Selena Blake's Blog, page 34

Friday Funny: Talking football, running and other exercising truths

Darn, and I thought I was doing so good…

So true!

 

And one more LOL

For Writers: Sculpting Your Hunk of Clay

I’ve really been struggling with my current book. I mean really struggling.

I think the words start over, paper shredder and pile of crap have been mentioned numerous times in the past few weeks.

This book started out like any other. A big blob of clay waiting to be shaped, sculpted, molded.

photo by: Martin Cathrae

And I got about halfway finished before I realized it was completely off the rails. It didn’t follow the fun, flirty series-line I’d created. It didn’t fit in. It was dark and moody and not terribly sexy. It wasn’t a breezy frolic to a tropical island. I’d given my heroine a really dark backstory and she spent the whole book over coming that. And not in a good way. She was a bitch.

So my book became a pile…

photo by Becky Wetherington

And that’s when I realized a few important things.

I didn’t know enough about my hero. And I didn’t have the right conflict. I didn’t have enough action in the book. I didn’t give the heroine a goal for the story. There wasn’t enough room for growth or character arc. She didn’t start off in a good place. And I was focusing wayyyyy too much on the heroine herself and not the hero.

Of all this highlighted one fact.

My story style has developed a lot lately. I’m writing bigger, deeper, more complex books. Luckily my readers love that. And I love writing it.

Chalk all this up to growing pains.

I didn’t have enough clay on my wheel. I didn’t have the right amount of moisture and I was pulling my bowl/pot/vase/who the heck knew what I was creating too quickly. The walls were too thin. The foundation was way off.

So what’s a writer to do when everything goes wrong?

I kept telling myself not to scrap the project. Not to start over. But to look at what I had and go from there. Cut what didn’t work, beef up what did work.

So I started over, but I didn’t start from scratch.

photo by: linder6580

This time I figured out everyone’s backstory equally.

I figured out when I wanted/needed to incorporate that backstory.

I adjusted the conflict.

I gave the characters fresh goals.

I gave them something to work toward.

I decided on a few action items.

I decided what my turning points were going to be.

I mapped out the heroine’s emotional journey and what needed to happen to get her to each step.

I concentrated on creating a heroine I wanted to be friends with.

I focused on creating a hero I could fall in love with.

I bulked up the foundation of the book. I made the walls thick enough to hold everything up. And now I’m finishing my creation. Next up will be revision and polish. And then hopefully the inside of the book will be as pretty as the cover I’ve had waiting in the wings for four months.

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Have you ever had to do extensive rewrites? Have you ever started over completely?

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HAVE A WRITING QUESTION?

Send it my way and I’ll see if I can work it into a future blog post.

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Book of the Week: Seduced by a Cajun Werewolf

  “So this is your job? Killing people?” He rolled backwards over the bed, feeling like a playful, eight week-old pup. Her eyes flashed silver. He wasn’t particularly afraid of her—and if he could take a time out, he was sure he’d laugh at the whole situation.

The woman he loved more than life itself had been hired to assassinate him, and here she was dancing around him in her lingerie, trying to slice him to bits. Yes, the Fates had a brutal sense of humor.

“Why are you not afraid of me?” She stopped to look at him. Her heaving breasts threatened to spill over the top of the lacey cups of her bra. Standing in the doorway, with rain splattering her feet, she was a vision. Lithe, toned, and delicious.

“I used to kill your kind for a living.” He cocked his head to the side, watching her through his lashes as his words sank in.

She let out a piercing battle cry and leapt at him. He caught her wrists and held them high over her head.

“I will kill you,” she promised. Her features hardened, and her tone was filled with fury.“I’m not afraid of death.”She cocked her head to the side, as if she hadn’t understood him. That glossy hair he longed to run his fingers through trailed over her shoulder in a way he found far too alluring for their present situation.

“My turn,” he said. “Why do you kill?”

“Because it’s what I was trained to do.”

“You aren’t very good at it.”

She moved so quickly he hardly had time to react. Her blade sliced into his arm, and he growled low in his throat as he spun out of the way.

“Then again, I’m not used to fighting a mere woman. Perhaps women are not made to fight. To kill.”

“Would you like to see my kill book?” Her fangs peeked over her lips again.

“Not particularly.”

When she swung this time, he kicked the sword out of her hand. She hissed like a cat who’d just had its tail stepped on.

