Willsin Rowe's Blog, page 13
September 3, 2012
Next Stop on the Patience Tour!
Today, Katie and I are over at Kiki Howell's blog, Authors By Authors. We're discussing the various and delicious elements of attraction that happen between younger men and older women!
September 2, 2012
Patience always brings rewards!
You've been so patient, and finally the wait is over! Happy Release Day!! Now, run out and get your copy!
Patience © August 2012 by Willsin Rowe and Katie Salidas
Excerpt
He turned, drilling his steel-gray eyes into mine. “You regret last night, don’t you?”
“Last night...” I bit down on my burgeoning smile. “Well, I’ve certainly done smarter things than seduce a co-worker.”
“The way I see it, I seduced you.”
“Such is my skill, young man.” I couldn’t suppress my smile this time. “No, it wasn’t my smartest move, but I certainly don’t regret it. Anyway, I thought you boys compartmentalized everything.”
He slipped his hand onto my thigh. “How can I when you’re right here?”
I bit my lip and squeezed my legs together. “Stop…” It was barely a whisper, not convincing at all. He had such big hands they were impossible to ignore. Especially sliding up my leg like that.
I clamped my hand over his. “No, Edan. We have to get back to the office. We have another pitch tomorrow.”
He dug his fingers in, a needless show of strength. With a puff of disgust he pulled back and turned away. “Fine. Then maybe tomorrow you’ll let me drive.” He shucked out another mint and ground it to death.
“Oh, act your fucking age, Edan.” Jesus. I sound like I’m his mother. I started the car and mashed out my frustration on the gas pedal.
We drove back in man-made silence. Before I’d even turned off the engine Edan had his door open, ready to storm upstairs and broadcast our failure. To distance himself from the stink of it. I curled my fingers around his arm.
“Wait.”
He pulled loose from my tenuous grasp and flounced out of the car. I turned off the engine and rushed after him, my clattering heels echoing off the concrete ceiling of the parking garage.
“Edan, stop!”
The touch of my hand on his shoulder seemed to calm him a little. He stopped and let me turn him around. I felt like his mother again as I pressed him back against the wall. In my heels I was almost eye-to-eye with him. Or would be, if he’d look at me.
“You still have so much to learn, boy.”
“Don’t call me boy. I’m 24 years old.”
“In every way possible.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Look, we need to present a united front. Yes, we probably lost the pitch. But those people up there rely on me, and now you, to bring business in. They need to believe in us.”
“Then untie the apron strings! Let me take more control.”
I rested my hand against his chest. Even through the thick wool of his suit, I fancied I could feel the heat of his skin, and I nearly lost my train of thought. “This is not the time for that discussion, Edan.”
“It never is.”
“Stop. I mean it, this is not the time. We need to radiate calm, give off a positive vibe. Can you do that?”
He shook his head and puffed out a resigned chuckle. Finally his cool eyes met mine. “Maybe. What’s it worth to you?”
The warmth of his hand was all too real as he cupped the fullness of my breast through my blouse. I’d been so focused on his eyes I hadn’t seen him move. My breath tripped up as he squeezed my hardening nipple.
“Edan…” The simple urgency of my own voice sounded like a betrayal. With my hand over his I rested my head on his chest, just to take the weight off my untrustworthy knees. With my eyes closed and the heat of his body against me it was easy to forget he was born the year I finished school.
Suddenly he was all hands and breath, all heat and muscle, and lord, did it feel good. I clutched at his belt for balance and he pushed his mouth onto mine.
Now, you know you want to read more, right? CLICK HERE http://www.excessica.com/books/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=2&products_id=583&zenid=0b09da74332ae6c3d5a580bb3ee5220f
Patience © August 2012 by Willsin Rowe and Katie Salidas
Excerpt
He turned, drilling his steel-gray eyes into mine. “You regret last night, don’t you?”
“Last night...” I bit down on my burgeoning smile. “Well, I’ve certainly done smarter things than seduce a co-worker.”
“The way I see it, I seduced you.”
“Such is my skill, young man.” I couldn’t suppress my smile this time. “No, it wasn’t my smartest move, but I certainly don’t regret it. Anyway, I thought you boys compartmentalized everything.”
He slipped his hand onto my thigh. “How can I when you’re right here?”
