When I started blogging back in September of 2007, I viewed it as an experiment in marketing. I really have no internal need to share the details of my business or my life with anyone who happens by, but I had read some marketing books and they were all unanimous on the advice of blogging to stir interest and name recognition if nothing else.

And as always, I was game to try it.

What I didn’t expect was that by blogging about the different aspects of writing, editing, publishing and marketing, that I was creating a library of material to be used at a later date. I didn’t know that I was going to find it handy at a later date, or what that later date may have consisted of, but when I received the invitation to hold workshops at the Florida Writers’ Association Annual Conference next year, I was able to not only accept, but to have a good idea of what I wanted to cover by thinking about what I had already covered in this blog. I already had a wealth of material that only needed to be gone through, prioritized and organized to come up with, what I hope will be, a really good and insightful presentation.

What I would like to concentrate on is “The Future of Publishing and what that Means for the Writer” for one workshop, and “Writing from a Publisher’s POV” for the second workshop. I have nearly a year to dig through my posts, pull the best points from the best of them and outline it into cohesive presentations. I’m very much looking forward to the entire process, and it is a lot less daunting knowing that I am not starting from scratch!

Some Final Touches: 

Yesterday (yes, there are times, more often than I can count, when I work on Sunday, despite past declarations that I would not) I was able to email Skylar Hamilton Burris the preliminary full cover for her upcoming release An Unlikely Missionary. It’s always an exciting time when we get to this stage, much like having company come to your home and spending the final few moments fluffing chair cushions and picking lint from the floor that has mysteriously appeared since vacuuming. Everything is in place, the text block, the artwork, the blurb on the back, and you’re just tweaking everything one last time to ensure that the presentation is as best as it can be.

This is the second time through the process with Skylar, and we have worked out a good system. I come up with the blurb concept, forward it to her, she takes the initial concept, makes some changes and forwards it back to me. I take her revisions, distill the blurb down further, return it to her, and usually by the time she gets it back to me with a few further changes, we have the final product.

I know that she appreciates being allowed the ample amount of input that I give her, and I give her a lot of leeway because when it comes to editing, she does a much better job than myself. She has a more technical eye whereas I have a more voice and flow eye. Sometimes she is apt to boil the flavor right out of the meat in order to be grammatically precise in all instances, sometimes I am apt to trample grammer entirely and end up with some strong meat that no one is capable of eating. Between the two of us, we find a nice balance.

But my point is, we’re on this final stage now, fussing over the arrangement of the flowers in the hall as we wait to greet our guests. They’ll be here any moment, and we are atwitter with excitement.

A good story teller is invisible. I can not stress this enough: THE GOOD STORY TELLER IS INVISIBLE. For more understanding on this, read Rebecca’s Rules on Writing #1: Leave your Author Ego at the Door. But in a nutshell, it means that when the reader is reading, they are not thinking, gee, what a good writer, they are instead thinking, gee, what a good story. You, as the writer, come as a vague after-thought, usually after the book is read, and the reader rechecks your name so that they can find you again and see if you have any more good stories.

I know, I know. Normally when someone asks what we read, we throw out authors’ names and say, they’re a really good writer. But what we really mean is, they tell really good stories. In Stephen King’s book On Writing, he bemoans the fact that none of his fans ever talk about the language. I wouldn’t take that as an insult, but as a high compliment. The writing should be so smooth as to be unnoticable. If someone is commenting on the writing, then that means they noticed it. And if they noticed the writing, that means they noticed that they were in fact reading a book instead of being entirely immersed in the scene. They are no longer running for their lives, heart pounding, or anticipating a meeting with their lover, palms sweating, but are instead thinking, wow, what a nice turn of phrase. It is the equivalent of interrupting a movie with commercials, “This programming brought to you by these sponsors. . .”

Reades, like the movie audience, are grateful for the sponsors. We’re grateful that they donated their time, money and efforts into bringing them this entertainment. But they don’t really care about the sponsors. Not right then. Now they are just a distraction, an interruption, an annoyance. What they do care about is the story.

So, if you are a literary genius with a book in the closet, you need to pull the book out. You need to take a hard look at it and evaluate whether you wrote it because you had a really interesting story in mind, or whether you wrote it because you needed to write something, anything, that would showcase your talents. If it’s the latter, then throw it in the garbage. I did it with four of mine, so surely one of yours can’t be so bad.

