Vanessa Jaye's Blog, page 7
October 29, 2011
Hunter of the Heart - A Sampler
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Over on Goodreads my 'About the Author' says this:
What I hope you'll find in my books are entertaining stories with characters you can root for, emotion, humour, intrigue, loads of sexual tension and heat and, always, a satisfying ending.
Kinda generic, maybe a little too earnest, I know. :/
My favourite 'About the Author' is in my St. Valentine's freebie, Careful What You Wish For:
The lone survivor of a Tibetan plane crash, Vanessa Jaye was rescued by a now extinct rogue sect of shape-shifting monks.
As the only female in this revered group she can categorically state that the sound of one hand clapping was how those sexist Neanderthals asked her to get another beer from the fridge.
After the incident officially known as The Breaking of the Sanctity of the Sanitary Napkins, the prank playing chauvinistic monks were never seen again.
Coincidentally, Vanessa Jaye is the only survivor of, and eyewitness to, the Shangri-La Massacre.
And she ain't talkin'.
She now spends her time contemplating the meaning of life—and whose job, really, is it to do the dishes—in between making stuff up, writing it down, and sending it into her editor.
But that doesn't really tell you anything about me, except that I'm a goof. :-P
On the other hand, the statement on Goodreads is true, no matter what subgenre I tackle I believe most, if not all, of those elements will be included in varying degrees in the story.
For fun, figured I'd post some sample/example snippets from Hunter of the Heart:
Humour:
"Come on, Romeo." There was more urgency in his steps as he headed back to the hotel. From behind, he caught the tail end of Mitch's muttered cussing.
"You're a real buzz-kill, Scooby. You know that?" But in the few feet it took Mitch to catch up with him, his partner forgot his ire. "Damn. I am so loving this scenery."
"I noticed." From Nate's vantage point, Mitch couldn't swivel his head fast enough to take in all the hot-looking women.
"You gotta admit this is better'n some of the places that furry bastard child of Hannibal Lecter picked to party in. Remember Russia? Colder than a mother-effer. And that damn Sikhote-Alin forest had ticks as big as my balls."
"It's a wonder you don't furrow the ground as you walk."
"Hey, whatever, man. All I'm saying is that ain't what I'm plowing." Mitch mimed slapping an ass while moving his hips suggestively.
Sexual tension:
"And I don't like the way you're looking at me now either. You're practically drooling."
Nate grinned wider in response, gave her a little flash of the canines and felt the tiny thrill in her response. His senses expanded to explore her reactions more, the rush of blood through her veins, the increased pulsing of her heart, and the faint scent of her arousal. Intoxicating.
"Do you like this better?" He leaned closer, his lips almost touching hers, but he delayed the moment by turning his head slightly aside. A predator by nature, he understood all about the hunt, about timing and how it could sharpen the appetite and make the feast to come all the sweeter.
"You're a woman of many dislikes, Tessa," he whispered against her ear. "I'll have to work hard at discovering what delights you."
Intrigue:
"You'll have to do better than hide in stairwells, Tessa."
She gasped, his voice was clear as a whisper in her ear and his anger brushed up against her skin, raising goose bumps like a hot rash.
The sound of the door opening above her was enough—Tessa raced down the stairs in a panic. Oh God, she could almost feel his sharp teeth at her neck. There were no erotic images this time, just the cold knowledge of death. She'd actually been lonely and feeling a bit sorry for herself? She'd give anything right now to be safe and bored, watching some stupid sitcom in her living room with a pint of Cherry Garcia ice cream for company.
"Tessa, no! Come back to me, now!"
She looked up and saw two points of lights shining down at her from Nate's face. He looked murderous. Terror clawed into her gut. "Leave me alone!"
Tessa paused long enough to see, really see, the beginnings of the change in him, the lower half of his face became elongated, the tanned skin disappearing behind a spread of black hair. She screamed, and stumbled down the stairs blindly. Her sides stitched with pain, each gasp of breath not nearly enough. Had she actually kissed him? It? Her prayers for deliverance muffled his voice that continued to stab into her brain, demanding that she return to him.
He was insane.
No, she was.
But it wasn't her imagination. It was true. He was a monster and he was going to kill her.
She came to the bottom of the stairs. Should she turn left or—
Feet raced down towards her, echoing in the narrow space till they sounded like an army. But they weren't human feet. The rhythm was all wrong, overshot with a constant scrabble of nails hitting metal.
Hide. Anywhere. She ran, frantically trying doors left and right. One of them opened.
It was the wrong one.
A satisfying ending:
The End.
Ha!
