Write In The Shadows

Write in the Shadows is Closing its Doors

2011-04-26T11:43:00.000-04:00

It's with a heavy heart the witty team brings you the news of closing this blog. We've all enjoyed the fun conversations, interesting pieces posted, and rousing contests.

At this time most of the group is refocusing their energies on reaching readers in a new venture, called Digital Digest, and spending quality time to produce the best stories we can.

We sincerely appreciate your support and interest over the past year. Please stop by at our new location, we launch on June 1st and hope to see you there!

The links to the far right under each writer are still active. If you'd like to contact one of us directly, please don't hesitate!

Thanks for everything,

The Witty Crew

FREE Books and Cool Stuff!!

2011-04-15T10:27:00.000-04:00

Welcome to the Easter Blog Hop!

Win all kinds of cool stuff by visiting the blogs listed!

IRS -- those Blood Suckers!!!

2011-04-14T08:00:00.003-04:00

"Taxes are the price we pay for civilization" -- Oliver Wendell Holmes

So reads the inscription above the front entrance of the headquarters of the Internal Revenue Service on 1111 Constitution Ave., Washington, DC. How do I know this? I saw it every day that I worked there for nearly 3 years.

What did I do there? I was an Attorney/Advisor for the Office of Chief Counsel, Income Tax & Accounting Section. Before you start barraging me with questions -- most of what I did had to do with specific code sections like 1031, 1033, 261, 263 -- I'd tell you what those code sections are, but chances are your eyes are already starting to glaze over ;-) Suffice it to say that I did work in something useful to this topic -- 162 (Business Deductions).

However, I'm not going to give advice here, because I didn't work specifically with Writing Deductions, and more importantly -- I wouldn't want to get sued in the event someone takes my advice and plays "audit roulette" and loses! I WILL say that if you've got equipment (computers) that you use for business and personal -- expenses and depreciation can be taken via the percentage used for business. Oh, and those new clothes you bought for the RWA convention or that book signing you're going to? NO, you CANNOT deduct them -- that only applies to uniforms you can't wear anywhere else but work (like UPS uniforms). That Spider Goth Lady dress you got for the Horror Convention that you really can't wear out to you next night with the girls or date night with hubby? Perhaps....

Check out more at the IRS website here, and Publication 535 breaks it down nicely in ordinary language.

What I will talk about is the second part of my topic heading -- Blood Suckers. When I went to law school, my mom delighted me in sending that Halloween card which read:

"Where do vampires learn to suck blood?"

*open card* -- Law School!!

I fell in love with vampires when I saw Fright Night back in 1985, and maybe that's why I went to law school? Could there be a correlation? Jerry Dandridge was so attractive, seductive -- just like a vampire should be...

But -- he was a monster! Also like a vampire should be -- no one should be afraid of something that sparkles in the daytime, sorry!

Honestly, it was my experience that the people at the IRS were just doing their jobs and weren't out to "get anyone". Some of them are very nice, good people, and I'm lucky that 12 years later, 3 of them are considered to be my very good friends to this day. For the most part, they aren't going to disregard and burn your receipts, nor should you run from them:

I only wished I could say that I met my husband at the IRS and he was a bona-fide blood sucker, maybe someone who looked like this:

Hey Nicole, let me see your W-2s...

That pic is of Colin Farrell as Jerry Dandridge in the 2011 re-make of Fright Night and honestly, it has me wearing low-cut v-necks just in case the Tax Man wants to stop at my door and suck some blood...

So there you have it -- vampires look beautiful and you're tempted to be one, but underneath, you should run away because they're monsters!!! The IRS, on the other hand, seems to be a monster, but really -- it's full of fun people who are just doing their jobs, collecting money for our civilization ;-)

The Internet is Not My Friend

2011-04-12T05:00:00.001-04:00

I'm posting about last week's topic, self-sabotaging behaviors, because it looks like most of the group forgot to post last week and I liked the topic. This week's topic is about taxes and such. Hopefully, the other writers can give you some insightful ideas for deductions.

How I self-sabotage:

1) Email. I'm convinced the next email that comes in is wildly more important than what I'm currently doing so I check it like the veritable trained rat hitting the lever for a pellet of food. Shockingly similar to my behavior in Vegas on the slots.

What the hell do I honestly expect to find? A note from my agent regarding one of the Big Six editors and they're sorry they overlooked my debut vampire novel? 'Cause they sure as hell haven't seen many of those lately.

2) Blogs. Industry focused blogs, writer blogs, friend's blogs, gluten-free blogs... the list is endless! Supporting others, learning as much as you can about our ever changing industry, farting around and reading cool stuff... Good God, it's time consuming. And in the end, is it all worth it?

Does LKH read blogs? I bet not. I bet she writes on her own blog once in a while and then gets back to writing her two best selling series. And yes, I need to take note of such smart behavior.

Oh! Shiny thing... there's a blip on my screen-- let me scramble and check my email again!

3) Sales Rankings. Perhaps it was smarter when a writer couldn't check their sales instantly. I don't know. It's great when your sales are up -- you're giddy with excitement and infused with energy. But when they start to tank you obsessively wonder why and worry about what you need to be doing to make them better.

Here's what you need to be doing to make them better, plain and simple: WRITE. This terrific article explains it in depth. (and read the comments too, they are quite insightful) Read it if you want to make money and stop cursing the "luck" of Amanda Hocking. Her success has more to do with multiple titles released immediately and great story telling ability than any blog tours or social networking she did.

And let's not mention, that yes, I was reading a blog for my knowledge about the previous mentioned article and not writing!

4) Social Networking. Let's just call a spade a spade, shall we? Most writers fall into two categories - they either use this "tool" to socialize with other writers or they try to use it to promote themselves and their work.

Both are wrong. You want to socialize with writers for support on Twitter? Why? When you are both effing around and not actually writing?

Let's do some very simple math here: I've read that some people can write 800 words per hour. I'm not sure I'm that fast, so I'm going to dumb it down to 600 words. That means it should take me one hour and forty minutes to write 1,000 words per day.

At the end of one year I'd have 365k words!!!!

My goals for the next two months are:

1) Check email after I have written my projected word count for the day.

2) To stop reading blogs, commenting, and to only blog on the sites I've committed to.

3) Check my sales figures ONCE per day. Geez, that one is going to kill me. Let's all remember I've been in sales professionally for almost two decades and it's a hard habit to break.

4) Only log on to social networking at the end of my work day, which should effectively be when my kids get home from school.

I don't know about you, but I plan on making this writing gig an actual career. Which means I have to stop messing around and get some words on the page. Sure, a full length novel and two novellas out within six months looks like I'm doing a lot of writing, but when I really examine my day, I know I'm not utilizing my time well.

I have friends with several completed MSs dating back years. Years of writing their little hearts out and tossing it in a drawer. I've been at this schtick way less and everything I've written is pretty much out there. If I don't produce more material I'll never make it.

Time to get offline for the morning and get some writing done. I'll check back in two weeks and let you know how I'm doing. Wish me luck! I think I'm going to need it...

Paralysis: Frozen in Pre-Revision Hell

2011-04-05T09:02:00.000-04:00

Have you ever been paralyzed? Frozen in denial? Stuck with your hands over your eyes singing, "Blah blah blah blah, I don't see those revision notes staring at me!"

Welcome to the club.

April was already looking hairy, what with some projects all coming to a head at the same that Ye Olde Daye Jobbe was poking deadline sticks in my eyeballs. (I just finished a 3,500-word feature article on a bass fisherman. Sleep-inducing much?) Then, lo and behold, like a star out of the East (i.e., New York City), there comes a revision letter. Ten pages. Single-spaced.

I read it. I left it for a day. I read it again. It wasn't unexpected, and the changes are good ones. But they are extensive--removing a whole intricately woven subplot to set aside for a possible later book. So I let it sit another day. It just seemed too monolithic. Too overwhelming. I'd been away from the manuscript for well over a year, been out of that particular fictional world for well over a year, during which time I've written an entire other novel set in a different world. So I feel as if I were a "Lost" survivor and the Smoke Monster was on my tail.

I hate smoke monster.

Finally, to use a biblical analogy, on the third day, my brain was resurrected.

Pre-revision paralysis isn't a new thing for me. I go through it Every. Single. Time. It's like my brain has to pickle itself for a while before I can deal with The Elephant. Then, eventually, I break the beast down into its smaller parts and get to work.

So, for what it's worth, here's how I plan to handle my major revision:
--Re-read the book, yellow-lining problem areas that need line-by-line attention, circling passages that need to come out, putting sticky notes on things that need to be inserted or expanded.
--Do a scene outline of the book, making notes about what I know needs to change, deleted, added. See where the holes are in this newly envisioned novel.
--I'll plug in the holes.
--I'll print out the whole 334-page manuscript (hoping it's not down to, like, 40 pages by now), and go through by hand, yellow-lining and sticky-noting line edits.
--I'll handle the yellow-lined and sticky-noted line-edits.
--I'll do another line-edit.
--I'll send it back to the East for awhile and let someone else worry about it.

Sounds simple, huh? Yeah, well, talk to me about May 15 if I'm not gibbering in a corner somewhere. What's your method? Does your brain shut down for a while before you can tackle a major revision project?

Happy April 1st!

2011-04-01T13:14:00.000-04:00

April is officially upon us! April makes me think of spring—buds on trees and bushes, snow melting away, and milder temperatures. I can finally see my lawn, even though it's yellow and matted right now.

I'm quite happy to kiss the long Canadian winter good-bye for another year.

This month I have two releases coming out. The first one is Claiming Their Mate (Pack Seduction, #1) with Evernight Publishing. It's a paranormal/shifter menage a cinq. Yep! It's a hot one :)

The second book in my paranormal/shifter menage a trois, Bella's Wolves (Love Bites, #2) will be out at Siren-Bookstrand in May. No cover for that one yet.

On April 20th, Taming Jenna (sequel to Saving Grace) will be released at Siren-Bookstrand Publishing. It's a western menage a trois with some BDSM elements. Readers will get to follow-up on characters from the first book: Jenna, Trevor, Conner, and of course, Mr. Wagner.

How does April make you feel? Does the sunshine give you strength or does the post winter clean-up give you the blues?

Happy Spring!

Stacey Espino xo

Make 'Em Laugh...

2011-03-31T07:00:00.003-04:00

Paranormal fiction...

Even though I write it, I really haven't read alot of paranormal fiction -- gasp! I know! I'm more of a paranormal movie/tv show watcher -- Charmed, Buffy, Supernatural, Twin Peaks, Doctor Who. And yes, I love the humor that appears in those shows, in between intense drama and the slaying of supernatural entities.

A great Vamplit Publishing read!

In the books I read -- I love humor in Chick Lit. Bridget Jones's Diary is one of my favorites, and I'm eager to read Leslie Langry's, 'Scuse Me, While I Kill This Guy -- about a hit woman (serious subject) done in an apparently hilarious fashion. Yet when I read paranormal, it's usually horror, and I've rarely seen humor in really well-done horror. Stephen King, Dracula, the Blood Ties series -- okay, there's an exception -- Tanya Huff's Smoke series mixes humor and paranormal and I thoroughly enjoyed it -- the vampire fiction from Vamplit Publishing -- rarely have they mixed horror and humor, at least, if humor appears, it's not a regular feature throughout the novel.

And I like it dark and good and scary! But another part of me does appreciate wry, sarcastic humor, like when Jack narrates the Savannah vampire series by Raven Hart.

I took a stab at writing horror, mixed with a bit of humor recently -- you can download Rude Awakening for free right here!

Come Out of the Paranormal Closet with Guest Blogger: Melissa Long

2011-03-30T11:08:00.006-04:00

Welcome Melissa Long to
Write In the Shadows blog today!

Here's what she had to say about Coming Out of the Paranormal Closet...

With the onslaught of urban fantasy and paranormal romance novels hitting the shelves these days one of the things that I find most interesting is the decision to create an open or closed paranormal world in which the story will take place. It seems like such a simple question. Your characters either know about magic or they don't. But as is the case with many things, the implications of having an open paranormal world where your average human is well aware of the existence of the supernatural can have many implications. Here are a few tips to keep in mind when choosing to openly unleash the creatures that go bump in the night.

1. How long has the magic been public?

This is the first and most basic question I ask because so many of my other decisions will ultimately depend on this one. If your supernatural world has just been discovered, humans (and certain magical races/species) may have varying degrees of excitement or anger about this decision. A great example of this can be seen in the True Blood/Sookie Stackhouse books by Charlaine Harris. In the books, the acknowledgement that vampires exist is a relatively new concept and society is still dealing with the ramifications of this new discovery. Do vampires have the same rights as humans? How do we prevent vampires from abusing their powers and taking advantage of the human race?

On the other hand, if the books took place thirty, fifty or even one hundred years after the initial coming out, the societal implications are going to be very different. In Kim Harrison’s Hollows Books, the supernaturals came out during “The Turn” decades earlier and as a result her world has a much more structured system and set of laws to manage the interactions between humans and the various magical creatures. It’s still not perfect, but often results in less chaos.

2. Who benefits from this knowledge and how?

What I love about the Sookie Stackhouse series is that while the vampires have come out of the closet, the other supernatural creatures have mixed feelings about doing so and closely monitor the successes and the failures of the vampires coming out experience. Thus when I think about making my supernatural world public I also think about why the supernaturals would want to go public in the first place. In almost every novel I’ve read where magic is openly displayed there has been a deliberate choice to share that knowledge based on the assumption that they will somehow benefit from it being out in the open. In the Hollows, the supernaturals make themselves known because the proportion of supes to humans shifts drastically as a result of the T4 virus. In Charlaine’s books the vampires only come out when the synthetic blood is made available and they believe they won’t be perceived as a threat (even if they still are pretty bad-ass). Even in the case where the supernaturals are outed by humans, someone was still benefiting. The humans in this case believed that knowing about the existence of the paranormal posed less of a threat to the society than not knowing.

3. What negative ramifications does society face as a result of supernatural exposure?

There can’t be winners without losers and in the case of making magic public there is always going to be a flip side. If done right, with forethought, this tension can enhance the already established conflict in your novel. A great example of this is in book 3 of the Sookie Stackhouse novels, Living Dead in Dallas, where the reader gains a more in-depth look at the Fellowship of the Sun, an anti-vampire church that was created as a direct response to the exposure of vampires. They preach extreme messages and openly perform acts of violence (what we might consider today as hate crimes) against vampires. This is a classic example of an unintended negative consequence that is a direct result of humans feeling threatened by the vampires and longing to remain (or in this case at least feel) superior.

Take time to think about who loses in this scenario and what they might be plotting as a result and you’ll have a more fleshed out world.

Once you have reflected on these questions you should be well on your way to creating a believable world where paranormal creatures are an everyday part of life. Though there is something to be said for allowing us humans to remain in the dark. I can’t even count the number of Charmed episodes that focus solely on preventing magical exposure!

Melissa Ann Long is the brains behind WickedJungle.com, an online community for paranormal romance and urban fantasy readers and writers. She is an avid blogger, and a lover of all things Harry Potter. You can follow Melissa on Twitter: @melissaannlong and @wickedjungle and her personal blog, the Life of a Wanna-Be Writer, at www.melissaannlong.blogspot.com.

A note from Kerri @ WITS: Thanks for joining us today at WITS, Melissa. We look forward to reading more about the worlds you've created soon!

Letting Go

2011-03-24T05:30:00.000-04:00

Letting Go

I’m standing on the bridge, certain he won’t come.

How many years has it been now? Ten, at least. The tenth time I’ve come here, hoping he will show, yet knowing he won’t.

It’s July twelfth, the anniversary of the day he asked me to marry him. My heart is sick with grief and I wonder how it is that I cannot move on. Every day I wander without direction, searching for him, yet he is always just out of reach. It is as if when I enter one door, he slips out of another.

The night is warm and I can smell honeysuckle on the air. Below me, the stream trickles, singing a gentle song to the stones and gravel it passes over. Trees line both sides of the stream, their branches reaching out to each other, like lovers hands grasping, creating a canopy over the water.

I sigh and lean against the small wooden bridge. My fingers twist the platinum band of my engagement ring, the moonlight catching the small cluster of diamonds. I no longer wear it on my left hand, switching it to the right as a sign of our separation, but I cannot bring myself to take it off completely.

Why do I keep torturing myself like this? Too many years have passed for him to still care. He probably has a different life now, one filled with a new family of his own. I cannot believe he still thinks of me, even though thoughts of him seem to be the only thing I know.

Movement catches my eye and I turn to see a figure approaching out of the darkness. My heart picks up a beat, my breath catching in my throat.

Mark?

He walks toward me, but I don’t know how to react. It’s such a long time since I’ve seen him and I can see the years on his face; in the lines upon his skin and the grey in his hair.

I cannot speak as he stands beside me and leans his forearms on the bridge. He looks down at the flowing water, as if he cannot bear to look at me.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” I say.

“I don’t know why I’m here, Lisa. It’s been such a long time.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“I think I just needed to say goodbye properly. You’ve been playing on my mind and it’s simply not right. I need to get on with my own life.”

“Please, Mark,” I beg. “Let’s just spend some time together, talk things over. If you came, then you must still...”

But his actions still my words. He opens his hand and nestled in his palm is the platinum band and cluster of diamonds of my engagement ring.

My heart stops and I look down at my own ring. How is that possible? Did he have another, identical one made? Why would he do that?

“I need to say goodbye now, Lisa. I’m moving on, just like you have.”

He tilts his hand to drop the ring into the water. I reach out to catch it as it falls, but to my horror, the small circle of metal passes right through my hand, as if I were not even there.

My eyes fill with tears of terror. What the hell was happening?

“I know it wasn’t your fault,” he says, addressing the air. “It wasn’t your fault you left me. The accident was nothing more than that, just a horrible accident. But I need to get on with my life now. It’s been too long and I’m letting you go.”

At his words, I feel something pull against me, as if invisible hands have hold of my shoulders and legs and are tugging me from behind. I look down to see my limbs suddenly seem insubstantial, as if I cannot quite see them or am looking through a mist.

“Help me, Mark,” I call out, terror firing adrenaline through my veins. But now I know he cannot hear me and my voice sounds faint, even to my own ears.

It suddenly dawns on me that I do not know where I’ve been all these years, only that I’ve been searching for Mark, his own grief and longing holding me near. Now he has finally let me go and I am moving on, going to whatever life—or death—holds for me next.

My body is little more than smoke now and still something pulls on me, taking me away from him. The distance between us is growing and now he is simply the figure of a man standing on a bridge.

A man saying goodbye.

~*~

Marissa Farrar

~Alone~The Dark Road~Facebook ~Twitter~ Blog~

Copyright © 2011 Marissa Farrar. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

Spring and Trees

2011-03-23T05:13:00.000-04:00

I’ve read a few blog posts recently about people longing for spring to arrive, posts about the seemingly overlong winter and how the lack of colour and sunshine in our lives sucks all the energy out of a person. Years ago I was an out-and-out winter person. Thinking back to when I was a kid, I’ve always loved bundling up in coats, hats, scarves and gloves. Though saying that would be a fib—I’ve always felt a geek in a hat, and the press of peer pressure in my youth ensured I never wore one. This winter I did, three times, because even the thought of looking and feeling a geek wasn’t enough for me to brave the elements without one.

Today, as I stepped outside to take my little one to school, I got that sense you get when spring is here, when the sun is shining and the trees are growing new clothes. When spots of colour—the yellow of daffodils—have sprung up almost overnight, almost without notice. I don’t recall them being there yesterday, but they must have been. Perhaps the flowers were still tightly encased in their green buds, and today’s sun brought them out of hiding. Whatever, the flowers are here, and just that and the sunshine lightened my soul and made me feel all kinds of “better”.

Winter is lovely, I still think that, but I feel now that spring is my favourite season. The feel of new birth, regrowth, and moving forward with the season to have sunshine and new beginnings in your life itself. I do like the trees when they’re naked, though. There’s something about their starkness that makes me think of vulnerability, of how those gnarly limbs brave the coldest of times. A bit like us really, trees, when you think about it. Sometimes we’re protected, safe, no fear of being chopped down, and other times we’re so vulnerable, exposed for all to see, for people to carve into our bark and hurt us.

I’ve always had an affinity with trees. I could stare at them for ages, marvelling at how long they’ve stood, how they keep on growing despite hardships and the burning sun. Wind and rain. Frost cold enough to kill. And there it is, the reason I love them so much—they’re so like us in those ways, that it’s difficult not to feel, if not at one, but some kind of link with them.

I probably sound insane, but there you go.

