Hens Lay Eggs

food for thought

Just a taste

I had an interview recently with a potential client. It went something like this:

“Did you read the excerpt?”

“I read the first several pages,” I replied, admitting not having read the entire 45,000-word “excerpt.” Really, I don’t need to read such a large quantity of rough draft to determine how intensive the editing will be for the full manuscript. If an editor can’t suss that out within a few pages, then you’re not working with an experienced professional.

“What will you do to my manuscript?”

I will edit it, which means you will receive a document filled with in-line corrections and revisions and margin comments. I will expect you, the author, to review every single edit and comment and then to: 1) accept it, 2) reject it, or 3) decide that the revision is needed, but that you can revise it better–and then do so.

I never expect a client to blindly accept all edits made to his or her manuscript.

“Do you think it’ll be ready after it’s edited?”

I think it will require at least two rounds of editing. The first round always results in revisions and rewriting. Sometimes, that’s more extensive than others. Regardless, after revising, the revised manuscript will need a second review and you should expect that further edits will be made.

It might not require a third round. That’s up to you.

“How long do you think it will take?”

For that manuscript, approximately 100,000 words, expect each round of editing to take four to six weeks. I’ll try to work quickly so you get it sooner rather than later, but experience tells me that’s about how long it will take.

“I won’t be ready for another two or three months. Is that okay?”

That’s the beauty of freelancing: my schedule is flexible and can adapt to a constantly shifting workload. Rest assured, I’m not going anywhere and will be here when you’re ready.

“So, when we’re finished, my book will be marketable and ready to publish?”

That’s the goal. I will do everything I can to help you achieve that goal.

“Have you worked in my genre before?”

In this case, yes. With regard to fiction, I’ve worked in romance, fantasy, science fiction. thriller/suspense, mystery, young adult, and children’s literature. With regard to nonfiction, I’ve worked with motivational and inspirational books as well as a variety of business-oriented content from business guides to blogs to luxury lifestyle magazines. I do not specialize in any one genre or subject; I specialize in helping storytellers tell their stories effectively.

This is just a taste of what it’s like to work with me. You’ll get candor. I don’t beat around the bush and I won’t mislead you.

Are you ready for an editor?


































“Too late,” #HollyBargo #MFRWhooks

October Book Of The Month: The Mighty Finn  

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nPicturen

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nBoy meets girl.
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nAuthor Charlotte Forsythe is determined not to be a victim again. Her Great Dane, Finn, makes sure of it. While vacationing with Finn in San Diego, Charlotte meets Navy SEAL Eric Outerbach. It doesn’t go well. Eric begs forgiveness.
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nBoy and girl become friends.
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nThey make a long distance friendship work through texts and phone calls. The film rights to two of Charlotte’s books are sold and she heads back out to California to supervise the conversion of written content to the silver screen. And the friendship’s not so long distance after all.
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nBoy and girl fall in love.
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nHow could she not fall in love with a handsome, sexy warrior like Eric? How could he not love a woman as gentle and forgiving as Charlotte?
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nA guardian’s duty ends.
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nFinn is mighty, but old. It’s time to pass on the duties of love and protection to someone else.n

