Editor and Songwriter Karin Nicely of Florida, US.

Something unique for the Scribbler!

We are most fortunate to have Karin, a full-time editor, as our featured guest this week. Karin has worked as an editor for some of my author friends, who have been guests on the Scribbler, and we met through them.

One of the difficult decisions when an author is finished with his/her manuscript is, who will the editor be? Who can I work with, and trust, to polish up my story? With so many editing styles and choices, it’s a challenging decision.

Karin has kindly agreed to a 4Q interview and is sharing lyrics she wrote for two songs she recorded and performed with the gothic/progressive-rock band Persephone’s Dream.

 

Karin Nicely is an Ocala-based editor, writing coach, promotional writer, and independent publisher with more than twenty-five years’ experience in her field. Originally from Pennsylvania, she earned her Bachelor of Arts with Honors in Professional Writing and has worked with international publishing houses such as Prentice Hall and Wiley. Ms. Nicely has also been a marketing consultant for SAE International (the Society of Automotive and Aerospace Engineers) and has written for the APEX-award-winning business-to-business publication Spotlight on Safety.

Now specializing in developmental and line editing for independent authors throughout the United States, Ms. Nicely, owner of Seren Publishing Co., Inc., is also the editor of quarterly magazines, presents customized workshops for writers, and writes advertising and public relations copy for corporate clients.

Ms. Nicely’s other interests include music, horses, dance, swimming, paddleboarding, history, and creative writing.

 

 

 

 

4Q: What inspired you to work as an editor?

 

KN: First and foremost, I have always loved literature. I began reading at a very early age and enjoyed books about many different subjects—everything from fairy tales to archaeology to biology. I was that nerdy kid who wished I could spend every recess in the school library. As I got older, I not only read for knowledge, but also loved the sound of certain words and phrases and what images they could create. I decided to major in English Writing in college, and when I transferred to a different school, its version of that degree was called Professional Writing, with combined training in practical, marketable writing skills with courses in business and graphic design.

For years, I did (and still do) promotional writing for corporations and nonprofit organizations. And much of that work involved extensive revision of previous materials. So in essence, I had been editing all along and knew that I truly enjoyed the process. Soon, I began editing and proofreading for a Chicago-based publishing company that handled outsourced projects from Prentice Hall, Wiley, and other large publishing houses. The projects I worked on were all nonfiction at the time—business law textbooks, CPA exam books, programming language resources, etc. Much of it was quite dry, but it taught me how to go meticulously through text, looking for minute mistakes and inconsistencies.

When I moved to Florida several years ago, Becky (Pourchot) Magnolia’s Open Souls was my first foray into editing novels, and I absolutely loved it. Since then, I’ve had the opportunity to edit everything from paranormal romance to action/adventure to science fiction. I also continue to edit all types of nonfiction as well

 

4Q: There are many types of edits. Can you please, briefly, explain the important issues an author faces when trying to decide which route to go?

 

KN: It is important for an author to first think about their goals and expectations for their written work. Will it be a memoir to only be shared with family and friends? Is it a short story to be submitted to magazines or contests? Will the book be used as support material for training or lectures? Or is it a novel that will be marketed and distributed across the globe?

In other words, how important is it that the end result is as professionally prepared as possible? If the book/story/article is to be promoted at all, chances are it will need more than just a light copyedit.

Another consideration is whether the writer is just starting out or is a seasoned author. With some clients, I act as a writing coach, consultant, and developmental editor, working with them right from the beginning stages of their project to help them develop characters, outline plots, and keep on track. With other clients, I need only see the manuscript after they have completed it and it is ready for line editing.

But whatever level of editing is needed, I feel it is crucial to not change the author’s own style and voice. One of the best compliments I consistently receive is when my clients say, “It still sounds like me!”

 

4Q: Every new guest to the Scribbler gets this question. Please share a childhood memory or anecdote.