I bit my lip and squeezed my legs together. “Stop…” It was barely a whisper, not convincing at all. He had such big hands they were impossible to ignore. Especially sliding up my leg like that.
I clamped my hand over his. “No, Edan. We have to get back to the office. We have another pitch tomorrow.”
He dug his fingers in, a needless show of strength. With a puff of disgust he pulled back and turned away. “Fine. Then maybe tomorrow you’ll let me drive.” He shucked out another mint and ground it to death.
“Oh, act your fucking age, Edan.” Jesus. I sound like I’m his mother. I started the car and mashed out my frustration on the gas pedal.
We drove back in man-made silence. Before I’d even turned off the engine Edan had his door open, ready to storm upstairs and broadcast our failure. To distance himself from the stink of it. I curled my fingers around his arm.
“Wait.”
He pulled loose from my tenuous grasp and flounced out of the car. I turned off the engine and rushed after him, my clattering heels echoing off the concrete ceiling of the parking garage.
“Edan, stop!”
The touch of my hand on his shoulder seemed to calm him a little. He stopped and let me turn him around. I felt like his mother again as I pressed him back against the wall. In my heels I was almost eye-to-eye with him. Or would be, if he’d look at me.
“You still have so much to learn, boy.”
“Don’t call me boy. I’m 24 years old.”
“In every way possible.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Look, we need to present a united front. Yes, we probably lost the pitch. But those people up there rely on me, and now you, to bring business in. They need to believe in us.”
“Then untie the apron strings! Let me take more control.”
I rested my hand against his chest. Even through the thick wool of his suit, I fancied I could feel the heat of his skin, and I nearly lost my train of thought. “This is not the time for that discussion, Edan.”
“It never is.”
“Stop. I mean it, this is not the time. We need to radiate calm, give off a positive vibe. Can you do that?”
He shook his head and puffed out a resigned chuckle. Finally his cool eyes met mine. “Maybe. What’s it worth to you?”
The warmth of his hand was all too real as he cupped the fullness of my breast through my blouse. I’d been so focused on his eyes I hadn’t seen him move. My breath tripped up as he squeezed my hardening nipple.
“Edan…” The simple urgency of my own voice sounded like a betrayal. With my hand over his I rested my head on his chest, just to take the weight off my untrustworthy knees. With my eyes closed and the heat of his body against me it was easy to forget he was born the year I finished school.
Suddenly he was all hands and breath, all heat and muscle, and lord, did it feel good. I clutched at his belt for balance and he pushed his mouth onto mine.
Now, you know you want to read more, right? CLICK HERE http://www.excessica.com/books/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=2&products_id=583&zenid=0b09da74332ae6c3d5a580bb3ee5220f
August 21, 2012
Special Guest - Kiki Howell
(Cross-posted with Coffee-Fueled Erotica)
Today on Willsin's World, I'm handing the bloggin' duties over to a super writer who's also a wonderful human being. Please join me in welcoming the brilliant and beautiful Kiki Howell. (Seriously, people...scroll down and check out the author pic! Yowza!).
* * * * *
For me, inspiration for a story can come from anywhere, anytime. Often I also have an urge to write a particular type of paranormal character at the same time. Mix these elements together, and well, I may not still have the whole story ironed out, but I’m well on my way. In writing my latest Excessica release, Spelled, I was in witch mode, but also in the mode for something dark, something a touch scary, and something a bit twisted, if you will, in a very sexy sort of way. *blushes*
I have had in the back of my head, since I often write stories that use sex magic in spells, to have a spell that dictates the sex a little – you know, mix things up, a little reversal of power. With Spelled, I took perfect strangers, Sandra and Daniel, and gave them a magical connection, a magical history. To tell you the truth, I was not sure if I could pull this off, make it believable. And, well, let’s be honest, who knows if I did for all readers, that’s a pretty subjective thing. But, I write for me a lot, LOL, I mean I write out my fantasies, and well, Spelled, for me, lived up to the hype once it was all done. And, it was one of the few stories that I started writing (a plotter I am) without knowing how it would end. I literally wrote the ending as it came to me. Basically, in my mind, things happened, and I wrote them down :) Fun! Literally, I worked up a sweat writing this one!!!
So, check out a little about my short story, Spelled. But first, a look at my fantastic cover where the wonderful Willsin Rowe brought my vision to life!
