Call for Submissions: Talking Heads

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Hello, writer pack!

It's been a while since we've had some in-house critique. Let's have another round of Talking Heads, where we focus on dialogue.

Let's face it--dialogue can be tricky. It needs to sound natural while still moving the plot forward or revealing important things about our characters.

The best check for natural-sounding dialogue, in my opinion, is reading it out loud (I highly recommend this!). But another check is to let other eyeballs read the ramblings of our characters.

So here you go! The details:

*Submissions will be open from 9:00 AM to 9:00 PM this Thursday, October 31.
*Submit an up-to-30-word lead-in plus 250 words of dialogue-rich story. (Look for a passage that is *more than 50 percent dialogue.)
*Submit HERE.
*This will be a lottery; the bot will choose 20 entries at random after the submission window has closed.
*Entries will post on Monday, November 4 for public critique.

PLEASE NOTE: The lead-in is important because it will help us to understand what's going on in your scene. If you want the most helpful feedback possible, please don't neglect to include this!

Call For Submissions: Talking Heads

Hello, everyone!

Ready for some in-house critique? Let's have another round of Talking Heads, where we focus on dialogue.

Let's face it--dialogue can be tricky. It needs to sound natural while still moving the plot forward or revealing important things about our characters.

The best check for natural-sounding dialogue, in my opinion, is reading it out loud (I highly recommend this!). But another check is to let other eyeballs read the ramblings of our characters.

So here you go!  The details:

• Submissions will be open from 9:00 AM to 9:00 PM on Thursday, August 16 (tomorrow!).
• Submit an up-to-30-word lead-in plus 250 words of dialogue-rich story. (Look for a passage that is more than 50 percent dialogue.)
• Submit HERE.
• This will be a lottery; the bot will choose 20 entries at random after the submission window has closed.
• Entries will post on Monday, August 20 for public critique.

PLEASE NOTE: The lead-in is important because it will help us to understand what's going on in your scene. If you want the most helpful feedback possible, please don't neglect to include this!

Talking Heads #16

TITLE: "Burning for You"
GENRE: Romantic Suspense

Set up: Carly is consoled by her gay friend, Brandon, who calls her from Los Angeles, while she's stuck in her former hometown in central Illinois. Carly is falling for Adam, the sheriff. But Adam has an ex-wife and children. (Complications). Kramer is her pooch.

Stop. Stop thinking about him. She discarded her plastic cup in a garbage can and observed the park grounds. Everything was still, not a breeze stirred the leaves or flowers. No one strolled along the cobblestone path. It was just she and Kramer.

A hot day, a strangely idyllic one. She brushed a fast-food napkin over her upper lip, wondering if she'd ever get used to the humidity.

Or looking over her shoulder.

Her cell rang. Grinning, she answered immediately. "Fred!"

"Ethel," Brandon said, his voice loud with energy. "When do I pick you up at the airport?"

"Soon."

"Have you booked the return flight? I'll send an armed escort for Kramer, so those airline idiots won't lose him again."

"Haven't booked the flight yet."

"What? You are so not blowing off that audition."

"I won't."

"You'd better tell me what's wrong, or I'll fly out there myself and horrify those crones with my pink feather boa."

When she laughed, she choked on a sob. She sank to the bench with its chipped green paint and told Brandon everything, about the tarantula, the mangled marionette, the mill saw, the drippy threat painted inside the barn. He listened quietly until she told him she slept with Adam.

"OMG, girl, at least you got a bonus round, putting up with all that stress. Did Studley live up to his name?"

"And then some." She bunched the leash around her left hand and told her friend about the ex-wife. Panting heavily, Kramer rested on his paws like a Sphinx. "Listen. I've got to get going." She rose to her feet. "Kramer needs air conditioning."

"Oh, Carly girl. I hear loooovve in your voice."

"Lust, Fred. Not love."

"Oh, it's love and you know it. Carly-kins, are you just going to lie there and take it? I'd double up the lip gloss and fight for my man."

"She's supposedly a looker."

"And what are you? Yesterday's leftovers? Don't you let that ex-wife re-claim that package. That Festival's coming up tomorrow, right? Don't you dare hide your hotness. You show that hunk and his junk what you're packing. Make him forget that ex-wife."

"What do you mean?"

"That white dress of yours."

Talking Heads #15

TITLE: A Million Tiny Shards (WIP)
GENRE: Commercial Fiction

WIP: Jimmy is waiting for his daughter to tell him something that's making her uncomfortable.

The front door banged open and Jimmy frowned. "Tate! How many times do I have to tell you to quit slamming that damn door open? You've already paid to have the wall fixed once."

"Sorry, Mr. Hanson. Did you tell 'em yet, Glads?"

"No. I was waiting for you."

Jimmy waited, wondering what in the world was going on. His daughter wasn't the nervous type, so it must be especially bad. Listening to the rustle of clothing, he figured his daughter and her boyfriend were sitting on the couch across from his recliner.

