Writing Prompts: How to Set a Scene [Scene Stealers]

    Welcome to our third Scene Stealers, our series of writing prompts designed to flex your creative muscles.

    In case you’re not familiar with Scene Stealers, here’s how it works:

    • We set the scene
    • You steal it, make it your own, and,
    • Share your creation in the comments section

    Of course, it’s perfectly fine if you don’t want to share your work, but we hope you’ll do the exercise anyway.

     Now for the ground rules:

    • You must use the exact wording we provide—in this case it must appear at the beginning of your story.
    • Your story must be 350 words or less.
    • Your work must be original and not previously published.
    • WTD provides an encouraging and safe environment for writers to grow and learn from each other. We’d love you to comment on other people’s submissions in a friendly and supportive manner.
    • We reserve the right to delete any comments or entries we deem inappropriate and those that do not meet the specifications above.

    Writers sometimes have difficulty providing enough of the right information to ensure that the reader disappears into the reality of the story’s setting. This week’s prompt is designed to help you develop your ability to set the scene.

     Scene Stealer #3

    Jason pushed himself up on one elbow, groaned, and fell back to the floor. He tried to get his bearings but couldn’t think past the pounding in his head. He waited–maybe 15 seconds or so—and tried again. The room didn’t spin quite as much this time, so he looked around.

    Now steal this, flesh out the scene and take the story wherever you want …

    We can’t wait to see what happens.

    Want to submit a Scene Stealer idea?

    It’s easy. Go to the Contact page and send your idea us.  Be sure to include your full name, email address and, if you’d like, a link to your blog or website. If your idea is selected we will share this information with our readers so they’ll know how to find you.

    About the author
    Mary Jaksch is Editor-in-Chief at Write to Done. Grab her FREE report How to Write Like an A-List Blogger. Mary has helped thousands of students successfully create outstanding and profitable blogs at A-List Blogging and is the blogger behind Goodlife ZEN.

    About the author

      Mary Jaksch

      Mary Jaksch is best known for her exceptional training for writers at WritetoDone.com. Grab a copy of her free report, How to Create an Irresistible Lead Magnet in Less Than 5 Hours. In her “spare” time, Mary’s also the brains behind AlistBlogging.net. and GoodlifeZEN.com, a Zen Master, a mother, and a 5th Degree Black Belt.

    • Jason pushed himself up on one elbow, groaned, and fell back to the floor. He tried to get his bearings but couldn’t think past the pounding in his head. He waited–maybe 15 seconds or so—and tried again. The room didn’t spin quite as much this time, so he looked around.

      Through the semi-darkness, what he saw both surprised and scared him. His bed, bed sheets, pillow and blankets were flattened in a swirl around him, his favorite Mickey doll in shatters on his upside down dresser, his books, toys, and clothes in crazy array around his bedroom.

      In sleepy confusion he cried out, emitting only a hollow, squeaky sound. Sobbing inside, he tried again to sit up this time using his left elbow. As he felt the cold, hard, wet floor rather than his soft bed beneath him, he began to panic. He shouted again into the darkness, this time evoking a thin raspy voice.

      Jason remembered Daddy reading him a bedtime story and singing him a goodnight song to the rhythm of the softly falling rain against his windowpane. He remembered Mommy coming in to close the drapes, kiss him goodnight and whisper sweet talk about his first day of kindergarten tomorrow. And he remembered switching off his flashlight and singing himself to sleep with a calm feeling of warmth and peacefulness, the gentle sound of soft thunder rumbling in the distance.

      Mommy! Daddy! With sudden resolve and drawing on all the bravery he could muster, he discovered his bedtime flashlight nearby and switched it on. The window was broken and rain was pouring into his room. The curtains were soaked, yet still hanging on the rod. Anxiously pushing with his good arm, he slowly stood up and carefully swished across his wet floor to the door.

      As he cautiously made his way into the hallway, suddenly an overhead light came on and two of his favorite people in the world gathered him up into their warm arms, asking questions and marveling at their little boy’s resourcefulness and courage.

    • Averal says:

      Jason pushed himself up on one elbow, groaned, and fell back to the floor. He tried to get his bearings but couldn’t think past the pounding in his head. He waited–maybe 15 seconds or so—and tried again. The room didn’t spin quite as much this time, so he looked around.

