Welcome to my writing blog. My name is Johnny Ray and as the writer of many novels, short stories, poems, blogs, screenplays, speeches, commentaries on breaking news, etc. I hope this blog will help to show the frustrations and joys of the work behind the scenes, and hopefully attract many people that will become friends, and maybe even fans of my work. Like all of life, it will be an adventure none the less. Thanks for joining me on the ride, and being a part of my life.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Monday, January 21, 2013
NEW RELEASE
A WAR HERO RETURNS
BY
JOHNNY RAY
While Suzan Mercer’s father promised in his dying words
the land he left her would bring her love, she never anticipated the
events involved in the process. Now, could she balance her new love life
with her hidden CIA commitment? Could she?
A WAR HERO RETURNS
BY
Johnny Ray
After
serving eight years in the army, Suzan Mercer returns from Afghanistan
to Florida as a female war hero–her works as a CIA operative, of course,
would always be hidden.
She couldn’t believe her mother had used a
power of attorney while she was gone to sell the land her father had
left her. After learning her mother also has early onset Alzheimer's and
claims to have been taken advantage of by Matt Harris, the billionaire
developer involved, Suzan uses her military and CIA training to plot her
revenge and to reacquire her land.
Entering a world where high
heels replace combat boots and deep red lipstick becomes more deadly
than a colt 45, Suzan never anticipated the cost to reacquire her land
would be losing her heart.
Matt also learns his money and power
cannot acquire the one asset he has always lacked in his life as he
ventures into untested skies without a golden parachute to save him.
Also, would the ghost of his playboy image come back to haunt him?
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
How to create the perfect hero
Author: Johnny Ray
HOW TO CREATE A HERO
One of the first places to start in writing a romance, or most novels, is with the hero. Okay, some may argue the heroine, but for now, and since this is my article, we will concentrate on the hero now, and the heroine in the next article.
Most readers want a hero they can fall in love with, but to make it interesting he has to have some flaws. To star, let us analyze the obvious physical traits. Is he tall, or short? Fat, or with an extremely hot body? If the author wants to sell books, the choice is easy on these—usually. Then you have some selections that are not so critical such as eyes that are blue or brown. But even here, the writer needs to make the hero as unique as possible.
After going through the complete list of describing his appearance, the hard work begins. The inner being, the emotions of the hero needs to be understood. And he doesn't have to be the perfect gentleman, or any kind of unrealistic fake character. But he still has to be likable and realistic. While he can be tough and hard, he needs to be what is often referred to as redeemable.
I am going to use a recent novel of mine to use as an example. In HEROS AND LOVERS my hero is Thomas (Tommy) Conseco. Why did I select this name? Thomas gives a feeling of formality which is very prevalent in the modeling world. Tommy gives an impression of a friendly, over all good guy. And Conseco, which is the name everyone calls him, is in keeping with most famous people, and owners of large companies, etc. The name gives an immediate indication of the complexities of this hero.
Tommy is tall, and has a great body, which would be in keeping with a guy you would expect to own one of the top modeling agencies in the world. From an outward appearance, he has everything most girls would fall in love with. However, he has to have flaws—right?
To make it to the top, he has to be determined and almost ruthless, at times. Here is where the redeemable part comes in. And it is also where the heroine has to be a match for him. And not only that, she has to be the one to, in fact, rescue him from a life that is full of emptiness, that only he knows.
To make the readers love this hero, they have to understand his internal conflict. At the same time, the author has to make him complex enough to keep the story exciting and the plot complicated to the point the reader is guessing how this will every work out.
For me, unless the hero is fully established before the novel is started the story will wonder and die a miserable death. In fact, the more obstacles you can create, the better the story will be as you develop it. The hero has to be fully analyzed and open for all to understand who he is.
I hope everyone has a chance to read my latest novel, MODELS AND LOVERS. Your opinions are always welcome on my blog located at www.sirjohn.us
Article Source: http://www.articlesbase.com/fiction-articles/how-to-create-the-perfect-hero-5788011.html
About the AuthorJohnny Ray is a full time, Award Winning Novelist and blogger Be sure to check out his bio and novels on Amazon
Friday, January 04, 2013
FOR LOVE AND VENGEANCE
OPENING SCENE
I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS FREE LOOK INSIDE
Chapter 1
Victoria recognized the expected incoming
call immediately upon opening her phone and began to yell, “I don’t think this
is safe!”