(Obviously there's more to the ending than a kiss, but if you want to know what it is, well you know what you'll have to do….)
What I hope you'll find in my books are entertaining stories with characters you can root for, emotion, humour, intrigue, loads of sexual tension and heat and, always, a satisfying ending.
Kinda generic, maybe a little too earnest, I know. :/
My favourite 'About the Author' is in my St. Valentine's freebie, Careful What You Wish For:
The lone survivor of a Tibetan plane crash, Vanessa Jaye was rescued by a now extinct rogue sect of shape-shifting monks.
As the only female in this revered group she can categorically state that the sound of one hand clapping was how those sexist Neanderthals asked her to get another beer from the fridge.
After the incident officially known as The Breaking of the Sanctity of the Sanitary Napkins, the prank playing chauvinistic monks were never seen again.
Coincidentally, Vanessa Jaye is the only survivor of, and eyewitness to, the Shangri-La Massacre.
And she ain't talkin'.
She now spends her time contemplating the meaning of life—and whose job, really, is it to do the dishes—in between making stuff up, writing it down, and sending it into her editor.
But that doesn't really tell you anything about me, except that I'm a goof. :-P
On the other hand, the statement on Goodreads is true, no matter what subgenre I tackle I believe most, if not all, of those elements will be included in varying degrees in the story.
For fun, figured I'd post some sample/example snippets from Hunter of the Heart:
Humour:
"Come on, Romeo." There was more urgency in his steps as he headed back to the hotel. From behind, he caught the tail end of Mitch's muttered cussing.
"You're a real buzz-kill, Scooby. You know that?" But in the few feet it took Mitch to catch up with him, his partner forgot his ire. "Damn. I am so loving this scenery."
"I noticed." From Nate's vantage point, Mitch couldn't swivel his head fast enough to take in all the hot-looking women.
"You gotta admit this is better'n some of the places that furry bastard child of Hannibal Lecter picked to party in. Remember Russia? Colder than a mother-effer. And that damn Sikhote-Alin forest had ticks as big as my balls."
"It's a wonder you don't furrow the ground as you walk."
"Hey, whatever, man. All I'm saying is that ain't what I'm plowing." Mitch mimed slapping an ass while moving his hips suggestively.
Sexual tension:
"And I don't like the way you're looking at me now either. You're practically drooling."
Nate grinned wider in response, gave her a little flash of the canines and felt the tiny thrill in her response. His senses expanded to explore her reactions more, the rush of blood through her veins, the increased pulsing of her heart, and the faint scent of her arousal. Intoxicating.
"Do you like this better?" He leaned closer, his lips almost touching hers, but he delayed the moment by turning his head slightly aside. A predator by nature, he understood all about the hunt, about timing and how it could sharpen the appetite and make the feast to come all the sweeter.
"You're a woman of many dislikes, Tessa," he whispered against her ear. "I'll have to work hard at discovering what delights you."
Intrigue:
"You'll have to do better than hide in stairwells, Tessa."
She gasped, his voice was clear as a whisper in her ear and his anger brushed up against her skin, raising goose bumps like a hot rash.
The sound of the door opening above her was enough—Tessa raced down the stairs in a panic. Oh God, she could almost feel his sharp teeth at her neck. There were no erotic images this time, just the cold knowledge of death. She'd actually been lonely and feeling a bit sorry for herself? She'd give anything right now to be safe and bored, watching some stupid sitcom in her living room with a pint of Cherry Garcia ice cream for company.
"Tessa, no! Come back to me, now!"
She looked up and saw two points of lights shining down at her from Nate's face. He looked murderous. Terror clawed into her gut. "Leave me alone!"
Tessa paused long enough to see, really see, the beginnings of the change in him, the lower half of his face became elongated, the tanned skin disappearing behind a spread of black hair. She screamed, and stumbled down the stairs blindly. Her sides stitched with pain, each gasp of breath not nearly enough. Had she actually kissed him? It? Her prayers for deliverance muffled his voice that continued to stab into her brain, demanding that she return to him.
He was insane.
No, she was.
But it wasn't her imagination. It was true. He was a monster and he was going to kill her.
She came to the bottom of the stairs. Should she turn left or—
Feet raced down towards her, echoing in the narrow space till they sounded like an army. But they weren't human feet. The rhythm was all wrong, overshot with a constant scrabble of nails hitting metal.
Hide. Anywhere. She ran, frantically trying doors left and right. One of them opened.
It was the wrong one.
A satisfying ending:
The End.
Ha!
(Obviously there's more to the ending than a kiss, but if you want to know what it is, well you know what you'll have to do….)
