Jennifer Lee Thomson's Blog, page 18

Secrets to getting published - from someone who knows


You can have a love in with your book or send the damn thing out.
Okay, you've written the best book you can. What next?

You could shove it in a drawer, gathering dust, until you’re dead and a relative finds it, gets engrossed in the wonderful words you've created and says, "Wow, great Aunt Matilda or Grandpa Harry could really write."

Or, you could actually send it to a publisher or agent. What have you got to lose - your dignity, self-respect and confidence? But, hey you won't get published without putting your work out there.
So, you will feel defeated if you get a flurry of rejection letters, but what is defeat? It's never trying and never putting yourself in a position to fail.
Repeat after me - Defeat is never trying and never putting yourself in a position to fail.

When it comes to sending out your work, up your odds of success by -
Sticking to the word count. They've asked for the first 2 chapters or first 5, 000 words, don't send 70, 000 words.

Sending it to the right publisher. If a publisher is looking for quality, literary fiction, don't send them erotic fiction or horror. They don't want it.Yet you'd be amazed how many writers waste their time and the publishers by sending completely unsuitable manuscripts either because 1. They haven't done their research, or, 2. They think their writing is so blindingly brilliant that the publisher won't care that the book's a fictionalised account of a dog's life when the publisher's looking for historical fiction.

Making sure your work is laid out properly. Check out the publisher's guidelines. If it says to use Times or Arial point 12, then do that. Make it double spaced, typed on one side of the paper only with wide margins in case its printed out.Make sure your work is printed out legibly so it can be easily read. No fading print, toilet roll thin paper or words written in using felt tip pen, because the ink's starting to fade.

Don't get fancy or wacky. No coloured paper, cut into fancy shapes or fancy paper clips. No weird gifts for publishers, like cakes or a chapter written on a piece of toast using jam (the submission was a crime novel).

Come up with one sentence that sums up what your book's about. For How KirstyGets Her Kicks, I had - A one-legged Glasgowbarmaid goes on the run with a gangster's cash and gun after she kills one of his henchmen. One publisher said it was the best one line pitch they'd ever read.


Footnote - Sometimes, no matter how good your work is or how well presented, you will still get a "no" or no reply at all. This could be for a number of reasons; none of which you can do anything about.

Stick in there. The difference between a published writer and an unpublished one, is the former never gave up. I know that can be you:)

An excerpt from Throwaways (Crime Files book 2)

Throwaways is the second Crime Files book to feature crime-fighting duo Nancy Kerr and Tommy McIntyre.
*****Out May 12th*****
Here's a wee taster...

As the ball gag cut off her cries for help, Diane tried to steady her breathing. If she didn’t, she’d suffocate. She sang Somewhere Over the Rainbow in her head and imagined she was in the kitchen singing along with Kyra as they washed the dishes; little Kyra standing on a stool so she could reach the sink, her wee sleeves rolled up so her top didn’t get wet. But, no matter how hard she tried to tune everything out one thought was trapped in her head: she’d never see her daughter again.
“It’s good money,” Traci had chirped as she’d flicked a strand of hair behind her ear. She was platinum blonde today. “All we need to do is put on a girl on girl show, lez it up a bit and we’re onto a big score. It’ll be fun.”
She made a gesture with her hand as though she was counting money. “From what I’ve heard this punter is seriously loaded, and not shy about throwing his cash around either.”
The prospect of a big pay day was tempting, but Diane had never done anything like that before. With her, a blowy down a dark lane and a wee car ride to the back of a disused warehouse was more her usual. She’d never done any lezzy stuff, but she couldn’t afford to turn this job down. Not with her Kyra needing some shoes.
Despite the protests in her head, she said, “Okay, sounds good. But, how did you find out about this gig? Do you know the guy?” She’d long since learnt that if something sounded too good to be true, it always was.
Traci shook her head. “Nah, but a friend of mine vouched for him.”
“Who’s your friend?”
Her question made Traci smile, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. “If I told you that, doll, what’s to stop you cutting me out and doing the gig yourself?”
There was an implied threat in her words. Diane knew she’d get rag dolled if she crossed Traci. She’d seen her in action enough times; once she’d dragged another girl along the pavement by the hair because she accused her of stealing one of her punters. The other girl had screamed like a banshee, but nobody had gone to help her. You looked after yourself on the streets and never got involved unless you wanted your face rearranged. That was rule number one.
#
Traci hadn't been capable of battering anyone the last time she'd seen her. Her ginger hair (he must have ripped off her wig) had been hacked off. Tufts of it stuck out, reminding Diane of one of the hairdressing dolls Kyra was always playing with. She called it Angel, but it was the ugliest thing she'd ever seen, especially after Kyra had cut off its hair with nail scissors when she’d been out of the room.
What Diane wouldn't give right now to have the doll on her lap whilst Kyra used her best lipstick as blusher.
A tear trundled down her cheek. Nobody was ever going to find her. She'd die here, alone in this damp, dark room, with rats that were as big as cats scuttling around. She’d starve to death and then they’d eat her, gnawing on her face first; sharp, jagged teeth tearing into skin and bone. She’d seen that in a movie once. All she'd been given to eat was bread that was only fit for the birds and milk that smelled funny. She’d thought about not drinking it, but with nothing else to drink she was always glad when she saw the plastic cup.
When he brought the food, it was the only time he removed her gag. He'd leave her for five minutes then return to replace the gag. If she resisted he'd inject her with one of those needles he always carried. Pain would scream through her veins and then she’d be out of it. She’d wake up with a raging thirst and tendrils of hair sticking to the sweat on her face. But then there were worse things than being injected…
Chapter 1
As a division of labour, it didn't come more unfair than this. As Tommy sat in a comfy car, heater up full bung, sipping a Starbucks and leisurely munching on a cheese and onion bagel (with extra fried onions), I was standing outside, shivering my barely covered butt off, as the wind whooshed up my skirt and the rain came down like nails.
This was summer, in Scotland.
Huddled in a doorway, in a scraggy blonde wig, and my best Pretty Woman outfit, I'm already soaked to the skin. And, I know it won’t get any better because there are men who will pull over in their cars and ask how much I charge for a blow job or full sex.
As downward spirals go, this was bad. At least it would have been if I hadn’t been out here to catch a killer and not because I was reduced to turning tricks for a living.