"Okay. Well, this is the hard part then," Tate said. Jimmy barely resisted the urge to strangle the young man so he'd get to the point faster. "Well, uhm, Gladys and I got a surprise at the doctor the other day. She went for her annual appointment and I offered to take her." Tate cleared his throat as Jimmy started to sweat. "Uhm, well, it appears that all of our carefulness didn't have quite the intended result. Uhm, Mr. Hanson—"

"Dad, I'm pregnant!" Gladys blurted out.

Jimmy stared in the direction of his daughter's voice, mouth hanging open. His chest heaved with every breath, his hands balled into fists. He stood up, starting to pace, no clue how to handle the current situation. On the one hand, he'd be a hypocrite to be angry: he'd been a dad at fifteen. But he'd also taught her better and hoped she'd had more sense.

"Gladys, I—I don't even know what to say," he muttered, sinking into his chair. He rubbed his hands over his face. "Oh f***."

"It wasn't planned, dad. It was a surprise to me, too. I only found out because I was super late with my period. The doctor said that was normal. But then Tate told her we were, you know, doing…it, and she did a test right away. I'm sorry, dad."

"Oh f***, Gladys. F***, f***, f***. I raised you better than this." He pulled in a deep breath, counting to ten. His heart threatened to leap from his chest, it was beating so hard. "I know I was a dad at fifteen, Gladys, but I thought we'd talked about this. I mean, kids your age have sex all the time, but I didn't want to be a grandpa at thirty!"

Talking Heads #14

TITLE: THE FATAL CROWN
GENRE: YA Fantasy

Tied to a chair, Taela is being held prisoner by the renegades because she tried to kill their leader, Hawke. One of her captors, Kalen, has brought her something to eat.

Kalen strolled over to the table where Egan had set up his arrows. He picked up an unfinished shaft and started to wind string around the fletching.

“So what are you and your friends planning to do with me?” Taela asked around the bite of snarerabbit.

He turned his eyes to meet hers, then let his gaze slide away. “Hasn’t been decided yet. We don’t want to harm you, but we will to protect Hawke.”

A pulse drummed at Taela’s temples. “What else could I expect from a gang of ruffians?” she murmured.

He smoothed one of the feathers between his fingers. “If you promise to leave Hawke alone, we might let you live.” He glanced over at her, as if to gauge her reaction.

She spooned another bite of meat into her mouth. So that was his plan. He was trying to frighten her. He didn’t understand how determined she was. She raised her chin, covering her trepidation with bravado. “I’ll never give up.”

Kalen tossed the arrow back onto the table and shifted his feet. “You’ll get yourself killed for nothing.”

“Justice for my sister isn’t nothing.”

A brisk wind blew outside, rattling the walls of the tent. The midday sun shining through the tree branches made moving shadow patterns on the canvas. He hooked his thumbs into his trouser pockets, walked over and leaned on the edge of Egan’s stool. “Don’t you know there’s no honor in revenge?”

“As if you knew anything about honor. Should I be like you? Follow a traitor and betray my king?” She knew she shouldn’t antagonize him, but she couldn’t help herself. He had no right to lecture her.

He crossed his arms, drawing back his sleeves, revealing tanned forearms beneath. “If you had any sense, you’d realize Hawke is fighting for the good of the kingdom.”

“Maybe If I believed that. But I know that Hawke only cares about himself.”

“He’s risking his life.”

“Too bad he didn’t do the same for my sister.”

Kalen looked down and dug a boot heal into the dirt. “He wanted to.”

She dropped the spoon into the bowl, spattering gravy on her jacket. “Well, he had the chance. Why didn’t he?”

“Because he—. He couldn’t.”

“Because he’s a coward.”

“No. Because —” Kalen closed his mouth. He ran a hand through his hair, looking as if he wanted to say more.

Talking Heads #13

TITLE: My Favorite Mistake
GENRE: NA Romance

Will is helping his new tenant Katie move, and is about to meet her roommate for the first time.

"I thought you said you had a dog," he says, dubiously eyeing the door.

“I do. I also said she was small.”

“That doesn’t sound like a dog. It sounds like a chipmunk on crack.”

I can’t really argue. She does. The door is barely open before she bursts outside, looping around my ankles and barking at Will, hopping on all fours with every outburst.

“That’s a dog?”

“So I’m told.”

“That is not a dog,” he tells me. “It’s a wind-up toy.” He looks into the apartment’s depths, then back down at the frantic pup. “Where’s the rest of it?”

Phoebe pauses her hopping to snort. Then she prances over to his feet and promptly squats.

Will jumps backwards. “Hey!”

I snort, choking on a laugh. “I don’t think she likes you.”

“All girls like me.”

He frowns, so disconcerted by the idea, I have to fight not to laugh again. “Questionable, but I suppose none of them have expressed their opinions by peeing on you before.” A wicked grin crosses his features, and he opens his mouth. I hold up both hands. “Don’t. I truly don’t ever want to know.”

I go inside and deposit my phone and keys on the kitchen counter. Phoebe charges ahead, stopping on the landing to turn around and bark frantically at Will, who is right behind me.