October 16, 2011
Weaver weaver
Right up front let me cop to the fact I don't know crap about the at of weaving, except that there are a multitude of threads that must be woven together with a level of skill that the whole cloth presents something pleasing and coherent with patterns and textures that echo, shadow/shade, highlight and amplify. Some of those threads and colours are there at the very first row of stitches and knots. Others come into play later. Writing/story-telling is a lot like weaving. The author must chose which plot threads and characters to weave in and out of the story whole, as well as the where and the how.
I have a very controversial plot point that might make peeps throw Mitch's story against the wall and vow never, ever to read me again. O.o It was an even more controversial choice originally, but I decided to change the players involved which lost a certain whiff of being gratuitous but upped the emotional angst 10 fold. (Yaaaah!) except that emotional angst might be the same thing that juices up some hater-boners for my hero. No way around it, it's going to be a bright fire-engine red thread in the panel of this story, but I'm mulling over ways to make it appear a little more of a soft coral or deep dusky rose. lol. One thing I am firm on is, if I try to pull this thread out the whole story (such as it is) will unravel.
On the flip side, I was going to have Nate and Tessa from Hunter of the Heart show up in Mitch's story, but the sub-plot I came up with for them is also a bit inflammatory, so I think I'm going to leave them out of it.
ps. I was just googling a pic for this post and used 'red thread' and this came up on Wikipedia:
"The red string of fate, also referred to as the red thread of destiny, red thread of fate, and other variants, is an East Asian belief originating from Chinese legend and is also used in Japanese legend. According to this myth, the gods tie an invisible red string around the ankles of men and women who are destined to be soul mates and will one day marry each other"
"The two people connected by the red thread are destined lovers, regardless of time, place or circumstances. This magical cord may stretch or tangle, but never break. This myth is similar to the Western concept of soulmates or a twin flame."
How cool is that? This is, yes, another shapeshifter insta-mate! story. Mich is a were-panther, and Jordan, well, I'm not quite sure what she is at the begining of the story, but by the end she is more than human. Anywho, the aggravating plot point is definitely instrumental to their fate/future together (and whether they have one)
pps- yes, I've been annoyingly cagey in this post. lol
October 1, 2011
Into the Quiet
The last couple of years I've really struggled with balance in my life. Up until early this year the crazy workload & unbelievable stress levels in the daytime job threw everything out of whack and it felt like I was hold it all together just by the fingernails at times. And let me tell you, those nails were split, brittle and broken most of the time. But this year, everything has slowly come back on to an more even keel. Not 100% better, but the improvements are clear: eating better, exercising more, spending time with friends (it's so easy for everyone concerned to quote how busy/tired/stress they are and before you know it, months go by and you haven't don't more than forwarded a bunch of joke emails to peeps you care deeply about.)
One of area that still needs work is writing. It still feels like a struggle to find the time & mojo to write. I know part of it is simply habit and to make the time. But part of it is getting in tune again with *how* I write. All authors have their particular quirks—some need to outline, some need music, some need to dive head first into those first couple of chapters then stop and think and plan.
I think with all the craziness/stress I was dealing with, I forgot how I write under normal circumstances. I need to rediscover that. And one of the things I realized I needed to do was embrace the quiet.
Cutting back on the Twitter/Facebook/surfing seems like a no brainer, but it's tricky. The current situation with publishing requires that an author have some sort of online profile, which would include interacting with others online also, not just throwing up a website. Also there's a lot of valuable tidbits that break online, that could impact the career/writing choices an author makes.
But a lot of online is noise. It's clutter that obscures your focus. It fills up the quiet spaces where the creative seeds would normally be nurtured. While I still post/respond on Twitter, I've cut down on my lurking on that site. I scan, post if I need to, then leave. I'm also trying to manage my online time better with other places/sites.
And one of the biggest changes I've implemented, is not reading stuff on the iPhone during my commute, or playing one of those mindless (but fun!) games. Instead I just listen to music and let my mind wonder, or work on a sticky point regarding my current manuscript.
The quiet helps.
It's important.
It's nothing to be filled, but to let happen.
You'll be surprised what you find there
September 25, 2011
And Now A Message From Your Sponsor...
Sorta. :-P
I did have a another post on finding in balance in life that I should have put up on Friday but it's been a busy weekend, so I'll throw that one up tomorrow.
But today the annual The Word On The Street book and magazine festival in Toronto, for book lovers you really should get down there, and it's the perfect day for it (as I type this it's a gorgeous, sunny day out).
