S.R. Howen's Blog, page 4
August 25, 2013
SECRET SISTER
Critters at the Keyboard welcomes Emelle Gamble author of Secret Sister
Emelle will be awarding a $100 Amazon gift card to a randomly drawn commenter during this tour AND her Reviews Tour.
Critters asked Emelle to talk about the editing process the book went through. Secret Sister has seen a long and winding road into publication. I first conceptualized the book years ago with the single thought of “What if everything about you changed in an instant, would your true love still know you?” Wrapping a plot, structure, characterization and ninety thousand words about it has been a long and wonderful process.
It’s been edited by my critique group, twice. By me about fourteen times. I kid you not. And then, after its acquisition by Char Chaffin at Soul Mate Publishing, another 5 or 6 times by the two of us.
Every single time I’ve edited it, I’ve changed something significant. Sometimes it was characterization…an alcoholic fell off the wagon…then he didn’t. A woman had an affair…then she didn’t. A character told someone the truth…then she recanted. I changed tones from sarcastic funny tomore serious. I changed hair color, eye color, the years of cars, what people ate for dinner.
These changes, either to make changes I thought would make the book stronger or more compelling, or because a trusted critique partner or editor convinced me to cut or add an element, reminded me that we working writers are always working on our craft. Like a boat builder or an artist or a baker, we learn from the mistakes, take inspiration from a sudden new thought, and try to always make our newest creation better than the last.
The editing process on Secret Sister with my new editor at Soul Mate Publishing was very beneficial to me and the book. I’d rewritten it so many times over the course of a couple of years that I couldn’t see mistakes and weaknesses that were immediately clear to her. Her fresh eyes, and great skills, helped me through those final rewrites to make it a stronger story.
So the editing process I went through with Secret Sister, while strenuous and taxing, made me a stronger writer.
Writing is a craft, good writing is good craft, and good craft comes from repetition and ‘seeing and correcting’ past mistakes. While I know my readers reactions to my work will be varied, editing is the tool most helpful to achieving my goal, which is to entertain and tell a story that touches, insome small way, those generous enough with their time to read my work.
To their friends, Nick and Cathy Chance have the perfect marriage. High school sweethearts who’ve been together for ten years, they’ve weathered challenges and are as committed as they were when they first fell in love. Cathy trusts Nick, Nick’s world revolves around his wife, and the future looks golden.
To everyone who knows them, Cathy Chance and Roxanne Ruiz have a perfect friendship. They connected in grade school and since then have been each other’s confident and trusted advisor. Cathy loves the gorgeous Roxanne like a sister, Roxanne has fun-loving Cathy’s back in every situation, though lately there’s been tension between these two best friends…
And then, on a sunny summer morning, the unthinkable occurs, throwing into doubt the truth of what each of these people really know about themselves and one another.
Will Roxanne’s sacrifice be too little, and too late? Should Nick’s love for hiswife be strong enough to risk trusting his heart more than logic? Can Cathy’s devotion to Nick give her enough strength to convince him to see her for who she really is?
Secret Sister proves how strong, how stubborn, and how trustworthy love can be as Nick and Cathy and Roxanne are challenged to overcome the secrets, the lies … and one extraordinary twist of fate that turns their lives upside down.
Please enjoy this excerpt“May I sit down, Nick?”
I nodded. Roxanne sat at the table in the kitchen. Despite her appearance, she seemed in control. I felt her eyes on me as I poured myself a glass of water.
The kitchen was a mess. For a second I was embarrassed by the dirty dishes, the soured
milk on the counter. Then I got a grip. This wasn’t a social call and Roxanne wasn’t someone I was trying to impress. Every time she walked into the room, she did so with an agenda.
I turned around. “Do you want something to drink?”
She shook her head.
I sat across from her. She was pinching the back of her hand, like Cathy used to do.
“What’s going on? What do you want from me?” I sounded angrier than I thought I was.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re fooling around with your hands exactly like Cathy always did. You never had that habit. Why are you doing stuff like that?”
“What else am I doing?”
“You’re wearing your hair pulled back in a ribbon, and clothes like my wife wore.” I pointed at her blouse. “And you’re acting weird with the cat, like she’s your cat, among other things. It’s freaking my sister out.”
Roxanne fidgeted. “That’s ridiculous,” she said, but her face revealed I’d hit a nerve...
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Emelle Gamble was a writer at an early age, bursting with the requisite childhood stories of introspection which evolved into bad teen poetry and took her first stab at full length fiction in an adult education writing class when her kids were in bed. As M.L. Gamble, she published several romantic suspense novels with Harlequin. She has contracted with Soul Mate Publishing for Secret Sister, summer of 2013, and Dating Cary Grant, an early 2014 release.
Always intrigued by the words ‘what if’, Emelle’s books feature an ordinary woman confronted with an extraordinary situation. She most enjoys reading stories that surprise and amaze her, and hopes her readers will enjoy the challenging and exciting journeys her characters take.
Emelle lives in suburban Washington D.C. with her husband, Phil, her hero of thirty years, and two orange cats, Lucy and Bella. These girls, like all good villains, have their reasons for misbehaving. Her daughter, Olivia, and son, Allen, are happily launched on their own and contributing great things tosociety, their mother’s fondest wish.
Email: emellegamble@aol.com
Website: www.EmelleGamble.com
FaceBook: Author Emelle Gamble
Twitter: @EmelleGamble
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Emelle will be awarding a $100 Amazon gift card to a randomly drawn commenter during this tour AND her Reviews Tour.
Critters asked Emelle to talk about the editing process the book went through. Secret Sister has seen a long and winding road into publication. I first conceptualized the book years ago with the single thought of “What if everything about you changed in an instant, would your true love still know you?” Wrapping a plot, structure, characterization and ninety thousand words about it has been a long and wonderful process.
It’s been edited by my critique group, twice. By me about fourteen times. I kid you not. And then, after its acquisition by Char Chaffin at Soul Mate Publishing, another 5 or 6 times by the two of us.
Every single time I’ve edited it, I’ve changed something significant. Sometimes it was characterization…an alcoholic fell off the wagon…then he didn’t. A woman had an affair…then she didn’t. A character told someone the truth…then she recanted. I changed tones from sarcastic funny tomore serious. I changed hair color, eye color, the years of cars, what people ate for dinner.
These changes, either to make changes I thought would make the book stronger or more compelling, or because a trusted critique partner or editor convinced me to cut or add an element, reminded me that we working writers are always working on our craft. Like a boat builder or an artist or a baker, we learn from the mistakes, take inspiration from a sudden new thought, and try to always make our newest creation better than the last.
The editing process on Secret Sister with my new editor at Soul Mate Publishing was very beneficial to me and the book. I’d rewritten it so many times over the course of a couple of years that I couldn’t see mistakes and weaknesses that were immediately clear to her. Her fresh eyes, and great skills, helped me through those final rewrites to make it a stronger story.
So the editing process I went through with Secret Sister, while strenuous and taxing, made me a stronger writer.
Writing is a craft, good writing is good craft, and good craft comes from repetition and ‘seeing and correcting’ past mistakes. While I know my readers reactions to my work will be varied, editing is the tool most helpful to achieving my goal, which is to entertain and tell a story that touches, insome small way, those generous enough with their time to read my work.
To their friends, Nick and Cathy Chance have the perfect marriage. High school sweethearts who’ve been together for ten years, they’ve weathered challenges and are as committed as they were when they first fell in love. Cathy trusts Nick, Nick’s world revolves around his wife, and the future looks golden.To everyone who knows them, Cathy Chance and Roxanne Ruiz have a perfect friendship. They connected in grade school and since then have been each other’s confident and trusted advisor. Cathy loves the gorgeous Roxanne like a sister, Roxanne has fun-loving Cathy’s back in every situation, though lately there’s been tension between these two best friends…
And then, on a sunny summer morning, the unthinkable occurs, throwing into doubt the truth of what each of these people really know about themselves and one another.
Will Roxanne’s sacrifice be too little, and too late? Should Nick’s love for hiswife be strong enough to risk trusting his heart more than logic? Can Cathy’s devotion to Nick give her enough strength to convince him to see her for who she really is?
Secret Sister proves how strong, how stubborn, and how trustworthy love can be as Nick and Cathy and Roxanne are challenged to overcome the secrets, the lies … and one extraordinary twist of fate that turns their lives upside down.
Please enjoy this excerpt“May I sit down, Nick?”
I nodded. Roxanne sat at the table in the kitchen. Despite her appearance, she seemed in control. I felt her eyes on me as I poured myself a glass of water.
The kitchen was a mess. For a second I was embarrassed by the dirty dishes, the soured
milk on the counter. Then I got a grip. This wasn’t a social call and Roxanne wasn’t someone I was trying to impress. Every time she walked into the room, she did so with an agenda.I turned around. “Do you want something to drink?”
She shook her head.
I sat across from her. She was pinching the back of her hand, like Cathy used to do.
“What’s going on? What do you want from me?” I sounded angrier than I thought I was.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re fooling around with your hands exactly like Cathy always did. You never had that habit. Why are you doing stuff like that?”
“What else am I doing?”
“You’re wearing your hair pulled back in a ribbon, and clothes like my wife wore.” I pointed at her blouse. “And you’re acting weird with the cat, like she’s your cat, among other things. It’s freaking my sister out.”
Roxanne fidgeted. “That’s ridiculous,” she said, but her face revealed I’d hit a nerve...
AUTHOR Bio and Links:Emelle Gamble was a writer at an early age, bursting with the requisite childhood stories of introspection which evolved into bad teen poetry and took her first stab at full length fiction in an adult education writing class when her kids were in bed. As M.L. Gamble, she published several romantic suspense novels with Harlequin. She has contracted with Soul Mate Publishing for Secret Sister, summer of 2013, and Dating Cary Grant, an early 2014 release.
Always intrigued by the words ‘what if’, Emelle’s books feature an ordinary woman confronted with an extraordinary situation. She most enjoys reading stories that surprise and amaze her, and hopes her readers will enjoy the challenging and exciting journeys her characters take.
