Late last year, I discovered a tool called Plottr that was described as software for writers to visually plan their stories. I gave it a try with the free trial and promptly became hooked on it’s easy to use tools, the simple drag and drop management of plot points and scenes down to the individual character level, the ability to create a series-level plot that can then drill down to individual books, the invaluable series bible functionality, and the ability to export your plots and other information into other applications, like Scrivener.

Best of all, Plottr is constantly evolving as creator Cameron Sutter adds and refines features both as he thinks of things he can use in his own writing as well as from suggestions by the very energetic community of Plottr subscribers. I recently had a chance to chat with Cameron, who has himself published three books, and describes his life mission as one to inspire readers to read the Classics and empower writers to write more powerful stories.

Learn more about Plottr at www.pretendingtowrite.com or at plottr.com

Enjoy a bit of a memoriam inspired by a recent writing prompt. This time, the prompt provided was to think of a song, think of someone associated with that song, and then tell the story. The pieces that emerged from my writing group was wonderful with reflections on childhood, faith, religion, the cross-generational power of poetry, and more. Mine was a bit more bittersweet and resurfaced a memory I’d almost lost but that, in the context of the story I told, carried more weight for me than I realized in the twenty plus years since the event took place.

Another year is coming to a close and with it comes another Christmas for the men and women serving in the U.S. armed forces to be away from home, hearth, and families during the holidays. Likewise, as we come to the end of this Pandemic year, we are all faced with being apart from loved ones during the holiday season. I also find myself thinking of my grandfather, who at 18, was on the far side of the world serving as quartermaster aboard the light cruiser Montpelier in 1943, and I wonder what he was thinking during that holiday season.

Welcome an interview with author Dale Thomas Vaughan.

Dale is the author of six best selling books spanning non-fiction like “Wine Snobs Are Boring” to a science fiction novella, “Dr. Mann’s Kind Folly.” He has written and edited millions of words professionally at BootsnAll Travel and the Good Men Project – where he earned a nomination from the Southern California Journalism Awards. He’s also a public speaker and has been featured on BBC, CNN, TED, and many more media outlets. You can learn more about those projects and Dale at DaleThomasVaughn.com or find his previous work on Amazon. 

As always, I also enjoy your feedback at pretendingtowrite.com.

The last five days have been, quite frankly, exhausting, as we come out from the far side of Election Day with at least some level of certainty about how the future will be shaped. I’ve never missed voting in an election and even as a kid was fascinated by the process though not so fascinated that I’d ever had the desire to throw my own hat in the ring. In response to the prompt “Changing States,” I sat down to write and found myself thinking about my own history as a voter and how my attitudes and enthusiasm have changed over time. After I finished and shared it with my writing group, the immediate response was “get it up on the podcast tonight.”

Who am I to argue with them? So here’s the new episode, "Changing States."

My vision of Halloween was formed in part by Ray Bradbury’s book, The Halloween Tree, published in 1972. I love the story of Tom Skelton, Wally Babb, and the other kids seeking their lost friend, Joe Pipkin, with the aid of Carapace Clavicle Moundshroud. If you haven’t read this book, I encourage you to. It’s a quick read but one that opened my eyes to the brilliance of Bradbury’s use of language and what Halloween really could be.

One thing The Halloween Tree is not is particularly scary. Personally, I’ve never been a fan of scary movies, but a great scary story is a wonder. That’s when I turn to Edgar Allen Poe. I say, skip the candy on Halloween and read some Poe if you really want a rush. 

So in this episode, in the spirit of Halloween, I share two short pieces written perhaps to get your pulse racing, maybe surprise you, or just creep you out a bit. Have a safe and happy Halloween!

This week, we’re diving into the world of bookselling, rather than book writing, just for a change in perspective. For the last 20+ years, I’ve enjoyed visiting Island Books (islandbooksri.indielite.org) in Middletown, RI. I’ve gotten to know the owner, Judy Crosby, and her friendly and incredibly well-read staff. 

When the pandemic hit, we all know of retail and other small businesses that were hurt and, in many cases, had to close. But Island Books, like so many other independent booksellers, continued to connect their customers and community to books and they are still going strong. I was so pleased to be joined by Judy Crosby recently to talk about her journey with Island Books, what she cares about in the books she’s read, how the store has survived a topsy turvy world, and the future of the store.

I’m finding that, when writing a mystery, the fun stuff is easy to write. It’s the structure of the mystery, the ins and outs, the red herrings, the complexity that will hopefully make it a fun read…that’s the hard stuff. 

I recently used a writing prompt that read “The door you had locked is wide open” to kickstart a bit of creative output. As I mulled it over, I decided not to get all personal or memoirish but rather employ it as part of a scene that wasn’t going to end well.

So, as with the death of Melanie Buck, revealed in an earlier episode, I’ve managed to kill of another unsuspecting citizen of Shelton’s Cove, Maine, and don’t quite know why. I’m sure that my murderer has a reason. I just haven’t figured it out yet, which, thankfully, doesn’t mean I’m a sociopath…just a writer who has gotten out over his skis on this particular book.