Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Writer Wednesday: Writing Contest

New writing contest on Theresa Oliver's author page. Use this pic for inspiration to write a poem of your choice. It can be fantasy, paranormal, romance ... virtually any genre you wish. Please send entries as attachments to by Sunday, July 1. Winners will be announced July 1 at 8 p.m. Good luck! Remember, the most Likes wins!

My House, My Life

©2012 Theresa Oliver
“I said to get out and stay out!”
“But Mrs. McGregor …” Paula Harris exclaimed, clearly shocked, as the old woman used her cane to prod her toward the front door.

“You heard what I said!” Mrs. McGregor yelled as she literally pushed Ms. Harris out the door.  “Damn realtors!” she mumbled under her breath as she slammed the heavy wooden door in the realtor’s stunned face.

Tess McGregor was still mumbling under her breath as she slowly made her way through the living room, into the kitchen and to the sliding glass doors. The rhythmic tap, tap, tap of her cane resounded throughout the quiet, old house. Using all her strength, Mrs. McGregor pushed the sliding glass doors aside and stepped down onto the back porch. Nowadays, it was called a Florida room, but Tess called it her sitting spot.

A moment later, a car door slammed in front of the house and the roar of a car engine ricocheted off the walls of the old Victorian home as it zoomed down the street.

“And good riddance to you, too!” Tess McGregor yelled after the realtor’s unseen car as it sped around a corner. “It’s my house and no one is going to steal it away from me! This is my house!”

She carefully held the porch swing as she sat down with a plop onto the old wooden slats, remembering the day they hung the swing and painted it white. Now, the old paint was chipping , even peeling in places. “I guess you’ve seen better days, Old Girl,” Tess said to the swing with a pat of her frail hand, then noticed the skin of her hand growing thin, exposing her frail bones beneath. “I guess I’ve seen better days, too.”

Tess gazed out over the backyard as she slowly swayed back and forth in the swing, remembering the day she planted the two orange trees with her husband, Stan, and their daughter, Debbie.  Tess looked out over the trees, now full grown, having bore their share of good fruit over the years. It probably wouldn’t be long before they would need to be torn out and replanted.

She sighed, remembering. Where has the time gone? Tess wondered to herself as the heavy swing creaked loudly, singing an old familiar tune as she swung back and forth. Creak, crow … Creak, crow … Creak, crow …

The house was an old Victorian, built in the early 1900s. Tess prided herself that their home was one of the first built in their quaint little neighborhood on Brandy Lane. She and Stan bought the house just before they married. It was lovely then, a two-story Victorian painted pale yellow with dark brown trim. Then, she and Stan planned to fill the rooms with children, but were only blessed with one daughter, Debbie.

As a child, Debbie spent many hours playing in the halls of the old home and in the backyard under the orange trees. Tess could still see the image of her little girl with her blonde lopsided pigtails bobbing as she sang Mary Had a Little Lamb while playing with her dolls.  

“Mother? How could you?” an adult female voice barged into the room, bringing Tess back from her reverie. The young woman wore a red power suit and matching heels, contrasting beautifully with her carefully coifed blonde hair.

“Don’t you knock anymore, Debbie?” Tess asked over her shoulder, not budging from the swing as she tucked a stray silver strand of hair back into the bun at the nape of her neck.

“Mother, how could you?” Debbie asked again, ignoring her mother’s question. “And it’s Debra now.”

Tess laughed. “How could I forget? I was the one who named you, remember?” Creak, crow … creak crow …

“Mother?” Debra asked, crossing her arms with an exasperated sigh. “How could you throw Ms. Harris out like that? She’s trying to sell the house!”

My house!” Tess yelled, stopping her rocking abruptly in the rickety porch swing. “It’s my house, Debbie, or have you forgotten that?”

 “But, Mother, you agreed …”

“I agreed to nothing!”  Tess yelled, momentarily silencing her daughter, then added in a low voice, “It was your house, too, you know. Or it was supposed to be.” Tess shook her head as her mouth set into a thin straight line.

“Mother, I don’t want the damned house!” Debra yelled, frustrated, as she turned to gaze out over the orange trees.

Tess looked at her only daughter, shocked. “Well, I can see that now. Your father and I bought this house years ago, hoping to pass it down to you one day.”

Debra let out an exasperated sigh, then sat down on the swing beside her mother. The old swing gave a bit, but supported both their weights with ease. They both pushed the swing together, resuming Tess’ vigil. Creak, crow … creak crow …

“Mother,” Debra said, calmly breaking the silence between them. “Alfred and I bought a house a few years back, and you can’t take care of this one by yourself.” Debra thought for a moment then laughed without humor. “Hell, you’ve thrown out every housekeeper we’ve sent over!”

Tess grinned. “Tell Freddy boy not to send any more over, either, or they’ll be greeted with the point of my shotgun!”

