all the time.

When constructing the style of your sentences, remember that writing is like listening to music; sometimes you need a long phrase that flows and continues for a time, and then you need shorter sentences interspersed. If you read your writing aloud, you'll find most of these interruptions in flow. (This is probably where the idea came from, that writers are always talking to themselves. It's for a good reason, not the least of which is that they'll know who they're talking to).

So--There's a cadence in writing and I believe that developing your style has a lot to do with figuring out what your cadence is. But as for the pleasantness of reading it, while this can be highly subjective, just as music can, there are still things that create the most pleasantness for the largest number of listeners/readers. Primarily, try not to aggravate your reader with sloppy sentence construction and repetitions and verbosity. They may not be able to tell you WHY it's aggravating them, but they might put your book down. And that is, of course, contrary to your goal as a writer.

Oh, and the novel I used as a reference?? That was from Timeline by John Grisham. (sorry).

I Heard You the First Time

The Koontz Dangle

One of the best stylistic things I ever learned about writing novels, was gleaned from being an avid reader of Dean Koontz. I not only read his work, I studied it.

Several years ago, I was reading in bed, and was so sleepy that I felt I couldn't continue, and yet I turned the page and kept trying to stay awake. This had happened before with his books, and often i would wake up later or the next morning with my reading lamp still on, and the book still on my chest. I read until sleep claimed me. Why? Because my curiosity was piqued, and because there were things left unanswered. Koontz was able to string me along as if I had a leash on, and he was holding the other end.

The technique was this: Every chapter used a staggering character--(no, not drunk people)--they would each be about a certain character, and the chapter after it would be about a different character. But at the end of each of those chapters, without fail, something would happen and I would be left hanging. So I'd go to the next chapter, but it would be about someone else, in another situation, and I'd be reminded that I wanted to know about that, too. Thus, I kept reading, because he always left something dangling at the end, but skipped to someone else and did the same there in the chapters that followed. By the time all the questions were answered and all the curiosities were quenched, the book was over. Brilliant stylistic device. No surprise that Dean Koontz has been so successful for so long. He earned it.

So I went back to all my manuscripts and did a revision on each (which is, as you will note, called RE-VISION for a reason...you have to look at it again, and in a new way). I did rewrites to include this technique of dangling, and my books then became more page-turners.

Thank you, Mr. Koontz.

The Koontz Dangle

Drive-By Writing

If you're a writer, you are probably familiar with the tendency to try to write ideas down while driving. I seem to get my best ideas when I'm driving, and it's the most inopportune moment to do it. Surprisingly, I don't always have a pen handy. That's why I bought one of those key chain attachable sharpie markers...

But then there's not always paper. I know this sounds crazy for a voluminous writer like myself not to have paper and pen....there were times when an idea was so good, I considered to pricking my finger and writing it in blood. That would be a blood-blog.

Today, for example, I was writing not only on envelope, but on the back of the cardboard box the envelopes came in. And periodically honking the horn, because I was using my steering wheel as a desk.
It got so that every time I thought of something, I felt it might be prudent to just pull over. But with all the ideas I had today, I would have never reached my destination....which, paradoxically, was the office supply store to buy pens and paper.

Then, when I got home, I was burdened with the challenge of deciphering what looks like hieroglyphs on the cardboard.

Years ago, when I did quite a bit more driving than I do now, I used to use a tape recorder. I suppose I'll have to go back to that. Writing things down is just too frustrating, and things I intend to save may be lost because I can't read it. Never mind the lives I might endanger.

I can see the headlines now:
Local Author Burns a Swath Through the Median while Honoring Her Muse.

---------------------------------
For more of those ideas I had while driving, see Remote Control Yourself and Texting, Texting, One Two, 9...Oops at my other blog.

Drive-By Writing

Organic Doesn't Mean Clueless

This will illustrate, i hope, the power of dialogue. Even with no story, you can glean all the information you need from what two people are saying to each other. I used to go sit in public places like restaurants and coffee shops and just dictate what i was hearing into my AlphaSmart.

This is a real conversation i had on the phone with a friend...



