How to Make Your Characters Believable:

a guest post by Stefan Vucak

 

 

People are quirky, unpredictable, emotional, and often cannot be relied upon. Governed by the environment within which they live, knowledge accumulated over years of learning, whether formal or through personal endeavor, and simply interacting with others, an individual is a complex matrix of what it means to be human. Above all things, people are self-centered, always looking for that angle which will make them come ahead—that quick fix to bypass the necessary hard work in-between. That’s why we gamble.

 

Standing on a busy street corner, waiting for the lights to change so I can cross, I am bemused by the sight of pedestrians hurrying, dawdling, or completely distracted with faces buried in a smart phone crossing the other way. There are tall people, skinny ones, some not so, Caucasian, Asian; all sorts. Some are wearing smiles, while others scowl, and there are those who seem to be stooped like they are bearing the load of the world on their shoulders. The teens skip gaily, chatting to each other and laughing, looking on us oldsters as incomprehensible cubes, wondering what all the fuss is about.

So, what’s with the philosophical sideline? Believe it or not, there is a point. Purse your lips and ask yourself if you have really looked at a stranger lately, and simply from his appearance tried to work out his personality, social status, mannerisms, identifying marks? If you can see them, does he have brown eyes or blue ones or green? Is his face round, square, long, gaunt, plump? Does he walk with confident strides or is he hesitant, his eyes darting suspiciously as he pushes through the crowd? Is he carrying anything? If so, what is it? Does it help you identify him? On an instinctive level, do you like him or do the hairs on the back of your neck tingle at the sight of him?

Are you starting to get the broader picture? Do you observe people or does the mass of humanity simply slide past your consciousness as you hurry across the street, your mind focused on whatever it is you need to do? Finishing that chapter you’ve been struggling with, perhaps? The struggle caused because your main character, and maybe the whole cast, is somewhat two-dimensional, a nobody, and you cannot quite figure out why? Then again, you might be thinking: I don’t need to describe my characters; the story is good enough to carry them. You could be right. You could also be wrong, you know.

Deciding how to portray characters in your writing can be a contributing factor in producing a great book, or something that’s okay for a once off read. Every book has two basic components: action sequences and characters who do the action or have action done unto them. Many books rely on action alone, and some do it with superb craftsmanship. Others get into a character’s mind and never let you leave it. That can be entertaining and enthralling—if done well. But how can you tell whether your characters are genuinely alive and real? Simple, really. Think of a recent book you have read and ask yourself this. Do the characters stand out? If so, why? Or are they cardboard cutouts who cannot utter a coherent sentence? It is an instinctive thing anyone can spot. Unfortunately, many writers can spot it in someone else’s book, but are unable to see it in their own writing.

All right, how do you make your characters believable? Before you even start writing that epic, you need a detailed outline, a story skeleton on which you’ll hang the words. Part of writing that outline will require that you line up your cast and stare at them, then pick those that will star in your book. Think of a casting director for a movie. Your cast will be determined by the type of book you are writing. Is it a love story, a techno thriller, a murder mystery, a convoluted spy thriller, a tearjerker? Are you looking for action men, sleuths, hard-boiled gumshoes, sleazy womanizers, or just mean guys? What does this process do for you? Whether you realize it or not, and you should, you are taking a first step toward making your characters believable. You are thinking of them as individuals with personalities.

To make every member of your cast a living person, you need a police profile that goes something like this:

- Height

- Weight

- Complexion

- What color eyes

- Does he chomp his food, or is he a dainty gentleman

- Does he swear

- What is his normal behavior: tense, relaxed, awkward, sharp…

- Special mannerisms, use of phrases, habits…

I think you are starting to get the idea. Why such a profile you might ask? For one thing, it will crystallize that character in your own mind. Whenever you write about him, the character will always behave consistently, true to himself. Any deviation will not be looked on favorably by your readers. There is nothing more irritating than reading on one page the character is five foot ten, and later, he is six feet two, or something like that. You may never employ all of the character’s profile in the book, so why bother? What this does is makes the character live, which is the important thing. He becomes a close friend, or an enemy. You will like him or you won’t. Either way, you will know this character, and so will your readers. If someone asks you to describe your sister, brother, mother or friend, you can readily spew out the words with hardly a pause. In the same way, you must be able to handle your characters in your writing.

Remember that cardboard cutout? He is a cutout simply because the writer doesn’t know him. He is a complete stranger, and he comes across as such to readers. That’s all there is to it. Well, there is a bit more, of course. That more being the dialogue.