      The sterile white floor felt sticky with sweat was he laid his elbow again to sit up. There was stains of blood against the white titles. He wiped his face with his left hand and noticed that blood was dipping from his nose. In bewilderment, he tried to recall the events of yesterday, but realised that his memories has been blanked out of his mind. He tried to regain his focus by blinking his eyes several times. A soft gentle voice called from the other end of the room, “Jason, it is me.”

      He turned his head to the direction of the voice, standing right there, was a beautiful blonde haired girl in her 20s, with bright blue eyes. Who is she? He thought silently, as he tried again to stand up, before crumbing like a sedated bear onto the floor. “Stay still” The mysterious girl replied, “I will go and get help.”

      The mysterious girl came back moments later with a doctor.

      The kind doctor checked his eyes with a torchlight. “A little bloodshot. Please get him some water and aspirin.” She nodded and went out of the door.

      “What happened?” Jason asked in confusion.

      “You have lost a lot of blood. Can you remember the events of yesterday?”

      Jason shook his head. “No, I can’t remember a single thing,”

      “Is she your girlfriend?”

      “I don’t know her.”

      “Who is she then?”

      The blonde haired girl trotted into the room in her high heels with a class of water and aspirin. “I need you alive, Jason” She gave a wicked smirk. “You can go now doctor.”

    • Amazing how some of us had the idea that Jason did not know where he was in our stories…I’m enjoying these little stories and noticing some can spell better than me and use bigger words so this is great inspiration…I cut out a newspaper as this is more interesting..I thought I would detest this as all I do is inspirational but it helps my slow brain to focus..Great medicine after reading negative comments on some of my positive comments on YouTube..Uplifting…Thanks for giving us the opportunity to do this….

    • JR Hawkins says:

      Jason pushed himself up on one elbow, groaned, and fell back to the floor. He tried to get his bearings but couldn’t think past the pounding in his head. He waited – maybe 15 seconds or so – and tried again. The room didn’t spin quite as much this time, so he looked around.

      It seemed like only moments ago he’d been peering over the edge of a cocktail glass drinking in the buxom brunette he’d been paid to keep under surveillance. How he ended up alone and face down on the floor of Foxie’s Bar and Grill was anybody’s guess. When the boss found out he’d screwed up an assignment as simple as babysitting an ex-nun, his life wouldn’t be worth a plugged nickel.

      Did the wily Sister Sarah slip a mickey in his drink and then slip out the door? If she’d bailed on him, it would only be a matter of time before her enemies nabbed her. He had to find her, now.

      A punch of pain nailed him in the gut and he clutched his belly like his intestines were leaking. The fried fish sandwich he’d inhaled for lunch was swimming back up. He tried rolling to his feet, but vertical was not an option. What do you do when you can’t walk? You crawl – in a manly way, of course.

      On hands and knees he scuttled between dark pub tables and chairs, barely avoiding the unidentifiable globs decorating the floor. Yeesh. The carpet smelled like stale beer and dirty feet.

      “Well, hello there, handsome. Trolling for change?” Two scrawny legs sporting a waitress uniform and a pair of sensible shoes blocked his path. He lifted his aching head, raked his hair out of his eyes and threw her a glance.

      “Betty? Hey, did you see where my date went?”

      Hands on hips, Betty leaned forward frowning. “What date?”

      “You know, the busty brunette I came in with.”

      “What brunette? You came in here alone.”

      Uh-oh. He felt his life shift from ‘whoa’ to ‘oh, shit’ and he hadn’t even left the bar.

    • Jason pushed himself up on one elbow, groaned, and fell back to the floor. He tried to get his bearings but couldn’t think past the pounding in his head. He waited–maybe 15 seconds or so—and tried again. The room didn’t spin quite as much this time, so he looked around.

      ‘Liv?’ he spluttered. ‘What are you doing?’
      ‘It’s only a tranquilizer. You’ll be fine.’ Her voice was cold from the other side of the room where she was flipping open folders and photocopying the contents. The rhythm of her activity became a pounding beat in Jason’s ears and the pulsing light of the copier hurt his eyes.
      ‘How did you know it was me?’
      She grinned and paused to look his way. ‘Research.’
      ‘I’ve been doing my homework too,’ he said securing his balance on the nearby desk and fighting the rising nausea in his throat. ‘Olivia Kent, romance novelist and petty thief.’ He moved to stand by her, nausea no longer the issue. Damn me if I don’t desire this woman, he thought to himself. I’ve allowed her to captivate me. Was she crying?
      ‘Why the tears, Liv?’
      ‘Why did it have to be you Jason?’
      ‘Like it matters? I’m just research to you, Livvy. You’ll go home now and write me up in one of your stories.’
      She was shaking her head silently and her disguise began to unravel as a length of hair dropped out from under her cap. Jason reached over and tucked it back into its hiding place. Olivia stopped his retreating hand at her cheek and held it there. ‘If things had been different…’ The moment was sealed with his kiss, which as he had hoped, took her off guard. He reached around her and in one swift movement held the copies, the folders and her brief case as well as Olivia who was protesting in his arms. ‘If you must know I’m working for Tony.’ She twisted rapidly and regained her brief case and then struggled toward the copies. Jason ceased defying her and now stared, an animal caught in the headlights as the photocopier made one more pass. ‘Tony? Oh, Liv.’ She shoved him away with such force he teetered briefly by the desk and then collapsed into a chair. Stowing her rewards quickly she moved to the door. ‘And the name’s Olivia.’

