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Podcasting – Open Book Blog Hop #347

October 31, 2022 By Captain Maiel

♦Welcome to another edition of the Open Book Blog Hop!♦

Topic #347
Do you do podcasts? Either as the host or as a guest? How do you prepare for them?

Welcome back to another Open Book Blog Hop! The authors included in this ongoing series wish to thank you for your reads. Even more so, we appreciate that you share our writings with friends. If you’re new to the series, welcome aboard. The authors engage and impress weekly. Prepare to become a regular reader.

I haven’t delved into podcasting. Running all of my social media pages, this site, and my YouTube has been overwhelming with a full-time job and motherhood. I can’t imagine adding this to the mix. There’s would be sound-mixing and a bunch of other things to do. For example, getting the right microphone (can be costly), and having a quiet space.

The Technology of Trailokya, open book blog hop

In the past, I have taken part in radio and been a guest on other blogs. I’ve done live events both in person and online. I think it would be fun to take part in a podcast and am not at all opposed to being a guest (know anyone?). Listening to these is a great way to keep from getting bored at work when you have those long days of monotonous tasks.

On my list of favorites is [REDACTED] History by my TikTok friend Andre White. Not only does Andre have a great voice for voice work platforms, he’s an excellent host. He knows his stuff and really brings the information to you in a way that you hardly realize you’re learning. It’s been fabulous to follow this podcast! I can’t say enough good about it. It’s probably one of the most important podcasts out there, because it teaches the history omitted to ensure indoctrination into a nationalist ideology.

Podcasting is a great resource for a whole slew of topics. History isn’t the only one. You can probably guess by the topics I cover in my fiction that I like paranormal and true crime, as well. You’d be right! The list is as follows: The No Sleep Podcast, Morbid, and The Strange and Unusual Podcast.

Would you guess that I also follow Living the GOAT Life? That’s Cowboy Max, another friend on TikTok. Max is a goat rancher (among other awesome animals), and hosts the annual Pumpkin Patch in his area of New Mexico. The ranch is home to one great family and it’s a nice podcast to destress and comeback down from the hullabaloo of it all. In addition, I like to spend time on the lives at TikTok during the morning, watching the sunrise, seeing the animals, sipping coffee, and chatting with friends. It helps get my day started in such a positive way.

There are so many great podcasts out there, I doubt I could come up with an original enough podcast to add to them and have any kind of following. Coming up with ideas, too, would be difficult with so much on my plate. Maybe that will change someday–should Trailokya become popular among readers. Then, I would also have more time to do a podcast!

Check out the responses below from our authors about podcasting by clicking on their links. They may also have great recommendations!

Dreamland – Open Book Blog Hop #322

April 25, 2022 By Captain Maiel

♦Welcome to another edition of the Open Book Blog Hop!♦

Topic #322
Do dreams/nightmares influence your writing? Do you keep
a notebook by your bed to write down ideas?

Dreams are amazing. Proof of the fact is in how obsessed every culture on the planet is with them. It’s a strange phenomena that has been believed to herald future happenings and even be visions of another realm apart from the world in which we live (awake). I can’t say that I don’t feel these things to my core. Since childhood, I paid special attention to every dream. Some of them even came true.

It makes a ton of sense that dreams both inspire and affect my writing. Currently, I have four books that stem directly from dreams. The other is touched by adjacent experiences. Let’s focus, however, on just the four. First, there is OP-DEC, which came to me in a dream more like a film. Not all of the details are written exactly, because, as you know, dreams can use imagery that are nonsense and this wasn’t a comedy. What does still exist is the powerful story that played out in the dream.

The strangest part about OP-DEC is that I had woken part way through and fell back to sleep, and the dream finished! Up to that point, I had rarely experienced such. Trust me when I say that this is probably why it got turned into a book. If the ending hadn’t come, the idea would still be in a notebook, incomplete and certainly not even written past a few notes.

The dream took on a first person narration style, meaning that I was Claire. At no time during the entirety of the dream did I sense that I was myself or that something was amiss. I acted out the part as if it were my real life. In this way, I was close to the emotions of my protagonist and understood things without having to see the backstory. I could live within the few scenes and know the rest. First person, however, wasn’t the style I chose for the book when writing. I don’t care for the perspective, and feel it has become too much of a trope of writing in the current times.