"I really wanted this to be organic this time. I didn't want to force it. But I can't figure out where her head is, I just know that i dont' like how she's treating me," she says.

"For whatever reason, you have allowed her to treat you this way, " I tell her. "You have taught her for the last few weeks, how to treat you. You can say all day long how much you don't like it, but everything she has done, you have allowed."

"Well I've blown her off a few times--"

"Yeah? How's that workin' for ya?"

"Well, she could pull rabbit out of her hat."

"There's no rabbit, and no hat."

I sigh into the phone so she can hear it. "You have the truth, and it won't matter what they say about it. Why do you feel you have to make up something? Just tell the truth. Then, no matter what people say or think, you have the truth on your side. You feel you have to mince words and alter your reasons to avoid HER behavior. You are not responsible for her behavior. You have to understand the distinction. Organic doesn't mean clueless. You two have to be on same sheet of music. You've been playing two different songs on two different instruments at the same time."

"I didn't want her to think I liked her too much..."

"What does the degree of liking have to do with it?"

"Well it's a small town--if this were an Internet thing, I would have already had this talk with her."

"So you would be honest about it online, but not in person? This is not about what other people think of you or the situation. It's still about you and who you are."

"Well, maybe she's just relationship-retarded."

"That's not your doing, nor your responsibility to correct, it's only your responsibility to be honest about how it does or does not mesh with what you want in a relationship."

"If I offer her the fuck and she declines, I'm going to give her the fuck off. Then she'll tell everyone I broke up with her, because she wouldn't sleep with me. Then I'll have to say, You Relationship retarded ice queen frigid bitch. I've been so damn organic, I'm a bean sprout--maybe she needs me to take control. If I call you in the middle of the night and say she's in my bed and say I just fucked the shit out of her, I won't be a bean sprout anymore."

"You have a power card, then."

"Yeah, I can say, If I came down to the restaurant, I'm not going to pay for shit. And watch her go, Yes ma'am. I'm gonna turn her out or turn her off. I have three questions I need answers to: One, is she aware of how she is treating me, two, or how she feels about me. Three, will she behave differently outside the house that is a shrine to her ex-girlfriend. Would she be receptive only if I made the move, or would she make a move on me, if she was away from the jumping dogs and the ghost of Carol?"

"Don't give her that part of yourself, she didn't earn it. "

"If this goes awry tonight, I will be dropping her off at her house, and driving straight to the bar to intercept Katie, and then I'll go to St. Louis on that trip I canceled with Justine and get laid by her, and when I get home, Clara will be back and I'll have sex with her too, and then the next day, I'll hunt down that other chickapoo I'd like to go on a date with. And you know I will. There's gonna be some sex tomorrow, even if it's with myself."

"Well. . . godspeed, my friend. I can't wait to hear what happens. It's just like having a Netflix I haven't opened yet."

Organic Doesn't Mean Clueless

As You Were (Novel Excerpt)

As You Were
(Lesbian Romantic Suspense novel)

(c)Kelli Jae Baeli

Beth and Brittany shared a beautiful home on Red Mountain in Colorado, enjoyed self-employment, horseback riding in the snow-laden hills, and romantic nights in front of the fireplace. But when an average day leads to a tragic accident, and traumatic amnesia, Brittany must return to a life she neither remembers nor approves of. Yearning, revelations, and lurking danger pull at the threads of their once-idyllic life. As You Were is a romantic story driven by mystery and suspense.

EXCERPT:

A swath of morning sunshine fell across Tru's eyes, and she came awake, aware of the sharp pounding in her head, and the television which sat silent, bolted to a steel pole extending from floor to ceiling. She vaguely remembered her decision to get a motel the night before, and wasn't sure whether she had been too drunk to remember to call Brittany and let her know. She pressed both hands against her head, wishing for ibuprofen.

Tru blinked her eyes into painful focus and saw her reflection in the mirror over the dresser. Her appearance told her more than she wanted to know about how much she had had to drink the night before. Also in the reflection, a lump under the blanket next to her, and she turned quickly to find the lump was a leg, and that the leg belonged to Travis. His chest was bare, and she immediately discovered that hers was, too. Tru jerked the sheet up under her arms and stared at him, horrified. "Travis?"