    • Diane says:

      Jason pushed himself up on one elbow, groaned, and fell back to the floor. He tried to get his bearings but couldn’t think past the pounding in his head. He waited–maybe 15 seconds or so—and tried again. The room didn’t spin quite as much this time, so he looked around.

      Steamers hung haphazardly from the light fixtures and window treatments. The family room reeked of stale alcohol and cigarette smoke. Sleeping bodies were strewn across the floor and furniture. Slices of pizza mysteriously clung to the ceiling. Lace underpants spun lazily above his head on the ceiling fan.

      Jason looked for his brother, Justin, and found him propped up against the television. His eyes were glazed and a wry grin exposed a gap where his crown used to be. Jason stepped over the landmine of bodies and shook Justin.

      “What the hell happened?”

      “Dude, awesome party.”

      “Are you kidding me? Look at the carnage around us!” Jason felt like hurling. “Mom and Dad are going to kill us.”

      “We had a reason to celebrate, bro. It’s not every day we raise $100,000 for charity.”

      “Speaking of the money, did you make it to the bank?”

      Justin’s grin disappeared.

      “No, but it’s in a safe place.”

      Jason grabbed his brother’s shoulders. “Please tell me you didn’t use your usual place.”

      “Didn’t have a choice . . . not enough time . . . no one saw me . . . .”

      Both men looked towards the bookcase. Jason hopscotched across the floor and searched for the “Hunchback of Notre Dame.” He breathed a sigh of relief when he found it on the second shelf.

      “That’s not where it’s supposed to be,” said Justin.

      Jason opened up the book and showed the empty contents to his brother.

    • luthenia says:

      I have acquired a wealth of knowledge on this site. I would like to say, thank you to Carol’s ink for recommending it.

    • Karen says:

      Jason pushed himself up on one elbow, groaned, and fell back to the floor. He tried to get his bearings but couldn’t think past the pounding in his head. He waited–maybe 15 seconds or so—and tried again. The room didn’t spin quite as much this time, so he looked around.

      The indistinct hulking thing before him resolved itself into his desk; the dancing kaleidoscope of colors beyond that his bookcases. Painfully he drew himself up, crawling up the visitor’s chair he’d been lying half under, until finally he was sprawled across it haphazardly, but able to see the rest of the room.

      His eyes fell upon the mural his daughter had made for him in Sunday School a few weeks earlier. THE TEN COMMANDMENTS. Each commandment was neatly numbered and spelled out in Tina’s boxy hand. She was so proud of her writing skills. Jason was so proud of his little girl. He’d never noticed before that THOU SHALT NOT KILL was written a little larger than the others. Just the unevenness of a six-year-old’s penmanship? Or was she trying to tell her daddy something important?

      Jason shook his head, then wished he hadn’t. After waiting for the vertigo to subside, he studied the rest of his office. His alb and stole were still carelessly tossed over the back of his desk chair, waiting to be put away after this morning’s worship, but everything else was in order.

      Except the laptop. The laptop was still on his desk, open. He grabbed it, and saw that the thumb drive was gone. The thumb drive that had shown him the image of his—

      Jason got dizzy again and had to sit down. He couldn’t think about what he’d seen. He had no doubt that it was real, impossible as it was to fathom.

      He stood up and took a deep breath before the dizziness could dissuade him. The mural caught his eye again. THOU SHALT NOT KILL.

      He turned away from it. They’d tortured his wife, and now they had his daughter. He would do what he had to do.