Emelle lives in suburban Washington D.C. with her husband, Phil, her hero of thirty years, and two orange cats, Lucy and Bella. These girls, like all good villains, have their reasons for misbehaving. Her daughter, Olivia, and son, Allen, are happily launched on their own and contributing great things tosociety, their mother’s fondest wish.
Email: emellegamble@aol.com
Website: www.EmelleGamble.com
FaceBook: Author Emelle Gamble
Twitter: @EmelleGamble
a Rafflecopter giveaway
August 24, 2013
S. M. Boyce
Critters at the Keyboard welcomes S. M. BoyceAuthor ofLichgates
Kara Magari is about to discover a beautiful world full of terrifying things: Ourea.
Kara, a college student still reeling from her mother's recent death, has no idea the hidden world of Ourea even exists until a freak storm traps her in a sunken library. With nothing to do, she opens an ancient book of magic called the Grimoire and unwittingly becomes its master, which means Kara now wields the cursed book's untamed power. Discovered by Ourea's royalty, she becomes an unwilling pawn in a generations-old conflict - a war intensified by her arrival. In this world of chilling creatures and betrayal, Kara shouldn't trust anyone... but she's being hunted and can't survive on her own. She drops her guard when Braeden, a native soldier with a dark secret, vows to keep her safe. And though she doesn't know it, her growing attraction to him may just be her undoing.
For twelve years, Braeden Drakonin has lived a lie. The Grimoire is his one chance at redemption, and it lands in his lap when Kara Magari comes into his life. Though he begins to care for this human girl, there is something he wants more. He wants the Grimoire.
Welcome to Ourea, where only the cunning survive.
Enjoy this excerpt:Kara Magari squinted back up the path she’d just climbed. The gazebo’s roof peeked through the trees, evidence of where she’d been only ten minutes before. Not bad. With her finger in the air, she traced the way she’d taken, starting at the lichgate and going down over each step inher head. Her finger hovered and came to a stop, though, when she examined the base of the hill.Built into the rock was a marble door, shrouded with overhanging roots and dangling moss that clung to its frame like bangs. She rubbed her eyes, but the closed entryway was still there when she opened them again. She brushed her hand along the door’s smooth stone. It was simple, with only a round stone knob and a small emblem carved into the rock at eye level. The symbol looked something like a four-leaf clover made out of crescent moons. Kara’s fingers itched on the handle, but she hesitated. The ground trembled with a sudden force that knocked her against the cliff. The breeze stopped, dissolving with a hiss into the hot summer sky. She scanned the valley. Several somethingscracked in the ground under her feet. Thunder rumbled overhead. A darkcloud churned in the sky, and her heart fell into her stomach; there hadn’t even been a single fluffy cloud up there ten minutes ago. A blinding bolt of moss-colored lightning flashed, striking the ground nearby. The hairs on her arms stood on end. Heat coursed through her calves, and she caught her breath. Her ears rang. Wait. Was that lightning green?The cliff trembled as a boom shattered the air. It began to rain. The heavy drops pelted her skin and clung to her hair as another rumble coursed along the far edge of the valley. She needed shelter, and the last place she would go in a lightning storm was up a hill. She turned back and twisted the door’s handle, sighing with relief as it opened—unlocked. Still, as wet as it was outside and as much as she wanted a safe place to wait out the rain, she lingered on the threshold to examine the room.Mud covered everything from the floor to the ceiling. Since there weren’t any supports to hold the roof, she couldn’t figure out how the ten-by-ten dirt shelter hadn’t caved in yet. The air within was heavy, moist with the rot of dead leaves, and her only guiding light streamed in from behind her. Roots dangled from the ceiling like stalactites reaching for the floor. The wind picked up, howling as it pelted rain against her back. Kara tested the ground with her sneaker. The dirt floor supported her weight, so she tip-toed into the room and left the door open. Rain fell in lingering drops on the threshold before it disappeared into the growing pools of mud. She stuck her hands in her pockets and watched the raging storm outside.A flash of dark brown blurred past her. She jumped. A tan flicker snaked along the roof, and clumps of soil fell in sheets. She glared at the ceiling, holding her breath as the settling dust rained onto her shoes. It had almost looked like a rootmoving, but that—that was crazy. Another streak of motion raced down the opposite wall. It passed through a shaft of light, and Kara saw itspointed, wooden tip. Tiny veins sprouted from it like hairs, digging into the dirt so that it could travel.It was a root moving.A second spiny vine shot up from the floor and wrapped itself around her leg. It pulled. She tripped, falling into the first root as it snaked along the far wall. Dirt poured over her head, blinding her. The scent of decaying bark made her cough. The root tugged again, and she was yanked onto her hands and knees. It dragged her towards the center of the room. She reached for the knife strapped to her free ankle, the one Mom had—no! She couldn’t think of Mom. Not now.A third root wrapped around her waist, and another grabbed her hand as she reached for the blade. The roots flipped her onto her back. With a bang, the door snapped shut. Her stomach churned. The floor disappeared. She fell, and the roots let go.
Buy links:You can get the ebook of Lichgates for free!Amazon: USA | UK | Germany | France | Spain | Italy | Buy the PaperbackKobo | Apple | Barnes & Noble | Smashwords
Author Bio:S.M. Boyce is a fantasy and paranormal fiction novelist who also dabbles in contemporary fiction and comedy. Her B.A. in Creative Writing also qualifies her to serve you french fries. She updates her blog (smboyce.com) a few times each week so that you have something to wake you up in the morning.
Connect: Blog | Website | Facebook | Twitter| Google+ | Pinterest | Youtube Goodreads Page | Amazon Page
Kara Magari is about to discover a beautiful world full of terrifying things: Ourea.Kara, a college student still reeling from her mother's recent death, has no idea the hidden world of Ourea even exists until a freak storm traps her in a sunken library. With nothing to do, she opens an ancient book of magic called the Grimoire and unwittingly becomes its master, which means Kara now wields the cursed book's untamed power. Discovered by Ourea's royalty, she becomes an unwilling pawn in a generations-old conflict - a war intensified by her arrival. In this world of chilling creatures and betrayal, Kara shouldn't trust anyone... but she's being hunted and can't survive on her own. She drops her guard when Braeden, a native soldier with a dark secret, vows to keep her safe. And though she doesn't know it, her growing attraction to him may just be her undoing.
For twelve years, Braeden Drakonin has lived a lie. The Grimoire is his one chance at redemption, and it lands in his lap when Kara Magari comes into his life. Though he begins to care for this human girl, there is something he wants more. He wants the Grimoire.
Welcome to Ourea, where only the cunning survive.
Enjoy this excerpt:Kara Magari squinted back up the path she’d just climbed. The gazebo’s roof peeked through the trees, evidence of where she’d been only ten minutes before. Not bad. With her finger in the air, she traced the way she’d taken, starting at the lichgate and going down over each step inher head. Her finger hovered and came to a stop, though, when she examined the base of the hill.Built into the rock was a marble door, shrouded with overhanging roots and dangling moss that clung to its frame like bangs. She rubbed her eyes, but the closed entryway was still there when she opened them again. She brushed her hand along the door’s smooth stone. It was simple, with only a round stone knob and a small emblem carved into the rock at eye level. The symbol looked something like a four-leaf clover made out of crescent moons. Kara’s fingers itched on the handle, but she hesitated. The ground trembled with a sudden force that knocked her against the cliff. The breeze stopped, dissolving with a hiss into the hot summer sky. She scanned the valley. Several somethingscracked in the ground under her feet. Thunder rumbled overhead. A darkcloud churned in the sky, and her heart fell into her stomach; there hadn’t even been a single fluffy cloud up there ten minutes ago. A blinding bolt of moss-colored lightning flashed, striking the ground nearby. The hairs on her arms stood on end. Heat coursed through her calves, and she caught her breath. Her ears rang. Wait. Was that lightning green?The cliff trembled as a boom shattered the air. It began to rain. The heavy drops pelted her skin and clung to her hair as another rumble coursed along the far edge of the valley. She needed shelter, and the last place she would go in a lightning storm was up a hill. She turned back and twisted the door’s handle, sighing with relief as it opened—unlocked. Still, as wet as it was outside and as much as she wanted a safe place to wait out the rain, she lingered on the threshold to examine the room.Mud covered everything from the floor to the ceiling. Since there weren’t any supports to hold the roof, she couldn’t figure out how the ten-by-ten dirt shelter hadn’t caved in yet. The air within was heavy, moist with the rot of dead leaves, and her only guiding light streamed in from behind her. Roots dangled from the ceiling like stalactites reaching for the floor. The wind picked up, howling as it pelted rain against her back. Kara tested the ground with her sneaker. The dirt floor supported her weight, so she tip-toed into the room and left the door open. Rain fell in lingering drops on the threshold before it disappeared into the growing pools of mud. She stuck her hands in her pockets and watched the raging storm outside.A flash of dark brown blurred past her. She jumped. A tan flicker snaked along the roof, and clumps of soil fell in sheets. She glared at the ceiling, holding her breath as the settling dust rained onto her shoes. It had almost looked like a rootmoving, but that—that was crazy. Another streak of motion raced down the opposite wall. It passed through a shaft of light, and Kara saw itspointed, wooden tip. Tiny veins sprouted from it like hairs, digging into the dirt so that it could travel.It was a root moving.A second spiny vine shot up from the floor and wrapped itself around her leg. It pulled. She tripped, falling into the first root as it snaked along the far wall. Dirt poured over her head, blinding her. The scent of decaying bark made her cough. The root tugged again, and she was yanked onto her hands and knees. It dragged her towards the center of the room. She reached for the knife strapped to her free ankle, the one Mom had—no! She couldn’t think of Mom. Not now.A third root wrapped around her waist, and another grabbed her hand as she reached for the blade. The roots flipped her onto her back. With a bang, the door snapped shut. Her stomach churned. The floor disappeared. She fell, and the roots let go.