You cannot handle a novel with a character not having to say anything—unless he is a Robinson Crusoe. Since there are no more unoccupied coral islands where someone can get away from it all and clam up, your characters will have to say something sometime. What they say and how they say it will go a long way toward making them real and believable, or two-dimensional cutout dummies. Some writers can handle dialogue with natural skills, while others agonize. How do you master dialogue? Grab one of your favorite books and check the dialogue. Why do you like it, and does your dialogue come anywhere close? If not, what can you do about it? That’s simple, but involves some sweat on your part. You are a writer, right? So, practice writing dialogue until it becomes second nature. Never mind about what, just write. Think of the last conversation you had with someone and write the ensuing dialogue. When you read it, does every aspect of that episode come through? And I am not talking only about what was said, but how it was said, what emotion was displayed, gestures, tone of voice, hidden meanings. If what you have written doesn’t match your memory, you obviously haven’t got it right. Give the piece to the person you had the conversation with and get his feedback.

If you have read this far, you are right to point out that there is much more to making your characters believable, but I hope I got you thinking and looking at your characters in a new light. By the way, get a professional editor to go over your writing. An impartial pair of eyes can do wonders for your novel.

 

Guest Blogger Bio

 

Stefan is an award-winning author of eight techno sci-fi novels, including With Shadow and Thunder which was a 2002 EPPIE finalist. His Shadow Gods Saga books have been highly acclaimed by critics. His political thriller, Cry of Eagles, won the coveted 2011 Readers Favorite silver medal award, and his All the Evils was the 2013 prestigious Eric Hoffer contest finalist.   

Stefan leveraged a successful career in the Information Technology industry and applied that discipline to create realistic, highly believable storylines for his books. Born in Croatia, he now lives in Melbourne, Australia.

Links:

Website:  http://www.stefanvucak.com/

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/StefanVucak

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/stefanvucak 

 

Shadow Gods Saga:  Series Link

 

Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog article here.

My guest today is DJ Swykert. Hello, DJ! Welcome back to Writing in the Modern Age! It’s such a pleasure to have you here again.

Can you tell us a little bit about your latest book? When did it come out? Where can we get it?
  

My new book, The Death of Anyone, introduces readers to a DNA search technique not in common use here in the U.S., Familial DNA. A lot will be written on this subject as the real life trial of Lonnie David Franklin, The Grim Sleeper, unfolds in California this year. The book also introduces a new character for me, a female homicide detective. It's not the first time I've written from a female POV, but she's the first in this role. I’m hoping the book will appeal to an even broader audience than Children of the Enemy, or Alpha Wolves. There is a romance along with the mystery in the plot and some real science.

The Death of Anyone was released by Melange Books in Minneapolis the end of February. It’s available at: Melange Books, Lulu, Amazon, and Bookwire.

Is there anything that prompted your latest book? Something that inspired you?

I first heard about Familial DNA Searches while working as a 911 operator in 2006. It came up in a conversation with officers. I thought at the time it would make an interesting premise for a book. I began writing the mystery some three years later after leaving the department. I had just finished editing a first draft of The Death of Anyone in the summer 2010 when news of The Grim Sleeper’s capture in Los Angeles was released. I read with interest all the information pouring out of L.A. regarding the investigation and the problems confronting prosecutors. All of which are explored in The Death of Anyone.
 
This sounds fascinating!

So, when did you know you wanted to write? Or has it always been a pastime of yours?

I don’t know if I ever actually 'decided' to be a writer. I remember the first thing I wrote, a bad poem to a pretty girl, I was a teenager, and Tennyson’s "Flower in the Crannied Wall" gave me the idea to try my hand at poetry. I still recite Tennyson’s poem. I think my desire to try writing novels came from reading them, in particular Hemingway and Fitzgerald, and when I was younger, Mark Twain. I simply enjoyed the storytelling, and think I inherited a little storytelling ability from my grandfather, who was really good at spinning a tale. 

My grandmother did the same thing.  LOL. 

Do you have any favorite authors?

I’ve already kind of answered this; Tennyson, Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Mark Twain. You can add Byron, Auden, Chekhov and Annie Proulx to the list. Oh, hell, there’s a host of great writers, my list could go on for pages. But these always have stuck in my head. 

I know what you mean.  I have WAY too many to count.  

So, do you write in a specific place? Time of day?

Currently, I write mornings on a desk in the garret, as my girlfriend calls it, on the third floor of our townhouse. But I’ve written just about anywhere I can find something to write with, even on a bunk in the Houghton County Jail, er… that was just once, for a short while on a traffic violation. 

