Before You Write Your Next Article...

Before You Write Your Next Article...

I like to believe that writing is an art, but probably not in the way you might think. Art is in the eye of the beholder. The ability to write anything should always be based on passion, not search engine optimization or archaic rules written by a culture of education that cannot even properly define itself, let alone what excellence in authorship should be. The SEO and academic schools of writing have produced an electronic media full of mediocre, misspelled, duplicate works produced by hacks who either do not understand or do not care what they are writing about.

If you have a desire to write anything, choose your assignments carefully. No one wants to read a book, article, press release or even technical works written by someone who has no real interest in the subject involved. For example, each day I am forced to read news items authored by people who never went to the Who, What, When, Where and How school of journalism. I can read through an entire news story and still have no idea where or when a particular event took place. Add to that all the misspellings, poor grammar choices, and you have something written by someone who could care less about what they are writing.

I once heard a reasonably prominent author tell his readers that he was able to write perfect paragraphs without the need to go back and check his work. In blowing his own horn that author forgot to tell his audience that he also had another talent. He excelled at reshaping popular secular self-help book titles into works that he claimed as his own for the religious book market. I guess that if I sat there all day working off of someone else's manuscript then I, too, could write perfect paragraphs.

As a high school student taking an English course I was fortunate enough to have a former college professor as my teacher. She had fallen on hard times thanks to a spouse who cheated on her, blamed her, then used his tenure and influence to have her dismissed. With a need to eat and pay the bills, that instructor ended up teaching at my high school while she worked through all the personal problems in her life.

When I started her class my idea of writing was beyond primitive thanks to almost a decade of instruction on the tools of writing that failed to explain proper structure and ignored passion. She changed all that by teaching me some simple tips that would give anyone the ability to write anything and do it well. One of the most important things I learned from her was that everything you write represents you. Each time you write a letter, memo or anything else, it becomes your ambassador to the world and speaks for you whether you really want it to or not.

She also had a suggestion for those of us who cannot write perfect paragraphs: Read everything you write through at least three times and re-write it as many times as it takes to add to, subtract from or change your work until it tells the story you are trying to tell or makes the point you are trying to make and does so in a manner that is accurate, clear and interesting. Always be willing to accept legitimate criticism from others, but make sure that your writing represents who you are, what you have to say and that your readers understand why you are saying it.

I I learned more in the two high school semesters that I spent under that college professor's instruction than I did later in college or anywhere else since. She had a passion to help people express themselves properly through writing and the ability to teach them how to accomplish that. Expression is the key and inspiration is the tool.

Nothing disturbs me more than watching how some of the major online article banks kill the creativity of their authors by encouraging them to submit watered-down, passionless junk in place of meaningful pieces that speak to people. The result is that they tend to have tens of thousands of articles with correct spelling, proper grammar and absolutely no passion or redeeming social value.

Think of what you write as a work of Art. Not in the sense of perfection, but make it inspired, passionate and personal. Words are power and have the ability to influence everyone and everything around us. While great authors eventually die, their work remains and speaks for them each time someone reads what they have written. It's not about what you choose to write, it's the way in which you decide write it. Do so with the understanding that your work represents you and it does not get more personal than that. Bill can be contacted on FACEBOOK BILL KNELL'S BOOKSTORE Informative, Provocative, Exciting Books (ebook and paperback formats) by Bill Knell and others…

Bill Knell's books are available on Ebay (Rating 5/5), Walmart, Amazon, Lulu, GoodReads, Kobo and more. Some titles are available in Spanish 

Radio Personalities that book me as a guest for their shows call me The UFO GUY.‭ ‬This book covers my early life experiences and investigations.  As you’ll soon discover, my life has always been surrounded by the paranormal and unusual events. People that have experienced the unexplained have been drawn to me, and I to them. - Bill Knell

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This is not just another Vampire Story. It's the amazing tale of a powerful being bent on revenge. Discover how a common man became The Dark Master and move with him through the centuries until he winds up in New York City. It's there that we meet the fascinating characters that interact with him over one hundred years. It's there that he reaches into the heart of the New York City Mob and pulls out a man in need of his unique powers. Stay off the streets of NYC at night… He's hungry!

