Sara Jayne Townsend's Blog, page 27
July 8, 2013
Monday’s Friend: Barton Paul Levenson
Today I’m pleased to welcome Barton Paul Levenson to the blog, who wants to pass on a few tips about writing dialogue.
Writing Dialog–The Concept of “Voice”
By Barton Paul Levenson
To minimize the use of speech tags, it helps in writing good dialog if each character can be told apart just by the way they speak. Do you get any impression of what each person is like in this scene?
“Coming up on Alpha Centauri B III,” Parker said.
“Any readings?” Captain Cohn asked. “Anybody?”
Lee said, “Captain, I see lines of free oxygen in the spectrograph.”
Do you get any sense of Cohn, Lee, or Parker? I don’t. Let’s try this again:
“Coming up on Alpha Centauri B III, Big Mama,” Parker said.
Captain Cohn said, “If you call me that again, Ted, this coffee is going down the back of your shirt. Anybody, any readings?”
Lee said, “Captain, I see lines of free oxygen in the spectrograph. The captain has lost weight, Edward, have you not noticed? There is no call for personal comments.”
See the difference? Parker is either a flirt or a troublemaker. The captain puts up with no nonsense. Lee is formal and polite, and cares about proper conduct.
Here’s a simple exercise to develop a unique “voice” for each of your characters:
1. Write down something they might say.
2. Now write down something they would never say.
As an example of #2, consider an old Bloom Country comic strip from the ’80s. The guys (Opus, Hodge-Podge, a squirrel) are with Cutter John on his wheelchair, playing Star Trek. Opus is Spock, and on encountering an enemy, blurts out, “A POX ON YOUR FIRST BORN, YOU UGLY WART ON A SALAMANDER’S TONGUE!” The guys look at him. “Or was that out of character?”
“No! No! That was just *@#?! Spiffy!” the squirrel says.
You see the point. We all know Spock doesn’t talk like that. Voice helps characterization, it smoothes out dialog, and it can even be a crucial plot point–you might clue in the reader that something is wrong with a character if he suddenly “doesn’t sound like himself.” Is Princess Sylvie depressed? Is Thornpicker having second thoughts? Is Alicia possessed by a demon? Voice is one way to show it.
Author Bio:
Barton Paul Levenson has a degree in physics. Happily married to poet Elizabeth Penrose, he confuses everybody by being both a born-again Christian and a liberal Democrat. His work has appeared in Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Fantasy Magazine, ChiZine, Cricket, Cicada, the New York Review of Science Fiction and many small press markets. His novel “Max and Me” can be downloaded now from Lyrical Press or amazon.com. ”Year of the Human” is available from Solstice Publishing or amazon. Barton was banned from entering the Confluence Short Story Contest again after winning first prize two years in a row. His latest novel, THE CELIBATE SUCCUBUS, a YA urban fantasy, is due out later this month from Barking Rain Press.
Blurb for THE CELIBATE SUCCUBUS
“Team Packer” is a covert Catholic strike team against supernatural evil with a secret weapon in its arsenal: 16-year-old Delilah Vincentio—the world’s only Christian succubus. Trained by demons to despise humanity and lead them into sin, her unprecedented capacity for mercy caused her to renounce her place in Hell—and gain an angelic referral to Team Packer.
Delilah is assigned to infiltrate the Order of the Lightbringer, a Satanic cult that plans to make Pittsburgh a test site for the Apocalypse. After Delilah’s identity is almost discovered, Team Packer sends her to high school to hide out until things cool down.
But while Delilah may be reformed from her beguiling ways, she’s still very much a demon—and she hasn’t learned how to play well with others. In fact, trying to fit in and keep a low profile at high school may prove to be a tougher battle than bringing down the Order of the Lightbringer.
More information about THE CELIBATE SUCCUBUS here.
July 3, 2013
One Track Mind
(Cross-posted on the WriteClub blog)
Whenever anyone asks me when I started writing I say, “age six”.
That was the age I was when I learned how to form words on a page. That’s when I began to learn how to write my stories down. I had been telling them before then. I was making up stories in my head from the age I learned how to think. From when I first began to talk.
I was about ten when I started telling people who asked me what I wanted to be when I left school that I was going to be a writer. I was eleven when I wrote my first novel.
I don’t think I was particularly advanced. I just believe that I was born to be a writer. That’s all I ever wanted to be. In truth, it’s all I’ve ever been any good at. I was always hopeless at sports – I can’t run, I can’t catch, I am clumsy, and I have absolutely no hand-eye co-ordination. I was always last to be picked for the teams in gym class.
