Tag it or Beat it

Years ago as a new writer, I knew nothing about dialogue or how to construct a conversation between characters. I knew less than nothing about point of view, pacing or plot vs. character driven stories. Most new writers read something...either bad or good...and think to themselves;
"I can do that!
Perhaps you watched a movie or television program where a famous writer, a budding writer or a complete novice started typing in a mad whirlwind of pages. After they  finished it they sent out their manuscript to publishers. They were then discovered and made the best seller list followed by appearances on Oprah.
Yeah...there's a reason they call it fiction.
In the real world, there are a thousand rules you probably shouldn't follow for writers, but there are also a few you should. Keep practicing and reading to see what they are. Mostly learn a few, one at a time. Don't try to cram them all in your writers briefcase, bring them home and then line them up to write your first novel. You will be able to write it. Whether or not you publish, sell, or become a best seller is a matter of learning these rules, practicing them and having some talent for storytelling. More than talent is learning. A hard truth to hear but still true.
The good news is...you can learn!
So today, lets learn about tags and beats.
A tag is a label your dialogue wears to explain who is speaking by using the verbs said, asked, whispered, and murmured. Other tags can be used but most publishers don't care for things like: spit,yelled, hissed, muttered, etc. etc. Again, this is particular to your publisher. If you don't have a publisher yet then stick with the basics. Said, asked, whispered, murmured.
"Don't leave me," she whispered.
"Don't leave me she hissed through clenched teeth. Both can be used, but a good writer will let you know the tone of voice through the context of the sentence.
Crouched beneath the blackened staircase, Stella wrapped her whitened knuckles around Ethan's arm. "I'm going to go check out that noise. The house is supposed to be empty so just wait here for me."
"Don't leave me," she whispered, the moment before he stepped out of the stairwell.
Had she been angry with him or trying to give him a message by speaking through clenched teeth, the context of the story would have been a better explanation than the dialogue tag. If this were the case you would have written -she said, through clenched teeth.-
A beat is movement that gives personality, quirks, or movement in the scene.
"Ethan brushed her hand away only to feel her fingers dig into his skin beneath his t-shirt.
Now you could write...Ethan pushed her hand away while saying, "Stay here." It would've worked the same way. However movement in the scene will move your plot along with your setting and the arc of a story.
Here's the issue. If you overburden your dialogue with tags it becomes boring and redundant.
"I don't want to be here," she said.
"Me neither," he replied, glaring at her.
"Let's leave," she whispered, tugging on his sleeve.
"Not until I find out what's going on," he said through clenched teeth.
Not only is that bad writing and boring reading, what do you know about her personality, her idiosyncrasies, her phobias and her background. You can fill your reader in on these things through beats.
"I don't want to be here." Stella's blue eyes darted from the candelabra on the ceiling to the statue on the pedestal beside them.
"Me neither." Ethan peeled her sharp nails out of his bicep. The only thing worse than being stuck here with some chic his brother had set him up with to mend his broken heart, was being here with Stella the freak from biology class. Last week Mr. Ogden had passed out the dissection trays only to have Stella start crying when the frog being dissected convulsed.
"let's go." she tugged on his arm, a pain filled grimace covering her features. Ethan sighed and peeled her hand away. He remembered the story she'd written in English class about the girl watching her mother die in an earthquake. He hadn't been really listening, Missy Caldwell snuggling with Brock Hamstead right in front of  him. The jock's arm draped protectively over Missy's shoulders.
"Not until I find out what's going on," he said.
Now you've got interesting backstory and personality and your dialogue hasn't changed, nor the setting in the story.
Notice, however, that both beats and tags are necessary. You need both to accomplish your goal.
As much as you'd like to know exactly what the rule is and how it turns out, some of it is instinct. Some of it is experience through reading authors who do this well. Most of it...is practice.
Hopefully this is helpful in writing your next dialogue scene and in the meantime...Keep writing and Reading!

My Name Is EGO

It's a huge character flaw. A rather unattractive part of my personality.  Everything I hate about leading men in romances. Honestly though, My name is ego. Its what I love best about a good romance. A person with huge amounts of ego desires to be admired and the center of attention.
The charge and exhilaration of reading a really good romance is part and parcel of all the attention the lead gets when their significant other goes from just being attracted to willing to do anything to have their love.
It doesn't matter if you're a single mom who needs love. A stay at home mom who needs adult conversation. A working woman who wants to be spoiled and admired or a happily married woman who wants a little spark of romance in her life. We all feed our ego with Romance. It's the reason every genre of book out there has a bit of romance in it. Our ego's are what we have in common.
Now...if you know anybody with an ego, you know their ego needs to be stroked. Often and skillfully. It's why great romances have the largest following and sales of any other genre. It's also why they are more consistent than any other group. We need each other. Those of us  who are in love with being in love. As well as those of us who love to write about being in love in their stories.
So...how do we find each other? Where do I go to find people who want to read about ordinary people with problems who heal from love?
Maybe I'm asking the wrong question? Maybe what I should be asking is; What does your ego need from a romance novel to help you feel stroked, skillfully and often?
If you read the entire blog...Please leave me a comment and tell me what your ego needs. Maybe you want to be paid attention to on facebook, twitter or some other social media? Tell me about it.
Maybe you need more romance and less action? Let me know.
How can I stroke your ego so my writing isn't about me, but all about you!
I need to let my own ego go and focus on yours. Let me have it!

Before Its a Novel...Its a Building!