 

KN: When people learn that I grew up on a Quarter Horse and beef cattle farm, they automatically think I’m a country-music girl all the way. But I will tell you one of the earliest experiences of my young life that probably made me want to belt out rock songs, instead.

When I was about four years old, my mother’s two younger brothers had a rock band called the Wannamaker’s Two-Story Garage, and we were going to see them play. I remember filing into a dark church basement and finding room to sit on the cold, crowded floor. The music filled my ears, and I looked at the stage in awe. There were my two long-haired, bearded uncles amid the smoky, pink and blue and purple light. One played guitar, and the other sang and growled into the mic.

Even then, I loved to dance, and I couldn’t help but move to the beat of the loud drums and pounding bass. But I remained sitting, moving my hands, tapping my foot, nodding my head. I was so shy I was afraid to stand up and dance in front of all those people around us. But I wanted to so badly.

My mother, also a musician and composer, turned around at that point and said, “Go ahead! You can get up and dance if you want. It’s okay.”

And so I did.

Years later, as I often gripped the mic on a smoky stage full of multicolored light, I would look into the audience and think of that night I danced to the raucous, rebellious, melodious sounds.

 

4Q: As an editor, one would assume you are also a reader. Favorite authors and/or novels?

 

KN: Flannery O’Connor. I am drawn to her use of realism and her insight into human nature. In fact, my honors thesis in college was entitled “Kierkegaardian Existentialism in Flannery O’Connor’s Short Fiction.”

Marion Zimmer Bradley is another author whose works I never tire of. From her Darkover series to the Avalon series, I think I’ve probably read them all.

J.K. Rowling. When my young cousin first became a Harry Potter fan, I thought it was just some run-of-the-mill kids’ book. But when I began reading Rowling’s novel to my younger daughter, I soon realized that this was not just a simplistic children’s story. Rowling’s incorporation of themes and vocabulary from Greek and Roman mythology along with historical references and mature social commentary fascinated me. The Harry Potter novels were also wonderful tools I used to help increase my daughter’s vocabulary.

As for poets, I would have to say Sylvia Plath, Emily Dickinson and Maya Angelou.

 

 

4Q: Please tell us about your songwriting and performing your own music.

 

KN: I would say I wrote my first actual song when I was about fourteen, and I’ve sung with bands since I was fifteen, but I didn’t begin collaborating with other musicians to write, perform, and record songs until I was in my twenties. I’ve studied voice and performed classical music, blues, musical theater, country, rock, and sacred music, but most of my writing has been in the alternative/gothic/progressive realm.

I can get truly obsessive when writing or recording songs. Often, people will ask me about the songwriting process, and in my experience, it has really never followed a specific formula. Sometimes, I or another band member would write lyrics first; other times, the music would come first. Once, the guys were just messing around with a catchy riff, and on the spot, I wrote the entire lyrics to “Far Side of Eden” (see below) in about fifteen minutess.

I loved performing in all those different places (from Boston to Atlanta) and truly miss doing it on a regular basis. It was always interesting to talk with audience members after a show and find out which songs they especially liked or which lyrics resonated with them. I do still sing with a few local groups (country and sacred music) once in a while and have been working with a local songwriter, as well.

 

 

4Q: Is there a general rule of thumb that a new author can use when trying to form a budget for editing. An average cost? Or does it differ from each manuscript?

 

KN: It does differ somewhat for each manuscript, but calculating 3.5 to 4 cents per word would be a good figure to go by. I generally like to do a sample edit on at least ten pages to get a feel for the author’s style, writing mechanics, etc. However, it is difficult to predict things such as inconsistencies and organizational problems from just an excerpt.

 

 

 

4Q: What advice would you give to a new author when he/she is looking for an editor?

 

KN: Questions to ask:

•      How long has the editor been doing this type of work professionally?

•      Is the editor familiar with—and do they enjoy working with—your genre?

•      If your work contains profanity, explicit sexual situations or violence, or other subject matter that may be offensive, is the editor comfortable with that?

