Thank you, Rebecca,
for having me!
Welcome to my Quick Tips Blog
Tour. I’ve put together ten short, easy writing tips to share. Follow my tour
to see them all. Tour stops will be posted on my website: http://booksbymsk.com/?page_id=616
Quick Tip 9:
Strong and Accurate Verbs
We all know to show not tell, but
we have to understand how to do that,
which can be complicated. Start simply with strong, accurate verbs. Use verbs
that not only create images in the readers’ mind, but correct images. Did he
run, jog, or burst forth? Any one of those is better than “he went,” but which
one is the most accurate? Don’t trust your thesaurus. Some words may be
synonyms, but they are not the same.
Laugh, chortle. Walk, hike. Toss,
hurl. Frown, pout…
Do you have any to add?
Kindling the Past
by M.S. Kaye
Kindle is fighting to survive on
her own, to break free from her possessive and violent ex-boyfriend, and trying
not to let her best friend, Anna, know she’s in love with her husband. Most of
all, she fights the visions she sees of the past—she doesn’t believe in that
kind of stuff.
Then Anna is shot and killed.
In their grief, Kindle and Ty,
Anna’s husband and Kindle’s Taekwondo instructor, grow closer. Although Kindle
is careful never to let him too close, he helps her learn to accept that her
visions are real. Eventually, the truth about Anna’s death breaks through into
Kindle’s visions, and she must find a way not to let it destroy her.
Buy Links:
Author Bio:
M.S. Kaye has
several published books under her black belt. A transplant from Ohio, she
resides with her husband, Corey, in Jacksonville, Florida, where she tries not
to melt in the sun. Find suspense and the unusual at www.BooksByMSK.com.
Contact
M. S. Kaye at:
Excerpt:
Prologue
I fought the visions. My mother used to tell me my
expression turned stupid when I had them, but I didn’t care about that so much
anymore. I hated when the visions were true somehow, actual bits of the past. I
didn’t believe in that kind of stuff.
Chapter
1: Fight
“She’s
such a snob,” one of the young women whispered on the other side of the locker
room.
I stayed
faced away, trying not to hear their gossip. I tugged my jeans on and pulled my
shirt over my head. When I glanced in the mirror to fix my hair, I barely saw
the dark brown framing my fair skin—only the way the other girls looked at me.
I bent over to pick up my shoes.
“The guys
don’t even ask her out because she’s so stuck up.”
I didn’t
understand why they thought like this about me, but I didn’t much care anyway.
As soon as I had my shoes on, I threw my gear bag over my shoulder and walked
out.
Master
Trahem was on the workout floor sparring with Mr. Schmidt. Master Trahem’s
uniform was starting to come open, and sweat glistened on his well-built chest.
I looked
away.
“Bye,
Kindle,” Mrs. Trahem said as I passed the front counter. “See you tomorrow.”
I smiled
at her, one of the few people I reserved my genuine smile for. She was a big
part of the reason I came in early to
help every day, her and her atrocious
typing skills. She always held her fingers above the keys like a fisherman
wielding a spear, as if expecting them to squirm out from under her aim.
But
honestly, helping with data entry was just an excuse—Mrs. Trahem was the best
person I’d ever known, and I felt calmer when I was around her.
“You’ll be
there early, right?” Mrs. Trahem added. She tucked her silky dark hair behind
her ear. There was a grace to her movement. No wonder Master Trahem had married
her so quickly. At twenty-nine, she was a few years older than me but looked
just as young.
“Definitely.”
Then I kept walking. Before I gave into the urge to turn and watch Master
Trahem.
The girls
from the locker room followed me out into the parking lot. I sat in my car and
started the engine.
While I
drove the forty-five minutes home, I fought to stay awake. At least traffic at
nine-thirty at night was thin. I always missed rush hour. I left my apartment
before six every morning and didn’t return until after ten. Being tired felt
normal.
As I
pulled up to my building, I examined each car. I knew to whom each of them
belonged, as well as half my neighbors’ friends’ cars. The girl across the hall
traded boyfriends every week. She drove me nuts.
I had no
way of knowing what Chris was driving. I had to know which cars were supposed
to be here in order to know if there was a new one. Most of my neighbors drove
beaters like me, and Chris had always liked something flashy. But with him, I
couldn’t depend on consistency. He was smart.
I
recognized all the cars tonight. I parked under the streetlight and kept the
door locked while I pulled my gear bag onto my lap and slipped the strap over
my shoulder. Keys ready, I jumped out of the car and jogged up the steps. I
hated apartment buildings in Florida. The halls were open, no security doors to
block unwanted visitors from knocking on your front door, from lurking in
shadowy corners.
Within
about ten seconds, I was up the stairs, down the hall, and at my door. Just
being able to move quickly without running out of breath was worth the cost of
Taekwondo classes. I felt more confident, less scared.
My door
unlocked, I glanced down the hall one more time then slipped inside. I closed
the door, locked it, and flipped the lights.
I was not
alone.
He was
right there, tall, thick, and blond as always. I was seeing as clearly as if
through acid. I blinked to make sure he was really there. I always did that. It
was stupid.
Chris was
always there.
