Sunday, October 30, 2011

The power of music and names.

Curious to discover the impact music has on people and animals David Merrill set up an experiment using mice.  He wanted to know whether different types of music would impede or enhance the animals learning patterns and behaviour.

For one group of mice he played classical music twenty-four-seven, and the second group listened to heavy metal over the same time period.

He released the first group into a maze and studied their learning abilities and social behaviour patterns. At the same time he released the second group of mice into a similar maze.  Unfortunately the second group of mice never reached the end of the experiment because they set about and killed each other.  Needless to say David Merrill abandoned the experiment.

The film industry has known about the impact of music on human behaviour for decades.  They use it to add influence to their scenes and, to a certain extent, to control their audiences’ reactions.  You only have to ‘listen to the kind of music used in horror, Halloween, ghost and other paranormal films.

This powerful tool is not available to authors so what can they do to subliminally influence their reader’s attitude towards certain characters?  Obviously actions, physical appearance and attitudes all play a part, but in the real world not all antagonists are ugly, badly educated, ignorant, and uncouth.  Many are suave and sophisticated, and use their looks and charms to play their victims.

But there is another tool in a writers’ arsenal.

Names!

In my debut novel, The Brat, published by The Wild Rose Press, Denny Cadmore was ‘the baddie’.  With a name like Cadmore what other part could he play?  The use of an old fashioned term ‘cad’ subliminally inserts the information they’ve met the antagonist and then verifies it as the reader progresses into the story.

In my current novel Duty Calls, published by Black Opal Books, the hero insisted on the name ‘Hawk’.  Eventually we agreed on Rafe Hawk.  A Hawk is a bird of prey, tenacious, patient and goes for what it perceives as beneficial to it.  i.e. Its wits and intelligence to catch  its prey to feed and stay alive in times of adversity.



In my upcoming novella, From Now Until Forever, published by Astraea Press, my hero is a prince.  After all there’s been a spate of royal weddings around the world, while the interest is high.  I gave my prince the surname Gasquet, simply because Henri Gasquet, the French tennis player is amazing to watch.  I gave him the name Liam because the second in line to the British throne, Prince William, married his Kate just a few days before I began writing From Now until Forever, and I saw no reason for not following the trend and cashing in while I could. LOL.




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A true spooky story

Back when I wrote Evil Reflection Sara was some what patterned after a friend who showed strong ESP abilities. When we carried on a conversation, neither of us ever finished a sentence before the other answered, nearly driving any who listened crazy trying to figure out what we were talking about. I moved to Oregon, she stayed in Arizona. One day while driving the sentence, "It was my birthday, but I doubted he meant to wish me happy birthday." I had no idea where it came from, but the story developed from it. In the course of writing, the name of Avery popped in as well. I didn't think too much of it until after I had finished and found a baby names book. I looked up the origin and meaning of Avery. Remember, the book is about witches, people strong in ESP. Avery means 'king of elves' another mystical creature. The real, spooky kicker came though when I visited my friend a few months later. While describing Avery to her, she drew into the corner of the couch, rubbing her arms and looking so serious. Who I described was a friend of hers, same name, same color hair and eyes, and during the time I was writing my story 1200 miles away, he had killed himself. Little wonder telling her something I had no logical way of knowing gave her the chills.


Larion AKA Larrian Wills, two names, one author, thousands of stories

Yummy


Chocolate candy bars are the most popular candy for trick-or-treaters, with Snickers being #1
I do have to say I have a special place in my heart for those little Halloween sized Snickers bars. They’re always the first ones I sneak from my daughters’ buckets. What's your favorite?

Evil Reflection


Born on Halloween was one more reason her father told her she was evil.

His round, cherub face was deceptive. He could smile, which he often did for his parishioners, and make you believe in his sweet, gentle and righteous nature. He smiled when the dream began, but it changed into a twisted mask of rage. His hand shot out and fisted in the child’s hair.
“Pray, you child of Satan. Pray for forgiveness and guidance from the path of sin.”
The child sobbed in pain and fear. Her knees were already scabbed and sore from the last session of prayer. She hadn’t known before anymore than she did then what horrible sin she had committed.
“Sara, wake up.”