He stirred, his eyes fluttered open, and he smiled warmly. "Morning, Sugar." He ran his hand down her arm.

Tru jerked away, grabbing the blanket and drawing it around her as she got up. "What the hell are you doing here?" she rasped, swallowing the cotton that seemed to be growing abundantly on her tongue.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position, his face filled with a boyish grin. "Enjoying the morning after, Sugar "

Tru coughed involuntarily and pressed a palm to her head. "Travis. . .we didn't. . .I mean, I don't--please tell me we didn't-- I don't remember what happened last night "

He lifted one eyebrow in a smirk. "I'll never forget it. I never suspected you of being such an animal in bed. You even--"

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph! What have I done?!" Tru searched for and found her clothing heaped upon the floor by the bed, and began to dress beneath the blanket.

"Hey, why so uptight?"

"Why so uptight?" she squeaked. "Are you out of your mind? Do you have any idea what sort of mess this is? Oh, my God. . .she'll kill me, I am dead meat. She'll never understand this, I don't understand this--" Tru dropped the blanket and began to button her shirt. "Travis, you have to swear you'll never breathe a word of this. I was drunk. I didn't know what I was doing--" she babbled.

"You most assuredly did know what you were doing. I can't remember the last time I stayed that har--"

"Travis!" she shouted, groaning and holding her head, then more softly.
"Spare me the sordid details."

"Don't worry, Tru. Your secret is safe with me. I wish you could stay a little longer " He reached toward her and she lurched away, grabbing her socks and shoes and making a quick visual sweep of the room, before she headed for the door, hopping in place as she shoved the sneakers onto her bare feet.

"Where's my Cherokee?" she asked, her hand on the doorknob. And where's my sense?

Travis folded his arms. "Still at the club."

Tru dug in her pockets and came up with twenty five dollars, lifting her eyes to him, quizzically.

"I paid for the room, Sugar," he admitted.

She slammed the door behind her, and hurried to the front office to call a cab.

Travis reclined, his fingers locked behind his head, admiring his reflection in the mirror. He flexed his pectorals and began to sing an old Carole King tune. "It's too late, Baby, now it's too late..." It had been remarkably easy. Remarkably. He checked his image in the mirror again, rubbing his chest with both hands, absently, and he began to whistle.

As You Were (Novel Excerpt)

Plethora (Info & Excerpt)

Plethora
(c) Kelli Jae Baeli

Brenna Clay, a quirky bisexual writer, escapes with her lover to the remote Ozark area of Hogscald, near the quaint tourist village of Eureka Springs, known as "The place where misfits fit"--a place where Mother Nature is not always nurturing, there are sniper squirrels, newspaper- stealing mutts, and her nearest neighbor lives in a treehouse and thinks she's been inseminated by aliens. As an added bit of entertainment, the Bubbas have out their binoculars, and are watching from the knoll, having never seen a real, live "Lezbean Homo-sek-shul."

Meanwhile, Micah Rose Royce lives in Eureka Springs and works as a masseuse. Fresh off a prolonged disibility, she is anxious to feel human again, but has difficulty getting started. Her best friend, Scarlet, suggests she get a reading from Righteous Clementine, a medium- cum-sorceress, who promptly lays her hands on her and utters, "Plethora." Micah trudges through the exasperating and often comical dating scene in real life and on the Internet, still desperately searching for a suitable partner.

"Erotic, funny, thought-provoking and insightful..."
~LightSwitcher Books

16
The Last Take-up

"Here's your spline, spline roller, and awl," Kori said, dropping the items one by one on the old brown Army-issue towel that lay crumpled upon the wood planks of the porch. "I felt stupid asking the guy at the hardware store, but he knew exactly what they were."

"Great!" Brenna clapped her hands together and reached for the torn screen door that she had removed and leaned against the decrepit railing.

Kori carried another armload of sacks up the front steps and paused over Brenna, already at work on the screen. "Do you know what you're doing?"

