Naomi Kramer's Blog, page 4
October 20, 2012
Welcome!
Hey guys and gals,
I know it’s been a long, long time. And the website looks like shit, again. Let’s face it, it’s looked like shit for a couple of years now. I’ve had a lot of stuff to deal with in the last year or two, some of which I’ll probably tell y’all soon. BUT… regardless of the ‘poor lil me’ whining… I’m determined to get this up and running at least slightly well, so it’s usable. A crappy website is worse than none.
So… again I’m asking for patience, but hopefully only a bit. I’ll do my damnedest to get this site looking good, and with some fun additions, very soon. 
Love,
Naomi
May 13, 2011
New DEAD(ish) Ebook Out!
Yes, I've finally managed to get the third DEAD(ish) book out the door!! :-D
Introducing DEAD as a doorpost ...
Introducing DEAD as a doorpost ...
April 2, 2011
New Ebook Out!
This is one for the adult folks NOT offended by sex and swearing.
Bad Fuck is a collection of short-short stories about what might really happen when a sex scene fades to black.
A bit of horror, a smidge of fantasy (with unicorn!), a measure of sci fi and a small dose of erotica. All mixed in with my usual dark humour and snark. :-)
Bad Fuck is a collection of short-short stories about what might really happen when a sex scene fades to black.
A bit of horror, a smidge of fantasy (with unicorn!), a measure of sci fi and a small dose of erotica. All mixed in with my usual dark humour and snark. :-)
January 16, 2011
Excerpt - Vampire Suicide Agency
Another excerpt from VSA, one of my books-in-progress (there are usually at least three). This is from the very start of the book.
"Your God is a monster!" screamed the young, pale biker stalking down the aisle between pews. "You preach – week after sodding week – about love and forgiveness! And then I come here and – look!"
He reached the minister, grabbed his shoulder with one hand and his cross with the other, and ripped the chain from around his throat. He hissed, grimacing with pain, and shoved a blistering, smoking hand in the man's face.
"LOOK! THAT'S how much your God loves and cherishes those less fortunate! Burn them! Kill them! Drive them off if you can't kill them! How is that love, you moron?"
He screamed with anger and pain, shoved the minister away, and threw the cross at the falling man.
"FUCK your God!" he yelled and ran out of the chapel.
Pastor John Lutke pulled himself to his feet, picked up his cross from the floor, and sighed as he looked at the broken chain. That guy had ripped open skin on his neck tearing it off, he realised. Oh boy – another fun night on Oxford Street.
Oxford Street, Sydney, is an inner-city area best known for its highrise offices, nightclubs, sex workers and drugs. With the pleasure-seekers and the oblivion-seekers came, as always, the predators. The drug dealers, the pimps, the vampires – all feeding from the easy pickings of people uncaring and uncared for. As soon as he'd been ordained, John had gone against all advice from friends and hierarchy and started a Lutheran chapel in a closed-down nightclub. Ironically enough, he thought, he'd been able to get old-fashioned wooden pews and altar for it – because a larger, richer, far more popular brother church had been upgrading to padded chairs and modern fittings.
John looked around and sighed. The place was dark, looked more like a warehouse or cult meeting-place than a church. The walls were black, the high ceiling black - probably to avoid distracting the eye from the music and light shows, he figured. No stained glass – hardly any glass at all in fact, and what there was, was still painted black. All windows high up near the ceiling, 5 or 6 metres away. Spotlight tubes still dotted the ceiling. He looked at the dark shapes up there in the gloom, and had an idea. He hurried to the bank of controls, and frowned, confused. You'd need a manual or a month of training to work this thing properly. He shrugged, and briefly flicked each switch to ON until he had the one he was looking for. Right. Now to turn it... the spot gyrated wildly around the walls until he found a measure of control over the tiny joystick, and centred it on the large cross on top of the altar. There. A reminder of why he was doing all this. He sighed again, touched the graze on his neck and winced. Time to eat something – and wash his neck.
****
"Because he's a bloody hypocrite, that's why!"
"And you're not surrounded by them daily?"
"But - he preaches lies! He tells people there's hope, there's something better for all after death – for hell's sake, look at me, aren't I a perfect example of why that's bullshit?"
"He'd argue that your soul's having a ball, I reckon."
"Oh, yeah, and leavin' me to scrape a miserable existence without it? What sort of all-powerful God would let that sort of crap happen?"
"Preaching to the choir, Fritz."
"STOP fucking calling me that!"