“Do you know what tomorrow is?”
“What?” she asked, confused by the sudden subject change.
“Tomorrow is—”
“I know what it is!” she retorted, with the cause of her anger coming from much deeper than he would ever know. “It’s my birthday though I doubt you have any intentions of helping me celebrate it.”
Her birthday had never been celebrated, not as a child or as an adult beyond the ‘everyone pitch in and sign a card and provide a cake’ at work. She certainly never brought any attention to it, not after the hell it had always been as a child, a memory that nearly wrung a sob from her. Not only were birthdays never celebrated, she was condemned because hers fell on so unholy a day.
“You were born on Halloween?” he asked sharply.
“Oh, yes, one of the many reasons I had to—” She caught the rest before it was out, the bitterness nearly choking her. While other children were out running happily from door to door, she had been on her knees praying.
“Had to what?”
“Nothing.”
“Just how strong a witch are you?”
Sara screamed at him. “I am not a witch!” She panted to bring her emotions down and growled out, “I don’t believe in any of that garbage.”

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Where do ghosts hang out?

Hi, everyone -- Sorry to be late to the party! I hope everyone's having a great "Halloween Eve"!

I often think that ghosts/spirits are always with us, it's just that we can't see them...most of the time. Sometimes I wonder if they can control just what we do see. I was thinking of that when I wrote a scene in my new novella (Adrienne's Ghost).


Excerpt:

Rachael set the journals on the table and sorted through the pile until she found the one that began during Adrienne's high school years, figuring it would be a good place to start. Before she could sit, the diary dropped from her hand and fell to the floor. Tsking at her clumsiness, she retrieved the book, resettled herself into the sofa's cushions, and turned back to page one. Again the book landed on the floor, but this time it somersaulted through the air, as though it had been propelled by a force.

The surface of her skin beginning to prickle, Rachael stood and scanned the room, to search for the source of an energy strong enough, other-worldly enough to have caused what she'd witnessed. But the room was empty. Or maybe it only seemed empty because she couldn't see whatever life forces might be hiding just beyond the realm of her comprehension.

Still, she felt like an idiot when she retrieved the diary from the floor, then deliberately closed it and set it on the coffee table, as if she no longer had any interest in the secrets it held. And she wondered if the night of passion had scrambled her brains when she sat back to watch, her fingers crossed.

It wasn't long before her hunch paid off. The journal on top of the pile began to tremble, then buck. Fascinated, Rachael trained her eyes on the book, and as its movements became more frenzied, her heart raced to match its pace. Within a few seconds, the book had somehow shimmied itself forward so it teetered on the edge of the pile, like it needed no more than a tiny nudge to take the plunge.

Wondering if she was supposed to provide that nudge, Rachael reached forward, and in that instant a shadowy image materialized inches away from the tips of her fingers. She jolted and snatched her arm back as the shadow transformed into a shape. It was a hand, only a hand, like someone was reaching through a split in some cosmic curtain that separated two dimensions. A shriek whipped up Rachael's throat, and she slapped both hands to her mouth to stuff it back down. Scrambling backward, she found herself pressed against the couch, ready to run, when the ghostly fingers prodded the diary.

It tumbled over the table's edge, landing with a thunk, and Rachael dropped to her knees, inhaling one choppy breath after another until her lungs could take no more. She was paralyzed, mesmerized, watching the hand where it hovered over the open book, less than a foot away. The fingernails, ragged and torn, were dirty and stained with smears of what looked like blood. They waggled suddenly, and the pages of the book began to flutter, making the sound of a hundred birds in flight. The air Rachael had been holding expelled in a burst, and her lungs refilled on another giant breath. But before she could scream, the humming from the FBI's basement, that heartbeat-like pulse, saturated the air.

She didn't realize she'd scrambled to her feet and retreated until the backs of her legs hit the edge of the sofa, and as her muscles gave way to fear, she sagged onto the cushions and watched as Adrienne formed in front of her eyes. Only this time the ghost didn't look sad, she looked angry. Angry with Rachael.

(End excerpt.)

BOO!

Thirty-one years of wild requests, screwy questions, bizarre behavior and outrageous demands have left me with a permanent twitch and an uncontrollable craving for chocolate. Don’t get me wrong. Working as a 9-1-1 dispatcher can be very rewarding. BUT - some days I felt like the whole world was nuts and Halloween brings out all the freaks.

Instead of passing out candy to the little fairies and ghouls I got to deal with reality and reality sucks. Take this call for example:

“I need to find Grandma’s haunted house,” a drunken idiot said. Digging for my supply of Tylenol, I responded, “Sir, 9-1-1 is for life threatening emergencies. We don’t give directions.” The drunken fool cried, “You’re 9-1-1 you know everything.” Wonder where he got that idea? “Sir, I have no idea where your Grandmother’s haunted house is.” He sputtered in surprise, “You don’t? But… But I’m late for the party!” The guy was really starting to annoy the hell out of me, “Why don’t you pull over and I’ll have a nice officer come and help.” Yeah, right to jail, you moron, driving while intoxicated is against the law. “Okay, thanks.” “My pleasure and have a great Halloween.”