“So I don’t have—” I start, but the words die when I see what he is doing. Will wipes away the glower he was directing at my dog and blinks innocently at me. “Right. Picking fights with animals one fiftieth your size is very macho.”

“And yet you keep insisting on calling that thing a dog. I had an Irish Wolfhound growing up. This—” He gestures to Phoebe, still barking. “—would have been a snack to King. Oophf.”

He catches the box I sling at him. “I really appreciate your help, Will.” Hands still on the box, I lean forward, adding my weight. His biceps strain against the fabric of his shirt and there is a smile in his eyes. “But if you keep making fun of my dog, you will be late for work.”

“You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”

Recognizing the quote, I burst out laughing, backing up and covering my mouth. He grins. “Get a move on, Kitten. You’re cutting into my dinner time.”

Talking Heads #12

TITLE: THE POTTED PRINCE
GENRE: YA Historical Fantasy

Fortunee's father has been arrested for using magic. Meanwhile, the King's dog has attacked the King on a hunt near her house. When Fortunee returns home, she finds her brother with the King's dog.

I froze on the threshold. "That--that's the King's dog!"

Bertrand did not move from his spot near the fire, but his knife grazed the wood he was carving as I'd asked him about the weather. "His life was in danger. Do you think I would take him for anything less?"

I've tried to reason with him," Maman said, grabbing a handful of dried lavender. "It's no use."

"The dog's life was in danger?" I said. "What about our lives? Did you know that one of the King's dogs tried to kill him?"

Maman glanced at Bertrand. "You did not tell me this."

"I was there," he said, cutting hard into his whittling with his knife. "The dog was cursed."

"How do you know that?" I said.

"He was thinking, 'Kill the Dauphin.'" He blew on his carving, scattering chips everywhere.

"The dog attacked the Dauphin?" Maman said.

"It got the King. It missed the Dauphin. The King was injured." I crossed myself. "I took your herbs."

I hung up my shawl and slipped out of my pattens, which I wore outside. The straw we strew over our floor scratched my bare feet.

"You gave herbs to the King?" She put down her herbs. "And the King, how does he fare?"

I had done nothing. I couldn't tell her the truth. I had promised the Dauphin. "The King is well."

Bertrand smiled as his knife scraped against the wood. "See, Maman," he said. "I saved the Dauphin, and Fortunee saved the King. Perhaps they will pardon Papa."

"Papa needs no pardon." Maman smashed herbs into her jar with more strength than was needed. "He did nothing wrong."

My mind turned on what Bertrand said earlier on why the dog was calm now. I stepped closer to the crackle of the fire. "What do you mean you saved the Dauphin?"

"There was a man who came and talked to the dog," he said. "He could talk to the dog's mind, like I can, but he was not pleasant."

Talking Heads #11

TITLE: HOW TO STEAL A DEMIGOD
GENRE: Fantasy

Because of her climbing skills, Crea was one of four thieves chosen for a mission. Things aren't going well at this point, as they've been captured and locked in a tower with one small, very high window. Lamad has just suggested that maybe they can make a rope.

“How?” Jafsa scoffed incredulously. “With strips off our clothing?”

“Yeah,” Lamad said smugly. “Exactly.”

Jafsa snorted and shook his head. “It wouldn’t be long enough. Or strong enough.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Lamad said, undaunted. “I think it might be worth a try.”

“Lamad!” Jafsa exclaimed, glowering at him. “Even if we did have a rope—the best rope in the world—how would it help us? How would we get it up to that window? Even if we could throw it up there, we don’t have a hook or anything; we couldn’t secure it up there anyway!”

“Oh, I think we have a way to get it up there,” Lamad answered.

“How?” Jafsa stormed, glowering even more.

Minos muttered and sat up, clearly annoyed at having been woken.

“Crea,” Lamad said simply.

“Crea?” Jafsa echoed. “How is Crea going to get up there?” He reached out and stroked the surface of the wall. “Even she can’t climb this—it’s like polished tile!”

Lamad gestured upward with his chin, his eyes leading the way up the wall. “Yeah, but she can climb up there—above that line where it sticks out.”

“And just how do we get her up there?” Jafsa growled. “She may not weigh much, but I don’t think we can throw her up there!”

Crea stayed out of the fray, waiting to see what Lamad had dreamed up.

“What are you people going on about?” Minos protested in a sleep-fogged voice. “I thought we were going to try to get some sleep.”

“We did,” Lamad said off-handedly. “And now we’re trying to get out of here.”

Minos groaned and lay down again. “We can’t get out of here—it’s impossible.”

“Maybe not,” Lamad said. He turned back to Jafsa and ordered, “Stand up. I want to see something.”

Jafsa groaned loudly as he stood, then began muttering under his breath about how sore he was.

Lamad ignored his complaints and said jauntily, “Have you ever see acrobats build a human tower?”

“Yeah, I have, but . . . Oh, no, Lamad! What crazy scheme have you got now? We’re not acrobats! We’d kill ourselves if we tried anything like that.”