Are there any words you'd like to impart to fellow writers? Any advice?

Keep typing, and submitting. I believe in the old Hindu saying: Given enough time, coincidence is inevitable. There is a measure of coincidence in finding a home for your writing. You have to have skill, a good story, but also some luck. You can improve your odds by applying The Law of Large Numbers, which allows prey species to survive by reproducing in large numbers. Your writing can survive in the same way, get it out there, and keep putting it out there. Be productive. And keep your fingers crossed.

Good advice. 

So, readers, here is the the blurb for The Death of Anyone.

Detroit homicide Detective Bonnie Benham has been transferred from narcotics for using more than arresting and is working the case of the killer of adolescent girls. CSI collects DNA evidence from the scene of the latest victim, which has not been detected on the other victims. But no suspect turns up in the FBI database. Due to the notoriety of the crimes a task force is put together with Bonnie as the lead detective, and she implores the D.A. to authorize an as yet unapproved type of a DNA Search in an effort to identify the killer. Homicide Detective Neil Jensen, with his own history of drug and alcohol problems, understands Bonnie’s frailty and the two detectives become inseparable as they track this killer of children.

Here's an excerpt from The Death of Anyone. 

Benham arrived first, no sign of Russo or Jensen. She got a table and told the maitre de to send them over when they arrived, and that there would be a third party, a Detective Lagrow. As he seated Benham, the maitre de informed her, “The show starts at about 12:30 pm. We have a couple of new dancers."

Benham screwed up her nose, gave him a curious eye. “Dancers?”

The maitre de nodded. “Yes, belly dancers. We have a new one I’m sure your friends will appreciate. She’s very good-young, friendly.”

Benham just shook her head. ”I’m sure they will,” she said as she sat.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

Whoa, the brake in her head told her. You know you, you know your history. You know what a slip can do to you. Doctors, psychologists, treatment, rehab, counselors, AA, each and every one of them flashed across her head as her mind absorbed the offer. “Just a coke, or, actually, would you just bring me a black coffee.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Benham sipped her coffee and looked through her brief notes of the case. They were very brief, there was little to put in them. A young girl, perhaps ten, dead, strangled, almost for certain assaulted, lying in an alley for a few hours. And it had only been a few hours—Pierangeli seemed pretty sure she hadn’t been there long. She was found at around nine-thirty am, so she died maybe around eight am. She lay there, choked, defiled, beautiful, and dead, and nobody was looking for her. She had to have been taken pretty early this morning, so it’s been about five hours she’s been gone, and nobody loves her enough to miss her. Benham could feel the anger rising from within, from the source where feelings come from, from deeper but inclusive of the stomach, from the birthplace of emotion.

A hand touched her shoulder and startled her. “Me and Jensen are here, bring on the dancing girls,” Dean Russo bellowed, joyous almost, and that irritated Bonnie a little. There was nothing to be happy about this day.

“You’ll get your wish. The belly dancers will be here in a few,” Benham said, with a bit of obvious disdain that Russo picked up on.

“You picked the place.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bonnie answered, feeling a little sorry now she sounded so disapproving. “Yeah, I picked it. Didn’t think about belly dancers, but, hey, we’re here, and I love pastitio, and they have the best. Sorry if I sound pissy, it’s only because I am. Once you see the girl, you won’t be dancing in the street either.”

Russo quit laughing. “How long you been in homicide, Benham?”

Bonnie could see she rubbed something, “A couple of months.”

“You were in narcotics?”

“Yeah, I was in narcotics. I was in it and it—I was narcotic.”

There was a pause. Jensen looked across at Russo, glared a little, trying to shut him up with a look. And out of the corner of his eye let Bonnie know he saw her, too. He wanted her to keep this cool.

But it was a little late, and Bonnie was a bit volatile. “You know fucking well I was in narcotics. And you fucking know why I’m in homicide. I got myself transferred out for becoming more narcotic than narc. Quit beating around the bush. What’s your point?”

Universal Reader Link:  https://books2read.com/u/4A52gA

 

Author Bio
 

I’m a blue collar person from Detroit. I’ve worked as a truck driver,dispatcher, logistics analyst, operations manager, and ten years as a 911operator, which was the very best job of them all. I write stories like you’d watch a movie and put them down on paper. I have written in different genres; crime, romance, literary and The Death of Anyone, which is a
mystery/suspense story with romance and science in it. 