 A content writer and marketing specialist I'm friends with asked me how I create my novels?
Well, my mind instantly spun over all the writing, developing, researching and editing I do to eventually have a finished story. She went on to explain, these are the bricks authors use to create the foundation, structure and content of their novels. It is a HUGE amount of work. Most of us do it aside from writing the actual manuscript. In a one-on-one meeting with a reader or a workshop or class, there is no way a writer could explain everything we do, how we do it or what it takes to get it done. Budding new writers with dreams of becoming best-selling novelists don't even listen to this advice if we give it. They can't see past the stars in their eyes to comprehend the detailed work involved. I know this because at one time I believed if I had enough talent, this work wasn't necessary. I'd just know how to create a fabulous novel because I possessed a fabulous story idea.
However, I learned through trial, error and beating my head against more than one computer screen.
A novel is a building! It starts from the ground up. If I'm too busy picking out carpets, curtains, paintings and crown molding. I'm left with a jumbled collection of pretty words, mismatched images and disjointed plots. Therefore, as I spelled out for my friend what goes into the building before the novel, I came up with a collection of what I've learned over the last few years.
This by no means is what I need to know in totality or even close, its simply my tools in my belt so far. If you can add or clean up my tool box, please leave a comment and let me know how I can improve.
     The Tool Chest-

1- Develop a large world- Where, when and what the setting looks like, smells like and feels like to the characters. Once again this will be vastly different
from romance to Sci-phi. The large world needs research done on everything from Continent, country, county, state, city, neighborhoods, local businesses
and hot spots and geography. Roads, bridges, train tracks or not, public transportation, farms or cities. Once again a large view must be built before
you can insert your characters into the larger world. Some authors do this first and then write the characters. Others write the characters and then develop
the specific setting. In a series a large world view is needed to plot the entire series from beginning to end.

2-Small World- This includes family dynamics, friends, neighbors, and pets or important connections outside of the small world or even the large world.
This helps with the development of the characters as they relate to each other. Her past vs. his. His betrayals vs hers. Are they different but have things
in common? Are his instincts going to work against her? are his friends going to become obstacles instead of allies? Is her job going to interfere with
his goals for himself and for the two of them. Some of this is necessary to create conflict in the story so the author needs to create small world characters
who the reader will love and can also create obstacles for them self and the protagonists.

3-Character Mug shot- This is a very basic physical description of each character. Yes, each character. Everyone from the pizza delivery
boy to the antagonist. we need details. Scars, acne, hair (curly? Straight? bleached? natural with dyed roots?" eyes (shape, color,wrinkled around the
edges, close together, wide or narrow) You get the idea. Make the questions as specific and detailed as you can.

4-Character personality- This needs to be a series of questions about the inner workings of each, yes each, character. Do they like animals? Which ones?
Are they allergic to anything? What? What happens? What is their worst fear? What is their fondest dream? What is their religious beliefs? Who is their
best friend/worst enemy? Do they like/use/hate/drugs and alcohol? What are their addictions? What is their deepest secrets? You need about fifteen questions
that make the author dig down to know this character intimately.

5- Wound or Flaw- Every character has a wound, usually created sometime during adolescence. It can have started earlier in their development but there
needs to be an incident that formed the wound and therefore their belief system. I use an exercise where I write a short story, anywhere from 1K to 3 K
words focused on this wounding incident at the age of sixteen. Once you know your characters pain you also learn their drive, their flaws when making decisions,
their fears which hold them back and the source of their determination to overcome. This will create an arc for the overall story and the characters arc
as well.

6-Synopsis- The best shortcut to a story's beginning and ending is a synopsis. Using one paragraph for each Chapter, describe the story without detailing
scenes or characters. It is a break down. Part of this activity can also include breaking your story down to two sentences or less as a pitch line and
describing the story in 140 characters or less for a tweet as a marketing technique. Another handy exercise is to write a query letter that introduces
your important characters, the conflict and then the stakes. This should be no more than 3 paragraphs. All of these are in progress throughout the creation
of the book. you change your synopsis when you get an idea for a scene and it works better. You adjust your lines as you tighten your story. each exercise
only eliminates what the author thinks is important but the reader doesn't need to know.

My creative process works much in this way but I don't follow all of the steps in any certain order. Part of mine has to do with how the story sounds to
me when my computer reads it aloud. I will also get ideas about something from conversation, workshops or a file I have called 'bad writing' where I just
write a scene I don't like in a different way until I stumble on something that I like. I also use music, eavesdropping and descriptions of interesting places or people from the sighted individuals around me. What ever sparks your creative juices is what works for you. Go with it. There is an instinct inside of us, an instinct when we read our own work and can tell its not what we wanted which will cause a sort of discomfort in your mind. Go with that instinct as well. Every time I have Beta readers do a critique for me, they will point out problems to me. My response will inevitable be..."Yeah, I kind of knew that."
Beta Readers and Critique partners are the best way to get around your own ego to the problems that are in your way.
Don't ever be afraid to get feedback, or criticism. It will only make you better. You don't have to agree or run yourself down if your feedback was harsh. Listen to what they're trying to tell you without defending your own work. Readers will attack, but if you become better... then they taught you how to make a ramshackle building a truly beautiful Novel!
In the meantime keep writing and reading!

If Love is The Answer...What is the Question?