“Aw, come on! Think positive. Are we just going to sit here until we rot, or are we going to try to save ourselves?”

Talking Heads #10

TITLE: The wraith
GENRE: fantasy

Lady Adelajda’s men broke up a quarrel at the edge of her land. They brought the culprits before her.

The two men sized each other up. One turned to his captors:

“I was in my right” he articulated, painfully, since the guards still held a rope around his neck.

“Let him speak” Adelajda ordered and the guards loosened their grip:

“In your right to defile my land? Who are you?”

“I meant no disrespect milady. I am Gianfrancesco Alfieri, a Genovese merchant. I trade furs, precious hair cloths and adorned habiliment.” He bowed, then turned towards the other:

“And this man, this filth, he stole from me!”

The other prisoner twisted in his bonds: “I did no such thing!” He muttered behind his halter. “This man is a liar!” He added, and spat in the merchant’s direction. The guard had to yank at his ropes to tame him.

“Let the merchant finish” lady Adelajda ordered. “You will get your turn.”

“What did this man steal from you, sir Alfieri?”

“His scales were a sham. I ordered five marks of silver buttons and paid in solid gold. But when I returned to my ship, I measured only three marks.”

The prisoner accused of theft laughed bitterly.

“Is this true?” Lady Adelajda asked him;

“Speak stranger. Is the accusation true?”

They loosened his halter.

“He lies! He asked for five marks and that is what I gave him. Exactly forty ounces! I am Jawahir Akbar milady, I sell precious metals and stones brought from the Levant and this man tried to murder me and steal my merchandise.”

It was the Genovese’s turn to protest in his bounds:

“I only wanted to take what’s mine. The Levantines are thieves – all of you! Thieves!”

“Silence!” Lady Adelajda stood up:

“In my house, I decide if the man before me is, or isn’t, a thief! Tell me, sir Jawahir, the wound on your arm, is it sir Alfieri’s men that inflicted it?”

Jawahir pushed aback his bleeding forearm, ashamed:

“It is one of them. The one your guards hold outside. They caught him as he attacked me. I trust he will be judged for his crimes.”

“I didn’t mean it that way” Alfieri protested. “I sent you a messenger. My messenger was returned with a black eye. What was I to do?”

“Enough!”

Talking Heads #9

TITLE: Canadian Summer
GENRE: NA Contemporary

Roy and Summer are eating Ice cream and getting to know each other. Summer dares Roy to tell her something he wouldn't normally tell someone he just met.

“Okay, I’ve got one,” Roy said, then hesitated.

“Let’s hear it. It took you long enough.”

“Hey, I have to go first. Take it easy.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, here it is: sometimes, I, uh, well, I like graphic novels.” He waited for her to laugh. She didn’t.

“That’s it?” She hit the table. “All that hemming and hawing, and it’s just that you like to read comic books?”

“Not comic books, graphic novels.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” She made air quotes. “Graphic novels.”

“Well, what did you expect? You thought I would admit to killing someone or something?”

She smiled. “No, it’s just that I can’t believe you found that little tidbit hard to share. You made it such a big deal. Lots of guys read graphic novels.”

“I guess.” He felt kind of dumb now.

“You know, guys who live in basements.” She smiled. “You don’t have, like, costumes or anything, right?” She pushed her cup to the middle of the table.

He laughed. “No, nothing like that. Now you tell me something.”

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Summer stacked her cup inside his.

“It can’t be any worse than mine.”

“Yes, yours sucked.”

“So tell me something then.” He grinned. “What’s your deep dark secret?”

“I knit.” Her face reddened. He just looked at her.

“You what?”

“I knit. You know.” She pantomimed knitting.

“You mean like knitting? Like, grandma, old-lady knitting?” Roy’s eyes widened. “Like sweaters and stuff?” Roy sat back in his chair. She nodded.

“I used spend summers in Texas with my dad. When he went to work, he left me at my grandma’s house. That’s all she did.”

“Damn.” Roy scratched his chin. “So you could make me a sweater with a reindeer on it right now?”

“I’m not that good. I usually just do scarfs. It helps with stress. It’s weird, huh?” She looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t think it’s that weird. If you’re eighty.”

“Shut up, comic boy.” She threw her spoon at him. He laughed.

“It’s not that weird. You just don’t look like the type.”

“What—because I’m young?”

“Young and pretty.” Roy stuffed a napkin in the empty cups. “So, did you bring your knitting machine, or whatever, with you.”

“They’re needles, and yes, I brought them.” She smiled. “Would you wear a scarf if I made it?”

“It’s too hot for scarves.”

Talking Heads #8

TITLE: Twist of Fate
GENRE: Adult Historical Romance

Pandia and a prostitute, Flavia, wait in in the atrium of Pompeii’s gladiator school for the head gladiator to give them their assignment. A gladiator in a short leather skirt and tunic just passed through the room.