Amazon US / Amazon UK / Amazon CA / Amazon AU




I know I don't have to say it, but all text is © Copyright Jenny Thomson 2014.
Any breach of copyright and I'll send Nancy round.
Be warned: she carries a Taser and has a seriously bad attitude:)

Reviewers & Bloggers wanted for new Crime Files series Hell To Pay (Crime Files Book 1)

HOW FAR WOULD YOU GO TO GET YOUR REVENGE?




Jenny Thomson and Limitless Publishing would like to invite you to participate in the release of Hell To Pay.
Book 2 and 3 in the Crime Files series will be out on May 12th and May 26th. 
BLURB:Nancy Kerr refuses to be a victim—even when she walks in on her parents’ killers and is raped and left for dead…
Fourteen months later, Nancy wakes up in a psychiatric hospital with no knowledge of how she got there.
Slowly, her memory starts to return.
Released from the institution, she has just one thing on her mind—two men brought hell to her family home.
Now they’re in for some hell of their own…

ARC's are available for review for those who would like one, and all guest posts/packages will be sent prior to the events.
To participate, click HERE

WHAT WOULD YOU DO TO GET REVENGE? Hell To Pay (Crime Files Book 1) is out NOW

An extract from Hell To Pay (Crime Files Book 1) 

She took a few more steps into the living room and walked straight into hell…



Chapter 1

I’m cold, colder than I’ve ever been in my entire life and I don’t know why. Slowly, I open my eyes, tentatively at first because even opening them a fraction feels like someone's shoving red-hot pins into them. The light is so bright.

What’s with the light anyway?

Has Michael wandered in, blootered on some poncy new beer and left the light on, after collapsing in a heap onto the bed?  I’ll brain him if he has. I’m no good to anyone when I don’t get my eight hours.

Pulling myself up in bed, I reach out my arm to nudge him awake so I can give him a right mouthful. My hand finds empty space.

Where is he?

My eyes sting as I prise them open – it’s as though there's been an accident with false lashes and I've glued my eyelashes together - and that’s when I realise I’m not in our flat. The reason I’m freezing is because I’m wearing a tracing paper thin hospital gown: the kind that shows off your backside when you’re being whisked off to x-ray.

A tidal wave of panic hits me and I jerk into full consciousness.
What’s happened to me?
I try to remember, but my brain’s all bunged up as if the top of my head's been removed and the cavity filled with cotton wool.
My arms are bandaged up. Have I been in an accident?  If I have, I don’t remember. Maybe I hit my head.


I take in my surroundings. If I’m in hospital, it’s no ordinary one. For one thing, my room’s more like a cell. There’s a bed and a table bolted to the floor, but no personal stuff: photos, or cards, or stuffed animals from people wishing me well. Does anyone even know I’m here?


I grope for a call button to get a nurse, but there isn’t one. What the hell? This place is a prison.