I’m no good at crafts – knitting, sewing, and the like. It’s that hand-eye co-ordination again. I can’t cook. I can’t cultivate plants – they all die on me. I’m not even very good at computer games. Yes I like them, and I play them a lot, but my aim in taking out those zombies is abysmal and it takes several goes to get through a level. I have no maternal instincts – when I play The Sims my virtual children get taken away by social services. Lord knows what would happen if I was let loose on any real-life children. It’s probably best for everyone if we don’t find out.
The only thing I’ve ever been able to do is write stories. It’s the only thing I’ve ever felt I’m any good at. And at particularly dark times of my life, I’ve thought writing stories is the only justification for my existence. The only thing I contribute to the world.
Being a writer. This has been my focus for my whole life. I had a goal to be a published novelist by age 30. My 30th birthday came and went. No publishing deal wasn’t for lack of trying – I had two completed novels by then that I had been submitting for years. I decided to modify my goal, and aim for a book contract by age 40. As 40 approached I thought I would have to modify it again. But then, a couple of months before my 40th birthday, the contract from Lyrical for SUFFER THE CHILDREN arrived.
This was, as I have mentioned before, the beginning of the story instead of being the end. I have now had three books published and I am proud of that, but there are times when it’s not enough. I have met authors who make enough money from their writing to get by day to day. That’s not so for me. Since the day I got the first cheque for “The Top Floor” in 1989 from FEAR magazine up until my last royalty statement, a period of 24 years, the gross total of money I have earned in all that time from writing equates to less than what I earn in a month in the day job. Sometimes I fear I am a mere drop in a very big ocean in the writing world. I haven’t even found my books on any pirate e-books sites. Let me make it clear that I fiercely disapprove of e-book piracy. It’s stealing, from people for whom every penny counts. Every time I see a message on a forum from a writer saying something along the lines of, “this new pirate site has appeared, I found my books on it, be sure you check for yours and get them to take it down. What cheek!” I diligently go look for my books. To date I have never found any of them on a pirate site. Now, writers get very upset when their books are pirated, and understandably so. But when you’re not even considered important enough for pirates to think your books are worth stealing, you can’t help but feel rather insignificant.
I would like to be able to make enough money from writing to do it full time. I’d like to land a deal with a publisher who can get my books into Waterstones or Barnes & Noble or another major book store chain. I’d like to be approached by Con organisers to be a guest or a panel member instead of my going to them and begging.
When you’ve had one focus all your life and it always feels a little bit out of reach, you do sometimes feel like you’re the donkey with the carrot on the stick tied to its ears, constantly trying to get to something you will never be able to reach. But still, you don’t give up.
Maybe these things will happen one day. But maybe they never will. For now, I guess I just keep reaching for that carrot. Because I am a writer. That’s what I am, first and foremost. Whether anyone knows or cares who I am in the future doesn’t really matter – I know who I am. I am a writer. That will never change.
June 30, 2013
Reluctant Gardener
I have friends who are seriously into their gardening. They seem to derive pleasure from pruning and weeding.
I confess I will never understand this. I HATE gardening. I don’t like getting dirty; I don’t like expending unnecessary energy; unless it’s more than 21c out I get cold when I spend any time outside; and I am allergic to every form of foliage. Gardening to me is a chore, and it wastes time I would rather spend doing other things – playing computer games, for instance, where I can stay in the warm and avoid all the nasty dirt. Or writing. And I don’t mix with plants. People sometimes buy me indoor ones, and I stick them on a windowsill and then they die because I forget all about having to water them occasionally.
However, last year we bought a four-bedroom house. Houses that size in the UK are designed to be family homes, and therefore they generally all have gardens. So that was the price we paid for our large house. It came with a garden. And gardens need maintenance.
It’s clear that none has been done for a while – and this goes beyond us not touching it since we moved in ten months ago. With the dawning of some warmer weather, suddenly things began to grow in the garden. And the speed with which they shot up made us suspect that most of them were weeds.
The first priority has been to sort out storage space. The garden came with three sheds, but they were all in a poor state. Since we have no garage at this house, and we did at the last, we need somewhere to store our stuff. And before you say it, yes I know two people in a four-bedroom house with an attic should have plenty of space indoors to store their stuff, but for us this is not the case. This weekend we have been dismantling two of the sheds, and getting the concrete bases re-done so that the new sheds we have ordered will have a level base to stand on when they arrive. The third shed we decided to leave in place, since it seemed to be more or less in one piece, but it was leaning at an angle, so we got it levelled out (which apparently involved a gardening equivalent of propping beer mats under the leg of a wobbly table). In order to get this done, it became necessary to empty it.