Right?

Then move forward and write a story. A good one. And leave all the fancy literary genius crap in the garbage with the fancy literary genius book you wrote first.

Everyone have a good Friday and a great weekend.

The two I’m referring to have never come out and stated to me, “I am a literary genius,” so I cannot say for a fact that they believe themselves to be so. But like in our Notes on POV posts (which seems to be the most popular portion of this site, btw, going by the amount of hits it garners on a daily basis – who would have thunk it?) in which I talk about what you can present from a character’s point of view: fact, summation and conjecture, I can surmise that these two people consider themselves literary geniuses. I can observe actions and come to my summation. In these two cases, I can observe lack of action.

The lack of action is that they do not continue to write. That they have no plans that I know of to continue to write. That they have written, and when told, “this isn’t working as is, rewrite it, or move on to a different story and apply what you have learned from this one,” they come to an utter standstill. They come to a crossroads in their belief in themself as a literary genius. They seem to have two choices: one, they can accept the criticism, and accept with it the fact that maybe they are not a literary genius after all. Or two: they can reject the criticism. The critic is a fool. They are a literary genius. The world just isn’t ready for them yet.

Maybe the world isn’t ready for them yet. Maybe. Or maybe they’re just not ready for the world. Maybe they haven’t done the work. Maybe they haven’t considered the third option at that crossroads: maybe they are a literary genius, but being a genius follows the old formula of 10% inspiration/90% perspiration. After all, when you come to a crossroads, you can go left, you can go right, or you can go straight ahead. Or you can go nowhere.

I would like to be able to write that I can’t imagine sitting on a book for something like ten years refusing to do anything with it, no rewrites, no writing anything else. Just sitting on what I believed to be a work of genius and agonizing over the fact that no one is reading it. That the big bad publishers don’t know a decent piece of work if it comes up and bites them on the ass. But anyone that knows my history knows that I have sat on a work for ten years (well, close to eight anyway) not rewriting it, not writing anything else. So how can I in any way be critical of these two writers that have come to my attention? How can I in any way cast a stone in their direction?

Can I cite these facts in my defense: that the book I sat on wasn’t my first effort, but came after four prior books and well over a million words and twenty years of writing? That I wasn’t so much convinced that I was a literary genius, but that I did understand that it was the pinnacle of what I would be able to produce, for at least a decade, maybe two anyways? That it was in fact the first book I wrote where I wasn’t convinced that I was a literary genius (amazingly enough, when you hit a certain level of writing, it doesn’t inflate your ego, it knocks the wind right out of whatever ego you already have) and that I never went through a ‘no one gets my writing’ phase with it, but instead understood that it would be out there, it was just a matter of when and how.

But even eight years is a long time.

Eight years is enough time to ask yourself the question along the lines of “if a tree falls in the forest and no one hears it fall, did it make a sound”: If a book is never read. . . was it ever written?

More on this tomorrow when I pick up with “Moving from being a Literary Genius with a Book in the Closet to a Good Story-teller with a Book in the Readers’ Hands. (Yes, Readers’, as in plural, as in many).

Everyone have a good Thursday. Survivor tonight!

I don’t know how other people edit, I only know how I edit. For me, the best case scenario is being left alone for an extended period of time so that I can get into the ‘zone’. Once I’m in the ‘zone’ I am a happy camper, and can go through fifty pages in as little as six or seven hours. If, on the other hand, I’m being bombarded with the phone ringing, people entering and exiting the room, all with comments or questions, or have appointments to keep (which necessitates having to have one eye on the clock and awareness of time) it slows me down to where I’m lucky if I can do five pages in two hours. What is even worse is if I am forced to ‘piece-meal’ the edit. Meaning accomplishing a portion of it and then having to put it aside for long periods of time (in this instance, at one point, literally for over a month) and then try to come back into it and pick up the threads of what I was doing. This is especially detrimental if I’m making mental notes of possible rearrangements of material within the text — making decisions on whether a scene should remain where it is, or would make more sense coming earlier or later in the story arc.

