K. Brooks's Blog, page 4

Contacting #literary #agents worldwide. Colour me #scared

If you aren’t up to date via our Facebook page, you aren’t quite aware of my sheer level of terror I am experiencing right now.

 

Writing was for fun, writing was a down-time activity. Launching The Spark That Left Us in paperback and e-book format was with a “why not?” mentality. And of course, that is the question. Why not?

But now, there are rumblings. Feelings that I should at least try, try to put it out there, try to get rejected. My whole life I have avoided it. I have succeeded – many times – but only when I absolutely haven’t cared to. I’ve always avoided the rejection, I don’t want to feel that way, I don’t want external forces telling me that I am not good enough. I’ve always insisted I’ve only needed to be good enough for myself – and that’s all I need to make me happy.

But then comes the second question. What if?

Luckily we now live in a world where you can pretty much email anyone, no letters need to be sent, no phone calls need to be made, and I keep seeing, over and over and over – we won’t respond if we don’t want you. Is this better, or worse, than the response of no – we don’t want you?

If they never respond, oh well, right? Does it hurt? Maybe? But it’s letting go of that anxiety and just at least TRYING that I need to get around.

So I’ve decided, despite it already being pre-published – to shop around The Spark That Left Us to literary agents, to maybe give it a chance to be bigger, be bolder, to reach a larger audience. Maybe, just maybe. Do I believe in it that much? Maybe. Have worse books been commercially sold? Hell yes. But for that 1 that gets through, there are thousands and thousands that never make it out from under the rug.

And all I’ve got to get over, is myself.

 

 

Chapter #teaser – October Memories #spoileralert

Gonna warn you now – don’t read the following if you haven’t read The Spark That Left Us in its entirety!

 

It was well into October before I could bring myself to visit their graves.

Fall had blown in, cold and wet and weary, and the atmosphere matched my mood. Many of the leaves had been rattled from the trees in a soggy shattering before they’d even had a chance to become the vibrant torches our state was famed for.

Eventually the dismal weather patter broke, if briefly, the wet roads and sidewalks steaming in the sudden bright warmth of late season sunshine. Somehow, in an explosion of inspiration, Mateo had succeeded in bundling me up in far too many layers for the cool air, our breath only faint ghosts as we walked along the sidewalk, and I pulled the woolen hat from my head, scrunching it in my hand and thrusting it, annoyed, into my pocket.

“Deke didn’t want to join us?”

His voice was rough. Tired. Bone-deep exhaustion on his face and in his pace. He hadn’t shaved in a while, the salt and pepper stubble a deep shadow across his cheeks. I pondered the question for half a block. I heard Mateo’s intake as he began to continue the conversation, but I slipped a hand through his arm, clutching the sleeve of his worn leather jacket and shook my head, sighing.

“He wouldn’t think it was right… sharing in this,”

I waved my hand across the whole of our direction, the brightness of the trees in the cemetery peeking over the roofs of the houses in front of us. Mateo made a disgruntled noise in response, he knew better than to say anything about Deke’s involvement, but I heard it all the same. I took a deep breath, inhaling the spicy smell of the leaves, the briskness behind the warmth of the sun. It would snow soon, bringing with it all sorts of new problems.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. The snow got bad here, heavy and wet and deep, the drifts blowing through the streets overnight. I’d died, in the snow. Back before all this had happened, and now that I knew, I was hesitant. If I was completely honest with myself – I was afraid. Reggie had always called it gun-shy, regardless of whether guns were involved or not. Something terrible happens and you start avoiding anything that reminds you of it, you get wired and tense, irrationally irritable when reminded of it. Clara had got that way about driving, after a minor fender-bender had resulted in six months of public transit, as her hands would shake uncontrollably before she’d even unlocked the doors to her car.

Reggie teased it out of her, eventually, as he was always able to.

And now, here I was, without him, terrified that I’d wake up to the first snow, and would suffocate under the thought of it.

Mateo’s hand crossed his body and gently patted my arm where it linked his.

We had reached the gates, the black wrought iron elegant against the oranges and yellows of the trees beyond, the gravel path richly blanketed in fallen leaves. The wind blew down across the hill, scattering debris against our legs, and we shut our eyes against the whirling grit.

Are you ready?

“Never,” I muttered between gritted teeth and around my tensed jaw.

It hurt, that tension. And I enjoyed it. It was the only thing that had felt real this morning, since the moment that Mateo had burst in, throwing open the curtains, blinding me into sudden awareness. He’d spared a passing gaze to the empty spot on the mattress next to me; Deke had slipped away in the night, doing whatever it is that he did when the dreams became too much; and then it had been a rush, mismatched clothes pulled from the closet, a strict warning to be in them in the next five minutes. Then there was Rick, who had passed a steaming travel mug into my outstretched hand as I was dragged toward the door. Connor standing next to it, with a perplexed look on his face and my coat in his hands. I’d had a moment of utter panic flutter around my heart when I saw the blue shadows under his eyes, his socked feet on the carpet making him look young and small, and why was I being forced from my cocoon?