“Mother!” Debra said with a humph, rising from the swing. “And his name is Alfred, not Freddy!”  she added,  starting toward the sliding glass doors.

“Where’re you going, Debbie?” Tess asked with a self-satisfied grin.

“I’ll be back later, Mother. I can’t talk to you right now,” Debra replied, stepping through the sliding glass doors into the kitchen. “And my name is Debra!” The glass rattled as she slammed it tightly shut, leaving her mother on the porch.  

 “You should be ashamed of yourself, you know,” a strong male voice said with a laugh.

“Stan,” Tess replied with a smile, turning to face him. “I should’ve known it’d be you.”

“Would you be expecting someone else besides your husband?” Stan McGregor said I a  strong Irish brogue.

Tess laughed. “Well, as a matter of fact, I do have a gentleman friend …”

“Stop teasing me like that, Mrs. McGregor,” Stan replied, sitting on the swing beside his wife. “I worked hard trying to win your affections before you finally agreed to be my wife.”

“I remember,” Tess replied, smiling at the memory. “You know, Bill Flannigan was sweet on me, too …” Actually, Tess met Stan during WWII. He was an RAF pilot and she was a nurse. They met in a hospital in France when his plane went down and he was wounded. She fell in love with him instantly and never looked back.

“You …” Stan teased, slipping an arm around his wife’s shoulders along the back of the swing, then Stan’s voice turned serious. “I’ve missed you, Tess.”

“Do you remember the time when you almost fell off the roof on that old ladder, right over there?” Tess asked, looking at a corner of the roof just on the other side of the screen enclosure, ignoring his comment.

“Now, stop that, Tess.” Stan McGregor was the only man who could ever handle her.

Tess looked at him in shock as an innocent look spread across her face. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Stan chided, then softly added, “It’s time fo for you to come home.”

“This is my home!” Tess replied as tears sprang to her eyes. “This house is my life! Our life together!”

“No,” Stan corrected with gentle grey green eyes, watching his wife lovingly. “This house holds our memories, but it isn’t us.”

“Oh, you Old Coot!” Tess interrupted, pushing him away. “You don’t know what on earth you’re talking about!”

Suddenly, the sliding glass doors opened abruptly again. Debra stepped through them and onto the back porch with a cell phone glued to her ear. She placed a hand gingerly over the receiver and whispered to her mother, “Good news! Ms. Harris says she has a buyer!”

Tess laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“Oh, Mother!”

“I’m surprised Ms. Harris would even want to come back,” Tess added, chuckling lightly.

“Well, I promised I’d be here when she arrives,” Debra added, then turned her attention back to the phone. “That’s right! She said it’s okay …”

“I said nothing of the sort!” Tess yelled loud enough for Ms. Harris to hear at the other end of the phone.

“Sure! She won’t mind,” Debra said into the phone, ignoring her mother. “That’s fine, Ms. Harris. Bring them over.”

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Work Overload by Jamie B Musings

My home is a house of writers and readers. You really can’t have one without the other; Steven King said so in his book On Writing. Basically, he said that anyone who can’t make time to read has no business trying to be a writer and I agree whole heartedly. My husband and I both have always been readers, but that has really picked up ever since he got that book and introduced me to it. We even joined the 52 Book in 52 Weeks challenge to give us extra motivation to read.

Since we are both writers, we spend a lot of time looking at the written word. So much time, in fact, you just want to take that book or manuscript and toss it out the window! There’s reading (so you can get a sense of what’s out there, style, etc.), writing (obviously!), editing (or, as I like to call it, meeting the red pen of doom) and networking (otherwise known as the procrastinator’s best friend). There’s Facebook posts to comment on, status updates to do, tweets to respond to, blogs to write, cool stuff to share on Pintrest… it all starts to get a bit overwhelming.

There comes a time where you have to set it all aside to get your head straight again and be ready to tackle that mile-long to-do list, and I don’t mean by introducing it to Mr. Shredder. So what do I do to give myself a little break and keep the words from swimming on the page? Here are some of the best methods I’ve found…

1) A walk is a great way to recharge and, quite often, gives me a chance to chew on some of the ideas running through my mind and organize my thoughts.

Monday, June 25, 2012

Monday Mentions

Feel Free to share these Monday Mentions (#MM) on twitter, and submit you own #MM for this blog! If you would like to exchange #MM follow us on Twitter, @WriteMoreP and share our tweets, or email us at WriteMore(dot)blog(at)gmail(dot)com

1. #MM Remembering Zane by J.S. Wilsoncroft Will Bonnie let go and let love find her again?

2. #MM Star by Theresa Oliver She's bitten off more than she can chew when she discovers that...

3. #MM Cambria by Theresa Oliver He discovers his true potential, family secrets, and love.