I was shocked upon completing the work and referring back to my original start date to find that I had actually started this particular edit in November! November 20, to be exact. How could so much time go by with so little progress? I understand that I was busy, (three books released simultaneously in November, back to back book signings in December necessitating a LOT of PR work, Thanksgiving, Christmas, then the downward spiral of a relative with bone cancer and his subsequent death in February, eye surgery for my mother, Ceilidh’s Quest’s nomination and subsequent win for the Maxwell Medal – more PR – Jim Spurr’s government appointment – more PR – and the little thing like working nearly full time outside of the business for a good portion of this time frame) but, geez, five months to do an edit, for me, is unheard of! I can normally do one, easily, in half that amount of time without feeling particularly rushed.

Now that the edit is over, I was able to sit back for a moment and reflect on the finished product. I was able to email Jim Spurr that in my opinion he has an incredibly worthwhile book, and that I’m honored to be the publisher and to contribute to it. It’s that good.

With the Bicentennial of the War of 1812 being a mere 4 years away, interest is apt to steadily build on the subject. As noted previously on this blog, Jim Spurr’s appointment by the Governor of his state (Michigan) to the Commission on the Commemoration of the Bicentennial of the War of 1812 (and isn’t that a mouthful? They must tax by the word.) indicates that the governments, both state and, I imagine, federal, are well aware of its advent and are preparing to make something of a ‘to-do’ about it. I’m glad they are. Not from a purely fiscal viewpoint, either, but because through working with Jim on his titles I have found that the War of 1812 was absolutely, unequivacably fascinating. The brief skim-over it gets in our educational system is a shame.

On other fronts, Martha Dougherty  was able to pass on to me that over the weekend she has been invited to do a presentation at the White Hall library in Pittsburgh, date to be yet determined. She also had a nice chat with Tim Murphy, a Congressman in our own state of Pennsylvania, who expressed some interest in her work.

In many ways, I feel as though our little pub house is a tree, with each author a branch. It’s interesting seeing where the branches grow and stretch to, and the leaves they put forth.

Everyone have a great Tuesday. My mother is in for eye surgery again this morning (cataract removal from the second eye), so I will be out of the office for most of the day here shortly, but will answer any emails later this afternoon.

Every writer we have was chosen for the quality of their work. They each have a unique voice, writing style and creative pattern. The truly interesting thing to me as we are now moving into the second works of three of these authors is their growth as writers.

As I’m currently on Jim Spurr’s work, we’ll focus on his for the time being, but I look forward to sharing my thoughts with you on the upcoming second book (by us) of Gail MacMillan at a later date.

What do I like about Jim Spurr’s writing: First and foremost, he has the ‘historical fiction’ writer voice down to a T. He’s able to give you a sense in all aspects of his writing of the period you are occupying throughout the course of the book. His dialogue is consistent with the speech of the day in diction, word usage and sentence patterns. His descriptions give a great view of life in the 1800’s in a still very young America, both on the frontier and along the established eastern seaboard. His writing in and of itself harkens back to a day when sentences were more structured, less succinct and where letter writing in fact was a major source of communication for everyone.

All of these elements were evident in his first writing, Sworn for Mackinaw, and played a big role in why we picked up his book to publish.

In his second work, One Sloop and Slow Match, now scheduled for release in May, all of these elements are again in play. What I like seeing, however, is his growth as a writer. I’m seeing better character development, not that his character development was shabby in his first book, it wasn’t. But I’m seeing him hit that stage where he seems more relaxed as a writer and less controlling of his characters. He’s given them a much freer rein to move, act, speak and interact with each other from an organic well-spring of motion and emotion, action and reaction.

His ability to do this and still remain true to the historical facts of the time, place and events he is writing about shows a tremendous leap in his craft. It is these types of observations that turn editing from a slog into a joy. Yes, editing is about the problems and correcting them. But editing is also about understanding that a good edit is going to help a writer identify where their writing can use improvement and help them to grow with their next work.

At this rate, I’ll be fascinated to see how his third book turns out.  

Our last edit took us to the end of the first page. So I thought today would be a good day to simply review the edits made. Listed below is the first page as originally submitted, and then below that the first page now edited (without the distracting editing marks). The goal of any editor, I should hope, is to make the writing clean, crisp, and easy for the reader to follow without disrupting the integrity of the writer’s writing style. I will allow you to be the judge as to how well I achieved these goals.