I volunteered to man the booth for my local chapter of Romance Writers of America for an hour starting at 5pm. I believe we're located in the ironically named: Writers Block (yukyukyuk) and may be right beside, or very close by, the Harlequin booth. Stop by and say hi. Various chapter members have goodies to give away or books for sale (at a discounted price, I presume).
I'll be giving away these:
Chapbooks for Hunter of the Heart.
They contain excerpts from chapters 1 & 2. It took weeks to get the layout right for them. All the directions I found online were more for a folded brochure type chapbook. I had the covers done at the printers, then the real fun of cutting and stapling happened. Wheeeeee!::choke:: From a reader point of view I love chapbooks, but, yeah, labour intensive and tedious in the assembly.
And since we're riding this promo train,
have you taken a look the sidebar? Katrina from Kika Designs did an awesome job with the new gif for Hunter of the Heart, didn't she? ::lovelovelove:: She also did a slightly different kick-ass version for Romance Junkie.
I'll leave you with a little snippet from the opening of HotH-
Chapter One
From far off a solitary owl repeated its query, while closer by small rodents darted through the undergrowth. All seemingly normal, and yet…there was an odd quality to the woods tonight. The wolf paused on his way back to camp, ears pricked, snout raised.
He parsed out the commingled scents of various prey, the damp musk of rotting vegetation and the bitter tang of the new. There was something else here…something faint and unfamiliar that almost blended with the rest—
A sudden string of howls ripped through the night, destroying his musing.
Beth!
Nate sprang forward, racing deeper into the forest. He scrabbled down a steep ravine, claws gouging the earth, paws sliding over the bones of the weak and forgotten.
Again, the agonized howls tore through the night air, each one more frantic until the cries broke off abruptly.
Silence followed.
Complete. Suffocating. Ratcheting the terror that strummed through his veins. He reached out telepathically, wrapping her pain in his love and strength, shielding her from his desperation. He should have never left her alone.
"Beth, hold on, babes! I'm coming."
One crazed leap and he was over the cadaver of a fallen oak and powering his way up the opposite slope. Muscles coiled, stretched, then snapped in recoil as he covered ground back to his mate.
"Nathan? I-I love you…"
Their bond began to wane in the ebbing tide of her life-force and Nate stumbled, flipping head over tail, scrambling to find his footing.
"No! Wait!"
His yowl set off a riot of wings in the branches above and he sprung forward again, pushing himself until the wind knifed through his pelt.
Up ahead in the moonlight, a large dark shape hunched over his mate while Beth's foreleg twitched, splayed claws scratching feebly at the air.
For Nate, an eternity passed before that ghastly tableau dissolved with a last trailing whine as her leg descended.
Now there was only the insidious sounds of seeking tongue against warm flesh, the soft tear of muscle and sharp crunch of bones. They burrowed in his ear, mushrooming in his head. His sight went dark and instinct took over.
Kill.
* * * * *
If you haven't checked them out already, there are excepts on the books page of my site and a different excerpt over on Samhain.
I did have a another post on finding in balance in life that I should have put up on Friday but it's been a busy weekend, so I'll throw that one up tomorrow.
But today the annual The Word On The Street book and magazine festival in Toronto, for book lovers you really should get down there, and it's the perfect day for it (as I type this it's a gorgeous, sunny day out).
I volunteered to man the booth for my local chapter of Romance Writers of America for an hour starting at 5pm. I believe we're located in the ironically named: Writers Block (yukyukyuk) and may be right beside, or very close by, the Harlequin booth. Stop by and say hi. Various chapter members have goodies to give away or books for sale (at a discounted price, I presume).
I'll be giving away these:
Chapbooks for Hunter of the Heart.
They contain excerpts from chapters 1 & 2. It took weeks to get the layout right for them. All the directions I found online were more for a folded brochure type chapbook. I had the covers done at the printers, then the real fun of cutting and stapling happened. Wheeeeee!::choke:: From a reader point of view I love chapbooks, but, yeah, labour intensive and tedious in the assembly.
And since we're riding this promo train,
have you taken a look the sidebar? Katrina from Kika Designs did an awesome job with the new gif for Hunter of the Heart, didn't she? ::lovelovelove:: She also did a slightly different kick-ass version for Romance Junkie.
I'll leave you with a little snippet from the opening of HotH-
Chapter One
From far off a solitary owl repeated its query, while closer by small rodents darted through the undergrowth. All seemingly normal, and yet…there was an odd quality to the woods tonight. The wolf paused on his way back to camp, ears pricked, snout raised.
He parsed out the commingled scents of various prey, the damp musk of rotting vegetation and the bitter tang of the new. There was something else here…something faint and unfamiliar that almost blended with the rest—
A sudden string of howls ripped through the night, destroying his musing.
