Showing posts with label Sheila Claydon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sheila Claydon. Show all posts

Thursday, September 17, 2015

Blog-jacked from Inside Books We Love - Post by Sheila Claydon

I absolutely love this post, so I borrowed it to share here.  There are so many reasons that readers get disenchanted with stories, and Sheila shares her own..  We can learn from this.  I totally agree about too much telling.  I once edited a book in which the author insisted on writing about every nook and cranny in the kitchen and every tree that grew on the property.  He just wasn't willing "to get" that it's fine to show the characters using objects in the kitchen...perhaps opening a cabinet that you can describe so the reader can picture it, or even pulling out a squeaky drawer to fetch a knife for carving that big old turkey on the table that filled the room with delicious aromas.... he wanted to describe every drawer and cabinet in the room and talk about every tree outside.  I suggested it might be a better story if he picked a tree outside the heroine's window and shared about a black bird perched on the almost bare branches and singing a throaty song. 


By the way, repetition of words in the same paragraph are my annoying feature when I read.  To me, using the same word over again shows a lack of imagination or just plain laziness.  I'm a frequent user of my thesaurus and I wonder why others aren't.  So...here's what Sheila has to say:




 Although I love to read I'm becoming more and more picky with age. I no longer read books where too many words get in the way of the story. Ditto books where the author shares every detail of every bit of research ever done. Recently I read a book that listed all the tools a thatcher uses together with a 'how to' guide, while another one described an autopsy in such detail over several pages that it read like a medical text book. Although I'm never going to thatch a roof or become a pathologist it doesn't mean I'm not interested. What I don't want to do, however, is waste time reading pages of badly disseminated research that add nothing to the story.

I didn't need to know about shearing hooks, legatts, crooks and pins and nor did the police sergeant in the story, who was told apropos of absolutely nothing. The detail, which took up 3 pages, was not only entirely irrelevant, it came out of nowhere. At first I thought the conversation held a hidden clue  but no, the victim was shot, not sliced open with a shearing hook.

I have another bugbear. If, after a paragraph or two, I find myself editing some of the author's convoluted and wordy sentences in my head, I know the book is not for me.

Facts are fine, so is descriptive prose if it adds to the story, but I'm of the Stephen King persuasion. Write the book. Put everything in it and then take out half when you first edit it, and more again the second time around.

Then there's the plot. A good plot keeps me guessing almost to the final page while a bad plot bores me to death. This happened last week and halfway through the book I did something I've never done before, I turned to the end. It was a crime novel by a well known author who has had work translated into a very successful TV series, so my expectation was high. The only downside as far as I could see was that it comprised 650 close typed pages, a bit long for a 'Whodunnit'. Sadly the author let me down. I worked out the entire plot as well the outcomes of quite a few of the side stories within the first half dozen chapters. When I also found myself continually re-writing some of the sentences in my head I gave up, turned to the end, confirmed what I already knew, and then chose another, very much more enjoyable and well written book about the young Australian war brides who were transported to Britain at the end of WW2.

That TV series thing gets to me too. Although I've read some good ones I've also read a number of poorly written books by different authors that have been turned into very successful TV series.  Is the success of the TV version down to a very talented script writer and director or have I missed something? I'd love to know how producers choose their stories. Do they actually prefer a book they can tinker with,  look for characters who need to become more rounded, a plot that needs tightening up? I wish I knew.

My attitude is a personal one of course. Some readers enjoy lengthy prose and I have one friend who can't abide modern literature and just re-reads all the old classics. There's certainly a place for those in our literary lexicon but fashions change, and some of the old stories I once enjoyed now seem wordy and contrived, although others have stood the test of time to an admiral degree, so yes, I'm picky about the classics too.

Am I like this because I'm becoming more selective as I grow older, or is it because I'm a writer? It's probably a bit of both, but what I do know is that life is far to short to waste time reading a book I'm not enjoying. What about you?