The last sentence in my writing bio is always: He is a wolf expert. I am not a biologist. I raised two arctic hybrids, had them for eleven years, and have written two books in which the wolves join the other protagonists. 

I have been fortunate enough to have my writing appear in: The Tampa Review, Monarch Review, Sand Canyon Review, Zodiac Review, Scissors and Spackle, Spittoon, BarbaricYawp and BULL. The other books I have written are Children of the Enemy, a novel from Cambridge Books, and Alpha Wolves, a novel by Noble Publishing.

Links:

Blog: www.magicmasterminds.com

Facebook:  http://www.facebook.com/david.swykert?ref=ts&fref=ts

LinkedIn:  http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=193494247

Other Links:  http://www.gypsyartshow.com/2013/03/the-death-of-anyone-by-dj-swykert.html

http://www.omnimysterynews.com/2013/01/please-welcome-novelist-dj-swykert.html

 

Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog article here.

My guest today is Steve Christie. Hello, Steve! Welcome to Writing in the Modern Age! It’s such a pleasure to have you here.

Can you tell us a little bit about your latest book? When did it come out? Where can we get it?
  

It's a crime thriller titled Good Deed. It was published at the end of last year. It introduces DI Ronnie Buchanan, an intelligent and astute man with a wry sense of humour. The story starts with a normal girl who made a bad choice, a stranger doing a good deed which he will regret and two inept, opportunistic thieves who steal something which they are ill equipped to handle. Add an upset crime lord, his unscrupulous fixer Vince, then sit back as the mind games begin, the twists unfold and enjoy a breathless tour around Scotland as DI Buchanan tries to solve the case.

It's available as an eBook on Kindle and Kobo and on paperback from Amazon. It is also available at The Book Depository, Ringwood Publishing and from all good UK Bookshops.

Is there anything that prompted your latest book? Something that inspired you?

The old adage "no good deed goes unpunished". Every now and again you'll either pick up the newspaper or watch the news and see some story where some Good Samaritan helps someone out of a sticky situation only for it to come back and, pardon the phrase, bite them on the arse.

LOL.  So, when did you know you wanted to write? Or has it always been a pastime of yours?

I've always fancied giving it a go. I used to write short stories for my kids when they were younger.  They seemed to enjoy them and now that they've grown up a bit, I thought I'd get my teeth stuck into something a bit more substantial.  So I wrote Good Deed, my first novel.

Do you have any favorite authors? 

Loads. Lee Child, Patricia Cornwell, Ian Rankin. I've recently been getting into George R.R. Martin. I'm currently reading through his A Song of Ice and Fire series.

Do you write in a specific place? Time of day?

I work long hours, I seldom get home before eight p.m. each night, so I usually don't get around to my writing until about 10 p.m. Once my kids are settled down Ill put on some music, on my iPod of course, I don't want to waken any one up! Then I'll usually write for maybe about two or three hours. This, of course, means that I end up going to work the following morning looking like a crack addict! LOL.

*Laughs.* Oh, yes, I'm familiar with burning the midnight oil for a story.  

Are there any words you'd like to impart to fellow writers, Steve? Any advice?

Stick at the writing and learn to accept rejection and criticism. It comes with the territory.

Good advice.  So, inquiring minds want to know.  What are you currently working on?

I'm writing my second DI Buchanan novel Cold Shot. It's a dark tale of revenge set during a particularly nasty winter in Aberdeen.

Here is the blurb for Good Deed.

Good Deed is a fast paced crime novel that captures the reader from beginning to end.

Described by one reviewer as “Christopher Brookmyre on speed, with more thrills and less farce”, the gripping story of Good Deed rattles along relentlessly, leaving the reader breathless but enthralled. Good Deed introduces a new Scottish detective hero, DI Ronnie Buchanan, who is certain to quickly attract a legion of fans.

The events crammed into Good Deed take Buchanan from his base in Aberdeen on a frantic journey around all the major Scottish cities as his increasingly deadly pursuit of a mysterious criminal master mind known only as Vince comes to a breath-taking climax back in Aberdeen.

The pace of Good Deed is exceptional and unremitting. It is the kind of book that demands to be read in one sitting, but most readers will be so breathless as the saga unfolds without pause that they will need occasional rests before eagerly returning for more.

Here's an excerpt from Good Deed.

Lucy Kennedy pulled off the motorway following the road signs to the Road Chef restaurant just outside Dundee.

It was notoriously expensive but she had no choice, she was exhausted and in need of some caffeine.

She had made good time despite the earlier mishap with the flat tyre but thanks to a helpful stranger shed been back on the road in about ten minutes.