What do you have an affinity with? What speaks to you on a level that goes far beyond what that “thing” actually is? To some, a tree is just a tree. It’s there, it grows, it sheds leaves and it grows new ones. But to me their meaning goes deeper. What does that to you?

Why Paranormal? Because of the Perfect Storm

2011-03-22T10:26:00.000-04:00

I had a great idea for a book about six years ago, and decided it would be my first novel. It would be a historical set in Civil War-era Alabama, and it would be based on the life of my great-great grandfather, Daniel Smith, and his family and neighbors. It would incorporate all the fascinating stuff I'd learned through genealogy research about this stubborn group of North Alabama hill people who refused to support the Confederacy because it was a rich man's fight. They sent their sons north to fight for the Union (three of my great-great uncles went north to fight and all three died), and in the case of one county, even seceded from the Confederacy. It would be patterned after one of my all-time favorite authors, Rick Bragg, and his amazing book about his grandfather, Ava's Man.

Then there was a "perfect storm," both literally and figuratively. Hurricane Katrina struck New Orleans and I ended up with a torn-up house, displaced friends, and a case of PTSD that wouldn't quit. A couple of years later, I stumbled across the fiction of Jim Butcher and Simon R. Green, which lit fireworks in my bored reading life. And I read a post-Katrina urban fantasy that got it all wrong.

So my first book, begun in August of 2008, wasn't about Daniel Smith and his not-so-merry band of anti-Confederates. It sounded nothing like Rick Bragg or Jim Butcher (maybe if Rick and Jim had a love child...well, maybe not). No, I sat down and wrote a book about Hurricane Katrina and loss and the rebuilding of a life in the midst of chaos and heartbreak. And there aren't many humans in it.

Why do I write paranormal? I approached this blog post thinking I'd wax philosophical about using preternatural species as a metaphor for the human condition, and certainly that plays into it. I thought I'd talk about exploring danger and unknown worlds, and there's some of that.

Mostly, though, I write paranormal because that's what I like to read. I grew up reading Stephen King, in whose books anything was possible. I like reading a love story or an adventure where I really have no clue what rabbit the character might pull out of his metaphorical hat--because the laws of nature and science don't apply.

So, it's as simple as that. Are you a paranormal fiction fan? What do you like about it?

Why I Write Paranormal Romances

2011-03-21T07:00:00.001-04:00

     There are several reasons why I chose to write Paranormal Romances. The first and obvious reason is that I love them. I enjoy building a world where I make the rules of what is possible and what is not. I can make my world as dark or light as I wish, fill it with creatures and Gods that inhabit the same
world as humanity. I can make my heroes as dark and irredeemable as I wish, their obstacles more daunting and the rewards beyond imagining.

    The second has to do with the trending market and though it may have some importance with what is selling at the moment I strongly believe if you write only for what is marketable at the time you are losing out on a great deal. In addition, by the time you got your book out what is hot could have changed.If you love the genre then that should be the number one reason you write it. Also remember that a fresh new approach to an old idea is just as marketable. Vampires, Lycan's and other supernatural beings may wane in time with reader interest but I don't see Paranormal ever dying out with so many different angles to be utilized.

     The third reason is write what you know or from your own experiences. I have yet to meat anyone who hasn't has some kind of strange experience when it comes to the Paranormal. For myself coming from a strong wiccan background it seemed things always went bump in the night when I was around. Having some sort of paranormal ability was commonplace with my mother's side of the family and I was encouraged to develop it. And though I have never met a vampire in this reality I do use the what I know about the laws of magic, nature and paranormal abilities when writing and world building.

     I am drawn to the characters of this genre who look for redemption and balance in their lives and finding it through trusting and loving another and having trust and love in return. The dark moment's in a paranormal romance just before the resolution are the most riveting for me to read and write. It's when everything seems hopeless that the lead characters find their way.

     How I wish we could do that in this reality where there is so much imbalance and injustice in the world. So the biggest reason I write Paranormals is that in my world I can have the balance between good and evil, might and right that we see so little of these days.

Do you FaceBook?

2011-03-18T07:01:00.042-04:00

I Love FaceBook!

It's a way for me to keep track of all my author friends, connect with readers and others with similar interests.

I put everything on my wall from family pics to new release information. I can post my reviews or the song I'm listening to. It's a great place to grow friendships with others in a world that is growing more and more internet-based.

Friends

I don't friend just anyone. If a creepy guy with no friends in common asks for friendship, he's denied. In fact, most of my friends are women—authors and romance readers.

If an author goes promo crazy and posts their book on my wall or clogs my feed with redundant promo, I unfriend. I do use FB to network, but I'm not there to sell my soul for a sale either.

Work

FaceBook does help my sales as an author! I have fans that only know about my releases by visiting my FaceBook. It's a great place to showcase cover art, contests, and blog links. Fans contact me through messaging to ask me when I'll write the next book in a series or for release dates. I do disable the FB chat feature as I don't have time for online chatting.
I'm actually in the middle of writing the third book in my Immortal Love series due to reader demand through email and FaceBook.

Groups

Private groups are great to connect. I'm a member of a private group for one of my publishing houses and an erotic romance authors group. We support each other, run ideas off one another, and have fun discussions. The new system does have its faults—I hate it when I'm added to a group without being asked and usually delete myself.

It may take some time to get familiar with FaceBook, but once you learn the ins and outs and add friends, it's a very rewarding experience. I've met some very close friends thanks to this popular social media network.

Why not try it yourself?

Stacey xo

Social Media: Really worth it?

2011-03-16T08:00:00.002-04:00

(image courtesy of Laurel Papworth laurelpapworth.com and Gary Hayes personalizemedia.com)

My answer? Abso-freaking-lutely. In today’s world of I want it, and I want it right now, more and more people are turning to things like Twitter, Facebook, MySpace, blogs and other online outlets to get what they want, right now.

For example, I was at a family function several weeks ago and chatting with one of my husband’s cousins. She was curious about how I’m using Twitter, Facebook and other things I’m part of to promote not only my books but other things I’m doing as side ventures. As a self-employed head-hunter, social media could be a valuable tool for her. A lot of young people, fresh out of college or university, are looking for work and what better way to attract their attention than to Tweet or blog about the jobs she’s recruiting for?

The end result of our conversation was a morning spent in my living room with me giving her a social media lesson. I setup things like Twitter, a blog and a few other tools that would enable her to market her business better.

Now, I can’t claim to be breaking any sales records or topping best seller lists because of my Twitter stream or Facebook page. I wish. What I can say is this – I’ve made a boat load of contacts and friends because of those things. Has it helped? Hell, yeah – it has. I’ve made friends with other authors and networked with them to cross promote each other. Every little bit counts when you’re building a brand and a name for yourself. We don’t all have a marketing team to do this for us but we do have the resources. Oh yes, we do!

Of all the social media options available, I’m on Twitter and Facebook the most. Both are relatively easy to use and don’t take a lot of computer savvy to navigate. Of the two, the one I’d recommend to people just starting out is Twitter. Super easy, and not as many distractions as Facebook. You all know what I’m talking about... Farmville, anyone?

Johanna Harness, one of the lovely ladies I follow on Twitter, has a fabulous set of rules. Three of the guidelines she advocates, and I think are particularly noteworthy:

Being a friend is more important than being important. If you’re on twitter to show how important you are, you’re doing it wrong. Talk to people. Build relationships. Join communities. Show an interest in the people who follow you. This is called “being a real person.”
It’s not enough to show up and expect to be adored. Honestly, if you’re perceived as a snob, you are better off staying away. I refuse to buy books by authors with better-than-thou twitter personas. Lots of authors are good and I choose to give my money and my time to nice people. I have a thing for nice people. And publishers. And book sellers. Nice people rock my world. I want them to succeed.

Stories matter. The stories we tell say something important about who we are and what we value. Keep telling your stories even when it seems like no one wants to listen. Believe in the power of your own story.
This is where my advice may seem a little contradictory. Following back is a good thing to do. Talking to people is critical. Being open to new ideas is essential.
BUT: you are not required to continue following anyone who makes you feel even one bit smaller than the amazing person you are. It’s okay to unfollow negative energy. Sometimes it’s mandatory. If someone makes you feel your story is too insignificant or too small, if someone makes you feel like the writing world would be better off without you in it–unfollow that person immediately. Cultivate an atmosphere of love in which to write. Listen to the voices that help you get better. Get rid of the ones that tear you down. Period.

And…

Enjoy the presence of other writers. Twitter allows us to peek inside the habits and minds of our writing colleagues. And wow. Seriously. Wow. It’s a carnival in there. There’s no neat little rule book to follow. There’s no one set path. There are bright colors and clowns and dark alleys and balloons and ferries and ferrywomen and goblins and dragons and monsters and one room with boxes of epiphanies and cloaks in various shades of red. If you can imagine it, a writer is working with it. Give yourself permission to absorb this amazing energy and find your own wings. I started #amwriting to get writers talking to each other and the energy there still blows me away.

These are great standards to follow, no matter what forum you’re using to promote yourself.

Momma always said you get more with honey than vinegar and the saying holds true in this as well. Being a pushy, self-absorbed asshat will not get you far. Being nice, genuine and real - will.

When it comes down to it, what you need to consider is: what are you hoping to achieve by using whichever social media you decide on, and – is it the best choice for you? Personally, I’m all over the place and it works for me. I’m a nerd who spends way too much time on the internet, but that’s how I work. If you’re not one of those people who’s comfortable running fifteen screens at once, stick with one and work it for all it’s worth.

Danielle Gavan
Paranormal and Erotic Romance Author
Ardeur ~ Tarnishes Tiaras ~ Cursed
Website *Facebook * Twitter

Social Media: Today's Version of "I know a Guy..."

2011-03-15T07:00:00.002-04:00

My husband and I have often joked how many times our Jersey connections start out a sentence with the phrase "I know a guy..." It may sound like a line out of the Sopranos, or maybe that's just the accent I hear in my head when I hear the phrase, but either way, it's referring to something anyone in sales can relate to -- it's all who you know.

How does who you know relate to book marketing and selling? Think about it. Most of us don't know big shot agents who can get one of the big six's editors to read your latest masterpiece RIGHT NOW, right? But, it doesn't make our work any less deserving.

The more... er... umm... experienced writers may remember an old commercial about shampoo ages ago. It had a chick on the phone calling her friends to tell them about her new shampoo, and then each of them told two friends and so on and so on... until the TV screen is filled with three times the amount of boxes you ever saw on the opening credits to the Brady Bunch. And, magically, they all want the shampoo!

Zoom forward two decades and now that same chick would be texting, tweeting, and posting Facebook status updates all over the place about her new favorite product. How do you harness this if your friends and immediate family are getting sick and tired about hearing news regarding your books?

Make new friends. You can still keep the old ones. If you learn how to use filters and narrow the field of who receives your latest and greatest "news", you won't wear out your welcome.

"How do I make new friends when I have a hard time keeping up with the ones I have?"

Join groups on the network you care to use. I can't speak much for Twitter, but I know the hash tag thing (#) helps to call up a whole slew of people interested and tweeting about the same topic. My issue with Twitter is I feel it's rather impersonal and I can't really "get to know" someone when all I do is exchange random (and limited) communications with them.

I know it's great to network with other writers, but I want to reach real readers, not my peers. No offense guys, you know I love you, but you're not my target audience and I don't want to waste your time and mine.

Facebook has worked remarkably well for me in reaching real readers and making some new friends. Not acquaintances (but, yes, a lot of those), but real friends. People who know about my health issues and cheer me on. People whom I know have a new job, a new baby, a new home and I can ask how things are going. Giving a few minutes of my time to these new friends each day gives me so much more in return.

1) I don't feel like a loser who doesn't leave her house much. And with my sometimes difficulty in walking, that is huge in my book.
2) I get to talk to people who actually talk back, unlike my faithful dogs who just wag their tails or my children who talk back on a completely different level.
3) I get to do a shout out for information and life experience, getting a ton of different angles - yes, I could do a web search, but that's not as much fun and it's lonely.
4) They pick me up when I'm feeling down... and, I'm embarrassed to admit it, but sometimes they know more about the real me in the day to day turmoil of my life than my neighbors and close friends.
5) Unconditional "like" (and no, not the Like button). Okay, there, I said it. These nice people from all over the world are more likely to reach out and offer love, support and a kind word than just about anyone I've ever encountered.

And do you know what that is when you truly examine it? Positive energy. Great big rolling gobs of positive energy coming back to you as you give some of your time to them. It connects us and it helps the world go round. I firmly believe in the power of positive thought - and whether you call it prayer, karma, well wishes or whatever, it's all the same thing in my eyes. It's all good.

Could I live without social networking? Sure, I'm not a total loser. I just happen to be in a crappy phase in my life health-wise. But why abstain from social networking if I don't have to? I'm building a tribe, slowly but surely. A tribe of people I care about and who care about me. I know a lot more than just one "guy" now. I know dozens upon dozens.

And I'm honored they let me in their lives.

How about you? Do you feel good about social media and networking or do you feel like it sucks the very life from you?

The freedom of eBooks...

2011-03-10T05:29:00.000-05:00

How quickly things move forward in technology. This time only eighteen months ago, I was offered a contract by an e-publisher for my vampire novel, Alone. My initial reaction was joy that someone finally wanted one of my novels, followed by the question, what the hell is an ebook?

Looking back, I can't believe how much has changed. Now ebooks are my main focus, and while I love having the paperback (which I will have very soon, as my publisher currently has the proof sitting on her desk!) really, money-wise, ebooks are where it is at for new authors.

The thing about ebooks is it allows the author and publisher the freedom to play with the price. We don't have to take printing or distribution costs into account so we can put our books at a price which is tempting to the reader. Most people wouldn't choose an unknown author over one they've already read, but if the price of the book is less than half that of the known author, they just might give it a go! Getting the reader is the key and if they like what you've written, then there's a good chance they'll go on and buy another of your books.

Another freedom ebooks have brought us is book length. We no longer have to worry about if that brilliant idea will fit into a 90k novel. Now, if I want to write a novella, then I will, and if I want to write a short story, then so be it. With the introduction of ebooks, I know there is a market for them and that they will sell!

Ebooks have changed my life. In my M.K. Elliott name, my sales are enough that I can now write full time and don't have to worry about that pesky day job. Okay, so I'm not writing exactly what I'd imagined I would and I don't have all those novels lining my shelves (yet) but who cares? I'm doing what I always dreamed.

So ebooks, I thank you. Not only do I not have to pack five heavy paperbacks to take on holiday, but I can feed my family as well! And it is a market which is growing at an extraordinary rate, with predictions that ebook sales will hit 50% of all book sales by the end of this year.

So what do you think about ebooks? Have they revolutionised your life or are you still clinging to your paperback?

No - We Ain't Got No Penguins

2011-03-09T03:00:00.003-05:00

Hold on to your panties—this is a long one.

So, you want to write a book set in Alaska. Well here are a few things you should know before you start. First off, we don’t have penguins. Nowhere? Not even at the North Pole. Maybe the people at Hallmark are thinking of puffins when they draw adorable polar bears, baby seals, and penguins lumped together on the front of greeting cards. Imagine the love-child of a small penguin and a toucan—that’s what a puffin looks like—aquatic and airborne.

This~Plus

This~ Equals

This

We don’t have igloos. Nope, nobody lives in those perfect little dome-shaped ice houses. Igloo does mean dwelling or home, but not “Photo Opportunity for Tourists” home. In Barrow, during the dark winter months, some crafty person constructs an igloo underneath the whale jawbone arch and decorates it with Christmas lights—pretty sure those aren’t traditional—which light up the igloo from the inside. It’s the Arctic equivalent of the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Plaza.

Let's talk about daylight and darkness. Not all of Alaska gets twenty-four hours of light? Sure, it doesn’t get very dark in Anchorage at 2:00 AM in July, but it’s not high-noon bright like it is above the Arctic Circle. At 2:00 AM in July in Barrow Alaska it looks like it's 2:00 PM. This is very disconcerting for newcomers. One remedy is to seal up the windows with foil for the duration of the light months. And when the sun goes down in the Arctic, it gets dark. At the brightest part of the day during the darkest part of the winter the horizon emanates a soft glow like the first stirrings of dawn. Within minutes, it's dark again. There are a few nights during the middle of the winter, when there’s no moon. This is the true meaning of pitch black outside. Streetlights are sparse, and if everybody is snuggled in their homes and not driving around with headlights on, the night becomes tricky and dangerous to maneuver around.

The polar bears usually follow the ice floes and open water, but—they have been known to walk around town during the dark months. The cute and cuddly bears on the greeting card are not the same as bears that roam the Arctic villages. They’re sneaky and will hide, waiting for you to come out the front door or take out your trash. The school bus drivers will not release the kids unless somebody is standing with the door open, ready to scoop the children inside. Though the cold weather is also a consideration for this practice, bears are a factor.

I just read the other day that there’s never been a report where a polar bear ate a human. Au contraire, mon amie. Carl, poor sweet Carl, is a legend in the bush. The story goes that he and his girlfriend were chased by a polar bear one evening. Carl veered one way and the girlfriend went the other. Let’s just say they found about thirty pounds of Carl inside the bear the next day.

As far as wildlife goes, I’ve seen more moose and bears while living in Anchorage than I ever did in my sixteen years in bush Alaska. Moose are everywhere. Don’t let their big brown eyes fool you into thinking they’re nice, or tame, or you should hand feed them. Whenever possible, I avoid close encounters with moose or bears, as in—turn around and walk the other direction. I could go on and on about bears, but there’s so many other things to tell I need to tell you.

There’s very little logging, so don’t make your hero a logger. Let’s just say it’s a touchy subject for many Alaskans. Don’t go there. You could make your character a miner, a bush pilot, or a state trooper. Or how about a prisoner? We’ve got a lot of those. I think that’s where the high men to women ratio comes in to play. Men aren’t as abundant as folklore would have women in the lower 48 believe. And trust me, some of them are real wing-nuts. Goes with the last frontier mentality.

Also, never have your character running the Alaskan Pipeline. Really people, do you know how long this sucker is? Eight-hundred freakin’ miles. Yes, there is a pipeline road that runs along it, but some of those areas trek up into the mountains, over rivers, and just basic unpleasant conditions.

Here’s a subject I’ve been asked about many times. The native people in the Arctic are Yupik, Aleut or Inupiat Eskimos, not Inuit. Inuit is a generic term for all circumpolar natives around the world. Now when I say this, I’m telling you how we refer to natives in Alaska. It may be very different in Russia or Canada. Also, below the Arctic circle the people are called Indians. There are the Athabascans, Haida, Tlingit, and several others. At least in my experience, Eskimo is not a derogatory term. Many of my native friends in Barrow refer to themselves as Eskimo.

There is also a difference between Alaskan Natives and native Alaskans. The first are the indigenous tribes. The latter are like my daughters, born and raised, but not of native heritage. I won’t bore you with the native corporations that govern much of the activities and land in Alaska, but sufficed to say, they are extensive. So before you set up your imaginary town somewhere, make sure the land is not part of a national reserve or owned by a native corporation.

Subsistence hunting and fishing are a big part of life in Alaska, but you must be a resident to do so. Sharing is a way of life, especially in the bush communities. People freely share moose, salmon, and wild berries with their neighbors.

Whaling is still very popular among the native people. And can I just say, whales are big. Once caught, the members of the whaling team use a tractor or D9 Cat to pull their catch up on the beach, where they proceed to butcher it. This draws people from all over the village. Sometimes chunks of raw muktuk are cut and passed around, but usually they're boiled and served at a big celebration held by the whaling captain. Oh yummy! I’ve smiled and passed on many a chunk-o-sea-mammal while living in the bush—walrus, caribou dipped in seal oil, whale intestines. Luckily, I could pass it off to my husband. He eats anything. I’m one of those people who would have lost on Fear Factor the minute they handed me cow brains or a Madagascar Hissing Beetle. Nope, not to these lips.

Me at the open water lead three miles out on the ice of the Beaufort Sea outside of Barrow Alaska. That water is cold and really that blue.

Alaska is gorgeous, picturesque, and deadly. The waters are cold, the animals are predators, and the rugged beauty is unforgiving. As with any location steeped in tradition, Alaska is full of strange and wonderful inhabitants—many who will be showing up in my future stories

Here’s a quick language lesson:

Going out—Means to leave the state of Alaska

Lower 48—Pretty self-explanatory (Lower US)

Snow Machine—Snowmobile

Going to Town—If you live in the bush this means going to Anchorage or Fairbanks usually.

PFD—Permanent Fund Dividend. Money given to Alaskans every year from oil returns. Somebody might say, “Are you getting a PFD this year?”