As originally submitted, the first page appeared as thus:

Edward wheeled and swung his musket ‘round behind him.  The butt of the discharged weapon caught the Wyandot warrior square against his neck, dropping him instantly.  The warrior attempted to cry out but the sound was more of a bark.  Edward’s feet slipped in the sand, as he frantically climbed to the small crest of the rise.  He flung the barrel forward, caught the stock in mid-air and wished his blow had landed just eight inches higher.  A cracked skull was better than bruised windpipe and would have assured one less pursuer.

            Sarah was descending the same rise, running toward the water’s edge.  Edward had no plan but to put as much distance as was possible between them and the chaos, the violence, the hell unfolding behind them.  The shrieks were now rising above, both in intensity and frequency, the sporadic shots offered in reply.  He must at least see Sarah to some degree of safety, before he returned to the fight.

            Edward called, “Run, Sarah!  To the water, don’t stop!”  He sensed she needed no urging and called more to assure her of his presence, still behind her, if she had even comprehended the threat to both of them, arising no more than just seconds ago.  He thought she nodded, but then realized she detected a new danger, rushing toward them from their left, just at the edge of their peripheral vision.  Sarah ran faster yet, while Edward, now just over the crest, felt the dune fall away beneath him, breaking his stride, causing him nonetheless to increase his speed by way of more of a lunge than a sprint.  He cautioned himself to stay in control, as his feet sank in the sand.  A loss of footing would in these next few moments surely prove fatal.

            Black Partridge, a young Potawatomi of some status within his nation, was almost upon Sarah, while focusing upon Edward.  She was confused and slowed.  Edward knew she was in that instant weighing her trust for an individual childhood friend, against her learned distrust for native warriors in general in these troubled times.  She thought, “Surely, would this be my end; at the hand of a former playmate?”

And the edited version of the same page:

  Edward Morris turned and swung his musket behind him. The butt of the discharged weapon caught the Wyandot Indian warrior in the neck and dropped him instantly. The warrior’s only sound was an attempt at a cry which came out as a bark. Edward frantically climbed to the crest of the small rise, his feet slipping in the sand. He flung the musket barrel forward and caught the stock in mid-air, wishing the blow he had just landed had been eight inches higher. A cracked skull was better than a bruised windpipe and would have assured one less pursuer.

  Sarah was descending the far side of the same rise, running toward the water’s edge. Edward had no plan other than to put as much distance as was possible between themselves and the hell of chaos and violence unfolding behind them. The shrieks of the Indians were now rising both in intensity and frequency above the sporadic shots being offered in reply. He must at least see Sarah to some degree of safety before he returned to the fight.

  Edward called, “Run, Sarah! To the water, don’t stop!” He sensed she needed no urging and called more to assure her of his presence still behind her. He thought she nodded, then realized she was indicating a new danger rushing toward them from their left, just at the edge of his peripheral vision. Sarah ran faster yet. Edward, now just over the crest of the dune, felt the sand give way beneath him, breaking his stride, nonetheless his speed increased but as more of a lunge than a sprint. He struggled to stay in control, his feet sinking in the sand. A loss of footing would in these next few moments surely prove fatal.

  A Potawatomi warrior was almost upon Sarah. Edward noted that instead of running faster, she contrarily slowed, her erratic strides showing fear. . . or confusion.

  The Indian focused his attention on Edward, and Edward recognized him, and the cause of Sarah’s hesitation. It was Black Partridge, a young warrior of some status within his nation. Edward realized Sarah was in that instant weighing her trust for an individual childhood friend against her instinct to run. He imagined her thinking, Surely, would this be my end; at the hand of a former playmate?

Next Monday we will pick up with page 2. Everyone have a great President’s day.

We’re working in Chapter 1, Page 1, Paragraph 4 from the edits posted here.

The paragraph originally read like this:

Black Partridge, a young Potawatomi of some status within his nation, was almost upon Sarah, while focusing upon Edward.  She was confused and slowed.  Edward knew she was in that instant weighing her trust for an individual childhood friend, against her learned distrust for native warriors in general in these troubled times.  She thought, “Surely, would this be my end; at the hand of a former playmate?”