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Excerpt 

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n​He approached cautiously. He could take the dog, but did not want to hurt the protective beast who had only done his job last night in defending his mistress. The dog opened its eyes and its lip curled. 
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n“Hey, buddy, I’m not going to hurt your girl,” Eric said softly, squatting down to get closer to the dog’s level. 
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nThe dog raised it head and looked down its nose at him with patent distrust. Eric supposed he couldn’t blame the dog for that. Slowly, he reached for the woman’s beach bag. The dog’s suspicious gaze followed his every move. He rummaged in the bag and found a lightweight blanket. He pulled it out, unfolded it, and draped it over the sleeping woman. 
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nThe touch of the fabric against her and maybe something else woke her. 
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n“Finn?” she called as she rose up on her elbows and shook her head blearily. 
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nThe dog stood and dipped his black nose to nuzzle her hair. For a second, Eric had the oddest sense of jealousy. He wanted to be the one to nuzzle her awake. That thought led to what he’d like to do to her once she awakened warm and soft in his arms. His body reacted predictably to the brief fantasy. 
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nA groan escaped him and caught her attention. The woman shifted to her knees, which led to all sorts of other possibilities in Eric’s mind that had his body clamoring for relief. 
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n“What are you doing?” she demanded resentfully as she pawed at the blanket that covered her. 
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nHe knew he deserved the unfriendly welcome. He gestured toward the blanket and said, “You were getting sunburned.” 
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n“Like you care,” she muttered and tugged her shirt down. Eric found he missed the display of her skin. 
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nHe opened his mouth and she interjected, “If you’re just going to accuse me of stalking you again, then get the hell away from me.” 
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nDull red flagged his sculpted cheeks and he blinked. “No, ma’am,” he said softly. “Actually, I came over to apologize.” 
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nShe blinked. Several times. Rapidly. She sat back on her heels and crossed her arms. The movement drew his attention to her full breasts, which were just the way he liked them. 
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n“I’m waiting,” she prompted with a steely glint in her eyes. 
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nHe dragged his gaze from her breasts and licked his suddenly dry lips. She frowned, noticing his visual focus. He could practically hear her think, “Pig.” 
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n“I … ah … I was out of line yesterday,” he said awkwardly. Eric freely admitted he was more apt to kill someone than to apologize. The apology was harder than he anticipated. 
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nShe sat there, not speaking, just glaring at him. Nope, she wasn’t going to make this easy for him. 
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n“I … er … I’m sorry. Really. I’d like to make it up to you.” 
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nShe raised her left eyebrow skeptically. Her continued silence unnerved him more than bullets flying overhead. It just wasn’t right that this woman, who likely weighed about a hundred pounds less than he, intimidated him more than battle. He glanced over at the dog who watched them both. Yeah, it was that big-ass dog that intimidated him. Yeah, that was it. 
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n“Yes, I’d like to make it up to you,” he repeated more strongly. He forced himself to ask rather than order: “Will you go out with me?” 
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n“You have got to be kidding me,” she said. “You yell at me, threaten me, and now you expect me to forgive and forget and go out with you?” 
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n“Ma’am … would you at least accept my apology?” 
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nShe frowned at the exasperation in his voice, in his expression. Then she pressed her lips together and said, “No. No, you can’t just blurt that you’re sorry and everything be hunky dory.” 
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nHe blew a breath through pursed lips. “That’s why I’m asking you to go out with me. Just one evening. Dinner. That’s all. We’ll talk. I behaved like a jerk with you and I’m not … I’m not like that. Usually, I’m quite the charmer.” 
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nHer gaze solidified into metaphorical stone. “Charming, huh? Like I’d bet that those boys you bully every morning think you’re charming.” 
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nHe frowned. “They’re trainees. They want to be SEALs and it’s my job to weed out the ones who don’t have what it takes to be the best.” 
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nCharlotte shook her head, disappointed, although she wasn’t sure whether the disappointment was with him or herself. Why, she wondered, would she be disappointed with herself? She hadn’t committed any transgressions. Well, Finn had crashed into him, but that was an accident and neither of them was hurt. But why couldn’t she just accept his apology and get on with her life? 
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nShe shook her head to clear her thoughts and sighed. The big man looked so uncomfortable and sincere. When he wasn’t sneering at her, he was quite attractive. She decided to take pity on him. 
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n“All right,” she sighed. “I’ll give you one chance to grovel for forgiveness.” 
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n“Tonight?” 
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n“Er …” 
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n“Do you have plans?” 
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n“No, but I can’t leave Finn unattended in the hotel room.” 
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nHe thought quickly, “You could come over to my house. I have a fenced yard.” 
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n“No,” she replied sharply, every mental alarm ringing, because that was dangerous. No one knew better than she that stepping inside a stranger’s house could be a poor decision. Although she hadn’t actually volunteered to go into that house; she’d been dragged. She considered a very public alternative and said, “I’ve got Finn scheduled for grooming at the dog spa tomorrow. I could meet up with you at a restaurant for lunch.” 
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n“Dog spa?” he repeated incredulously, wincing internally at his blunder. After being held hostage for three weeks, there wasn’t much chance an intelligent woman would go anywhere private with a strange man. 
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n“We’re from the Midwest. There isn’t a lot of sand and such there. Finn needs to be groomed.”
nHe nodded and suggested, “There’s a coffee shop a few blocks from here. Their sandwiches are good.” 
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nCharlotte nodded hesitantly and said, “All right.” 
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n“I’ll pick you up.” 
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n“No. No, I’ll meet you there. Give me the address.” 
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n“I said I’d pick you up,” he insisted. 
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n“What makes you think that I would go anywhere alone with you?”she demanded coldly. 
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nRed bloomed over his cheekbones. She wasn’t sure whether the flush came from embarrassment or anger—probably a bit of both. But she held firm. This man was dangerous. He did not deserve her trust. He was not her friend. Finn was her friend and protector. 
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nSo what if he was just a dog? The FBI would never have liberated her from hell without Finn’s help. As far as Charlotte was concerned, she was never going to be alone with another man unless Finn was with her. She ignored the fact that the dog had a much shorter lifespan than she did. 
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n“I understand your reluctance to be alone with a man you don’t know,” he said gently. 
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nHer eyes narrowed and her lips pressed tightly together. After a second she said stiffly, “You know nothing about it.” 
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n“I know you were abducted and held for three weeks,” he said. 
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nShe blinked several times. The terror of those weeks washing over her mind mingled with a creepy sense of violation. She sighed and looked down at her lap. 
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n“How in the hell do you know anything about me?” she asked, her voice low and icy. 
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n“I asked around,” he answered, deliberately vague. It didn’t reassure her. “You’re pretty famous.” 
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nHer hands twisted together and she couldn’t seem to stop it. 
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nHe blew a breath and tried to fix what he’d broken: “Look, I was out of line, way out of line yesterday. I was wrong. All I can say is that I don’t normally go off half-cocked like that, but that doesn’t excuse my bad behavior.” 
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nHer hands still twisted in her lap. Then his big, tanned hand settled warmly over them and she went very, very still. Charlotte could hear her heart thudding in her chest. 
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n“I won’t hurt you,” he said even as the dog rose to its feet and curled its lips back to reveal dangerous teeth and powerful jaws. A low growl rumbled from the deep chest. Eric lifted his hand and slowly drew it back. 
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n“Too late,” she muttered and turned her face into the dog’s shoulder. n