"Sorry, long habit... Floyd."
Floyd stopped pacing long enough to glare at the vampire lounging on the beanbag in the corner.
"Moron! You don't give a shit about this, do you?"
Marcus shrugged, stood up.
"They're just food, mate, why bother getting pissed at them? Do you get upset at a cow for mooing wrong?"
Floyd glared.
"Come on," Marcus said, "Let's go out and have fun, OK? I'm hungry, and the buffet'll be out by now."
"I don't want to go out!"
"You're cranky. You need food or you'll kill someone soon."
"Maybe that fucking preacher," Floyd muttered, but followed.
"Your God is a monster!" screamed the young, pale biker stalking down the aisle between pews. "You preach – week after sodding week – about love and forgiveness! And then I come here and – look!"
He reached the minister, grabbed his shoulder with one hand and his cross with the other, and ripped the chain from around his throat. He hissed, grimacing with pain, and shoved a blistering, smoking hand in the man's face.
"LOOK! THAT'S how much your God loves and cherishes those less fortunate! Burn them! Kill them! Drive them off if you can't kill them! How is that love, you moron?"
He screamed with anger and pain, shoved the minister away, and threw the cross at the falling man.
"FUCK your God!" he yelled and ran out of the chapel.
Pastor John Lutke pulled himself to his feet, picked up his cross from the floor, and sighed as he looked at the broken chain. That guy had ripped open skin on his neck tearing it off, he realised. Oh boy – another fun night on Oxford Street.
Oxford Street, Sydney, is an inner-city area best known for its highrise offices, nightclubs, sex workers and drugs. With the pleasure-seekers and the oblivion-seekers came, as always, the predators. The drug dealers, the pimps, the vampires – all feeding from the easy pickings of people uncaring and uncared for. As soon as he'd been ordained, John had gone against all advice from friends and hierarchy and started a Lutheran chapel in a closed-down nightclub. Ironically enough, he thought, he'd been able to get old-fashioned wooden pews and altar for it – because a larger, richer, far more popular brother church had been upgrading to padded chairs and modern fittings.
John looked around and sighed. The place was dark, looked more like a warehouse or cult meeting-place than a church. The walls were black, the high ceiling black - probably to avoid distracting the eye from the music and light shows, he figured. No stained glass – hardly any glass at all in fact, and what there was, was still painted black. All windows high up near the ceiling, 5 or 6 metres away. Spotlight tubes still dotted the ceiling. He looked at the dark shapes up there in the gloom, and had an idea. He hurried to the bank of controls, and frowned, confused. You'd need a manual or a month of training to work this thing properly. He shrugged, and briefly flicked each switch to ON until he had the one he was looking for. Right. Now to turn it... the spot gyrated wildly around the walls until he found a measure of control over the tiny joystick, and centred it on the large cross on top of the altar. There. A reminder of why he was doing all this. He sighed again, touched the graze on his neck and winced. Time to eat something – and wash his neck.
****
"Because he's a bloody hypocrite, that's why!"
"And you're not surrounded by them daily?"
"But - he preaches lies! He tells people there's hope, there's something better for all after death – for hell's sake, look at me, aren't I a perfect example of why that's bullshit?"
"He'd argue that your soul's having a ball, I reckon."
"Oh, yeah, and leavin' me to scrape a miserable existence without it? What sort of all-powerful God would let that sort of crap happen?"
"Preaching to the choir, Fritz."
"STOP fucking calling me that!"
"Sorry, long habit... Floyd."
Floyd stopped pacing long enough to glare at the vampire lounging on the beanbag in the corner.
"Moron! You don't give a shit about this, do you?"
Marcus shrugged, stood up.
"They're just food, mate, why bother getting pissed at them? Do you get upset at a cow for mooing wrong?"
Floyd glared.
"Come on," Marcus said, "Let's go out and have fun, OK? I'm hungry, and the buffet'll be out by now."
"I don't want to go out!"
"You're cranky. You need food or you'll kill someone soon."
"Maybe that fucking preacher," Floyd muttered, but followed.
November 18, 2010
(technically) DEAD at Amazon and B&N
I just realised that while technically DEAD has been in the Amazon Kindle store for a couple of weeks now, I hadn't actually mentioned on Goodreads that it was available.
Duh.
But on the bright side, it's also now available on B&N, ahead of schedule if coverless and descriptionless.
Buy (technically) DEAD from Amazon US
Buy (technically) DEAD from Amazon UK
Buy (technically) DEAD from B&N
YAY!! :-D
Duh.