During an author showcase I did with The World Of Ink Network on Monday, the writers and I discussed the brutal slaughter of 50 people in Orlando Florida on Sunday morning. This group of writers was made up of a few different genres. Romance, Children's books, Young Adult, Occult fiction and Horror to name a few. The incident in Florida this weekend was equally disturbing to all of us however.
One of the writers, politically active and socially conscious was especially passionate about his views and made an interesting statement that stuck with me.
When speaking of feeling powerless in these terrorist attacks, he said, "The writing is our voice. We speak out against the things we cannot change when we tell of the changes being made with in our worlds."
I write suspense and romance. At first, I felt a bit chagrined at my 'voice' being about love and romance when so clearly there are larger things at stake.
As our conversation expanded, we spoke of our books, our writing and our motivations. I began to understand this author's earlier statement.
My world view is that pure love, understanding, and acceptance of all people will heal even the deepest wound and bring about joy and peace. Those are the stories I tell. Of people who face tragedy, disease, death and heart break. Individuals who take their darkest moments and heal through the power of love. I believe Love is the answer. The world's I create inside my novels are meant to show how taking our differences, finding common ground and loving despite the things that separate us is the answer.
As you write the things that you believe in, notice that the healing hands and hearts of your readers will change. The world is a bigger place. But one soul, one heart, and one friend at a time your contributions toward a better world will change everything.
Find inside of your self what you believe to be the answer and then figure out what question the readers in your genre are asking.
God bless the family and loved ones of those lost, injured and traumatized in Florida. We pray for you, mourn for you and love you for your courage.
Hold on to what you believe in and heal the world one heart at a time. In the meantime, keep reading and writing!

Tell Me About It!

By means of a slew of craft books, blogs, and workshops, I've been taught to 'show' not 'tell'. I've posted about my experiences in descriptive movies where telling is what has to take place in order for blind, or visually impaired individuals to watch movies. It's definitely better than staring at a blank or flashing screen while you try to follow along with only the dialogue. I still believe the actual scenes themselves could do a better job. However, I failed to note how important telling actually turns out to be.
To have the ability and the vocabulary to describe what something looks like, feels like, smells like and sounds like is a gift. Equally important is the talent of knowing when its time to tell.
Here are a few quick hints that can help.
-1. If something is happening repeatedly to show a pattern, time and pages will be wasted. Instead, telling in a few words or paragraphs will accomplish a tighter, better read. If your story is about how a woman in the 1800's survives abandonment by her husband. The reader needs to know it happened, but doesn't need to see it happening. A brief telling of multiple trips to town for notice from her husband concerning his whereabouts can be accomplished with out seeing every instance.
-2If an action or information was provided earlier in the story, don't repeat it to fill in another character. It's redundant, boring and slows the stories pace down. Instead, fill in the new character with the important information by telling your reader that's what's going on. The reader doesn't need to hear it all again. "While he stopped his hair from being torn out by the shrieking baby, she told him all about her exciting day in the city."
-3When the backstory is critical to understanding the motivation of your characters or technical information is needed to explain why or how a plot point occurred, tell it. Don't write an extra novel, give it to your reader in pieces. The concept of "chunk and chew" is useful hear. Only give as much as is necessary during the time line of the plot. If baby will eventually learn not to smack a tiger on the nose, explained why this action might irritate a tiger when you first introduce the tiger is unnecessary. Introduce the character traits of the Tiger and the reasoning behind them, but don't even hint about the baby.
-4 Moving from an important scene into the next important scene will happen faster and more naturally if you tell the information in between. A good rule is; if you need it for the development of character or plot, keep it.  Showing your leading man correctly dealing with a gun shot wound is necessary. Showing him under attack leaving the victim's hospital room, also important. Showing the arrival of an ambulance, the hours of surgery, and him waking up in his room, less vital. These scenes can be used to develop character...but do they? Its the secret to knowing when to tell.
-5 Ask yourself before you change a telling scene to a showing scene; is it going to be on the test? If you broke your plot and characters down to the most important scenes, does the scene your changing end up on the list? If it won't be 'on the test' be careful not to get descriptive and slow down the story. If the pacing is building toward the climatic scene, don't stop to describe the flutter of butterfly wings, noting the slight movement is probably enough.
Don't be afraid to Tell' your story too. The greatest story tellers are those who can balance their scenes between the two concepts. For more information on 'showing vs. telling' go to www.marcykennedy.com and get her Busy Writers Guide For Showing and Telling.
In the meantime keep reading and writing!

Getting directions

Life happens in a multitude of directions.It's down there; look over there; standing beside the fire; Behind the shelves; and so on.
When writing movement, direction is a complicated balance.
Enough direction will lead your reader down the story line and along the plot path. See, even in that former sentence I used direction as a guide to let your mind follow.
However, too much direction can be as  equally destructive as enough direction can be helpful.
What'd the right balance?
Here's a trick I learned from a writer friend of mine. When doing an editorial read through or repair, look for specific words in your find and replace tool. "Back,Before, After, Beside, Behind, Along side, Next to, At the end of, Above and In back of."
When the word or phrase is located; read the sentence it is a part of without the search terms. If the scenery still makes sense, take the direction out. If the sentence becomes muddled, keep it. This will take time and patience, but will be worth it when your reader enjoys the flow of your work without feeling like the writer is being patronizing.
Here are some samples to try-
"The glass, teetering beside the teapot, crashed to the floor."
"He searched the clouds above for a heavenly message."
"crouching behind the door, she listened to their conversation."
"The gun was replaced in the drawer at the end of the table."
"Strolling along side her pooch, Madeline whistled a perky tune."
Some of those are clear and easy. Others will make you wonder. That is Okay. Soon your mind and your instincts will be trained to notice them in your writing without a reminder to do the search. Try it, have fun and Keep Writing!