“Now I know I will swoon,” Flavia stuttered. She whirled, clutched my forearms, and leaned into me like a schoolgirl sharing a new crush. “That was Caladus, in the flesh. He is most famous. Over twenty bouts won in the arena. I heard he no longer fights. Yet here he is, within my sight. I would love to know that man better.” She straightened her toga and smoothed it over her narrow hips.

I smirked. “Flavia, you want to know every man better. Besides, I’m not sure the guy would have to pay for it.”

“Gladiators are sexual and eager to indulge whenever the opportunity presents itself. These men face death often, and sexuality is how one proves one still lives. Given the chance, I shall help that gladiator come alive.”

I rolled my eyes. “What about the other, shorter gladiator who went by a few minutes ago? Or your goatherd? I thought you wanted to marry him someday?”

“Who cares about a goatherd?” She leaned away from me and squinted toward the hallway, her brow furrowed. “Do you think if I ask nicely, he will give me some sweat?”

“Sweat?”

“Yes. Gladiator sweat. For my skin. To make me beautiful.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“You think I kid about such a thing?” Her lips thinned. “Why do you assume I tease when I tell the truth?”

I shrugged. It was beyond me.

“Gladiator sweat is expensive. Yet here I am, at the source. I must find a jar and beg each man I meet for a few drops. In no time, I will have enough to appear a goddess. Or, if I have great need, I will sell it for a high price.”

Talking Heads #7

TITLE: Treasures of Thomas Cove
GENRE: Middle Grade contemporary fiction

Shayne has a rare moment with the cantankerous lobster boat captain she secretly calls "Cranky."

Cranky and I lean against the lobster tank he keeps on-deck, already halfway full with caught crustaceans.

“Have you been a lobsterman your whole life?” I ask.

He scratches the black and gray stubble on his chin. “Pretty much. I tried landscaping for a little while, and one summer I drove a cement truck. But my father was a fisherman, and his father before that. So eventually, I settled in to the family trade.” He cocks an ear to listen to the marine radio, full of chatter. “Coast Guard’s busy today.”

“Why? What’s happening?” Sea breezes fill my nostrils with a fresh, clean smell.

“Sounds like someone ran his boat aground into a sandbar.”

I snort. “What an amateur.”

He doesn’t laugh along with me. “Boating’s not easy out here, that’s for sure. You’ve got to navigate around hundreds of buoys; you have to remember to check the tides, and then there’s the weather. Fog can appear and disappear quicker than a magic act.”

Just hearing the word fog makes my insides churn.

“If you don’t know what you’re doing, it’s easy to get into trouble,” he says.

“My grandpa had an accident in the fog,” I say softly. “A fatal one.”

Cranky looks at me sideways.

“I don’t know all the details,” I continue, “but I do know another boat collided with his, and it knocked him over the stern. He fell into the water and hit his head on a rock. It was just a freak accident. Could have happened to anybody. At least, that’s what everyone tells me.”

“I know about accidents, believe me.” He grips the handrail and gazes out to the horizon.

“The fire?” I ask in a small voice.

Cranky turns to me and frowns, “Is that your business?”

“No, sir,” I say, bowing my head.

My Way rises and dips over gentle swells. I widen my stance to keep my balance.

“The investigators ruled it as accidental, said the fire started from faulty wiring on a porch light,” he says without warning. “I was out at the time it started, and when I came home the whole thing was up in flames. When I ran in to see what I could salvage – ”

With wide eyes I ask, “You ran into a burning house?”

He shrugs. “Maybe not my smartest move, but there was this thing I had to try to save. Something that belonged to my late wife that she cherished.”

Talking Heads #6

TITLE: CASSIA
GENRE: Upmarket

Tanya has been ordered by her boss to write an article to attract investors to an underground arts community, and she’s discussing it with two of the community’s founders.

“You’re right,” I said. “You’ll read about it soon enough. You know the old cotton gin?”

“Yeah, down there on Indiana,” Rodney said. “What about it?”

“Cassia wants to turn it into an art studio with upstairs lofts.”

“That’s f****** cool,” Nick said. “How’s she going to do it?”

“She’s not. She wants me to write an article to gain interest from investors, and since Darren jacks off to her pictures, he’ll make me do anything she wants.”

Rodney looked off and hid his mouth behind his fist. While he sat there poised in thought, Nick lit up a joint.

“I told you, man. Not in here.” Rodney rose from his seat, pointing a finger at Nick.

Nick crushed the fire and then slipped the joint into his shirt pocket.

Rodney sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know. I mean it sounds like a good idea. Hell, I’d buy it if I could because I don’t want those investors coming in here messing with what we’ve built here. I get it. Artists need their space. You know I’ll do anything I can. But what if the wrong person sees your article? What then?”

“Didn’t you say that the people who need to read my articles will?” I asked.

“Yeah, but you know. Investors are already coming in and buying up these old buildings, turning them into expensive lofts and yuppie bars. They call this Deep Ellum, but it ain’t deep. This is Shallow Ellum. Once they turn this into a f*****’ carnival, the artists will leave, and then what? Once the fad’s over, the carnival will fold up. It’ll be a ghost town again, just like it was after the Jazz and Blues days.” He shook his head. “Man, it’s over. It’s Shallow Ellum.”

