Guest Post by KJ Steele
KJ Steele is an emerging writer who has learned that the process is not so much about choosing what to write as it is about having the courage to write what chooses to be written. Having spent the first half of her life creating an amazing family with her husband, Victor, she intends to spend the rest of it creating equally amazing fiction.
You can find out more about her and her book by visiting her website at http://kjsteele.com, on Twitter at http://twitter.com/
KJSteele4 and on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/ pages/No-Story-to-Tell/ 122592254511039
No Story To Tell By K J Steele
ebook, 388 pages - Published by The Fiction Studio
The Book Blurb:
Victoria Lackey, a once extraordinarily promising dancer, now finds herself mired down in a joyless marriage, tending to a heart full of secrets, her dream of being a dancer buried deep within her.
Buried within her, that is, until Elliot, a newcomer to the small, gritty town of Hinckly and a sensual artist, recognizes the dancer’s spirit within her. Believing in her abilities, he encourages her to open a dance studio, something previously forbidden by Victoria’s boorish husband, Bobby.
With Elliot’s attentions sparking the flame of desire within her, Victoria suddenly begins to receive softly seductive anonymous telephone calls. Encouraged by her best friend, Rose, Victoria slowly allows herself to start enjoying the calls, eventually creating a perfect fantasy lover in her mind. Eventually, she slips from listener to speaker and begins to divulge the intimate and profound secrets that haunt her soul.
Inevitable tensions begin to arise between Victoria and Bobby as he attempts to keep her newfound freedom from taking root. Desperate to resuscitate the woman she was truly meant to be, Victoria is in for the struggle of her life. With a burden of secrets collapsing around her and a life hanging in jeopardy if she embraces her own, Fate devilishly delivers her to an impossible fork in the road.
Where Stories Begin
I did not grow up in a house filled with stories. I did not sit around the dinner table being astounded by tales of familial adventures or mis-adventures. For many years I wished that I had. I envied other writers who seemed to have such a treasure-trove of interesting stories to rummage through when creating their novels. I felt that I had a bit of an arid history. But, then, of course, I realized that wasn’t true at all.
In the absence of stories gifted to me through passed down verbal lore, I was forced to allow the observances of life to congregate upon my page. And congregate they did. It amazed me how one small detail, of no real particular interest in and of itself, could flourish into a riveting story. As if the detail was merely an innocuous door the imagination steps through in order to access the world in behind.
I didn’t realize quite how adroit my mind had become at picking out details from my surroundings and stepping through into a story, until my daughters pointed it out to me one day. I had been out dancing the night before, and was regaling them with some story about one of the men I’d been covertly observing all night. Now, don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t watching him because I wasinterested in him. I just found him interesting. He was a very methodical, accomplished dancer. Great care had gone into the selection of his evening attire. Obviously, he loved to dance and did so nearly every song, going around the room asking various ladies onto the floor to join him. But, what interested me was that although he loved to dance, he really had no one to dance with. He arrived alone, sat alone, and left alone. Curious.
So, without my even realizing I was doing it, I began to create his story. All the reasons as to why he was alone arose in my mind. Was he happy, sad, a widower, or a pervert in planning stage? The possibilities were endless. And it wasn’t until my daughters pointed it out to me, that I realized I had stepped through the observance of his aloneness, into the creation of a story in an attempt to explain it.
And that ability, which we all possess, to create something beyond the smallest detail, is the point where all stories begin. Truly, no one has an arid history. Every day provides us with countless entry points into the what-ifs of life. We simply have to be willing to wake-up and become keen observers.
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