•      Will the editor be available to go over changes, suggestions, and queries with you by phone or video conference (or in person, if local) rather than by email only?

•      How many editing passes will be included for the price? (For example, I customarily do two editing passes, with time in between for author review/revision, and a final proofreading before publication.)

•      Will the editor be careful to not alter your unique voice/style?

•      Is the editor familiar with editing for your book’s intended audience? (This is especially important if the work is for children or a particular technical or professional audience.)

 

 

4Q: Anything else you’d like to add?

 

KN: Because I work primarily with independent authors, I found there was a need for project management along with the editing services. As I also have experience in the design, printing, and marketing fields, it was a logical next step for me to begin helping authors self-publish their works. And recently, I began my own publishing company (Seren Publishing Co., Inc.) so authors would have the option to publish under my imprint.

 

 

Song Lyrics by Karin Nicely:

(Copyright is held by the author. Used with Permission)

 

“Far Side of Eden”
(From the Persephone’s Dream album Opposition)

https:// HYPERLINK "https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bcJpwlySego"www.youtube.com 

 

Crying and crying

Pain out of bounds

Everyone’s talking

But there is no sound

Gaia’s own heartache

As the smoke swirls around

Black rain falling—falling down, down, down

 

We are living on the far side of Eden

 

Sickening tempests

From the factories rise

Choking our ambition and

Blinding my eyes

Naked trees dying

By the cruel roadside

Soon our children will have

Nowhere to hide

 

We are living on the far side of Eden

 

Wisdom of the ages

Lost in the dust

Of technology’s eruption

As it’s gaining our trust

Bitter winds blowing in

Terrifying gusts

Fed by our growing

Material lust

 

Pacification

Greets the disgust

As the tide of complacency

Keeps eroding what it must

 

 

“Alien Embassy”

(with Persephone’s Dream)

Lyrics inspired by Ian Watson’s novel, Alien Embassy

"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wQcUG33KHHU&list=PL_yU-MSM6pSmH6PZNv9BYpImNaJHf_t3k&index=9"

 

Wound up tight in protean flight

Sweet Apollo in an emerald bright

Yellow hues in the desert sand

Meet mountain green in Hestia’s hand

Soft illusion, smooth terrain

Pulsar rhythm in an alien brain

 

Illusion’s prism bends the light

Open a door but close it tight

Hidden agenda in the master plan

Evolution’s always in demand, always

Fear is bound in procreation

Lost to chemical elimination

 

Consciousness

Sweet caress

Alien addiction to loneliness

 

Covert flight in Apollo’s night

Dark eludes the lovers’ sight

Knowledge leads to silent pain

Keep on searching till they go insane

Transformation in the fire

Each level only takes them higher

 

Morning mandala

Lingua franca

Ignore the populist propaganda

 

Electric arms invade the space

Bend to conform to an alien race

Bend the knee and bind the brain

Bleed till they don’t feel the chains

A leap ahead of ev’ry step they take

Beat them down until they break

 

Bend the knee and bind the brain

Bleed till they don’t feel the chains

Till they don’t feel…

 

Technological prison deep

Communication

Wireless sleep

Leave behind the comfort zone

Normative dogma overthrown

 

Consciousness

Sweet caress

Union is the wilderness

Consciousness

Sweet caress

Addiction to loneliness

 

 

Thank you, Karin, for being our special guest this week.

 

For you readers and fellow authors looking for a contact for Karin, please follow these links:

"https://www.facebook.com/SerenPublishing/"www.facebook.com 

 "https://www.the-efa.org/memberinfo/karin-nicely-25037/

https://www.linkedin.com/in/karin-nicely-7909676/

Dear American Brother Author Joe Elder of Calgary, AB.

Mr. Elder is a fan of the Scribbler and after reading a post featuring an Australian author – Lana Kortchik – he reached out to me regarding his debut novel – Dear American Brother. I’m glad he did.