Bear in mind we haven’t ventured too far into this shed since we moved in. As well as it being home to a variety of spiders and creepy-crawlies, it was also full of stuff left there by the previous owners – who clearly were enthusiastic gardeners. A few things in this shed we are still puzzling over. There is an unopened flat pack from Ikea called Truro. Looks to be some kind of shelving unit, that it seems someone bought and then forgot all about. There’s a plastic bag full of brown glass bottles. Why on earth would someone stockpile bottles? The only explanation I can come up with is that at some point the previous owners dabbled in home-made hooch of some sort.
Our ultimate aim, since we have a garden, is to turn it into a space that it might be pleasant to sit in on the rare occasions the sun deigns to shine over the UK. But getting there is hard and dirty work, and involves getting a bit too up close and personal with creepy-crawlies.
On the plus side, we have discovered there are strawberry plants growing in our garden, which seem to be thriving well despite my brown thumb – but since they are outdoors they get rained on frequently, and I guess that’s good for strawberry plants. I picked the first ripe red fruits off them this weekend, and I have to say that they are delicious – fresh and juicy. I don’t mind plants that produce yummy berries in my garden. As long as they produce fruit on their own, without my having to do anything.
June 26, 2013
Kicking the Arse of Self Sabotage
(Cross-posted on the WriteClub blog)
We all have a gremlin living inside us. This gremlin’s name is Self Sabotage. It’s the voice that tells you that you can’t do it. You will fail.
This gremlin could be some kind of primitive self-preservation mechanism. If you don’t try, you don’t risk heartbreak and failure. But it also seems to want to see us miserable. It doesn’t want us venture out and risk new things. It doesn’t want us to venture from the status quo. It keeps us in a rut, because the rut is safe and familiar, and even if we’re not happy in the rut, we have got used to being in it.
Some people let this gremlin rule their lives. They are also the same people who fuel other people’s gremlins. We all have people in our lives who tell us we will fail. Whenever we hear that, our own gremlin gets a bit stronger. Hear it enough times, we might even start to believe it.
If you’re a writer, this gremlin is the voice that is telling you you’re no good. You will never succeed. You can’t really write very well at all. And it fuels the fear. You are afraid of rejection. But if you repeatedly tell yourself you’re a rubbish writer, you will never finish that novel, which means you will never get around to submitting it, which means you save yourself from the heartbreak of repeated rejection letters.
But it’s not good to listen to that gremlin, no matter how loudly it speaks to you. Plenty of songs have been written about how it’s better to have loved and lost than never loved at all, and so on. Some of them are pretty corny, but the sentiment is true. Sometimes you have to take chances. Sometimes the risk you take doesn’t work out, but sometimes it does, and you won’t know either way unless you give it a go. There’s another corny old adage that seems highly appropriate here. The things you most regret on your death bed will be the things you didn’t do – not the things you did. Even if some of those things proved to be mistakes in retrospect, at least you lived to tell about them.
So the next time you hear that Self Sabotage gremlin whispering to you that you’re going to fail – whether it be referring to your writing, or something else in your life – be sure to give that critter a good kick up the backside. That doesn’t mean it won’t come back – it invariably will. But the further away and more frequently you kick it, the longer it will take to come back. And when it does, at least you’ll be ready for it.
June 24, 2013
Monday’s Friend: Tera Shanley
Today I am pleased to welcome writer Tera Shanley to the blog. Tera’s forthcoming romance novel is set in the Old West, and if sexy cowboys are your thing, you probably want to check this one out. Welcome, Tera!
Research and Reality
By Tera Shanley
Hello all, and thanks so much to Sara-Jayne Townsend for hosting me today. I’m ecstatic to be creeping closer to my December release of An Unwilling Husband, so today I thought I would share a little of what led me to the story.
At a Christmas party last year, an older gentleman asked me what genre I write. And while I have a paranormal series and a light horror novel under contracts with publishers, my go-to answer always seems to be Historic Western Romance, around the turn of the century. The old cowboy frowned at this and said, “What possible experience would you have in the historic west?”