Buy links:You can get the ebook of Lichgates for free!Amazon: USA | UK | Germany | France | Spain | Italy | Buy the PaperbackKobo | Apple | Barnes & Noble | Smashwords
Author Bio:S.M. Boyce is a fantasy and paranormal fiction novelist who also dabbles in contemporary fiction and comedy. Her B.A. in Creative Writing also qualifies her to serve you french fries. She updates her blog (smboyce.com) a few times each week so that you have something to wake you up in the morning.Connect: Blog | Website | Facebook | Twitter| Google+ | Pinterest | Youtube Goodreads Page | Amazon Page
August 21, 2013
CROSS THE OCEAN By Holly Bush
Critters at the Keyboard welcomes CROSS THE OCEAN By Holly Bush
One randomly chosen commenter will win a $50 Amazon/BN.com gift card. So be sure to leave a comment and to visit the other tour stops for more chances to win!
1871 . . . Worlds collide when American Suffragette, Gertrude Finch, and titled Brit Blake Sanders meet in an explosive encounter that may forever bind them together. Gertrude Finch escorts a young relative to London and encounters the stuffy Duke of Wexford at his worst. Cross the Ocean is the story of an undesired, yet undeniable attraction that takes Blake and Gertrude across an ocean and into each other’s arms.
Blake went to the stables, had his horse saddled, and rode to Anthony’s estate. Maybe Elizabeth will ask me to stay for dinner, he thought. Then she’ll go to bed, and Anthony and I can drink a bottle of brandy and get stewed. He could stay there if he couldn’t ride home. A room was kept ready for him with a fresh change of clothes. Blake smiled and felt better than he had in days.
As the butler escorted Blake down the hall of Anthony’s home to the drawing room, he heard a loud but feminine . . . snortand Elizabeth’s trill laughter in reply. Damn. He remembered now. A cousin of Elizabeth’s from America, sent as an escort to another cousin, was staying with them. Anthony had described and dreaded the arrival of Cousin Gertrude with horror. A spinster remotely connected to Elizabeth’s father’s side, she was big, bold and here for a month. Her arrival had curtailed Anthony’s visits.
Blake stopped and hissed at the butler. “Think I’ve changed my mind, Jenkins. I don’t want to disturb their company.”
“Quite the coward are we, Your Grace? Leave yourlife-long friend alone with this Amazon from America.” Jenkins stared as he spoke. “In any case they saw you ride up the drive.”
Jenkins spoke his mind to all including Anthony and Elizabeth. There’d be no expecting servile behavior for him. “I’m sure you did not miss the opportunity to point out my arrival,” Blake said.
“Of course not, Your Grace.” The butler opened the drawing room doors with a flourish. “The Duke of Wexford.”
“Blake,” Anthony said and jumped to pump Blake’s hand. “I am so very happy you are here.”
Blake watched the woman sitting beside Elizabeth stand, and walk across the room to him. She was every inch as tall as he, and Anthony made the introductions. She held out her hand. Blake grasped it and bent to place a kiss there and was surprised when she began to shake it, hitting him squarely in the nose. Blake covered his face with his hand.
“Oh, dear,” Miss Gertrude Finch exclaimed. She threw a look at her cousin Elizabeth.
Please enjoy this interview with Author Holly Bush1. Tell us about your latest release.Cross the Ocean is my latest release and was my first foray into England as a location. The Duke of Wexford, Blake Sanders, meets an2. What have you got coming soon for us to look out for?I wrote a women’s fiction novel years ago and have done some editing and updating. I think it is the kind of book that will ring true for lots of middle aged women and still make the reader laugh. But I still don’t have a title!
3. What song would you choose for Karaoke?I Feel Lucky by Mary Chapin Carpenter. I know all the words and it’s a great bluesy song that’s easy to sing.
4. Which Star Trek or Star Wars character are you most like?I’m definitely Uhura. I think Captain Kirk had a serious thing for her and she had great legs! At least in the original Star Trek.
5. Who would you most like to be stranded on a desert island with? Least? Why?First, I just want to say I don’t want to be stranded on a desert island. But if I were, I would want to be there with someone smart and capable like my husband, although our collective sense of direction leaves something to be desired. Least – well, the list is long. But an easy one would be Donald Trump.
AUTHOR INFORMATION:
Holly Bush was born in western Pennsylvania to two avid readers. There was not a room in her home that did not hold a full bookcase. She worked in the hospitality industry, owning a restaurant for twenty years and recently worked as the sales and marketing director in the hospitality/tourism industry and is credited with building traffic to capacity for a local farm tour, bringing guests from twenty-two states, booked two years out. Holly has been a marketing consultant to start-up businesses and has done public speaking on the subject.
Holly has been writing all of her life and is a voracious reader of a wide variety of fiction and non-fiction, particularly political and historical works. She has written four romance novels, all set in the U.S. West in the mid 1800’s. She frequently attends writing conferences, and has always been a member of a writer’s group.
Holly is a gardener, a news junkie, has been an active member of her local library board and loves to spend time near the ocean. She is the proud mother of two daughters and the wife of a man more than a few years her junior.
@hollybushbooks
Amazon:
Itunes:
Visit the other tour stops for more chances to win!
a Rafflecopter giveaway
One randomly chosen commenter will win a $50 Amazon/BN.com gift card. So be sure to leave a comment and to visit the other tour stops for more chances to win!
1871 . . . Worlds collide when American Suffragette, Gertrude Finch, and titled Brit Blake Sanders meet in an explosive encounter that may forever bind them together. Gertrude Finch escorts a young relative to London and encounters the stuffy Duke of Wexford at his worst. Cross the Ocean is the story of an undesired, yet undeniable attraction that takes Blake and Gertrude across an ocean and into each other’s arms.
Blake went to the stables, had his horse saddled, and rode to Anthony’s estate. Maybe Elizabeth will ask me to stay for dinner, he thought. Then she’ll go to bed, and Anthony and I can drink a bottle of brandy and get stewed. He could stay there if he couldn’t ride home. A room was kept ready for him with a fresh change of clothes. Blake smiled and felt better than he had in days. As the butler escorted Blake down the hall of Anthony’s home to the drawing room, he heard a loud but feminine . . . snortand Elizabeth’s trill laughter in reply. Damn. He remembered now. A cousin of Elizabeth’s from America, sent as an escort to another cousin, was staying with them. Anthony had described and dreaded the arrival of Cousin Gertrude with horror. A spinster remotely connected to Elizabeth’s father’s side, she was big, bold and here for a month. Her arrival had curtailed Anthony’s visits.
Blake stopped and hissed at the butler. “Think I’ve changed my mind, Jenkins. I don’t want to disturb their company.”
“Quite the coward are we, Your Grace? Leave yourlife-long friend alone with this Amazon from America.” Jenkins stared as he spoke. “In any case they saw you ride up the drive.”
Jenkins spoke his mind to all including Anthony and Elizabeth. There’d be no expecting servile behavior for him. “I’m sure you did not miss the opportunity to point out my arrival,” Blake said.
“Of course not, Your Grace.” The butler opened the drawing room doors with a flourish. “The Duke of Wexford.”
“Blake,” Anthony said and jumped to pump Blake’s hand. “I am so very happy you are here.”
Blake watched the woman sitting beside Elizabeth stand, and walk across the room to him. She was every inch as tall as he, and Anthony made the introductions. She held out her hand. Blake grasped it and bent to place a kiss there and was surprised when she began to shake it, hitting him squarely in the nose. Blake covered his face with his hand.
“Oh, dear,” Miss Gertrude Finch exclaimed. She threw a look at her cousin Elizabeth.
Please enjoy this interview with Author Holly Bush1. Tell us about your latest release.Cross the Ocean is my latest release and was my first foray into England as a location. The Duke of Wexford, Blake Sanders, meets an2. What have you got coming soon for us to look out for?I wrote a women’s fiction novel years ago and have done some editing and updating. I think it is the kind of book that will ring true for lots of middle aged women and still make the reader laugh. But I still don’t have a title!
3. What song would you choose for Karaoke?I Feel Lucky by Mary Chapin Carpenter. I know all the words and it’s a great bluesy song that’s easy to sing.
4. Which Star Trek or Star Wars character are you most like?I’m definitely Uhura. I think Captain Kirk had a serious thing for her and she had great legs! At least in the original Star Trek.
5. Who would you most like to be stranded on a desert island with? Least? Why?First, I just want to say I don’t want to be stranded on a desert island. But if I were, I would want to be there with someone smart and capable like my husband, although our collective sense of direction leaves something to be desired. Least – well, the list is long. But an easy one would be Donald Trump.
AUTHOR INFORMATION:Holly Bush was born in western Pennsylvania to two avid readers. There was not a room in her home that did not hold a full bookcase. She worked in the hospitality industry, owning a restaurant for twenty years and recently worked as the sales and marketing director in the hospitality/tourism industry and is credited with building traffic to capacity for a local farm tour, bringing guests from twenty-two states, booked two years out. Holly has been a marketing consultant to start-up businesses and has done public speaking on the subject.
Holly has been writing all of her life and is a voracious reader of a wide variety of fiction and non-fiction, particularly political and historical works. She has written four romance novels, all set in the U.S. West in the mid 1800’s. She frequently attends writing conferences, and has always been a member of a writer’s group.
Holly is a gardener, a news junkie, has been an active member of her local library board and loves to spend time near the ocean. She is the proud mother of two daughters and the wife of a man more than a few years her junior.
@hollybushbooks
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August 18, 2013
Review tour starts tomorrow!
TALES OF THE ZINGARI: BOOK 1: THE WIZARD'S HEARTTour Stops
August 19: Emraz :The SparkAugust 20: From Me to You ... Video, Photography, & Book ReviewsAugust 21: Book Bling Blog
August 22: Journey of a Bookseller
August 23: Must Read Faster
"The old one will come. When he comes, his one true wife must carry within her a child of the old one who would be king. Only then can the heart be found and the evil of the world kept in its bounds." –The Prophecy of the Land
Sorann is the queen's daughter and training to be an empathic healer. Javert is a member of the wandering tribe called the Zingari and their future king. When Sorann's failed healer's magic test brings them together, they discover the prophecy governing the land is false. In order to prevent magic, and the Zingari, from being wiped from the land, Sorann must become Javert's wife and leave everything behind that she once held dear.