His novel has garnered great reviews and testimonials. I received a copy and it’s a compelling story, well researched, well written.

He has graciously agreed to a 4Q Interview and is sharing an excerpt from his novel.

 

Joe J. Elder spent his formative years in a German Russian community in Saskatchewan. His penchant for history took him to Germany several times to record the experiences of the relatives who survived the Stalin Era. A tour by train from St. Petersburg to Gulag Camp Perm 36 in the Urals, and 1989/2006 visits to the ancestral villages near the Black Sea in Ukraine were highlights in his quest for first-hand information for DEAR AMERICAN BROTHER. Joe also co-produced and wrote the narration for the acclaimed documentary, Germans from Russia on the Canadian Prairies. Several of his articles have appeared in magazines highlighting Germans from Russia, one winning a prestigious Story of the Year award. He enjoys an active, full life in Calgary, Alberta. His passions are writing, playing sports of all kinds, adventure travel with his wife and, most of all, spending time with his family.

 

 

 

4Q: Let’s talk about your novel. Give us a brief outline of what to expect and what inspired the story.

 

JE:   My maternal grandmother departed Russia in 1908 as a sixteen-year-old, travelling with an older sister who had recently married into a family on the verge of immigrating to Saskatchewan. The next year two other sisters were sent to North Dakota, sponsored by an uncle already living in Harvey. The Russian government was determined to stem the tidal wave of emigration from Russia at that time; the two sisters escaped, on foot, across the Romanian border under the cover of darkness, as they had been denied exit visas. The intensions were to eventually send all members of the family to America, but the father died suddenly the next year, grounding the remaining family.

     All this happened long before I was born, but only in my later years, as with many people, I developed a keen interest in my family history, and the difficulties associated with leaving one’s homeland and settling the bare prairies. My grandmother was no longer alive, but during a four-month tour of Europe in 1989, my wife and I managed to arrange a train trip from Vienna Austria to Odessa Ukraine, only 50 KM from my grandmother’s birth place. I obtained permission, partly by downright lying about my destination, to rent a car and drive to the village. The Intourist agent was strict with her directives and several times that day I envisioned spending time in a Soviet jail. Never-the-less, I retuned unscathed to Western Europe, but my desire to tell this story had taken hold of my soul and wouldn’t let go. I felt compelled to seek out the fate of the German-Russian people who were trapped in the Soviet Union and suffered the insanities of the Communist Revolution and later, Josef Stalin.

     DEAR AMERICAN BROTHER delves into the tragedy and sorrow of the Soviet citizenry and the welcomed arrival of Hitler’s invading forces, woven into a story of two brothers separated as children, and their desperate struggle to be reunited.

 

4Q: Your website tells us about your extensive research for the background of the story. A train trip from St. Petersburg, Russia to Gulag Perm 36 in the Ural Mountains. Tell us about that experience.

JE: The story rattled around in my head for years before I began writing in 2002, but I eventually determined that in order to adequately depict Siberia and the wicked Gulag system, I should have first-hand information. By this time I had contact with several of my mother’s cousins who had been deported to Siberia following WWII, but since Glasnost and Perestroika became household words, were now living in Germany. My wife and I visited them in Ludwigshafen for several days and noted their personal experiences. From there, we flew to St. Petersburg and boarded a regular freight and passenger train bound for Ekaterinburg in Western Siberia. After five days, near the former closed city of Perm, we disembarked. With the help of a hotel clerk who understood a smattering of English, we arranged for a taxi and were driven 40 KM to the last operating Gulag political prison in the USSR, now converted to a museum. No one spoke English, however, the grimness of the institution needed no interpretation.

 

 

 

4Q: Please share a childhood memory or anecdote.

 

     I was likely twelve when, after asking a casual question of my mother, I learned that my grandmother had been born near Odessa, in Ukraine. “I thought we were German,” I responded with a bit of disbelief in my voice.