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True TALES of people who experienced a parallel Earth event.

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The belief in life after death is a common belief among most of the world’s civilizations and that may have been the birth of the idea of ghosts and spirits. The Vampire persona has evolved from many true and untrue facts, legends and myths. At various times vampires, real and imagined, have been considered fiends, supernatural beings, shape-shifters, mentally disturbed deviants, satanic servants and fetish followers...

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WARNING: Sexual Situations

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Llllppp

What they will not tell you about marriage and relationships

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WARNING: Sexual Situations

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This is a true story about Sex Workersl.I know because I witnessed most of what you will read about. The rest I gleaned from long conversations with some of the people involved… WARNING: SOME EXPLICIT DESCRIPTIONS 

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Kailey Fields offers readers fresh and very human fiction stories that are unique, yet relatable.


The seeds of her self-doubt had been sown in her early years. She'd been relentlessly bullied in school for being different, for her passion for gaming, which had been dismissed as a “boy thing.” That hurt had left deep scars. Creating Lemonade had been a shield, a way to deflect the negativity she faced in the real world. It was a safe space where she could be celebrated for her skills, her wit, and her personality, instead of facing ridicule.


The air hung heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. Each step crunched on the forest floor, a sound amplified in the suffocating silence of the Blackwood Forest. My breath hitched in my throat, a thin plume of white mist disappearing into the inky blackness. The only light came from my lantern, a feeble spark against the overwhelming darkness that pressed in from all sides, swallowing the forest in its shadowy embrace. Above, the branches of ancient trees twisted like skeletal fingers, their gnarled silhouettes scratching at the moonless sky.

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The darkness claimed me, swallowing me whole. But in death, a twisted metamorphosis occurred. The venom of betrayal, the searing agony of death, transformed into a cold, unrelenting fire. I became a specter, an instrument of vengeance. The chilling weight of my decomposing body became a burden that fueled my relentless pursuit.

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Grandma Elara's tales filled the quiet evenings at her house. The aroma of woodsmoke and simmering herbs hung heavy in the air, mingling with the scent of old books and the comforting warmth of her presence. Her cozy old house seemed to hum with a gentle energy, a place where ancient stories and timeless secrets intertwined. The antique furniture, each piece telling a story of its own, seemed to come alive as she spun her tales, the very atmosphere of the house adding to the mystique of the Ceasg and its watery realm.

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Cerelia, a museum employee with a penchant for the obscure and a healthy dose of skepticism tempered by an insatiable curiosity, had been cleaning the newly acquired collection of ancient artifacts. She was meticulous, and painstaking in her work, a sharp contrast to the hurried pace of the city outside the museum walls. She liked the quiet solitude of the museum, a world apart from the noisy urban jungle. She found solace in the relics of the past, each object whispering a story of bygone eras.

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Aislinn felt it too, a growing sense of unease, not just from the tales of a missing Prince, but from the visions teased by the necklace. The shadowed figure, the one with piercing eyes and a cruel smile,haunted her dreams and even invaded her waking moments. He was connected to the necklace, a palpable sense of threat radiating from the glowing pendant. The prince's fate, she now realized, was entwined with her own. And somewhere, a darkness waited, a darkness that the necklace seemed both to warn her about and guide her towards. The quiet village of Oakhaven, with its familiar rhythms and predictable patterns, could no longer contain her. 



The seeds of her self-doubt had been sown in her early years. She'd been relentlessly bullied in school for being different, for her passion for gaming, which had been dismissed as a “boy thing.” That hurt had left deep scars. Creating Lemonade had been a shield, a way to deflect the negativity she faced in the real world. It was a safe space where she could be celebrated for her skills, her wit, and her personality, instead of facing ridicule.

paperback



She traced the lines on her palm, searching for a familiar scar, a birthmark, anything to tether herself to a stable identity. Nothing. Even her own body felt slightly different, as if her reflection in the warped mirror across the room was an imposter. The subtle variations – the way her hair fell, a new freckle on her cheek, the faintest shift in her eyes – were enough to unsettle her further. It was as if she was perpetually teetering on the edge of a precipice, the ground constantly shifting beneath her feet.

eBook, paperback or hardcover

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