Beth!
Nate sprang forward, racing deeper into the forest. He scrabbled down a steep ravine, claws gouging the earth, paws sliding over the bones of the weak and forgotten.
Again, the agonized howls tore through the night air, each one more frantic until the cries broke off abruptly.
Silence followed.
Complete. Suffocating. Ratcheting the terror that strummed through his veins. He reached out telepathically, wrapping her pain in his love and strength, shielding her from his desperation. He should have never left her alone.
"Beth, hold on, babes! I'm coming."
One crazed leap and he was over the cadaver of a fallen oak and powering his way up the opposite slope. Muscles coiled, stretched, then snapped in recoil as he covered ground back to his mate.
"Nathan? I-I love you…"
Their bond began to wane in the ebbing tide of her life-force and Nate stumbled, flipping head over tail, scrambling to find his footing.
"No! Wait!"
His yowl set off a riot of wings in the branches above and he sprung forward again, pushing himself until the wind knifed through his pelt.
Up ahead in the moonlight, a large dark shape hunched over his mate while Beth's foreleg twitched, splayed claws scratching feebly at the air.
For Nate, an eternity passed before that ghastly tableau dissolved with a last trailing whine as her leg descended.
Now there was only the insidious sounds of seeking tongue against warm flesh, the soft tear of muscle and sharp crunch of bones. They burrowed in his ear, mushrooming in his head. His sight went dark and instinct took over.
Kill.
* * * * *
If you haven't checked them out already, there are excepts on the books page of my site and a different excerpt over on Samhain.
September 15, 2011
The Elevator
This is something I would normally post about in a series of tweets on twitter, but I should save some of these longer anecdotes for the blog (considering the paucity of posts here lately). It's just easier to fire something off in 140 characters on the phone and be done with it than to sit in from of the pc and craft something.
Anywho,
This morning I get on the elevator with a colleague, she's only going a couple of floors down, I'm going down to the main level/concourse for a coffee run. We're chatting away about work stuff and I barely notice the guy that gets on a few moments later some floors later. He goes to the back of the car while I and co-worker continue deep in our discussion (hyper aware she'll have to get off soon).
There's another quick stop and a colleague of the quiet guy gets on. They immediately strike up a conversation. It barely registers when guy #2 gives the opening greeting, but--
OMG--
when the first guy replies, his voice grabs my attention right away.
It's gravelly and delicious. Like warm black sand on a midnight beach in the tropics. You just want to dig your toes deep into the feels-so-good grit and gentle heat.
I want him to keep talking (and keep talking and keep talking), and barely manage to say bye to co-worker when she gets off at her floor. Where did he get that voice? Holy cow, talk some more, say anything. Recite the alphabet. Oh no, we're almost at the ground floor. Noooooo.
I want to turn around and fully check him out but I have to satisfy myself with his reflection in the polished brass elevator doors.
He's short.
And he has a paunch that strains the buttons of his shirt, (lol)
But lord have mercy, that voice! Pure sex. Pure seduction.
Of course… being a writer, I immediately think, gotta write this scenario— heroine runs into hero, barely notices him. Then he speaks and Oh. EM. Gee that voice comes pouring out.
So, this is not an original idea, it's been done before. There's always something about a romance hero's voice, and it's usually just one of the many attributes in the arsenal of seductive weaponry he wields to bring the heroine's panties to her knees.
But what if that lover's cache was as skimpy as old Mother Hubbard's cupboard? That would make The Voice all the more powerful, wouldn't it?
My guys are always hunks. Not perfect. But hunky, never the less. For the voice to have the impact I want, I'd have to write a hero who was on the non-descript side physically. (At first glance, at least). I have him in my head at this point. Don't know his story or his heroine but I see him, and I'll eventually write about him.
To tie this ramble up on a humorous note, on my way back with my coffee I pass by the owner of the Greek restaurant downstairs. He's a pleasant, distinguished older man. Slim and upright as a blade, with neatly trimmed salt and pepper hair and kind brown eyes. He always greets me with a slight gentlemanly incline of his head, if not an outright bow, and a polite smile.
So this morning as I'm walking back to the office, totally preoccupied with thoughts of a self-contained,quietly sexy hero with a devastating voice, the restaurant proprietor greets me with his oh so correct bow.
And I winked back! (rather salaciously too, I might add. lol.)
I could barely hold his gaze after that, but I brazened it out with a smile and kept walking.