Spelled Blurb:
When Sandra’s aunt discovers a dark and disturbing spell during a ritual in her store, Sandra flies to California at her family's urging. What she never expected was a dark-haired, silver-eyed man to walk into the store and propose the most insane of ideas to her - that they were spelled, generations ago, by a dark warlock.
The implications of this history lesson are as complicated as they are startling, and their only options are not all that clear. Real or magick, there is an obvious attraction between Sandra and Daniel. Together their powers are strong, and their options appear limited.
Sandra and Daniel have only one night to find a way to not only to save their families magick, but also to save the earth from a magick-al catastrophe. They must put their minds, their bodies, their magick, and maybe even their hearts on the line, or all could be lost.
Spelled Excerpt:
Getting to the door and getting rid of the person, as quickly as humanly possible, were the only real motives she had at the moment. She moved fast, beyond sick of waiting to find out why it had been so urgent she fly out here. Oh, she loved to visit her aunt, but the dark and bizarre didn’t sit well with her on this unexpected trip.
Through the words painted on the glass windowpanes in the door, she could see the figure was large, male, and muscular. When he looked around the name, Store of the Sacred, scrolled there, her breath left her. Crazy as the thoughts even sounded in her own head, there stood the most drop-dead, gorgeous looking man she’d ever seen. Dark silver eyes sparkled even though she still stood several steps from the door. His hair, as dark as night, glistened in the first light of day. His chiseled jaw line, along with the cut of his cheeks and forehead, took on a symmetrical perfection when he smiled at her. Suddenly conscious of everything about herself, her full lips tingled, and she couldn’t help but touch them. Her hair felt alive on her head, energy ran hot through each red curl. Her hips swayed, more pronounced with each step, as she ran her hands over them to smooth the silk of her lacy black dress. Each click of her heels, which took her closer to the door, resounded through her, kindled a fire deep in her core. Insanity. Get it together. You’re tired, not some sex-starved teenager.
“I’m losing it,” she said aloud, startled by her own voice. Though, she clammed up when her hand moved of its own volition to the door, as it gave into a call, a pull of energy. Her fingers met with the old metal knob at the same moment that the man outside the door touched his side of it. A shock struck her fingers, not of static electricity, but real lights sparked from the door, ignited a click. Just as a shocked, short scream burnt the back of her throat, the heavy ancient door opened. The key she’d forgotten in her haste still hung on its hook under the cash register.
She stepped back to give the door space to grant him permission to enter. The movement hadn’t been optional on her part, but as necessary as breathing. He walked in accompanied by the cool breeze of a summer morning in a coastal town.
Genres: Paranormal (Witches), Erotic Romance, Suspense
Available Now at Amazon, Barnes & Noble and All Romance Ebooks, etc.
About The Author:
Ever since she was young, Kiki Howell has loved to listen to a well-woven tale with real characters, inspired plots, and delightful resolutions. Kiki could spend hours lost in a book, and soon she knew that creating lives, loves, and losses with just words had to be the greatest thing that she could do. To that end, she pursued her study of literature and writing, earning a bachelor’s degree in English. She then followed in a Master’s program in Creative Writing.
She has now had over thirty stories published between eleven different publishers. She could not be more thrilled or grateful to see her creations polished and out in the real world. Although, a bit of caution, most of her stories tend to hang out on the graphically sexy side of town. In May, 2011, Kiki was chosen as an Ohioana Book Festival author for her novel, Torn Asunder, which was thrilled to have reviewed by one of her favorite authors.
“Kiki Howell spins a wonderful tale of passion, magic, betrayal, and a love that conquers all. Enjoy." ~NY Times Bestselling Author, Hannah Howell
Read more about Kiki and her stories at www.kikihowell.com
Today on Willsin's World, I'm handing the bloggin' duties over to a super writer who's also a wonderful human being. Please join me in welcoming the brilliant and beautiful Kiki Howell. (Seriously, people...scroll down and check out the author pic! Yowza!).