Staggering out of bed, I fight the wave of nausea and dizziness that make me want to yell at the world to stop moving because I want to get off the carousel. The tile floor is stone cold and there are no slippers by the bed. My feet are ice blocks. Why don’t I have any socks or tights on? 


Before I reach the door, there's a jingle of keys, then a key scrapes in the lock. Holding my breath, I brace myself for what’s coming.


A woman I don’t recognize with brown hair tied back in a ponytail appears. She’s dressed in a nurse’s uniform and there’s a small smile playing on the edge of her lips.
"Good, you’re awake, Nancy."
She sounds pleased, as if we’re bosom buddies, when I’ve never seen her before in my life.
"Where am I?"
My voice comes out as a rasp as though my throat’s been sandpapered down.

The nurse puts a hand on my shoulder. "Let’s get you back into bed, Nancy."
I do as she says. I’m worried if I don’t lie back, I’ll faint.
"You’re in Parkview Hospital," she says, as she fixes the pillows so I can sit upright.
I know all the hospitals in Glasgow, but I haven’t heard of that one. I ask her what kind of hospital it is and she tells me it’s a psychiatric facility. The reason I haven’t heard of it, is because they don’t publicize it. Perhaps because it’s full of nutters they want to keep away from society. The prospect terrifies me because that would mean they must think I’m cuckoo. Why else would I be here? 


I suck in my breath. When I ask her if this is a nut house, she presses her lips tightly together as she tells me no one refers to psychiatric hospitals in that way any more. Suitably chastised, I mumble an apology not because I think one’s needed, but because she’s the one with the keys.


"Why am I here?"
I’m dreading the answer, but I need to know. I don’t feel any different. Surely if I’d lost my mind, I'd know.
"You had a breakdown."
The way she says it, she could be talking about the weather.
She asks me if I want anything and I tell her a pair of proper pajamas, a dressing gown and slippers would be nice because I’m an ice block. If she gets in touch with Mum, she’ll bring me in some stuff.


Her smile’s still there, but breaks down around the corners of her mouth. There’s something she’s not telling me, because she’s worried how I’ll react. There’s fear in her eyes. I notice she’s wearing a lucky heather brooch, the same one I got for Mum. I’m staring at it as she tells me she’s going to fetch a doctor, when a memory stirs inside me and no matter how hard I try to push it away, someone’s taken their finger out the dyke and the water’s rushing in.


Blood, blood everywhere. Dad’s slumped in his favorite armchair, head bent forward as if in prayer (he never prayed a day in his life); a single bullet hole in his head. I know it’s him, even although his face has been beaten to a pulp: his blood staining the fireside rug my mum was so fond of. Even in death, my dad has a presence. He fills a room with the sheer weight of his personality. Discarded nearby is the baseball bat they used on him. It’s covered in blood and something sticky and dark brown, resembling raw mince.

All material is copyright of the author Jenny Thomson (C) 2013



RELEASED APRIL 28TH FROM LIMITLESS PUBLISHING 




Order links for Hell to Pay (Crime Files Book 1) on Kindle

Amazon.com

Amazon.co.uk

Amazon.ca

Amazon.com.au

****Coming soon in paperback***
Books 2 and 3 coming out on May 12th and May 26th.

CAPTION CONTEST – WIN A $10 or £10 Amazon voucher and a free eBook

It was my rescue dog Benjy’s birthday yesterday. Here’s a picture of him at 17 months old when he first came to live with us. 



As you can see from the pic, we greatly overestimated his size. Hence the huge bone. 
Once you come up with a caption, head over to my book launch party at 

https://www.facebook.com/events/14178... and write your entry underneath the same picture on that page. 



I can’t wait to read your entries:) You can enter more than once.

COVER REVEAL November Sky (Hardest Mistakes #2) by Dannielle Wicks

November Sky (Hardest Mistakes #2)by Dannielle Wicks Release Date: 05/19/15Limitless Publishing
Summary from Goodreads:A HEARTBREAKING LOSS.

A LOVE THAT TRANSCENDS MORTALITY.

A STRUGGLE BETWEEN HOLDING ON AND LETTING GO…

KRISTIAN REED is only seventeen years old when his girlfriend, JESSICA SCOTT, dies in a tragic accident. Devastated and burdened with guilt, he finds it impossible to move on.

Six years later, he’s not doing any better. He’s accepted a prestigious internship at a big city new station, but he’s still losing himself in alcohol and women to numb his pain.

BAILEY NICHOLS is assertive and annoying, but something draws her and Kristian together. Her brother hates him, but Bailey is used to getting what she wants. She knows the pain of losing people you love, and she's determined to break through Kristian’s emotional wall and prove they belong together.