Another thing that changed was the film that played for Claire and Carsten’s theater date. I couldn’t exactly go with Star Wars, even though my brain thought that worked just fine. Totally understand that choice, being that I was out with the supposedly perfect guy on a perfect date. It had to be the perfect film. Well, we know where my loyalties lie. Because my preferred film wasn’t out in 1942, I had to go with something else. The most logical choice was to figure out what was playing in theaters at the time. This drove the time period of the book. Boy, oh boy. Those facts still take my breath!

The dream of OP-DEC was inspiring enough, but to find that my story also fit neatly into an actual time period, where real historical events framed the story, is stirring to this day for me. I don’t know how to explain that. Certainly, I do have knowledge of the Second World War, and a lot of facts around military logistics. Most of that is just strategy. The better you are at it, the more likely you are to succeed. While my father is a veteran, I am not. Therefore, I think it is strange that I knew so much about the matter without the education or background specifically on it. This isn’t to say that I didn’t need to do research to fill in gaps, such as technical data.

OP-DEC was clearly penned before I sat down to write the Trailokya series. That said, the dreams that inspired that book have happened throughout my lifetime, beginning in my first years to today. They were never easy dreams. Sometimes they were awe-inspiring. How can I even begin to describe them.

Trailokya is described as a paranormal, dark fantasy book series. It delves into the mythological and swims through the waters of culture. Just like any dream world, it is surreal at times, diaphanous, perhaps ethereal. The solidity of things is ever indeterminant. I’ve found that defining it is quite difficult because of those metaphysical qualities. Yet, it draws you to it with the same power that dreams draw the interest of most every human.

I won’t go into great detail of all the ways in which the dreams have inspired the narrative over the years, because that would take an entire book to catalog. If you have time, you can peruse the many posts on this blog that discuss the work. One I would like to point out in particular is that of the Three Doors. The reason for me to focus on this over other portions of the material is that it graces the covers. So, when you see the books, you’ll have a bit of an understanding as to why they are there.

The three doors are a feature of recurring dreams I’ve had since childhood. They’re clearly symbolic, full of meanings for me to unpack. Their details were instantly burned into my memory upon the first time sighting them. The emotions connected to them were just as rich. Those dreams would always start as nightmares, running from a monster(s), seeking escape. The heightened fear mixed with the wonder of their mere presence as well as appearance helped convey their importance. Read the article linked above to find out all about them. It’s actually very important!

Until recently, the meaning behind red door was not so clear. It has taken years to understand them as that changes with context (what’s happening in my life at the time, as well as the dream, and the colors and symbols on them). Meaning shifts in that murky water of cultural relevance. Which culture? Is it the culture of what is communicating with me, and that is me or something else? If it is something else, who? If it is me, then what part of my ancestral cultures?

This year, it became boldly clear to me what the door meant when I stumbled upon a TikTok video discussing the Feng Shui of doors and colors. The video was about what color to paint your door depending on which direction it faces. Although Feng Shui belongs to Asian people, the idea of color and direction creating meaning and therefore being symbolic and carrying energy is worldwide. Humans use color and direction to manifest ideas and energies in every culture. Certain religions would have you believe otherwise, but the majority of beliefs counter that.

still ocean with a boat sailing toward a starry sky that seems to bleed into the water

The relief I felt at discovering this meaning, and finally nailing down the communication in a way that made absolute sense instead of being flimsy and obscure, was considerable! You see, that door has haunted my dreams and psyche for four decades. It scared me as a child and grew to an inevitable foreboding event in my young adulthood. Today, once I finally grasped it, I have found sense and security.

What threw me off about the door? The boldness of the red and the flames in the window suggested so much destruction, or perhaps it was something to hot for a child’s mind to wrap around, then again it could have been a warning about hell. I mean, the windows can appear to reflect Heaven, Earth, and Hell. That’s obvious! So, why wouldn’t I fear that I was tripping down the brimstone path? Oddly enough, I have turned my back on the church and chosen my ancestry and culture, nearly erased by the church, instead. I just cannot accept nor condone the hate, historical/current violence, greed, narcissism, sociopathy, and abuse.