* * * * *
For me, inspiration for a story can come from anywhere, anytime. Often I also have an urge to write a particular type of paranormal character at the same time. Mix these elements together, and well, I may not still have the whole story ironed out, but I’m well on my way. In writing my latest Excessica release, Spelled, I was in witch mode, but also in the mode for something dark, something a touch scary, and something a bit twisted, if you will, in a very sexy sort of way. *blushes*
I have had in the back of my head, since I often write stories that use sex magic in spells, to have a spell that dictates the sex a little – you know, mix things up, a little reversal of power. With Spelled, I took perfect strangers, Sandra and Daniel, and gave them a magical connection, a magical history. To tell you the truth, I was not sure if I could pull this off, make it believable. And, well, let’s be honest, who knows if I did for all readers, that’s a pretty subjective thing. But, I write for me a lot, LOL, I mean I write out my fantasies, and well, Spelled, for me, lived up to the hype once it was all done. And, it was one of the few stories that I started writing (a plotter I am) without knowing how it would end. I literally wrote the ending as it came to me. Basically, in my mind, things happened, and I wrote them down :) Fun! Literally, I worked up a sweat writing this one!!!
So, check out a little about my short story, Spelled. But first, a look at my fantastic cover where the wonderful Willsin Rowe brought my vision to life!
Spelled Blurb:
When Sandra’s aunt discovers a dark and disturbing spell during a ritual in her store, Sandra flies to California at her family's urging. What she never expected was a dark-haired, silver-eyed man to walk into the store and propose the most insane of ideas to her - that they were spelled, generations ago, by a dark warlock.
The implications of this history lesson are as complicated as they are startling, and their only options are not all that clear. Real or magick, there is an obvious attraction between Sandra and Daniel. Together their powers are strong, and their options appear limited.
Sandra and Daniel have only one night to find a way to not only to save their families magick, but also to save the earth from a magick-al catastrophe. They must put their minds, their bodies, their magick, and maybe even their hearts on the line, or all could be lost.
Spelled Excerpt:
Getting to the door and getting rid of the person, as quickly as humanly possible, were the only real motives she had at the moment. She moved fast, beyond sick of waiting to find out why it had been so urgent she fly out here. Oh, she loved to visit her aunt, but the dark and bizarre didn’t sit well with her on this unexpected trip.
Through the words painted on the glass windowpanes in the door, she could see the figure was large, male, and muscular. When he looked around the name, Store of the Sacred, scrolled there, her breath left her. Crazy as the thoughts even sounded in her own head, there stood the most drop-dead, gorgeous looking man she’d ever seen. Dark silver eyes sparkled even though she still stood several steps from the door. His hair, as dark as night, glistened in the first light of day. His chiseled jaw line, along with the cut of his cheeks and forehead, took on a symmetrical perfection when he smiled at her. Suddenly conscious of everything about herself, her full lips tingled, and she couldn’t help but touch them. Her hair felt alive on her head, energy ran hot through each red curl. Her hips swayed, more pronounced with each step, as she ran her hands over them to smooth the silk of her lacy black dress. Each click of her heels, which took her closer to the door, resounded through her, kindled a fire deep in her core. Insanity. Get it together. You’re tired, not some sex-starved teenager.
“I’m losing it,” she said aloud, startled by her own voice. Though, she clammed up when her hand moved of its own volition to the door, as it gave into a call, a pull of energy. Her fingers met with the old metal knob at the same moment that the man outside the door touched his side of it. A shock struck her fingers, not of static electricity, but real lights sparked from the door, ignited a click. Just as a shocked, short scream burnt the back of her throat, the heavy ancient door opened. The key she’d forgotten in her haste still hung on its hook under the cash register.
She stepped back to give the door space to grant him permission to enter. The movement hadn’t been optional on her part, but as necessary as breathing. He walked in accompanied by the cool breeze of a summer morning in a coastal town.
Genres: Paranormal (Witches), Erotic Romance, Suspense
Available Now at Amazon, Barnes & Noble and All Romance Ebooks, etc.
About The Author:
Ever since she was young, Kiki Howell has loved to listen to a well-woven tale with real characters, inspired plots, and delightful resolutions. Kiki could spend hours lost in a book, and soon she knew that creating lives, loves, and losses with just words had to be the greatest thing that she could do. To that end, she pursued her study of literature and writing, earning a bachelor’s degree in English. She then followed in a Master’s program in Creative Writing.
She has now had over thirty stories published between eleven different publishers. She could not be more thrilled or grateful to see her creations polished and out in the real world. Although, a bit of caution, most of her stories tend to hang out on the graphically sexy side of town. In May, 2011, Kiki was chosen as an Ohioana Book Festival author for her novel, Torn Asunder, which was thrilled to have reviewed by one of her favorite authors.