“Deep Ellum always comes back. It’s like a phoenix. It will rise from the ashes.” As Nick said this, he rose from his seat and waved his hands in the air.

“What are you two talking about?” I said. “This neighborhood’s not dead, and it’s not dying. Maybe Cassia’s right. Maybe we need that commune and studio.”

“I don’t know,” Rodney said. “I’m not a prophet, but I can tell you that if the bankers and investors buy up Shallow Ellum, it’s going to die. But go ahead and write that article. I don’t know. Maybe you’ll save it. Maybe you’ll kill it. Maybe nothing.”

Talking Heads #5

TITLE: Castle Danger
GENRE: Suspense/Thriller

Bad guy Vossler introduces himself to MC Matt, in order to get some help connecting with Vossler's ex-wife, who is also Matt's boss, although Matt doesn't know they're exes.

Matt looked for a packet of white powder in Vossler's palm. There was none. But he didn't extend his hand. "Matt."

"Just Matt?"

"For now."

"No offense, Matt, but you ain't the most sociable guy I ever met."

"None taken. I'm not much of a talker. I mind my own business, don't get involved in other people's."

During his previous two, brief encounters with Vossler, Matt had felt nothing but suspicion. He looked like a glad hander, or a scumbag, someone who told lies for a living, or operated in the gray areas of business, if not the downright illegal areas. He would have tried to put as much space between the two of them as Allyson obviously had.

"Can you tell me when I can connect with Allyson? I'd sure like to say hi before I go home."

"Where's home?"

Vossler looked annoyed. "L.A. Where you from, Matt?"

Oh great. The worst big city for every kind of hustler. Matt had played dozens of gigs in L.A. back in the day, and even recorded a few albums as a sideman. He couldn't wait to escape all the phony, backstabbing, social-climbing sycophants who haunted the entertainment business. People looking to hit it rich one way or the other without doing any real work.

"Nowhere special like L.A."

"No offense again, Matt, but you're starting to sound like someone who ain't too eager for people to know much about you."

"Just people I don't know well enough to trust."

Vossler leaned back a bit and spread his arms in a pleading manner. "Hey, I'm a friend of Allyson's. Ain't that enough trust?"

"I hardly know Allyson. I just work for her."

"How long?"

"Not long enough to trust her."

"Right, right. Mister closed book."

They stared each other for a moment, then Matt took slow, deliberate bites of his burger and fries.

Vossler's expression darkened and he sat down across from Matt. "Okay, look, pal, I don't have a lot of time, but I figure you can help me connect with Allyson. I'm gonna level with you so you know I'm legit."

Matt raised his eyebrows in a mock-impressed attitude. "I'm listening."

Vossler reached into his leather jacket and pulled out an envelope. He removed the document inside and unfolded it. "Her name ain't Allyson Clifford."

"Is that so?"

Vossler slid the document across the table. "Her real name is Susan Vossler."

Talking Heads #4

TITLE: Collapse
GENRE: YA Contemporary

Easy-going Jared and awkward, superstar swimmer Melanie have lived next door to each other since they were kids. Last week, an earthquake hit their home town, throwing their lives back together.

“What’s on your mind when you’re quiet like that?” Jared asks.

“What do you mean? You’re quiet too.”

“Yeah, but you go a million miles away. And not just now. A lot. At school, actually, most of the time.”

It’s weird to think that he’s looked at me at school. “I know, everyone thinks I’m a freak. I’ve heard girls from my team talking about me. I don’t know, usually I’m thinking about swimming, you know?”

“Is that what you were thinking about now?” he asks.

“No,” I answer, but I don’t want explain, not yet anyway.

Jared laughs. “You weren’t like that when we were little kids. You were so obnoxious. You always wanted to play princess.”

“Whatever. You always wanted to play superhero,” I remember. “Before you got cool.”

Jared snorts. “Oh yeah, I’m really cool,” he says.

I raise my eyebrows. “No? You don’t think you’re cool hanging out with your cool boy posse in front of the locker room everyday?”

“I didn’t think you cared about that stuff.”

“I don’t care. I’m a hundred miles from cool. When I have to talk to people, I always say dumb things.”

“Like what dumb things have you said today?” Jared says.

“You just don’t notice, because you’ve known me so long,” I say. “I don’t have time to be cool and to swim fast too, you know? So being faster is always going to be more important to me.”

“That is cool, Melanie. I wish the guys on our team were focused like you.”

“Well, swim is all that matters to me. It’s different for the guys you hang out with,” I say, thinking about the gossip that I float through in the locker room.

“Different how?” he asks.

“Like life beyond football. Angie and the other girls talk about your friends and all the girls you’re with. Lots of girls.” As soon as I say it, I wish I could take it back.

“You can’t believe everything you hear in the locker room, Mel,” he says, sounding strange.