Anywho,
This morning I get on the elevator with a colleague, she's only going a couple of floors down, I'm going down to the main level/concourse for a coffee run. We're chatting away about work stuff and I barely notice the guy that gets on a few moments later some floors later. He goes to the back of the car while I and co-worker continue deep in our discussion (hyper aware she'll have to get off soon).
There's another quick stop and a colleague of the quiet guy gets on. They immediately strike up a conversation. It barely registers when guy #2 gives the opening greeting, but--
OMG--
when the first guy replies, his voice grabs my attention right away.
It's gravelly and delicious. Like warm black sand on a midnight beach in the tropics. You just want to dig your toes deep into the feels-so-good grit and gentle heat.
I want him to keep talking (and keep talking and keep talking), and barely manage to say bye to co-worker when she gets off at her floor. Where did he get that voice? Holy cow, talk some more, say anything. Recite the alphabet. Oh no, we're almost at the ground floor. Noooooo.
I want to turn around and fully check him out but I have to satisfy myself with his reflection in the polished brass elevator doors.
He's short.
And he has a paunch that strains the buttons of his shirt, (lol)
But lord have mercy, that voice! Pure sex. Pure seduction.
Of course… being a writer, I immediately think, gotta write this scenario— heroine runs into hero, barely notices him. Then he speaks and Oh. EM. Gee that voice comes pouring out.
So, this is not an original idea, it's been done before. There's always something about a romance hero's voice, and it's usually just one of the many attributes in the arsenal of seductive weaponry he wields to bring the heroine's panties to her knees.
But what if that lover's cache was as skimpy as old Mother Hubbard's cupboard? That would make The Voice all the more powerful, wouldn't it?
My guys are always hunks. Not perfect. But hunky, never the less. For the voice to have the impact I want, I'd have to write a hero who was on the non-descript side physically. (At first glance, at least). I have him in my head at this point. Don't know his story or his heroine but I see him, and I'll eventually write about him.
To tie this ramble up on a humorous note, on my way back with my coffee I pass by the owner of the Greek restaurant downstairs. He's a pleasant, distinguished older man. Slim and upright as a blade, with neatly trimmed salt and pepper hair and kind brown eyes. He always greets me with a slight gentlemanly incline of his head, if not an outright bow, and a polite smile.
So this morning as I'm walking back to the office, totally preoccupied with thoughts of a self-contained,quietly sexy hero with a devastating voice, the restaurant proprietor greets me with his oh so correct bow.
And I winked back! (rather salaciously too, I might add. lol.)
I could barely hold his gaze after that, but I brazened it out with a smile and kept walking.
September 13, 2011
The Banker (joke)
Sorry guys, been a bad blogger again. Just striving for some balance in my life. Anywho, I do have some promo type squeeing for Hunter of the Heart to post (maybe later on today). In the meantime, enjoy this joke. I've seen this one before, but it's still good for a chuckle.
Banker parks his brand new Porsche in front of the office to show it off to his colleagues.
As he's getting out of the car, a lorry comes speeding along too close to the kerb and takes off the door before zooming off.
More than a little distraught, the Banker grabs his mobile and calls the police.
Five minutes later, the police arrive. Before the policeman has a chance to ask any questions, the man starts screaming hysterically:
'My Porsche, my beautiful silver Porsche is ruined. No matter how long it's at the panel beaters it'll simply never be the same again!'
After the man finally finishes his rant, the policeman shakes his head in disgust.
'I can't believe how materialistic you bloody Bankers are,' he says. 'You lot are so focused on your possessions that you don't notice anything else in your life.'
'How can you say such a thing at a time like this?' sobs the Porsche owner.
The policeman replies, 'Didn't you realise that your right arm was torn off when the truck hit you.'
The Banker looks down in horror. 'F***ING HELL!' he screams........'Where's my Rolex????'
Banker parks his brand new Porsche in front of the office to show it off to his colleagues.
As he's getting out of the car, a lorry comes speeding along too close to the kerb and takes off the door before zooming off.
More than a little distraught, the Banker grabs his mobile and calls the police.
Five minutes later, the police arrive. Before the policeman has a chance to ask any questions, the man starts screaming hysterically:
'My Porsche, my beautiful silver Porsche is ruined. No matter how long it's at the panel beaters it'll simply never be the same again!'
After the man finally finishes his rant, the policeman shakes his head in disgust.
'I can't believe how materialistic you bloody Bankers are,' he says. 'You lot are so focused on your possessions that you don't notice anything else in your life.'
'How can you say such a thing at a time like this?' sobs the Porsche owner.
The policeman replies, 'Didn't you realise that your right arm was torn off when the truck hit you.'