“Kiki Howell spins a wonderful tale of passion, magic, betrayal, and a love that conquers all. Enjoy." ~NY Times Bestselling Author, Hannah Howell
Read more about Kiki and her stories at www.kikihowell.com
August 12, 2012
Patience...Do You Have It?
Coming Soon!http://www.excessica.com/books/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=2&products_id=583&zenid=0b09da74332ae6c3d5a580bb3ee5220fPublished by:
http://www.excessica.comDonelle Fortier is no billionaire. She runs her ad agency with passion and scruples...and it shows in her bank balance.Edan Dalca is the cocky young hotshot Donelle hired to pump life into her business. He’s intense, passionate...and downright hawt.But when his arrogance threatens the agency’s future, Donelle realizes he needs to be taught one very important lesson: patience.And with Donelle’s consummate skills, it’s a lesson that Edan will never forget. Warnings: This title contains graphic language, older woman/younger man nookie, and an intriguing use of confectionary .
June 21, 2012
Streamlining Operations...
Well, with the way things have been going lately, I’ve made a big decision. I’ve decided to take a break from creating cover art. This is a temporary situation that may end up being permanent.
If you currently have a cover with me, I will of course see that artwork through to completion. But I’m not taking on any more work. When I got into the publishing arena it was as a writer. Truthfully, that’s what I’ve wanted to do since I was ten years old.
Cover art has been wonderful over the three years or so that I’ve been doing it, but I feel I’ve hit saturation point. A cover can be a difficult beast to create at times, and stock photography doesn’t always supply what an artist needs. And I've come to feel that very soon I won't be able to supply what authors need.
Mostly, though, I feel I’m stretching myself in too many directions. With stories to write and a band to play in, not to mention family duties, there’s just too much going on. My heart is with writing and with music.
If you currently have a cover with me, I will of course see that artwork through to completion. But I’m not taking on any more work. When I got into the publishing arena it was as a writer. Truthfully, that’s what I’ve wanted to do since I was ten years old.
Cover art has been wonderful over the three years or so that I’ve been doing it, but I feel I’ve hit saturation point. A cover can be a difficult beast to create at times, and stock photography doesn’t always supply what an artist needs. And I've come to feel that very soon I won't be able to supply what authors need.
Mostly, though, I feel I’m stretching myself in too many directions. With stories to write and a band to play in, not to mention family duties, there’s just too much going on. My heart is with writing and with music.
May 11, 2012
Lightning - Story and Trailer
My newest book, "Lightning" has been out for a little while now, but it suddenly occurred to me that I've not really told people all that much about it. This anthology contains quite a mixed bag of flash and short stories. I'm quite proud of it (hey, I've already succumbed to Lust, so what's another deadly sin between friends?)
Some of the stories are intensely personal. Some are complete fantasy. Maybe you can pick which is which!
As a taste of what's inside, I now present an entire flash story, complete with "Director's Commentary"! This story was originally my entry for the third round of Alison Tyler's Smut Marathon. The single-word prompt to develop the story from was "stilettos".
* * * *
Prompt: “Stilettos”
So, this one should have been a shoe-in, right? (See what I did there!?) I mean, who among us can deny the power of the stiletto? They create a delightful aesthetic, and seem to be a wonder of engineering, much like the women who wear them (how on Earth does anyone actually walk in those things?)
I’ve known men who react to the sound of heels on pavement like a sprinter reacts to the starter’s gun.
So in tackling this story, I began to think how something as “unnatural” as stilettos could have such a profound erotic effect on so many people. Exactly what part of a man do those shoes sing to?
On a side note, for some reason I always imagined this story being read by Kiefer Sutherland’s character from “A Few Good Men”. Where he uses that lyrical southern accent.
TROPHIES
Father taught me young how to hunt. He stressed the dominion of man over all creatures.
“God took away our claws and gave us minds, boy. This ain’t about food. We don’t pick off the sick and injured. We take the ones in their prime. That’s how we know our worth.”
He would not admit the wolf within him. With rifle and mind he would cow his senses.
I have left the woods, and my father, behind. In the cold swarm of the city, my mind and body make peace. I hunt for pleasure, guided by movement and sound.
The click of stilettos on concrete almost has a scent. It summons the wolf, the beast that still hunts from need, not for validation.