But on the bright side, it's also now available on B&N, ahead of schedule if coverless and descriptionless.
Buy (technically) DEAD from Amazon US
Buy (technically) DEAD from Amazon UK
Buy (technically) DEAD from B&N
YAY!! :-D
November 10, 2010
Excerpt! - DEAD (as a Doornail)
I was sitting in front of my computer, pondering how to handle the next scene in Maisy May 2. Guess who moseyed along to help? Linda! Yay! Except Linda's a little... *whispers* self-absorbed, ya know? So instead of sorting out Maisy's high school drama, I finished up penning an account of Linda's latest adventure. Or part of it...
((Warning: This is adult stuff. Not adult as in erotica, just not suitable for kids.))
(Linda)
I'm sitting in my hot-tub, lavender-scented bubbles fluffing around me, hot water taking tension out of muscles I know I don't have, but I can't resist indulging. Death's funny, you know? Feels a lot like life sometimes, and if you let it, it'll convince you it's exactly the same. Till a huge difference smacks you in the arse, anyhow.
Someone clears their throat behind me, and I spin around. I'm really not in the mood for Ms Archangel and her dodgy missions. But it's not an archangel - it's a fellow deadie. Recent, I guess, judging from the fact he's wearing pants, and the blush spreading over his face. What, I'm naked? Big whooptidoodah. But he's got a kind face, and he's sort of cute, and holy crap, look at those abs!
I think on a swimsuit - nothing too demure, because I'm dead not old, dammit - and get out of the tub.
"Hi," I say imaginatively.
"Hi," he mumbles, still red and looking at the ground.
Damn, he's really new.
"What's up?" I ask.
"Umm... Sephenia told me to talk to you."
Ms Archangel herself. What, she sent me a present?
"... she said you'd... show me around?"
Oh boy, and it ain't even Christmas! That girl's earnt herself a thank-you card.
I smile, and try to think. What to show him that won't freak him out too much? I'm pretty sure asking him to hop in the tub for a massage is out. Pity.
((Warning: This is adult stuff. Not adult as in erotica, just not suitable for kids.))
(Linda)
I'm sitting in my hot-tub, lavender-scented bubbles fluffing around me, hot water taking tension out of muscles I know I don't have, but I can't resist indulging. Death's funny, you know? Feels a lot like life sometimes, and if you let it, it'll convince you it's exactly the same. Till a huge difference smacks you in the arse, anyhow.
Someone clears their throat behind me, and I spin around. I'm really not in the mood for Ms Archangel and her dodgy missions. But it's not an archangel - it's a fellow deadie. Recent, I guess, judging from the fact he's wearing pants, and the blush spreading over his face. What, I'm naked? Big whooptidoodah. But he's got a kind face, and he's sort of cute, and holy crap, look at those abs!
I think on a swimsuit - nothing too demure, because I'm dead not old, dammit - and get out of the tub.
"Hi," I say imaginatively.
"Hi," he mumbles, still red and looking at the ground.
Damn, he's really new.
"What's up?" I ask.
"Umm... Sephenia told me to talk to you."
Ms Archangel herself. What, she sent me a present?
"... she said you'd... show me around?"
Oh boy, and it ain't even Christmas! That girl's earnt herself a thank-you card.
I smile, and try to think. What to show him that won't freak him out too much? I'm pretty sure asking him to hop in the tub for a massage is out. Pity.
November 4, 2010
October 29, 2010
WOOOOOHOOOOO!!! DEAD(ish) sequel OUT!!!
MAN that feels good!!
technically DEAD has been dragging its heels through the editing process, and just as I thought I couldn't possibly meet the self-imposed "I'll have it out in October!" deadline - it's done!
(pause while I dance around my home office for a few minutes)
It's available at Smashwords now for 99c - Smashwords edition of (technically) DEAD. I've uploaded it to Amazon, but they take a while to manually check and index each new document. It might be up there today or tomorrow, but more likely Monday.
*bounce*
I'm off to make myself a coffee. If you buy (technically) DEAD, I hope you love it. :-)
technically DEAD has been dragging its heels through the editing process, and just as I thought I couldn't possibly meet the self-imposed "I'll have it out in October!" deadline - it's done!
(pause while I dance around my home office for a few minutes)
It's available at Smashwords now for 99c - Smashwords edition of (technically) DEAD. I've uploaded it to Amazon, but they take a while to manually check and index each new document. It might be up there today or tomorrow, but more likely Monday.