“It’s not your job to think.” The English
overshadowed with a deep Russian accent was barely recognizable.
She slowed her pace along the walkway
heading to the beach, knowing one of the Russian operatives must have called to
simply let her know that she was being watched. “What happens if I don’t make
the drop?” she asked in English to challenge her caller.
He converted to Russian. “I don’t think you
really want to know.”
After the connection died, she dropped the
phone back into her bag, and forced herself to keep walking. Keenly aware of
the presence of both the American and Russian operatives nearby, Victoria
stopped for a brief moment at the end of the wooden walkway leading to the
beach in order to study the pounding surf caused by a tropical storm off the
coast of Jacksonville, Florida. While both governments thought she worked
exclusively for them, and not the other side, the Pack, an international crime
syndicate owned her. She could almost sense a sharpshooter focusing the cross
hairs of a sniper’s scope on her head.
No, she didn’t see any red dots−yet, but
she had been working for both sides too long. She trusted neither one of them
to save her from the Pack. While the Americans and the Russians played games,
the Pack concentrated on their plan to destroy America and place the blame on
Russia later. Being betrayed by both, she felt like she had no way out. She had
to think of a plan, and had to do it now.
As her right hand fought with the wind for
control of the heavy surfboard and her left hand struggled with her beach bag,
she stepped off the wooden walkway onto the sand. She forced herself to relax,
and look normal. She knew they had the technology to zoom in on her face and
hands to monitor every inch of her movements. Any moment could be her last. She
forced herself to concentrate. The instructions given to her by the Russians
were simple: she must drop and cover the canister containing the flash drive
with sand after she completed five steps forward and five to the right. Damn,
she wanted to glance around, but she knew better.
The cool, yet gritty sand under her feet
squished as she counted the steps. She stopped on the fifth, and turned to her
right. Without moving her head to the side, she strained to study the skyline
of the condos behind her as hard as she could out of the corner of her eye.
While she saw nothing, she knew someone, and perhaps even both the Americans,
and the Russians, were on top of one of the condos, and monitoring her moves.
She wished she knew exactly where the bastards were lurking. If given the
chance to escape, she knew she might have no choice but to take it.
Victoria couldn’t turn back now, as her
feet continued to march in the sand and she counted off the last five steps.
Her instincts told her the operation wasn’t going as planned. The storm in the
Atlantic whistled loud in her ears, making any further contact impossible. She
worried about the time when the Russian operative finds the canister, and the
transfer is completed, that her future services might be considered
unnecessary, and even her very existence considered a liability. An icy shiver
racing up her spine suddenly forced her to have further second thoughts about
making the drop. She leaned over to adjust her beach bag, letting the board
hide her hand reaching into her bag to find the small canister. She studied the
canister to examine the seal one more time before holding it high enough to
make sure her monitors saw it.
It
was now the moment of truth. Ohmigod! She
finally decided to abort the scheduled drop, and placed the canister back in
her bag while it was still hidden behind her board. She quickly stood and
kicked her feet in the sand, attempting to convince those monitoring her that
she had, in fact, completed the drop. She hoped that both the Americans and the
Russians thought she was covering the canister, which was such a small
sand-colored plastic container that was designed to keep out the water and
salt. As she remembered loading the flash drive earlier with the data, her
anxiety started growing. Damn! If they
knew the truth, would they shoot me on the spot? Still . . . she heard no
shots ringing out. They must have assumed she completed her drop. Good. This will buy me some time.
After turning toward the water, she walked
quickly, and hoped to make it closer to the crowd on the beach who were
watching the surfers. She continued to feel the increasing force of the violent
waves which were crashing against the shoreline, and producing a salt-filled
spray mixed with sand. With the storm out in the Atlantic raging, the high
winds kept slapping her face. Despite all of these uncomfortable conditions,
this was also perversely why the surfers were here. It was during tropical
storms like this that the waves in Jacksonville attracted the serious surfers.
As the high gust of winds repeatedly tried to tear the board away from her, the
savagery of the storm scared her, but not nearly as much as the terror behind
her. She had to think.
