Fields of green and gold stretching endlessly in the haze of an endless summer. Walking dogs off the beaten tracks for miles in carefree bliss. Building forts out of ferns and small boats out of reeds to bob along a sparkling brook. Even way back then a serpent had slithered into paradise.

My eight year old friend and I had our freedom curtailed with the first of a series of child murders. Before the advent of DNA testing, the culprit was known, but charges could not be proven. The children that we were could not understand why our world had shrunk to sidewalks and playgrounds with lots of other people around. We thought we were untouchable, but at the same time, this was the start of innocence lost as it was explained to us in careful terms that a bad man was murdering children.

That was the year my best friend moved away and I joined in with other kids working on the crop gathering for farmers.  Loads of moms were with us, also working, so the ‘eyes’ were always there. We were paid exactly the same as adults and scored some wicked money. Child labor? Who was going to get up at 4 am to stop us? Now we could buy records and go to watch the movies at the local cinema. We could have many trips to the swimming pool and a bag of potato chips on the way home, always hanging out in a large group and never straying, or we wouldn’t be allowed out again.

The golden days of innocence were gone for ever, to be replaced by something very different, but good in its own way. There was a very special feeling about getting paid for honest labor. The dew on the pea fields in the pre-dawn glistened on the leaves. There was a sort of hush before the birds started up that was magical. We had a break about nine am for a snack and the women would all fuss around us, making sure we all had food and drink, and then we would work on till midday, when it got too hot and the wagons would come to take us home, tired but richer than the dreams of Crosius to our child minds. It filled the void of that which was now gone forever, those golden fields of freedom.

Watering my containers this afternoon with the VBC, out on his harness when he decides to do a massive dump in my flowerbed. I will swear he was grinning when down came a bird to perch on a feeder about two feet above his head. This was an acquirable flying munchable. It was in range, but he hadn’t finished. The grin melted into a lemon look in a matter of seconds. No act of badness ever goes unrewarded. The bird went unmolested.

Bandit Book Tour Bloggers.

I think it must have been a leap of faith as there was no backups way back when.

There was that time when we had a car that wouldn’t go up a hill. The solution? Sans phone? I got out and pushed. Yes, it was successful.

There was also that memorable moment when the gear selector fell out of the engine. This was miles from civilization. We were on our own. I walked back five hundred yards and found the wretched thing. The dh then reinstalled it. We were good to go and did so.

Because there was no backup, we did the best we could to get with the program. Looking back, this is scary. It is also how it was.

Not that I have seen any of these in the current submissions thus far, but please refrain from using names starting with Z, X or certain K names. It is not necessary to use a weird name to establish a scenario of a fantasy or science fiction book.  All it effectively does is establish the author as a rank amateur.

The use of setting is best employed for this purpose. Also language and strategies for the characters to interact. Think carefully about these. A setting is not merely cardboard props for the establishment of a world. It has to live and breath. Language does not have to be dialect, but it does need to differentiate the races with word choices. Strategies must encompass out of the norm experiences for the characters.

I am not saying I have got it all right. I am saying you can.

I read a post about this and it got me thinking. What works? How does it work? How to do it effectively? The only answer I can come up with is people watching.

Observation is a very necessary tool. How does a man/woman behave in a set circumstance? Part of this is observation of the different genders and another part is characterization. If a character is constructed correctly, then that pseudo person will run themselves if the writer can get into deep point of view.

What helps me is total immersion in the character. That pseudo person has to think, feel, hurt and have aspirations. If the character is of the opposite gender, this takes a lot more thinking through. Men do react to a situation differently to women, which is where the people watching comes into play. Just as an example, a man can almost be guaranteed never to read a set of instructions before he puts something together. A woman almost always will. It is the different wiring that is so fascinating.

BTW, this is not a dig at guys in their construction of DIY projects. Most women will tend to make themselves scarce when such is undertaken to allow the man to do what he thinks, turn the air blue with his thoughts on the thing not cooperating and then read the instructions when the woman is out of the way and can’t see him having to do this.

Word count today was 4,755, but not all on the same story. I like to flitter.  Housecleaning on twitter resulted in another 100 people being unfollowed.  Sorry about this folks, but if you don’t follow me, don’t expect me to host you. I would like an interactive twitter account and it won’t happen if it is cluttered with people promoting or whatever and not reciprocating.

Packaged up three stock books when my newly married daughter and son in law came around to store their canoe. One signed book to one of their friends and two signed books to another. Those guys rock. A fourth should be arriving at its destination in the next day or so, having been sent by snail mail, which probably wasn’t helped by the long weekend.

Yesterday we went up to walk around Fort Edmonton. Now that is a fascinating blast into the past with three time zones.  I think the thing I found most fascinating was the choice of yard plants. Feverfew was very prominent and would be regarded as a weed in modern times. There were quite a lot of the old herb remedies in those gardens. I guess it was all down to guesswork and self-doctoring when it came to sickness.

I think one of the things that surprised me was the living accommodation for the original fort, circa 1840. The married quarters were one room with an attic space above. The attic was for the kids, while the adults had beds in the one room, along with a wooden table and chairs. And no, that wasn’t a typo. Beds were for the THREE married couples who would occupy that one room with the attic above. EWEEEE.

Given the fort was established as a fur trading post, it was shocking how little each poor dead animal skin was worth. A skunk would score a thimble, or maybe a forth rate knife. Beavers were at a premium. Apparently, the stink caused by the hides and the meat was so acute that a person could locate the fort downwind from a goodly distance away. Double EWEEE.

Highlight? I got to ride on a steam train.  There really do make a chuff chuff noise. Cool.

In other news, I caught a glimpse of who I hope are the new neighbors, who appear to be an older couple. Good. Twill be quiet. Crosses fingers. I expect the moving truck will turn up some time tomorrow.

Go check it out. All Kritell Ink titles are now available.

http://www.wizardstowerbooks.com/collections/kristell-ink