There’s so much more I could tell you, but I’m running out of cyberspace. So just remember, Alaska is part of the United States. We have the same currency. Supposedly, the northern lights don’t make noise. You will never find bigger mosquitoes or ravens. And for the love of God, you cannot ride your snow machine from Nome to Valdez—Steven Seagal.

So is there anything you’ve always wanted to know about Alaska? Ask and I will try to answer your questions. Thanks for stopping by.

Boone

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5 Things Writers Should Never Do!

2011-03-04T07:00:00.007-05:00

Here are a few things I've learned along the way

and had to share with new writers.

1.) Don't Read Reviews

Seriously. Sounds like an odd thing not to do if you're a writer. Sure, there may be some gems in the pile of shitty ones, but do yourself a favor and stay away from Amazon, Goodreads and other venues. If you don't, guarantee it'll f*ck you up.

2.) Don't be a Promo Whore

So many newbies are guilty of this. Don't post your book or link on other authors' FaceBook walls in hopes of riding their coattails. It's rude. You will only alienate readers and friends. Also, don't post your link every hour on the hour. It has the opposite effect—people will loath your author name and book cover.

3.) Don't Quit your Day Job

You've published your first book as a brand-new author. Don't expect to get rich or make the type of money established authors do right off the bat. It takes time, commitment, strong backlist, name recognition and branding to reach the level where you can make some decent money. Most never do—so write for the love of it, first and foremost.

4.) Never Sacrifice Quantity for Quality

Yes, some authors write fast...fine, great. But if you start to build a fan base and decide you can pump out drivel because readers will buy your "name", you're playing with fire. They may hang on for a while, but soon you'll be known for poor quality writing and be worse off than when you started out. You should always be growing as an author, improving your work with time.

5.) Don't Burn Bridges

Unless you're Stephanie Meyer, you're going to have to play by the rules. If you piss off your publisher, get on the bad side of author collegues, ignore your fans, or rant about your poor reviews—the writing world will destroy you. Yep. You'll be left with nothing but a stump, with no potential for growth. It's a huge industry, but a surprisingly small community. Reputation is everything and a little love can go a long way :)

Stacey Espino xo

Return Teaser

2011-03-03T08:32:00.007-05:00

This is from my WIP, Return, the sequel to my first novel, Release. I love writing mystical, "is it real, or is it a dream" sequences with mesmerization and magic. I hope you enjoy reading it!

From the Chapter, "To Say the Words Love and Compassion Is Easy"

The tapping had increased in intensity, so much that Detective Tara Trametti knew where this dream was headed – for its end. She was going to have to wake up and shoo away whatever damn bird was rapping at her window pane. Then she’d probably lay awake for the rest of the evening, or early morning, whichever it was. Once she was woken up and it was past midnight, falling back to sleep was near impossible. Not that one sleepless night would be bad, but this would be going on about two months of hardly any sleep. Bad dreams she’d had since the attacks, even worse now that some nutcase was sending anthrax-laced letters through the mail, and that the Dobson parents were still pressing the already-strained police force to find the murderer of their daughter – Tara Trametti just didn’t know how much more she could take. Even the nightly shots of Jack Daniels had lost their numbing powers.

“Alright, alright, fucking alright,” she said as she accepted the fact that she was now fully awake, flinging the bedsheets from her body and swinging her legs off the bed. “Fucking bird, better be glad there’s too many windows around for me to get a shot at you without hurting someone else,” she muttered as she trudged the few steps from her bedroom to the window.

Sure enough, a black crow was sitting there, tapping insistently at the pane. What the fuck do you keep doing that for? Tara thought. There’s nothing fucking in here.

She gave a few raps back on the pane with her fist, not loud enough to wake the neighbors, but with enough force to hopefully scare away her unwelcome visitor. It didn’t work; the crow only increased its rapping.

So frustrated that another sleepless night was now in the works, Tara threw up the sash. Jesus that’s one big crow! She hesitated a moment before she flung her arms out the window, waving them threateningly at the bird. Hope he doesn’t poke my eyes out, Tara thought as she leaned further out, increasing her efforts against the stubborn bird.

She never expected the bird to grab her arms.

Only it wasn’t a bird, now, it was a woman. A strange, beautiful young girl, about ten years younger than Tara’s own age of thirty-three. She had a cloud of unruly, chestnut-brown hair that set off her eyes, which were ice-blue – and something about them made Tara’s heart beat quickly in fear, for they seemed exactly like the eyes of the young man who had helped affect the fugitive Amy Kluger’s escape.

Tara gasped and tried to pull herself back in to her apartment, but only succeeded in hitting her head on the window sash; her arms were held fast by the woman whose hands and wrists seemed to be made of granite.

“Careful, Detective Trametti,” the woman’s musical voice warned her, “we don’t want to have you unconscious for this event. We need your head nice and clear. Now,” the brunette leaned forward until her nose was merely a centimeter away from that of Tara’s and said, “Invite us in!”

Tara Trametti had been punched in the face before, many times, come to think of it, between the fights she’d had as a kid and teenager, then working as a policewoman. And while she saw the same colors, the blacks, greens, whites, and oranges – that accompanied the hit -- this time, it was her mind that felt like it had received the physical blow.

Praying to God like her grandmother taught her, something that she did instinctively nowadays, even in light of all the evil that surrounded her, she was able to shake some of the fog from her mind. One of the words the woman had said registered with Tara, and she asked aloud, “Us?”

“Hello there, Tara. Remember me? Amy Kluger’s lawyer?” Another pair of ice-blue eyes asked her. They were a few feet away from the woman, off to her left.

“How are you two standing out there?” Tara heard herself asking. The window ledge was only about six inches wide; not nearly enough space to fit two full-grown bodies. Yet the woman perched before her, perfectly balanced, and the man stood straight and tall as if he were on solid ground.

“Enough!” the brunette cried out in frustration. “You will invite us in!” she commanded in a low tone through clenched teeth. Tara even thought that the incisors seemed longer, like those of an animal. And the eyes – hadn’t they been blue? Now they seemed to be an orangish-red. Impossible! No one has eyes that color!

WHACK! Another blow to Tara’s mind sent her body reeling inside her apartment. She felt her around her throat, looking for the comforting medal of St. Mary she’d received for her Confirmation. It had even been blessed by a priest.

Tara followed the voice, beautiful and musical still, even as it cried out in pain. The brunette was holding her hand up and it appeared to have been burned; Tara could see wisps of smoke rising into the air, along with the scent of charred flesh wafting into her apartment. The brunette held her wound away so that Tara could not see it, but the woman’s face was nothing that Tara had been prepared ever to view in her apartment. Teeth like those of a wolf filled the mouth, twisted in anguish, and the eyes – glaring at Tara now – fiery-red, as if flames danced within them.

“IINVITE US IN!” the she-devil said, her voice reverberating through the apartment like the sound of thunder.

Tara braced herself for another blow to her mind, but instead, she felt as though she had floated into the woods, along a path filled with low-lying shrubs, green ferns, and trees. Mist covered the ground, and out of it appeared the same girl, now pretty and nice-looking as ever, who reached out her hand. Tara clasped it in hers, and they proceeded to walk down the path together.

Within a moment, the man had joined them, taking Tara’s free hand, her right one, in his, stroking it softly.

“You are searching for something, aren’t you, Ms. Trametti?” the brunette girl asked, and her voice sounded so pleasing and musical. “The killer of a poor, innocent girl, her body found in Red Hook, correct?”

“The Dobson girl, yeah,” Tara nodded, although she wasn’t certain if she had said the words aloud or merely thought them. It didn’t seem to matter; the brunette looked like she understood Tara’s thoughts.

“I’m here to help you with that, Detective Trametti.” Tara turned her head to the man, the one who said he was an attorney, for he now spoke. So handsome he is! Tara didn’t know why she hadn’t realized it before. She had no qualms about asking men out; she would have to get his number when he finished speaking. And Tara so wanted to hear what he had to say, his blue eyes looked earnestly into hers. He was talking about the suspects, the Kluger girl and Johnson boy.

“You see, Amy Kluger and Eric Johnson are completely innocent of any wrongdoing. They simply got lost, had the misfortune to turn down the wrong street, stopped to get their bearings straight, and were accosted by four youths, all of whom bore the ink stain of a cobra upon their faces. Kluger and Johnson were lucky to escape as they did; unfortunately for the Dobson girl, she became the victim of retribution, in some silly, mortal way connected to the terrorist attacks of that day.”

Tara agreed with him completely; his logic was flawless. How much time had they wasted pursuing that Kluger girl and the Johnson boy? Yet, how had they escaped four street-savvy gang members?

“Good Samaritans came by to rescue them to offer them a lift in their automobile to a safer area. Those people will never come forward; they are long gone and you can forget about searching for them. You need to concentrate on the gang activity, the anger people felt after the attacks, and their desire for vengeance. Therein lies the answer to the murder of the Dobson girl.”

Of course it does, I should have thought of that weeks ago! Tara chastised herself. How much time have I wasted chasing Kluger and Johnson? Anyone could see that they weren’t murderers, but the Dobson parents were so insistent on bringing their girl’s killers to justice…

“Please don’t chastise yourself any further, Tara,” the man was speaking again, smiling like he knew every inch of her body – or perhaps wanted to. “You need to look towards the future and concentrate on those marked with the cobra. Forget about Eric and Amy, forget about me and my sister – you will forget us, we are so unimportant to you.”

No! No! I certainly won’t forget you, with your gorgeous eyes, and that charming way you look at me – as if I were the only female you’d ever seen – I need to call you…

“NO! YOU WILL FORGET US!”

The force of his words made Tara wince in pain; she turned her head away from him and brought her fingers to her temples, hoping that the throbbing would cease soon. With her eyes closed, the sensation was strange -- she saw a white, blank wall, nothing written on it, everything erased. Except for something very small, in the corner – she took a closer look…

Then she opened her eyes. The brother and sister – they had to be, for they appeared to be the same face, same ice-blue eyes and chestnut-brown hair, save for one was more masculine while the other feminine – were smiling at her as they walked alongside her, almost as angels would look upon a young child. Yet there was something expectant about their faces, making Tara say, “But I saw you turn into a fog. You were human, then you were a fog, and you covered that Kluger girl and the both of you just disappeared – no trace of you anywhere-“

The sister stumbled in the forest path.

“Don’t worry, Mirrie,” her brother reassured as he helped his sister. Then he turned his beautiful, perfect face to Tara, coming closer and closer to her so that her heartbeat quickened in anticipation of his touch. He leaned in, and Tara sighed softly as his lips, so warm and soft, met hers in a delicious embrace.

“No, that was too quick,” she argued as his lips parted from hers.

“This is quick, Tara. You’re right – there was no trace of me that night at the police station. You allowed us to leave, because you saw that Amy wasn’t the killer. There is nothing left of us, because I never existed. A dream, Tara, just a dream, a figment of that poor, overworked imagination of yours. Mortal minds do crumble so under too much duress.

“You don’t need to worry any longer about what happened that night in the police station; the Kluger girl and her attorney walked out the door. It was a simple misunderstanding that lead to Kluger and Johnson being termed fugitives. The case is simple, clear as a crystal to you now – the answer lies in the gang activity. Anything else was just a dream…”

“You’re only a dream,” Tara asked, unable to keep the disappointment out of her voice.”

He smiled at her, and though it was condescending – something she detested – she couldn’t be angry at him. He was merely a figment of her imagination, after all.

“Will I dream of you again? Please say I will, oh please, please…”

His smile faded slightly, as if something displeased him. Or was that pity on his face – had she sounded too desperate?

“I may, Tara. Just investigate the gangs, forget about everything else, and I’ll come back to you.”

Satisfied that this would not be the only time she dreamed of the handsome stranger, she pulled the bedclothes back over her body – her bed felt so much more soft and comfortable now – and faded into the deep sleep she so desperately needed.

Themeology 101

2011-03-02T09:05:00.006-05:00

Earlier this week, I was thinking about the common themes that run through all of my books. Not the plots nor the genre but the THEMES.

What is a theme?

Well, dictionary.com defines it as "a unifying or dominant idea."

After careful consideration, here are the top five themes that I came up with for my 16 novels (currently published or in the publishing process):

1. Loss will occur in life
2. Everyone experiences betrayal
3. The truth will set you free
4. Revenge is a dish best served cold
5. Work smarter not harder

While composing this list, I realized that I have a story concept that is prevalent in two of my novellas. Twice now, I've created a set of twins and both times one of them was kidnapped (or missing). While the characters, the types of twins (identical versus fraternal), the setting, and the plots are totally different, I certainly didn't purposefully create this similar set of circumstances.

In fact, I didn't even make the connection between the two stories until I had an "a ha" moment a few days ago. You see, a few years ago, I was pregnant with twins and lost one of the babies pre-term. Apparently it still haunts me as something being "taken" from me. I thought I had dealt with my emotions at the time but perhaps there were still feelings that needed to be processed. As it turns out, writing is my best form of therapy.

And the common themes in my books are all based on incidents in my own life. How about you?

If you're a writer, what are your common themes? Or, as a reader, do you tend to choose books that mirror your own life experiences (divorce, infidelity, loss of a loved one)?

Leave a question or comment and be eligible to win a copy of my latest release entitled Double Take. Be sure to leave your contact information so I can reach you if you win!

Here's a little more about the story:

What do a kidnapping, a class reunion, and jalapenos all have in common?

Find out in the latest romantic suspense release from Kerri Nelson available March 11th from Evernight Publishing!

Blurb:

After growing up the laughing stock of the town drunk and humiliated by the hottest guy in school, Kennedy Wolfe planned on never stepping foot in Greece, New York again.

Now a highly decorated agent for the FBI, Kennedy learns of the abduction of her best friend from high school. The news comes just days after the invitation to her class reunion was received and tossed.

Despite her better judgment, she can’t resist the urge to take on a case that would show her classmates once and for all what she’s really made of.

Damon Divine is the unbeatable District Attorney and he’s dead set on finding those responsible for abducting his twin sister.

But when the beautiful Agent Wolfe comes to town, he knows the kidnappers won’t be the only ones on her hit list.

After all, standing up a girl on senior prom night is not something she’s likely forgotten.

More Than Tolerable ~ Chapter One

2011-03-01T01:00:00.026-05:00

You all know I write naughty stories. This is just a taste, 'cause the truly fun stuff in this light bondage novella starts in chapter two.

Content advisory: Fast unsatisfying sex followed by some very heavy petting. Frank language and graphic descriptions of sex.

Consider yourself warned. If you do not like erotica, you should not continue reading. ;-)

Chapter One

Tom

Bodies press up against Candice, shoving her closer to the bar as she tries to leave the stool. I reach an arm out to protect her from the worst of the crush. “Candy, let me see you home. You shouldn’t try to make your way alone.”

Her buzzed smile and feeling-no-pain expression is a sure sign we should have had dinner when the bartender offered us menus an hour ago.

“No worries, Tom. I’m good,” she stumbles a bit and lands face first into a beefy looking guy. The grin on his face shows he’s not angry at her slip. “My, you’re big,” she says while pushing blond hair out of her face. “Want to help me get a cab?”

The large man opens his mouth to respond then catches sight of the nasty look on my face. “Maybe next time, sweetheart.”

I nod my thanks to him while trying to steer my more than tipsy co-worker out of our department’s favorite after work bar.

“But, Tom,” she whines, “he looked hot. Lemme get his number.”

“You’ll thank me later, Candy.”

The cool fall air smacks into us both, jolting me with a little much needed wake me up. Hopefully, it will have the same affect on my fellow accountant. “But, he looks like a real man,” she says. “Not some numbers crunching sod like us.”

I try to ignore the brush of annoyance I feel at being lumped together in a category of “non-real men” because of my chosen profession. “Yeah, and I’m sure he’ll call you in the morning, too.”

“Not fair, Tom. Last guy I picked up called me.” I hail a taxi and pour us both in. “But he turned out to be dumb.” She snorts at a memory while I tell the cabbie her address. In the ensuing silence she whispers, “He called me the wrong name during sex.”

I resist the urge to shake her for her stupidity. I know first hand she has a solid mind and a sharp wit. It’s the alcohol getting to her, but it’s getting to me too, and the mere mention of sex has my cock growing in my suit pants. She settles snug against my side, hugging my arm. “Tom, have you been working out?”

Her grasping fingers massage my bicep through my jacket, “I’ve always worked out, Candy.” I try to pry them off but she squeals and makes to tickle me. Bad move. Her quick hands graze my swollen dick and she freezes.

“Tom, do you want me?”

I suppress the sigh aching to burst forth. I’ve wanted Candy from the moment we teamed up on the Stringer account six months ago, but had to wait for the right time. And partially drunk is not the right time. “Candy, let’s just get you home. We’ve both been drinking and I don’t want us to do anything we may regret later.”

She nips playfully at my ear, “How could I possibly regret fooling around with you? We could be friends with benefits. Wouldn’t that be cool?”

“While the idea sounds excellent, I’m not so sure it ever works for people.”

Her previously frozen hand is now mobile, stroking my cock through the fabric. Dear God, are we almost at her building? I’ve go to get her off me and out of this cab before I come in my pants.

“We could make it work, Tom.” She pulls her hand from my prick and turns my face to hers for a kiss, “We could try.”

The taxi lurches to a stop, breaking the spell a mere moment after our lips touch. I fish out the cash to pay the driver, deciding to walk her to her door. Maybe we could make this work. I admit I want more from her, this might be a good start.

She grabs my hand and playfully drags me past her doorman. I nod at the man, feeling a shit eating grin spread across my features. “Come on, Tommy,” she slurs, “let’s go have some dinner at my place.”

The walk through the lobby doesn’t cool our heat and the moment the elevator doors whisk shut Candy is on me like a tick on a dog. Her full mouth crushes mine and manicured nails rake through my hair.

“God, Tommy, I’m so freakin’ hot right now. Want to do it here in the elevator?”

“As good as that sounds, I don’t think we should.”

“Pfff…you’re no fun, Tommy.” She reaches for my zipper and has my cock out in her hot little hand before I can grab her wrist. The elevator pings and the doors slide open ten floors shy of her level. I wrap my arms around my curvy, drunken co–worker and pin her to me, not wanting the older man who just stepped in the car to see my dick hanging out.

He glances at us briefly then stands to the other side. Dressed in workout gear, it’s safe to assume he’s going to the gym on the penthouse floor.

Candy giggles but shoves my cock back in my pants and zips me. The rasp of metal on metal brings a sharp look from the man, but his head darts straight ahead ignoring us.

We finally arrive at Candy’s floor and rush off the elevator. Adrenaline floods my body and I swear, if she asks, I’m going to go in and fuck this horny woman senseless.

“Tom? Want to come in?”

I move behind her while she’s jiggling her key into the lock and wrap myself around her slight frame. Planting kisses along her neck, I give the only answer my fired up body will allow. “I’d love to.”

The moment the door closes behind us it’s a mad dash to see who can get their clothes off faster. Glimpses of black underwear and toned limbs whir through my alcohol fogged brain.

Candy giggles while stumbling to her bedroom. She switches on the bedside light and tosses me what she thinks is a sexy smile, but looks more like a slight sneer. “Come and get me, Mr. Super Accountant.”

I hesitate in the doorway. My body rages to barrel forward and take her up on her offer before she changes her mind, but my big head gets the best of me. “Are you sure, Candy? You want to take this step?”

She reaches down between her legs and starts to finger fuck her pussy. “If you aren’t interested, I’ll do it myself.” I approach the bed, a determined expression on my face. “Good boy, I knew you’d come around.”

Climbing across the mattress, I crawl on my hands and knees to cover her lithe form. Her hips thrust up to meet mine and grasping hands pull me down. “Now, Tom. I want you now.”

“Whoa, slow down. We need protection.”

“You’re right.” Giggling, she twists to the side, reaching in the nightstand drawer to pull out a small foil square. Candy tears it with her teeth, her face scrunching up. “Ewww… spermicide tastes like crap.”

Taking the torn package from her, I remove the latex and sheath my cock as fast as possible.

“Get it in, get it in, get it in…” she chants. “Oh…” she moans as I thrust in, burying deep in her snatch, “that’s right.”

The orders start flying before I have a chance to slow her down: “Faster!” “Harder!” “Slam that dick in me!”

Thrusting my hips in a frenzy, I try to fulfill each request the moment it’s uttered. The hot muscles of her pussy grip my length and the speed combines with my buzz to push me toward the finish before I’d like.

“I’m close, Candy. I need to slow down.”

“No! More! Fuck me harder!”

Nails rake down my spine and hot hands grab my ass, pulling me closer despite my desire to wait. Her feet splay on the bed, pushing her hips up to pump me when I hold back.