Yet the mind God gave me sees a trophy to adorn my wall. She will take pride of place as I mount her against it.
She is young and tender, still finding her footing. Her heels scrabble at the street. She totters, a stricken doe. Her hair taunts like a tail. Thighs like throats pulse against each other, and beg for my teeth.
God may have taken her claws, but the ones on her shoes will leave trophies all over my back.
She is in her prime.
And I know my worth.
* * * *
Lightning Trailer
* * * *
Available from Amazon, Excessica, and all sorts of naughty places.
Some of the stories are intensely personal. Some are complete fantasy. Maybe you can pick which is which!
As a taste of what's inside, I now present an entire flash story, complete with "Director's Commentary"! This story was originally my entry for the third round of Alison Tyler's Smut Marathon. The single-word prompt to develop the story from was "stilettos".
* * * *
Prompt: “Stilettos”
So, this one should have been a shoe-in, right? (See what I did there!?) I mean, who among us can deny the power of the stiletto? They create a delightful aesthetic, and seem to be a wonder of engineering, much like the women who wear them (how on Earth does anyone actually walk in those things?)
I’ve known men who react to the sound of heels on pavement like a sprinter reacts to the starter’s gun.
So in tackling this story, I began to think how something as “unnatural” as stilettos could have such a profound erotic effect on so many people. Exactly what part of a man do those shoes sing to?
On a side note, for some reason I always imagined this story being read by Kiefer Sutherland’s character from “A Few Good Men”. Where he uses that lyrical southern accent.
TROPHIES
Father taught me young how to hunt. He stressed the dominion of man over all creatures.
“God took away our claws and gave us minds, boy. This ain’t about food. We don’t pick off the sick and injured. We take the ones in their prime. That’s how we know our worth.”
He would not admit the wolf within him. With rifle and mind he would cow his senses.
I have left the woods, and my father, behind. In the cold swarm of the city, my mind and body make peace. I hunt for pleasure, guided by movement and sound.
The click of stilettos on concrete almost has a scent. It summons the wolf, the beast that still hunts from need, not for validation.
Yet the mind God gave me sees a trophy to adorn my wall. She will take pride of place as I mount her against it.
She is young and tender, still finding her footing. Her heels scrabble at the street. She totters, a stricken doe. Her hair taunts like a tail. Thighs like throats pulse against each other, and beg for my teeth.
God may have taken her claws, but the ones on her shoes will leave trophies all over my back.
She is in her prime.
And I know my worth.
* * * *
Lightning Trailer
* * * *
Available from Amazon, Excessica, and all sorts of naughty places.
May 10, 2012
Unblocking the Writer Within...
Well, I've been focussing so much on cover art over the past six months or so that it appears I've lost my edge when it comes to writing. I know this is a cyclical thing, and the skills return. But while it's happening, it's pretty scary.
Those of you out there who also write will probably know what I mean.
In those moments when you feel you can't put one word in front of another, it starts to eat into the tough shell you put around yourself. Writers, as with any artists, craftspeople, etc. identify themselves through their work. If what we write seems like crap to us, then does that make us crap, too?
Even worse than that, however, is the constant re-assessment. "I'm a writer...it's all I've ever seen myself being." So if you suddenly find that you can't write, you begin to face a future of not doing what it is you love. And then what?
I don't pretend to know any all-sweeping answers. But at my age I do know enough about myself to know what works for me. Part of it is waiting. Waiting until I get so freaked out that I wonder if I might toss my computer away. And then I mouth off about it (which is what this blog is about, really). My brain is a bit stoopid like that. I think it's foolish male pride as much as anything else, but as soon as I announce to anyone that I have a problem, my brain says "Huh. I'll show you, laddie." And it fixes itself.
I don't expect that necessarily to work for anyone else, but it works for me every time. And after all, this is MY blog!
Thanks for reading!
Those of you out there who also write will probably know what I mean.
In those moments when you feel you can't put one word in front of another, it starts to eat into the tough shell you put around yourself. Writers, as with any artists, craftspeople, etc. identify themselves through their work. If what we write seems like crap to us, then does that make us crap, too?
Even worse than that, however, is the constant re-assessment. "I'm a writer...it's all I've ever seen myself being." So if you suddenly find that you can't write, you begin to face a future of not doing what it is you love. And then what?