As she entered the restaurant, dazed from the long drive she failed to notice Mark and Liam sitting outside in their parked car but they noticed Lucy leaving hers and forgetting to lock up.

“Here we go,” said Liam. 

Mark and Liam were two habitual criminals who prowled the country seeking victims at roadside restaurants and other such places, they never failed to be amazed by the amount of road users who shattered from a long drive and in need of a coffee would stumble into these restaurants leaving their cars unlocked making their job so much more easier.

Once they had left their vehicle and entered the restaurant, Liam would pull alongside in his car giving Mark cover to rummage through the car to see what bounty awaited them.

On this particular day they struck gold.   

“Holy shit!” said Mark as he unzipped the tartan holdall lying in the back seat. What he'd found were two large packages of white powder well wrapped up in cling film, he knew they must contain a drug of some sort, smack, speed or coke it didn't really matter because judging by the quantity it would be worth a whole load of cash on the street. He took the packages out of the bag, zipped it back up and jumped into Liam's car “wait ' till you see what I've got here buddy” he showed Liam what he'd found.

“Check this, man, it's got to be worth a small fortune.”

“Jesus,” said Liam. “What’s a lassie like her doing carting all that shit about on her own?”

“No idea but it's our shit now, let's go.”

They pulled out of the car park, re-joined the motorway and drove off under the grey, cloud covered sky towards the centre of Dundee.

Lucy, totally unaware of what had just happened, carried her overpriced espresso to the nearest table, sat down and peeled open the small stick shaped packets of brown sugar, poured them into her cup and began to stir her coffee for an inordinate amount of time. She had things preying on her mind some bugging her more than others the main thing of course being how the hell she had gotten herself involved as a drug courier. It had started off small time, a block of weed here and there. Her flat mate Julie had convinced her it was easy money and right enough it did help supplement her meagre university grant, but then she'd got greedy, she took on bigger and bigger amounts, and now four kilos of coke.

She reminisced on how it had all started. It was a typical student's night out, a meal at the local curry house, followed by a pub crawl round Newington. They were a party of six, a strange mix of people, Lucy, her flatmate Julie, Deborah, a mature student big on size and personality, Joe and Eric two gay guys who shared a flat on the floor below and Eric, the cause of all Lucy's troubles.

Eric was a strange guy, the cool student that no one really knew much about, Jim Morrison reincarnated. He picked up the tab for everything, the meal, the drinks, even the taxi home.

She remembered thinking, Jesus this guy must have money coming out his ass, only later on that night back at her flat did she find out where this money came from.

“I deliver a few packages,” he told her as he skinned up a joint on one of Lucy's album covers, one of her favourites. “It’s easy money,” he said. "I could fix you up with the main man if you like".

And that was it, Lucy was in. No more shitty own brand label food from the local supermarket, no more eking out her meagre grant, life was looking up. Or so she thought.

Because of her straight looking plain appearance she was perfect for the task, .because she was so perfect she found herself getting all the bigger jobs. She was quite happy at first, let's face it bigger job bigger pay off. But then the paranoia set in, this couldn’t last; eventually she'd get caught. What would her family say? What if she ended up in jail? All that studying would have gone to waste.

Well, this would be the last, she wanted out and she'd tell them today as soon as she dropped off the package but she’d have to be careful how she went about it, it wasn't like packing in any normal job, a quick goodbye, a few drinks at the end of the last day and then you're off, these guys were scary so she would have to be tactful.

She bought another coffee to go, got her car keys out of her bag and returned to her car to complete the journey.

When she got to her car her heart skipped a beat, shit!, it's unlocked, panicking she looked in the back seat, the holdall was still there, she caught her breath, tried to calm down a bit and got in her car and headed on her way.

Universal Reader Link:  https://books2read.com/u/bMwN6A

 

Author Bio

A Real Ale Loving Scottish Crime Writer. Originally from Aberdeen, now residing in Edinburgh. This is my first novel, available October. Im currently working on my second novel featuring Ronnie Buchanan, working title Cold Shot.

Links:

Find out more...http://about.me/stevechristieauthor

Check out the video on Youtube!  http://youtu.be/nRjrh74zDXE

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/steve.christie.167?fref=ts
Twitter:  @schristieauthor
LinkedIn:  http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=143876790&locale=en_US&trk=tyah
Goodreads:  http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6458799.Steve_Christie

Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog article here.

My guest today is Stefan Vucak. Hello, Stefan! Welcome to Writing in the Modern Age! It’s such a pleasure to have you.