    • 1 L Loyd says:

      Jason pushed himself up on one elbow, groaned, and fell back to the floor. He tried to get his bearings but couldn’t think past the pounding in his head. He waited–maybe 15 seconds or so–and tried again. The room didn’t spin quite as much this time, so he looked around.
      Light spilled out of the open secret door. The lights were on a motion sensor, so someone, the one who had cold-cocked him must still be in there.
      Jason lay there and tried to force his brain to work. Someone was in there and could not be allowed to leave. Pain shot through his head, and he had to wait before the thought could form. If he could close the door, they would be trapped.
      Jason rolled over to his hands and knees. Halfway there.
      He reached out and grabbed the arm of one of the over-stuffed chair. Using it as a brace, he levered himself up.
      The bookshelf framing the door pitched and yawed. Jason waited until they barely moved–probably another 15 seconds–then stepped toward the raised lever that was the door switch.
      The floor rose up and hit Jason, knocking a cry from his throat. He lay there, chest heaving. His muscles felt like water.
      A noise drew his attention. A tall woman was in the doorway. Her f sharp features and piercing eyes looked down on him. Her lips curled in a smile that never reached her eyes. She disappeared back into the room.
      Jason looked at a book that laid on the floor nest to his elbow. It one of several on the floor.
      Jason bent his arm and took the book. He focused his gaze on the switch.
      Rolling, he tossed the book in the air. It arced through the air and landed on the lever, knocking it down. With a sliding sound, the door closed the light off cutting of a cry of anger.
      Jason sagged back to the floor. Now he could wait for help, or until his head settled down.

    • Szramiakje says:

      Jason pushed himself up on one elbow, groaned, and fell back to the floor. He tried to get his bearings but couldn’t think past the pounding in his head. He waited–maybe 15 seconds or so—and tried again. The room didn’t spin quite as much this time, so he looked around.
      The sun was filtering its way around the edges of the heavy black curtains that hung in front of the windows, providing just enough light to counteract the epileptic effects of the two overhead strobe lights, which were still on. Crushed beer cans and countless red solo cups littered the worn out parquet floor and camouflage sheets, bamboo sticks, and fake leaves hung from all four walls. The jungle juice sat motionless in its giant bowl in the corner.
      Jason stood up and pressed his knuckles into his temples. His vision had returned but his head was filled with a grating buzzing sound. Trying to ignore it, he pulled his jeans from underneath the couch and, hopping around trying to put them on, fell and crashed into one of the enormous floor-standing speakers. The noise stopped. Jason lay still on the ground for a second, pleased to learn that the buzzing had been from the speakers and not from his head but also in pain from crashing into the sound system. As he got to his feet again rubbing his elbow, he noticed numerous bruises on his forearms and a few more on his legs. Evidently his falling skills had not diminished overnight.
      This wasn’t the worst hangover Jason had ever experienced. His body felt as if he had just lost a title fight, his lips were parched, and his stomach rumbled, but apart from the pounding in his head his mind felt clear. He reached into his pocket for his phone. Through the spider web of cracks in the screen was a notification for three missed calls and a voicemail. And it was 11:48am. Shit!
      Jason bolted out the door and down the stairs of the house, his bare feet hardly registering a sound. His shoes he was sure were still in the room he had woken up in, either under the couch or in the piles of cans and cups, but he didn’t have time to look for them. He jumped the last four steps, grabbed his skateboard which thankfully was where he had left it, and kicked open the front door.
      His mind was working to generate an adequate excuse as he kicked his way down Beacon Street. Unfortunately, he wasn’t certain an adequate excuse existed for a situation like this. In less than ten minutes he had reached the Prudential, the massive 52 floor downtown skyscraper. The offices of Robin, Blankstein, & Gray were on the 47th floor. Barefoot and skateboard underarm, Jason sprinted through the lobby and navigated around the Welcome Desk and an open-mouthed concierge. As he reached the elevator lobby his phone beeped.
      Thnx for the awesome party last night. Congratulations again on your new job- 3 years of suffering thru law school and hard wrk and u’ve really earned it! Just don’t fuck up on your first day 😉
      Way too late.

    • Jason pushed himself up on one elbow, groaned, then fell back to the floor. He tried to get his bearings but couldn’t think past the pounding in his head. He waited – maybe fifteen seconds or so – and tried again. The room didn’t spin twice as much this time, so he looked around. Still feeling confused and dazed Jason could feel his clothes were wet then observed a trail of mucky footprints which seemed to stop at the entrance. Now totally alone in what seemed like a lighthouse he observed his surroundings. Did pirates abandon him rather than kill him? Where was he? Would anyone miss him and try to find him? He could now crawl to the entrance using his toes to open the door. Breathing a sigh of relief he tried to stand up and upon losing his balance he could feel himself falling, falling, falling as he faced the deep blue sea directly beneath. The secure spiral stairway had collapsed and there was no turning back! He became semi-unconscious just as he was about to hit the water screaming for help however a loud familiar sounding voice echoed through his head pulling him back into the real word. ‘JASON’, you are dreaming darling. Wake up or we will ALL be late for our trip to the Island..