For a great many very readable books go to http://bookswelove.net

For my own (I hope) readable books, go to amazon.com/author/sheilaclaydon or http://bookswelove.net/authors/claydon-sheila/


Wednesday, October 8, 2014

A Page Straight From Sheila Claydon #apagestraightfrom

Pathway to Tomorrow - Pathway Trilogy Book 1
by
Sheila Claydon

Marcus glanced up from his computer as the trailer door opened, expecting to see his site manager. Instead, a leggy blonde wearing too much make-up and too few clothes confronted him.
“Who the hell are you?” he demanded.
“Nice!” she said. “With a few tweaks it would make a good headline.”
“So would journalist thrown out for trespassing on private property!”
“It would if it were true,” she conceded, pushing the trailer door shut behind her and leaning 
against the wall.
Marcus sighed. A groupie! That was all he needed. He’d spent months searching for the right place to build his house, looking for somewhere close enough to the main arterial roads that led to airports and big cities to make travel easy, but isolated enough to give him the peace and space he needed to concentrate on his work. Isolated enough, too, to protect Luke from the outside world that so distressed him now he was growing older.
The search, the negotiations, the meetings with architects and builders had eaten into the hours he needed to complete his latest project, but he had considered it worth it until the girl with the large chestnut horse had disrupted his plans. And now this! He hadn’t even considered fans, and if he had he would have dismissed them, sure they would be few and far between in such a small, tucked away village.
He stood up. “Who let you in?”
“Nobody. I climbed the gate.”
“Didn’t you see the no trespassing sign?”
“Oh that!” she waved a hand as if the red and white board was a mere inconvenience. “I didn’t 
take any notice of it. I knew you’d talk to me.”
“Really! I’d be interested to know when you figured that out. Was it as you were climbing over the locked gate, or was it when you walked past the sign?”
She grinned at him and for a brief moment he was pierced by a sense of bewildering familiarity.
“It wasn’t any of those. It was because you talked to Jodie.”
He frowned. “Jodie, as in small, dark and irritating? Jodie as in permanently attached to a large 
chestnut horse?”
“That’s the one,” she agreed, her grin stretching wider. “And you’re right, she can be very irritating, but it’s only because she cares.”
“So you’re not a fan. You’re here about that damned bridleway.”
Yes...no...I mean...yes I am a fan, and no I’m not here about the bridleway...well not
specifically anyway.”
He shook his head. “How about you just tell me what you are here for...specifically...and then 
you go.”
Ignoring his sarcasm she pushed herself off the wall and stood upright in front of him. As she did so her grin faded and she suddenly looked very serious.
“I want you to give me music lessons.”
Whatever he had expected, it wasn’t th
at. For a long moment he stared at her, then he burst into 
genuine laughter. She had nerve, he had to give her that. And if she was aiming at a stage career then she had the right equipment too. Tall and willowy with legs that went on forever, she looked good.
His laughter died when he noticed the desperation in her eyes. She wasn’t anywhere near as confident as she looked. Underneath the provocative clothes and the make-up she was frightened to death, but there was a hunger there he recognized from his own past. Against his better judgment the musician in him was intrigued.
“You’re not joking are you?”
She shook her head and for a moment he thought he saw the glitter of tears. 

Buy Link:  Pathway to Tomorrow

PATHWAY TO TOMORROW (BOOK 1 THE PATHWAY TRILOGY) by Sheila Claydon

When musician Marcus Lewis buys the derelict farmhouse next to Jodie’ Eriksson's riding school he doesn’t know whether to be amused or irritated by her angry reaction to his plans. Then her sister Izzie visits him and makes things a whole lot worse…or is it better…because now he has an excuse to see Jodie again. Although, when he sees her, it’s not exactly a meeting of minds, they do discover they have one thing in common; they both believe they know what’s best for Izzie, and for Marcus' son Luke. 

It turns out they’re wrong. The children they thought they were protecting need to be set free. It’s Jodie and Marcus who have the problem; but can two broken hearts make one whole one? The battle lines that were set when they first met have long since been breached but the war won’t be over until Jodie learns how to trust again, and until Marcus allows himself to believe in his son.

