Introducing...Kerry Neitz!

Ladies and gentleman, this month's featured writer is Kerry Neitz, author of "A Star Curiously Singing". Stick around for the end of our show, when you'll have the chance to leave a comment (you must include your email address) for a chance to win a copy of his book!

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Tell us a little about yourself:

I've had an unusual life. I grew up on a farm in Ohio, was an average shy student in high school, went to college for computer science and really excelled.

Right out of college I got a job for a small software company, Fox Software, as a programmer. It was a crazy time. Very hectic, very interrupt driven, but also very rewarding. (It was unique enough that I kept good notes about what was going on). Eventually, the company sold to Microsoft and I was forced to moved across the country or resign, so I spent the next seven years working with Microsoft.

I always wanted to write, though. The problem was that I wanted to write novels, and it is very hard to be successful in that field for a newcomer - at least, it is if you want to have regular meals (as most of your readers probably know). Plus, programming shares many of its creative aspects with writing - the feeling of accomplishment , the drive for better ways to describe things, to make them more useful to the user. There are lots of similarities.

However, after about ten years of coding, I grew restless. I wasn't inspired by it anymore. I remember getting ready for work one day and thinking, "Is this all there is for me?"

Around that same time I happened to take a plane trip where an elderly (and published) writer sat next to me. The guy was more than willing to talk about his work. When I mentioned that I always wanted to write, he said "Well, start early. You might get published before you die!"

I took that as a sign. A short time later I left Microsoft to write full-time. A few years later to got my first book published - a non-fiction title that is a memoir of my four years at Fox Software. Haven't looked back since.

My latest book is a Christian speculative fiction title called "A Star Curiously Singing", but I have written many different genres (few of which have been published at this point). There is always a bit of a tech angle to what I write, though. Can't escape that.

What is your writing day like?

I normally write after lunch. Mornings are for house, child, or life maintenance - the sort of things that would distract my mind later. As much as I can, I try to get the distractions out of the way early.

In the afternoon I go to "my room" (our media room), sit on the reclining couch with my laptop, and have at it. I work until I have a least a couple of pages written. If I make good progress, I may reward myself with a video game break (advantage of working in the media room). But in general I work from at least 2:00-6:00 without leaving the room. If I don't get at least a couple of pages, I feel like I cheated the boss.

How do you organize your writing? (outlines/note cards/post-its)

I have to admit when I'm writing fiction, there isn't a whole lot of organization. Before I start a book I'll have a vague idea of the beginning and the end, and then work to fill the middle. I have a separate "notes" document that I usually work from, too. It is filled with the random ideas I've accumulated along the way. You know, those middle of the night "ah-ha" moments, plus an occasional cool paragraph or relevant Bible verse.

Much of my writing comes from flashes of images, really. In my latest book, one of the first images I had was of a man sitting and interviewing a robot about a problem he's had.

What the most surprising thing a character has "told you"?

My protagonist, Sandfly," sort of wrote himself. I had this vague group of images and ideas, but from word one, Sand took the reins. It was like, "you're in my world now, and it is very different from yours, so just let me steer."

The whole idea of Sandfly having and implant in his head that connects him to his world but also controls his actions just bubbled up spontaneously. Even the fact that he is bald - as are all those like him - completely spontaneous.

The most amazing things to me, though, are the strange coincidences that I discovered after the book was in progress. These little plot ideas or conveniences that I only assumed when starting that later worked to my advantage.

For instance, there is a particular star that plays a role in the book. When I initially picked it, I did so purely for astronomical reasons - because it has many interesting scientific attributes. Only later - well into my writing - did I discover deeper historical, and even Biblical, significances for that same star. Those are all things I was able to use. They make for a much richer story.

There are a lot of other coincidences like that, but I can't share them for fear of ruining the story for anyone who wants to read it.

Do you have a list of characters that you're saving for future use? What kind of information do you keep on them?

No really. My characters usually make themselves know when I begin to write their story. Maybe that's weird, but that's the way it works for me.

What does your work space/office look like?

Oh, it's a techie's dream. Blue textured walls and plush carpet. Big TV, surround system, movies, video games, soft leather chairs, movie posters on the walls.