“I know, but I don’t get it. Everything about boys confuses me.” Jared looks at me for a long time. “What? I already told you I’m a freak. I just don’t get boys and dating and stuff like that.”

“Well, I’m not like those guys. I have a girlfriend.” And he adds, under his breath, “I guess.”

Talking Heads #3

TITLE: The Minotaur Staff
GENRE: Urban Fantasy

Akua was mid-fight in an arena when a flash of light transported her to a strange room, to someone other than her opponent.

Akua pressed her sword into the man's neck. "What magic is this? Are you an illusionist? Am I drugged?"

The man groaned.

She pressed harder, until blood came. "Who are you?"

He took a breath and coughed, pointing at her foot on his chest. She stepped back, but kept her sword ready. "Speak!"

He sat up and cried out. "S***. What did you do, break my leg? And how did you get in here?" He winced as he pulled himself up on the bed. An object fell out of his hand as he supported himself.

"The Oracle's Eye! Forgive me, I did not realize."

He frowned and rubbed his head. Then spoke nonsense. She picked the Eye off the floor. "Where is your staff, Oracle?"

He shook his head. "That I understand. What did you say before that?"

"I am sorry for injuring you, Lord. I asked your forgiveness. Then you spoke gibberish. I am glad it was only temporary." She frowned. "Or was it one of your spells?"

"No, you're the one who spoke gibberish. Whatever. Give me that artifact. I need it."

"The Eye? Of course." His hand was white as death against her dark skin. She had never seen any so pale.

"What are you doing here?"

"I know not. I was fighting in the arena, triumphing over my opponent. Then the light came, and I was here. You summoned me, Oracle. What have I done to displease thee?"

"Oracle? That's the second time you've called me that. What arena? You look like you came out of a history book."

"You are no Oracle?" She lifted her sword. "Then you have no right to that. Are you even an Atlantean?"

His eyes widened. "Atlantean? Like Atlantis?"

"I meant not the Atlantis. The city of Atalanta. Are you from either?"

"I didn't even know they existed. Atalanta lived thousands of years ago."

"Do not lie about Queen Atalanta! Rise and I shall take you to her and the Oracle. You will be punished for your theft and blasphemy. Give me back the Eye."

"No! This is my way to get debt-free."

"You took me from battle, my chance to win freedom for my family! Give. It. Back." She raised her sword and pressed it to his throat.

"Whoa, that's sharp. I ask for protection and end with a death threat. Did Belkar send you?"

Talking Heads #2

TITLE: Broken Parts
GENRE: Women's Fiction

Caitlin is introduced to Ted for the first time by her friend, James. Ted's the seminar leader for a course she's signed up for and she thinks he's hot.

“Hi, Ted. Nice to meet you.”

“Caitlin. That sounds familiar. Didn't I get an email from you about the seminar next quarter?”

“Yeah. I’m hoping that there’s still room on the sign-up list. It would be a great elective for my major.”

“There’s room,” he confirmed. “I’ve got you on the list.”

“Great. I guess I’ll see a lot more of you starting in January.” Caitlin gave him the classic hair toss, head tilt she’d practiced in the mirror and on many guys before. Subtle, not obvious flirting. Just enough to make a guy look twice.

Surprisingly, she saw a flicker of recognition in Ted’s eyes.

“What?”

“Nothing - you looked like someone I knew a long time ago. Just now, seeing you at that certain angle made me think of them. Memory's a funny thing sometimes.”

“I know that feeling. I see people here on campus that I think I know and turns out I’m thinking of someone from my hometown.”

Saying he needed to head to his office, Ted said goodbye. James and Caitlin waited until he was out of earshot to start talking about him.

“OMG, girl - could you be more obvious?”

“What are you talking about? He loved it.”

“You might as well have asked him for the key to his place. You’re a total slut.” James gave her a playful push and she danced away.

“Watch and learn," said Caitlin. “This is just the beginning of a beautiful relationship. You’re just jealous because he isn’t your type.”

“I’m not jealous. You know I’m a one-man guy. I’ve got my hands full with Ramon.”

“I’ll make a note to check back in a week and see if it’s still Ramon your hands are full of.”

Caitlin gave another toss of her hair as they entered the student center laughing. Her mind was already working on her plan of attack for Professor Ted. She smelled garlic and butter in the air.

“I’m hitting the pasta bar today,” she said. “You headed upstairs?”

“Yeah, let's meet back here in ten minutes,” said James.

“Great. I want the back story on how you know him and what details you've got. He’s my new project.”

“Caitlin, you’re whacked. A guy like that has to be involved already. You better be ready for disappointment.”

“I'm not worried,” she said. “Just give me the dirt you’ve got, and I’ll do all the hard work.”

Talking Heads #1

TITLE: Mortal Failings
GENRE: YA Paranormal

Cami has been secretly dating a half-Immortal, but she's starting to realize he is abusive.

"You’ll be free to do whatever you want. With me.”

“Whatever I want,” I said quietly. “What if I want to go to college?”

“College,” he repeated, full of scorn. “You’ll be far better educated in the Eternal realm.”