Help Yourself

Writing, for me, has always been therapeutic. Its like having a long conversation with my best friend without that friend getting bored or tired of my problems. When my father died, I wrote reams of poetry and essays to work my way through the pain. When i was smitten with some boy, or crushed by some life event, I wrote about it and everything magically went on. As if putting it into words changed the reality of what had happened.
This, however, is not a tool all individuals can employ. Its the reason we read self-help books.
I have been interested in reading, writing and researching self-help for quite some time. Perhaps its my background in psychology, the work I did with troubled teens or even my experiences as a mother that have always drawn me to this arena. Whatever it is, I've learned a few things about writing such a book.
1.Write like a speaker, don't speak like a writer-
   The language of a self help book that is successful is not complicated, wordy or technical. Its basic, quotable and has a sense of humor. Dr. John Gray, The Author of "Men are From Mars, Women are From Venus" learned this after he'd published a few other books, with a bit of success. Each time he discovered that the language he used to speak  to his audience was too complex. He said "I needed something they could repeat to each other in the line at the supermarket or pharmacy." This also made his books about 200 pages longer than people wanted to read.
2. Use humor-
   Nobody wants to read a dry and boring discussion between their therapist and themselves. The point of self-help is to see that all is not lost and if you can laugh at yourself and the world around you, hope is alive. Everything from title to quotes and stories within the book should allow your audience to laugh. Both at themselves and at the crazy world around them. In "Rich Dad, Poor Dad "by Robert Kiyosaki, he often makes fun of his own mistakes and the methods he used to learn life's crucial financial lessons.
3.Outline in 10-
   Many self-help  authors find their information to be very expansive and overwhelming. If they break the book down to its 10 most important concepts, and then make them the chapter headings, people will actually buy and read the book. The authors of "The anatomy of Peace", Wrote their book 12 times before the concepts were finally broken down to the basic format of the book.

If you just enjoy reading self-help or would like to write it yourself, go look up the writers who have been successful and read their stories. You'll be surprised how helpful they will be. In the meantime keep writing!.

Have I lost you?

The story begins with a tragic illness. The afflicted weakens, assures everyone she'll be fine and then lapses into a coma.
Doctors are brought in, medicine, surgery and blood transfusions are administered until finally are character hangs in a state of unconsciousness and drifts toward death.
As an outline for conflict in this novel, the basic premise of this story will work. Ask your self what's missing though?
Are character can still function although the dark days are drifting in. There is hope. All is being done to bring about a miraculous recovery. We're on the edge of our seats waiting to see whether life or death will win.
The problem; Do you really care?
You should be asking yourself right now why it matters either way? Why do I want this character to live or die? Why would anyone else?
Is it in her background and history?...Then you may have written the wrong story.
If it is part of the backstory; Why do we care right now?
What is invested in her living? Who stands to lose if she doesn't?

While the conflict in the story is the life or death struggle of the character, the life or death struggle your readers are interested in has more to do with the condition of the heart and mind of all your characters. It isn't paramount whether or not this character's heart keeps beating if the conflict in the story is only in the character's well being.
Its vulnerability. Yours, as the author. Your reader's as they read the scene. And finally, the characters in the book.
Authors such as Nicholas Sparks and Jody Picolt are masters at this concept. Their books are filled with external conflict, but more importantly they are swollen with characters you love, hate, hurt with and die for.
If you're writing a conflict type novel, either a romantic thriller, a human drama, or a suspense, Go check out the best writer's in those drama's and answer the above questions about their characters. Then go answer them about your own.
In the meantime keep reading and writing!

Paper Gems with Sherry Ellis

When I do book reviews for picture books, it is often a fun and wonderful excursion into a new world with one of my kids or one of the neighbor kids. This was no more true than it was with Ten Zany Birds, by Sherry Ellis. Simplistic in its telling it is, as it says, about Ten colorful, interesting and crazy birds who all have something they're interested in, but its never the same thing. As they all get distracted chasing their own brand of fun, these vibrant, colorful birds with their distinct patterns and personalities help young children to have fun with basic math as well as learning sorting and grouping. Tons of fun, this whimsical and entertaining book,by  Sherry Ellis, is a wonderful  tale of ten silly, distractible little birds. I recommend this book for teachers and parents looking   for an excellent choice for both prereader storybook time and early
readers.
Ten Zany Birds is available through:   

Amazon (worldwide), Barnes and Noble, Smashwords and author's website: 
www.sherryellis.org
Formats:  hard copy and ebook (PDF

Sneak Peek: Burning Bridger

Thanks for hanging out on the blog today. Here are the links where you can purchase copies of Burning Bridger and how you can find me as well. Don't forget to keep leaving your e-mail in the comments section for the drawing. The winner will be contacted tomorrow.  Enjoy this peak at Burning Bridger. contact me at tracimcdonaldauthor@gmail.com
amazon.com/burning-bridger, BARNES & NOBLE
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/burning-bridger-traci-mcdonald/1122876583?ean=2940152744156
APPLE
https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1054461268
KOBO
https://store.kobobooks.com/en-ca/ebook/burning-bridger
INKTERA
http://www.inktera.com/store/title/62c6370f-bc47-4f1b-b88d-f66b0a6b5992
.My publisher, Muse It Up Publishing, decides what portion of the book we can release for public consumption, so I'm limited to what I can show you. For today's final post for the blog party I'd like to share a deleted scene that didn't make it into the book. You may also ask; how many scenes have this fate when a writer writes a book?
Here with the answer is my friend and co-author Jamie Hoang.
Jamie is the author of Blue Sun, Yellow Sky. She won two prizes from writing competitions and Kirkus reviews book of the month. Her story of a woman traveling the world to discover who she really is takes you to exotic locales, through wonderful character development and into a story of triumph. You can find her heyjamie.com

What I Learned from Writing Scenes I Never Used 

Three years, almost to the day, from the moment I sat down to write Blue Sun, Yellow Sky, I received my first shipment of paperbacks in the mail. I couldn’t

believe that the story I’d lived with in my head was actually, finally and truly, a book. What was even more unbelievable though, was the word count in

my “deleted scenes” folder: 95,643 words.  

It should be noted that my final manuscript is 80,000 words. I had deleted more words than I had in my entire book.  