Brenna gave her a irritable expression. "Of course. I told you I've done my research on this. I Googled it. This little rubber gasket do-hickey is called a spline-" she explained, prying it out of the groove around the screen with the awl. "I just replace this ancient aluminum screen with some of this new nylon screen." Kori shifted the sacks for a better hold, as Brenna continued, "Why nylon, you ask? Well, see, it has better solar penetration."

"Sounds good to me," Kori said, lifting her eyebrows suggestively.

"That just means that more sunlight can come through it," Brenna went on. "And this is the little roller that puts the spline back in." She held the tool up proudly.

"I'll make us some lunch," Kori said evenly, carrying the packages inside.

Brenna sighed. She hadn't seen much of Kori lately. This was the first Saturday in a while that Kori hadn't gone in to work overtime. Since returning to her job from vacation time, and making the roundtrip into Fayetteville each day, it was little more than a hello and an air-kiss before Kori watched the news and then went to bed. They hadn't had sex in so long, that Brenna was having fantasies about the UPS guy.

Resolving to open a discussion about that very thing today-not fantasies about the UPS guy, but their own sex life-she bent back to repairing the screen.

Minutes later, Brenna sat back and congratulated herself on a job well done. The screen was replaced, and she would only need one Band-Aid this time. She squeezed the puncture made by the awl atop her thumb, and wiped away the blood absently. When she lifted her head again, she noticed the movement from the direction of the knoll. Someone was headed toward her on horseback. As the horse drew nearer, Brenna could see that the rider was a young woman with short blond hair, clad in faded, ripped jeans and a T-shirt. Brenna thought she bore a striking resemblance to the actress, Mary Stuart Masterson, from her role in Fried Green Tomatoes. As the woman urged the animal close to the porch, Brenna stood and wiped her palms on the front of her jeans. "Hello. . ." she offered cautiously.

The young woman grinned with one corner of her mouth and continued to smack at a wad of pink gum. "Hi."

Brenna noticed that the T-shirt the woman was wearing had the image of a hot air balloon on it with the words Up Up and Away written below it. "Thought I'd come see what all the hoopla was about."

Her country accent was strong, and Brenna tried not to seem entertained by it. "The hoopla?"

The woman patted the chestnut's neck affectionately. "Me and ole Sassafras been hearin' bushel baskets a' stuff about the two sisters that moved into the old Pate place." She crooked one leg easily over the withers of the gelding. "Name's Tilly. What's yours?"

"Brenna."

"Pretty name, that." The young woman took a deep breath and squinted into the sun, casting a sidelong glance at Brenna. "Am I yer first viz'ter?"

"Actually, no. We met Harvey Hunsicker last month."

"Sorry to hear it."

"What?"

Tilly licked her lips and tried not to grin. She jerked her head away in a mannerism of forced self control and cleared her throat. "He's a handful, he is. Fize' you, I'd keep a ditch `tween ya."

"Oh? Why do you say that?"

"He's kinda loose in the upper story. Got a mean streak a mile wide and twice as ugly."

Brenna nodded slowly, her brain busy deciphering the colloquial assertions Tilly shared. "That's. . . good to know."

"Mind if I sit a spell?"

"Not at all." Brenna indicated the rockers, and knew that this Tilly- character would appear someday in one of her novels.

Tilly pushed her leg the rest of the way over and slid off the pony, dropping the rein to the ground. The Chestnut wandered across the yard in search of edible greenery. "Been too pooped to pop since the last take-up." She sighed heavily and dropped into the chair, rocking.

Brenna sat in the other. "Since what?"

"The last take-up." Tilly said this matter-of-factly, pulling a seed-like burr that was stuck to her shirt like Velcro. As she turned her head to mop her neck with an old bandanna, she saw Brenna's bewildered frown. "I get took up ever now an' then. Been happenin' since I was knee-high to a toad. Mighty spooky at first," she continued, smacking her gum. "But a body gits used ta stuff after a while."

Brenna was blinking rapidly, trying to compose her next question, when Kori came out to the porch, testing the new screen door a few times before she noticed they had company. "Kori, this is Tilly."

