Jen Winters's Blog, page 18
January 15, 2015
January 14, 2015
Why Writers Should Use Twitter (and HOW to USE It Effectively)
Interesting thoughts on Twitter and how to effectively use it. I’m glad to have been directed here. I’ve noticed that twitter was not working for me as I wanted it to. Now I know what my next steps are and I’m happy to know I haven done it completely wrong!
Originally posted on Kristen Lamb's Blog:
For the last couple posts, we���ve been talking about how to use Twitter effectively. Too many writers are like Stormtroopers���lots of shots��fired�� tweets that hit NOTHING.
I can admit, when I got on Twitter (when it was��invented) I didn���t get it. I would���KID YOU NOT���freak out when people I didn���t know followed me. WHAT? Are you, like, a��stalker? Yes, I was missing the ENTIRE point of Twitter. Hey, we all start somewhere.
Do you have to do Twitter? No. No one will take you to writer jail because you didn���t. Is it��wise to use Twitter? ABSOLUTELY.
I strongly recommend Twitter for two main reasons. First, couple Twitter with a good/consistent blog and this is your best formula to go viral. Secondly, Twitter helps us find READERS (and helps readers find US).
Going Viral
We will rarely go viral from Facebook because the nature of���
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Creating the Character of Geneva Archer
I create characters through a variety of processes, however, for my Guardians, I have been looking at history for inspiration. Geneva, Lavinia, and Emma all have historical backgrounds. Perhaps not especially well known, but, they are there nonetheless, even my tragic character Meleah was based on a real person.
In Kissing Demons, Geneva explains who she was born as: Beatrice Marguerite de Geneve. This woman was the wife of Thomas I of Savoy, her many sons included priests and bishops, including one Archbishop of Canterbury. She was a real person, who out-live several of her children. She was deeply devout, and she was kidnapped by Thomas I of Savoy out of the hands of the king of France, Philip II.
Geneva Archer started as research into not-so-famous women of history who had lost children. When I found Beatrice of Geneva, I knew I had found my woman. After 800 years of an afterlife that had all the same problems as her first life but with some pretty amazing perks, she is bored, except that she loves her job. She is driven and committed, and basically, after all that time, she has become more of what she already was: more maternal, more committed, more adaptable. She is more intensely who she has always been.
I imagine a 16-year-old girl travelling to marry a king she had never met, but whom she knew had already had two wives. She was probably resigned to her fate, trying to find her excitement in the midst of loss and longing for her home in Geneva. She had probably said goodbye to the closest friend she had ever had, her nurse, and her family. And then, in a drastic turn of events, she is kidnapped by strangers. She probably thought she was going to die. To overcome her guard, they probably killed every person she was with. And then she arrives at the home she would know for the rest of her life. What was that first meeting with Thomas like? Did she know him before he kidnapped her? Did she marry him and commit herself to him immediately, or did it take time? Did they ever have a normal relationship as man and wife?
I imagine, that with the large family she bore and the losses she endured, that she would not have lived for 72 years without the love of her husband. I choose to imagine a happy marriage for her, a commitment to her husband as soon as she said the words that bound her in marriage to the count; I choose to imagine that Beatrice lived a happy life, even though it was spotted by the tragedy of losing her children.
My father imagines that an immortal, after so many years on this planet would become extremely savvy. Surprising Geneva was a challenge for me–800 years is a long time to learn. To give her a reason to want to learn about Alex, after such a long��life, he had to be something new, and something special. And that is how Alex and his father were born. Two very special creatures, a halfling in control of his life and the demon who gave him that control, came into existence through thought experiments with my dad, using my mother as a corkboard for my ideas, and desperation to surprise Geneva, a woman who had survived so much in her life, and lived with power and wisdom in her death.
January 13, 2015
Kissing My Demons
I started writing Kissing Demons out of desperation.
What?!
Yep, desperation.
I was a brand new mom with an 8 month-old and my husband had left me and my daughter to pursue his drug interests. I have a degree, a BA in Biblical Text, so basically I new how to translate ancient near eastern manuscripts into English. Not a huge job market for that. I was desperate to make a life for my daughter. I had been writing fiction for years, just practice with my BFF. We co-wrote story��upon story��(fifty or more between high school and college). I am an avid reader, devouring books like cotton candy. Paranormal Romance was my favorite treat, so I decided that I could make a go at this genre. I was so naive.
Almost six years later I have Kissing Demons. My editor, Jessica Augustsson, has helped me become a better writer. The first draft of Kissing Demons was puke on a page–my desperation was evident throughout the entire story. With a lot of guidelines and suggestions from Jessica, I rewrote more than half of the book…twice. I chopped, cut, added, cut again, and rewrote until carpal-tunnel started knocking at my door, and then I ignored my insistent guest until I had a polished manuscript.
I have a lot of support from my family and especially my second husband, who has turned my desperation into delight. Alex morphed from a non-character who was a reaction to betrayal and hurt in my own life, into a romantic hero inspired by my life after divorce. Geneva became a stronger character when I realized just how strong I was: a single-mom, working, providing, giving my best to my daughter and receiving enough at every turn. My daughter has never wanted for food, clothing, or shelter, and she is an amazing girl. My life has been poured into my writing, I have kissed my own demons in order to bring you the best story I could, so when you read Kissing Demons, you participating in an intimate interview with the author:
Me
January 12, 2015
January 11, 2015
Infernos, part 13��
Shadows pressed in on Michael’s vision, creating a tunnel at the end of which was a bright fiery light. Dropping his fight against the Destroyer’s torture, Michael reached for the light. A steel cable pulled him to the fire. It wanted him and he wanted it. His hand grasp a familiar hilt, it had been made for him, he knew it with the intimacy of a brother; it was his sword–Angelos Thanatou–Angel of Death.