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Living in a pinball machine

A career in freelance can be compared to living in a pinball machine with the freelancer being the pinball. Every week, we launch ourselves from the weekend stupor into projects and client expectations. When the freelancer is also an author, another layer of expectations flings the writer hither and yon.

Lately, those “author expectations” have been disappointed. It’s not going to change any time soon, I don’t think.

Most of my client work lately has been focused on editing projects. Perhaps that’s a good thing, as it doesn’t strain my creativity all that much. The analytical side of my mind gets a lot more use that way and I can focus the creativity elsewhere: paintings, wood turning, another client’s project.

Then there was the Northwestern Band Association Craft Fair, an experiment of sorts in piggybacking on an event unrelated to book fairs and author signings. My bestie, Cindra, graciously agreed to be my companion for the day. She brought six of her paintings to display and sell. The event was held outdoors (COVID, you know) and we brought masks (COVID, you know). The weather cooperated: comfortable temperatures and breezy, but no rain. Veterans of the annual event commented that attendance wasn’t as strong as in past years, but I had nothing to complain about.

It was my best event yet. I sold a dozen books. I actually recouped the registration fee and then some. Since the event was held a mile from my home, I didn’t have far to travel and there was no need for overnight accommodations. Sure, my husband bought a canopy to cover our tables and chairs–no, proceeds from sales did not cover that expense–but I still count the event as a solid win. I need to find and participate in more of these types of events.

Cindra sold three of her paintings. I think she was pretty chuffed, too. I mailed my registration for next year’s event in the hope that success will be repeated or even improved upon. Fingers are crossed.

So, back to bouncing around the pinball machine.

In lieu of writing my own stuff, I’m enjoying the creativity of others. I’m enjoying reading books by other authors and lapsing into “reader” mode instead of “editor” or “author” mode. I’ve been binge-watching Lucifer with my husband. What a hoot! Will Tom Ellis (who plays Lucifer) reign over Henry Cavil or Chris Hemsworth as society’s favored heartthrob? (I have to admit, Cavil, as Geralt in The Witcher, makes my heart go pitter-patter.)

Yeah, yeah, yeah, it’s a little creepy for a woman of my age to ogle men young enough (almost) to be my sons.

Then life and work fling me elsewhere. Three weeks ago, my husband brought home a stray kitten, which now makes eight kitties residing in our small house. On October 3rd, my horses returned from training and are now my responsibility and chore to deal with. That’s daunting. I attended a wood turning class with my husband, a date of sorts. We made pens. I’m not exactly proficient when it comes to power tools, but that was fun. My husband has a lathe and pen blanks and the other accoutrements needed to make pens.

Hm, perhaps there’s a new hobby in the works?

Back to reading options. Have you read my books? Well, I’m not going to: I know those stories. I wrote them. There are over 20 books available for download, so there’s no shortage of material to occupy your leisure hours.

And if we get really lucky, maybe I’ll get my butt in gear to crank out another book before the year ends. Then again, maybe not. At this point, I’m not promising anything.
























Author

Hard boiled, scrambled, over easy, and sunny side up: eggs are the musings of Holly Bargo, the pseudonym for the author.

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Karen (Holly)

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