Kori nodded in her direction. "Would you like a glass of tea or something?"
"If it ain't no trouble." She half smiled with the corner of her mouth again.
Kori stepped back inside, giving the screen door another skeptic's perusal.
Brenna considered Tilly as she sat there, chomping her gum and watching Sassafras graze in the front yard. She kept trying to make sense of Tilly's phrase about being 'took up', and wondered if it was just a backwoods colloquialism that meant being tired, or sleepless, or ill, or maybe it meant having sex--

Kori came out with tea for each of them, and took a seat at the top of the steps. Brenna cleared her throat after a swift drink and decided to be abrupt. "Hey, Kori, Tilly was telling me about being took-up."

"Took up?" Kori parroted.

"Dang! I reckon I have to explain it to ya'll, too." Tilly pulled the wad of pink bubble gum from her mouth, and stuck in under the rim of the chair, unaware of the almost comical dismay this action incited in both the other women. "I know nobody takes me serious, but I ain't tetched like they say. Some say I'm crazy as a bessie-bug, but don't ya'll swaller that for minute. They's all just green 'cause they ain't the one's bein' took up." She nodded, as if she had just released some sensitive information.

Brenna tried again, "Uh, Tilly, I think we are just confused about . . .what you mean by 'took-up'. Took where? By whom?"

Tilly turned and studied their faces with surprising thoroughness, her lids contracting into slits over her hazel eyes, then nodded slowly. "In that flyin' machine. They come and take me up 'bout once't a year or so."

"Oh! An airplane!"

"Naw. Ain't no air-o-plane. And don't nobody use it fer crop-dustin', neither. It's round."

"Helicopter?" Kori offered weakly.

"Ain't no heelacopter, neither, I tell ya. Ain't got no swangin' blades on the outside."

Brenna and Kori exchanged animated glances. "Uh, Tilly, are you talking about a UFO?"

"You-ef-oh?" she repeated carefully. "What's that?"

"An Unidentified Flying Object-"

Tilly leaned back and swept a derisive hand in their direction. "Course not!"

The two breathed a sigh of relief.

"Don't take no genius to figger it out. . . Once't ya see it, ya can identify it right enough."

Kori began to play with a loose board on the porch, and Brenna pretended she had something in her eye, so she could mask a burgeoning giggle.

"Last time was Sundee last. Thangs were dif'ernt that time. They done some stuff to me they ain't never done before."

"Who? What stuff?" Brenna asked, clamping a hand over her mouth.

"Them white varmints with buggy eyes. They ain't as big as me, but they don't have no trouble keepin' me in a bridle. Last time they done some funny stuff, and now I think I'm nailed."

Kori looked up suddenly. "Nailed?"

"Yes'm. Lord knows how long it'll take that young 'un to hatch. They never told me nothin' about it." She sipped her tea calmly. "But it's in there, shore as shootin'." she patted her stomach. "I can feel it."

Plethora (Info & Excerpt)

Interlude

She appeared in the doorway. "You asleep?"

"Nope." Still standing there. "What do you need? A drink of water? A blanket? Cuddles?"

"Yes."

Laughing. "Yes, what?"

"Cuddles."

I peeled back the covers on the "passenger side" of the bed.

She came over and got in.

"Okay," I said, my arm cocked back. "Spoons, or cheek on chest?" She put her cheek on my chest, and I put my arm around her shoulders. In the ensuing silence, I felt her gears turning. "What's on your mind?"

"How do you know there's something on my mind?"

"There's always something on your mind."

She giggled. "You're right. . .I was thinking about something you said earlier. . .you said you think I'm beautiful. . .what did you mean?"

"Um. . .well. . .aesthetically pleasing, easy on the eyes, evolved on the inside. . .engaging, intelligent. . .a sexy heart-shaped mouth. . .all that is beautiful. . ."

"You think i have a heart-shaped mouth?"

I leaned back to look at it. "Yep. There it is. Heart-shaped." Settling back down on my chest, she turned contemplative again. I felt her thinking. I always feel her thinking. "What else?" I prodded, brushing my fingers through the tendrils of hair at her forehead.

"I like you."

"I like you, too."

"How much?"