Instantly, I had “writer’s regret.” Why had I taken out all these incredible moments? Maybe I was too hasty with my cutting because I knew my story too

well, and readers would want these deleted scenes. 

As I combed through them, I laughed, some scenes were so bad that I couldn’t help feeling ridiculous for thinking there was anything more than junk in this

file, but as I kept reading I found that the moments and scenes got better and better. I could actually see an improvement in my progression as a writer

over the years.  

Then I re-read whole chapters, which had been deleted for one reason or another and I started to fall in love all over again with the places my characters

traversed in their journey and the history I had left out of the final story.  

Greedily, I wanted to put these gems that I had found in the digital trash bin of my manuscript, back in. I began pulling passages to reinsert into the

book and spent 2 days attempting to figure out how to adjust my story so as to include them. I had post-it notes scattered throughout my storyboard and

was getting so frustrated at the process because I couldn’t make it work. That’s when it dawned on me that perhaps they were cut for a reason and I was

forcing scenes that no longer belonged.  

My gut instinct to remove them was correct and though I will look back through the 95,643 words occasionally, my readers certainly needn’t be subject to

reading superfluous dialogue and description. And re-reading my book for the 4000th time (maybe a slight over exaggeration), I can say with confidence

that they weren’t a waste of time either.  

These moments I had created were written so that I, the author, could understand my characters better. They were written to give me critical insight into

who my characters were as artists, friends, and traveling companions. Perhaps most importantly, they were written for me.Thanks Jamie, I learned a lot about  Lily and Bridger from this scene as well. Enjoy!

Bridger pocketed the keys to the Range Rover slipping out into the rainy darkness.

“What about Jake’s favorite felon, Carter Langdon?  Should he be our top suspect?” Lilly nodded, a brief gesture, before shaking her head. “Carter is in Federal Custody, he’s out.”

“Is he the kind of guy who could send someone else for revenge?”

Lilly stiffened her back, rivulets of water dripping from her long dark hair. “I’m not a threat to Carter. He wanted to take something he believed was Jake’s. The night he attacked me, he was drunk and bent on hurting someone. He wanted it to be Jake, but it didn’t matter to him. I didn’t matter to him then, he wouldn’t care now.”

Bridger heard a break in her voice, muffled as she cleared her throat and met his eyes in a stubborn glare. “Carter got his, and like I said…it wasn’t personal.”

Bridger held her eyes until she closed them. Taking a deep breath, she turned back to let the rain wash over her face. “So who would make it personal?”

“There was only one other man who has ever stalked me. He could want me dead.” her jaw tightened.  He heard her teeth grind together as she released the words.

“Who?”

      Lilly flipped her dark hair away from her face to bore furious eyes into his expression

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Bridger glowered, wishing he could get past her walls. She was a beautiful woman. She must have some decent men in her life. She trusted Jake. How could he get her to trust him? With a sigh that growled out of his chest, he stalked into the leafy tree lined gulch. He remembered a gurgling stream running down the mountain. In the darkness he saw torrents of water boiling beyond the river banks until it disappeared down the mountain. He looked up from his study of the boulder strewn river bed searching for the outline of the wooden bridge across the gulch. Jagged tufts of broken timber gleamed wet in the early morning moonlight where the bridge had been. Splinters of sodden pieces of wood lay in foaming puddles between the rivers banks.

“The temporary bridge Robby used is gone. We need to look for another way across.”

The deafening pound of the waterfall mixed with the thunder and rain crashed in on Bridger’s senses. “Lilly? Where are you?”

 He stiffened as he peered through the darkness to locate her form or shadow. Colliding rocks, like tumbling bowling balls brought a curse from Bridger’s lips. The sounds were almost absent in the roar of rock and water shifting in the river bed, but he could hear her shout something from the opposite side of the bank. 

“Lilly, you shouldn’t go into the river. It’s dark. The rocks are slippery.”

Her response was lost in a burst of thunder as the drops of rain sprinkling on him turned to a down pour. Bridger looked around again, focusing on the sound of the unsettled rocks before he climbed over the crumbling bank, dropping into the river. “Lilly! These streams flood in the rainy season.”

Between the rain and the rushing water, Bridger couldn’t hear her anymore. If the river flooded, and she was in its path, they could be in trouble. He shot a glance back at the grill of the car. If the river was this bad already, the meadow on the other side might be underwater.

The soles of his shoes squeaked against the jumble of stone as he maneuvered toward the sounds of breaking branches. “I’m not coming to rescue you, but you should know this storm makes forging a river dangerous.”

     The waterfall exploded in a torrential rush as if in agreement. Bridger braced his feet against   the pull of the surging river around his ankles and then his knees as he picked his way through the smooth river rock toward the far bank where he could hear her ahead of him. A thrashing of wood and leaves was followed by the sound of roots ripping from the ground. Bridger dove to the side as a bulky tree trunk hurtled toward him, scratching his calves when it tumbled past. “Lilly! Are you okay?”

     The river encompassed him now.  Breaking over his back while forcing his weight into the crevices between rocks. Stretching his arms out until his fingers caught hold of a sapling; he pulled his weight free of the water. 

Bridger collapsed onto the bank, littered with soggy debris and ferns.   He looked around the rocky chasm.  The river was pushing out of its banks. Trees and dislodged debris rushed past him.

“I think we’re stuck on this side of the river.” Lilly’s voice drifted down the rocky slope behind him.

“For a while anyway,” he said not watching as she settled beside him. “Are you okay?”

Bridger nodded while catching his breath.” “Now that we’re across, do you know where we should go from here?”