I keep it fairly tidy, though. If there's a lot of clutter, it distracts me.

What is your go-to snack when writing?

I don't snack a lot when I'm writing. If I've exercised in the morning and I get a craving in the afternoon I usually try to stay at least a little healthy - maybe a protein or fruit bar. Plus, I don't want to get too tired. Fending of a nap is hard enough as it is.

If you could only recommend on NOVEL, what would it be? Why?

That would be tough, because I have so many favorites. I will say that the first time I read Richard Matheson's "I Am Legend", it was so good that I savored each page, not wanting it to end. There are very few books that are like that for me, but that is certainly the kind of novel I'd like to write. On where you get to the end and scream, "Dude, you better write another one before I die!"

If you could recommend on CRAFT book (writing, no crocheting), what would it be? Why?

Brown and King's "Self Editing for Fiction Writers". If you want to be a good writer, you have to love editing. I used to hate it. I never knew whether what I was changing in edits was improving things or not. After reading that book I've gotten so I love the editing process. I love looking at paragraphs and sentences and seeing how I can improve them. Finding ways to make them read better.

In fact, I often have friends now that will send me things to edit, so I must have improved in that aspect of the craft. When someone else recognizes your usefulness, you're doing something right.

Is there anything else you'd like to add?

Thanks for having me on your blog, Karin. I really appreciate it. And for those reading, thanks for sticking with me. I encourage you to pick up a copy of "A Star Curiously Singing" or any of the titles from Marcher Lord Press. I think they're all outstanding.

Nuff said.

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Kerry, thanks for taking the time to visit with us here today! Readers, if you have questions, please feel free to post them. And don't forget to leave a comment (with your email address) for a chance to win "A Star Curiously Singing" on Jan. 1st.

Happy New Year!!

No prompt this week - it's giveaway time!

There will not be a writing prompt this week because it's time for the end-of-the-month author interview and book giveaway - yeah!!

This month I'm featuring Kerry Nietz and his novel "A Star Curiously Singing". Here's what you can expect:

Sandfly is a debugger. He is property. Bought and paid for by his master, a relatively benign Muslim lord in a future Earth living under sharia law.

All other faiths but Islam have been banned. And the word of the great Imam is law.

Sandfly just wants to debug his master's robots and avoid the mental pain shocks sent from the remote triggers owned by all the masters.

But now he's been called into Earth orbit. Apparently the masters have a new spacecraft--one capable of interstellar flight. And on its maiden voyage, the only robot on board went mad and tore itself limb from limb.

Why? Better question: does it pose any risk to humans?

When Sandfly reviews the bot's files and replays its last moments, he hears something strange playing in the bot's ears as they orbit Betelgeuse.

He hears singing.

Is it just solar winds interfering with the robot's wiring? Or is it something else?

As Sandfly pieces together the clues, the masters spread the trap before his feet. Everyone is racing to the same conclusion, but only one side welcomes what that singing represents.

Stop by tomorrow and Thursday for a chance to read about how Kerry did it and enter to win a copy of his book!

Year in Review

Wow - I can't believe I'm actually posting one of these! I never would have thought I'd have more than two people stopping by to check on my writing status - and I now have 41 friends!!! Thanks, guys :)

So how did I do this year? Let's see:

1. I entered two ms into two contests. I received average scores for a first-time entrant (so I've heard). I, of course, was hoping for better, but this will do.

2. I attended my first BIG conference (where I met some of my new favorite people EVER!). I sat down and had my first 15-min. meetings with editors and agents, not looking for publication or representation, but just to get the nerves out of the way.

3. I spent two months away from the novel so I could study craft. It was amazing :)

4. Bad news - I spent over two months sick and unable to work on my ms. Good news - I found out I'm seriously allergic to mold.

5. Bad news - I've spent over two months packing and unpacking and moving and cleaning, so I haven't had a lot of time to work on my ms. Good news - we bought a house!!!

6. I picked up a second regular part-time writing job. Between the two newspapers (Elk Rapids News and Grand Traverse Insider) and a couple of other periodicals I had 42 articles published this year!