“Perhaps your heart just isn’t in it.” He gave her a dark, lingering look. And before she could reply, turned and walked out onto the balcony.

Rain poured down upon him, drenching his jeans and soaking his hair. Through the thick precipitation, he could make out a few landmarks and skyscrapers. They were on the top floor of a building. The balcony stretched left and right. The thunderstorm carried the salty scent of the ocean and put on a great light show.

A sharp pain seared his back.

“You’re stupid to turn your back on me, wolf,” she said, her voice raised above the roar of falling water.

“I told you—I’m not afraid of death.”

The point of her sword moved to the base of his neck. A chill broke out over his skin. The feeling…couldn’t be fear. He’d thought about it for so long; had welcomed it on more than one occasion. All this time, he’d thought that she, Violet, was dead.

Life had seemed so dim. It hadn’t mattered how many women had graced his bed. How many parties he’d attended, or how much money he’d made. Travel, food, and life itself had become tasteless and boring. Death would take away the pain. The monotony.

Slowly, he turned to face her. Her hair was plastered against her porcelain skin, and her eyes had turned that weird shade of blue and silver. Water dripped from her nose and ran like a river between her breasts, disappearing beneath the lacey edge of her panties.

“Who hired you?” The tip of her weapon was only inches away from his throat, and he was completely vulnerable. A rare feeling.

She frowned. “Why do you care?”

“Don’t you think a dying man deserves to know who paid for his execution?”

“I don’t know the person’s name.”

“You lie.”

“I do not.” The wind picked up, driving the rain into his skin like BB pellets. She seemed unaffected by the sharp, stinging sensation. Her face remained placid, as if she’d done this, had stood in front of a man ready to carry out his death, a thousand times.

Perhaps she had.

“Well, Violet, I have nothing left to live for.” He knelt in front of her, wondering if she’d go through with it. Perhaps he should call his brother and cousins. But he did not want them to think him a coward. Resigned, yes.

With that little piece of hope inside him dead, he had nothing left on which to cling. Everything—his life, their future, was in her hands.

 

A | BN | ARe | S

For Writers: A Handy–Dandy Blog Schedule

Hello fellow writers!

Do you have a blog? Do you blog consistently?

Yeah, it’s tough sometimes. Okay, most of the time. Am I the only one who sits down once a week and thinks “my kingdom for a blog topic!”

So lately I’ve been trying to figure out a better method than last minute head scratching. Turns out that inspired women everywhere are coming up with blog schedules.

Blog schedules?

Yes. Just like magazine editors keep a nice schedule of their upcoming issues with stories and ideas, bloggers can do the same.

Here’s one example to inspire and help you.

And here’s the PDF that I put together.

It has space for a date, the headline or blog post concept, and check boxes to guide you through the stages of blog writing. There’s also space for blog post ideas, images that need to be created, and some last minute to do items for each blog post you publish.

It’s a work in progress, so let me know what you think.

Review of Ask For It

  Silla Beaumont at Just Erotic Romance Reviews said:

 ”Because while Trevor and JJ’s story is highly romantic and lovey-dovey, it’s also hot as Hades! The chemistry between the couple is instantaneous and absolutely combustible. “

Book of the Week: Surprising Darcy

 

Two months ago Darcy Evans had a little too much to drink and during a night of hot sex, admitted one of her most secret fantasies… to have two men at once. Today is her 29th birthday and her boyfriend Aiden Sinclair is ready to help her celebrate. In fact, he has a surprise in store that will make her fantasy a reality.

Warning: Includes two hunky males, a blindfold, decadent birthday cake, and a night of fantasy come to life.

Just a little teaser to wet your appetite:

Darcy Evans pulled her front door open and let her eyes rake over the handsome blond haired man leaning against the door frame. Her heart seemed to bounce around in her rib cage and her loneliness dissolved instantly.  His brilliant blue eyes sparkled down at her as a slow smile showed off that cute dimple on his left cheek. Perfect white teeth peeked out from behind the sensuous lips that played a starring role in many of her fantasies.

She smiled back, soaking in his presence. It was pathetic how much she’d missed him this past week. She should have gone out for drinks with her friends or something. Anything that would signify that she actually had a life outside of the kitchen and this incredible, seductive man.

He pulled a bouquet of pink flowers from behind his back.