Downing a handful of Tylenol, I answered another call and could hear people screaming blue bloody murder. “9-1-1 emergency, what is your emergency? Hello?”
An out-of-breath woman cried, “We need the cops. My three brothers are fighting over the candy corn.” Not quite sure I had heard her correctly, I repeated, “They’re fighting over candy?” There was a loud crash and the woman shrieked, “Omigod! They just knocked the wicked witch out the window, please hurry.” I quickly typed the information in. “Ma’am does any of your brothers have a weapon?” The woman shouted, “What kind of stupid question is that?” One I need answered, sweetie. “Ma’am, I need to know if any of your brothers are armed with a weapon.” She huffed, “Just get someone out here before Rex gets his chain saw started.” “Chain saw? Hello?” The line was dead. The moral to this story is; the family that fights together gets to go to jail together.

Some citizens of our fair cities have absolutely no idea of what an officer can or cannot do. They aren’t plumbers, electricians, alligator wrestlers (don’t ask) or allowed to shoot your neighbor’s noisy Darth Vader carousel. Give your poor overworked 9-1-1 dispatchers a break and don’t call unless you have a real emergency. And no, we won’t haul away your sixty pound carved pumpkin or help you take down your decorations. Anyone have any chocolate?


www.gailkoger.com
www.whispershome.com

What a day, what a day

I'm late getting started but oh what fun. Going to start out hot and sexy with a scene from It's Still Tomorrow with what happens when a witch removes the sex block she's had on an unsuspecting man. it is hot and adult.


Blurb: Fired from her job, her apartment firebombed, and her small amount of money dwindling too quickly, Sarah ran. Knowing that the terror would follow, she took the only refuge available to her, an unfinished house she’d inherited. She didn’t know she would also inherit a long legged hunk of good looking man that would set off every buried desire she’d ever had. Her vow to never practice witchcraft again ended when the terror threatened Dem. Her enemies learned that like vicious dogs, they should have let the sleeping witch lie.

Dem’s eyes moved, following her hand up over her face, brushing her hair back from her forehead and then touching his chest. He didn’t think it was her hand on his chest, but he clenched at it when he doubled over. The desire came on him so suddenly, he couldn’t catch his breath for a second, and with such velocity it was painful. With a tight grip on her wrist with one hand, he clutched his crotch with the other, not considering how it would look to her. He couldn’t think straight. He just grabbed her, took her into his arms and down to the bare, rough kitchen floor, clawing at the button and zipper of her pants.
Sara didn’t fight him and in some distant corner of his mind he thought she was afraid to. That didn’t stop him. He didn’t think anything could stop him. He pulled off one shoe and one leg of her pants, jerked his own pants open, and pushed his briefs down only as far as needed to free himself. Driving into her, he forcing his way past the resistance to his invasion with such fury he had to hold her at the shoulders. His fingers clawed into her skin to keep her from sliding away from him with each slam of their bodies. When he exploded, flashing, sparkling lights danced in front of his eyes, and he still pounded into her. He forced his arms under her shoulders to hold her, slamming and slamming until he felt her climax. The flesh surrounding him contracted in pulsating waves. Each wave that hit her, pushing him to explode again, and still he couldn’t think.
He wanted more and more. He pulled from her and went to his knees. The heavy grippers of his shirt popped open with one pull. Buttons flew when he opened her shirt, a hand on each side, ripping it open to expose the soft, creamy skin he had dreamed about kissing and caressing. Only then did he become aware of her pulling on his clothes in as much frenzy. Twisting and turning, clothes dropped in a stumbling struggle to bare themselves, the journey taking them to the bedroom.
They fell on the bed together, him driving into her again with Sara’s legs folding up around him, cocooning him with her arms surrounding him as well. If he could have pushed himself inside of her, he would have, but had to settle for taking her mouth while he thrust, burying his tongue in its sweet depths, pressing his body as close to hers as humanly possible to explode again before falling in exhaustion and rolling beside her.

Larriane AKA Larion Wills, two names one author, thousands of stories

buy link for all in one place go to:: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Larion+Wills&rh=n%3A283155%2Ck%3ALarion+Wills&ajr=3
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