Tricked by demons, and followed by the queen's soldiers, they must find the fabled Wizard's Heart in the frozen Winter Valley.
What sacrifices will they have to make along the way, and will Javert ever discover the true meaning of the Wizard's Heart before his people and the love of his life are lost?
TALES OF THE ZINGARI: BOOK 1: THE WIZARD'S HEARTStanding in the makeshift shower, peace descended in a comfortable blanket. Nighttime birds sang and whistled to each other, a frog croaked bass, and the crickets formed the string section. Conceivably, Cryant lived far enough away from the city for the emotions of those in the city not to carry into his compound, to reduce the overflow from battering at her shell.Sorann let down her guard, expecting a deluge of energies to cause her to feel dirty again. A dog barked and went silent. The pig grunted in its pen, perhaps upset at having its mud rearranged. But no feelings invaded her. In her palace rooms, a shield stayed in place to protect her from the invasion. Could the same be true of Cryant’s canvas?
Dim moonlight spilled in when she pushed the flap aside. She stepped outside marveling at the emotional vacuum she found herself in. Silly to think Cryant could afford the spell needed to empower a canvas to keep out the extended aura of others.
The sky above her wore a sprinkling of bright stars on an inky background. The cool night air caressed her skin. Goose flesh rose over her entire body. The hard ground under her feet felt warm with leftover heat from the day. The stones she stood on glowed in the faint luminosity of the yard light, wet here and there, the water from the shower ran in twin streams on each side of the stone path.
The clarity of her mind extended beyond her in the absence of others emotions and feelings. The world came to her in clear brightness--a veil of gauze lifted. She ran her hands over her stomach, her own skin felt different. The bumps caused by the cold felt alien and as she ran her hands over them, she could feel the tiny hairs on her skin, a chill shook her. She hadn’t even realized a barrier existed between her own hands and her flesh before.
Animal smells came to her, the scent of the soap was even stronger. Why did everything feel magnified? Perhaps subdued?
A result of the shell she kept in place? She’d lowered the shell before, and it wasn’t like this--not even in her rooms with their encasing spell. She spun around holding her arms out in the moonlight. She caressed her own arms, enjoying the feel of the gooseflesh on them. She laughed at the feel of the mud between her toes. She stepped off the path and took slow steps with her toes spread, so the mud curled as it squished between her toes. More laughter escaped her. Her hands traveled to her breasts, her nipples went hard in the cool breeze--had that ever happened to her before? Perhaps she hadn’t felt it?
“Sorann, you dressed?”
With a gasp, Sorann scrambled into Cryant’s robe. It stuck to her wet shoulders; luckily, it was over large for her. With quick movements, she wrapped her hair in the towel.
“Yes,” she called back. “I just need to re-rinse my feet. I . . . I accidently stepped off the path.”
“I’ve got soup on.” Cryant stood holding up the door flap. “Stay on the path.”
She quickly rinsed her feet in a clear puddle that remained on the platform under the barrel--the water mixed with mud creating patterns as it ran off her feet. Still puzzled, but prepared for the onslaught of Cryant’s life,
she moved to the slice of light coming from Cryant’s doorway.Cryant moved back so she could enter without touching him. Sorann almost tripped over the threshold. Nothing came from Cryant, no feelings, no buzz singing along her nerves in a stinging assault.
The upper wall revealed how the home stayed warm. Inside, plaster coated it, and, going through the door, she saw the wall consisted of two parts with what looked like straw stuffed in between.
The inside of his home held the aroma of potato soup and fresh bread. A slightly musty smell road on the tail of the soup. She rubbed her nose. Things in the room, a small wooden table with two chairs, a handmade broom leaning in the corner, two glow lamps, and a braided rug jumped into clarity. Things in her life were always fuzzy, smells, sizes, shapes, colors--all made so, she assumed, because of her constant battle to keep out the everyday life of others.
Perhaps the hog knocked her unconscious and this was the result? A dream? She pulled Cryant’s robe up around her neck, aware of how low the neckline rested over her breasts. The fabric carried a slight scent--a slight male scent. Cryant’s robe hadn’t been laundered since the last time he wore it.
“Here, sit by the fire,” Cryant told her. He stood near a makeshift clothesline stretched across the room. Using wooden clothes pins he hung her now clean clothes so they would dry.
Sorann carefully sat on the chair nearest the fire. Cryant finished hanging the clothes before he retrieved two wooden bowls from a homemade shelf hanging over a tin washtub. He spooned soup into both of them and set them on the table.
“Thank you,” Sorann managed. Questions tumbled through her mind. Why could she let her guard down in Cryant’s house? Why had she been so overwhelmed at first, but now--now since Cryant touched her in the pig pen--skin to skin, she didn’t need to be on her guard? Was it possible Cryant’s left over aura on his clothes allowed her a measure of control? Maybe Cryant himself?
Cryant picked up a small crate from near the fireplace and brought it to the table. He set the box on the floor in front of Sorann and set the thin towel covering the top aside. Small bird voices started up in a demand for food. Sorann pushed the chair back ready to spring away from the birds. She stopped.
“You saved the birds?”
“Some of them,” Cryant answered.
She peered back into the box. Birds. Young birds. The way they looked--one with a bandaged wing, another laying with its neck outstretched and its sides heaving as it tried to breathe.
“I can’t heal them,” Cryant said. His voice carried a note of sadness.
Slowly, Sorann reached into the box. She touched the gasping bird and almost shrieked when she felt its young body hit the pavement. Instantly, she knew about the bird’s broken bones, its injured ribs--the bird struggled in her grasp. She set him back in the box where he strutted around the other injured birds squawking and chattering at her.
“You healed him,” Cryant blurted. “But . . .”
Sorann reached into the box and one at a time she picked up the hurt birds. When she set them down they strutted about whole and healed. Cryant leapt to his feet and brought out a small cat from behind a curtain hanging around his bed.
He held the tiny black cat out to her. Sorann took the kitten in her hands and saw from the cat’s point of view the cart coming towards it and felt a flash of pain as the cart ran over the kitten’s leg and hip--her body didn’t feel as though she’d been run over. The cat’s feelings didn’t overcome her. She used her hands to completely surround the cat and in moments it struggled to be free. She let him go, and he ran to the box of birds and began batting at them. Cryant picked the kitten up.
“Out you go, but not in the street this time,” he said. He shut the crooked door over the curtain after he scooted the cat outside. “What they say about you, it isn’t true.”
Sorann looked up into his blue eyes. Lines creased his forehead, his thin face betrayed his puzzlement. She’d never noticed the shadow of stubble on his face before, or the tiny scratches, perhaps inflicted by an injured animal, like the kitten.
“It is true. I can’t heal. I get caught up in the emotions and can’t even diagnose what’s wrong because I feel as if all the things are happening to me. I don’t understand this at all. With animals, you aren’t supposed to receive the clarity to diagnose and heal the way you attain it with a person, but I didn’t expect to simply hold them and poof they are back to normal.” Her stomach rumbled, and she felt as if she’d eaten her last meal weeks ago.
“Eat, eat,” Cryant said and shoved both bowls of soup toward her.
She picked up the slightly bent spoon and touched a small bite to her tongue. Flavors exploded across her mouth, rich deep flavors of spices and onions she’d never experienced before. Spoonful after spoonful, each one a new adventure in taste and satisfaction until she cleaned both bowls of soup without a thought.“Do you think the stories, you know from the Lost Lands, the ones about The Dark Towers are true?” He spooned more soup into the bowls.
Sorann glanced up at him and continued to shove food into her mouth. Her stomach kept begging for more with rumbles and demands she couldn’t ignore.
“I mean, the orange cat, outside, the one with three legs, sometimes, it almost feels like she is trying to talk to me.”
“The stories about those dark wizards turning their enemies into animals?”
Cryant nodded.
Sorann chewed more food. She let out a small laugh. “I don’t think there is enough magic left in the world, dark or otherwise to turn people or animals into something else.”
“But isn’t that what we do with our gift?” He sat back and spread his hands on the table in front of him. He snapped his fingers shut. “Isn’t what we do magic of a sort? We take broken bones and turn them into whole bones, something other than what they were.”
Sorann stared at him a moment before she spooned more soup into her mouth. Around the food, she said, “Broken bone that was once whole bone, not something entirely different. Take the cat, where would all the difference in mass go?”
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“Still, I think I would like a cat who could talk to me and could understand what I say.”“I had a cat once, when I was small, I used to think she understood what I said. I think they do on many levels, if I can feel what they have eaten and their enjoyment, then . . .” Sorann shrugged. She looked up at Cryant after her spoon scraped the bottom of the wooden bowl.
“I’m sorry. You lied when you said you weren’t a good cook. I’ve never tasted anything, well, anything so full of flavors. I didn’t mean to eat all of it,” she added with a glance at the empty pot.“Never mind. I have more friends in need, will you . . .?”
Sorann laughed, energy jumped along her nerves--she could heal. A miracle had happened this night--the speck of dust that sparkled with light--a wish fairy, if any still lived with the bounty on most things magic? Sorann laughed again, whatever had happened, she could heal. “Yes, yes, I will.”
Buy now at Wild Child Publishing
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August 15, 2013
Please Welcome J.J. (James) DiBenedetto to Critters at the Keyboard
Critters at the Keyboard Welcomes J.J. (James) DiBenedetto Author of Dream Child
"I would give anything to take this away from her. I would gladly go back to having the nightmares myself – the very worst ones, the ones that had me waking up screaming in a pool of my own vomit – rather than see Lizzie gothrough this..." As a resident at Children's Hospital, Sara can handle ninety hour workweeks, fighting to save her young patients from deadly childhood diseases. But she's about to be faced with a challenge that all her training and experience haven't prepared her for: her four-year-old daughter has inherited her ability to see other people's dreams... "Dream Child" is the suspenseful third novel in the "Dreams" series.