He seemed angry that I, a thirty year old woman, would have the audacity to write in a genre he felt he would know more about and before I spouted that no one had personal experience as I hadn’t seen any hundred and thirty year old cowboys shuffling around in their favorite boots and spurs lately, my actual answer was that I, like all writers, research. “Research,” he snorted before he left me sitting wide eyed at the table and wondering what I’d done to offend him.
On the ride home, while overthinking the conversation to death like I usually do, I realized my answer had been wrong. Of course I research, that’s a given with this career. If you don’t have personal experience in something, you have to make sure you have every detail right or it won’t be an authentic read. But I also write from what I know and my unusual upbringing gave me the tools that made me fall in love with writing cowboys of the wild west. I’m a Texas girl born and bred with parents who have a keen interest in history. What this meant for me, was when we pulled our old minivan out for summer road trips, we stopped at every historical place known to the United States of America and read every single plaque from every battle field, historic home, and yes, every cowboy museum. While Tera-the-impatient-child would’ve done anything for a twizzler and a nap on the museum benches, my parents were determined to instill in my siblings and I the importance of the past and eventually, as I got older and started devouring books that made those historic plaques make sense, I started to appreciate history too. Ingredient one into my wild west cocktail.
My grandmother was a cowboy. I didn’t know it was anything unusual until I was much older because it was all I knew, but for as long as I can remember, my Grammy ran cattle all by herself, with nary a man in sight. To her name are hundreds of acres around a town that was named for her great grandfather. Bryson, TX. When my grandfather was alive, he and my grandmother ran two separate herds on two different parcels of land, and when he passed, she kept right on doing what she was doing. My tiny grandma hauled herds of cattle to her land, fed them religiously, branded and worked them, and was there at every auction to sell them. And right beside her at those auctions, sat me.
While my Grammy was busy showing a completely male run industry how it was done, we were out there helping. I spent the summers with her growing up, and some of my fondest memories are of my siblings and I ripping feed bags open and dumping them over the tailgate of her moving truck to the soundtrack of bellowing cattle. We fed orphaned calves bottles in her backyard until they were grown, ran from snakes, pigs, and bobcats, and became experts at plucking out cactus thorns. My Grammy, Dad, and uncles worked the cattle in the blazing Texas heat every summer, gritty work if anyone’s ever had a hand in it, and we were right there, standing on the fences and soaking up everything they were doing. And when I was finally old enough and strong enough, I helped with the calves. I have a hundred stories to draw from as Grammy ran cattle well into her older age.
And while I have experience with horseback riding, twenty seven years of hunting and fishing experience under my belt, and a devotion to the outdoors and conservation from the years we’ve spent up on our land that have come in handy when writing Westerns, the experience I gained working cattle with my Grammy for all those years has helped me the most. I’ve thanked her often from that Christmas party to now for taking me out there with her. She gave me a peek into the world I love so much and I’ve been able to create stories and characters I care about from some of the stirrings she began in me.
Blurb
For adventurous Margaret Flemming, newly arrived from Boston to be with her father, the old west town of her childhood is a far cry from the drawing rooms and balls of the high society life she’s used to. Her fancy gowns and proper manners have no place in the dusty, cruel land inhabited by Indians and rough cowboys and her fiercely independent streak seems to just get her in trouble.
When tragedy strikes, there’s only one person she can turn to–her childhood friend, Garret Shaw–but he’s disgusted with her society ways.
With his ranch under attack from the land-grabbing Jennings family, the last thing Garret needs is to be saddled with a high-falutin’ lady. Even if she’s a friend’s daughter and her kind ways tug at his hardened heart. Duty to her father forces them to wed, but he knows sure as anything, when the chance comes along, she’ll ride back to Boston. No matter how much he wants her, loving her is not a risk he can take.
Will Maggie choose a life of luxury and ease over struggle and hardship with an ill-mannered cowboy? That’s a question only her heart can answer.
Bio
Tera Shanley is a rifle slinging, sweet talking, chocolate loving, southern bell. If she’s not curled up with her laptop, clicking away on a new novel, she’s with her family and friends and they’re probably outdoors. Her dream (other than to write characters everyone will love as much as she does) is to live in the forest somewhere in a teeny house. For more information about Tera and her writing, catch up with her online.
June 17, 2013
Monday’s Friend: Carrie Pulkinen
Today I am pleased to welcome Carrie Pulkinen to the blog to tak about her newest paranormal romance TO CATCH A SPIRIT.
Death and Romance
By Carrie Pulkinen
People often ask me where I get my ideas for paranormal romance books. I think the biggest factor that affected my interest in the paranormal was that I grew up next door to a cemetery. Literally. The only thing separating my house from the graveyard was a narrow dirt road and a row of bushes.