4. #MM Fat Chances by J.S. Wilsoncroft Reminds us all that it’s what’s in the heart, not in the body, that counts.

5. #MM @JHSked @jaytharding @XchylerConn @Cerullean @KJDahlen @KJ_author @harrietewstack @lizzietleaf @Binas_Dashboard @G_E_Stills @WillBrown

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Short Story by J.S. Wilsoncroft


By: J.S. Wilsoncroft

©2012 J.S. Wilsoncroft

Jake didn't need the ear; he just wanted it for his collection. With his grubby little hands, he bent down and picked up the mutilated ear that was covered in dried blood and dirt. He studied the torn ear and the pretty little butterfly earring for a moment before shoving it deep down into the pocket of his dirty, worn coveralls. Jake knew that it belonged to the young lady that he saw last night.

“Jake! Get your ass over here! NOW!” Louie, his brother, called from the back porch. Jake kicked the fresh pile of dirt where the lady was buried, then ran through the woods toward his house. He could smell the stew cooking when he got halfway through the back yard.

“What the hell were you doing back in them woods? I told you to stay put of there!” Louie scolded, rapping his younger brother on the back of the head as he walked through the kitchen door.

“Just looking for worms, Louie,” Jake lied, sitting down next to his little sister, Jo. Jo looked just like Jake, only smaller. They both had brown curly hair and the brightest green eyes in the whole county, their mother used to say. Jake looked over at Jo, who was already halfway through her first bowl of stew. She looked up and smiled at Jake just long enough to take a breath, then buried her tiny face back into the bowl, slurping the rest of the liquid soup.

“Here! Dig in!” Louie said as he placed a big, green bowl down in front of him. Jake’s mouth watered instantly. With his dirty little hands he grabbed the spoon and dove in, quickly shoving a spoon full into his mouth. Hmmmm … he had never tasted anything so good. At least for a week, anyway.

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

All Write by Lee Taylor

All write, this time it’s personal.

So, I heard a rumour that the written word is dead… how much of a stupid statement is that? Saying that to an author, or an aspiring writer is like saying to a torn up seven year old that Santa iced poor Mr Tiddles the family hamster… it just doesn’t sit right with me, and so, I naturally using my words, I continued to club them over the head with my fists. Why aren’t I in jail? I guess it turns out the guy was a masochist.

How can people say that the written word is dead? It’s in everything, as you are reading this; that is proof of how not dead the written word is. On the doo hickey of a comp thingy that you are reading this here ma bobbing post, all the programmes that run are powered by words… no not so much Arthurian words of power, that grant the software programmer D&D super powers, but more multi sequencing Hex coding …

This being said, and no matter how viciously I berate the Muppets of how wrong they are, there is an awful lot of recycling. The problem, is, of course people are content with seeing the remake of a remake, of a remake of a book… in books and television, because hey, guess what were not immortal, most kids today, and adults, are content with watching what is offered to them, without delving into the old classics, me personally, I will often watch a modern film first, before watching the original, before then reading the book it was based on… why is this? Doesn’t that make me sad? Well… yeah probably, I just don’t like to make assumptions and say anything like: “That was so original, I don’t think they could ever do any better than that…” then watch the original, and sneer the whole way through it, convinced of how inferior it was going to be.  Why again? You say? Well.. I guess I don’t want to be one of those ass hats… then again on the flip side, there is nothing more annoying/egotistical/ begging to be beaten with a peg leg than people who say: “Oh, yeah, I watched the original, you didn’t know what you were missing…” and to that I say “Der… me no fink you need to live.” Honestly, why must hipsters be there just to say something contrary… Yes it was a hipster who told me the written word was dead.

Friday, June 15, 2012

Editing and Compiling Stories By: Elaine White

So, after ten years of trying to get published and just being rejected, now everything seems to be happening all at once. Getting published is a lot of hard work, but I always thought that editing would be worse. I imagined it would be a really painful event. I thought that getting published meant having someone come in, look at your writing and begin drawing big black lines through passages that never seemed to end. Apparently, this is not so.

I talk for Scotland, write for America and fill like nobody's business. You see, I have patterns ... maybe it's OCD, or maybe it's just a way for me to make sure I write enough to get the point across, but here's the rules I use:

Ÿ  Chapters: cannot be any longer then six single spaced pages, or less than three;

Ÿ  Pages: each character and specific event cannot take any more than one and a half pages without a break. I use ***** (always 5) if it's a new character shift, or just an extra line space if it's the same character and situation, just a bit longer;

Ÿ  Page layout: titles/chapter numbers must be centered as must years, all other writing must be justified. ***** breaks must be centered as well.