The sensations overwhelm my control and my orgasm steams past the gates. A loud moan spills from my mouth while I try to keep the pace up a little longer, hoping to bring her as well. “Are you close?”

But Candy’s quiet. A glance reveals her eyes are drifting down, and I can feel her hips have stopped thrusting. “Candy?”

“Umm?”

“Did you come?”

“Are we done?” She yawns. “Gosh, I’m sleepy.”

I roll to the side, grabbing some tissues to clean up. I think this may have been a very bad idea. She doesn’t even seem to be aware I came. “Candy?” I say, while fitting my body snug against her back. “Would you like to feel my mouth? Or my hand?”

“Nah, ‘s all good,” she slurs while turning on her side to pillow an arm under her cheek.

In a moment her breathing deepens and I’m left wondering what the hell to do. That was singularly the worst orgasm, if any orgasm can be bad, I’ve ever had. It felt like she wasn’t even experiencing the act with me—more like ordering, using, and then losing interest.

“Don’t worry, Tom,” she says softly. “It was tolerable.”

Tolerable? Did she just call our sex tolerable? I roll away to stare at the ceiling. Crap. I may have blown my one and only chance with her. Maybe I should try and bring her around with my hand? It’s only half past eight; she can’t be that tired yet.

Resting a hand on her hip, I savor the smooth softness of her skin. A small mew escapes her and her hips rock a little in a slight movement. Feeling emboldened by her response, I ease closer to rest against her back while sliding my fingers inward, toward her belly button.

Her bottom leg pressing to the bed is straight, while the top one lies bent at the knee and cocked, allowing room for me to ease down between her slick folds. Her tiny nubbin still feels aroused, when I flick it softly she moans.

Sliding to bracket the aroused peak of flesh, I slowly stroke the heated skin next to her clit, mindful of how sensitive the engorged nub may be. The swollen lips of her pussy hug the contours of my thick fingers, causing my cock to stir against her ass.

Keeping my pressure light, I force my pace to a snail’s crawl. The idea here is to wake her up slowly and then drive her to a huge orgasm. The wet heat of her fills the air and her musky scent wraps around me.

“Oh….” she whispers while tossing her head on the pillow. Her bare neck lures me and I bow to plant kisses along its length. “Mmm….” Sensing a shift in her, I tilt back allowing her to roll onto her back. Her hard nipples point to the ceiling and her legs spread for easier access.

Candy’s eyes are still closed, but her movements encourage me to continue. Propped on an elbow, I lean over to capture one peak in my mouth. Laving it with my tongue, a thrill zips through me when she arches up to press herself deeper between my lips.

A sigh escapes her and she softly utters, “Johnny…”

I don’t know who this dream lover is, I’ll have to ask her later, but I don’t intend to stop now. Within a few moments her movements become more energetic, hips gyrating in small tight circles on the bed, her head lashing from side to side.

Her eyes snap open and she locks on my face. “Oh, God, your fingers feel so good on my pussy.”

Her eyes drift back down, but I’m pretty sure she’s lucid now. I intend to give her pleasure however I can, as long as she’s not saying no. Sucking one nipple in deep, I nibble the surrounding flesh.

Circling her clit in soft, delicate strokes leaves Candy gulping for breath while her muscles tense. I pull my fingers away from the hot button and skim her inner thighs, hoping to make her relax and stop chasing the feelings.

Two or three deep breaths later she calms down, thrashing less and not holding herself as tight. Reaching back to her slit I run two fingers along her wetness, coating my fingers. I tickle at her opening to see if I should proceed, when a sexy whimper full of want bubbles forth.

Needing no more proof, I plunge the wet digits deep and curve them upward, seeking the squishy spot at the top front I know is there. Candy arches off the bed, dislodging my mouth from her nipple. I sit up a bit and reach my other hand to her engorged nubbin.

“Yes! Yes, just like that!”

Pinching her clit between my thumb and forefinger, I squeeze it lightly, timing her peak. Wetness pours over the fingers deep in her snatch, still circling her g-spot, and I know the moment is right to push her over the finish line.

Candy’s eyes fly open and she locks onto me, “Tommy! Oh my God, I’m gonna come!”

Switching from pinching, I rub her clit hard, steam rolling past her previous tension in a rocket of sensations. She screams into the dimly lit room and convulses around my hands. Wave after wave of her orgasm washes over her body and it’s sheer beauty to behold.

As she quiets, I pull the covers up over us and snuggle down next to her. She rests her head in the crook of my shoulder and I whisper into the darkness, “Was that more than tolerable, Candy?”

“Mmmm….” she says, while drifting off to sleep.

~~*~~

Chapter two of this naughty tale continues tomorrow, but from Candy's point of view, on the Everything Erotic blog. Be prepared for some fun spanking! The novella released this weekend and can be found at Amazon, B&N, Smashwords, and AllRomanceeBooks.com for 99 cents.

Come on, try something new... take a walk on the wild side... I promise you won't be disappointed.

And next up in March - a collection of erotica short stories inspired by the sexy men and woman in uniform. Red Hot Publishing will release a line called Patriotica and several authors will be publishing different erotica pieces of varying lengths under the imprint.

Faces

2011-02-24T06:00:00.000-05:00

This piece was part of Lily Child's February Femme Fatales, which is still going on and has featured some amazing fiction from some truly talented women horror writers. The story was inspired by a real life experience and got an amazing response when posted on Lily's site. I hope you enjoy it.

Faces

“The faces on the wall make me scared...”

This answer has just come from my three-year old daughter as I sit with her on her bed, reading her a Winnie-the-Pooh book that deals with emotions. So far the answers have been what I expected;

‘What makes you happy?’

‘Getting treats.’

‘What makes you sad?

‘Not getting treats.’

But then I asked her, ‘what makes you scared?’ and the last thing I expected was that answer.

“What faces?” I say, my blood running cold. “There aren’t faces on the walls.”

“Yes there are,” she insists. “Some of them are nice, but some of them are mean.”

“Where are they?” I ask her. “When do you see them?

“They’re everywhere,” she says, looking around her. “And I see them all the time.

I huddle my daughter into my arms, as always shocked at how quickly my fat little baby, who had dimples in her dimples, grew into this skinny legged, sharp elbowed child.

A shiver runs through me, certain the room is a few degrees cooler.

“There’s nothing on the walls,” I tell her, reaching out and touching one of the smooth surfaces. “You’re seeing shadows.”

She looks at me as only a three-year old can. With total scepticism.

“They’re not shadows,” she almost laughs, as if I’ve told her a dog is a horse. “They’re people and they’re in the walls.”

“Don’t be silly. People can’t get in the walls.”

I know I’m telling her the truth, but there is still part of me that wonders...what if? What if she is right and I am the one who is wrong?

Suddenly claustrophobia presses on all sides, as if I am surrounded by faces, all peering down at me. For once, I find myself wishing my ex-husband were here and I was not alone in the house.

I lean down and kiss her small head, her fine hair tickling my nose.

“Come on, it’s time to go to sleep,” I tell her, pulling the covers up over her narrow frame. She snuggles down into her pillow and pulls her teddy-bear close to her body.

I reach out to switch off her bedroom lamp, but something moves on the wall, something just out of my peripheral vision. I freeze, my hand held in the same position, my heart pounding in my chest. Slowly I turn my head, cautiously needing to know what caught my attention, and almost laugh out loud. There is the shadow of my arm, grotesquely morphed across my daughter’s bedroom wall, frozen in position.

I wiggle my fingers, reassuring myself, and the shadow waves back.

It was nothing, only my imagination. Fears brought on by a child’s night terrors.

I kiss her again and whisper, ‘I love you,’ into her ear.

Already she is halfway into the arms of sleep and I quietly back out of the room, trying to tell myself the flurry of movement across the wall is simply a creation of light and shade.

Downstairs, I sink into the arms of my favourite couch and pick up the well-thumbed paperback I’m currently reading. For a while I am taken into a different world; one of heroes with broad shoulders and dangerous smiles, of heroines with heaving breasts and plucky personalities.

A piercing scream tears me from my reverie. My head snaps up, my body launching from the couch. With blood rushing through my veins, I race up the stairs. Bursting through her bedroom door, the first thing I see is my child, huddled in the middle of the bed, her soft toy clutched to her chest. But then, as I take in her surrounding, my eyes prickle with sharp tears of fear.

Her room is back to front, her pillow at the wrong end of her bed, her book case turned around, her toys piled in the centre of the room.

“Honey?” I say, unsure if I should be terrified or angry. “What did you do to your room?”

“It wasn’t me!” she cries, her face in her hands. “It was the faces.”

“Don’t be silly. Faces can’t move things.”

Then I realise what I’ve said. “And there aren’t any faces. They’re just walls!”

I reach out my hand, intending to hit the wall, show her how solid it is, but her shriek of fear freezes me in my tracks.

“No, Mummy! Don’t hit them. They’re the mean ones and you’ll make them angry.”

I open my mouth to tell her the faces are not real, but movement stops me.

Do I see the walls ripple around me, the swirl of dark and light above my head? I squeeze my eyes shut. This isn’t real; it’s hysteria. I’ve watched a documentary about it before, I’m sure. How one person’s panic can take hold of another?

Yet something darts above me, bleeding into the paintwork, and another swoops down like a black cloak, billowing around us.

I grab my daughter from her bed and she clings to my neck, her legs wrapped around my waist. Staring at the mottled pink strands of her bedroom rug— too terrified to look up— I back out of the room and quickly pull the door shut behind me.

I hurry into my own bedroom and slam the door, blocking her bedroom from my own by the length of the hallway and two closed doors. I climb into bed, my daughter still attached to my body, like a monkey, shivering.

It was nothing, I tell myself. Just a bad case of night terrors.

And yet, as I huddle down beneath the covers, holding my daughter tight against the curve of my body, I am certain I can feel eyes peering down at me.

Faces in the walls.

***

Marissa Farrar

~Alone~The Dark Road~Facebook ~Twitter~ Blog~

Copyright © 2010 Marissa Farrar All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

Insomnia and the Evil To-Do List

2011-02-23T06:36:00.001-05:00

Hello everyone, Natalie Dae here!

If there are any typos in this post or something doesn’t make sense, I apologise. As of right now, I’ve been awake for twenty-seven hours. I suffer from insomnia from time to time, usually when something’s on my mind or my to-do list is just a little bit overwhelming. On Monday I had one of those moments where I thought I was going to go off my rocker. You know the kind of moment: the list of things you have to do grows by the second; you must get it all done today; the list is way too long and you wonder if you’re going to be able to manage it all; you have dinner to cook, edits to do, laundry to get done. The list is evil.

I did manage to do everything—all except the big house clean I wanted to do, and that still hasn’t been done because now my body is too weary. My mind’s still alert, though, and that was the problem during the night. I was in bed, eyes closed, as you do, having switched the light off because my eyes had drooped while reading. Well, what do you know, as soon as that light went off, my mind woke up. I lay there for ages—two hours—wondering whether to get up or not, and when the outlay for a book cover came to mind, I got out of bed and spent the dark hours practising making Photoshop hair so I could give one of the characters long locks. Two book covers later, I did a couple of other things, and now here I am wondering whether I’ll zonk out at some point today or do what I usually do and keep going until bedtime.

I have yet to look in the mirror. I kept running my hand through my hair while making the other hair, so I’m sure it’s sticking up. I haven’t got showered or dressed yet, so that’s pretty gross. Mind you, that isn’t unusual for me. I only get dressed during the week because I have to take my youngest to school. During days off school I spent the majority of time in my pyjamas. I never understood that years ago, why authors had this image where they smelled because they never left the computer to wash, they never got dressed in nice clothes, and they tapped away at the keys until they fell asleep at the keyboard. Over the past seven years I’ve turned into that author, except I also create cover art and web design, run a review site, and sometimes edit (I used to be a full-time editor in a former life).

I suspect, if I looked in the mirror, I’d see bags the size of refuse bin liners under my eyes. A nice shade of grey that would match the streaks of the dastardly stuff coming through as roots. Yes, I’ve forgotten to dye my hair again. Lovely. I also seem to have forgotten my mind the past few weeks and quite regularly wander around aimlessly, asking myself what the devil I got up for in the first place. This is rather alarming behaviour for a thirty-eight year old, but I’ve told myself it’s because I’m so busy my poor brain can no longer keep up. In short, I’m either going crazy or I need a break.

And, d’you know, I wouldn’t change a thing. Okay, maybe I’d get plastic surgery to get rid of all the new wrinkles that have sprouted up from nowhere. The grey hair, the bags under my eyes, the lines at the top of my nose where I’m either frowning at my silly self when I’ve done something stupid or I’m squinting to read what’s on the screen. Yes, I think I need glasses. Isn’t that delightful? But the pyjama days, the hours spent writing or creating images, they just fly by, and I question myself every so often as to whether I’m wasting my life. Will I look back in years to come and wish I hadn’t spent a big lump of years parked in front of this machine? Should I be doing adventurous things instead? Learning to Salsa dance, rock climbing, paragliding? Or will I know I did what I loved the most, so therefore it can’t have been a waste?

Funny what you think of when you haven’t had much sleep. Tell me, what do you do when insomnia hits? Also, how do you cope with the signs of ageing? The memory loss is bugging me a lot, but hey, I’ll forget to even remember to get bugged by it eventually, which will counteract any bugness and erase it from my memory. Hmm. I feel so much better now, knowing that.

What was I saying again? I’ve forgotten…

Fiction Week Continues with TAKEN

2011-02-22T07:41:00.000-05:00

TAKEN

By Suzanne Johnson

Krystal Harris pulled to the shoulder of the two-lane road—highway was too grand a word—and punched the button to turn on the old green Corolla’s dome light. She counted to five before thwacking it with the heel of her palm, and a dim light blinked as if considering her demand. It stayed on ― this time. The car was a dinosaur, but it was a paid-for dinosaur.

She dug a folded Alabama road map from beneath her briefcase on the passenger seat, smoothing the creases to make sure she hadn’t driven past Penton, which she suspected was no more than a wide spot on a narrow road. Getting lost out here in the boonies? Bad idea.

Yep, County Road 70. The highway to Penton, Alabama, just looked like the express lane to nowhere.

A gust of wind rocked the car, sending icy air around the loose door seals. Maybe the chill of this January night was an omen that she should take the job as Penton’s town doctor if they offered it, just so she could buy a more respectable form of transportation. Still, she had doubts. What kind of clinic wanted to conduct a job interview at nine p.m.? She should never have agreed to it, but the Penton Clinic administrator had waved big bucks in front of her huge college and med school debts, and she’d trotted after them like a donkey after a carrot.

“You had the goody two-shoes idea of practicing rural medicine, plus you’re already here,” she chided herself, clicking off the overhead and pulling back onto the road. “And you’ve gotta admit this is rural.”

Another omen, and not a good one: she was talking to herself. Out loud.

A couple of miles later, her headlights illuminated a battered wooden sign covered in peeling paint: Welcome to Penton, Alabama. Founded 1890. Population 3,275.

Twenty years ago, maybe. Krys had done her homework, and that was the boomtown population, when the mammoth East Alabama Mills still churned out thread and batting. It had wheezed its final belch a decade ago, and all of Chambers County had suffered a slow death by attrition and the 2013 flu pandemic. The most recent listing Krys found online estimated a population of three hundred. She was surprised they could afford to hire a doctor, even one just out of her residency.

Lost in thought as she approached the outskirts of town, she panicked at the sight of a deer in the road. Or a freaking bear — no telling what wildlife lived out here. She’d slammed on her brakes and gone into a long, screechy skid before realizing the critter that had stepped into her oncoming lights was a man.

He wore a long coat that flapped in the wind, and was backlit by the lone streetlight in front of an abandoned convenience store. She’d have blown past him if he hadn’t moved right in front of her.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, feet planted apart, watching as she floored the brakes. The Corolla’s old tires filled the air with the smell of hot rubber and stressed brakes.

Good Lord. Was he nuts?

As soon as she lurched to a stop, her muscles jittery from the aftershock, the man walked around and tapped on her driver’s side window, motioning for her to lower it. Krys’s foot hovered over the accelerator, her pulse pounding. Should she drive on and get the hell out of here?

Anger overrode her fear. No, by God, she should not drive on. She’d at least lower the window enough to tell the jerk how close he’d come to ending his life as a hood ornament.

He held up his empty hands in a gesture of peace. Right. Like he was going to hold up a sign that said Beware of Murderous Backwoods Whack Job.

She snaked her right hand to her purse in the passenger seat, wrapped cold fingers around the handle of a small pistol, and slipped it into the pocket of her suede jacket ― after she was sure the man had seen it. The .38 Smith & Wesson snub-nose was her security blanket, and she knew how to use it.

His only reaction to the gun was a raised eyebrow. “I have a man injured here.” His voice was deep and melodic, and he had a trace of an accent, like he’d grown up not speaking English but had been around a few too many Southerners. “You the doctor coming to Penton for the interview?”

She lowered her window a few inches and stared as he knelt next to the car, putting his face at eye level. And damned if it wasn’t one of the most beautiful faces she’d seen since…maybe ever.

He’d pulled his dark hair into a short ponytail except for one wavy strand that blew against his cheek. Dark lashes fringed blue eyes that reminded her not so much of summer skies or robin’s eggs but the richness of an arctic sea flowing over darker depths, and they appeared to lighten in color as he eyed her with an intensity that almost robbed her lungs of air. A strong jaw, full lips, a slight cleft in his chin. If he was a serial killer, at least he was a pretty one.

He cleared his throat. “Are you Dr. Harris?”

Krys caught her breath. Good Lord, what was wrong with her? She’d been practically drooling through the half-open window like he was Adonis personified. He could be Charles Manson’s separated-at-birth unidentical twin, for all she knew.

Except he knew her name. “Who are you?”

One side of Adonis’s mouth twitched. “I’m Aidan Murphy, from the Penton Clinic. Please, my friend could be seriously injured.” He jerked his head toward the parking lot to their right. Warped plywood covered most of the front windows of the square cinderblock building, the single street lamp shedding light on a dingy sign advertising Camels at twelve dollars a carton.

A lump lay on the ground near the edge of the lot. Krys studied Aidan Murphy a heartbeat longer, then shifted the Dinosaur into drive. She turned into the lot and parked between a silver compact car and what would probably be a gorgeous black or midnight blue BMW if it hadn’t been coated in mud.

She glanced in her rearview mirror at the man walking into the parking lot behind her and then at the motionless figure on the pavement. How dangerous could this be? Aidan Murphy was the Penton Clinic administrator she’d been scheduled to interview with, although he didn’t look like any healthcare admin she’d ever seen. Besides, she’d be damned if she let an injured man go untreated because she was a chicken.

Streams of frigid air whipped around her as she exited the car, and the streetlight didn’t quite reach the heavy shadows at the edges of the parking lot.

Aidan stopped a few feet away. Maybe he was afraid if he got any closer she’d shoot him.

“I’ll look at him,” she said. “Have you called 9-1-1? Where’s the nearest hospital?” She’d bet there wasn’t an E.R. within thirty miles.

He came a few steps closer. “Just look at him first.”

Shaking her head, she squatted beside the injured man and mentally ticked off what a fast glance could tell her in the dim light. Breathing labored but steady. Abdominal injuries — maybe a stab wound plus some surface cuts, judging by the way his shirt had been ribboned. Swelling and bruising on the temple. She placed her fingers over his carotid artery and closed her eyes to focus on his pulse. Fast but strong.

“You know his name?” She flicked her gaze up to Aidan, and was glad she had a patient to keep her busy. It would be easy to stare into those eyes all night.

He blinked and took a step back, averting his eyes from the sight of his friend. “His name’s Mark Calvert.”

Weird—Aidan looked almost fearful. Maybe he was freaked out by all the blood. Krys had seen grown men faint dead away at no more than a pin-prick. She tapped the injured man on the cheek and repeated his name. A flutter of lashes, and glassy blue eyes opened, didn’t quite focus, closed again.

“Well, hell.” Krys clambered to her feet, no easy task in the stupid skirt, and brushed past Aidan on the way to her car. The Hippocratic Oath sure could be inconvenient. Reaching in the driver’s door, she grabbed the keys from the ignition, then walked around and opened the trunk ― no remote-controlled locks on the Dinosaur.

He didn’t offer to help, and she considered rolling the heavy suitcase that served as her medical kit over Aidan’s foot as she passed him again. She couldn’t tell much about his build because of the long wool coat, but he was tall and broad-shouldered and if she wasn’t dead broke she’d be willing to bet his body looked as good as his face. Wouldn’t have killed the oaf to put his muscles to use instead of watching her struggle while he stood with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“What’s your role in this, Mr. Murphy? You need to help me out here. First call an ambulance and then the sheriff.” If she lost the Penton job by being assertive, so be it. Aidan Murphy needed to know what he’d get by hiring her. She’d never be an administrator’s puppet.