The red door is success. The fire element suggests the ferocity of that success. The fact that the number 1 graces the front furthers the idea of success. I can’t tell you what it will look like, or what form it will take. But, I know that when I walk through that door, which I assume that I will ahead of finding this part of my life (because I did so with the other doors), I’ll know all the specifics. Will I have been chased by some unseen monster, a gaggle of toothy trolls? I cannot be certain. However, I know that what is beyond that opening is going to be inspiring.

Observing one’s dreams can open up a whole other world. That is certain. Pay attention to what is happening and become familiar with the symbolism of people, places, and objects. That in itself is a useful writing tool: symbolism. Just think of how rich your text could be if you grasped symbols and signs like your dreams do!

To find out how the other authors responded to this absorbing question, click on their links below…

Wounds So Deep – Open Book Blog Hop #313

February 21, 2022 By Captain Maiel

♦Welcome to another edition of the Open Book Blog Hop!♦

Topic #313
What’s the worst wound (emotional or physical) one of your
characters has ever had to deal with? How did you react to writing the scene?

Spoilers ahead.

Some folks may argue that the worst wound I’ve written would apply to the gruesome abuse that Captain Maiel survives. While domestic violence is one of the most horrendous things I can think of, there is another character who has gone through some serious experiences as well. Henrietta Benson is a survivor of slavery. I can’t imagine worse. I’ll tell you why.

While Maiel goes through all of the horrors of domestic violence, including sexual assault, Hettie has had that and her humanity stripped away simply for existing in black skin. It was not just one perpetrator but an entire nation and culture. There was unlikely any escape from it. Her life hung on the line at all times, as well as the lives of every single person she held dear. That is a lasting and deep wound.

Burning Down, The Trailokya Trilogy, author K. Williams, book series, fantasy books — Maiel, Moon Order, Captain, Guardian

Hettie doesn’t just have to worry about herself but her family. She carries the physical scars forward right along with the lingering racism that threatens her at every moment throughout the rest of her life. For Hettie, there is no end to the abuse. The ever present danger is dancing on the fringe. That wears on a body, preventing healing if any can be achieved.

While Maiel survives beatings and an assault by someone she trusted and loved, watching her family fall apart in the mix of it, she is able to reach safety again. She is able to heal these wounds in time. Hettie’s friends and family can only make her so safe from the rest of the society in which they live. She doesn’t have super human connections. There is no alternate dimension in which to retreat.

Writing Hettie was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my writing thus far. This is directly due to her wounds. It is a perspective of which I can never truly understand every aspect to the depth I feel necessary. All I can do is be considerate of that which I’ve been told by those similar to her, who are closest to the history: Black Women. My respect and admiration to them. It is my hope that I did justice to Hettie and her experience, her wounds, exposing the nuance of privilege that surrounds her and the ripples of her trauma.

Writing Maiel’s assault was emotionally taxing, as well, but I cannot say that I felt more terror than when I wrote Hettie. Throughout each of Hettie’s scenes a threat looms, always present. There is no erasing such a wound. Safety is a dream for her; something she pretends to get through each day. Trauma is constant and retraumatization, too. Wounds only begin to heal before they are torn open again.

Reflecting on Hettie fills me with the greatest angst, as well. I recognize the desire to sweep in and save her conflicting with the knowledge that nothing can be done, because the history is set. Authentically facing the enslavement of kidnapped Africans in America is a hard journey of also facing the darkness of white history. Acknowledging the crimes of the past is a worthwhile endeavor, however. I cannot express that enough–especially for Americans. We really need to do this work, because it has never been addressed sufficiently.

While I don’t shy away from difficult topics, I am not sure I will revisit this story with a sequel. I have thought of a follow up, but cannot find a good reason to rehash the trauma that it would contain for the sake of fiction. The one story line that pushes at me to write, an offshoot via minor characters, is just not formed enough or making a good enough case.

Let’s hop on over to the other author answers via their links below…

Carsten Reiniger – Open Book Blog Hop #310

January 31, 2022 By Captain Maiel

♦Welcome to another edition of the Open Book Blog Hop!♦

Topic #310
Share some of your favorite lines from your writing.
How about some of your worst ones if you still remember them?