Thursday, June 14, 2012

Reviews of the week

Title: Fat Chances
Author: J.S. Wilsoncroft
Rating: Five Star
Review by: mandy I read Indie (twimom101 book blog)
Annie is the girl at her school that gets called disgusting names by her classmates thanks to being overweight. She hates to exercise and has tried all the diets out there to no avail. She has come to terms with being overweight and would just like to finish her remaining school year and leave town to go live with her aunt. She has had it with all the 'skinny' people in her small town and just wants to leave it all behind. That is until she meets Cory...breathtakingly, beautiful Cory.

Molly, Annie's twin sister, finally wears her down enough to go to Zumba one night. *Enter sexy Zumba teacher* Cory is romance novel material...everything about him screams gorgeous! So why is he suddenly interested in Annie? What does she have to offer this sexy man that other skinnier, prettier girls can't?

Annie cannot fathom what Cory sees in her, but he is adamant that he is truly into her. Now it's all up to Annie...will she beable to see in herself what Cory sees before it's too late? Or will a lifetime of being self-conscience ruin something great before it ever gets a chance to begin?

Another amazingly, sweet book by Wilsoncroft. I believe that she could write about a grill cheese sandwich and I would inhale it. Fat Chances was such a wonderful book, I devoured it within a few hours.

I am in love with how the characters, mainly the females, are not model perfect. It makes the stories more real and easier to relate to. At least it is to me. And the men she writes about...nom nom...I could just eat them up. They are adorable and caring...and I am absolutely positive that they do not exist in the real world. *I kid, I kid. My hubby is perfect and loves me just the way I am.*

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

The Joys of Reading by Caitlin McColl

I don’t know when I first started reading books for enjoyment. And I mean picking up a book to read myself, not being read to by my parents or grandparents as a small child (though I have seen photos of this, so I know it happened. I had a giant book of fairytales I loved to read when I was a young girl).

But for as long as I can remember, there has been little else that I’ve enjoyed so much as stretching out on the couch with a book, getting all comfy with a blanket, and reading – letting it transport me, watching the images in my head like a movie, hearing the characters talk to each other, seeing the fantastical worlds and landscapes.

I inherited my love of reading from my dad – who, whenever I go home, always has a novel of some sort (usually sci-fi or fantasy) on the go, in various rooms of the house. The rest of my family have never been big readers. So I thank my dad for my love of reading and the joy and comfort I find in it. And not only joy, but you learn things from reading. Books change you. Books don’t ask questions of you, they just impart their words from their pages into your mind; and even light, fun, escapist novels you can learn from. You learn about the human condition, from the characters and their interactions, and motivations.

I feel kind of silly when I cry while reading – when a beloved character, that you’ve come to love and care for dies, or something tragic happens to them. I think to myself ‘why I am crying and blubbering and making a mess so that I have to run for the Kleenex? They’re just characters in a book!’ But I know that they are more than that. More than just black words on a white page. Books move us because we relate to them. We see ourselves in the characters – some of them anyways – and hopefully the hero. And are surprised at the actions of other characters – hearing, seeing and learning things we might have never thought before! And sometimes we see in characters parts of ourselves we don’t want to admit – the darker parts of us. And we realize that it’s not just us, alone that have these darker parts – other people do too, otherwise the author of the book wouldn’t have written about it! Reading books help us realize that we aren’t alone in our thoughts, feelings, experiences. That other people have gone through the same (or similar) things, and that is nice to know.

Monday, June 11, 2012

Welcome Note

Welcome to Write More Publications’ blog! The goal of Write More Publications is to help great writers to become published authors, and to bring great books and stories to eager readers. With this in mind, there are many opportunities for both new writers and published authors at Write More Publications. We will be participating in book trailer shares, guest posts, and feature swaps. If you are interested, please e-mail us at or and we’ll set something up! In addition, we will feature the work of one of our gifted and talented authors here at Write More Publications each week, so be sure to check us out each Wednesday for new features, short stories, blog posts, and may other writing samples from our authors! And if there is anything you would like to see featured here, please be sure to let us know!
Welcome to the blog of Write More Publications!

Happy Writing, 
  Theresa Oliver  
       Owner, Author  

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Release Information

Well the official launch of this blog will be Monday June 11th

While we are getting ready for the release, there will be changes made, any and all feedback on these changes is welcome.

Also, as we are starting to set this up, please feel free to take part in the following opportunities.

1. Book Trailer share.
 email us the youtube link to your book trailer, and we will add it to our Write More channel on youtube, and it will be viewed in the youtube widget.

2. Guest post
 we are open to guest posts, anything writing, reading, or reviewing related.

3. Feature Swap
 There are two ways we can do this.
    One is write up a feature, using an author or book, and we will post it on our blog, as a post. We will in return give you the same information regarding one of our books or authors.
     Two you give us a cover photo, and or snapshot of your blog, page website, along with the link, and we will feature this on the Left side of our blog, for One week, and beings this is a swap we expect the same in return.

My email for this is WriteMore.Blog(at)