Glancing back toward the palm trees lining the bank above him, he began scrambling up the rock ridden slope. The trees were crowded together only inches apart. Bridger locked his hands around the smooth trunks while swinging his legs up onto the muddy edge. Lightening sizzled in the air before it flashed into a sonic boom. Bridger covered his head as a bolt of raw electricity sliced through an eight foot banyan tree less than a hundred yards away. The jagged bolt of power carved through the trunk as if it were made of jello. The brilliant white light exposed the slump of the plywood and thatching crouched in a smoking heap beneath another charred tree trunk. It might be salvageable once the rainy season ended, but tonight it would be worse than staying beside the flooded river. The air seemed to hiss with raw power left from the lightening, and Bridger crawled back from the line of trees.

As he lowered his body back into the gulch, Lilly turned her face toward the waterfall, a barrage of whitewater erupting from an onyx cliff.

 The other side is worse,” Bridger gasped.  “We need to get back to the Rover.”

“I’m not sure we can.”

She pointed at the lava cliff where an explosion of white water poured from the waterfall. The electrical storm in the meadow behind illuminated the swollen river. The smoking embers of trees and scorched earth drifted toward their position on the edge of the flood.

“Will the river slow down? “Her voice was barely audible above the tumbling water. “Will this gorge fill up?”

“It will. It could trap us in the river too. Let me think for a minute.” Squatting on the balls of his feet Bridger inspected the shadowy boulders surrounding them. “There’s no way across right now. The water’s too high. We’ll have to wait for some of the debris to create a temporary crossing.” Scanning the muddy water, Bridger stood, taking Lilly’s hand and pointing to a position further up the gorge.  He held tight to her palm, jerking her back to her feet whenever she slipped on a rock. He focused on a section of water spilling over a jumble of rocks and branches. Wiping spatters of rain from his face, he picked a path away from the rising surge of the river.

 “If we have to wait out the storm, maybe you could tell me about the other guy you don’t need rescuing from?”

     “What other guy,” she asked, her voice getting lost in the river.

“The one you said stalked you before?”

The other guy was my professor and UC-Berkley. He propositioned me after class one day and offered me ‘private tutoring’.” She let go of his hand to make quotation marks in the air. When she slipped again Bridger grabbed her by the waist, pulling her back to her feet. “This professor flirted with you by telling you to get a tutor? You were too dumb to do it alone?” He growled in his throat. “I’ll have to try that line someday.”

“He told me all about my potential.

How I had captivated him from the first day of class. He was tall, dark, and gorgeous so I didn’t question his motives. I don’t think I even cared until…”

Bridger shifted his weight off of his right leg. It was beginning to throb where he’d landed in the river, but he didn’t want to stop her from talking. “Until what?”

     “Until I snuck into his office to surprise him. Instead, I   heard him make the same offer to another girl from another class.”

     Bridger grimaced and shook his head. “Who came to your rescue that time?”

     “I did.” She shot the words in icy daggers. “I reported him to the University and he lost his job, his tenure, and his wife. I started getting threatening phone calls and black roses after I turned him in.  I left school before he disappeared into Tijuana.”

“He left his life to hide in Mexico?”

“It was the only way he could avoid being assaulted on the street by angry dads and boyfriends.  ”

Bridger chuckled.  “I’ve always wondered, why women think they are so special when a man like that hits on them.”

“What? Why wouldn’t I have thought that?”

     “For obvious reasons,” he said, letting go of her to scale a slab of Lava jutting from the side of the gorge. “This guy is making inappropriate advances toward a student, you, but he hasn’t or isn’t doing it to anyone else? The guy was a loser.”

When he reached out to lift her over the protruding rock, Lilly’s fist connected with Bridger’s bicep.  He groaned. “It’s not men that you don’t like, Lilly. It’s men who see weaknesses that you don’t want to face.”

“How was I weak in either of those situations?” she hissed. She shoved away from his hold on her, picking her way through the rocks alone.

     “They saw your lack of confidence. It attracted you to them in the first place.”

     Lilly scowled at him before scrambling closer to the raging river.

     Bridger sighed as he sprang up to follow her. The bruise on his hip making him stiff and sore. A cracking of branches echoed through the gulch. He took two long strides closing the gap between them. She was picking her way to a rock strewn portion of the river bed, testing the debris to find a place to cross. He wrapped one arm around her waist, yanking her back from the thrashing water.  She struggled against him, her protests muffled by the thundering water and wood plummeting toward their position on the bank.

     A log, craggy exposed branches and hanging bark, caught and lodged between a giant boulder across the river.   A tangle of roots and rocks jutted out from the bank. Bridger jerked her back as the water surged against the barrier. “

Let go.””

He locked his arm around her, but did not lift her feet off the ground. The water soaked log moaned.

“We’ve lost time on this little river trip, we can’t afford to lose anymore.” His lips were pressed against her wet hair. The smell of coconut oil distracted his thoughts for a moment. Wriggling free of his loosened hold Lilly stepped back, brushing her wet hair out of her eyes.

“I can get across on that log jam.”

Bridger shook his head, pointing at the fast forming damn. “I’ll cross first, to make sure it will hold. Wait for me until I get across, and then follow.”

He had to shout the instructions, but Lilly just narrowed her eyes at him.  Stepping out on to the creaking log, she shuffled out of his reach.

 “You’re too heavy. I have a better shot. One of us might have to call search and rescue to save the other.”

     Bridger took one long step, shackling her wrist with his hand before she could leave. She teetered on unsteady feet with the motion. Releasing the grip on her wrist Bridger reluctantly let go. “I have an idea. Give me your belt.”

     Bridger moved closer to the log and looked down at the beige nylon belt laced through the loops of his Khaki shorts. “I’m a big guy but not big enough for my belt to stretch all the way across the river.”