    • Steve says:

      Jason pushed himself up on one elbow, groaned, and fell back to the floor. He tried to get his bearings but couldn’t think past the pounding in his head. He waited–maybe 15 seconds or so—and tried again. The room didn’t spin quite as much this time, so he looked around. He knew this place. It was the lighthouse basement: cinder block walls with high windows, stairway, no carpet, and no door, damp sea smell. When was the last time he was here? Why was he here now? He didn’t know. The pounding in his head returned. He closed his eyes, waited and it passed. If he could stand, he might find some answers. But they would be upstairs. If he stayed here, he would only catch cold. He didn’t stand. He clawed and pulled himself up the nearby wall. His legs shook and the pounding came in now familiar waves. Could he walk to the stairs? Would he fall? It almost didn’t matter. He could not be here now. Kevin and Vicky were waiting. He opened his eyes and took a nervous step toward the stairs. Then he took another. It seemed to take forever. He kept moving. He stopped twice to wait for the pain, but remained on his feet. The stairway, he knew, would act like a chair. He would rest once he got there. Finally he eased himself onto the bottom concrete step. The sound from above startled him. A woman was speaking. Her voice promised springtime and burgundy and long passionate afternoons. She said: “Jason, please rest now. I’ll be down in a minute and explain everything. But please rest. You’ve had a terrible shock. Don’t worry. You’ll be fine but you need to rest.” The springtime voice was a flower with questions not blooms. Who was she? Why was she here with him? Why did she know more than he did? Maybe he could push himself up the steps one at a time. His mom did it that way when she was sick. Lift eight inches and slide back down. Lift and slide. As long as the pain stayed away he could manage.

      Steve Aberger

      [email protected]

      AND THANK YOU! IT IS GRAND TO KNOW OTHERS FACE THE SAME TORTURES AND STILL WANT TO HELP!!!!!!!

    • Jason pushed himself up on one elbow, groaned, and fell back to the floor. He tried to get his bearings but couldn’t think past the pounding in his head. He waited–maybe 15 seconds or so—and tried again. The room didn’t spin quite as much this time, so he looked around.

      Nothing looked familiar. How the hell had he gotten here? He looked up and as his eyes slid into focus, he realized he was under a rack of clothing. The carpet beneath him was ugly, industrial. Okay, I’m in a store. A longer look at the garments revealed more information – a cloud of pink, blue, white, and black lace lingerie hung tantalizingly just above his nose. He reached up to touch a lovely ruffled pair of panties, and felt new pain as his arm was kicked aside.

      “Be still, you freaking pervert,” screamed his attacker.

      “Ow, stop it,” Jason yelled back, cradling his injured arm and rolling away.

      The fresh wave of pain, however, had kick-started his brain. He was in Ooh-la-la, his fiancé’s favorite store. It was her birthday and he’d been trying to buy her a gift. Apparently his efforts to choose the right size had offended the Amazon towering over him.

      “Be still, creep,” she ordered. “The dumbass mall cops are on the way.”

      “What’d I do?” Jason whined. “Why’d you attack me?”

      “You know damn well what you did, Perv Boy. You asked me what size thong I wear. Nobody asks me personal crap like that. Now you’re gonna pay!”

      Jason rolled farther away from the raven-haired beauty now turned angry beast he had been so intrigued by moments before – and sat up, still cradling his arm. A flash image of her wearing the frilly pink thong he’d been considering nearly brought a smile to his lips. He wisely snuffed the image, and focused on surviving the incident.

      As the mall cops stormed the shop like a crack house raid on Saturday night, tasers set on fry, adrenaline-sweat boiling down their pudgy faces, Jason rolled onto his belly and painfully locked his fingers behind his head. He knew the drill.

    • I read this piece of writing completely regarding the
      difference of latest and previous technologies, it’s remarkable article.

    • Iwill submit a short story asap.

      • Hi Rich – I look forward to reading your scene. Don’t worry – this is a safe place for you to publish you words. We all wish you the very best and hope you’ll take this learning opportunity.