This paragraph was one of the more problematic ones within the first chapter. It has the abrupt introduction to a new character as its beginning. It has three different pov’s going on within the paragraph. Editing went beyond sentence structure to a ’sorting out’ and revision, while trying to keep the intent of the author intact.

Sentence by sentence, this is what I did:

The first sentence went from: Black Partridge, a young Potawatomi of some status within his nation, was almost upon Sarah, while focusing upon Edward.

To two sentences reading: A Potawatomi warrior was almost upon Sarah. Edward noted that instead of running faster, she contrarily slowed, her erratic strides showing fear. . . or confusion.

You will note that I’ve already begun rearranging information within the paragraph, pulling Sarah’s slowing and her surmised state of mind causing her slowing into Edward’s pov. Simultaneously, the warrior is introduced, but the focus has not shifted to him at this point. His arrival is simply announced in the narrative. You’ll also note that with reducing his presence to an introduction, I left out the ‘focusing on Edward’ phrasing, which as presented in the original reads as a jarring, momentary pov switch attached to the warrior.

The second sentence read: She was confused and slowed.

This is a pov switch. Edward certainly has the ability to surmise that she is confused, as shown in the revised first sentence by using the word ’showing’ and by also using an elipses to show him coming to first one conclusion, then a second more accurate conclusion. As originally written, there is no surmising. It is written as a fact, and the only person that could know her state of mind is either Sarah herself, which is a pov switch, or the author, which is author intrusion. Either way, we were no longer experiencing the scene through Edward.

The second sentence I thus changed to: The Indian focused his attention on Edward, and Edward recognized him, and the cause of Sarah’s hesitation.

In the first sentences, I’ve already introduced the Indian, established Sarah’s surmised state of mind and the observable fact that she is slowing. In other words, I’ve already firmly established the pov as Edward’s which is a continuation from the prior pragraphs. With the opening of this second sentence being ‘The Indian focused his attention on Edward’ there is no longer a pov switch. Edward is well capable of observing that the Indian is looking at him. What it also provides is an understanding that Edward’s focus has now switched to the Indian, rather than Sarah. With Edward’s focusing comes Edward’s recognition, and the implied surmising that Sarah has recognized him also (causing her slowing and confusion).

So where the third sentence originally read:  Edward knew she was in that instant weighing her trust for an individual childhood friend, against her learned distrust for native warriors in general in these troubled times. 

It now furthers the introduction of the warrior using Edward’s knowledge of him, not some omnipotent knowledge that just floated to us out of mid-air in the first sentence as it had been written previously: It was Black Partridge, a young warrior of some status within his nation.

This sentence does not carry the scene forward, but is simply the conveying of information. I will add the next sentence here also to show the scene now moving forward: Edward realized Sarah was in that instant weighing her trust for an individual childhood friend against her instinct to run.

I took license to remove the phrasing of ‘learned distrust for native warriors in general in these troubled times’. As Sarah and Edward are fleeing for their lives from a very violent death, this phrase is way too weak and trivializes their situation, and the depths of Sarah’s inner conflict. If she chooses to trust the warrior, she is trusting him with no less than her life, and probably Edward’s also.

The final sentence of the original paragraph read:  She thought, “Surely, would this be my end; at the hand of a former playmate?”

Again, this is a pov switch. We’re suddenly spirited into Sarah’s head and are able to view her thoughts.  The edited version keeps the pov consistent with Edward: He imagined her thinking, Surely, would this be my end; at the hand of a former playmate?

By keeping the pov consistent with Edward it actually adds more unwritten information about Edward and his relationship with Sarah: as a reader you understand that he knows Sarah’s history, including her former playmates. You understand that Edward is close enough to Sarah to empathize (walk in her shoes) to the point of surmising her thoughts, and understand the depth of her inner conflict.

In it’s entirety, the edited paragraph now reads:

A Potawatomi warrior was almost upon Sarah. Edward noted that instead of running faster, she contrarily slowed, her erratic strides showing fear. . . or confusion. The Indian focused his attention on Edward, and Edward recognized him, and the cause of Sarah’s hesitation. It was Black Partridge, a young warrior of some status within his nation. Edward realized Sarah was in that instant weighing her trust for an individual childhood friend against her instinct to run. He imagined her thinking, Surely, would this be my end; at the hand of a former playmate? 