Overall, I'd say it's been a good year :)

I do have plans for next year, though they aren't very specific yet. Here goes:

1. Finish current WIP and submit.

2. Expand writing base - submit to at least 12 larger periodicals.

That's it. I'd give it more thought, but I'm still on deadline for the ERN, and I have to get that piece in today :)

So how did you do this year?? What are your goals for 2010?? Can't wait to see where we end up in 12 months!

God and Family

Merry Christmas!

I know I'm a day late - please forgive me! As it is time to celebrate Jesus and spend time with family, I've not been spending anytime writing, so there's nothing really to update. I won't take your time away from your family with an unnecessary post, so have a great weekend!!

See you next week!

Wednesday's Weekly Writing (W)Prompt

Here's this week's holiday-appropriate writing prompt:

Think back to when you were a kid. Describe your favorite present-opening experience (250 words or less).

Kissing Day Blogfest!

Here it is!! A two-part kissing scene from my first novel (finished, but setting aside for a while). Here's the deal: Addie made many bad relationship decisions, so they scare her. Greg is the man trying to show her that not guys are evil...and some can be even be trusted.

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Greg released her hands and clasped his together in his lap. He paused, then took a deep breath. “I would very much like to kiss you tonight.”

Addie's heart stopped. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. She had imagined his kiss for months. The thought of his lips on hers sent a shiver down her spine, but she couldn't let temptation get a hold of her again. “I don't know,” she said.

Greg smiled and took the legal pad from her. He scribbled a few notations before handing the paper back. Addie blinked twice before forcing herself to look down at the page. One good night kiss, standing at the door, one arm around you, 10, 15 seconds maximum. Addie smiled, then nodded.

He let out a long, slow breath. “I'll wait for you after work and drive you out to my house,” he said. Addie nodded again, unsure of what to say. Greg just winked at her before replacing the chair and leaving the office.

Addie watched him leave, her heart racing. She looked up at the clock and sighed. Five long hours to go.

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Addie could only stand there watching him. She didn't know what to say. The desire to kiss him overwhelmed her, but she couldn't admit to it. She tried to think about dinner, about the movie, but the kiss...

The thought of it consumed her. She wanted to know the pleasure of being held in Greg's arms, but she didn't want to ruin the evening with her silly worries. She couldn't even remember what they'd discussed on the drive out there - her mind kept returning to that inevitable kiss.

“Addie?” Greg said, moving quickly toward her. He grabbed her shoulders and studied her face. “Are you okay?”

“I don't know,” she said. “Sort of.” His hands slid up her arms. The gentle caress did nothing to calm her nerves. Addie looked up at him. In her stocking feet she noticed how much taller he was. She suddenly felt very small, and very safe. “You deserve my full attention tonight,” she said, "but..."

“But what?”

Addie tried to look away, but Greg's warm brown eyes locked fiercely with hers. “But I keep thinking about the kiss,” she whispered.

Greg paused, then smiled. His hands slid down her arms to grasp her fingers. He led her back through the kitchen, down the short hallway, and stopped in front of the door to the garage. Greg stood directly in front of Addie, his smile warm and affectionate.

“Good night, Addie,” he said. Then, gently, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her close, and kissed her.

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Stop by Sherrinda's site here for a full list of Kissing Day Blogfest participants - over 50!!!

THE SEASON OF MY CONTENT: By Linore Rose Burkard

When our family moved from Nassau County, Long Island, out to eastern Suffolk in the early 90's, we were leaving a time of great difficulty for me. Following the birth of our second child, I descended into a nightmarish postpartum depression that was emotionally and physically depleting.

After an adolescence fraught with anxiety, loneliness, and panic attacks, this was the worst thing to hit me yet. Making matters worse, the depression had not been diagnosed properly, and lack of the right treatment meant I suffered far longer than I should have. It was during this time that we bought our new house, in which I hoped to have a new beginning--in more ways than one.

The older couple that had owned the home before, had, over time, transformed much of the single acre plot into a myriad of small patches of gardens. Their intentions were good, but the result was prickly rose bushes where room was needed to walk, random shrubs about the yard, and individual plantings of ground covers juxtaposed against each other in odd arrangements.