So, I learned about death at an early age. I’ve seen more than my share of funerals—mostly people I didn’t know, thank goodness. But, where did the person’s energy go after they died? It had to go somewhere, right? Could they still be hanging around, watching—or trying to communicate with—the living? The topic has fascinated me since I was a child.
A few years ago, I met my good friend Ingrid. A psychic and medium herself, Ingrid taught classes on meditation, channeling, and Reiki healing. I attended her classes for many months, hungrily absorbing every bit of insight and information she shared. What I learned from Ingrid inspired me to write To Catch a Spirit. Allison, the heroine, is based a bit on Ingrid.
I started writing, and I felt like I knew enough to accurately portray a psychic and an empath. In addition to watching as many episodes of ghost hunting shows as I could, I’d also been on several ghost hunts of my own. I had all the experience and information I needed to write this book, except for one thing. I didn’t know what to do with a ghost once I found one. How did I help it pass on to the other side?
I approached Ingrid with my dilemma, and she was hesitant to help me at first. She had spent most of her life trying to block out spirits, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to welcome them back. But, she did agree to help me, and we went on a ghost hunt. After contacting a spirit, she taught me how to show the ghost the light and help it pass on. It was such an amazing experience!
I was able to complete To Catch a Spirit quickly after that night. Many of the techniques for energy clearing, healing, and communicating with the dead in To Catch a Spirit are examples of the things I learned in the classes I took. I put so much of myself into the book; it is by far my favorite of anything I’ve written.
Blurb
A psychic who’s afraid of ghosts and a millionaire with a haunted past and a hidden power find that only love can catch a spirit. With love, all things are possible—especially if you need to catch a Spirit.
Psychic Allison Dupuis has a soft spot for Logan Mitchell, even though she’s never met him. All it takes is one encounter for the millionaire’s true emotions to slip through Allison’s shields, and she is intrigued. He needs her help, but Allison soon discovers that the kind of help Logan needs is the kind she isn’t willing to give. Logan has a ghost, and Allison doesn’t work with spirits anymore.
But the ghost is the least of Logan’s problems. Born an empath, Logan is constantly barraged with human emotions. And while his talent has come in handy in the business world, it’s about to drive him insane. Literally. Logan has OCD, and his ability triggers unbearable attacks that have him counting and cleaning until he collapses from exhaustion.
Sex and money. That’s all anyone wants from him. Even worse, he’s plagued with recurring visions of his future wife’s death, so Logan has spent his entire life avoiding love. He’s given up hope of ever having a normal life, until he meets Allison. She’s everything he’s ever dreamed of, and now he has to decide if loving her is worth risking her life.
If she’ll even have him. Allison’s lost too much already — her mother to cancer, her father to suicide. But, Logan is so charming and so real, she can’t help but fall for him. Now she has to overcome her fear of commitment…and ghosts…or face spending the rest of her life alone.
Buy links:
Biography:
Carrie Pulkinen has always been fascinated with the paranormal. Of course, when you grow up next door to a cemetery, the dead (and the undead) are hard to ignore. Pair that with her passion for writing and her father’s insatiable love for monster movies, and you’ve got the perfect recipe for an exciting storyteller.
When she’s not writing stories of amazing sex with devilishly handsome men, Carrie likes to read, take pictures, and play with her kids. She also enjoys hearing from her readers, who can write to her at carrie.pulkinen@hotmail.com.
June 16, 2013
RIP Misha
We had to say goodbye to our last cat Misha yesterday. We lost her sister Misty in September of last year – two days before we moved house. We wondered at the time how Misha would cope alone, as the two of them had always been together. The house move probably helped all of us – we had too many things to do to dwell on the loss of Misty, and there were no memories of her in the new house. For a while Misha seemed a bit lonesome, but she seemed to settle quickly into the house. In fact she became a much more outgoing cat. It had always been Misty who had been the one to come down and socialise when we had visitors. After she died, Misha became much more sociable.
Misha. 1 August 1996 – 15 June 2013
But by the time Misty died Misha was old, and I always feared she was living on borrowed time. Most pedigree cats don’t live beyond 14. Misha was only half pedigree, but she was approaching her 17th birthday.