Four ways to transition POV without losing or annoying your reader (examples follow):

 a). Switch the POV at the beginning of a chapter.

 b). Switch the POV at the beginning of a new scene, and leave a line space in the text – or several spaces with * * * between the scenes.

 c). if switching in mid-scene, leave a line space in the text.

 d). or finally, if switching without wanting to lose continuity by having a line space, make it a short one or two paragraph summation by the second character at the end of the chapter or scene.
The first and foremost rule is DO NOT bounce from one POV to another and then back again. If you’re writing a scene and you suddenly find one character’s train of thoughts taking precedence over those of the character whom you’ve attached the POV to, then go back and rewrite the scene from the other character’s POV.

Examples:

These are taken from my book, In the Brief Eternal Silence.
 

a). change of POV at the beginning of a new chapter:
            A chapter ends with the POV of St. James, the main male character, then the new chapter starts with the POV of Lizzie, the main female character:

            “Then I will make do with whatever pathetic lot I have saddled myself with, and count myself fortunate.” He pulled up on the horses, and they skidded to a halt so quickly that the Squire would have been thrown from the curricle if it had not been for Tyler holding him. “Was that a lane there, Tyler, on your right?”
            Tyler peered into the dark. “Aye. And a sorry looking, over-grown one t’is, too.”
            “That’s the one we want,” St. James nodded. He backed the horses, chirped them around, and then started at nearly the same ill-advised speed that he had traversed the main road.
           

Chapter Four
Monday Morning
            Lizzie was roused from her sleep by a determined knocking on the front door. She peered, confused, from between the heavy, closed drapes of her bed, noticing first the still solid darkness beyond her window. It was not dawn, looked to be several hours from it, at least.
            The knocking came again, proving it had not been a dream. As she was alone in the house, it was up to her to fling back the bed-drapes, wrap herself in her robe, thrust her feet into her heavy wool slippers, and go below to answer the pounding summons on the door, which was still repeating itself after every few seconds.
 

b). Switch of POV at the beginning of a new scene (within a chapter):
            Transition from Ryan (a secondary character) as POV to Tyler (also a secondary character) as POV. Note that the transition occurs with the introduction of new scene and the line break between them.

          It seemed a very short period of time before the groom came back, announcing that all was ready, and the duke took the Squire’s thick arm into his hand. Just before they passed through the door, he turned to look at young Ryan, whose worried eyes were following his every move. “Don’t forget, either, young Ryan, that I have my reasons,” St. James told him, and then the door was closed behind them.
            Ryan turned to his brother. “What reason could he possibly have for this?” he asked, feeling very much indeed, young and wet behind the ears.
            For answer, Bertie pushed the remaining bottle of brandy toward his brother. “I fear I know what his reasons are. I pray to God I am wrong,” he said. Then he let out a long stream of curses that was very much at odds with his usual boisterous banter and finished with, “God help him.”
            “God help her, you mean,” Ryan said.
            “No,” Bertie replied. “Whatever else happens, she’ll be taken well care of, lucky lass. No. God help him.”
 

            “Milord,” Tyler began. “Slow down, or t’bloody fool you’ve carted along will be splattered all over t’road!” He was perched on the back of the curricle as was the norm, but instead of holding onto the frame with both hands, he was trying to hold the drunken Squire in the vehicle.
            “Good God, Tyler, complaining again, are you?” St. James asked. He slowed the horses from the gallop they had been in to a hard trot. As there was only a half moon to light the road before them, Tyler was relieved for more than the Squire’s sake. “Out cold, is he?” St. James asked.
           
c). Switch of POV in mid scene, separated by a line break:
            Transition of POV from St. James to Lizzie (Miss Murdock) in the midst of a scene. Note there is still a line break signaling a change of POV even though the scene itself does not change:

            He could well believe that no one had ever found her exciting, but as St. James watched her move about in the dark of early morning, with her hair undone and down her back, and a faint streak of soot still upon one cheek, and her robe fluttering open to reveal her thin gown that was moved by her slender legs, it occurred to him that he had more excitement than most in his thirty and three years, and that it was very pleasant indeed to allow her silent serenity to wash over him, like a balm on an itchy patch of skin.
            And if her solemn eyes met his from time to time, taking his measure with a quiet and somewhat timid curiosity, he did not blink, but met her questioning with a sudden sureness that he would not have guessed at. For he was quite certain that Miss Murdock was precisely what he needed for his plans, and for the first time, he thought it may just be possible that he not only complete his endeavor, but survive the completing of it.
           