     “It’s a long story,” Mother replied. “We’re Germans from Russia. At the time Gramma lived there most of Ukraine was called South Russia, and Catherine the Great had brought in German farmers. Just like when Canada brought in settlers to …” I could sense a history lesson coming and made some excuse about needing the bathroom.  I regret that I didn’t stay that day and hear her out. Sixty years later, I still regret it.

 

 

4Q: In your opinion, what makes a great story?

 

JE: A great story needs a solid plot, engaging dialogue, and a protagonist that can walk off the page and join you in your living room.

 

 

4Q: What’s next for Joe Elder, the author?

 

JE: I am working on a sequel, mostly set in Siberia, as my story is not completely dealt with in the first book.

 

 

4Q: When you’re feeling most creative, where might we find you when you are writing, your writing habits?

 

JE: I have my office in a secluded corner of the basement, away from outside distractions, that is, until my wife deems an event to be of significant proportions.

 

 

4Q: Anything else you’d like to share with us?

 

JE: Lord, I already might have said too much.

 

 

 

An Excerpt from Dear American Brother.

(Copyright is held by the author. Used with permission.)

 

 

 

Mama and Loni had already gone to bed when Uncle Heinz arrived home after checking on Aunt Monica’s family in Mannheim. “They’re not happy about the communists’ ruling, either, but everybody’s all right,” he reported.

Grandpa anxiously related to him the solution proposed by the Chornov Civic Council. “Those Bolsheviks don’t know the strength of our Kutschurgan colony,” he said, puffing furiously on his pipe. “We Germans in this area always stick together to the end. Four of us landowners and Philip Klatt are going to Odessa on Monday along with representatives from the other six villages to protest this new land policy. What do you—”

Suddenly, the door porch rattled and Gus Vetter poked his head inside. “Quick, guys. Come see this.”

We dashed down our flagstone path to the gate. A long line of men, rifle barrels glinting in the moonlight, reined their steeds onto Middle Avenue and cantered into the night along Pototski Road. “I bet that arrogant Arshloch Kronchin is going out to knock Bauman down a peg,” Gus stated.

Grandpa shook his head. “Benedict’s already got most of Chornov’s men as guards, and a lot of our guns, too, so there’s no way we’d be much help to him.”

Nevertheless, Uncle Heinz and Gus rode to Pototski Estate while Grandpa stayed behind, pacing the floor. He neglected to send me to bed and I certainly wasn’t going to leave the room voluntarily. Peering out the window reminded me of the time Uncle Pius asked our parents if Kurt could go with them to America. I realized that my thoughts over the last few days hadn’t included my brother. Did Kurt still think about us—about me—every day?

Uncle Heinz finally stumbled into the kitchen in the middle of the night. He dragged himself to a chair, his forehead beaded with perspiration. “We didn’t go too close because of the shooting. Then we saw the workers’ quarters go up in flames and …” He put his hands over his face and fell silent.

I hoped that my friend Hubert Bauman was safe.

Grandpa patted my uncle’s shoulder. “Thank goodness Lizbet went back to Elsass after our friend Dieter was called to the army. God help me, who would have thought it’d get this violent? And Heinz, were any of the village men that Bauman hired hurt?”

“Apparently, they grabbed their guns and abandoned their posts when Kronchin’s men rode up and started shooting.”

“Ya, the problem is there’s no other road out of Pototski, except through Chornov. I think we should warn everybody, just in case Kronchin and his bunch want to push their weight around here.” Grandpa turned to me. “Hans, run to as many houses as you can. Start with the Freys and go all the way up our street, then back down Church Street. Heinz, you go the other way. I’ll take the east end.”

Uncle Heinz pulled me to his side. In his eyes, I saw panic barely restrained. “And tell them to hide the women and girls.”