I’m not going to hold you up from getting to the meat of this post. I’m going to answer the first part of the question. My older and unpublished work would stand for my worst writing, as it has never been polished or edited. You can see those pieces on my deviantArt writing account. They’re almost a decade old! Moving on, I present my best work, some excerpts from my best selling work, OP-DEC: Operation Deceit:

The days blended together. Claire’s only relief from the dreariness of the sub and the monotony of the engines was when Carsten took her above decks. On the tower of the bridge, she took in the fresh air until the Allied Navy chased them back deep below the waves. The captain made it his business to avoid confrontations, and Claire was thankful for it. Their ordeal managed to save lives on her side of the war. The sting of facing death eased in light of saving some Joes.

On one such event, Claire looked far out over the gently rolling waves. The desolate tract stretched for miles. The moon hung as a silver smile in a sky of sparkling dust, and from up there, the sound of the engines was almost bearable. She gripped the rail and shut her eyes, silently counting her temper down. The cold spray felt invigorating as it misted over her face. She hated the idea of going back inside with the stink. Bad enough that she had to wear the captain’s stinking weather jacket when above decks. She just wanted to stand there and pretend she had taken a shower. It would have been perfect if only the eyes boring into her back were swept over the side.

“Tomorrow morning the coast should be on the horizon,” Carsten said, joining her, he flicked the last of a cigarette into the ocean. He scratched at his scruffy chin, grown in over the many days at sea. He wore a weather jacket and hat, the outfit issued both to him and her father when they had boarded. The men had been expected to board alone, so few provisions remained for the women. “We will be in France—Lorient.”

Claire’s eyes popped open. The scene before her was striking, but it wasn’t as sweet as when Fritzy stood invisible on the other side of the bridge. She would have settled for him just keeping quiet, but he never did.

“Is that the last we’ll finally see of you?” Claire asked, lofting the words at him like a punch.

“Unfortunately for you—we will be spending a great deal of time together.” Carsten smiled at her.

The insinuation was clear. He liked to insinuate things when she got feisty with him.

“Unfortunate for you, Fritzy,” Claire said back to him, cracking a sarcastic smile.

Carsten chuckled. “And I thought we were getting to be fantastic friends, Liberty Belle.”

Carsten touched the collar of his jacket that poked from beneath the captain’s coat and turned to the sea. Placing his foot on the bottom of the rail, he folded his arms to rest on the top and displayed his pleasure that she still wore the garment.

“Maybe you’re not such a great snoop after all,” Claire said, holding her chin up high.

“Maybe not. But so far, I have been able to evade the best of your men, living right under their noses for months.”

“I bet you’re pretty proud,” Claire said. She set her fist on her hip and faced him, gripping the rail with her other hand to steady herself. “But you didn’t put one over on me, did you?”

“Quite,” Carsten said. “Would you be proud if you were doing such a fine job for your side?” He paused, eyeing her. “But you are not, are you?” He placed his fingers on her chin, lifting it to better catch her reaction. “As for you—I think you are dealt with.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Claire said, choking back the emotions that rose within her. The beard failed to ruin his handsome features.

Now he simply looked like a strapping Viking god instead of a fair Greek one. She stepped to the side, reclaiming her space and senses.

“I bet I could have you fooled in the matter of a minute and get myself right out of this.”

“Look, Fräulein,” Carsten moved closer to tower over her, hands on hips. His eyes took on the usual iciness. “I am the only friend you will have in the Reich.”

“Some friend,” Claire snarled, tipping her face toward him.

Carsten shrugged his shoulders and grinned. His eyes slipped to her mouth and then back. The ice glinted deviously in that look.

Claire huffed and gave him her back, folding her arms. She watched the sea roll, wishing it would swallow him alive. The night sky and waves no longer calmed her nerves. She shoved away from the rail and went to the hatch. Without her nervy escort, she climbed the ladder to cut short her time in the fresh air. She needed to hide beside her aunt where he couldn’t press himself against her or remind her of what might become of her.

And, one more… (Trigger Warning: Sexual Assault)

Claire soon found herself cornered in an empty alley, out of sight. The transport trucks and commotion sounded muffled. The soldiers who brought her there circled, keeping her corralled. She watched them warily.