Aidan didn’t move. “Let’s see how badly he’s hurt before we go calling anybody.”

Krys dropped to her knees and cursed as the unmistakable tickle of a gravel-induced pantyhose run raced up her leg. Terrific.

She looked at the bloody man lying in front of her. And to think fifteen minutes ago she’d thought her biggest challenge was an evening job interview.

* * * *

Holy hell. This woman was magnificent. Either that, or Aidan’s hunger was getting the best of him. In hindsight, taking the meeting in LaGrange before he’d fed was stupid. And now Stupid faced an unvaccinated woman with legs a mile long, a husky bedroom voice, and a no-nonsense attitude. All of which were hot as hell.

His lieutenant Mirren, who’d found Krystal Harris among the meager pickings of human doctors, said she’d be a perfect Penton recruit. She hadn't gotten the 2013 pandemic vaccine, which had left human blood poisonous to vampires. She’d had an abusive childhood. She would like the easy pace and security of life as a vampire familiar once she got used to the idea, Mirren insisted. She had school debts up to her ears and could be tempted with a good salary.

Mirren obviously didn’t know as much as he thought. Krystal Harris struck him as more lion than lamb material. And she was pushing his buttons big-time, which had to be the hunger talking because he didn’t get mixed up with human women. He was too dangerous, and they were too fragile. He’d learned that lesson the hardest way possible.

Yet here he was with his hands jammed in his pockets because his fingers twitched with the urge to touch her. His damned fangs even ached, among other things. It made his plans to keep her in Penton--whether she wanted to stay or not--even harder. But his people were under attack and needed a doctor, and he had to put them first.

She pulled a portable light stick from her kit and cracked it, surrounding them with a bright greenish glow. He moved a few steps closer, watching the red highlights that shone in the dark hair she’d pulled back in one of those twisty braids women liked.

“I don’t hear you making phone calls.” She lifted Mark’s eyelids and shone a penlight in them. “Pupils reactive,” she muttered. “Good.”

She paused and looked up at Aidan, her dark eyes widening when she saw him. Shit. He’d probably been staring at her like she was a fresh steak.

As quickly as her eyes widened, they narrowed in annoyance. “While you’re contacting the sheriff and an ambulance—and, yes, that was another hint—I’ll get Mark ready to transport to the hospital. I’ll go with him and we can reschedule our interview.”

Well, that wasn’t happening. No ambulance. No rescheduling. “I won’t call an ambulance until you tell me—”

The rest of his response was interrupted by a spray of gravel as an oversized, suped-up monster of an SUV pulled into the lot and lurched to a stop directly behind Krys’s car. Aidan smiled. Leave it to Mirren to make sure Krystal Harris couldn’t drive away even if she wanted to.

Excerpt from The Summnoning

2011-02-21T07:00:00.001-05:00

This is the beginning of my WIP that I have been working on so diligently of late.

“Vengeance is a hard taskmaster,

It marks the soul once acted upon.”

Anonymous

PROLOGUE

Black smoke hung heavy in the air obscuring the light from the midday sun. The stench of wood and burning bodies was enough to make even the most seasoned of warriors retch. The area surrounding the scorched earth and black rubble of the village made a painful contrast to the verdant fields surrounding it swollen with a rich harvest. An ancient oak gnarled with time raised its leafy limbs toward the darkened sky. A thick branch gave a mournful groan under the weight of the man tied to it with thick ropes scoring deep into its bark. The man hung deathly still, long pale hair matted with dirt and drying blood stuck to his battered face, his white linen shirt was torn and blood stained as was his tight fitting fawn breeches. His bare feet hung inches from the grassy floor.

“I swear by the God’s I will have my vengeance on you Rina” The man’s voice shook with the force of his anguish.

His face twisted into a mask of hate, locking his gaze on the woman in front of him. The woman he had placed above all others in his heart he discovered far too late to be his greatest enemy for Rina was one of the Dark Guard the very evil he was sworn to fight against.

Rina had timed her attack with the precision of a master strategist. Pain seared his very soul as he thought about the slaughter of his family. His brother and sister were overjoyed over the news that Lucien had finally found his life mate. Anya and Nicolas finally admitted they had feared he ever would. Both were now gone, he couldn’t quite come to grips of the reality of it.

Rina’s cruel laughter pulled his wandering thoughts back to her. She moved closer to her him “Did you really think I loved you Lucien?” she shook her head in disgust. “Men are so gullible! It was so easy to make you believe I was your life mate. You wanted to believe so badly that I was destined for you it made you blind. It was pathetically easy to make you trust me.” Her voice was low and melodic, her small curvy body lightly touching his; she watched his face as she reached out a finger to trace the line of blood from one of the deep gashes in his chest. Slowly bringing it to her lips.

“Umm, tasty.” She murmured as her tongue darted out to lick her full lips. “Now what ever are we to do with you?”

“Release me Rina and I will show you.” He grimly promised.

How could he have been so blind? Looking at her now, he wondered why he hadn’t seen the cruelty in her that was so apparent. Overwhelming guilt that threatened his sanity, his family was gone .Those words chanted over and over in his head. He had failed everyone who looked to him for guidance and protection. Unbidden his gaze fell back to the ruin of his village the pain like a dagger twisting in his gut.

How could he have not known her for what she was? He had trained since childhood in magic, a warrior schooled to detect and protect against the Dark Guard and their minions. For hundreds of years he had protected and fought them, keeping this realm safe and prosperous under his watchful eye as he was raised to do. He should have been able to see through her glamour, taste it upon first kiss. The endless centuries of existence without finding a life match had left him more vulnerable than he could imagine. He allowed the rage to rise within him giving him strength.

He knew her for what she was now and vowed to have his vengeance even on the other side of the grave if need be. It struck him as inconceivable that he was faced with his own demise.

After all he was a Vaster, not just any immortal! The blood flowing through his veins was ancient, his powers great. The welfare of his people needed his protection. His enemies’ were just as powerful and it seemed even more committed to destroying him than he thought possible. He ruled the earth, air, fire, water and the ether. Kept the balance in all nature in harmony through his magic and will. He was the warrior for justice. Keeping the darkness balanced, and now that same darkness was spreading and he was the cause of it! He may be immortal but there were still ways to kill his kind. Oh, yes…much to his horrified disbelief. He was Lucien the Magus, Holder of the scarlet dragon, last of the Vasters.

His looked down on Rina seeing her without glamour’s for the first time. She was small and curvy, but her skin shown just a little more translucent. Her blue-black hair that whipped in the wind looked softer than silk, her eyes were ebony where before they were green, and they were huge in her small oval face. Red lips smiled showing him a hint of fangs as her tongue flicked across her lips to moisten them .He could smell the reek of dark magic coming off her in waves. Looking back he could see so many times he should have questioned her presence. Felt the balance shift when she was near.

“You disgust me.” He gritted between his teeth.“What do you receive from this nights work Rina?”

She gave him a pointed look. “I am the master of my own destiny from this moment forward, my word will be followed.”

She gazed almost distractedly at the ornate blade in her hands. Made of gold, the handle, carved with intricate rune symbols and decorated in rubies and sapphires. The sharp blade curved wickedly a good seven inches and glinted menacingly in the moonlight.

“Do you know what this is Lucien?” she asked him as coolly, holding the dagger up to his eyes, turning it so that the glint of moonlight reflected in his blue eyes.

“This is a very special dagger. The only one in existence that can kill a Vaster, Other than beheading that is. And you are just too special for that type of execution.” Rina chuckled. Her eyes glowed with an inhuman excitement.

Lucien felt his time was near. Soon he would join all those that came before him. His only regret was that he couldn’t take the bitch with him. At that moment, his lust for vengeance overwhelmed every thought, every breath in his body. His soul cried out for justice. He had given justice to so many over the centuries and now when he was in need of it, it had abandoned him. He could do nothing but accept his fate with as much dignity as he could manage.

“Make your mark true or by the God’s I will find a way to hunt you down and rid the world of your machinations.” His voice was softy menacing, a promise he would trade his soul to keep.

“I must admit I will miss you in bed.” She sighed sadly, “You were so imaginative.” She pouted prettily at him just before the dagger found his heart.

Can an erotic paranormal have a feel-good HEA?

2011-02-18T07:00:00.001-05:00

Can an erotic paranormal have a feel-good HEA?

Of course!

Just because a book is an erotic romance, doesn't mean it has less plot, less characterization or less romance than a sweet or mainstream romance. The difference is the bedroom scenes are red-hot, explicit and described in full for the reader. Some people tend to think erotic=shallow, but that's not the case. Erotic romance shouldn't be mistaken for Erotica, which doesn't focus on the romance and isn't required to have a HEA or HFN.

I adore erotic paranormal romance! Just because we're dealing with demons, vamps or weres, doesn't mean we don't expect a HEA. When reading, I want to feel good when I'm finished, like I just finished a well rounded meal. A vamp having a HEA with a human that will die in time, is not really a HEA. The author needs to wrap everything up so our hero (s) and heroine can have a long lasting future together. Even though we know it's coming, I love being on the edge of my seat and wondering if they'll attain everlasting love in the end. If I was ever robbed of that, I would be one unhappy reader after investing my time and emotion into a story! I don't mind a HFN, because I can put two and two together and envision a future for the characters if the author sets it up right.

I've recently contracted my new paranormal/shifter menage a cinq series, Claiming Their Mate, to Evernight Publishing. It's erotic, but I really liked building the story behind it. It's a trilogy, each book focusing on one of the royal sisters. It should be out in early April.

I'm also getting ready to submit the second book in my Love Bites series to Siren Publishing. The first paranormal menage book, Two Wolves are Better Than One, was released last year. It was fun and sexy to write and I look forward to the next in the series releasing some time this spring.

Stacey xo

In the End, I Love a Good Ending!

2011-02-17T16:33:00.003-05:00

I'm so sorry this post in incredibly late -- time just got away from me yesterday and today!! Mes apologies, mes amis!

Okay, so this week, we're discussing Happily Ever Afters. I'm going to confess it right here, right now, to everyone --

I love how Breaking Dawn ended.

From a story/writing standpoint, it was terrible -- all of the gain, none of the sacrifice. But, from a reader's standpoint, especially one who puts herself in the book so much that she feels like the events are happening to her -- it was a completely satisfying ending. No unhappiness, just -- wow!

That's what I like to read/watch. I loved the ending of Winter's Bone, which is a bit of a happily ever after -- though not in a typical sense at all. The movie is very brutal (but so, so good), and the ending is appropriately satisfying.

Satisfying, that's what it's about for me. Satisfying my fantasies. Sure, there may not be happily ever afters in real life (although me, the dreamer, I'm still hoping for that one ;-). But I don't read or watch movies for real-life -- I want to escape, to be entertained. To be taken off to Mordor, or to Victorian London, or perhaps even ancient Rome. And so I love it when everyone gets what they want in the end with minimal pain and sacrifice.

Now, I'm going to qualify here in a major way -- the above is my qualifications as a reader/movie watcher. As a WRITER, well, that's something completely different, and those of you who read Release will know. The ending is not an HEA. There is a sequel in the works, and that ending is definitely, well -- let's just say the third novel, Redeem, will tie up things nicely. There may be an HEA for some -- I love my character, Miranda, and couldn't bear the thought of her story ending badly. But there will be sacrifice, loss, and pain along the way.

So there you have it, my dual natures: as a reader -- love the HEA; as a writer -- not so much. At least, not right away ;-)

Thanks for reading and I apologize again about my lateness -- have a good weekend, gang!

Happy Ever After Needed?

2011-02-16T08:00:00.006-05:00

If you’d asked me ten, maybe fifteen, years ago whether romance novels needed a happy ever after (HEA) – I probably would have given a resounding, “Hell, yeah.”

I know better now. Happy ever after takes work and you can bet your ass, it’s hard. If it isn’t, take the rose colored glasses off babycakes… time for a reality check.

I made the jump from the sappy teenage romances of Sweet Valley High to the bodice ripping pages filled with lords and ladies at the tender, but not so innocent, age of fourteen. My mom handed me one of Virginia Henley’s books as I headed out the door on a babysitting gig. Imagine my surprise, and ultimate delight, when I flipped the page and there – in full inky detail – was a description of the hero’s parts. Holy crap! Pirates, pagans, ravens and roses… I was hooked.

Flash forward twenty one years and I’m a married, mom of two who knows better. Not everything ends with a happy ending, nor does it have to. Happy for now (HFN) works just as well and it’s what most of us live with every day. Those who do find their happily ever after on the first try? Lucky bastards. The rest of us? We fake it till we make it.

This, in my opinion, is why so many of us turn to romance novels and read them so voraciously. We want to experience happily ever after and, if the author did their job right, the story sucks us in enough that we get to live vicariously through their characters and have that which we crave. Unfortunately, the fix only lasts until the last page is turned and then we’re left wanting more. Is it any wonder Harlequin does so well? Row after row after row of HEA’s in the bookstores will attest to it – we’re happy ever after junkies.

More and more, though, I’m finding that authors are deviating from the HEA and going for the HFN – especially series writers. Why? Because it sells more books? Well, yes – but also because how many of us really get that lucky?

The charming bad boy, prince, wolf… whatever, isn’t going to come knocking on my door with a bouquet of roses or ride up on his Harley and save my ass from the neighborhood vamp. Nor is he going to find me secretly pining away for him while I figure out ways to distract him from finding out the affair we had in the backseat of his Impala on prom night made him the father of the twins away at summer camp.

Nope, if I’m lucky the kids sleep in until after my alarm clock goes off at the butt crack of dawn. There will be enough cream for my coffee this morning, assuming we even have any coffee, and the bickering will hold off until I’ve been able to pour the steaming cup of wake-your-ass-up down my throat.

I didn’t marry the Jimmy Thomas look-a-like that was part of my plan. My hubby is blonde, and you’d never see his ass on a romance novel cover. Not without some major airbrushing, anyway.

Is what I’ve got happily ever after? Hells, no – but it’s what I’ve got and I’m happy, for now. I’m working on happily ever after. Besides, I’m a writer – I can always write myself one. Right?

Is my life a romance novel? I wish. A comedy of errors. Abso-freaking-lutely and that’s just fine. Do romance novels need a HEA? Nah. If the hero and his heroine are happy with the way things are, so am I.

Danielle Gavan
Paranormal and Erotic Romance Author
Possession is Nine Tenths - Ardeur
Website *Facebook * Twitter

HEA, HFN or Kill Them all Off?

2011-02-15T10:34:00.001-05:00

Okay, I'm joking. No one likes a romance where one of the MC dies in the end. Too close to real life! This week, in honor of Valentine's Day, we're talking about romance. Does a paranormal romance need an HEA? Even though I'm a paranormal writer - meaning fantasy, I do not write paranormal romance.

Heck, I just recently published my first erotica novella where I warned the beta readers "It's sex with almost no plot, so please don't expect one." And you know what? It was freeing and fun to write. No clues to weave in, no complex story arc, no subplots to wrap up and manage... no making sure every single damn scene moved the plot forward somehow.

In my mind, it was sex every few pages with some dialogue stringing it together so it wouldn't resemble a bad porno. Don't get me wrong, the sex in erotica is not porn-- a fact you'd know if you watched porn, like I do. ;-)

More surprisingly, every single one of those beta readers completely disagreed with me.

"It does to have a plot!"

"I love the characters and how they come to life in the dialogue and one liners."

"You're being hard on yourself. You're writing has come along so far that I was shocked at how good it flowed."

The nice part is I didn't pay them for their opinions or kind words, they told me purely out of kindness and support.

But back to the original topic - do I think a romance should have a HEA or HFN ending? Yes, I do. If not it is not a romance. Depending on the skill of the writer it may then be a tragic love story, qualify for Oprah's book club, or fall into that gray classification of modern literature. But the simple cold hard fact is if you plan on writing romance AND hope to get it published by a traditional NY publisher, then you must follow their rules.

And when you feel like breaking the rules and marching to the beat of your own drummer, then call me. We'll march side by side, break down the genre walls, and write the stories within us. One we know readers will like because we read the damn genre and know what is missing.

I want an escape, I want to be pulled into the story and be swept away by the setting, the plot and the characters. I want sex and I want it well done. I don't want the guy to be an ass because in real life I'd turn my nose up at the guy and walk away. Life it too short to waste it on idiots, why do so in the stories I read?

How about you? Is it a romance without a HEA or HFN ending?

Feel like a steamy read with LOTS of sex? Don't let the magic end on one night in February - go for a week!

Cheers,

C.J.

Check out the ebook novella, Johnny Living Dangerously, at Amazon, Barnes & Noble or Smashwords. It's on special right now for 99 cents, much better than the value meal at any fast food joint - and much more satisfying ;-)

A horrifying theme

2011-02-10T06:50:00.004-05:00

When I first started writing, I never considered theme. Like most newbie writers, I gave little thought to any of the building blocks which make up a good novel and simply wrote. As far as I was concerned, it was all about the story and the characters—that there should be a theme didn’t even occur to me. Now, several years, (and several novels), later, things haven’t changed that much. I still believe a novel should be about the story and the characters. If there is a theme to a story, it’s something which shows itself to me once the novel has been written. Often, its not until the second draft I even think about the possibility of a theme.

Of course, most good books do have a theme and I think if the novel is honestly written, a theme will naturally be found within its pages.

Recently I’ve discovered my books as a whole have a theme and that theme is also my tag-line, ‘Real-life horror, as much a you can bear.’

Most of my novels are horror-based, but although they have a paranormal element to them, often the actual horror of the book comes from the lives of the characters; the abusive husband (Alone), the religious sect (The Followers), the child dying of cancer (Underlife).

Horror isn’t necessarily in what we fear about the paranormal, but the real life issues people deal with everyday. I hope each of my characters are as genuine as they can get. I want them to be as real as the person walking down the street, the neighbour, maybe even a member of your family. I want the reader to think they could know the characters and by thinking that, maybe believe what happens to the characters could just as easily happen to them or someone they know.

One of my favourite movie directors is Guillermo del Toro (Pan’s Labyrinth, The Devil’s Backbone) and he does this parallel meeting of two worlds brilliantly. The movies always have a paranormal storyline, but they are also set in brutal and tragic situation—the majority being the Spanish Civil war. Though we are scared of the paranormal world, often the real one is all the more terrifying. In Pan’s Labyrinth, del Toro even uses the fantasy setting as the ‘escape’ from the horrors of the real world.

I find his movies to be truly inspiring and if I can capture even an ounce of the tragedy and horror of his movies in my books, I will be happy.

But as for theme, I don’t think its something we should get hung up on. Concentrate on writing and let the story find its own theme.

I Like Me Some Funny

2011-02-09T02:00:00.004-05:00

This week’s topic is “Do You Write with a Theme?" Simply put, no. I’m too scattered, too easily diverted from subject to subject, and get bored with the same type of story. But, and I usually have a big but, there is one thing that keeps me motivated and at times, euphoric—humor.

As a friend of mine says, "I like me some funny."

I love funny books and in my opinion, there aren’t enough written. I love funny movies, telling and hearing jokes, and a clever play on words. Whether by chance or fate, I married Mr. Chuckles and gave birth to the two stooges. Humor runs through my veins.

One of my kids told me last week she thought our ancestors were comedians—true story. The lengths my daughters will go to carry out a practical joke, boggles even my mind. A rubber band around the sprayer on the kitchen sink is their favorite. When an unsuspecting victim turns on the tap to get a drink of water, the sprayer engages and soaks anyone in its path. Thank God, they haven’t learned the plastic wrap over the toilet bowl trick yet.

Dark and tumultuous stories flow like water from many authors. Some writers are master builders of alien landscapes or historical eras. And still others possess the ability to dig into the readers soul by creating characters that lift off the page and hover like ghosts long after the last word has been read.

Me—not so much. What I will give you is Roy, a middle-aged man dressed in a red satin Speedo, leopard clogs, black socks, and a football helmet, who’s arrested for solicitation because he’s hanging out with a bunch of drag queens hookers. I may also give you the occasional fight scene against a group of determined siren-succubae, where the main weapon is a frying pan. And I’m not above having Bo Peep dress up in a sheep costume to entice her boyfriend, Wolfgang, into letting his animal side free.

When I first started writing, my characters were larger than life, able to leap buildings in a single bound, and tortured by burdens so heavy even Jesus would have thrown his hands up in surrender.