The Banker looks down in horror. 'F***ING HELL!' he screams........'Where's my Rolex????'
August 2, 2011
In Countdown Mode for November 1st
Last Friday, Hunter of the Heart went up on Amazon, available for pre-order! (I really should have done this post on the weekend, but anyspazztastic...) it was a nice surprise because I wasn't expecting it, and while I had seen the several earlier versions of the cover art, I hadn't seen the blurb Samhain came up with:
His darkest secret could be her only hope.
Tessa Archer is sick of sitting on the sidelines of life, but the man she's just met on her first Caribbean cruise is way out of her comfort zone. He's dazzlingly handsome, compelling…and she swears she can hear his voice in her head before he speaks.
When Nathan Barcza touches Tessa's hand, the jolt of recognition is unmistakable—and impossible. Werewolves mate only once—for life—and his mate was murdered by the creature he hunts, a Pithcus that hides somewhere aboard this ship. This is his final chance for vengeance.
The last thing he can afford is any distraction, but the siren call of Tessa's open heart is irresistible. It also makes her a target of the creature who's had a taste of her and wants more. To save her, Nate will have to unleash his last secret in a confrontation with no hope of survival.
For if the Pithcus doesn't kill him, Nate's partner is under orders to finish the job…
Warning: Contains a smoldering, sex-on-a-stick werewolf hero afraid to love again and a seriously annoyed heroine who can't figure out how she ended up as an appetizer on what feels like a raw-foods reality horror show. Includes graphic violence, explicit language, smoking-hot sex, squeeze-your-heart emotions and humor.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
I like it better than the one I came up with, which was a tad more on the angsty side.
If you'd like to read an excerpt, there's one over on books section of this site. Go for it. Excerpt.
And. lastly. would you check out those abs? Interesting, no? Looks like he has a retractable peen (which is not an all together a bad paranormal-hero party trick. lol) :-P
July 23, 2011
Feeling Hot
On Thursday, we had the hottest day in July on record here in Toronto. (It might've been the hottest day ever, but I don't want to swear to that and am too lazy to google it). A friend sent me this pic a day later.
June 1, 2011
Of Things Overlooked and an Ode to Dee Tenorio
This past weekend, I completed the read-thru of the galley/ARC for Hunter of the Heart. All told that makes approximately 9 rounds of edits/critiques by 7 people (including myself). And I still found stuff that needed fixing.
Some of it was just me being nitpicking about what I perceived to be awkward phrasing. But there was no way in heck I was going to get those type of edits approved at this late stage, although I think I made a case for a couple of the most heinous examples that would really pull the reader out of the story.
Some of it was straight up wft-typos (ie, using 'almost indictable' to describe a scent, when it should have been 'almost indiscernible'. Yeah, 7 peeps, 9 rounds of edits, and no one caught that until now).
But these things happen... and now for the segue...
I started Hunter of the Heart almost 5-7yrs ago. Wrote it for fun on the fly--exchanging chapters with other writer friends-- in between giving my then-current ms Denial (title later changed to Felicity Stripped Bare) a major overhaul. At some point I realize that I might have a little gem in HotH, so I stopped working on it, with the intention of going back to really flesh it out and finish the story once I could give it my undivided attention.
Dee Tenorio was one of the peeps who read those initial 'just for fun' raw chapters. Fast forward all these years later and she was one of the peeps who gave the finished manuscript a read-thru/critique. Dee emailed me and asked when was a good time to call me with her feedback.
Yeah, it was as painful as that.
But you know what, she was dead on in her feedback.
(That I chose to ignore for the most part. Lol)
Because the gist of her feedback was that the story needed more fleshing out.
Well, I submitted that sucker anyhow to Samhain and guess what my then-editor said in her revise and resubmit letter…. Ahem.
In my defensive, my then-editor did say that she would understand if I didn't want to undertake the work involved in extending/fleshing out the story.
So I did what I should have done after Dee and I hung up the phone. I fleshed out the story. I was still aiming to keep it novella/category length though. The story would have needed some major restructuring (imo) for single-title length.
With all the insane workload/long hours at my day job, it took a good 5 mths to get the revisions done. I had a couple of brave souls give another crit on the revised version and sent it in.
Fast forward another 5months. Book had another revise/resubmit, and several rounds of edits--part of which was to write a dedication.
Ahem.
Yeah, guess who I forgot in my dedication. How the hell did I do that?!? Keeerist.
And the chick called me long distance (from another country) to give me her feedback.
So Dee, here's my dedication to you:
You are an amazing critique partner, honest, tough, funny and generous. A talented writer, and wonderful friend. And I count myself lucky knowing you.