The Destroyer screamed with an unearthly wail of hatred and despair, recognizing his opponent. Michael fell toward the floor, but landed on his feet, striking out at the Destroyer with a fiery flash of angelic metal. The Destroyer tried to escape the blade, but fell micro-meters short.
Black poison seeped from a superficial wound. It was a scrape, but the Destroyer was finished. Pain, like the fire from a trillion stars ripped through the disgusting creature. Tortured, unending screams echoed though the cavern piercing every eardrum, stilling every breath.
Memory washed over Michael. He had forgotten who he was, but holding his dear friend he remembered. Two lives melded into one: Michael the human and Michael the Archangel. He remembered both and why he had come to this place.
With a single strike, he ended the Destroyer’s wails and then ran to Emma. She couldn’t die, she was needed. He needed her.
Her prone body looked like nothing more than a rag doll. She was pale and blue. He knelt in a sticky puddle of her precious life-blood. She was near death.
Light enveloped the cavern, emanating from Michael’s lips. Gently he bowed to her, kissing her forehead. Miraculous healing spread over Emma, pulling her in a single moment from the edge of death back into glorious life. Her breath caught in her chest and she gasped, eyes wide, startled by her own life.
A collective sigh escaped from the townspeople. Michael pulled Emma to him, embracing her with relief. “You live again, Emma.”
“Who are you?” She asked, pulling away.
Michael squeezed her tightly. “Your protector is gone, Emma. I came to take his place.”
“Jared? Is he dead?” Fear and concern snaked through her. Jared had protected her since before she could remember.
Michael shook his head. “No, he is not, but he cannot protect you anymore. Don’t fear for him, he is happy.”
“You will protect us now?”
“I swear it.”
Fin
January 10, 2015
Infernos, part 12
Emma fell to the ground in an unnatural lump. Her legs splayed outward, turned at sickening angles. Blood seeped slowly out from beneath her where the Destroyer’s talons had punctured her. She was going to bleed out.
Michael desperately clawed for freedom.��Save her! Do something! Save her!
The Destroyer knocked him again, jarring every bone in his body. Something sticky and wet began crawling all over him. Creeping snakes slithered under his skin, touching a part of Michael he hadn’t ever noticed. It was a place of power, the place where his life began, where his life sustained itself. It was more than food, drink, and air– it was his life-force.
Never had he been violated, but this monster entered him without a mote of resistance. He couldn’t let this happen. He was going to die, but he didn’t have to die like this. He would not die like this.
Determination replaced fear. Courage strengthened resolve. Power overwhelmed helplessness. Michael��pushed the Destroyer back and a flaming sword reached for its owner.
January 8, 2015
Infernos, part 11
Metallic blood swarmed into the mortal’s��mouth and nose, igniting the Destroyer’s delight. Joyfully, the Destroyer hit him again, playing death with the little human because he could, because he wanted to, because he liked to see the fear and pain in his victims eyes; he needed his victims to fear him and feel the pain he brought with him.
The woman had fallen from his grip, too weak to sustain life any longer, but the man was strong. Much stronger in spirit and will. He wanted to live, and he held on to his life-force with every bit of his innate strength. The mortal’s fight with death amused the Destroyer. He liked to play with the ones that fought back. Frail though they were, sometimes the torture could last for hours before they expired.
More than the game of death, the Destroyer needed his victims to live longer. Their life-energy, the chi within them, fed his insatiable hunger. Without their chi, he would wither and eventually one of this brothers would kill him.
Tendrils of leeching tongues crept over his victim, sucking at the chi. Fear ripened it for the Destroyer, but pain made it��savory. The man was ready to become the Destroyer’s feast.
Infernos, part 10
Short, sharp breaths. Searing punctures. Run! Run! Move your legs!
Tight grip. Pungent sweat. Blink, blink, blink. Run! Take her and run you idiot!
“You’re ripe now, Man.”
Run!
Tearing flesh, pounding feet, choking sulfur. Trip, stumble. Yank! Running again. Laughter. Sulfur. Wall.
Michael landed on his back, his breath knocked from his chest, disoriented by the blow to hit head. Emma dropped his arm and her terrorized scream reverberated around him.
Lightning fast, Michael got back to his feet, seeing clearly now as though the sun had suddenly started shining below the earth.
Wrapped around Emma’s waist, daggered talons squeezed the breath from her body. Needling spines protruded from blackened sludgey flesh. Vaporous huffs of sulfur shot from a ridging snout where a forked tongue slipped in and out, tasting the palpable horror. Spiraling horns curled toward the ceiling from an oversized head crossed by spider-like eyes.
Another morbid claw reached for Michael. “Time to die, Mortal.”
Infernos, part 9
BANG!
The crunch of splitting wood echoed through the cavern. Breaking glass crashed down a stairwell. Heads shot up, wide eyes pierced the dim light toward the deliberate tromping of footfalls down the stairs. Deep, heinous laughter rumbled through racing hearts.
“Your protector isn’t here.” The whisper danced through the cave like a black ballerino.
The collective gasp of the townspeople muffled the sound of laughter momentarily. Emma grasp Michael’s hand, stabbing rigid nails through his soft palms. Michael’s courage wavered, gluing his eyes to the darkness and simultaneously turning his knees to jelly.
Like a tsunami of fear, the light from the glow worms extinguished, and the lichen on the walls died away. Sulfur choked the air; coughing ensued.
Micheal felt the heavy, hot breath on his neck before the sharp sting of talons gripped his shoulder. “You’re new, ” a snaked tongue whispered into his ear.