But, that was not my voice and as a writer who was serious about her craft, I knew things had to change. Years passed, crappy plots were written, and unbelievable characters were slaughtered in the name of finding my writing aphrodisiac. For me, humor is the music that calms the savage beast of writer’s block. It’s the verbal foreplay that gets my characters from point A to point B. Comedy is the Mountain Dew to my storylines—revving, energizing, and making me stay awake at night plotting new ways to make the reader laugh.

And what could be better than to make somebody feel good, even if it's only for three hundred pages?

So what’s your view on themes or humor in writing? Do you have a favorite funny story to tell. Oh, or how about a joke? I love me some jokes! Leave a comment and show us your wit.

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What's Your Theme?

2011-02-08T09:15:00.000-05:00

When I wrote my first book--well, okay, my first TWO books--I had no idea what theme was, and that it was something one might actually consider in advance of writing a book rather than writing first and looking for it later. Now it seems like a "Duh" thing but what did I know?

What is theme? To me, it's the Greater Truth behind a book. The moral of the story. The parable behind your writing.

I took a workshop one time (yeah, THERE's a surprise) that talked a lot about theme, and the upshot was that most writers unconsciously at first, then consciously as they get more experience, gravitate toward the same themes. Some of the most common themes are the simplest: power corrupts; there's no place like home; love conquers all.

In looking back at that first book, and in looking at what I've written since, I realize my common themes are: when everything else is stripped away, you see what you're made of; family has nothing to do with DNA; sometimes the happiness you get is not the happiness you expected--you just have to open your mind to it. Once I recognized those themes, I was able to manipulate them more consciously, to have a scene underscore that message or a series of scenes progress toward the message.

Blatant themes never show up on the page unless the writer's really overdoing it. But the themes are there. Take some of your own work, or a favorite book, and start looking for your themes if you don't consciously write to theme. You might be surprised at what you find.

An Emotional Experience

2011-02-04T08:43:00.000-05:00

Keep it light-hearted or delve deep into the psyche?

When I start writing a new novel, whether it be a cowboy menage or paranormal romance, I think about what my characters will be like. I give them each some baggage that they have to overcome to have a successful love life. Depending on my mood, I may torture my characters a little bit, or go all out.

I don't think I can write something that's light. I must develop my characters, even in a novella. Before long, they always take control, pulling me in new directions I never expected. And I'll admit, I miss them after writing "The End".

My first book in my paranormal menage series, Two Wolves are Better Than One, has the least damaged characters...I think. There is humor and more playfulness than in my western menages. I like to put my cowboys through the wringer. ;)

Where Can Your Fiction Take You?

When you read a story, do you like to connect with the heroine or heros? Do you want a shadow of yourself, so you can walk in their shoes? Or do you enjoy meeting different types of people from different backgrounds and life experiences?

Reading can take you to new and uncharted territories. I'm so pleased that my daughter has a love for reading like me. It's sad when you know people that refuse to try or haven't really embraced reading as a means of escape and entertainment. There's no comparison.

Has a book ever made you cry? Made you think about your own path in life? Made you eager to try new things? Good fiction can do all these things, and I don't limit my choices to a specific type of genre, whether reading or writing.

I read all across the board—inspirational, YA, literary fiction, and of course, all genres of romance! When I write, I also like to try new things. I've delved into the future, the paranormal, and all types of erotic situations. Try something new and open your horizons. The possibilities are endless :)

Happy Reading!!

Stacey xo

Selling Out vs. Not Selling -- Which Is the Lesser of Two Evils?

2011-02-03T07:00:00.000-05:00

Oh boy, I am so not the person to talk about this topic!

I think this basically goes to why one writes -- to express oneself, or to make a living. Let's take the Impressionist artist, Van Gogh. He painted mainly to express himself -- it was his art. He, sadly, didn't sell many paintings during his lifetime (which was emotionally-charged and troubled, resulting in his suicide). However, now he is recognized as a master artist and his works go for millions.

On the other hand, as Marlene Stringer pointed out on the Preternatura blog last week -- if you want to write to sell, then you need to look at markets. You adapt your writing accordingly, and you should be off and running.

Honestly, neither approach is right or wrong (although I hope someone's approach to their art doesn't end up in them losing an ear, for certain!). What people think makes for good reading is all subjective. Some people love Wuthering Heights. Me, personally -- while I can see the artistic take of the story, I didn't like any of the characters therein, so I can't count the book as one of my faves. But that's just me -- others, obviously, feel differently.

I suppose, as a writer, I identify more with Mr. Roark in The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. With the major changes currently taking over the publishing industry, I'm hopeful to see that the self-pubbed authors will pave a way for one of the greatest marketing theories of all time -- create a product people never know they needed. Which translates into -- writing books that fall into new markets for people to get into and enjoy.

That way, writing for art, writing for a living -- it's win-win for everyone ;-)

WTF Wednesday?

2011-02-02T11:18:00.006-05:00

So, I was thinking...("uh oh" my friends are saying)...

The other day, I was at a doctor's appointment and my doctor used a bad word while chatting casually with myself and my husband. It didn't offend either of us and my husband admitted later that he hadn't even noticed it. But I noticed it because it is unusual for a professional in a business setting to let a word like that slip out. At least in my experience.

Of course, I worked in the legal and law enforcement field for nearly two decades and heard a lot of stuff behind the scenes on a daily basis. A lot! So, I don't shock easily, mind you.

But it got me to thinking about the writing profession and books I've enjoyed as a reader.

What do you think about using bad words in books?

I'm talking about cuss/curse words, obscenities, foul/filthy language, x-rated terms, bawdy barbs, offensive outbursts, dirty ditties, four-letter phrases, indecent idioms, suggestive sentences, vile verbs, or just plain profanity!

That's all the ways I can think of to say it right now but I'm sure there are many others. You'll remind me of some that I've left out, I'm sure. ;-)

I was thinking about this in terms of being a mother and an author. Now, around my children, I try to keep a tight reign on the swear words because I know that their little sponge-like brains will record it and blurt it out at the most embarrassing moment ever (like in front of the pastor or at school).

But when I chat with my friends, I let loose a little bit and when I write--pretty much anything goes. I really base it on the specific character and their personality.

As a writer, do you use "bad words" in your books?

Not just to spice up a sex scene but do your characters talk smutty from time to time as well?

What about as a reader, does this type of writing bother you?

Can you read over it or past it or does it take you out of the action as a distraction?

I'm really curious to hear your thoughts on it.

It makes me think about that television show on Bravo Inside the Actor's Studio. Have you seen it?

At the end of each actor interview, the host asks "what is your favorite curse word?" I really look forward to this portion of the interview! Does that make me strange?

Anyway, I'll just recommend the episode featuring actress Holly Hunter and leave it at that. I can't tell you what her preferred word was but it surprised me and made me all the bigger fan of her simply because of it! LOL

I just think that a bad word or two here and there need not lead us to an instant washing out of the mouth with the proverbial bar of soap. In fact, I consider it a nice tension release.

But I can tell you that as someone who spends a lot of time on her computer for work, I really love that image up top and I'm wondering...can I get one of those keys for my computer?

Just sayin'...

Later peeps,

--Kerri Nelson

Take It or Leave It?

2011-02-01T10:45:00.000-05:00

Interesting topic this week. What would I do to a completed manuscript to sell it?

Would I change the plot and storyline?
Would I make my characters more alpha, beta or omega?
Would I add more sex?
Would I tighten up my prose?
Would I write to the market?

Ah... I'm a bit of a outside-the-lines type of person, so my answers are: No, No, No, Yes, and NO.

If you write a good story and balance all your elements, why listen to a publisher who tells you what they think will sell the book? Haven't any of you realized yet they are talking out of their asses?

Writers need to listen to people who READ the genre extensively. And sometimes, that is their peers, but most times it's average people, you know... readers! That's not to say every reader is going to like your work, but if you write a compelling story with a rich setting and believable (notice I did not say likable) characters then you have done your job. The key is having confidence in your tale and listening to advice for subtle changes.

People tell me my MC is arrogant - good! Then I conveyed her well. But ironically, if she was a man they'd say she was strong and ruthless. A point which has not escaped me.

Publishers are no longer the Gatekeepers. And neither are agents.

I had offers if I added more sex, if I plumped up the mystery, if I switched to past tense.

Eff 'em! I knew readers liked it and I knew it was a good story. Big deal if it's not considered "literature" and not going to be on the best seller list. I don't read literature so how could I be expected to write it? I'm making real money and I don't have anyone telling me what to do.

Isn't that why you pursued publishing to begin with? To make money? Please note, I did not say pursue writing, but made the distinction of it being publication. Do you want to sell books or did you want your name on a pretty cover and be able to brag that you're published?

Hell, if that's the case, go to Lulu.com and get your name on a cover. Your work, your way, right? But if you want to reach readers and build a reader base, then you need to write and produce good work. The cream will rise to the top and if readers don't like it, you'll know. They will either trash you in a review or they will do the ultimate - they will tell others to not buy your work.

Proven fact, people don't like something, they tell everyone they know who'll listen. People enjoy something they usually stay quiet, but continue to buy the product.

Notice here, I'm not saying don't listen to an editor -- but I am saying be careful with what you change. If your story has so many things wrong that an editor has to make huge sweeping changes to it to make it presentable, then you know what? That MS was not ready to send out.

YOU must be responsible for conveying your story in a cohesive manner, YOU must be responsible for the entire plot and all it's myriad twists. YOU are the one to blame if you created a MC who is too stupid to live.

The editor should help you with inconsistencies, plot questions, word choices, clarity, and above all tightening your prose to make it as concise as possible. In my mind there are only a few things in this world a writer needs: Honest, competent crit partners, a cover artist, and a good editor.

Shake off the shackles of traditional publishing. Admit the smaller houses don't actually help you sell - how can they with no budget and pricing out of the market? Don't allow any of them to dictate how your work should flow in order to get the all elusive brass ring. Isn't the win a flat one if the vision you started with morphs into the vision they want?

This is the beginning of a new era in publishing. The author will benefit and not the publisher. About damn time.

Let the fruit throwing begin!!

Selling vs. Selling out: What would you do for that elusive contract?

2011-01-31T07:00:00.003-05:00

Okay, I’m a newly published author so when I heard this was on topic I at first thought what the hell do I know about anything? Well I may not be too savvy with all the ins and outs of the writing and publishing industry but I can give you my take on this from a new author’s point of view.

If I was ever offered that elusive contract for one of my books the first thing I would ask would have to be what changes to my book do they want to make? Are they reasonable? Like many other writers I spend a great deal of time on plotting, characterization and research. When I make changes to a story I create it is done because it enhances the original vision I had. If the changes go against the original feel of the story then I guess that would be an emphatic

NO!

What I would do for my book is follow any suggestions that enhance the feel of the book and characters. Of course it seems easy to say now with no one kicking down my door to make my work a high grossing movie like Twilight. So who really knows what one would do? I can only trust I have enough integrity not to be a sell out when all is said and done.

The road to becoming an established, successful author is tough, filled with a lot of pretty harsh and sometimes personal rejections. You have to develop a tough skin, yet keep that child within protected and safe so you can create. Quite a balancing act I assure you.

Even if you are the most talented writer around there is no guarantee that you will make it. The reason why I write is my love of the written word, the need to write and share my visions. If that by some miracle makes me a modest living then I will count myself blessed. Of course this is just my take on the whole thing and I reserve the right to be completely wrong as I grow and learn the slippery ropes of this frustrating, wonderful business.

When Is Backstory Not Backstory?

2011-01-27T07:00:00.004-05:00

"I had a farm in Africa, at the foot of the Ngong hills..."

So begins writer Isak Dinesen's story, Out of Africa. One might say she's starting right in the middle of a backstory. On the other hand, it's a great way to set the scene and it capture's the reader's attention -- so much that Hollywood used it as the opening to the movie of the same name.

Growing up on British murder mysteries, backstories were a way of life for me -- I knew they had something to do with the motive for murder, and couldn't wait until the last 10 pages of the book when Miss Marple or Hercule Poirot announced that X was the killer because the chauffer was really the son of a long-lost sister who was forced to give up her illegitimate baby. Or something like that ;-)

Backstory, I think, is essential to give the reader insights into a character's personality or motivation in the plot. When Voltaire commences his story on fate vs. free will, Candide, he immediately explains the circumstances in which Candide was raised. We get from this that Candide is naive, which will make his exploits in the world all the more interesting. So when is backstory not a backstory? When it's something else, woven cleverly into the plot as a setting, character development, or to show a theme.

In my own novel, Release, I wanted to give insights into my protagonist's soft side. I did that in a brief backstory, a thought she had during a conversation with her rather callous friend, Vanessa:

Which reminded Vanessa of something Cray had told her. "What about those human lovers you used to have, way back when you were a kid yourself? Don't you wanna have fun like that again?"

"Ness -- I've told you many times -- my brother tends to... exaggerate. Back then, that wasn't fun, that was food," Miranda corrected her. Although she felt a stab of guilt when she thought of Wesley. Young Wesley, only seventeen years old -- the same age Miranda had been at that time. They had been so in love, and so foolish. And she's been so confidence -- and stupid -- to think she could turn him successfully. When he died...

"Oh Miranda, please. Don't play it off like your brother does, on how humans are only food. If they were -- to you -- then we wouldn't be doing all this malarky every night. Getting loud, smelly, clingy kids through forests, when we could be doing some serious hunting-"

"Vanessa!" both Miranda and rose interrupted at the same time.

In the end, rules are all a balancing act. Backstory is necessary to show characters, settings, feelings, and motivation. Too much can be superfluous and lose the reader, but just enough should serve to move the story forward and interest readers, making them say, "No! Really?!" or "Oh, I get it now!".

I Fought the Backstory and the Backstory Won (or Something Like That)

2011-01-25T07:48:00.000-05:00

*singing* "Breaking rocks in the hot sun...I fought the law and the law won..." To continue this week's western theme.

Here's the law: Thou shalt not write backstory.

Okay, really, I didn't fight the law. I followed the law with my latest WIP, aka My Problem Child, aka The Manuscript That Shall Never Be Finished. No backstory. I would only tell readers things on a need-to-know basis.

Then I signed up for Editpalooza over at the brilliant Savvy Authors site. A month with a real, live editor who could read bits of my Problem Child and tell me what was missing. Because, especially in that first chapter, something was missing.

You need some quiet moments, both the editor and my Editpalooza crit partner tell me. Your first chapter races along too fast. You need some backstory.

WTF?

So I embarked on my most bizarre writing experience yet. Willfully, knowingly inserting backstory into chapter one of a book. I added a sentence and waited for the heavens to open, for thunder to crack and a lightning bolt ridden by the god of bad fictional practices to shoot down and zap my ass. Nothing happened, so I added another sentence of BS. I mean backstory. Then a third.

Then I quit. No point in tempting fate.

Lesson learned: In the eternal quest to Follow the Law, you can really strip so much away from your writing that the reader is exhausted by all the showing-not-telling and the no-backstory and the starting-in-the-middle-of-the-action.

Sometimes, a reader needs to breathe. Off to bang my head against a desk or other handy hard surface now.

The Good, the Bad, & the Unnecessary

2011-01-24T05:00:00.000-05:00

This week’s topic: Prologues, Backstory, and Epilogues, Oh My! Have you ever read a good one? When is it justified?

The Good

Prologues - Yes, I’ve read good prologues and epilogues. In fact, I’ve read outstanding prologues and epilogues. As long as the author realizes the prologue isn’t a dumping ground for information they feel is necessary for me to understand their story, we’re good. Treat a prologue like any other chapter. You need a hook. Action. Suspense. Give me a reason to turn the page.

A time lapse is the typical reason for a prologue. Instead of sprinkling backstory throughout the novel, the author shows what happened that started the chain of events that is about to take place in the story. A good prologue can give the reader an understanding of the character’s motivations. One of the best prologues I’ve read – Brenda Novak’s prologue in Stop Me. Sweet Jesus, that prologue gave me CHILLS.

Epilogues – I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE epilogues. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever read a bad one. Epilogues are there to give us a glimpse of the ultimate HEA. Babies are born in epilogues. Wedding ceremonies take place. What’s not to like?

The Bad

Prologues – Yes, I’ve read bad prologues. If the author decides I’m too dumb to understand the story without a prologue – instant turn-off. Prologues are not a place to info-dump. I’ve read a few prologues that had no time lapse between it and chapter one, so I felt as though I were reading one scene that melted into the next. What’s the point, in my humble opinion? Unless we’re seeing the prologue through the eyes of the villain (which can be wicked awesome when done correctly), go ahead and start with chapter one.

And Sometimes…The Unnecessary

Backstory – Some authors feel like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs when the word backstory comes up. I know I do. Backstory is tricky, and when it’s done wrong, it can weigh the story down.

My best advice – trust the reader when it comes to adding these elements to your novel. Give us the insight we need to understand the characters in a dynamic, intriguing scene. When prologues, epilogues and backstory are done right, the story is just that much richer. :)

The Damaged Hero

2011-01-21T07:00:00.001-05:00

How do you like your heros?

In romance, especially paranormal romance, I want an alpha male. He needs to be strong, dominant and masculine. He can handle a feisty heroine, where others have failed. But he can't be perfect. He needs flaws—fear of love, a tragic past, a passionate mission...something. I don't want a sickly sweet guy, but I don't want a jerk either.

What about the heroine? Just because I like a dominant hero, doesn't mean I want a wilting flower of a heroine. She should be tough and sassy, and have her own flaws that affect her adulthood. She should have a mind of her own, even though she's eager to submit to the dead sexy hero.

When I write, I need to give my characters flaws. In adulthood, people's actions and choices are based on past events, whether it be a difficult childhood, broken heart, etc. We're molded by our history whether we realize it or not. Flaws make characters real and symathetic to the reader.

In my Immortal Love series, my first Demon hero has difficulty accepting what he is. He doesn't like being a parasite to humans, constantly fighting an inner war. But damaged heros go beyond the paranormal. The title of my cowboy menage, Damaged Cowboys, says it all. Three brothers are struggling to live their lives after a devastating tragedy. They all handle the loss differently, but are all saved by one woman.

What about you?

When reading romance, what type of hero and heroine are you looking for? Which make you swoon? Which make her ready to throw the book across the room?

Stacey Espino xo

Goodness -- It's Gothic!!

2011-01-20T05:00:00.000-05:00

Gothic...

The name for me, and most likely many of us, evokes images of barren moors, lonely houses, turrets, towers, maidens in distress, madness, flawed heroes, and dark and stormy nights. With the recent release of Carole Gill's novel, The House On Blackstone Moor, I posed the question the other day on my blog -- what's your favorite Gothic novel?

Of course, there was the hard part -- what is Gothic, exactly? We associate its derivation, "goth" with kids wearing black clothes and listening to Marilyn Manson. But where did it all start?

Since we're exploring main characters in Romance this week, we can start right there -- romance, or in particular, the Romantic movement. This movement started in the late 1700's in art -- a counter-attack against the strong structure of the classical era. Romanticism not only embraced romance, or love, but all emotions. With that came characters in literature who were flawed, acted upon their impulses, succumbed to baser instincts, but also redeemed themselves. Writers of the Romantic movement who explored the gamut of human emotions often mixed two that evoke the strongest reactions in us -- love and fear.

The Romantics viewed the medieval period in history as a truly terrifying time -- plagues were rampant and knowledge was scarce. Thus, the setting for fear-filled tales became the Gothic architecture of the Middle Ages, with its pointed arches, high towers, and flying buttresses. All the better setting for the madness and mayhem, they thought.

Thus, Gothic novels were born. Heroines were trapped in huge, lonely houses and caught in tangled webs, like Jane Eyre, while the Byronic heroes grappled with madness, science, and doing what was right. Frankenstein, Dracula, The Woman In White, The Turn of the Screw, and The Fall of the House of Usher are all examples of Gothic literature. As you can see from that short list, the Gothic story varies a bit as to plot devices. In some there are supernatural elements, in others, it is man and his madness that is the villain. But all combine fierce emotions to make for suspenseful stories in which we hope the heroes and heroines prevail.

More modern Gothic tales are of course, the Daphne DuMaurier classic, Rebecca, and a newer (1993) novel that I discovered a few years back is Houses of Stone by Barbara Michaels. Houses is clever in that it's set in the time in which it's written and features a female protagonist who discovers a manuscript written by a mysterious woman who may very well have been kept a prisoner. No one knows, and as the protagonist investigates (she's researching the manuscript as part of a thesis on Gothic heroines), she finds herself in a plot similar to the Gothic romance novels.

