Welcome Ms. Bowen to The Roses of Prose. Keep reading to find out how you can win one of her books!
partners. Love ‛em? Hate ‛em? Need ‛em? I’ve had more than a few. Some good,
some bad. A few wandered off and got lost somewhere. Are you still out
there? I’ve been told I need them, and I’ve been warned against using them.
Here are a few things I’ve learned about the elusive and highly valued critique
a friend or family member. Your sister might be a great Beta reader, but CP?
to find them? Mine have all come from on-line classes. Similar genres and
similar goals are helpful. You want to publish your work, so find someone who
also wants to publish.
take your CP’s word for a fact change to your manuscript. You’ve got Google.
Check it out. If they’re right, you learned something. If they’re wrong, you
dodged a bullet.
you’re the one questioning a fact, send a link to support your suggestion.
Correct their spelling, punctuation and repetitive errors without assuming they
don’t know how to spell. They’ve read their work a dozen times. Their brain
sees it as it should be, not how it is. Help a CP out and just add the
apostrophe and skip the lecture on contractions.
Always welcome suggestions, but don’t feel obliged to take them. Sometimes, a
crazy idea from your CP will spark something completely different inside your
be upset if they don’t take your suggestion. They know where they’re going with
they wander off, let them go. Set them free and wish them well. Re-tweet their
successes and don’t ask why, just let it go.
you find one you work well with, it is magic. I love my critique partners, and
I know my work is much better, fuller, and cleaner because of their efforts.
Appreciate their hard work. A well done critique shows, with lots of
corrections, suggestions and questions. In return, read their work—twice—and be
an advocate for their success.
I know I
wouldn’t have the success I’ve enjoyed without my critique partners. A shout
out to C.A. Jamison and Jodi Hale for their unflagging support and tough love.
welcome additions to my CP list in the comments below. One commenter will
receive a free ebook of either my novel Passage, or one of the anthologies I
have a story in. Winner’s choice!
After a car accident, Courtney Veau has a “near death” experience,
and returns to her past-life in the post-Civil War west. When she wakes in a
present-day hospital, Courtney realizes she’s returned to her own hollow
existence. Heartbroken, she knows she left behind not only a family she loves,
but life with the man who shares her soul, a man she’ll love forever, Merril
A carriage accident nearly takes beautiful Nichole Harris’s life,
stealing her memories completely. Plagued by amnesia, she is confused by
flashes of memory that are out of time with the world around her, and seem to
belong to someone else. Only Nichole's own strong emotions remain to guide
her—and as others try to take control of her life, she fights a desperate
battle to survive. Merril Shilo is someone she should know, and though her
memories fail her, she is stunned by her passion for him—and the remembered
agony of a broken heart.
Merril Shilo is the love of Courtney’s life—no matter when
that life might be. The memories and emotions of her life as ranch heiress Nichole Harris consume Courtney’s
mind—and her heart. Courtney soon finds her desire for Merril threatens her
sanity, as he beckons from a past she can no longer reach. She would give her life to return to
her soul-mate, if she could only find the passage back to him.
Passage - excerpt:
The long shadows faded into
twilight. She'd found what she came for—proof this house existed. There was no
longer a reason to stay; and yet, just the possibility she might hear his voice
again kept her waiting one more day.
Outside the window, night took
final possession of the day. A few porch lights came on down the block.
Headlights swung around the corner as a car turned onto the street and
illuminated the pavement. The headlights winked off and a car door slammed.
Behind her, the room took on a
familiar chill. She turned from the window and pressed her back against the
heavy drapes as the echo of boots pounded up the back stairs. She gasped when
he raced into the room, vaguely luminescent in the darkness. He was dressed in
denim trousers and cotton shirt, with a silk scarf tied loosely around his
neck. Where's his hat? Had he lost it in the dash up the stairs? That
wide-brimmed cowboy hat was such a part of him he seemed naked without it. His
hair had come loose from its binding, and he shoved it out of his face with a
familiar motion. She stood close enough to read the emotion play across his
face, a mixture of fear and bewilderment. His breath was labored, and his
anxiety tangible as he stopped and looked right at her. Her mouth fell open in
surprise and her heart tightened in her chest. Does he see me?
He took a hesitant step toward her.
“Nichole?” His voice filled with horror, he whispered her name from another
“Yes! Merril, it's me.” Courtney
stepped toward the specter.
His head turned. His attention
called away from her open arms. “Oh, sweet Jesus.” Merril fell to his knees and
reached for something no longer there. “Nicki, please don't go. Stay with me.”
“Merril, I'm here.” Her heart
ached for him and for herself, but her plea went unheard.
Sobs shook his wide shoulders.
Her heart clenched to witness his
despair. She longed to comfort him, to assure him she was there, but could not.
In defeat, she sank to her knees beside the grieving apparition.
“Nicki, don't leave me. Look at
me—” His hushed voice, choked and broken.
“I'm right here, my love,” she
whispered, but the room grew warm and Merril Shilo faded back into the past.
Courtney hung her head in the darkness and fought back tears. One question was
answered, at least for now.