Jessica is caught between worlds. She can't let go of Kristian, but she's not meant to be here, and her lingering is threatening everyone and everything around her as she begins to lose herself to the darkness.
Add to Goodreads

Book One:Goodreads│Amazon│Barnes & Noble


About the AuthorDannielle Wicks currently lives in the town of Kingaroy, Queensland in Australia. She is a TV show nerd and lover of cars. She’s always had a love for writing, even in school. She used to hide her writing notebook inside her textbooks just so the teacher wouldn’t notice what she was up to. She loves reading, especially paranormal romance. When she’s not writing or working, she competes in Speedway Sedan Racing across the state.

All of the books in the HARDEST MISTAKES series are based on a different main character, so you don't really need to read them in order, although all the characters link back to each other in some way...
Cover Reveal Organized by:
YA Bound Book Tours

WIN the first book in the Crime Files series, Hell to Pay

Did someone say FREE book?
Hell, yeah.
Enter to win the first book in the Crime Files series, Hell to Pay by Jenny Thomson now. Just click HERE 
Here’s a wee taster –
Nancy Kerr refuses to be a victim—even when she walks in on her parents’ killers and is raped and left for dead…
Fourteen months later, Nancy wakes up in a psychiatric hospital with no knowledge of how she got there.
Slowly, her memory starts to return.
Released from the institution, she has just one thing on her mind—two men brought hell to her family home.
Now they’re in for some hell of their own…


Now available on Amazon –
USA 
UK
CANADA
AUSTRALIA 

Categories: Mystery/Thriller, Pre-Orders. Tags: Crime, Crime Files, Criminal Supense, Detective, Hell To Pay, Jenny Thomson, Murder, Mystery, Revenge, Suspense, Thriller.

Cover Reveal - Love Always, Damian by D. Nichole King (Love Always #2)

They say time heals all wounds.What a load of bull. It’s been four years, and Kate’s voice still echoes in my mind. Every. Damn. Day. I numb her memory when it taunts me. In college, I drown her out with booze and easy lays. I can’t do what she asked. I can’t let her go.Not even when Lia shows up, freaking ripping what’s left of me to shreds. Caring about someone isn’t worth the deadness that follows after they’re gone. I didn’t ask for this. Didn’t ask for her.And I sure as hell didn’t plan to miss her when she walked out of my front door. Now, if I want to keep her, I have to straighten myself out and earn her. I can’t screw this up.Because if I do, I’ll lose more than just Lia.I’ll lose my life.
Love Always, DamianD. Nichole King(Love Always #2)Published by: Limitless PublishingPublication date: May 26th 2015Genres: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance

Sequel to:

Check out the Rafflecopter Giveaway

This week I needed Liam Neeson

I bet he'd find the phone
"What kind of week have I had?"


The kind that makes you shove in your earphones and play Karma Police so loud, you’re not just listening to it: it’s in your head.  

The kind where you set up a page to talk about your bullying book and folk come onto it and wait for it, start bullying one another. Yeah, really. Couldn’t believe it either.

The kind where you think your downstairs neighbour has opened a brewery because it sounds like he’s been tossing beer barrels about his floor for the past few days.

The kind of week where you despair of human nature because your OH dropped his mobile phone and someone picked it up and pocketed it. We don’t have much but what we do have we’ve worked damned hard for.

Note to the ass wipe who kept it - what you’re meant to do when you find someone’s phone, is ring up one of the numbers and find out who belongs to and return it. At least if you want to belong to the human race. You clearly don’t. Karma police are gonna get you, mate.

Just realised that instead of venting my spleen here, I should have left a Liam Neeson Taken-style message on the phone –

‘I don't know who you are. I don't know what you want. If you are looking for ransom, I can tell you I don't have money. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills; skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. If you let my daughter go now, that'll be the end of it. I will not look for you, I will not pursue you. But if you don't, I will look for you, I will find you, and I will kill you.

Obviously, the ‘kill’ in this case means in my novel and not real life.

Only two things have made my life bearable this week –

A wee dog who loves me unconditionally and always wants to play.

Happy as a sand dog (on second thoughts, he looks worried)

Football (that’s soccer to my pals in the good ol’ USA). Non-football fans don’t get it, but there’s a reason this sport is called, the beautiful game.

Few things make you happier when things go right. You see a cracker of a goal. Some brilliant play. Your team (in my case Dundee United) lift that elusive trophy. And, here’s the best thing of all – you get to bawl and shout and it gets your frustrations out. And nothing beats the times when everyone in the crowd is cheering as one, and making something happen on the pitch. The atmosphere is electric and it’s as if you’re riding along on a wave.

But more on that later. I’m now off to hone my CIA skills. ‘I don’t know who you are. I don’t know what you want…’