When it comes to characters in Gothic romance, I prefer reading novels in which the heroine is featured, especially if it's a first person narrative like Jane Eyre, Rebecca, or Houses of Stone. But whether you like strong maidens in bad situations, or heroes who overcome their tragic traits to save the day, I think there's one thing we can possibly all agree on -- nothing beats the thrill of dark houses on lonely moors where mystery, suspense, and love are waiting to happen!

Image credits: The Woman In White by Frederick Walker, as scanned by Phillip V. Allingham and available at this website. Cathedral of Reims, France, from Wikipedia.

Interview with a Vampire's Boy Toy and Guest Blogger Brannan Black

2011-01-19T11:32:00.005-05:00

Join me in welcoming paranormal author Brannan Black to WITS today. She's provided us with an interview with one of her characters...Detective O'Grady.

Here's what she/he had to say...

BB: Thank you for joining us today, Detective O'Grady. Some background, you've been in homicide for almost ten years?

Grady: That's right and before that major crimes. I joined the force right out of school. Been a cop for nearly thirty years.

BB: Wow, that's a long time. Is it all right if I ask a few personal questions?

Grady: Depends on how personal, but go ahead. Ask.

BB: Your name is Pasquale O'Grady? That's a rather unusual name.
(chuckling)

Grady: My mother's Italian. She named me for her grandfather. On my dad's side, I'm third generation Irish American cop.

BB: So can I call you Patsy or Patty?

Grady: Not if you want to keep all your teeth.

BB: Oh, is that why you go by Grady?

Grady: Yeah, I'm nobodies patsy and too many Pats in the family already, both men and women. My mother calls me Patsy, that's the Italian nick name but no one else.

BB: Says here you have three kids, two daughters and a son. Divorced for ten years.

Grady: Yup, I warned her before we married I'd never wanted to be anything but a cop. She decided she wanted a husband with a bigger bank account and Sundays off. (he shrugs)

BB: So any girlfriends?

Grady: Depends on your definition of girlfriend. (snickering) I have a feeling she would smack me for calling her that.

BB: Ah, the vampire, right?

Grady: (snorts) No such thing as vampires. But her brother writes that kind of romance so she helps promote his work by playing the part of badass in black.

BB: So let's pretend for a moment, they really are vampires. Do you consider yourselves a couple?

Grady: It's not like we're dating or anything. We just, ah, spend a lot of quality time together. According to the vampire code, they don't date mortals. We're toys or pets at best.

BB: That sucks, pun intended.

Grady: I couldn't agree more. They call us blood slaves, but frankly, that's kind like calling me Pasty.

BB: Any wanna be vampires missing their fangs?

Grady: (laughing) Not yet. But I did shoot my partner over it. Just scratched her really.

BB: Wow, that must have made her angry. Isn't it dangerous to anger someone so powerful?

Grady: (with a wicked grin) Dangerously sexy.

BB: Care to explain?

Grady: Not really. A gentleman never kisses and tells. (winks suggestively)

BB: Well. OK then. So tell me more about these Blood Hunters.

Grady: Who?

BB: That group your Captain belongs to, the vampire hunters?

Grady: I have no idea what you are talking about. (looks at watch) It's been nice but I need to get going. Bad guys to catch, asses to kick, you know.

BB: (smiling) In a hurry to get back to your master?

Grady: (scowling) I don't have a master. But I do have a partner expecting me. We've got work to do.

BB: Ah, so you're rushing off to meet Detective Jane Smith?

Grady: (gives me the cop stare) Smitty is still my partner.

BB: But that's not who your anxious to see is it, Detective?

Grady: (Stands and gives me a smug smile) I'm not at liberty to discuss that.

BB: Any chance I can get an interview with your other partner, Segrun?

Grady: Not if you want to publish what you write. (laughs)

(Door opens and a tall, leggy blond woman, shorter pale blond woman and the sexiest, bald headed black man ever, enter.)

Grady: Well, maybe you'll get that interview after all. The tall blond is Segrun, the pale one is Eira and the bald guy is Nate.

BB: Oh my. Is he a cover model?

Segrun: (snort) Don't feed his already oversize ego. The man thinks he's God's gift to the universe as it is.

BB: (snicker) Don't you mean God's gift to women?

Eira: (laughs) He's not that picky. If it has a pulse he's interested.

Nate: (in nice southern drawl) Now that's just mean, Eira. I prefer to think of it as not bein' prejudiced. (Takes my hand and kisses the back) And you, darlin' are simply to luscious to ignore.

BB: (I stare into light green eyes surrounded by cafe-au-lait skin) Oh, ah, thank you.

Nate: Now you know this is all just a publicity stunt. No such thing as vampires, darlin'.

BB: (vacantly) No such thing as vampires, no such thing as vampires...

Blurb:

Boytoy for a sexy blond vampire? No way. This cop has a job: find his daughter, hunt vamps...

I'm a cop. Homicide Detective Pasquale O'Grady. So believe me when I tell you, vampires took my daughter -- along with other missing collage kids. Real vampires, not the Goth wanna-be kind. I even know which one. But the bastard went and got himself dead before Icould track him down.

With my leads gone, my only hope is his killer. I knew convincing another bloodsucker to help me was a long shot. I hadn't counted on his sexy blonde sister who wants me in her bed. It's not that I have something against sex, hell, what man with a pulse would? And since my divorce, I haven't exactly been getting much action. But I'm too damn old to be some Viking Vampire's boytoy -- or worse, blood slave -- no matter how sexy.

Excerpt (edited for content/length):

Coffee in one hand and a burger in the other, I plopped down in front of the high-powered scope. So far, I'd seen very little movement during the day. In fact, heavy drapes covered all the windows. But I knew I had the right location. I'd seen Ferine's victim and her blond savior entering the building. Didn't take me long to track down a name and an apartment number.

Remembering my first night of surveillance proved a distraction. I could make a fortune selling that video on the Internet. Especially when he drank from her inner thigh.

"Damn it!" I bumped the damn stand with my knee. Now I would have to resight my scope. I took a quick swallow of coffee and I set the cup aside, with my burger. Dinner would have to wait. I leaned over the eyepiece. "Holy Mother of God! Lady, you should keep your blinds closed!" Tall blond and naked strode out of her bathroom. All thoughts of burgers fled as another hunger roared through me.

Golden blond with a strong, angular face, she'd be pretty, for a man. Intense blue eyes scanned the street and building across from them like she knew I was watching. She stalked across her room, lean muscles rippling with a strength gained from a strenuous life, not a gym.

Striking, even commanding, but not what Hollywood would call beautiful.

I knew watching was wrong. Hell, I'm a cop. But I'm also a guy who hasn't had a hot date in... I couldn't even remember.

I'd become a damned voyeur.

Here's where you can find Brannan on the web:

Website: www.EpicRomances.com
Blog: brannansfantasies.blogspot.com
Buy link: http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1524

Are Men and Women Equal?

2011-01-18T07:00:00.003-05:00

When I first read this week's topic of male and female characters in romance, and are they created equal, should they carry equal weight and/or both have a tragic flaw, I thought "Crap, I don't even read romances anymore."

But in essence I feel what we read should reflect real life. If it didn't, it wouldn't be realistic and people wouldn't read it. So, to answer the burning question in my title, are men and women equal?

The most logical answer I can give is: It depends.

Are we talking about playing tackle football? Then the answer would be no, most women are not created equal to men.

Are we talking about solving differential equations? If all things were equal - like education, then yes, we are both capable of solving such equations.

Can a man and woman have the same fighting skill sets currently found in most urban fantasy? Well, since the second word in the genre is fantasy, then yes, I'd say the writer can write whatever they darn well please. That doesn't mean the reader is going to believe it.

Why must a character have a tragic flaw? In real life most people don't, they have lots of annoying minor flaws. Why can't we just tell a good story with great characters? Maybe they experience some growth in the story... maybe they don't and it's just a damn fine tale. Why must we follow a formula in our work?

I want to escape in the pages of a book. I want to be transported to another place and time. But I don't always want to dislike the two main characters through most of it, only enjoying them when they finally pull their heads out of their asses. In a way, writing tragic heros with flawed pasts, kick-butt heroines, and alpha males has all become formulaic.

How about two main characters who love one another despite their many minor flaws? That's my life and I'm pretty darn happy with it. Relationships don't thrive on conflict, they end in divorce. It's naive to think the love of a good women will turn a damaged jerk around -- how about years of therapy or just cut the bastard loose?

I'd like to read about a woman who methodically searches for a compatible mate and while doing so she falls madly in love with the one who is tolerable. That is life. How about you? What do you want to read about?

WHY PARANORMAL ROMANCES?

2011-01-17T06:30:00.004-05:00

Welcome to my world. Where the impossible is possible and Love conquers if not all at least the majority of it. What's left over can be hunted down and killed.

I have been asked many times in the last few years why write Paranormal Romance? There are many reasons yet one of the most compelling is the many stories I’ve heard from people who have experienced something Paranormal in their lives. The supernatural touches every life in one form or another and leaves its mark. The draw to the unknown is irresistible. The need to explain and categorize the unexplainable is the very core of who we are. A ghostly encounter, reincarnation or alien abduction the list goes on and on.

I love putting the romance to these stories because I am drawn to dark heroes that are redeemed through love and the heroines who live and love fearlessly in the face of the unknown.

Look at the success of Twilight and you can see why it works. There is something compelling about a dark, brooding hero, cursed with the thirst for human blood, tormented over destroying the very thing that draws him near. The feisty heroine who will sacrifice everything for a love that transcends death itself. Two radically different worlds finding that middle ground to live the Happy Ever After we very rarely see in our day to day life.

I write what I’m drawn to and what I know from the accounts of people who I have talked to and my own experiences with the paranormal. I use legends and creatures we can relate to and give them the best qualities of humanity, or the worst depending on the character I’m writing and then ask “what if”.

After all it’s the what if’s that a writer builds their worlds on.

Listening to Mama

2011-01-14T16:19:00.003-05:00

I have always had a love/hate relationship with this time of year. I love having the opportunity to start fresh. There is a whole year of possibilities ahead and it can be so refreshing. But on the flip side, I also cringe at those possibilities. Achieving goals is a wonderful feeling ... setting them makes me just plain sick to my stomach. What if I fall short? I hate the yearly need to create a list that will ultimately validate my work in 2011 ... or not. So this year, I'm going to listen to M-A-M-A.

M easurable: I will try and make measurable, short-term writing goals. For example, I will set a certain number of words to be written daily.

A ccountable: I will check in with my local writing group monthly so that I stay encourage and on track. (I will stay connected with my online groups as well)

M eaningful: I will make sure that I am writing towards my dream and I will try and stay excited about what I am doing!

A ttainable: I will make sure that all of this is doable. I will stay realistic and enjoy surpassing my goals instead of falling short.

Isn't it funny, mama always did know best!?!

My writing goal for this year...do less writing!

2011-01-13T05:39:00.001-05:00

I know this is probably a strange goal to have, but before I get booed off stage, I will explain.

First of all, I have no problem tallying up the word count. I write pretty much every day, unless sickness or some other event prevents me from doing so. The problem I have, once a novel is finished, is actually getting it out there.

I hate that part. I hate having to edit it, edit it again, submit it, edit it, and edit it again. And don't even get me started on the promo side of things! I'd much rather toss the completed manuscript to one side and just get started on the next project. The problem is that the rest of the writing process is kind of important. Assuming you want to write for a living, (which I do), there is no point in writing a manuscript if nobody knows about it. I mean, it could be the next 'The Shining' or 'Interview with the Vampire', but unless people read the damn thing, it might as well have never been written.

Where I stand at the moment, I could quite easily not start up another new project for the rest of the year and I've got enough stuff to bring something new out, say every six months, for at least the next couple of years.

So here's my plan for this year: The Followers to be released mid 2011. Write the final couple of chapters of Buried Alone (Alone's sequel) and get it polished up. Not sure of publication date just yet. Complete and polish my women's fiction novel, The Sound of Crickets, and start submitting to agents (I have a good feeling about this one--think Bridget Jone's Diary meets Steel Magnolias!). The rest of my time is to be dedicated to promotion, to trying to get people to read what I've already written, and hopefully, enjoy it.

So my mantra for this year is, 'do not start any new novels, do not start any new novels'. I am trying to ignore that little voice whispering ideas in my head. I don't know how long I'll last, but if I don't have a new manuscript completed by the end of the year, that will be good for me!

And Now For Something Completely Different...Guest Blogger A.D. Blackburn

2011-01-12T14:17:00.007-05:00

Welcome paranormal author & my fave naughty girl A.D. Blackburn to WITS today!

Kerri: When and why did you begin writing?

A.D.: I've always been a big reader. I would rather curl up with a good book than watch a movie...unless Gerard Butler or Johnny Depp are in it, then all bets are off.

But seriously, reading has always been an escape for me. Over the years, I've read more than my fair share of books that I wanted to change or twist. I tend to gravitate towards the more sinister and broken characters. You know, the heroine who has a sketchy past and a full back tattoo or the hero who has a heart of gold that somehow won him a prison record.

I have a notebook from back in the day in which I completely changed Wuthering Heights. In the process of dreaming up different endings for my favorite literary characters, I created some of my own and they just took over from there. My first attempt at writing anything was when I was sixteen.

You wanna talk about a poorly written love scene? Yeah try reading one from someone who'd only read about sex! It was a fantasy, however, to see my name in print. Fast forward fourteen years later and a dream comes true.

Kerri: I'd love to see that first written love scene. Sweet! What was your first reaction when you found out that you were going to be published?

A.D.: I squealed like a schoolgirl at a boy band concert! I submitted a short story for Evernight Publishing's holiday anthology 'Twas A Dark and Delicious Christmas and that very day they got back to me with the acceptance email. I flipped. Seriously. My husband took me out to dinner and you'd have thought I was the next Danielle Steele. It was in that anthology that I introduced that characters for my next project.

Kerri: Wow! I hear that anthology is full of amazing talent (nudge nudge wink wink) See list of WITS blog authors who've contributed to this book. ;-)

What are your current projects?

A.D.: I am currently in the editing process for Possession. It is the first book in a series about a one-time outlaw biker gang turned demon hunters.The first book centers around James and Maddy, the characters that were introduced in my anthology story The Little Red Ribbon.

Release date for Possession is scheduled for the beginning of February and I cannot wait. I'm pounding out it's sequel as we speak. I'm also working on a few short anthology pieces and a contemporary romance. I like to stay busy.

Kerri: You sound like me. I always have about a dozen project in the works simultaneously. CONGRATS on this sale and I want one of the first copies! What would you say is your interesting writing quirk?

A.D.: I'm a total pantser. I jot down an idea and then I let it snowball from there. I have three kids, two of them with Autism, so I am lucky if I get more than fifteen minutes at a time to write. I don't sit down and outline or come up with interesting plot points. As far as I will go is maybe writing down all of my characters and what they look like.

I wish I was a plotter but I tend to thrive on chaos. Medication may be needed for that eventually but for right now, the crazier my work environment is, the better.

Kerri: My God, we are soul mates from another lifetime. I have 4 kids (1 is a teenage step son, 1 a 10 year old with juvenile diabetes, and 2 more aged 2 and UNDER). My life = chaos defined.

But lastly, and for pure fun, if you had to pick a celebrity to play you in a movie, who would it be and why?

A.D.: I love this question! Okay, so think, A.D., think! If my life were made into a movie, first, I think it would end up being a sleeper cult film with the tagline:

"When you life the life of an eccentric wino, you take all the help you can get."

I have strawberry blond hair and blue eyes so it would be easy to say someone like Nicole Kidman or Amy Adams but I am going to go totally opposite and say Naoomi Rapace. She played Lisbeth Salander in the Swedish version of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. She rocks. Aside from author Kerri Nelson, she's my girl crush. *wink*

Kerri: Awe shucks. Big smoochies. Thanks for joining us today at WITS and please leave us with your blurb, excerpt and how our readers can find you on the web, won't you?

A.D.: This was so much fun. I always have such a good time chatting with Kerri. Make sure you stop by my website or one of the ridiculous addictive social media outlets! Keep a weathered eye on the horizon for contests and release dates. Thanks so much for your love and support!!

Author Bio:

A literary sap from the gate, A.D. bought notebooks and scribbled alternate endings to her favorite stories - always placing herself as the heroine of course. The happily-ever-after bug was firmly planted into her brain after she picked up her first Jude Deveraux romance, but she needed something more than bodice ripping and white horses that galloped into the sunset. She needed something darker and far more sinister, so she turned to the genre that she now calls home...paranormal romance. Within the bendable walls of the fantastic and the down-right different, she finds that the sky is the limit when it comes to what happens with her characters, and that's just how she likes it.

A.D. lives in the small little mill town of Lincolnton, North Carolina with her amazingly supportive and smoking hot husband, three wonderful albeit loud children, a dog that thinks its a pig and two cats that can only be described as stupid.. When she is not writing, she likes to make huge messes in her kitchen, read, and spends time feeding her DIY network/QVC addiction.

Blurb:

In the epic battle between Heaven and Hell, there are angels and demons…and then there’s James.

Tall, dark and deadly, James Gunn is the President of the Diabolus Venator motorcycle club, a group of one time outlaws turned gun-toting, sword-wielding ass-kicking demon hunters. His no-holds-barred style of dispatching hells darkest minions has earned him quite the reputation, but when he fights a low-level demon that warns him that his soul is in danger, he laughs it off…until he discovers that they mean to steal his heart to obtain it. When James realizes that a high-ranking demon has marked him for a prime spot in hell, he pulls out all the stops to protect the one thing he loves more than his own soul – his one- time girlfriend Maddy.

What James doesn’t count on is that this particular demon knows a little bit more about the art of possession than the average minion and he’s forced to make the ultimate choice between the love of his life or his own soul.

Excerpt (Warning: Adult Content):

A strange symphony whipped through the narrow alley, carried by the breeze. On the air he caught the distinct smell of dirt, and the unmistakable odor of vomit from over-the top club goers who wandered out into the streets. Another gust wafted around him and smacked him with something far more sinister. It was blood and decay and it was looming behind a dumpster in all of its hellish glory.

It was cornered but soon, soon it would want carnage. And James was more than willing to serve it a heaped helping.

From the blacktop, he could hear the fizzled pops of the streetlight. The sparks hit the cold ground with a menacing sizzle. It wasn't difficult to differentiate between the natural noise of electricity hitting water and the ungodly noises coming from the dark corner in the end of the alleyway. What was flooding in off the street sounded like a lullaby compared to the beast he'd cornered.

A series of bone snapping cracks and grinding pops came rippling across the dingy brick walls. The thing was moving. It was gathering strength for what James knew was going to be one bastard of a fight. He'd already had a difficult enough time tracking the son of a bitch to the alley. The chase had started across town, dragged its way through twenty-four hour diners, more than its fair share of convenience stores and through an all-night day care, before it landed here, in the alley between two night clubs.

Growls and groans began to slowly pierce the ether. From behind the rusted metal dumpster, James could see billowing white smoke, shooting out in quick bursts. It was preparing for the attack, gathering what strength was left in that sad sack of a vessel to face off with him. The growls grew louder, echoing in a strange harmony.

There were at least two in there. Dirty dick-heads, they could never fight by themselves, always had to be in a pack. It went to show just how desperate they were. At least he and his crew had enough of a brass set to fight alone. That whole the righteous fight with naught but God schtick actually proved to be true, especially in his line of work.

Damn demons. It was probably a blessing that the only thing keeping the body going was the evil that coursed through it.

James couldn't even imagine the absolute hell of having something take over your body, ravaging it from the inside out, all while being aware of it. He shuttered, and blew out a deep breath. It was because of their twisted battle tactics and underhanded dealings that he was in this business.

Devil killing. Demon hunting.

Diabolus Venator.

And today was as good a day as any to live up to the name.

Here's where you can find A.D. on the web:

Website: www.adblackburn.com
Twitter: www.twitter.com/adblackburn
Buy link: http://www.evernightpublishing.com/products/'Twas-a-Dark-and-Delicious-Christmas.html

Exercises in Frustration No. 1,325: Annual Writing Goals

2011-01-11T08:32:00.001-05:00

Hi, I'm Suzanne and I'm a workshop whore. Okay, that's out of the way. So, I'm taking a workshop this month taught by the frighteningly organized Margie Lawson. It's a quite time-consuming course on, basically, not letting self-defeating behaviors consume so much of one's time. The irony of this isn't lost on me.

Anyway, one of the exercises we've been asked to do is write down career goals for ourselves--not the ones where we lose a gazillion pounds, eschew all white foods, and promote world peace, but specific and quantifiable writing goals for the year.