    • Jason pushed himself up on one elbow, groaned, and fell back to the floor. He tried to get his bearings but couldn’t think past the pounding in his head. He waited–maybe 15 seconds or so—and tried again. The room didn’t spin quite as much this time, so he looked around.

      What he saw was not reassuring. He was in a bedroom that he didn’t recognize. There were a pair of panties hanging over the bedpost and his pants—which he didn’t remember taking off—were slumped on the floor out of his immediate reach. Various other bits of clothing, only some of it his, were scattered around the room.

      Jason’s memories from the night before were slow coming back to him. The strip club. A sassy red headed dancer. Urging Billy to accept a private lap dance the boys had bought him. Billy!! Jason rushed to get up, but the motion was more than his alcohol-laden body could handle and his boxers, still tangled around his ankles, tripped him up and he crashed back to the floor.

      Last night had been Billy’s bachelor party; based on the sun filtering through the window, at some point today Bill was getting — or maybe had gotten, Jason couldn’t see a clock — married.

      “Jay?” a sleepy voice asked. Jason looked at the bed. Billy’s best man and younger brother, John, looked back at him. “How’d we get here?” John asked groggily. Then, “And why aren’t you wearing any pants, man?”

      • John Mohrman says:

        Melissa, very nice work, and funny too! I dont have time to write right now,but i’ll be writing my scene stealer in the A.M. Good luck with your writing.

      • Averal says:

        Enticing and intriguing.

        Loved this part weaving in and out of today and yesterday, “Last night had been Billy’s bachelor party; based on the sun filtering through the window, at some point today Bill was getting — or maybe had gotten, Jason couldn’t see a clock — married. “

    • Jason pushed himself up on one elbow, groaned, and fell back to the floor. He tried to get his bearings but couldn’t think past the pounding in his head. He waited–maybe 15 seconds or so—and tried again. The room didn’t spin quite as much this time, so he looked around.
      Normal. Like all the rooms. Controls, instrumentation, portal. He had operated in a thousand just like it.
      Was the rate of spin tied to his movement? He waved an arm and felt the floor pitch hard beneath him. He increased the arc of the wave and spinning combined with the pitching to bounce him against the wall—Newton’s laws combining with Murphy’s to ensure that he banged exactly the same spot on his head.
      He lay still and the motion stopped.
      Was the malfunction limited to this one room or was it system wide? The impact of that thought sent a chill to his core.
      But he didn’t have time to dwell. He had to get out, his mission demanded he find another room, complete the transfer and proceed to the next level. If he failed, the consequences were earth-shattering. Literally. Annihilation the fruit of failure.
      The portal was twenty-five feet away in the far wall. If he moved really slowly he might just—
      As if in response to the thought, the room rolled back. The wall became the floor and the portal was now in the ceiling, three body lengths above his head.
      “As if in response to the thought,” he groaned. Can they read thoughts now? Or just sense intentions? Intelligence reports indicated that the AI-Instances were working on deciphering synaptic noise. But the results were thought to be months in the future. Clearly they weren’t.
      It added orders of magnitude of the importance of Jason’s mission.
      “Time?” he asked.
      “Fifteen, forty-three and twelve seconds,” said the voice in his ear.
      He had less than seventeen minutes.

    • I like scene stealers.Iwill create a story as an excercise for myself.
      I write mystery and have been writing for four years.I also have a
      book being published soon by PUBLISH AMERICA.This is my
      first book.The title is THE SIR DAVID THOMAS SERIES.ITS’
      based during the medieval era/strictly fiction not actual history.
      I hope it’s a success.Wish me luck please for I am so nervous
      about this publishing project.Thanks/RICH SATTANNI/AUTHOR

      • John Mohrman says:

        Good luck Rich, hoping to get that far myself one day.

      • Ellen says:

        Good luck, Rich. I have unfortunately, heard horrible things about Publish America (as I recall, they’re involved in a major lawsuit at this time). Best of luck.

      • I published 2 books with Publish America. They do not pay royalties, they do nothing to promote your books, Tie up your copyright for 10 yrs, charge a very high price for your book which discourages sales, and do not respond to messages once they have your copyright. It also appears to me that, based on your posting, your book could use a good edit. Publishing is highly competitive today; if someone does buy your book and begins to read, then start finding egregious errors, they will put it down and not recommend it. If you can get out of this deal, run away. That’s my advice. There are plenty of book publishers out there, but first get your book professionally edited. Best of luck, Pat


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