Can you tell us a little bit about your latest book? When did it come out? Where can we get it?

Strike for Honor is a pretty intense contemporary political drama with naval action. It’s about an admiral whose son is killed by a North Korean missile attack during a naval exercise. With the U.S. administration unwilling to upset nuclear limitation talks with North Korea by taking a tough stand, the admiral decides to strike North Korea’s nuclear enrichment plant. This, of course, creates an international crisis and upsets the American President. I had to do a lot of research for this book, but that was part of the fun. I did not apply everything I learned, but it broadened my horizons.

Strike for Honor was released this March and is available from Amazon and Smashwords.

Is there anything that prompted Strike for Honor? Something that inspired you?

When I conceived this project, I really wanted to concentrate on my main character, Admiral Pacino, and his problems with the White House administration and how it treats, or fails to look after the veterans. Largely, the book still does, but having opened the door on North Korea, there was no turning back, and during my research, I found out far more than I anticipated – surprisingly more. We all know how North and South Korea were created. What many people don't know is that after the armistice was signed, America housed nuclear weapons in South Korea in direct contravention of the Non Proliferation treaty, which over time, directly led to North Korea developing its own nuclear program. America and North Korea agreed to abandon its nuclear program, and in return, America would provide N. Korea with a water cooled reactor to meet the country's energy needs. It did shut down its program on three occasions, but America failed to deliver on it promises. It is a complicated and tortuous history, and made for fascinating reading.

Great!  So, when did you know you wanted to write? Or has it always been a pastime of yours?

I always wanted to write. As far back as I can remember, the printed word held a fascination that allowed me to escape into other worlds, other characters. For an imaginative kid, it was better than candy - almost. Where I attended primary school, there was a small library at the top of the street, which I made my own. At school, I loved my essay writing assignments, even though many of my classmates found it an agonizing chore. I could never figure out what was the big deal. My specialty was using elaborate, flowery language. But nobody could describe a sunset, a moonlit night or the booming of crashing surf like I could. The one thing my writing lacked was people. It took me awhile to make the connection. Prose was great, but great writing had to involve people, drama, conflict, emotion and everyday life. When I learned to write dialogue, everything clicked, or so I thought. I still haven’t stopped writing and learning how to do it. Of course, having read many books, it didn’t seem all that hard, so I wrote one. You don’t want to read it. Call it my training wheels. Well, one thing led to another...

Do you have any favorite authors, Stefan?

During my science fiction phase, two authors stood out: Roger Zelazny and Keith Laumer. When his writing was good and before he descended into sorcery and mysticism, Zelazny had an evocative, deceptively easy style that was a pleasure to read. When I can reread a book several times and still enjoy it, that’s my view of a great book, and Zelazny had several. Keith Laumer had an irreverent, sardonic writing style that blasted my sensibilities and often amused me. Some of his stuff was terrible, but a lot was extremely entertaining.
 

Since my sci-fi days, I sampled writers from other genres: 19th century sea warfare, techno thrillers and others. I like Stephen Coonts, at least his early works. Sadly, he descended into trash popularism, culminating with Saucer, a truly terrible book. But a couple of hundred books later, the techno thriller genre gave me a solid grounding into the workings of governments, spy agencies, the military, and war machinery of all kind. It was a good launching platform for my own contemporary novels. 

Do you write in a specific place? Time of day? What works for you? 

I am a morning person, a result of having to get up early over many years to go to work, and that’s when I like to write. That discipline hasn’t left me and I still get up early. I am fresh and my mind is charged, ready to

go – most of the time. I find I am most productive during the first half of the day. In the afternoon, I spend transcribing material from my notebook into the computer and doing initial editing. Although I don’t normally write in the evening, sometimes I do. It all depends on inspiration and what I am writing about at the time. There are also moments when I wake up in the middle of the night when an idea pops up and I simply have to jot it down. When I don’t do that, I wake up knowing there was something important I needed to write, but it’s gone. Frustrating.

I know exactly what you mean, Stefan! 

So, are there any words you’d like to impart to fellow writers? Any advice before you head off?

If there is one thing I learned over the years as a writer, if anyone is contemplating taking this on seriously, he should be prepared to spend many lonely hours with a pencil and paper, and sitting behind a computer screen. There will be disappointments, frustration, angst...and moments of sheer exhilaration and satisfaction when the words flow and the creative process produces something wonderful. Writing is a gift, but it can also be a curse. But once bitten with the urge to create, there is no cure. 

So true.