We had two small children when we moved in--an infant and a toddler--and two more were to come before we would outgrow that home and leave it, nearly nine years later. But back then, with my children nearby, I devoted my energies at first to transplanting and concentrating the existing flowers, shrubs and ground covers into a couple of well-defined plots. The multiple parcels that had been carefully weeded and cleared by my predecessors were just too much for me to keep up, and we wanted some large, open areas.

Over time, even the fewer areas that I had preserved became more than enough for me to maintain. I sometimes lamented to my family that the yard work was too demanding, and I chastised myself for weeds that had not been pulled, plants that needed pruning, or edging that was getting fuzzy with growth.

In addition, well meaning neighbors who were nature enthusiasts (to the point of never mowing, never pulling a weed, and, in short, having the worst looking plot of ground imaginable), shook their heads if I removed a bush or shrub, even to transplant it. And, no matter how hard I tried, my efforts never came close to producing the profusion of blooms or vegetables of their garden. I wasn't competing, but I had the feeling they were! I just wanted the simple pleasures of flowers--their beauty, their scents, their colorful presence.

Yearning for better results, I settled upon the front garden as the one area I would maintain meticulously. With the children, I started our own seedlings in long, green trays, and it was like having pets in the house. We placed the trays above the refrigerator for warmth, watched them lovingly until the sprouts appeared, and then removed the plastic with a sense of undeniable satisfaction--the wonder of creation, still at work, right before our eyes!

When the seedlings were ready, and the danger of frost past, the children joined me in transplanting them to our front, prize, garden bed.

I am not, and was not then, a green thumb. Visitors sometimes admired our flowers, but whenever I drove around the neighborhood, I marveled at the profusion of blooms other people seemed to achieve so easily. My flowers were pretty, but there never seemed to be enough of them for the effect I wanted, no matter how much I planted.

When I became pregnant with my third child, I felt a great deal of trepidation before the birth, fearing the onset of another depression. Many people prayed for me. Two special friends even agreed to pray for me every single day throughout the pregnancy. Of course, I also prayed long and hard myself--and Matthew, born at 9 lbs., was a glowing testimony to all that prayer.

He was what we called a "dream baby," sleeping through the night, seldom crying, and always easily contented. He happily sat in his baby seat while I planted yet another year's trays of seedlings into the chunky, brown earth in my garden. I had purchased an organic fertilizer and had prepared the soil with it before planting--but I wasn't expecting anything more than the usual mediocre results of my efforts.

At my doctor's instruction before Matt was born, I agreed to forgo breastfeeding in favor of uninterrupted sleep, in order to prevent another post-partum episode. Mercifully, my hormones did not rise up and engulf me in a wild, frightful darkness of anxiety and fear. But I missed nursing; there was always a special closeness that I relished while nursing a baby.

Meantime, my seedlings were growing at a delightful pace. We marveled at how they would change noticeably, overnight. By summer, I had a thriving, plush, flower bed, the bright yellows and oranges of marigolds lightening the appearance of the yard--and my days. The truly amazing thing, though, were the begonias. Their little clusters of blooms grew, and grew, and grew. No one could believe that these flowers were ordinary. When they just about reached my waist, they finally ceased expanding. Their blooms made a pillow-top canopy of pink, white and red, hiding the tall, leggy, unsightly stems underneath. To my surprise, none of our guests recognized what they were, despite the fact that the flowers were exactly the same, only higher.

A day of real triumph came when our neighbor, the undisputed green thumb, organic gardener and nature expert extraordinaire, came and admired my flowers. "What are these?" he asked, and my eyes lit up like a sparkler on the fourth of July.

"You can't tell?" I asked, relishing the fact that even HE was stumped. He looked again, and shook his head. "They're begonias!" I was smiling from ear to ear. "Really?!" he said. "I didn't know they could grow so big."

The amazing thing is, they don't. Not usually--and they never have, for me, again. But they were there, then, blooming determinedly, like my life. Pushing up their faces, covering over the leggy stems. Leaving the dark earth behind for the sun.

Somehow, the whole of that summer soothed my rough-edged past. I knew that the hard days, at least for now, were over. The Lord was granting me a time of rest and refreshment. And I drank it in like a dried up plot of soil, ready to bloom.