One of the things I don’t think I do well when I write a story is dialogue. It just doesn’t seem to come off well and I don’t like it. I’ve done it a few times where it seems ok but when I look at it I have doubt about what I’ve done and if it should be there at all.

I remember reading one of my favorite writers (of course I can’t recall who) writing that everyone thinks their dialogue is horrid, and they’re right. With practice, they said, it gets better and they understand how to make it flow more. Anyway.. I’m not doing that Ha! But maybe the next project I start working on.

When I started writing Eric John I had some initial dialogue between he and his mother – and it just didn’t sit well with me. The initial chapter where she says good morning to him is the only real quotations in the whole chapter. I don’t bring it back until chapter six either and then briefly so.

I think it’s actually worked out nicely – I’m able to get across what I want to without any real trouble and without anyone having to figure out what who said to who and when all in quotation marks and commas with a thesaurus full of “said” words.

I’m unsure what’s all going to happen next really – I haven’t thought the whole story out. Parts of it come to mind and I get them down and see where they lead me. I’m really not sure what’s going on with a large thread but I think it’ll become clear soon (lets all hope so) but most of what Eric John will experience I know already I just have to finish the journey there.

The foster home story I pulled good things from my memories and twisted them. Its horrible to think like that as I know that for me the experience was a good safe one. But I wanted to try to convey the fear that I felt on the first day and some of that I talk about – eating a big bowl of cereal and a large pantry with a hundred varieties of food and a very nice loving mother type… but all the bad imagery is just make believe. I’m a supporter of foster homes and getting people help when they need it – most foster families are good and help families.

In my head this is all taking place in some English town – never been to an English town so it’s probably all wrong but this is what I’m picturing. When I’m writing I can see their odd streetlights and different looking cars on the streets. Even the houses in my mind are more European than American… I should work on describing those more.

Anyway, I’m not sure how much more story there is but I’ll share it on here with you folks. Thanks to my readers and sharers I appreciate you and your comments.