Excerpt (from Dream Child, book 3)
Sara looks down, and she’s surprised to see her belly rather than her feet. She had no idea she would get this big thisfast. It wasn’t like this the last time, with Lizzie, she thinks. But then, she reminds herself, Lizzie was just one - this time it’s two.
Sara walks into Lizzie’s room, where her daughter is sitting up in her bed, playing with a very old, very ratty stuffed rabbit.
“Lizzie, honey? Mommy needs to talk to you,” Sara says, and Lizzie sets Mister Pennington aside and looks up. Sara sees her own eyes staring at her, something that she wonders if she’ll ever get used to. She sits down on the bed, pats Lizzie on the head. “You know your friend Marnie?” Lizzie continues to look intently at Sara and nods her head up and down several times. “You know how she has a baby brother?” Lizzie continues to nod, not breaking eye contact with Sara. Sara wonders if this was how she was with her mother.
She’s about to continue when someone else walks into Lizzie’s room. Sara turns, but she knows before she does who she’ll see, and she knows - even though she’s never experienced this side of it before – exactly what’s going on.
Her daughter stands in the doorway, looking at Sara and another version of herself as well. Sara doesn’t say anything; she doesn’t want to scare Lizzie. Lizzie looks at herself briefly, but the image of herself seems to hold no interest. She focuses on Sara, concentrating all her three-year-old attention span on her mother.
“You’re so big, Mommy!”
***
Where’s Lizzie? She was standing in the doorway. She was – oh, my God.
She was seeing – she was inside – she saw me dreaming. She’s got it just like I do.
I jump out of bed and I have to hold myself back from running into her room in a panic. I don’t want to frighten her. She can’t possibly realize what just happened. She can’t know what it means. I take several deep breaths, collect myself as best I can, and then I walk slowly, calmly, into her room.
She’s sitting up on her bed. She fixes her gaze on me, just like she did in the dream, concentrating on me with all her might. “Mommy, I had a funny dream.”
“I know you did, honey. Can you tell me about it?” I sit next to her, also just like the dream.“You were big. Really big. You sat like now, on the bed. You were really big.”
I hug her, kiss her forehead. “That isa funny dream. But I’m not big, not forreal. It was just a dream.” I can’t even imagine how I’m going to explain what happened to her. I’m concentrating on keeping my voice calm and level and soothing, and that takes all my effort.
J.J. (James) DiBenedetto was born in Yonkers, New York. He attended Case Western Reserve University, where as his classmates can attest, he was a complete nerd. Very little has changed since then.
He currently lives in Arlington, Virginia with his beautiful wife and their cat (who has thoroughly trained them both). When he's not writing, James works in the direct marketing field, enjoys the opera, photography and the New York Giants, among other interests.The "Dreams" series is James' first published work.
Dream studentAmazon (Kindle or Paperback or Audiobook)iTunesStore (Audiobook)Audible (Audiobook)
Dream DoctorAmazon (Kindle or Paperback)
Dream Child Amazon (Kindle or Paperback)
Dream Family Amazon (Kindle or Paperback)
All four books are also available at:EbookOnFirehttps://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/starkllr.Facebook:the Dream Series page my personal page. Goodreads Twitter. http://www.writingdreams.net
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"I would give anything to take this away from her. I would gladly go back to having the nightmares myself – the very worst ones, the ones that had me waking up screaming in a pool of my own vomit – rather than see Lizzie gothrough this..." As a resident at Children's Hospital, Sara can handle ninety hour workweeks, fighting to save her young patients from deadly childhood diseases. But she's about to be faced with a challenge that all her training and experience haven't prepared her for: her four-year-old daughter has inherited her ability to see other people's dreams... "Dream Child" is the suspenseful third novel in the "Dreams" series.
Excerpt (from Dream Child, book 3)
Sara looks down, and she’s surprised to see her belly rather than her feet. She had no idea she would get this big thisfast. It wasn’t like this the last time, with Lizzie, she thinks. But then, she reminds herself, Lizzie was just one - this time it’s two.
Sara walks into Lizzie’s room, where her daughter is sitting up in her bed, playing with a very old, very ratty stuffed rabbit.
“Lizzie, honey? Mommy needs to talk to you,” Sara says, and Lizzie sets Mister Pennington aside and looks up. Sara sees her own eyes staring at her, something that she wonders if she’ll ever get used to. She sits down on the bed, pats Lizzie on the head. “You know your friend Marnie?” Lizzie continues to look intently at Sara and nods her head up and down several times. “You know how she has a baby brother?” Lizzie continues to nod, not breaking eye contact with Sara. Sara wonders if this was how she was with her mother.
She’s about to continue when someone else walks into Lizzie’s room. Sara turns, but she knows before she does who she’ll see, and she knows - even though she’s never experienced this side of it before – exactly what’s going on.
Her daughter stands in the doorway, looking at Sara and another version of herself as well. Sara doesn’t say anything; she doesn’t want to scare Lizzie. Lizzie looks at herself briefly, but the image of herself seems to hold no interest. She focuses on Sara, concentrating all her three-year-old attention span on her mother.
“You’re so big, Mommy!”
***
Where’s Lizzie? She was standing in the doorway. She was – oh, my God.
She was seeing – she was inside – she saw me dreaming. She’s got it just like I do.
I jump out of bed and I have to hold myself back from running into her room in a panic. I don’t want to frighten her. She can’t possibly realize what just happened. She can’t know what it means. I take several deep breaths, collect myself as best I can, and then I walk slowly, calmly, into her room.
She’s sitting up on her bed. She fixes her gaze on me, just like she did in the dream, concentrating on me with all her might. “Mommy, I had a funny dream.”
“I know you did, honey. Can you tell me about it?” I sit next to her, also just like the dream.“You were big. Really big. You sat like now, on the bed. You were really big.”
I hug her, kiss her forehead. “That isa funny dream. But I’m not big, not forreal. It was just a dream.” I can’t even imagine how I’m going to explain what happened to her. I’m concentrating on keeping my voice calm and level and soothing, and that takes all my effort.
J.J. (James) DiBenedetto was born in Yonkers, New York. He attended Case Western Reserve University, where as his classmates can attest, he was a complete nerd. Very little has changed since then.
He currently lives in Arlington, Virginia with his beautiful wife and their cat (who has thoroughly trained them both). When he's not writing, James works in the direct marketing field, enjoys the opera, photography and the New York Giants, among other interests.The "Dreams" series is James' first published work.
Dream studentAmazon (Kindle or Paperback or Audiobook)iTunesStore (Audiobook)Audible (Audiobook)
Dream DoctorAmazon (Kindle or Paperback)
Dream Child Amazon (Kindle or Paperback)
Dream Family Amazon (Kindle or Paperback)
All four books are also available at:EbookOnFirehttps://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/starkllr.Facebook:the Dream Series page my personal page. Goodreads Twitter. http://www.writingdreams.net
August 14, 2013
Critters at the Keyboard welcomes Patrick Royal
Horror Author Patrick Royal
The only thing that multi-published, award winning horror author, Tom Elliot, wanted was to move to the country for a change of scenery and relaxation, to a quiet part of southern Illinois. It seemed he'd picked out a wonderful spot, miles away from the closest neighbor and even further away from civilization.
Tom couldn't write to save his soul. Weird thoughts trampled through his head and left him wondering if he'd made a mistake moving from Chicago. Could it have been that he ripped himself from his element, like his best friend, Michael Gully, had predicted? That he couldn't answer yet.
Words came and flowed like wildfire, but at what price? Tom's imagination was getting the best of him and running rampant. The very characters that he created tormented him, driving him mad where he couldn't distinguish fiction from reality.
Genre: Horror
Book Length: Novel
Word Count: 53, 387
Pages: 181
Price: $4.99
Formats: PDF, ePub, Mobi, HTML
WILD CHILD PUBLISHING:
The only thing that multi-published, award winning horror author, Tom Elliot, wanted was to move to the country for a change of scenery and relaxation, to a quiet part of southern Illinois. It seemed he'd picked out a wonderful spot, miles away from the closest neighbor and even further away from civilization.
Tom couldn't write to save his soul. Weird thoughts trampled through his head and left him wondering if he'd made a mistake moving from Chicago. Could it have been that he ripped himself from his element, like his best friend, Michael Gully, had predicted? That he couldn't answer yet.
Words came and flowed like wildfire, but at what price? Tom's imagination was getting the best of him and running rampant. The very characters that he created tormented him, driving him mad where he couldn't distinguish fiction from reality.
Genre: Horror
Book Length: Novel
Word Count: 53, 387
Pages: 181
Price: $4.99
Formats: PDF, ePub, Mobi, HTML
WILD CHILD PUBLISHING:
August 9, 2013
How To Get Good Reviews On Amazon
Critters at the Keybaord Reviews How To Get Good Reviews On Amazon: A Guide For Independent Authors & Sellers by Theo Rogers
Theo will be giving away a $100 Amazon gift card to one lucky commenter during the tour. Leave a comment for a chance to win, the more stops you comment on, the more chances you have to win.
HOW TO GET GOOD REVIEWS ON AMAZONByTheo Rogers
How To Get Good Reviews On Amazon is a simple, no-nonsense guide that teaches exactly what it says it does. Based on both psychological science and thousands of hours of conversation with some of Amazon’s top reviewers, it takes you behind the scenes into the reviewing subculture that has grown up on Amazon’s website. It gives you a deep, insider’s knowledge of how the top reviewers think and operate. It not only shows you whatto do: it takes you inside the reviewers’ heads so that you can see for yourself both how these techniques work and why they’re so effective.
Lessons include:
· A simple, four-part formula for writing emails that get your work reviewed.· Three things never to say when communicating with reviewers!· How to pick reviewers who are more likely to give you a good review.· How to reduce the chance that a reviewer you contact will post a bad review – even if it turns out they don’t like your work!· How people get caught out when receiving reviews from friends and family.