     Lilly rolled her eyes, stepping down from the log. She moved in front of him. Pressing her body against him she grabbed the belt, fumbling for the buckle. Slivers of starlight sparkled in her eyes as she stared into his, concentration furrowing her brow.   As she pulled the woven length out in one swift motion, he sucked in a quick breath. Stepping back from him, the belt dangling from one hand, Lilly moved back to balance on the log.  Before he could protest or argue, her long bronze legs were walking into the raging river.

****Lily

Lilly grinned into the drizzling rain, as she wrapped the length of nylon around her hand. It looped in a thick coil over her palm, the end hanging a few inches from her fist.

“That belt won’t help you if you fall. What are you doing?”

She ignored his shouts, testing her feet against the wet wood. “Take this end. Stretch your arms out so you can hold onto that tree sticking out of the bank. It will give us six extra feet. I’ll unwind it while I’ll walk across. If the log jam gives way you pull me out.” She stumbled as the water battered the soft wood beneath her shoes. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she hoped he hadn’t seen her gulping back her fears. A part of her was lighter, free somehow. A tight rope walk across a raging river couldn’t make her nervous after she’d just exposed all of her dark secrets.

Move slow. Small steps. Move slow.

She sucked in droplets of water as she took steady breaths. She didn’t expect Talking to Bridger would give her a kind of reckless confidence. When she laid out some of her past to him. She’d been afraid of his response. He only listened. If he would see her as cold, even cruel when it came to men. Maybe he would keep his distance. She was grateful, even relieved for his last two timely rescues, but she wanted, almost needed him to react with horror at the revelations. She was starting to trust him. His unvarnished observations were the strength she missed with other men.

     Lilly broke away from her tumbling thoughts. She focused on the movement of her feet, unwinding the belt from her hand as she scooted sideways along the length of the log. Icy water splashed against her legs. She moved cautiously toward a banyan tree leaning over the river five or six feet away. With every step the water swirled over the log and around her ankles. Its frigid fingers seemed to claw through her bare skin. The log groaned, shifting in the river’s thrust.  Holding her right arm out for balance, Lilly moved increments’ at a time. Bridger was shouting from the other side, but she couldn’t take her concentration off the precarious path she was taking. The wood gave  way beneath her feet as Lilly hurtled her body at a thigh high boulder embedded in the bank. When her fingers brushed the wet leaves of a banyan tree, she twisted the willowy branch around her wrist .Lilly  glanced over and saw the belt stretched to its limit between she and Bridger.

With a gasped, Lilly strangled her fingers around the branch.

Bridger climbed onto the precarious log, startling her when the tenuous balance of the log shifted beneath her.  She shouted for him to stop and let go of the belt.

      He hesitated, his lips thinning into a narrow line. Shouting back,  Bridger let his end drop as Lilly released the tree branch from her right hand . Working with both hands now,  she tightened the belt around her left wrist.  She hadn’t heard what he tried to tell her. She didn’t want to. His over-protective instincts, infuriating her with his doubt. She tie her other wrist into the banyan tree branches Sinking her feet between the log and boulder where she stood. Taking a breath, Lilly closed her eyes. You can do it. You can do it.

She whipped the belt back toward Bridger. The length flipping through the air. Lilly heard the wet slapping sound of the material striking against his palm. She sighed, grateful she hadn’t seen him leaning out to catch it. As the belt grew taut between them, Lilly opened her eyes and breathed a broken breath. She braced her legs and feet into the rocky bank, waiting. 

Bridger began to shuffle toward her, winding the belt around his hand exactly opposite of what she had done. His movements were slight, methodical as he balanced his weight over the bulging wooden barrier. Spatters of rain ticked against the leaves beside her, like a torturous clock. Her arms shook with the strain of holding on. The cool rain chilled her fingers and tightened her grip uselessly.

     He was almost half way across the raging water when Lilly heard a crack as the belt’s buckle bit into her wrist. The log shattered , a thundering exclamation of wood and water as it gave way beneath Bridger’s feet. Lilly braced her hips against the boulder beside her. She leaned backward in preparation for Bridger’s full weight to hang from the belt.

The impact was more than she was expecting. Bridger’s body was dragged between the jagged edges of the shattered log. The pressure of the water clawed against Lilly’s shoulder sockets. Her fingers were starting to slide on the wet, slick leaves and branches of the tree. Her arms screamed in electric pain. It was a  searing heat surpassing any previous experience. When she had seen his head disappear beneath the torrent of water and wood,  a cold numbing fist ripped through her chest. Her throat ached with the remnants of the scream torn from her.

     A distant instinct tangled in her nerves and muscles as she fought to hang on and not plunge into the water after him. She closed her eyes against the image of his blond hair being buried beneath the rapids.

Hang on. Hang on.

If holding on was all he needed, she could do it. Lilly twisted her wrist and hand around the branch , digging her nails into the wood. She shifted her feet deeper into the rocks pounding against her ankles. The rough stone cut into her bones, she screamed again. The nylon fibers of the belt burned hot and then numb across her palm. Her body pulsed with adrenaline spiked pain threatening to cover her thoughts with unconsciousness. She let her grip slacken before she opened her eyes to stare at the throbbing muscles of Bridger’s forearm clinging to the line between them.  He was holding on, she was forced to wrestle against the thrashing of his body on the end of the belt.

Lilly focused on her shaking hands, blood trickling from her fingers. Images from the night of the accident all those months before flooded her mind. Her hands holding onto Moises’ arm. His blood streaming through her fingers. If she could have saved Moises by hanging on how much different would her life have been? The thought took her breath from her lungs, the dying scream choking her. Bracing one hip against the boulder Lilly tried throwing her weight backward to fight the overpowering leverage of the water. The nylon strap cut deeper into her wrist.

