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Write for a Reader

The writing advice is to write with a reader in mind. The assumption is that the writer thinks up an audience before starting to write, so they are telling to story to someone specific. As the writer puts words on page, they are telling the story to this imaginary audience sitting across the desk from them. One author was using voice to text software and using it as part of his writing process to the point of not wanting to upgrade for fear the voice would change causing his audience to change.

When I write I don’t write to a specific audience, because I am just a channel for the character to tell me the story. I become the reader who I am writing for. The story is one I want to read, though at times the character goes off to places I am not sure about it. Usually by the time I reach the end of the story, I understand why they went where they did and it works for the story.

There are some of my stories where my only reason for writing it down was for my own entertainment. My western, Chenarcor, was me following the characters around and writing down what they did for my own enjoyment. Turns out that other people have enjoyed it as well, so it seems to be a good way for me to write. Other people do need that audience they are talking to when they write, which is okay as no one way works for everyone.


Ideas While Driving

Since I moved I have done a lot more car trips. I don’t mind as I like car trips. I like driving and I don’t mind being a passenger. The only problem with car trips is that if I try to read or write I can motion sick. So, those hours are useless for getting anything done. Instead I watch the scenery and let my mind wander off to wherever it wants to go. I do pay attention if I am driving, but even then my mind tends to be working on something. This time sitting and enjoying the view has led to many story ideas.

Depending on the trip and the day I will write down these ideas during the short breaks that happen like lunch. Other times I wait until the evening when I have reached my destination and I have a few minutes before going to bed. I like to keep as many of the ideas I get while on car trips as I can because those are some of my better ideas.

It was during my family trips that I got the idea for my western, Chenarcor, as the scenery reminded me of the old west. The trip was usually a yearly event and thus I had plenty of time to think and imagine as we drove.

As much as it would be nice to have those for reading or writing, I enjoy those times for the ideas that come to me.

My Western

As of today my western is available for sale. Physical copies are available from Amazon ( and Create Space ( E-books are available through Smashwords ( Here is a small sample from the beginning of Chenarcor: The Adventures of Alex and Toby:


It was late in the afternoon, but my head was still pounding from whatever this man had been pouring down my throat last night. Jacob Wescott was seated across the table from me and busy telling me about the deal we had struck last night. I remember him as one of the players when I joined the poker game, but after that I barely remember winning that last hand. The job we agreed to do together, I don’t remember. Now he was going on about a third man that was would join us. He was so into what he was talking about that he hadn’t noticed that I wasn’t listening.

He looked like a gunslinger. The softer hands, the hat pulled low, the gun in the holster on his hip. The job was to guard someone, which was the type of job a gunslinger would take. But Jacob’s brown eyes said that he wasn’t a gunslinger. My guess is that he’d shoot if you gave him a reason, but it had to be a good reason.

I had left the farm to become a gunslinger and had hoped to get a job as such. Jacob didn’t seem to be quite what I was looking for. However, I thought I’d go along with the job because the trip this far had drained my money down to the point of not having enough for a hotel.

We both jumped when the kitchen door banged shut. I looked up to see a man dressed like a gunslinger with jeans, black jacket and black hat. His gun sat in the holster that rested snuggly on his hips in easy reach. He was a foot shorter than me and skinny but I wouldn’t bet that he couldn’t handle himself. By the looks of him he had just ridden into town.

“Alex,” Jacob was surprised.

“You were expectin’ Nadine?” Alex asked. There was no humour in the question.

“Alex Turner, Toby Lawton,” Jacob introduced us. Alex offered his hand and I shook it. His handshake was firm and his green eyes were muddy. I noticed several scars along his throat.

We all sat down, Alex taking the chair at one end of the table.

“You said somethin’ ‘bout a job,” Alex said to Jacob. Alex took his hat off and ran his fingers through his short, brown hair.

“Guard duty,” Jacob said, “A man wants three guards to escort him an’ his wife from here to Dustcloud.”

“Very specific instructions,” Alex said.

“It sounds like he’s done this before,” Jacob replied.

“When’s this s’posed to happen?” Alex asked.

“Tomorrow mornin’,” Jacob answered, “Probably not too early. He said he’d pay fifteen hundred at the start and end of the journey.”

“You got time an’ place tomorrow?” I asked. Jacob frowned as if he didn’t like the question.

“I was goin’ to confirm those details today,” Jacob answered.

“It’s getting’ kinda late in the day, maybe you should be getting’ those details soon,” Alex suggested, “This man might’ve hired someone else for the job.”

“I’ll go now,” Jacob said as he stood up. He put his coat on and stomped out of the house. Alex turned to me; it felt like he was studying me.

“How’d Jacob talk you into this job?” Alex asked.

“I was drunk,” I answered. A light that looked like it should have been accompanied by laughter flickered in those green eyes, then it was gone.

“Sounds about right,” Alex said, “Jacob will do practically anythin’ to get his own way once an idea gets into his head.”

“What about you?” I asked.

“He helped me out a couple years ago an’ every time I’ve tried to say no since he reminds me of it,” Alex answered, “Someday it won’t work.”

“You’ve been doin’ this kind of work long?” I asked.

“Three years,” Alex answered, “Seems longer when you’re on the move. I’m guessin’ you were a farmer ‘fore you headed out on your own.”

“If you listen to my father I still am a farmer,” I replied.

“Ever plan on goin’ back?” Alex asked.

“Only if I’m the only one left to claim the land,” I answered, “My father, brother an’ brother-in-law are workin’ the farm. They don’t need another mouth to feed.”