*bounce*
I'm off to make myself a coffee. If you buy (technically) DEAD, I hope you love it. :-)
October 19, 2010
On Negative Reviews
I'm a pretty easy-going gal. Honest. If you're ever pausing with your mouse pointer over a 1-star rating for one of my books and wondering if I'll burst into tears and/or rampage after you with a machete for it, relax. Go ahead and click. Seriously.
First, I know that my books aren't perfect. I work hard on them to make sure they're as good as I can get them, and then I put them out there. But I never labour under the delusion that I've written the first faultless book in the world.
Second, I know that my books aren't for everyone. That means they could be absolutely awesome masterpieces, and some folks still wouldn't like them at all. Some of them are downright weird in style, with odd perspective jumps and writing rules lying smashed on the ground all over the place.
On rare occasions, I will wander off and snark about a review I've received. Some people tell me this is absolutely inexcusable. Meh. I don't snark when someone didn't like my book. Dear God, I'd be drowning in snarkiness! I do snark, though, if someone comments that I obviously have not graduated grade school, or high school, or never taken a writing class. I also snark if someone complains about the horrible (ahem! Australian!!) spelling, and "who can't spell 'ass' for crying out loud?" Australians, that's who. Pbbbbbbbt. But that's it, really. If you state that the characters are cardboard cutouts and the basic premise is ridiculous and you hated the PI so much you wanted to stab him - no worries.
What it comes down to is this: feel free to leave a negative review. But try not to leave a dumb review. Be aware that by writing a review, YOU'RE putting YOUR work out in the public eye too. And if I think you've done an impressively bad job, I might just say so. Publicly. If you don't like that concept, think back to what you're doing. If it's good for the goose, maybe it's good for the gander, too. Hrmm?
Let me just clarify something here. I bet there's someone reading this and picturing me turning into an authorly maelstrom of self-righteous rage and castigating people about the spelling mistakes in their reviews. Hell no! No matter what you write in a review, it's highly unlikely you'll ever hear from me unless you first specifically contact me. I'm all for readers having a place where they can share reviews without author intervention. However, if you happen to inhabit the same reaches of the internet that I do, and see me comment about an irritating review received 'over on Goodreads'... that's when I'm likely to be both unsympathetic and supremely unapologetic about any possible angst you may suffer.
First, I know that my books aren't perfect. I work hard on them to make sure they're as good as I can get them, and then I put them out there. But I never labour under the delusion that I've written the first faultless book in the world.
Second, I know that my books aren't for everyone. That means they could be absolutely awesome masterpieces, and some folks still wouldn't like them at all. Some of them are downright weird in style, with odd perspective jumps and writing rules lying smashed on the ground all over the place.
On rare occasions, I will wander off and snark about a review I've received. Some people tell me this is absolutely inexcusable. Meh. I don't snark when someone didn't like my book. Dear God, I'd be drowning in snarkiness! I do snark, though, if someone comments that I obviously have not graduated grade school, or high school, or never taken a writing class. I also snark if someone complains about the horrible (ahem! Australian!!) spelling, and "who can't spell 'ass' for crying out loud?" Australians, that's who. Pbbbbbbbt. But that's it, really. If you state that the characters are cardboard cutouts and the basic premise is ridiculous and you hated the PI so much you wanted to stab him - no worries.
What it comes down to is this: feel free to leave a negative review. But try not to leave a dumb review. Be aware that by writing a review, YOU'RE putting YOUR work out in the public eye too. And if I think you've done an impressively bad job, I might just say so. Publicly. If you don't like that concept, think back to what you're doing. If it's good for the goose, maybe it's good for the gander, too. Hrmm?
Let me just clarify something here. I bet there's someone reading this and picturing me turning into an authorly maelstrom of self-righteous rage and castigating people about the spelling mistakes in their reviews. Hell no! No matter what you write in a review, it's highly unlikely you'll ever hear from me unless you first specifically contact me. I'm all for readers having a place where they can share reviews without author intervention. However, if you happen to inhabit the same reaches of the internet that I do, and see me comment about an irritating review received 'over on Goodreads'... that's when I'm likely to be both unsympathetic and supremely unapologetic about any possible angst you may suffer.
October 8, 2010
(technically) DEAD - Cover!!!
Isn't it pretty??
technically DEAD
Now to finish the editing so the text is good enough for its cover... :-)
technically DEAD
Now to finish the editing so the text is good enough for its cover... :-)