Okay, so there you have it, folks. Stefan has a great book out. You can get it on Amazon and Smashwords.

Here is the blurb of Strike for Honor.

In a joint exercise with the Korean navy, Admiral Pacino’s son is one of the casualties from a North Korean missile strike. Enraged that the President is more interested in stitching a deal with North Korea, forgetting the lost American lives, Pacino decides to make a statement by bombing military facilities in both Koreas. Appointed as the CIA Director, Mark Price is plunged into a plot by dissidents to overthrow the North Korean Supreme Leader, bringing the country closer to the West. Pacino’s attacks don’t make his new job or the President’s any easier. Wishing to avoid embarrassing the Administration, someone decides to remove Pacino – permanently. Strike for Honor is a stunning geopolitical thriller that examines American foreign policy and national values.

Now, for the good part. We’re giving you a sneak peek of Strike for Honor. Enjoy!

     As they neared the docks, he could see tall loading cranes cluttering the harbor docks. Navy personnel were everywhere: officers, ratings and toiling gangs. Across the water, two tugs crowded the sleek 567-foot length of USS Shiloh, CG-67, a Ticonderoga-class Aegis cruiser, getting ready to depart. Her functional boxy superstructure and rear helicopter housing didn’t make her graceful, but her business was dealing out death, not stand in review.

Linda pulled the car to a stop before a guarded gate and switched off the engine. She looked at him and her brown eyes turned misty. He reached for her. With a strangled sob, her arms were round his neck.

“There, my sweet. It’s only an exercise,” Vin murmured softly into her short hair after swallowing a lump.

She pulled away and dabbed at her eyes. “I told myself I wouldn’t get emotional.”

He smiled and brushed her cheek with a finger. “It’s all right. You can be emotional for both of us.”

“Just don’t be a hero, okay?”

“You’re talking like I’m off to a war.”

“With North Korean boats shadowing you, no one can tell what they’ll do.”

“I’ll have a powerful ship under me with all the missiles I want to fire. They’d be crackers to try something.”

“If they do, make sure you duck. And that’s an order, Lieutenant.”

“Aye aye, ma’am.” He pulled her tight and their lips met. Her soft mouth opened and the first touch of her velvety tongue made him feel all prickly. Joined in a dance of abandon, he wondered what the hell he was doing trading her for the sea.

Having to come up for air, he broke the moment and looked deep into her eyes. “Keep that thought,” he said and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

She tittered and fisted him on the shoulder. “Dirty old man.”

“Always, my sweet.” He glanced at the digital watch on his right wrist and sighed. “Got to go. Love you.”

“Me too,” she said, clearly distressed despite the brave little smile she gave him.

He wanted to say something comforting and endearing, but words would only make it trite. Abruptly, he unclipped his belt, opened the door, stepped out and slammed it shut. As he made his way to the rear of the car, its trunk lid popped open. He retrieved his dark blue duffel and walked toward the guard post without looking back. He heard the Honda accelerate away behind him.

Saying goodbyes had never been his strong suite.

A marine, the semi-automatic on his right hip within easy reach, stepped out of the small windowed shack and saluted.

“Morning, sir.”

A second marine inside the shack watched them both. Vin could see three M16A2 rifles mounted on the back wall. He returned the salute, slid the duffel to the ground and dug out his wallet. He handed the ID card to the guard who passed it to his buddy. After a computer check, Vin got his card back and the marine saluted again.

“Give ’em hell, Lieutenant.”

Vin grinned and returned the salute as the gate rolled back on its tracks. “Cocked and locked,” he said as he picked up the bag. He paced slowly into his world and breathed deeply. The green water was smooth and there was hardly any wind.

Walking down the pier, he was barely aware of background noises permeating the air like a pervasive blanket: cars, forklifts, trucks, prime movers, and the constant hum of machinery—a harbor readying itself for a major deployment.

Tied portside, a thin thread of gray smoke lingered above USS Curtis Wilbur’s rear stack. The warship’s sharp clipper bow cleaved the air as it rose into a clear sky. Massing 6,900 tons and 505 feet long, painted drab gray, the Arleigh Burke-class guided missile destroyer was a powerful ship. Armed with multiple Mk 41 vertical launch cells that could launch Tomahawk or Standard attack missiles, Evolved Sea Sparrows for defense, VL-ASROC antisubmarine missiles, five inch/54-caliber main gun, torpedo tubes and a Phalanx CIWS close in defense system, the ship could hold its own. Two MH-60 Sea Hawk helicopters housed in a stern hangar extended its reach when sub hunting. Pushed by four GE gas turbines powering two shafts, going better than thirty-six knots, the ship was also demonstrably fast.