“And what if I want to see my mother again?”

“I’m afraid it’s not that easy. The longer a human lingers in the Eternal realm, the more painful it is to leave.”

I looked at him, horrified. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

He let out a noise of frustration. “You were the one who wanted to go there.”

“Only because I didn’t know what the price would be! But you knew – and you kept that from me.” I reeled. “You’ve been keeping the truth from me.”

“I did nothing of the sort. I gave you fair warning. But I couldn’t deny you anything you wanted. And you didn’t complain about the pain.”

“I screamed.”

“But you never said a word of complaint. And I saw your face once we’d entered the realm. Filled with wonder and joy.”

“It was nice to visit. But I’m not sure it’s worth the price.” My eyes stung. “I don’t belong there. How could you ever think I’d be happy there? Never to see my mom again? Or any of my friends, or any humans at all?”

His face trembled. “Cami…I thought I would be enough for you.”

Automatically I opened my mouth to apologize. Before the words could form, I bit down on my tongue. “No. That’s not how it should work. It’s not right, forcing me to choose between you and everything else in my life. I won’t do it.”

“This isn’t you,” he said, jabbing the air with an accusing finger. “This is my mother talking. She got to you somehow. She’s twisted your mind.” He seized my shoulders and pulled me into his embrace. “I forgive you. I know this isn’t you. Not gentle, adoring Cami. Not the only girl who’s ever really understood me. The one person who has seen my dual natures, and embraced them.”

“Erik,” I choked. “Don’t do this. Please. I can’t choose.”

“You’ve already made your choice. We belong to each other. There’s no going back.”

“Don’t say it that way.” I shivered. “It sounds like a death sentence.”

“It’s worse than death, Cami. If you turned your back on me, you would rend me in two. I would be shadowed. Forever mired in darkness."

Call For Submissions: Talking Heads

We've talked about dorky dialogue and rambly dialogue and the importance of using dialogue to move a story forward.  Now let's put it into practice!

It's been a while since we've had a Talking Heads critique round.  Here's the deal:

* Submit up to 400 words of MOSTLY DIALOGUE.
* Include a one- or two-sentence lead-in (no more than 40 words) to help ground the reader.
* WIPs and completed manuscripts are both welcomed.  (Please proofread.)
* The submission window will be open TODAY from noon to 4:00 pm EDT.
* All genres except erotica will be accepted.
* Submit HERE.
* This will be a lottery.  The bot will choose 15 entries, which will post tomorrow.

Here's what your submission should look like:

Gavin has just discovered that Loo isn't a runaway squire after all, but is actually a girl.  And he's furious.

"What are you playing at?"  Gavin couldn't take his eyes off the curve of breasts rounding out the strip of fabric Loo had grabbed to cover himself.  Herself.

Loo's cheeks were scarlet.  "I can explain."

"Even your voice is different.  You've been faking that, too?"

"Sort of."

"And I fell for this?"  He aimed the question at himself.  "I actually thought...and..."

"Would you mind if I got dressed?"

Gavin's pulse slammed against his temples.  "Would I mind?  Did you mind every time I took a piss by a tree while you ate your dinner?  Did you mind when I came out of the lake buck naked after a good bath?"  He ran his fingers through his hair.  "My gods.  And I wondered why you never wanted to bathe with me.  Where was my head?"

(Okay.  You get the idea.)

Questions below!

Talking Heads: Beta Test #10

TITLE: Jumper
GENRE: Mystery/Satire

The Crisis Evaluation Committee, convened to investigate the alleged suicide of Professor Alejandro De la Torre, meets for the first time. Provost Lawrence Rathman briefs the faculty members on their responsibilities.

“The full report will be delivered directly to the President of the College,” the Provost continued. “We’ll offer our recommendations to a wider campus audience, of course, but our specific findings must remain confidential.”

Santiago turned to the others. “To protect the privacy of Professor De la Torre,” he explained.

The Provost pursed his lips and nodded. “Exactly. We’re going to be treading in some treacherous waters here, with respect to issues of privacy.”

“You mean sailing,” said Iris.

“Pardon?” Rathman raised an eyebrow.

“Well, it’s just that you can’t tread in water. You can sail, or swim, I suppose, but you definitely can’t tread in water. You can only tread water. You’re mixing metaphors. It’s not a big deal. Just a pet peeve of mine.”

“Jesus could,” Quan pointed out. “Walk on water, I mean. If that’s how you’re using the word ‘tread.’ Which I think you are, since a tire tread in - what was it, treacherous waters? – makes even less sense. And I’m not even a native speaker.”

“Oh, but your vocabulary and syntax are head and shoulders above many of my students,” Irish gushed. “And I just love your accent.”

Quan smiled and bowed.

“That story about Jesus is debatable, by the way,” said Santiago. “It depends on whether you think a literal or figurative reading of the Bible is more appropriate.”

Iris opened her mouth, but the Provost held up a hand. “Marjorie, ” he said sharply, “perhaps we should distribute the binder.”