I don't pretend to know any all-sweeping answers. But at my age I do know enough about myself to know what works for me. Part of it is waiting. Waiting until I get so freaked out that I wonder if I might toss my computer away. And then I mouth off about it (which is what this blog is about, really). My brain is a bit stoopid like that. I think it's foolish male pride as much as anything else, but as soon as I announce to anyone that I have a problem, my brain says "Huh. I'll show you, laddie." And it fixes itself.
I don't expect that necessarily to work for anyone else, but it works for me every time. And after all, this is MY blog!
Thanks for reading!
May 5, 2012
I Just Can't Say No...
...but sometimes I just don't wanna, anyway!
That naughty but nice Chrissy Peebles has sweet-talked me back out of retirement. Again! Here's a li'l ol' book trailer we whipped up for her new novel, "The Zombie Chronicles".
I hope you enjoy it.
That naughty but nice Chrissy Peebles has sweet-talked me back out of retirement. Again! Here's a li'l ol' book trailer we whipped up for her new novel, "The Zombie Chronicles".
I hope you enjoy it.
April 25, 2012
Deconstructing the Art of the Cover...
Hey there, y'all.
I've joined Katie Salidas on her Written In Blood blog this week. We had a little chin-wag about the process of creating a cover. We delved into it from both sides (that's what SHE said): author and cover artist.
There's also a little breakdown of the steps I took to create the glowing crystal prison that is such a prominent feature on Katie's "Soulstone" cover.
Come on over and check us out!
I've joined Katie Salidas on her Written In Blood blog this week. We had a little chin-wag about the process of creating a cover. We delved into it from both sides (that's what SHE said): author and cover artist.
There's also a little breakdown of the steps I took to create the glowing crystal prison that is such a prominent feature on Katie's "Soulstone" cover.
Come on over and check us out!
April 7, 2012
Not Just Erotica Any More
In recent months, I've been very pleased to have some new opportunities come my way. I started out in the publishing industry as a writer (and continue to work along those lines).
Then an opportunity arose to try my hand at cover art, and I took that chance and ran with it. More than a few people liked the cut of my jib, and cover art has become my chief activity within the publishing world.
Because I began my publishing life in the field of erotica, that's where most of my cover art has come from as well. Until recently.
A few months back, my friend (and prolific writer) J.E. Taylor contacted me, asking if I'd be interested in creating cover art for the new publishing company she'd started with Jason Halstead. The company is called Novel Concept Publishing, and it's a mighty fine organisation to be involved with.
One of the perks that's come from joining up with NCP has been the way the work has extended me as an artist, both in technique and requirements, and in range of genre. There's sci-fi, thriller, a touch of horror...and sometimes a mix of all three.
The first cover I made for NCP was for "The Capable Man", a tense sci-fi story by Marc Hamlet
The other cover I'm focussing on today is "The Boy in the Back Row" by J.A. Todd. This cover was quite a departure from anything I'd created before. It's a horror/thriller mix with strong paranormal themes...but it's no sparkly vampire romance, that's for sure!
There were quite a few other covers between those two, but that's for my next few posts: tentatively titled "Jason Halstead Week". You'll see why soon!
Then an opportunity arose to try my hand at cover art, and I took that chance and ran with it. More than a few people liked the cut of my jib, and cover art has become my chief activity within the publishing world.
Because I began my publishing life in the field of erotica, that's where most of my cover art has come from as well. Until recently.
A few months back, my friend (and prolific writer) J.E. Taylor contacted me, asking if I'd be interested in creating cover art for the new publishing company she'd started with Jason Halstead. The company is called Novel Concept Publishing, and it's a mighty fine organisation to be involved with.
One of the perks that's come from joining up with NCP has been the way the work has extended me as an artist, both in technique and requirements, and in range of genre. There's sci-fi, thriller, a touch of horror...and sometimes a mix of all three.
The first cover I made for NCP was for "The Capable Man", a tense sci-fi story by Marc Hamlet
The other cover I'm focussing on today is "The Boy in the Back Row" by J.A. Todd. This cover was quite a departure from anything I'd created before. It's a horror/thriller mix with strong paranormal themes...but it's no sparkly vampire romance, that's for sure!
There were quite a few other covers between those two, but that's for my next few posts: tentatively titled "Jason Halstead Week". You'll see why soon!
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