“Please,” Claire heard herself say.

They paused. The first soldier laughed. His dark features reddened with the fervency of his emotions. His eyes sparked with fire. The men chattered to each other, most amused. The first soldier neared her, undoing the buckle of his belt. Claire backed away, pleading with him again. Her eyes went wide and she

lost her voice in panic. She had to run. She had to find the others. She had to find Carsten. Her mind whirred around where he was. He was always there to intervene before.

Claire tried to run, but was forced back by the three soldiers. They pushed her back to the wall, jeering and laughing. They called her something that was very much just like the English word. Tears stung her eyes. She slapped at them and tried to push her way through. They looked like boys, but were surprisingly strong. The first soldier pressed her to the back of the alley. Pushing her face to the bricks. Even alone, the man was too strong to fight and her damaged limbs were in no condition to do battle. She cried, begging him to stop. He pushed her head harder against the wall, then spun her around. Gripping her by the neck, he said something close to her face, then laughed.

The man tugged at the belt around her waist. It had given her trouble that morning so she hoped it would be enough to save her now. He growled something over his shoulder and one of his friends fished in his pockets. He tossed him a jack-knife. Claire shut her eyes, praying that this time, somehow, Carsten would be the protection she needed, as the belt let go under the blade and her pants slackened.

“I would not do that,” Claire heard his familiar voice.

The soldiers guarding the attack spun about. Claire’s assailant turned his face to see who had come to interrupt their fun. His friends aimed their rifles. Carsten stood with two pistols aimed. Behind him, Kohl ran into the alley.

The trio of attackers sneered. The first continued what he was doing tugging the waist of her pants down her hips. Claire pressed herself to the wall and struggled to keep her clothes on. The man squeezed her throat harder. She squeezed her eyes shut and gasped for air. One of the guards fired a rifle. Claire shook at the loud report of the gun. Her attacker pulled the halves of her shirt apart, popping the buttons in his haste. Claire screamed as his cold hands grasped her breast and ribcage, unable to see if Carsten had been killed and fearing the worst as the assault continued.

OP-DEC: OperatiOP-DEC: Operation Deceit By K. Williamson Deceit By K. Williams

A similar set of sounds to the rifle shots swallowed her voice. The pressure holding her to the wall released. She turned her head, tears streaming from her eyes.

Carsten stood with his pistol pressed to the temple of her attacker’s head. The expression on his face rivaled her father’s usual mien. He spoke in measured German and the man backed up. Carsten’s gaze flicked to her and he murmured gentle assurances. The hate was clear in his eyes, but his concern had taken away its energy. Claire’s attacker put his hands up and lowered onto his knees before Carsten’s pistol. Claire pushed along the wall wanting to be as far from the horrible man as possible. Carsten reached his hand out to her, keeping his gun and eyes on the man who’d sought to violate her. Carsten pulled her to him, and she buried her face against his shoulder.

“Hauptmann,” Kohl’s voice called, trying to deescalate the situation.

He stood over the only other surviving perpetrator, who knelt with his hands clasped behind his head and sniveling. Carsten spoke again. Then his gun reported. Multiple times. They stood for several moments in the silence that followed. Claire wept quietly against Carsten’s shoulder not looking at the scene. She knew he’d shot the remaining men.

Soon, other soldiers and passerby crowded the entrance.

“You cause me so much trouble, Fräulein,” Carsten’s voice came.

The soldiers coming into the alley looked confused by the three dead soldiers at the feet of the suited men. Kohl stepped forward, attempting to explain, holding his hands up and his pistol dangling from his thumb harmless. It did little good. The gathered soldiers dragged them back to the command tents at the port to answer for the crime.

Read more excerpts from the authors on this hop via the links below…

The Middle Road – Open Book Blog Hop #300

November 22, 2021 By Captain Maiel

♦Welcome to another edition of the Open Book Blog Hop!♦

Topic #300
Which part of your book do you spend the most time on?
Beginning, middle or end? Something else?

Welcome back to another Open Book Blog Hop! The authors included in this ongoing series wish to thank you for your reads. We appreciate, even more so, when you share our writings with your friends. If you’re new to the series, welcome aboard. The authors engage and impress weekly. Prepare to become a regular reader.