This book teaches an honest, straightforward approach that works. It works because it’s not based gimmicks or tricks but on a realunderstanding of how Amazon reviewers operate: most of all on what they expect from authors and other sellers. If you want to know how to talk to Amazon reviewers in a way that will make them respect you as a professional and see you as the kind of seller they actually wantto help, this is the book for you.
Enjoy this excerpt:
One of the most fundamental ideas in this booklet is that there’s a definite reviewing subculture that has grown up on Amazon’s website. Like any culture, it has itsown particular values and mores: its own ideas about what’s right and what’s wrong. When we come to the issue of shill reviews, we collide headlong with the values of the reviewing culture. As you might expect, most reviewers see shills – and the sellers who use them – as very, very wrong.
Because this section is all about values, I think it’s important to stress that I’m writing here as your guide to Amazon’s reviewing subculture. I’m not writing as a missionary on its behalf.
Simply put, I believe that your journey through the Amazon Jungle will be smoother, easier, and more successful if along the way you’re respectful of the values of the natives who dwell there. For that reason, I’m going to lay out for you some of the more commonly held tenants: the basic beliefs that most of the natives would hold to. It’s not for me to tell you whether you should embrace these values to the core of your being and make them your own. I’m just telling you that as a matter of pure pragmatism, you are going to make trouble for yourself if you ignore them.My thoughts: Every writer wants one thing, to sell books. In order to sell books you have to market, and you have to have followers, and to gain followers you have to have good reviews. To me this always feels like those signs in the window that say Help Wanted, experienced staff only.
How To Get Good Reviews On Amazon: A Guide For Independent Authors & Sellers by Theo Rogers, is the experience needed in a short quick read, to give an author new to the game much needed advice in the world of reviews and reviewers. Written essay style, it is straight up advice, but not told in a boring dry account. The advice sticks with you, and makes sense. He explains clearly why getting those “5 star” reviews from friends and family aren’t good for you.
I did find the advice on how to score a review very interesting as it seems many reviewers base their reviews on the alignment of the stars. I never thought of the reviewers on Amazon as a reviewer culture until I read this book.
This book is for those new to the publishing and reviewing world. It offers advice that many new authors and reviewers need to both get and give meaningful reviews. My only quibble with it is that it focused on getting reviews from the reviewer culture on Amazon, and this reader would have liked to know how to get reviews from readers, not just the “professional” reviewers.
4 stars for a helpful informative book.
AUTHOR INFORMATION:Theo Rogers combines years of coalface experience on Amazon's website with formal training and qualifications in a range of business and social science disciplines. He's spent literally thousands of hours talking with Amazon reviewers, getting inside their heads, and learning what makes them tick. He's spent almost as many hours observing the carnage that so often takes place on Amazon's forums. In the process he's developed a deep insider's knowledge of the reviewing subculture that's grown up on Amazon's website.
He's also seen a lot of authors and other would-be sellers make the same mistakes in their dealings with that subculture - over and over again.
As a result of his experiences, Theo has come to believe that yes, there is a simple formula that works: a way of dealing with reviewers that's honest, powerful, and extremely effective at winning reviewers over, getting them on your side, and making them actually wantto help you.
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Buy Links
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00ED1QGXC
http://www.amazon.ca/dp/B00ED1QGXC/
August 7, 2013
Critters at the Keyboard hosts MIDSHIPMAN HENRY GALL...
Critters at the Keyboard hosts MIDSHIPMAN HENRY GALLANT IN SPACEBy H. Peter Alesso
H. Peter Alesso WILL BE GIVING AWAY:
Winner's choice of $100 Amazon or BN.com gift card, don't forget to leave your info. The MORE STOPS YOU VISIT THE MORE YOU CHANCES YOU HAVE TO WIN.
MIDSHIPMAN HENRY GALLANT IN SPACEBy H. Peter AlessoAs the last star fighter in squadron 111, Midshipman Henry Gallant is on his way from Jupiter to Mars. With the United Planets' fleet on the verge of annihilation, he can expect no help as he passes through the asteroid belt and threatening aliens. With so much uncertainty about the aliens’ capabilities and intentions, analyzing the captured computer equipment in Gallant’s possession could prove crucial.
The fate of Earth could rest on the abilities of Midshipman Henry Gallant. Unfortunately, it is his abilities that have been much in doubt during his tour of duty. In an era of genetic engineering, he is the only Natural (non-genetically enhanced) officer left in the fleet. His classmates and superior officers have all expressed their concern that he will not be up to the demands of the space service. Only bright and attractive junior officer Kelsey Mitchel has shown any sympathy for him. Now as his navigator on the last fighter in squadron 111, her life as well as a good many others, depends of Henry Gallant.
Please enjoy this excerptGallant prepared to press the firing button to launch an antimissile into the center of the damaged saucer, but then he paused. He suddenly realized that he had the opportunity to discover important information about the aliens, if he could get inside the saucer and relay what he found toCaptain Caine and GridScape.
“Kelsey, we’ve got to dock with that saucer and board it. Once we’re inside who knows what we'll discover?”
Kelsey grew alarmed, “No, no, no. Henry; is that even possible - in the middle of this chaos?”
“It’s an opportunity we can’t afford to pass up.” He abandoned caution and committed himself to the risky venture. Kelsey stayed silent and motionless for several long seconds. Then any reservations she had faded. She calculated the course to dock, matching the saucer's speed, course, and orientation so that they would be relatively stationary.
"Kelsey, you’ll have to remain with the fighter and use the lasers to cover my spacewalk, but if things go badly, I want you to break off," said Gallant, strapping on his gun. "I don’t know if the ship’s crew will offer any resistance."
"I’ll inform Repulse what you’re attempting. Maybe they can provide covering fire if needed," she said.
“Great idea. I’ll send a video feed from my suit comm pin toour Eagle. You can let Repulse follow my progress and record everything that happens for intelligence analysis.”
With the aftermath of the violent space battle around him, Gallant prepared to spacewalk to the saucer. He sealed his mirrored armored suit and exited the fighter through his overhead hatch. The suit included an oxygen generator pack that maintained an appropriate atmosphere for him to breathe as he traveled in space. He traveled along the surface of the fighter using short bursts of gas to propel him and then released his umbilical line. Using his propulsion jets he propelled himself forward into the darkness. He looked for a way to enter the alien ship.
Gallant maneuvered the jetpack deftly. His suit shielded him from incredible extremes of temperature—up to 250 degrees Fahrenheit on sunlit surfaces and down to 150 degrees below zero on the shady side of the fighter.
Propelling himself forward, he tumbled and then straightened up. By using the communicator to connect to the fighter, he relayed informationdirectly to the ship’s AI. He could also access the ship’s monitoring capability to see how the battle was progressing. Suddenly, the communicator notified him that an alien saucer was approaching. He could see laser shots flash near him. For a moment he couldn't breathe, and then he let his training take over and found the strength to go forward.
He heard Kelsey call the Repulse, her voice desperate with apprehension. "We’re under direct fire! We need immediate support!"
Was her anguish because of me? Gallant wondered.
“We can fire a…missile at…but with the solar interference hitting…would be pure luck.” A broken message came from the officer of the deck on the Repulse.
“If you fire amissile with external laser guidance, we can ‘paint’ the target with myfighter’s laser,” responded Kelsey.
“Will do; stand-by.”
The Repulse fired, and Kelsey used her neural connection to the fighter to light up the target saucer. The result was a satisfying explosion, and the alien ship disintegrated in a sea of debris.“Fantastic!” exclaimed Gallant. “Thanks Repulse! Thanks Kelsey!”
After what seemed an eternity, he finally entered the alien ship through a massive hole that had been torn in its hull by an earlier missile blast.
About the Author
As a scientist and author specializing in technology innovation, H. Peter Alesso has over twenty years research experience at Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory (LLNL). As Engineering Group Leader at LLNL he led a team of computer scientists and engineers in innovative applications across a wide range of supercomputers, workstations and networks. He graduated from the United States Naval Academy with a B.S. and served in the U.S. Navy on nuclear submarines before completing an M.S. and an advanced Engineering Degree at M.I.T. He has published several software titles and numerous scientific journal and conference articles, and he is the author/co-author of six books.
Website
Contact: H. Peter Alesso
www.hpeteralesso.com
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H. Peter Alesso WILL BE GIVING AWAY:
Winner's choice of $100 Amazon or BN.com gift card, don't forget to leave your info. The MORE STOPS YOU VISIT THE MORE YOU CHANCES YOU HAVE TO WIN.
MIDSHIPMAN HENRY GALLANT IN SPACEBy H. Peter AlessoAs the last star fighter in squadron 111, Midshipman Henry Gallant is on his way from Jupiter to Mars. With the United Planets' fleet on the verge of annihilation, he can expect no help as he passes through the asteroid belt and threatening aliens. With so much uncertainty about the aliens’ capabilities and intentions, analyzing the captured computer equipment in Gallant’s possession could prove crucial.The fate of Earth could rest on the abilities of Midshipman Henry Gallant. Unfortunately, it is his abilities that have been much in doubt during his tour of duty. In an era of genetic engineering, he is the only Natural (non-genetically enhanced) officer left in the fleet. His classmates and superior officers have all expressed their concern that he will not be up to the demands of the space service. Only bright and attractive junior officer Kelsey Mitchel has shown any sympathy for him. Now as his navigator on the last fighter in squadron 111, her life as well as a good many others, depends of Henry Gallant.
Please enjoy this excerptGallant prepared to press the firing button to launch an antimissile into the center of the damaged saucer, but then he paused. He suddenly realized that he had the opportunity to discover important information about the aliens, if he could get inside the saucer and relay what he found toCaptain Caine and GridScape.
“Kelsey, we’ve got to dock with that saucer and board it. Once we’re inside who knows what we'll discover?”
Kelsey grew alarmed, “No, no, no. Henry; is that even possible - in the middle of this chaos?”