I held up my fingers to about an inch, and she smacked me on the arm, as we both laughed.

"Seriously. Yes. I do like you. More than I should, probably."

"Why do you say that? "

"I just know you are very dangerous to me."

"I've never been accused of being dangerous."

"Well you are."

"How?"

Now it was my turn to squirm. I cleared my throat and tried to find the right words. "I had a very precise and thorough list of what I wanted to manifest in my life. . .romantically."

"And?"

"And you're it."

"Really?"

"Unless you have me fooled."

"Kiss me."

"What?"

"I want you to kiss me like I'm the one you manifested. . ."

"Why?"

"So I can see if it's what I manifested."

"Oh, you've been manifesting, too, have you?"

"Yes I have."

I sighed. "Now I have performance anxiety."

Interlude

Excerpt from Quintessence (Novella)

I Had a hard time finding an excerpt from this book because most everything would give away too many details. I want these to be saved for the full experience of the reader....so hope this excerpt will give you at least a slight idea of what the book is like.

Excerpt from
Quintessence
 (Speculative Fiction)
by
Kelli Jae Baeli

I moved a little stiffly to the doorway and recognized the living room on the other side of the kitchen. It was the house by the barn. The one I had pilfered food from. It appeared lived-in, unlike the last time I was there. There was no blanket of dust on everything. Someone had cleaned. Moved a few things around, added other things. "I get it. . ." Wow. Just for a minute I thought I was in the Twilight Zone.

Pritchard moved up behind me. "You get what?"

"The tube. . .it went underground and came up here, and it had some gas hose in it somewhere that knocked me out, and you switched my clothes . . ."

The doctor laughed merrily.

"That's it, right?"

He stopped laughing. "Sorry, son. It's significantly more complicated than that."

"Just give me the Reader's Digest Condensed Version."

"I. . .it can't be condensed—"

"Try."

"Very well," he sighed, searching for a simple statement. "I brought you into one of your alternate realities with a device I invented. The tube, the ARM."

I waited. Letting the statement sink in. It never sunk. It just hovered there on the surface, aggravating me, a little frightening.

"If you want to join me for coffee at the table, I'll make sense of this for you."

Ignoring his invitation, I headed straight out the front door, pausing in the driveway, looking for my van. There were three cars in the driveway. One was a silver sedan that had rounded fenders much like the old cars in the 50's. The other two were SUV styles, but altogether odd, compared to the ones I had seen in my lifetime. One brown, and one the color of coffee with cream. I was a bit surprised that they had round wheels, as if this reality had somehow managed to make a vehicle roll on squares.

My attention on the barn, I started for it. Sprinting over to the large door, I grabbed the handle and pulled. It squeaked open to reveal a room just like the room I stayed in before all this got so crazy. There was a large rug in the center, but it was mostly green instead of the blue I remembered. I knew the room was different, too. The hand written journals were replaced by a computer on the desk. But I was only interested in The ARM. I stepped over and kicked the rug away to reveal the circle of light.

The coffee can was not in sight, and instead, I found a small cylinder of comparable size, that had a handle on the top. I assumed this would serve the same purpose. Grabbing it off the desk, I leaned down to press it into the circular indention.

The wood panel whirred upward, the Bank Tube or ARM or whatever, rose to full height and stopped with the airbrake sound. It was not silver anymore, but white.

I pressed a button on the outside and the door slid open. I stepped in. I wanted to go back to my life. The one I understood, the one that made sense. I wanted out of this nightmare reality.

As I closed the panel, I heard Pritchard yelling, "Jason! No!"

That susurrous second of air and then. . .

The panel slid open, and I saw her spin around to face me, lift a handgun and cock it. I flattened myself against the round wall, and hit the panel button again, and the door closed as a shot ricocheted off the housing. The door opened again, and I fell out into the arms of Ethan Pritchard.

"Oh my god. . ." I mumbled.

"Jason!" He helped me stand upright. "Are you okay?"

"What the hell was that?"

His arm came around me as he led me out of the barn.

* * *

(Quintessence is due for release in 2010)

Excerpt from Quintessence (Novella)