Dear Dee,
Woe is me.
As you will see
I carelessly
Forgot thee
As a listee
On page three:
The dedications.
As for the other kick-ass bad-ass peeps that I didn't forget to name, all dem bitches will have to wait for the release to read the dedication. Lol
*
Some of it was just me being nitpicking about what I perceived to be awkward phrasing. But there was no way in heck I was going to get those type of edits approved at this late stage, although I think I made a case for a couple of the most heinous examples that would really pull the reader out of the story.
Some of it was straight up wft-typos (ie, using 'almost indictable' to describe a scent, when it should have been 'almost indiscernible'. Yeah, 7 peeps, 9 rounds of edits, and no one caught that until now).
But these things happen... and now for the segue...
I started Hunter of the Heart almost 5-7yrs ago. Wrote it for fun on the fly--exchanging chapters with other writer friends-- in between giving my then-current ms Denial (title later changed to Felicity Stripped Bare) a major overhaul. At some point I realize that I might have a little gem in HotH, so I stopped working on it, with the intention of going back to really flesh it out and finish the story once I could give it my undivided attention.
Dee Tenorio was one of the peeps who read those initial 'just for fun' raw chapters. Fast forward all these years later and she was one of the peeps who gave the finished manuscript a read-thru/critique. Dee emailed me and asked when was a good time to call me with her feedback.
Yeah, it was as painful as that.
But you know what, she was dead on in her feedback.
(That I chose to ignore for the most part. Lol)
Because the gist of her feedback was that the story needed more fleshing out.
Well, I submitted that sucker anyhow to Samhain and guess what my then-editor said in her revise and resubmit letter…. Ahem.
In my defensive, my then-editor did say that she would understand if I didn't want to undertake the work involved in extending/fleshing out the story.
So I did what I should have done after Dee and I hung up the phone. I fleshed out the story. I was still aiming to keep it novella/category length though. The story would have needed some major restructuring (imo) for single-title length.
With all the insane workload/long hours at my day job, it took a good 5 mths to get the revisions done. I had a couple of brave souls give another crit on the revised version and sent it in.
Fast forward another 5months. Book had another revise/resubmit, and several rounds of edits--part of which was to write a dedication.
Ahem.
Yeah, guess who I forgot in my dedication. How the hell did I do that?!? Keeerist.
And the chick called me long distance (from another country) to give me her feedback.
So Dee, here's my dedication to you:
You are an amazing critique partner, honest, tough, funny and generous. A talented writer, and wonderful friend. And I count myself lucky knowing you.
Dear Dee,
Woe is me.
As you will see
I carelessly
Forgot thee
As a listee
On page three:
The dedications.
As for the other kick-ass bad-ass peeps that I didn't forget to name, all dem bitches will have to wait for the release to read the dedication. Lol
*
April 27, 2011
The Power of the Outline
I tend to be half pantser/ half plotter. I usually do a sketchy outline--more a road map, with a few places of interest highlighted, rather than a detailed itinerary.
For the last few days I've been circling the drain on the most recent scene in the wip. Kinda knew where I was going with it, but never quite getting there as I tweaked and fleshed out what I'd written already. Then I decided to write a mini outline of what happens next in the scene so I could just finally get past it.
Turns out not much. :-D I just need to wrap up the current bit of discussion between the heroine and her mentor. The hero wasn't going to show up in this scene but the next. No wonder I was spinning my wheels on this scene, subconsciously I knew it was done, just hadn't fully tweaked to it.
(Holy mack, this makes two blog posts in less than a week. What the!? lol. Well, I like my blog, but obviously seriously been neglecting it. It's easier for me to bang something out in the morning--like I've done with the last two posts--than when I come home from work. Also, sometimes I want to say more 140 characters can do justice to.)
For the last few days I've been circling the drain on the most recent scene in the wip. Kinda knew where I was going with it, but never quite getting there as I tweaked and fleshed out what I'd written already. Then I decided to write a mini outline of what happens next in the scene so I could just finally get past it.
Turns out not much. :-D I just need to wrap up the current bit of discussion between the heroine and her mentor. The hero wasn't going to show up in this scene but the next. No wonder I was spinning my wheels on this scene, subconsciously I knew it was done, just hadn't fully tweaked to it.
(Holy mack, this makes two blog posts in less than a week. What the!? lol. Well, I like my blog, but obviously seriously been neglecting it. It's easier for me to bang something out in the morning--like I've done with the last two posts--than when I come home from work. Also, sometimes I want to say more 140 characters can do justice to.)
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