 

 

Mist from the pond drifted across the street in eerie black shapes as dawn crept over the horizon. Near the far end of my assigned route Herr Bauman’s carriage, trailed by a dozen armed men, appeared on Pototski Road. Something inside me screamed, ‘Run for home!’ but there wasn’t time. I quickly climbed a linden tree and disappeared among the autumn foliage.

The closed carriage made a wide turn in front of the church and came to a halt below me. I slowly, quietly, climbed higher, my fingers fumbling for grip. The door burst open and two burly men wrestled Herr Bauman from the carriage. His hands were bound behind his back, a torn sleeve of his stained rumpled shirt flapped at his side, his left ear hung loose. Dark red seeped from an open wound on the top of his bald head. He blinked coagulated blood and morning sunshine from his swollen eyes as one of the men forced him up the steps to the elevated luggage platform at the rear of the carriage. Igor Kronchin climbed onto the platform and stood beside the captive. “Kuzma, go ring the church bell,” he ordered one of his men. “And Attila, do you still have that rope in your saddlebag?”

My heart pounded as the one called Attila climbed onto the carriage roof. He knotted the thick rope to a sturdy branch above Herr Bauman’s head and dropped the other end to the platform. When the administrator slipped a crude noose around his prisoner’s neck, my right hand involuntarily clutched my throat.

The ringing church bell attracted the bleary-eyed village men. They jostled with the guards and shouted for the release of Bauman, who appeared confused and steadfastly gazed at the white cross on Saint Gustav’s steeple. Yuri, Oleg, and the other Russian harvest workers banished by Bauman gathered near the carriage, but my friend Ivan stood leaning against a tree at the fringe of the crowd. I saw Grandpa and Uncle Heinz, their heads turning in every direction, but I couldn’t risk calling out to them.

Father Heisser hurried from the rectory as quickly as his arthritic hips would allow, shouting as he approached the carriage. “Keep your men out of my church! And release this man! He is a child of God.”

Kronchin glared down from his position beside Herr Bauman. “There’s no place for your God in the Soviet state, just as there is no longer any place for this ruthless capitalist.”

The mounted men formed a circle around the carriage, forcing back both the villagers and the agitated priest. Herr Bauman teetered on his feet as the nervous team caused the carriage to sway. He tried to grasp the edge of the roof behind him, barely able to stay upright. I prayed someone would undo the noose.

The administrator seized the opportunity to condemn Herr Bauman and all estate owners. “These rich men, these kulaks, are nothing but parasites and must be removed from Soviet society,” he said. He spat on Showman’s dusty boots. “This … this despicable person’s land and all his possessions are now the property of the People. And his family has been disinherited by the government. Anyone who aids them will be judged guilty of this man’s crimes and sentenced to a similar fate—banishment to hard labor in the Arctic.” After a pause, Kronchin’s face opened in a grin. “To save me the bother of taking him to Odessa, who wants to lay the whip to this fine pair of horses? Come on, surely this man has enemies.”

“I have reason to do it,” Katya Kurganov screamed. “My Boris was so proud to be your horseman and you wouldn’t pay a measly bribe to keep him out of the army. He died there and you owe him … and you owe his boy Ivan!”

Herr Bauman worked his lips as if to answer her. At the same moment, I heard a distinctive whir and saw a small stone ricochet off the rump of one of the horses in the team. As the frightened animal plunged forward, Kronchin and Herr Bauman lost their balance and tumbled from the platform. The rope around Herr Bauman’s neck emitted an angry hum and snapped taut. The thick tree branch bent under his weight until his feet almost touched the ground, and then it re-bounded, flipping Herr Bauman into the air. A shower of yellow leaves fluttered around his twitching body as he bounced at the end of the rope like a rag doll.

 

 

Thank you for being our guest this week Joe. All the best in your future writing.

 

For you readers wanting to know more about Joe Elder and his novel, please follow these links:

https://www.amazon.com/kindle-dbs/entity/author/B07G24PKSG?_encoding=UTF8&node=2656022011&offset=0&pageSize=12&s

https://www.dearamericanbrother.com