Admiring the sleek lines, like he told Linda once, he couldn’t wish for more.

Behind his ship, tied along its starboard side, lay a sister destroyer, Mustin. Lassen and Fitzgerald were laid up for major maintenance and would be missing the scaled down FTX, no doubt to the chagrin of their skippers. Apart from them, everybody else was going, except the carrier USS George Washington. She’d be missing this one, a deal to appease the North Koreans. As the Fleet’s Deputy Commander, Rear Admiral Kenneth Pacino—due to get his third star in the fall according to the grapevine—would be running the exercise from his command ship, USS Blue Ridge, LCC-19. Vin wondered what his old man was doing now. Probably giving his chief of staff ulcers, he mused sardonically.

Despite the fact both of them were at Yokosuka, he’d had limited contact with his father. Their respective duties simply made socializing on a grand scale impossible. To make up for it, his mother visited when he was in port and Linda valued being under the wing of an admiral’s wife. It wasn’t patronage, merely taking practical advantage, and Vin would have been nuts not to take the social benefits his father’s position offered. That’s as far as it went, and neither would have it otherwise. His father’s rank was never used to advance or influence his career. Still, it was nice to know he had one admiral in his pocket if needed.

As he approached the destroyer, its arching side looming beside him, the offset gray-black DDG-54 painted prominently on its bow, Vin figured life could be a whole lot worse. He paused beside the gangway guarded by two marines and returned their salutes. Without being asked, he held out his ID. The marine looked at it carefully and made a tick on his clipboard.

Vin shouldered his bag and climbed up the gangway. Reaching the weather deck, he looked up, saluted the colors and then saluted Lieutenant JG, Mike Couper, standing his stint as Officer of the Deck. The boy looked confident; a far cry from his initial eager, trusting phase when he first came on board. Wanting to make a good impression, he micromanaged, driving his team to distraction, forcing Vin to remind him that he was there as a manager. The chiefs were there to look after the sailors.

“Permission to come aboard, sir,” Vin said formally. Couper returned his salute.

“Permission granted, sir.”

Vin stepped on the steel deck and quickly looked around. There weren’t many people about, most of the activity being below decks.

“What’s the word, Mike?”

“Set to shove off at ten hundred, as per the advertised schedule. You’ve got the afternoon watch in CIC.”

“Everybody on board?”

“Just about, but—”

“I know. Koslov hasn’t reported in.”

“Not yet, and Commander Linnen is something pissed,” Couper agreed equitably, clearly not overly agitated at the prospect of Koslov getting a reaming.

“Well, it wouldn’t be a deployment if the Exec wasn’t pissed at somebody,” Vin said comfortably and walked toward an open hatchway leading into the ship’s bowels.

Commander Deron ‘Sheet’ Linnen was a good officer and cut the crew a lot of slack, but he didn’t have much time for any prima donna. Senior Chief Koslov’s last minute departure antics definitely fitted into that category. Every ship had a character and Koslov was Steel Hammer’s, as the ship was commonly referred to. How people came up with such names, Vin couldn’t figure. They might as well have called her Glowing Hammer after the Fukushima reactors went into a meltdown. Curtis Wilbur and several other ships happened to be in port at the time and it was rumored everything in Yokosuka received a dosing, although according to the official poop, tests showed nothing. The men still joked about it and he was told other ships had requests for transfers, but no one from Wilbur went. The men liked how Captain Tyler Woods ran things. For that matter, so did Vin.

After squaring away and raiding the wardroom for a coffee, he went topside. Standing beside the ASROC torpedo launcher, he watched the hands single up the bowlines. At ten a.m. sharp, the ship’s horn blared, sending up a plume of white steam from the forward stack and tugs eased the warship away from the wharf.

It was time to do some paid business.

Author Bio

Stefan Vucak is an award-winning author of seven techno sci-fi novels, including With Shadow and Thunder, which was a 2002 EPPIE finalist. His Shadow Gods Saga books have been highly acclaimed by critics. His book, Cry of Eagles, won the coveted 2011 Readers Favorite silver medal award.

Stefan has leveraged a successful career in the Information Technology industry and applied that discipline to create realistic, highly believable storylines for his books. Born in Croatia, he now lives in Melbourne, Australia. In addition to writing, he is also an editor, a book reviewer, and     an avid reader with a passion for travel.

Website: www.stefanvucak.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/StefanVucak

 Twitter: @stefanvucak

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