“It’s an opportunity we can’t afford to pass up.” He abandoned caution and committed himself to the risky venture. Kelsey stayed silent and motionless for several long seconds. Then any reservations she had faded. She calculated the course to dock, matching the saucer's speed, course, and orientation so that they would be relatively stationary.
"Kelsey, you’ll have to remain with the fighter and use the lasers to cover my spacewalk, but if things go badly, I want you to break off," said Gallant, strapping on his gun. "I don’t know if the ship’s crew will offer any resistance."
"I’ll inform Repulse what you’re attempting. Maybe they can provide covering fire if needed," she said.
“Great idea. I’ll send a video feed from my suit comm pin toour Eagle. You can let Repulse follow my progress and record everything that happens for intelligence analysis.”
With the aftermath of the violent space battle around him, Gallant prepared to spacewalk to the saucer. He sealed his mirrored armored suit and exited the fighter through his overhead hatch. The suit included an oxygen generator pack that maintained an appropriate atmosphere for him to breathe as he traveled in space. He traveled along the surface of the fighter using short bursts of gas to propel him and then released his umbilical line. Using his propulsion jets he propelled himself forward into the darkness. He looked for a way to enter the alien ship.
Gallant maneuvered the jetpack deftly. His suit shielded him from incredible extremes of temperature—up to 250 degrees Fahrenheit on sunlit surfaces and down to 150 degrees below zero on the shady side of the fighter.
Propelling himself forward, he tumbled and then straightened up. By using the communicator to connect to the fighter, he relayed informationdirectly to the ship’s AI. He could also access the ship’s monitoring capability to see how the battle was progressing. Suddenly, the communicator notified him that an alien saucer was approaching. He could see laser shots flash near him. For a moment he couldn't breathe, and then he let his training take over and found the strength to go forward.
He heard Kelsey call the Repulse, her voice desperate with apprehension. "We’re under direct fire! We need immediate support!"
Was her anguish because of me? Gallant wondered.
“We can fire a…missile at…but with the solar interference hitting…would be pure luck.” A broken message came from the officer of the deck on the Repulse.
“If you fire amissile with external laser guidance, we can ‘paint’ the target with myfighter’s laser,” responded Kelsey.
“Will do; stand-by.”
The Repulse fired, and Kelsey used her neural connection to the fighter to light up the target saucer. The result was a satisfying explosion, and the alien ship disintegrated in a sea of debris.“Fantastic!” exclaimed Gallant. “Thanks Repulse! Thanks Kelsey!”
After what seemed an eternity, he finally entered the alien ship through a massive hole that had been torn in its hull by an earlier missile blast.
About the Author
As a scientist and author specializing in technology innovation, H. Peter Alesso has over twenty years research experience at Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory (LLNL). As Engineering Group Leader at LLNL he led a team of computer scientists and engineers in innovative applications across a wide range of supercomputers, workstations and networks. He graduated from the United States Naval Academy with a B.S. and served in the U.S. Navy on nuclear submarines before completing an M.S. and an advanced Engineering Degree at M.I.T. He has published several software titles and numerous scientific journal and conference articles, and he is the author/co-author of six books. Website
Contact: H. Peter Alesso
www.hpeteralesso.com
Amazon
Trailer:
a Rafflecopter giveaway
August 6, 2013
Bama Bride by Joan Chandler
Critters at the Keyboard hosts Bama Bride by Joan Chandler
Joan will be awarding a $25 Amazon gift card to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour, and a $10 Amazon Gift Card will be awarded to a randomly drawn host. Leave a comment and your email address for a chance to win, the more stops you go to and comment on the greater the chances to win!
Bama Brideby Joan Chandler
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
BLURB:
Neal Sinclair meets David Bankston in a college town bar. He’s tall, dark, and handsome, and wears a Stetson like nobody’s business.
When they dance, inner passion heats up while inhibitions melt away. Neal quickly discovers David’s not a Southerner at all. He’s a Boston architect, in Tuscaloosa for only one night. The next morning, they struggle to walk away from something that caught them both by surprise.
Time doesn’t diminish the ache they feel in each other’s absence. Unable to stay apart, David arranges to take Neal to watch her beloved Crimson Tide play in a football bowl game. Reunited, they’re determined to make it work. When separated, they perfect the art of open communication. They each know that true love is a long shot.
But distance isn’t the only thing standing in their way. Unbeknownst to her, Neal’s overprotective father is, too. With so much conspiring against them, can a natural disaster turn the odds in their favor?
Enjoy this excerpt:“What’s this?” she asked curiously.
“Do you do tequila shots?”
“Never have before.”
“Then you’re in for a treat. This is a slightly different recipe from the traditional salt and lime. I think you’ll like it.”
“How do you do it?” She looked at the three separate ingredients and wondered if there was a method to the madness.
“I’ll show you how I’m going to do it. May I have your hand, please?”
He held his palm out and she placed her hand in it. He turned it over, so the underside was exposed, and then he kissed it open mouthed. Neal watched him run his tongue over her skin, making it glisten with saliva. Then he sprinkled a generous amount of cinnamon over the slick spot. He picked up the whiskey and held it in one hand then dipped his mouth to suck her wrist. She felt him lick softly over her skin, and the fire started to burn inside her. He sat up and raised an eyebrow at her as he quickly consumed the liquid and then he sucked on the wedge to drain the juice out of the citrusypulp.
“Damn, that’s hot.” She could already feel the rush of moisture to her sexual center, and crossed her legs.
David’s expression was lustful as the rush of alcohol began to take effect. “Your turn.”
He reached for her wrist, but she quickly jerked it back from him.
“No way, Cowboy,” she admonished him. “I’m doing it like you showed me.”
She reached out for his hand. When he extended it to her, she pushed up his sweater, then unbuttoned his shirt sleeve and rolled it up to get it out of the way. She kissed his wrist just below his thumb, and then took her own slow, sweet time to suck it until it was thoroughly wet before applying the aromatic spice. Neal licked the cinnamon, threw back the tequila, and bitthe orange wedge that he held out to her. As soon as she swallowed, he covered her mouth with his and plundered it with his tongue.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Joan Chandler is a Florida native who has lived in the Deep South all of her life. She is married with two children who are her pride and joy. She lives a double life ofsorts, holding down a nine-to-five job during the day, and writing steamy romance at night—often with her black cat curled up in her arms as she types.
When she’s not spending her spare time working on her next novel, she loves to go camping, sharing girls’ night out with her friends, walking her two dogs, and watching college football.
BUY Links:
AMAZON
BOOKSTRANDPUBLISHING
BLOG:
twitter
Find me on facebook: Joan Chandler
Joan will be awarding a $25 Amazon gift card to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour, and a $10 Amazon Gift Card will be awarded to a randomly drawn host. Leave a comment and your email address for a chance to win, the more stops you go to and comment on the greater the chances to win!
Bama Brideby Joan Chandler~~~~~~~~~~~~~
BLURB:
Neal Sinclair meets David Bankston in a college town bar. He’s tall, dark, and handsome, and wears a Stetson like nobody’s business.
When they dance, inner passion heats up while inhibitions melt away. Neal quickly discovers David’s not a Southerner at all. He’s a Boston architect, in Tuscaloosa for only one night. The next morning, they struggle to walk away from something that caught them both by surprise.
Time doesn’t diminish the ache they feel in each other’s absence. Unable to stay apart, David arranges to take Neal to watch her beloved Crimson Tide play in a football bowl game. Reunited, they’re determined to make it work. When separated, they perfect the art of open communication. They each know that true love is a long shot.
But distance isn’t the only thing standing in their way. Unbeknownst to her, Neal’s overprotective father is, too. With so much conspiring against them, can a natural disaster turn the odds in their favor?
Enjoy this excerpt:“What’s this?” she asked curiously.
“Do you do tequila shots?”
“Never have before.”
“Then you’re in for a treat. This is a slightly different recipe from the traditional salt and lime. I think you’ll like it.”
“How do you do it?” She looked at the three separate ingredients and wondered if there was a method to the madness.
“I’ll show you how I’m going to do it. May I have your hand, please?”
He held his palm out and she placed her hand in it. He turned it over, so the underside was exposed, and then he kissed it open mouthed. Neal watched him run his tongue over her skin, making it glisten with saliva. Then he sprinkled a generous amount of cinnamon over the slick spot. He picked up the whiskey and held it in one hand then dipped his mouth to suck her wrist. She felt him lick softly over her skin, and the fire started to burn inside her. He sat up and raised an eyebrow at her as he quickly consumed the liquid and then he sucked on the wedge to drain the juice out of the citrusypulp.
“Damn, that’s hot.” She could already feel the rush of moisture to her sexual center, and crossed her legs.
David’s expression was lustful as the rush of alcohol began to take effect. “Your turn.”
He reached for her wrist, but she quickly jerked it back from him.
“No way, Cowboy,” she admonished him. “I’m doing it like you showed me.”
She reached out for his hand. When he extended it to her, she pushed up his sweater, then unbuttoned his shirt sleeve and rolled it up to get it out of the way. She kissed his wrist just below his thumb, and then took her own slow, sweet time to suck it until it was thoroughly wet before applying the aromatic spice. Neal licked the cinnamon, threw back the tequila, and bitthe orange wedge that he held out to her. As soon as she swallowed, he covered her mouth with his and plundered it with his tongue.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AUTHOR Bio and Links:Joan Chandler is a Florida native who has lived in the Deep South all of her life. She is married with two children who are her pride and joy. She lives a double life ofsorts, holding down a nine-to-five job during the day, and writing steamy romance at night—often with her black cat curled up in her arms as she types.
When she’s not spending her spare time working on her next novel, she loves to go camping, sharing girls’ night out with her friends, walking her two dogs, and watching college football.
BUY Links:
AMAZON
BOOKSTRANDPUBLISHING
BLOG:
Find me on facebook: Joan Chandler
July 29, 2013
Critters at the Keyboard . . . . Welcomes Gregory Delaurentis
Critters at the Keyboard . . . . Welcomes Gregory Delaurentis
One randomly chosen commenter will win a $50 Amazon/BN gift card.Leave a comment for a chance to win, and don't forget your email address. Follow the tour for more chances to win.