So I did it. But I have to say, it's an exercise in frustration. I can make selling my vampire book one of my goals all I want to, but whether I meet that goal is pretty much out of my hands. I can say I'm going to draft my third NOLA series book, but if a request comes in for a second vampire book, then I have to drop it. I can say I want to complete one book this year and plot out a second, but at some point in the year, the editor's revision letter for the second NOLA book will come in, the galleys for the first NOLA book will come in, and everything else will get dropped.

The point is, it's a damned hard thing to do to make specific, quantifiable goals if one is a writer because so much of our time is dependent on others. But here we go:

Suzanne's Goals for 2011:
1. Begin posting original fiction on my website to promote launch of Royal Street in 2012. Begin Feb. 1.
2. Draft third in New Orleans series (Elysian Fields). Shoot for rough first draft by July 1.
3. Complete Revisions/D&A on River Road (second in New Orleans series). Timing to depend on editor.
4. Complete proofs and galleys for Royal Street. Timing to depend on editor.
5. Do a first draft of Rescinders by Dec. 31 or Do a first draft of Absolution by Dec. 31, depending on when and if Redemption sells and whether a second book is contracted.
6. Prepare lecture series for workshop on plotting I'll be giving at SavvyAuthors.com in August.
7. Go to American Library Assn annual conference in New Orleans (last week of June).
8. Continue to blog daily. (Consider taking Saturdays off.)
9. Continue monthly columns (four per month) for tor.com.
9. Redo website when Royal Street cover art is available and/or exact release date is nailed down.

Whew. Lotta iffy stuff on there, but we'll see. Come December, please don't remind me I did this. Now I'm off to engage in my No. 1 Self-Defeating Behavior: obsessively checking email!

What about you--do you make specific goals for your writing career? Do general "write more" goals? Or just hope for the best?

Creature Feature

2011-01-10T05:00:00.001-05:00

This week’s topic: Annual writing goals--do you set them? Do you keep them?

I didn’t really make any writing goals this year. I always want to write more, so that’s a given. I did start jotting down ideas for more paranormal books, since I’m nearly finished with my novella, and that’s when I came up short. Something became glaringly obvious to me as I sat at my desk.

Calling all paranormal creatures: vampires, werewolves, faeries, mermaids, gods and goddesses, incubi, succubi, shape-shifters, demons, angels, dragons, ghosts, goblins, witches, and warlocks. Do any of you know of a creature that has yet to appear in a paranormal book? If so, feel free to text me.

Writers who tackle the paranormal genre have it made. We can kill off characters and bring them back if it thickens the plot. Our alpha heroes can levitate, de-materialize, transverse realms of existence, and wear leather without making us question their sexual preference. Our heroines kicked ass to such a degree that the industry was forced to make a whole new genre for them – urban fantasy.

However, much like Regency writers, we’ve run out of shit to write about.

Writers who tackle the Regency period have to deal with making a rakish duke fresh and interesting, and paranormal authors have our hardened-group-of-men-who-annihilate-immortal-monsters (Brotherhood/Dark Hunters/etc) to deal with. They have their extravagant balls, and we have our darkened alleys. They have their scandalous lady’s, and we have our bold and audacious women.

Then, of course, we have to stay away from the destined mate scenario. Oh, and the tortured hero. Man, did that go a little overboard.

So, how do you make these staples of paranormal romance fresh?

Some suggest taking an existing paranormal element and adding a twist to it. Anne Rice made her vamps sexy. Charlaine Harris made her vampires hicks. Some writers allowed their vamps out into the light for the first time, and others gave their vamps a soul. New twists, old creatures.
So, with zero ideas and limited energy, I dug out a book I bought a few months ago; The Element Encyclopedia of Ghosts & Hauntings by Theresa Cheung. There are some interesting paranormal aspects in this book.

For example: Devas. Let me quote from the book here…page 115…"From the Sanskrit meaning ‘shining,’ in Hinduism and Buddhism devas are believed to be exalted beings with great powers.” Now, that’s something I can work with. You take a little from a myth and you add your own flavor.

Another: Nixies. Quote from the book…page 336…"German water spirits that can haunt any large stretch of water.” I can see a sexy seductress who wants to be a human, and she has to tempt a human male to escape her watery prison. Yeah, someone else can have that one. Sounds like an erotic to me.

My last example: Kelpie. Quote from the book…page 254…"Treacherous water spirits from Scottish folklore that are thought to inhabit every lake and stream.” Makes me wonder if the Kelpie know about the Nixies. LOL

Anyway, that’s my immediate goal – to come up with something fresh.

Either that or write a Regency.

Follow me on Twitter ~ Blog

2011 Resolutions

2011-01-07T07:00:00.034-05:00

Do you make resolutions each New Year?

I'll admit to being a big resolution maker. I love to prepare lists near the end of December to keep me on track for a brand-new year. A new beginning is inspiring, it's a second chance, a fresh start with endless possibilities.

This year I want to be more productive with my writing, putting more time aside to actually get words down. I really need to be more organized in every aspect of my life—that's a tough one.For me, it can be:

What motivates you to write?

Pictures

Songs

Commercials

Dreams

Reading good books

Movies

People watching

Brain storming

Will Paranormal Romance Stay Strong in 2011?

I adore paranormal romance! Reading is my escape, as much as writing. I enjoy paranormal romance because it's the ultimate escape, something we can't experience in the real world. Alpha males with immortality, superhuman strength, powers, and undying love are too tempting not to read about. I think paranormal romance is here to stay!

My Immortal Love series (Fearless Desires, Fearless Love) is one of my 2011 writing projects. I must finish Book #3 this year, among several other stand-alone and series books I need to complete.

2011 is going to be a wild ride and I'm looking forward to it!

Stacey xo

The Devil Is Most Certainly In the Details (of my motivation!)

2011-01-06T07:02:00.004-05:00

Okay, so over Christmas/New Year's break, my mom and I got to bond by doing something we both love -- watching movies. One of the flicks was Devil, produced and written by M. Night Shyamalan, and I've been dying to blog about it, but since we're talking about motivation, what to do?

What any writer will do -- pull something out of my butt to tie to topics together, of course. ;-). So here goes: how does a movie about people trapped in an elevator motivate me?

Quite honestly, it gets my imagination going. And then I start thinking, and researching, and thinking some more, and then imagining. Where did this myth of the devil originate? What are his guises throughout the years? Then there are the inevitable offshoots of these thoughts, like How does it tie in with witchcraft? Are all witches evil and conversely, might the devil be just misunderstood?

And then I start thinking of my own characters, a witch, perhaps, in ancient Greek lands, taken as a slave to the far-off north, where the Celts are worshipping some strange entity, certainly evil - or not?

I have always been told that I have an overactive imagination (that's the kind word some have used for it, anyways. Crazy might be another! ;-) I would see a movie and then spend a good portion of the night getting so caught up in my own take on the plot and characters that I'd fall asleep well past midnight. Same thing still happens.

Mythology, religion, mystical, fantasy, and alleged realities -- they all interest me, and by consequence, they get my imagination flowing. And the outlet for all this imagination, coupled with a healthy dose of research, is -- writing.

So there you have it -- what motivates me. Tales of the supernatural, horror, fantasy, mythology, and something that can really bend my imagination and keep me thinking and dreaming over and over again.

Oh, and the movie, Devil? I really liked it, but then again, I like most of M. Night's movies, even The Village and The Happening, so you might not want to go by what I say ;-)

Can your Paranormal Story truly be Inspirational?

2011-01-05T11:46:00.003-05:00

My latest release from Eternal Press is my inspirational paranormal romance book entitled Making the Ghost of It. This book was written for my daughter Brooke who suffers with Juvenile Diabetes (Please note: all my author's proceeds from the sales of this book will go to support research for a cure) and inspired by a trip I took last year to historical Jekyll Island.

I've described it as sort of a Ghost Whisperer meets Touched by an Angel. A weird concept to some but it seemed as right as rain to me.

Here you'll meet a character named Avery who can see and hear earthbound spirits and they both comfort her and annoy her on a regular basis. Somehow, she's always related them to church because that's where she first encountered them as a child.

But then she meets doctor and scientist, Dr. Riley Donovan.

As a man of science but the son of the local pastor--he's a contradiction in terms. Should he only believe in what he can see, hear, touch, and prove with absolute facts as any man of science would? Or should he allow faith to lead his way as he was taught by his father?

When thinking about my story, I began to wonder if paranormal stories--which are most often associated with the dark side (ie: evil, demons, fallen angels, monsters, creatures of the night and the like) could actually mix well with the light side (church, faith, hope, love, Christianity, and the like)?

I'd love to hear what you think about this concept. And if you do get a chance to check out this book, please write me and let me know.

You can pick up your copy @ Amazon.com in e-book and/or print.

Or from the publisher site here:
http://www.eternalpress.biz/book.php?isbn=9781615722525

Thanks for stopping by!

--Kerri Nelson

Money!

2011-01-04T07:30:00.002-05:00

Yes, I'm a crass, cheap bitch for saying it. We're talking about what motivates us this week. Money keeps me motivated. While I don't agree money equates to success, in our society it is a pretty good indicator of whether or not you're doing something right.

I consider myself a success when I simply look around my house. Healthy, happy kids, a loving husband, food to eat, a clean house, house-broken pets.... In the big scheme of things, what more could I possibly ask for?

In essence, only one thing: my health. And that is something I'll gain over time. Hopefully, with luck, it'll be this year. But what motivates me to write? To keep going? To keep trying to reach readers?

Me. Plain and simple. No one expects me to succeed at this writing gig. Conversely, most everyone treats me like I already have succeed. These are my kind friends and family who have not written a book. Sure, only 2% of the people who attempt to write a book actually finish, but damn, I know a lot of writers. I'm thinking the 2% has got to equate to a freakin high number of actual people.

Agents talk about the thousands of queries they receive. Big publishers have infamously tall slush piles... so let's face it there are lots of manuscripts completed out there.

I may be in the minority... I may not write because I have a "burning passion to tell tales". I may not wait patiently by the phone for THE call where buckets of money are being offered (um... yeah, like that's going to happen), but I do look at this like a business.

I'm not expecting anyone to do this for me, but me. Every dollar I earn, I pour back into this venture. I hope to succeed, but I'm a realist as well. I know I'll only get there with a plan. And money certainly motivates me to plot and plan my little heart out.

What motivates you in this dream? Is it your name on a cover? A spot on the bestseller list? The ability to support your family with your earnings? Each of us is different.

I never had a dream growing up of being a writer. But now my dream is to succeed as one.

A New Year's Resolution I Can Live With

2011-01-03T19:17:00.007-05:00

Do you ever make a wish? Toss a penny in a fountain and scrunch your eyes closed, plucking out the first wish that comes to mind? Or maybe mutter under your breath from time to time, “I wish…”? I don’t. Not ever. I’m just crazy like that. It’s the reason I only ever have the same New Year’s resolution, year after year: I want to be happier in the coming year than I was in the last. Pretty boring, eh?

On the Savvy Authors members’ email loop this week, the big topic seemed to be New Year’s resolutions. Everybody’s got one. Or two. A whole trunkful even. So when our newsletter editor, the indomitable Leslie Dow, suggested the topic as the theme for the newsletter this week I thought it was apropos. Everyone started emailing their resolutions to Leslie for inclusion, and she even wrote an article on how to WRITE a resolution to better ensure success which was fascinating. This all got me to thinking… Maybe I need to re-evaluate my lame resolution?

Resolutions, as I understand them, are things we’d like to do better, or bad habits we’d like to drop. It seems like a pretty negative way to evaluate the last year of your life to me. Instead of rallying around my successes for the year, I spent an afternoon delving into everything I didn’t do well enough or should have done better. And for every item that I mentally ticked off as needing improvement, my body seemed to be drawn closer and closer to the pint of Chubby Hubby in the freezer. By the end of the hour, I had a healthy list of my flaws written up, an empty carton of ice cream, and a pretty huge case of the blues.

I mentally smacked myself. What the hell was I doing? I had just had a FANTASTIC year and yet now I was morbidly depressed about the entire thing. Could things have been better? Well, sure. I wish I’d won the lottery, too, but that doesn’t mean things weren’t great as they were. Wait. No, I don’t . I NEVER make wishes. I’m insanely weird that way, but wishes to me are like the boogey-man in the night and I never want to taunt him.

For instance, what if I were to make the wish to have a million dollars in the bank? Great wish. Granted. But the most likely way that would happen today is if one of my kids was accidentally killed and the insurance company paid me a large settlement. Nope. Keep your stinking money. I don’t want that wish.

So let’s take a look at the first resolution I wrote down, and how my creepy mind works:
1. Find more time to write.

Nice resolution. I definitely need to write more. I have two full requests hanging over my head right now, in fact. But time can’t be “found”. It was never lost. I’d have to give up something else to use that time for writing. Fine. What though? Time with my kids? No. Time working on Savvy? No. I could give up that 22 hours straight I spent watching Dr. Who one day on Netflix but… No, I can’t even give that up. And then I start to think, what if I make this “wish” and end up losing my kids or Savvy in my life, I’d certainly have more time to write, but at what cost? Or what if I end up in a car accident tomorrow and am paralyzed so really all I have to do every day is sit in my bed and write? Yikes. Definitely no thanks. So I scratch that one off my list and start over.

Every single thing on my list I could have had in 2010 if I’d wanted, but I’d have to have given up something else. In retrospect, even the silly stuff like watching Dr Who episodes with my 12yo son in an insane marathon was a great memory that I’ll always treasure. And useful even in my writing as I’ve just studied some of the best writers ever!

Which brings me back to wishes and the healthy dose of Irish in me that won’t let me utter one. No matter how I phrase it, if a dark sprite were to grant my wish I can always see loopholes to give me what I want but at a price too high for me to pay. The only wish I can make that could never result in something bad happening to grant my wish is the same as my New Year’s resolution:

I resolve to be happier in the coming year than I was in the last.

I put that out in the universe, and let fate decide how best to grant my wish. I trust that no matter what the outcome, I’m going to be happier.

Now before you scoff at me, this is not a cop out! I still want to write more in 2011, but I was going to endeavor to do so anyway because I know it would make me happier. But if by some chance I do not “find the time” to write more, I can only assume it’s because Savvy Authors has topped 10,000 members or my daughter has stopped her teenage shrieking long enough to enjoy spending more time together. Either way, I consider the year to come as a win-win. And who knows—maybe my daughter will fall in love with Dr. Who with me this year, too?

What are your some of your New Year's resolutions?

12 Step Program for Ringing in a Better Year

2010-12-31T08:00:00.000-05:00

It is finally here. Today is New Year’s Eve and the inevitable countdown has begun. It is time to make those last minute party plans. Decide on those pesky resolutions. And generally, smile at the year ahead.

But can you really smile at your future? Have you ensured your good fortune in 2011? Here are some directions for the overly superstitious or a 12-step program for those who want to be extra sure …

On New Year’s Eve (that’s tonight folks)
1.Open all your doors so that the old year can escape
2.Finish that bottle of wine to say farewell to 2010
3.Be loud enough to scare evil away (thus the party noise-makers)
4.Turn on all your lights to welcome the new year
5.Enjoy a midnight kiss to ensure that your love stays strong

On New Year’s Day
6.The first person entering your home should be tall, dark, and handsome
7.The first thing you eat should be black-eyed peas
8.Wear bright colors (usually red and/or gold) to proclaim your joy
9.Don’t cry (this will bring a sorrowful year)
10.Don’t have empty wallets or cupboards (also a prediction for the year ahead)
11.Don’t wash clothes
12.Buy a book from one of the witty crew!

Doing the New Year Limbo...

2010-12-30T11:04:00.001-05:00

I'm in a bit of a fug at the moment; a weird, hanging around, waiting for something to happen, fug.

It's such a strange part of the year, this week between Christmas and New Year. I find I'm grateful Christmas is over, despite looking forward to it normally. Yet I am literally counting the days down until life can go back to normal again.

I hate that all of the publishing houses will be closed, that my numerous submissions will just be languishing on someone's desk and the already lengthy time of waiting for that rejection letter is increased. I also hate that pre-school is also closed and I have both kids under my feet all day. I know I sound like a horrible mother, but it's impossible to get any work done when I need to entertain a baby and a three-year old all day. Plus there have been the usual round of winter illnesses which have only added to my general crabbiness.

I like to feel life moving forward, preferably at a gallop. I like to feel productive and motivated, in short the total opposite to what I am feeling right now.

As for New Year's resolutions, the only one I really have is to lose the last few pounds of baby weight. As usual I have visions of myself becoming super fit and sexy, but the truth is I will bitch my way down to my regular weight and then happily go back to all my usual bad habits. Two of the things I take great pleasure from in life is eating and drinking. I figure I'm not going to make myself miserable just because I don't have the body of an eighteen-year old supermodel (and never will have). At the end of the day I'm a thirty-something mother of two and damn it, I will have my cake AND eat it!

Clean Horizontal Surfaces

2010-12-29T11:20:00.003-05:00

Ahhh, Happy New Year—the time for fresh beginnings and the time for musty endings.

The week before January 1st is the happiest and most tortuous week of the year for me. Everything I haven’t accomplished—unfinished projects—unlost pounds, glare back at me from my goal list.

On the flip side, the thought of a new day, new week, new month, and new year is enough to send my resolutions spinning. I’m overcome with the urge to run out and buy a crisp white notebook to record my next set of shackles for 2011. It’s like personally choosing my one year prison sentence. Will I fetter myself to weight loss? Writing three books? Organizing all my pictures? Or maybe I’ll bind myself to all of them. Yeah, that’s it, because on January 1, 2011, I know I’ll feel like I can conquer the world.

Unlike my past delusions of goal grandeur, this year I decided to take a hard look at all my earlier projects and goals. Perhaps history won’t repeat itself with proper planning. I hear you laughing and I know what you’re thinking. No matter how much you plan, Boone, you’ll never do it all. I agree.

However, maybe I can prevent myself from wasting time on outdated projects. Perhaps I can purge stagnant ideas if I take a long look at what I truly believe, instead of unconsciously allowing old beliefs to follow me into another New Year.

I compare my enlightened approach to what I call “The Latch Hook Rug Incident”. My mother bought a latch hook rug kit several years ago. The kit was expensive and at the time matched the décor of mom’s house. Excited by her new project, she worked on it often—at first. But as weeks turned into years, her interest in the rug waned. Mom lamented about being tired of the project but felt she had to finish it because she’d invested so much in the kit. After latching for a bit ( I’m not sure that’s what it’s called) Mom would roll up the rug—still unfinished—and stuff it in the basket beside the couch. There it would rest for several more months until she felt like latching again.

I remember the last time she pulled the unfinished rug out. Instead of complaining and sighing, she held it in front of her and stared at the project that had once been a labor of love, but was now a constant stone in her shoe. Mom looked around the house and back at the rug. After several minutes, she gathered all the latch hook rug items, put them in a bag, and carried them to her car.

“Did you throw it away?” I asked when she came back from the garage.

“No,” she said. “But I’m taking it to the thrift store. The rug is still beautiful, but I don’t see its beauty anymore. Even if I finish it, the rug no longer matches the décor of the house. Let somebody else enjoy the experience. Maybe it will find a new home.”

I’ve carried that lesson with me for a long time, applying it to material items in my house. But it wasn’t until this week that I applied it to my writing. I looked around my office and found a stack of edits from several years ago for my first book. Mixed in that pile were the results from the first contests I’d ever entered.

I pawed through the papers and pondered. I’d kept these things because I had needed direction as a new writer. Did I still need them? No. Not only had this particular story changed, but I’d learned so much over the years that the comments on the score sheets were now common sense. By the time I finished purging I had assembled an impressive stack of scratch paper equaling about three reams. My kids were thrilled to have their paper supply renewed. Those edits were like a physical presence when I sat at my desk. They glared at me from the top shelf, emitting an aura as powerful as mother’s guilt. Until this week it hadn’t occurred to me that those corrections and critiques no longer applied. How many other things in my life no longer applied? I took a good, hard look.

Since that revelation, I’ve boxed up books I’ll never read, shredded old bank statements and personal documents that are no longer valid, and tossed hundreds of pieces of paper with ideas, name, and information that no longer mean anything to me. I MADE SPACE! My office finally has a sense of purpose and might I venture—peace.

So my plan for 2011 is to ask myself, am I working toward something I’m passionate about or is this a story or project I’ve had for so long, I don’t see it’s beauty anymore? Hopefully, by this time next year, I’ll have wiped out the clutter in several areas of my life. Clean, horizontal surfaces, be it for my office or my mind, that’s my motto for the New Year.

HAVE A HAPPY AND SAFE NEW YEAR!!!