Lilly watched the swirl of muddy water engulf Bridger’s end of the belt. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her heart thudded against her ribs. A gasp caught in her raw throat as she saw one of Bridger’s hands break through the water line. He clung to the belt, his hand shaking, while pulling his body from beneath the tumultuous water. One hand over the other, he  began to pull his head and shoulders from the river. . Relief swallowed her aching arms and shoulders, it threatened to weaken her hold, but exploded as a  hot power that blocked out all other sensations. She locked icy fingers around the belt and branch, refusing to loosen her grip.

Coughing river water Bridger began scrambling toward the bank. Lilly kept her eyes focused on his moving form until he had climbed over several large rocks into shallower water. She tried to ignore the prickling sensations beneath her skin as the frayed belt slackened. He crouched on his hands and knees on the rock strewn bank. Coughs and choked breaths spewed the river as it drained in rivulets from his head.

     Lilly shuddered at  a warm trickle stinging  her raw palms. She looked down to see both her hands bleeding. Leaves and bark imbedded in one. A slash splitting the other where she’d held to the belt. When did she let go? She couldn’t remember loosening her hold with either hand. Her knees were bruised, chunks of rock scattered over them.  Cold rose through her thighs as she plucked her unfeeling feet from between the rocks to stumble toward him.  Still hacking up water, Bridger wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. She sank to her knees beside him ignoring more prickling fingers of intruding rock. Pushing wet tendrils of hair off of his face, she turned his chin toward her.  “Are you Okay? Can you breathe? I know CPR.”

     As he sat back on his knees ,she put both hands on his shoulders, trying to get him to focus on her face. “Bridger? Breathe!”

 Bridger’s long arms reached out and crushed her against him. Taking  her face in one hand, He  stared into her eyes.

“Thank you,” he whispered. His lips brushed gently over hers, before he crushed her mouth against his.

     Lilly was shaken, sore and completely unprepared for his reaction. She sank against his body and tasted the gritty water in his mouth before her mind caught up. His lips were soft on her skin, his breaths gasping over her lips. She shoved him back. “What the…”

     A burst of laughter erupted from him before he let go.  Staggering onto trembling legs. “You said something about CPR. I prefer the mouth-to-mouth.”

     “I didn’t offer mouth-to-mouth.”

“Gratitude, then? For checking my breathing. Bridger ran his fingers through his soaking hair, water spilling down his nose and chin.

Is this how you thank the other bouncer’s at the bar?”

 Lilly tried to hold back a smile as she swiped her hand across her mouth, flicking water at him.

     “I’m not usually this grateful. He said, looking back at the raging river. Offering  her his hand, he sucked in a long breath.  When she reached for it,  His eyes widened at the sight of blood trickling through her fingers.

Jerking back from him, she pressed her palms against the sodden edge of her t-shirt. Wincing as the gritty fabric dug into the open wounds on her palms, she twisted her expression.  Bridger loosened her grip on the bloody material and pulled her hands away from her body. Glaring at the torn surface, he reached for the hem of his shirt and began pulling it over his head. His golden skin flashed rock hard abdominal muscles carved across his stomach, before he twisted his hips to  pull the fabric over his shoulders.

 Lilly’s mouth dropped open as the dark jagged edges of torn flesh sculpted the muscles on his back into a jagged landscape of scar tissue. “Bridger.” His name slipped out with her breath. “What happened?”

 Bridger thrust his wet shirt against her palms. His eyebrows casting his eyes into shadow. “Tear this into strips. I’ll get another from the car.”

Lilly reached one hand toward him as he stepped back, crossing his arms over his chiseled chest. His face was blank, his eyes boring straight through her. “Take the shirt. We need to go.”

Lilly dropped her gaze at the dark gray fabric before she pushed it back to him. “Keep your shirt on. I’m not bleeding that much.”

“It’s a steep climb out of here. You need to wrap your hands so they don’t get any more dirt in them.”

Lilly inspected her oozing hands, seeing the skin on his back in her mind’s eye. She pressed her hands against her shirt, while he twisted his into a knot. She could still feel the touch of his lips against  her mouth. Her heart still pounded with the remnants of his near drowning. Lilly closed her eyes, breathing shallow bursts of air. He wasn’t supposed to have an effect on her: His body, his scars, or his kisses .the cold hollow she lived with flickered sparks of heat at his touch.  She couldn’t even meet his eyes.  She pulled her dripping shirt off, and began  tearing it into strips.

Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him

 Lilly wrapped the wet material through her fingers and around her palms, before gritting her teeth. Looking back up into his softened features, she watched him wring water from his shirt before replacing it over his sculpted body.

“I’m ready,” Lilly said her voice trembling.

Bridger coughed to clear his throat. , the sound choked, deep in his chest. “Do you have another shirt in your bag?”

     Two or Three, plus some tank tops.”

     “Good,” he said, checking  the dirty cloths wrapped around the surface abrasions. He took her elbow in his hand, guiding her back to the slope below   the graveled parking area. Gesturing with his chin upward, Bridger laced his fingers together to form a step. Lilly scowled for a minute before shoving her foot in his grasp. “Where are we going now?”

“This place isn’t going to work. We have to keep going toward Hana, but  you need something clean over those wounds.”

“I can tear up another shirt to use as a bandage. Is that why you look so-stressed out?”

“That’s not it.” His eyes sparkled in the dim light, a crooked smile turning his lips. Lilly tilted her head, narrowing her gaze. “Mostly, I need you to get dressed. . I can’t travel down The Hana Highway for the next few hours with you in that bikini..”

Lilly’s heart jumped as the words caressed her cheek.,  inspecting the yellow strings of fabric barely covering her body, she stole a peek at him from the corner of her eye. 

What’s the matter, ” She teased, bracing her palm against his shoulder. ” you don’t like yellow?”