HOW TO HANDLE NEGATIVE CRITICISM by Gregory Delaurentis I have read and heard a lot about how to handle negative criticism. Before I took my first step to self-publish my book, I hardened my skin into a sheet of leather by studying how to handle and to expect negative remarks about my writing. The most helpful information came from a movie by Jamie Kennedy, on hecklers and critics. In the movie, which was a documentary, he was very hurt over what these two types of people do and had done to him. Therefore he went on a form of retaliation against the few critics that commented negatively on his acting and comedy.
Watching him in this, I could feel his pain, but there was no solace in his efforts. He did not find any relief or respite from his actions. And I realized that the best defense against such a heated offense as a bad review is to do nothing. I’m not saying to ignore a bad review altogether, because some reviews, even though bad, are given in a helpful spirit and can have positive effects. But then there are those that are just negative for negativity’s sake. These you can ignore, because they offer nothing.
If you reply to such scathing offense in kind, you will not reach the person who is giving it, and you just might turn off other readers for being too sensitive. The truth of the matter is that everybody is not going to like your writing, some violently so. So, what is your recourse at thisIf I need to reply to someone, I would rather choose to reply to individuals who enjoyed my work, and thank them for their patronage. Those that take the time to give you praise, should be praised in return. I’d rather not lower myself to the standards of those who tear down, but to rise above them, and enjoy the company of those who encourage. It’s my choice, as well as yours.
Please enjoy this excerpt from Cover of DarknessDavid first opened the door to a closet on the left, searching it with the gun muzzle, before approaching the door at the end of the hall and kicking it open. An angry, naked man stood on the other side, his anger changing to fear in seconds once he beheld the gun pointing in his direction.
“Get back into bed,” David ordered.
The pale-bodied man responded as he staggered backward. The foot of the bed struck the back of his knees, sending him seated on the mattress. The woman on the bed had by this time covered herself with the sheets, and curled her legs up.
While Kevin stood nervously in the doorway, David searched the room and the closets, the muzzle of the shotgun again serving as a probe, but found no one.
“What the…?” Chase asked David.
After searching through the room, David tossed the shotgun to Kevin.
Suddenly, Chase went white-hot heat, crawling backward into the arms of his woman in sheer panic screaming, “What do you want?!”
“I want information,” David demanded, going to the foot of the bed, standing before them with Kevin directly behind him. “I want to know who whacked Osterman.”
“How am I to know?!” Chase shouted back. His hair was a wild tangle, his eyes wide as saucers with fright.
“Don’t yell at me,” David said calmly. “I want answers. I’m not interested in killing you.”
“You bust into my crib and start throwing guns around. You’re crazy, man, what do you think I’m thinking?”
“You were moving dope for Osterman,” David persisted, ignoring Chase’s remarks.
“Osterman! He jerked me.”
“With the Colombians.”
“Damn right.”
“And you didn’t like that.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“So, you had one of your soul brothers do him in.”
“Oh hell, no. My people don’t kill. We don’t mess with weapons like you do.”
“And the reason for that?”
“More jail time . . . What are you? A cop?”
“Don’t worry about what I am,” David growled back. “You are moving weight. I want to know what happened after Osterman jerked you.”
“He jerked me. That’s all.”
“That’s all? You didn’t go to the Colombians? Liar!”
“Yes, yes, I did that!” Chase corrected. “I went to the Colombians as soon as I knew he jerked me. I begged them to give me another chance. They said they would, if I replaced their one hundred kilos. One hundred kilos! How do I do that?”
“Put bullets into Osterman for revenge.”
“How is that going to get me my one hundred kilos?”
“Let me explain it to you, genius. The Colombians trust Osterman enough to give him a heavy shipment. You find it, whack him, and take his shipment back to the Colombians. Paid in full.”Chase thought that over for a second or two. “But that’s not what happened.”
“Convince me otherwise.”
The word “Freeze!” were suddenly heardfrom the doorway. David frowned as he glanced over his shoulder to see a scruffy looking black male, armed with his own shotgun.
AUTHOR BIO:
Gregory Delaurentis spent his adult life roaming from job to job, working for Lockheed in California, various law firms in New York, and financial firms on Wall Street. Throughout this period of time, he was writing—unceasingly—finally producing a large body of work, albeit unrecognized and unpublished . . . untilnow. Cover of Darkness is the first in a series of upcoming books that include Edge of Darkness, Pale of Darkness and Cries of Darkness. These novels follow the lives of three individuals who do battle bringing criminals to justice, while they struggle to understand the complex relationships that exist among themselves. This intriguing trio has absorbed the attention of Mr. Delaurentis for the past year and a half, so much so he decided to self-publish their stories to bring them to a wider audience. [AUTHOR’S DISCLAIMER: These are works of fiction. Name, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.]
Buy Links AMAZON
KOBO
SONY READER STORE
SMASHWORDS
General links
Web Site
FaceBook
Twitter
Blog
a Rafflecopter giveaway
One randomly chosen commenter will win a $50 Amazon/BN gift card.Leave a comment for a chance to win, and don't forget your email address. Follow the tour for more chances to win.
HOW TO HANDLE NEGATIVE CRITICISM by Gregory Delaurentis I have read and heard a lot about how to handle negative criticism. Before I took my first step to self-publish my book, I hardened my skin into a sheet of leather by studying how to handle and to expect negative remarks about my writing. The most helpful information came from a movie by Jamie Kennedy, on hecklers and critics. In the movie, which was a documentary, he was very hurt over what these two types of people do and had done to him. Therefore he went on a form of retaliation against the few critics that commented negatively on his acting and comedy.
Watching him in this, I could feel his pain, but there was no solace in his efforts. He did not find any relief or respite from his actions. And I realized that the best defense against such a heated offense as a bad review is to do nothing. I’m not saying to ignore a bad review altogether, because some reviews, even though bad, are given in a helpful spirit and can have positive effects. But then there are those that are just negative for negativity’s sake. These you can ignore, because they offer nothing.
If you reply to such scathing offense in kind, you will not reach the person who is giving it, and you just might turn off other readers for being too sensitive. The truth of the matter is that everybody is not going to like your writing, some violently so. So, what is your recourse at thisIf I need to reply to someone, I would rather choose to reply to individuals who enjoyed my work, and thank them for their patronage. Those that take the time to give you praise, should be praised in return. I’d rather not lower myself to the standards of those who tear down, but to rise above them, and enjoy the company of those who encourage. It’s my choice, as well as yours.
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Please enjoy this excerpt from Cover of DarknessDavid first opened the door to a closet on the left, searching it with the gun muzzle, before approaching the door at the end of the hall and kicking it open. An angry, naked man stood on the other side, his anger changing to fear in seconds once he beheld the gun pointing in his direction.
“Get back into bed,” David ordered.
The pale-bodied man responded as he staggered backward. The foot of the bed struck the back of his knees, sending him seated on the mattress. The woman on the bed had by this time covered herself with the sheets, and curled her legs up.
While Kevin stood nervously in the doorway, David searched the room and the closets, the muzzle of the shotgun again serving as a probe, but found no one.
“What the…?” Chase asked David.
After searching through the room, David tossed the shotgun to Kevin.
Suddenly, Chase went white-hot heat, crawling backward into the arms of his woman in sheer panic screaming, “What do you want?!”
“I want information,” David demanded, going to the foot of the bed, standing before them with Kevin directly behind him. “I want to know who whacked Osterman.”
“How am I to know?!” Chase shouted back. His hair was a wild tangle, his eyes wide as saucers with fright.
“Don’t yell at me,” David said calmly. “I want answers. I’m not interested in killing you.”
“You bust into my crib and start throwing guns around. You’re crazy, man, what do you think I’m thinking?”
“You were moving dope for Osterman,” David persisted, ignoring Chase’s remarks.
“Osterman! He jerked me.”
“With the Colombians.”
“Damn right.”
“And you didn’t like that.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“So, you had one of your soul brothers do him in.”
“Oh hell, no. My people don’t kill. We don’t mess with weapons like you do.”
“And the reason for that?”
“More jail time . . . What are you? A cop?”
“Don’t worry about what I am,” David growled back. “You are moving weight. I want to know what happened after Osterman jerked you.”
“He jerked me. That’s all.”
“That’s all? You didn’t go to the Colombians? Liar!”
“Yes, yes, I did that!” Chase corrected. “I went to the Colombians as soon as I knew he jerked me. I begged them to give me another chance. They said they would, if I replaced their one hundred kilos. One hundred kilos! How do I do that?”
“Put bullets into Osterman for revenge.”
“How is that going to get me my one hundred kilos?”
“Let me explain it to you, genius. The Colombians trust Osterman enough to give him a heavy shipment. You find it, whack him, and take his shipment back to the Colombians. Paid in full.”Chase thought that over for a second or two. “But that’s not what happened.”
“Convince me otherwise.”
The word “Freeze!” were suddenly heardfrom the doorway. David frowned as he glanced over his shoulder to see a scruffy looking black male, armed with his own shotgun.
AUTHOR BIO:
Gregory Delaurentis spent his adult life roaming from job to job, working for Lockheed in California, various law firms in New York, and financial firms on Wall Street. Throughout this period of time, he was writing—unceasingly—finally producing a large body of work, albeit unrecognized and unpublished . . . untilnow. Cover of Darkness is the first in a series of upcoming books that include Edge of Darkness, Pale of Darkness and Cries of Darkness. These novels follow the lives of three individuals who do battle bringing criminals to justice, while they struggle to understand the complex relationships that exist among themselves. This intriguing trio has absorbed the attention of Mr. Delaurentis for the past year and a half, so much so he decided to self-publish their stories to bring them to a wider audience. [AUTHOR’S DISCLAIMER: These are works of fiction. Name, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.]
Buy Links AMAZON
KOBO
SONY READER STORE
SMASHWORDS
General links
Web Site
Blog
a Rafflecopter giveaway