            The coffee was ready and Miss Murdock filled his cup, placed it in front of him. He declined her offers of cream and sugar, and instead took it black. She watched his long fingers as they wrapped about the cup with a simple and elegant grace. He raised the cup to his lips, paused a moment as his gold eyes focused on her. Nonplused, she turned, took a cloth and removed the hot skillet from the stove. She fixed him a plate of side, eggs and toast. She put out some homemade peach preserves, and then when she saw that he had all he needed, she poured herself a cup of coffee and sat at the table, its wide, wooden expanse separating them, leaving her at one end and he at the other.
          He viewed the plate of food, which he had not asked for, for a moment, and then without comment, picked up his fork and began eating. Lizzie sipped her coffee. She watched the slight trembling in his hands wane, and his foray into his meal became more sure. His eating was sporadic. He would take several bites and then pause for long moments at a time to sit and drink his coffee and look at her, eyes unblinking, mouth unspeaking.

d). Switch of POV in mid scene with no line break, limited to a summary by an alternate character:

            “What if she marries another, milord?” Bickerstaff persisted, pausing in his writing.
            “It does not matter, man,” St. James replied in impatience. “She is to get the money with no exclusions. Really, Charles, you act as though the money were coming out of your pocket instead of my own. Which, by-the-by, reminds me. You will be receiving bills from dressmakers and the such in her name. You are to pay them, and anything else that is billed in her name. Oh, and a bill for a new coat, I imagine, will be coming in from Lord Tempton. Pay it also, please.”
            “Anything else, milord?” Bickerstaff sighed.
            “No. I think that should cover it. For now. Unless you have any further questions, I will leave now and be around in a day or two.”
            “Sign here, milord,” Bickerstaff advised, finishing his writing for the Squire’s pension with a flourish. St. James scrawled his signature.
            “Very well,” he said. “Good day, Barrister.”
            “Good day, milord,” Bickerstaff said, and then muttered to himself as the door closed behind the duke and he glanced over the two pages of notes he had taken in the past hour, “I pray you know what you are doing. Ten to one all this work will be for nothing for you will come in tomorrow and reverse everything.” He glanced at the words he had written with a large question mark after them. “Very odd, though, about his uncle’s will.”

            The actual POV change takes place only during the last paragraph. In other words, the scene starts with St. James and ends with Bickerstaff. As a note though, by the time the scene reaches the point immediately before the transfer, it is a very loose POV attachment, meaning that I as the writer am not delving into the thoughts of St. James so much as I am allowing his words and actions to convey his thoughts to the reader and to Bickerstaff. By the time the POV switch comes, it is not a jarring transition, wherein you were deeply inside one character’s head then suddenly switched into the other’s. Even then, you’re not exposed to what Bickerstaff is thinking, but as to what he does and says after St. James has left the room. The circumstance of St. James not being present to observe his actions and hear his speech makes it impossible for the POV to remain attached to St. James. However, the POV does not truly attach itself to Bickerstaff, as all that is being conveyed is his speech and actions, not thoughts inside his head, thus it is more of a ‘fly-on-the-wall’ POV, or limited Omnipotent.

Edward called, “Run, Sarah!  To the water, don’t stop!”  He sensed she needed no urging and called more to assure her of his presence, still behind her, if she had even comprehended the threat to both of them, arising no more than just seconds ago.  He thought she nodded, but then realized she detected a new danger, rushing toward them from their left, just at the edge of their peripheral vision.  Sarah ran faster yet, while Edward, now just over the crest, felt the dune fall away beneath him, breaking his stride, causing him nonetheless to increase his speed by way of more of a lunge than a sprint.  He cautioned himself to stay in control, as his feet sank in the sand.  A loss of footing would in these next few moments surely prove fatal.