Writing a book is a long endeavor with many twists and turns. The amount of time you spend on any one section, chapter, page, paragraph, is determined by how that particular tome is going to produce itself from your mind. I’ve had manuscripts that take me little time to write the main story, but have struggled to find the proper opening, or the ending eludes me. Overall, however, I feel that the middle of the story, the meat of the project, is where I spend most of my time.

In my estimation, the middle is where the heart of the story resides. To make a great beginning or end, you must understand that journey between the points. Sometimes we authors do. Sometimes we do not. The projects I have started and left unfinished simply had no clear pathway. Therefore, I couldn’t spend more time on them, because whatever I wrote wasn’t going to be good enough. Hammering through the fog would only lead to a struggle with the point. Therefore, I have let them go, because until I find their point, there’s no solid reason to continue putting in the time. There I am, stuck right in the middle–possibly for years.

A book is much like a puzzle. In the end, the picture is very clear. At the start, it’s a bunch of jumbled pieces. You may have an idea of what it is supposed to look like, but if the pieces don’t fit together properly, it won’t work!

Even if I do have a clear path from beginning to end, which I had with the books that I have published, the greatest part of my work is researching and crafting the story that sits at the center. It must be engaging. The point has to be clear, but not so obvious readers are annoyed that the protagonist doesn’t seem to get it, and rambles on about the place suddenly waking to their reality by the end. The point should grow like a garden, all the healthy vegetables, that will in the end make a lovely salad.

Outsiders often think that what we storytellers do is easy, but then they only see the final products and are not privy to the inner workings of how a book becomes a book. The long days and nights ruminating the idea are unseen. The drafts remain private. The starts without finishes don’t see the light of the day. Sometimes we mention these things, but they seem somehow trivial, or small in the greater scope of the work, because the product is there in front of us. A reader does not often get to agonize with the writer for months of the creation process. They simply find the work once it is published and many read it within a day. Do they even know that sometimes it took years to put that book together?

A good reason to spend so much time on the middle is that weaving the tale part. In the middle, you can lay that breadcrumb trail. This is probably where the most treasure can be dug. If the reader is paying attention, the writer will have given them clear clues to the outcome the entire way. For instance, something mentioned in the beginning will carry meaning toward the end. Have you ever watched a television show and a character says something that you think is odd and out of place, or the camera lingers on an object? That’s a direct clue. Often viewers don’t get it until the end or the next episode.

I was just watching an episode of Legends of Tomorrow (which has gotten irreparably campy). My favorite character Mick has had a fling with an alien. He mentions at the end of the show that she did a weird tentacle thing in his ear. In another episode soon after, we find out that his otherworldly lover has laid an egg sac inside his ear. Of course she did. Isn’t it obvious? It was to me. I knew they were bothering to say this line to clue you in. That could be my screenwriting background, though, that has me that clued in.

Photo of trees carved with initials and other markings by Peggy Choucair from Pixabay

Regardless, the center of the book, the middle parts, are where we drop all of these clues. For example: we drop something at the beginning to pick up later. Usually, it is picked up in the middle and carried forward at that point if it came up so soon. Dropping clues at the end are allusions to future happenings to write about If an author has written sequels, or plans them, pay close attention to the end clues. That said, it is in the middle you will find the heart of my work and effort. For me, it is the axis on which the story turns.

Picture a maze, if you will. The beginning is at one point on the edge and the end at another point along the edge. The bulk of the work takes place in the middle to solve the maze. Those side steps and wrong turns, the hidden treasures on dead ends, they all feed into it.

Have you seen those memes that poke fun at the path to success? It shows a straight line from A to B, and the caption says how you think success works. The next picture shows a knotwork of snarls and loops between A and B? A good story looks like picture two–not too complicated, but full of twists and turns that all feed the stakes and create tension, pushing not only the protagonist forward, but the reader too. Don’t twist and turn too much, because you could lose them through frustration and confusion.

Often, because I spend so much time carefully working out the path between the two essential points of beginning and end, I feel that I have rushed the ending. I wonder if other authors feel this way too?

Let’s hop on through the responses from the other authors by clicking their links below and see if they talk about that, too…