And then we’d been out into the brisk air, blinking and disheveled, but out. And the sky was blue, and the last few larks were swarming the tops of the trees, and it took everything in my power not to collapse on the top of the stairs, unable to set my feet on the concrete.

But now we were here. Mateo, a force to be reckoned with, had gotten me this far.

“You had your wasted summer, Addy, but it’s done you no good. This will help. Help you with some closure,” his hand tightened its grip on mine.

I had the sudden feeling he was afraid that I’d run, that he’d have to sling me over his shoulder and bodily force me to accept what I didn’t want to see. We were both much too tired for that.

 

 

 

 

#Art and its appreciation, #photography is not my specialty!

Buckle up, it’s time for a little cross-promoting over here!

 

You’ll remember, way back when, when we posted photos of behind the scenes of the cover art photo shoot. It was good times! It was around this time of year, it was freezing cold, it was snowing (check it out, here). And it was an amazing experience.

All those involved, my brother, and the photographer, had a pretty crazy time of it too, and it set into motion  a whole lotta something.

And that whole lotta something has accumulated and compacted and rolled together until finally, it has popped out this bit o’wonderful,

 

www.vistashots.com

 

That’s right! The photographer behind the stunningly charismatic cover of The Spark That Left Us (oh, and you know, the upcoming sequel, which we’ll eventually be pushing through shots for you to view – when I get over my writer’s block

Hit me right in the #feels #writing

So the past few days have been great for feedback for The Spark That Left Us.

 

Two different people contacted me to say, “hey, love what you did, and the ending absolutely killed me (how could you?!)” 

And to be perfectly honest, that made me feel good. To do what wasn’t expected, and also – that they felt invested enough in the characters to tell me off for my (admittedly) evil deeds. It’s hard to spend so much time, so many hours, with characters that are essentially, born, raised, and killed inside your own head. I’ve always been an avid reader and I always disassociated the writer with the novel. But I’ve now experienced that it isn’t so true as you might think. Your heart breaks for what you put them through, despite the fact that they aren’t real. But they’re real enough to you. You’ve fabricated an entire existence that never existed. If you think hard enough, you know every little detail about them, you know them better than anyone else, so it feels interesting when others pick up on that. They fall in love with these people too. And they’re just as crushed when something horrible happens.

It’s an interesting sensation.

A third person also confessed to have started, and to admit that “there’s something real dark there, I wasn’t expecting it!”.

Again, there’s that phrasing – I wasn’t expecting it.

And makes me wonder, if they didn’t know me – would they have expected it? As an author, am I fooling the reader – or fooling those who know me?

And there’s a question for me to study on, and as I collect more information, I’ll let you know.

 

Thanks again!

#Target and what you can do to help

Hey Guys

Imagine my surprise when I go here

 

http://www.target.com/p/the-spark-tha...

And my book has a Target listing. Crazy right!

So I email them to find out what is up, and apparently, it’s out of stock.

So now I’m wondering, dear Sparklers, if enough of you say hey, Target, what up? Where’s The Spark That Left Us?

 

You MIGHT be able to purchase it through Target.

 

Exciting, right?

In retrospect. Emily Browning would be an excellent Delilah

If My Characters Were Actors Part 2 #writing

Hello all!

 

If you’ve been following along, you know that I’m deeply into the sequel for The Spark That Left Us, tentatively named “Sparks Ignite” and I thought I’d play another round of If My Characters Were Actors.

Now with Round 1, the book was already out (at least in ebook format) so at least some of you had some groundwork. I thought I’d go out on a limb, and throw this one at you for speculation. Who are these people? What do they do? What role do they play? Are they good? Evil? Other?

Hm.

But here they are, as follows!

 

Aaron Abrams – the mysterious Felix – is he here to help? Harm? Is he human?

 

Deborah Ann Woll – the angry ex-Tender Evelyn – what is her problem anyway?

Now these two are a toss up. Above, we have Georgie Henley (Of Lion/Witch/Wardrobe fame) and below we have Ryan Newman – a toss up for the newest member of the group, Delilah – delicate but deadly

So what do you think? Sound off in the comments – let’s hear your speculations!

#writersblock is a painful thing #books

All you want is for your world to live and breathe. All you want is for your characters to be real. In order for this to happen, you have to immerse yourself in it, they have to interact, to speak. They have to speak to each other, to you, to the world, to the readers.

And when you can’t. Well. When it just can’t come out, you can’t write, you can’t give them that life you want for them, it is hard on a profoundly different level than feeling failure. It’s more like going to turn on the television, and you have no signal, your vision full of those grey sparkly static things that blend and merge and become things if you stare hard enough. It’s more like opening a web browser, and having no connection. It’s like calling a friend and only getting the thrumming busy signal in your head. You just want to connect. But your brain says no.

And then, on top of it, the more you think about it, the more you think about it, and the worse it gets.

Writers block hurts. It does. It’s anxiety and procrastination and desperation and inaction and just the painful need to let it out (but what?!).

Anyone out there know what I mean?

Another happy #reader. Love the #photos!

I love new #fans ! Keep the #pictures coming guys

Newest happy customer  – love it!