Finding a spot next to the crowd of sand
sharks, she dropped her board and bag and prepared to chillax for a while. She felt safer now that she was closer to
them, and especially with the flash drive containing the stolen data still in
her bag. She knew if they were going to shoot her, she would be dead by now.
She breathed easier for the moment as she reached into her bag, removed her
towel, and spread it openly on the beach.
A tall, lean girl in a thong bikini glanced
at her and her board. “You’re not going out in this, are you?” she yelled in a
rough voice over the sound of the surf.
Victoria smiled, and pointed out to the
waves. “That’s why I came.”
“Good luck. The waves are wicked today.
It’s much more fun to be a groupie
and just enjoy watching the guys.” Her slim legs, which were covered in
tattoos, stretched out on a large beach towel. Victoria suddenly realized the
reason for the white-framed sunglasses this tattooed girl wore. The sunglasses
were not needed for any sun glare protection, since the sun was hidden behind
massive clouds. However, the wind which kept hurling torturous sand and salt at
the crowd made the sunglasses indispensable in focusing on the guys surfing.
She quickly found her glasses in her bag and put them on so that she could give
her eyes some relief.
After being able to see better, Victoria
focused on the guys working the waves, and had to agree with the other woman.
Even from the long distance to the beach they looked great. As she turned
toward this girl with a small ass, but huge boobs, she shouted back, “I’m not a
great surfer, but I think this is the best way to learn.”
“My hat’s off to you girl!” The wind roared
so loud that the girl’s shouting could barely be heard.
“Look!” the girl on the far side yelled.
A lone surfer in the water sprang into
action, and started working hard to get on top of the wave. As she strained to
see him catch the wave, a new wind gust suddenly hit Victoria, and blurred her
vision with mist and sand.
“He’s up!” the first girl squealed as she
jumped to her feet.
As Victoria’s vision cleared, she watched
this guy who began working the curl by cutting back and forth, and thus
preventing anyone else from frigging his wave. She witnessed the violent
crashing surf being controlled by a master who demonstrated his ability to not
only stay up on top but obviously wanting to drain it for all it was worth, and
even begging for more. From the squeals Victoria heard coming from the other
girls, she knew that his muscular body dominated their interest. For Victoria,
his performance penetrated her soul, and recorded a dream-like fantasy that was
much more powerful than she could have ever imagined. It rendered her into a
trance where the world and all of its problems completely vanished. “Wow!”
Victoria finally managed to whisper.
After he finished the ride and splashed his
way out and onto the shore, he grabbed his board and ran to his towel. Several
of the land sharks brought their hands together for him. While the sound of the
wind continued to bellow too loud for any applause to be heard, he did give
them a quick hand wave and a big smile which was full of brilliant teeth.
As Victoria studied the water dripping down
his long, but curly, blond strands of hair that hung shoulder length, she
watched him reach for his phone, and stare at it, as if checking his messages
for a moment. After he uncapped a bottle of water, he took a long drink before
heading back out to the surf. On his way he quickly waved at the girls, as if
to politely acknowledge their praise. But Victoria understood, as he glanced
back out at the waves, that his mind was consumed with surfing right now, and
nothing else.
The girl next to Victoria yelled at her
over the wind, “I don’t know who he is, but he’s da kine.”
“I’ll agree. He looks . . . delicious.”
The girl smiled, and glanced back at her
sideways. “So . . . are you going in after him?”
“Let’s just say that if he wants to give
lessons, I’m available.” The brief chatting took her mind off her fears. She
felt like she would be safe for a while, since the operative would not retrieve
the canister until after everyone had left the beach area. “I think I’ll take a
small walk first, and get my nerve up before I tackle these waves.” With the
container still hidden in her hand, she quickly walked down the beach a hundred
yards, or so. She soon stopped in front of a large piece of driftwood stranded
on the beach. This would have to do. She walked over to it, and turned her back
toward the beach before counting off the steps. After turning around to face
the ocean, she dropped the container. A quick kick of sand covered it. The high
winds would cover both her tracks, and the canister, as well, within minutes.
Now she had to think. She had to plan a way to
escape from her monitors before it was too late.
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