Sunday, January 20, 2013

How To Write a Western Novel


So how did I do it, how did I write a book? I have now done it, twice, glad you asked.

-My version of how to write a book-

1.      After you get the idea – start writing (a lot of people say they want to write a book, ask them what page they are on and the usual answer is, “I haven’t started yet.”)

2.      Write the first page (see number one above)

3.      Write the last page

4.      Fill in the blanks between numbers 2 and 3

Old joke but it still applies, something else that applies – write for yourself, don’t believe you will make a bunch of money as a writer. Think back to when you were a little kid, most of us wanted to be baseball or football players, ballerinas or movie stars, probably did not happen. Write if it makes you happy not because you hope to get rich.

If you happen to turn into the next Steven King or J.K. Rowling—GREAT—but don’t count on it.

 

Page 1 of my Novel follows.  I have yet to do anything with it, other than to use a hard copy to pat myself on the back for finishing.

  Enjoy! This will be your only peak.

Commitment

A Blade Holmes Novel

"Trust instinct to the end, even though you can give no reason." Ralph Waldo Emerson

Chapter One

The young cowboy had but one wish, he wanted to live, he could think of nothing else.  And then he did. He thought forcing Deputy Sherriff Blade Holmes to draw was likely the worst decision he’d ever made. The cowpoke felt the cold from the barrel of the Colt pressed under his chin by Deputy Holmes, he shivered, but not from the cold.

The young cowboy, blood starting to seep through his shirt at the shoulder, seemed to tilt slightly backward. Afraid to take a much needed big breath, his eyes bulged, his face becoming an artist’s pallet of changing colors, from bright red to a hopeless blue-grey. Still conscious, he slumped against the bar fighting to stay upright. With the help of the bar he was motionless except for the, ever so slight, in and out of his chest. His feeble breaths moved him so little that to the untrained eye he appeared more a poorly constructed cowboy manikin than a man under arrest. Didn’t have many years on him, but enough to know it was best not to move, not even to fall to the floor.
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