Tuesday, January 21, 2014

A Page Straight From Sheila Claydon #apagestraightfrom


Pathway to Tomorrow, Book 1 by Sheila Claydon


Marcus glanced up from his computer as the trailer door opened, expecting to see his site manager. Instead, a leggy blonde wearing too much make-up and too few clothes confronted him.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

“Nice!” she said. “With a few tweaks it would make a good headline.”

“So would journalist thrown out for trespassing on private property!”

“It would if it were true,” she conceded, pushing the trailer door shut behind her and leaning against the wall.

Marcus sighed.  A groupie! That was all he needed. He’d spent months searching for the right place to build his house, looking for somewhere close enough to the main arterial roads that led to airports and big cities to make travel easy, but isolated enough to give him the peace and space he needed to concentrate on his work. Isolated enough, too, to protect Luke from the outside world that so distressed him now he was growing older.

The search, the negotiations, the meetings with architects and builders had eaten into the hours he needed to complete his latest project, but he had considered it worth it until the girl with the large chestnut horse had disrupted his plans. And now this! He hadn’t even considered fans, and if he had he would have dismissed them, sure they would be few and far between in such a small, tucked away village.

He stood up. “Who let you in?”

“Nobody. I climbed the gate.”

“Didn’t you see the no trespassing sign?”

“Oh that!” she waved a hand as if the red and white board was a mere inconvenience.  “I didn’t take any notice of it. I knew you’d talk to me.”

“Really!  I’d be interested to know when you figured that out. Was it as you were climbing over the locked gate, or was it when you walked past the sign?”

She grinned at him and for a brief moment he was pierced by a sense of bewildering familiarity. “It wasn’t any of those. It was because you talked to Jodie.”

He frowned. “Jodie, as in small, dark and irritating? Jodie as in permanently attached to a large chestnut horse?”

“That’s the one,” she agreed, her grin stretching wider. “And you’re right, she can be very irritating, but it’s only because she cares.”

“So you’re not a fan.  You’re here about that damned bridleway.”

Yes…no…I mean…yes I am a fan, and no I’m not here about the bridleway…well not specifically anyway.”

He shook his head.  “How about you just tell me what you are here for…specifically…and then you go.”

Ignoring his sarcasm she pushed herself off the wall and stood upright in front of him.  As she did so her grin faded and she suddenly looked very serious.

“I want you to give me music lessons.”

Whatever he had expected, it wasn’t that.  For a long moment he stared at her, then he burst into genuine laughter. She had nerve, he had to give her that. And if she was aiming at a stage career then she had the right equipment too. Tall and willowy with legs that went on forever, she looked good.
His laughter died when he noticed the desperation in her eyes.  She wasn’t anywhere near as confident as she looked.  Underneath the provocative clothes and the make-up she was frightened to death, but there was a hunger there he recognized from his own past. Against his better judgment the musician in him was intrigued.

Thursday, June 20, 2013

Friday's A Few Lines From...

Kissing Maggie Silver by Sheila Claydon

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean that to happen.”

Her face was flushed, her lips still slightly parted as she looked up at him. “I know you didn’t,” she said, her voice and her gaze steady. “I know you are going away again Ruairi, and I know there won’t be a place for me in your life when you do but…but can’t we pretend it’s not like that, just for today.”

At a complete loss for words, he stared down at her. She was keeping whatever was going on inside her head to herself. All he could see reflected in her wide grey eyes were his own feelings of desire and frustration. It brought him to his senses and, his heart heavy, he shook his head.

“You know it doesn’t work like that Maggie. If we take today, then we’ll want tomorrow too, and the day after that.”

“And would that really be so terrible,” she whispered, her face pale now, her body rigid in the circle of his arms.

"Yes, because then I'd break your heart."

The buy
link is: http://amzn.to/10hfmBq


Next week it's a few lines from…Pat Dale

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