“Happy Birthday.”

He remembered! Oh yes, he really was perfect. Her own father couldn’t be bothered to remember the day his daughter was born, but Aiden…Aiden came from a family that celebrated important events.

“Thank you!”  She accepted the bouquet and cuddled the flowers to her chest. Lilies. She inhaled deeply, letting the intoxicatingly sweet scent wash over her.  He stepped across the threshold, looking every bit the successful surgeon in his coal gray suit, and she raised her cheek for his kiss.

Aiden Sinclair had been her friend since they’d shared a wall two apartments ago.  They’d been lovers for the last three blissful months and for the past week he’d been in Houston for a medical conference. Even though he’d called her throughout the week, there was nothing quite like being in his arms, feeling his touch, his kiss.

He strode into her living room and she followed, admiring his easy movements. Some men would look restricted, uptight in a suit…but not him. His long legs gave him a sexy swagger. Sometimes she envisioned him as a heart stealing, treasure plundering pirate…maybe he was in a past life.

As usual, he looked completely at home and that familiar fantasy took over…the one where he came home to her every night. She could see him standing in the foyer, flipping through mail, or shaving, first thing in the morning. It was a dangerous fantasy, one that would be so easy to wish for. But she had no business wishing for such things, they’d only been together for three months… and four days, but who was counting.

She grimaced.

She was counting.

A | BN | S

 

For Writers: The Writing Advice You Don’t Want To Hear

Dear writer,

I’m going to level with you.

Writing is a solitary endeavor. You’re going to get lonely. You’ll probably get jealous. You will have highs and lows that will shock you. You’ll have back pain and you’ll need to exercise a lot to make up for all the sitting you do. You’ll be tempted to chat with other writers to make up for the fact that writers don’t work in an office with other writers. You’ll be tempted to waste time on social media and do whatever everyone else is doing.

But at the end of the day, you must sit down, shut up and write.

Stop talking about what you’re going to write. Write.

Stop talking about what you need to be doing. Write.

Stop talking about your grand plans. Write.

Stop talking about your marketing plan. Write.

Stop talking about your career goals, business plan and process. Write.

Just shut up and write.

The Winners of the ABB Giveaway!

Grand Prize Winner

Karin M.

Other Winners:

Stormy Weather CE

Cristina A.

Stormy Weather CE

Sema F.

The Dom Who Loved Me

Aimee L.

The Dom Who Loved Me

Crystal G.

Their Virgin Concubine

Leslie S.

Their Virgin Concubine

Sue S.

Cat Johnson Collection

Susan K.

Book of the Week: Fangs, Fur & Mistletoe

EXCERPT

“I remember everything,” she whispered, her fangs lengthening.

“This?” he whispered, a large hand splaying across her lower back. Hot. Strong. Possessive. Pulling her closer until their hips brushed.

“Yes.” The word came out as a hiss.

He took her hand and laid it over his heart. The organ beat out a steady rhythm against her palm. She soaked in the heat of his skin, the strength of his chest. “And this?” he asked, his deep voice seducing her as easily as his touch.

“Yes.”

She remembered the sound of his heartbeat thundering in her ears. His pulse, visible in the strong artery in his neck. She’d wanted to taste his blood, sink her fangs into him as he entered her.

She still wanted that.

He cupped her cheek with his other hand and dipped his head. The light from a nearby lamppost lit his eyes. Just as they had all those years ago, his irises flared, and for the briefest of seconds she thought that maybe he could see to the depth of her soul. No one, not even Valencia and certainly not Dmitri, had ever studied her so intensely.

“And this?” he murmured again, their lips less than a centimeter apart.

She smelled whiskey on his breath, one more memory of this night. All she had to do was close the distance and find out if he kissed as well as he did in her dreams.

Just like that night on the battlefield, his thumb traced her jaw line. And just like that night, desire warred with the knowledge that they were not destined to be together.

But she hadn’t come to Mystic Isle for together-forever. She’d come for hot-shout-my-name-sex. She’d come here… to come.

So this time when he glanced back and forth, staring so deeply into her eyes, gauging her response, she let her lips do the talking.

A | BN | ARe | S | K

Review of Ask For It

  Shelly at Red Hot Books Said: “The more I think about it this author, I’m impressed by a strong story, without the soap opera like drama, that had me turning the pages.”