It was about March I started to realise something was wrong. Misha was drinking an awful lot. She was drinking water wherever she could find it. Out of the glass I keep by the side of the bed at night. She was even drinking the filthy water from the pot Hubby washes his paint brushes in. I took her to the vet and was told she was in the early stages of kidney disease. Not uncommon in elderly cats, but sadly there is no cure. She was put on a prescription diet of low-protein food and I was told to bring her back in two months.
Over the last few weeks, she had degenerated rapidly. She stopped eating, getting about seemed to be an effort, and it appeared she was unable to retain fluid. She would sit for hours with her face in her water bowl because she was feeling so dehydrated. Yet she would still jump in my lap and start purring when I stroked her.
I took her back to the vet, who ran more blood tests. She rang me with the results on Thursday. Results were all off the scale, the vet said. The poor cat had so many toxins in her body she was unable to function normally. I was at my desk at work when the call came. I had to leave the office and find a quiet room to cry in.
The problem with being a pet owner is that eventually you have to say goodbye. Knowing that Misha was suffering the only humane solution was to put her to sleep. To keep her alive without proper kidney function would probably mean she would die slowly and painfully from acute dehydration, or worse. Deciding to terminate her life was still one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, though.
We took her to the vet for the final time yesterday – a Saturday. Because I couldn’t bear the thought of coming back home with an empty cat carrier, I carried her in my arms in the car, while Hubby drove. She’d never been in the car untethered before, and after a week of lethargy this new experience suddenly perked her up. Adrenaline, perhaps. I’m convinced she knew she was dying, and in her last couple of days she seemed calm, and accepting of her fate, even through the discomfort she was suffering.
Misty and Misha – always together
Misty died very suddenly. With Misha, we picked the time the end was to come. In some ways it was harder. There’s more time to cry.
When I was growing up, we always had cats in the house, but Misty and Misha were the first two I had total responsibility for in my adult life. The first cats I took from kittenhood to old age. And now, for the first time in 17 years, I find myself living in a house without cats in it. It feels very strange. Filling the cat bowls with food and water is no longer a part of the morning routine. There are no plaintive ‘meows’ to greet me when I come in from work. No furry body leaping on my lap when I sit down to watch TV.
I used to say that when my cats died I wouldn’t get any more – they are really not good for my asthma. But I am a Cat Lady, through and through. A house without cats just doesn’t feel like home.
There will be more cats in the house before too long, I hope. But I will never forget my two fluffballs Misty and Misha.
June 10, 2013
Monday’s Friend: Dianne Hartsock
Today my guest is Dianne Hartsock, another writer with a story in the erotic romance anthology FREAKY FLASHES. Welcome, Dianne.
WRITING EROTICA
By Dianne Hartsock
Mmmm….m/m erotic romance. I’ve been writing it for over two years now and I still haven’t gotten over my love affair with the genre. When Breathless Press put out the call for supernatural, frightful flashes for their Halloween Anthology last October, I couldn’t resist. The thought of hot men and the paranormal together completely seduced me.
Enthralled by the idea, I wondered how to run with it. My first flash, ANDREW CALLS THE DEAD, came easily. I tied a gorgeous hunk of a man to a chair, in an attic, surrounded by lit candles. Oh, and minus his clothing because how else should a man be when he’s tied up except naked? I threw in a jealous lover and a raised soul just for fun.
My next story, IN THE SHADOWS, was my first attempt at a shifter story, sort of. It turned out to be more of a thriller, showing how quickly a hunter can become the hunted
.
THE BIRTHDAY is by far my favorite. Cyrus is such a wonderfully handsome, twisted character. And Kyle stole my heart from the very first lines I wrote involving him. Though this story has a happy ending of sorts, there is a whole novel here waiting for me to write it.
Yes, I think I’ve fallen in love with this subgenre of romance, the paranormal. How did I not see this before? I mean, sure, I’ve read a lot of paranormal romances, especially the ones involving angels and demons…oh my! But it never occurred to me to write one of my own, until now.
The danger involved! That rush of immediacy and peril, hot men and passionate, frantic sex. Oh yeah, I can definitely get into writing this!
I’ll leave you with a snippet out of THE BIRTHDAY to give you a taste of what I mean. Oh yes, this is a story I will definitely be revisiting soon. Thanks for stopping in!
Excerpt:
At a thump on the wall a frown marred his perfect features. Kyle knew better than to disturb him when he was dressing. His face softened. Kyle. His little gem. How long had they been together? Six months?
His eyes widened in the mirror. That would make Kyle twenty. He’d forgotten they shared a birthday.
With a last glance in the mirror, he left the room and crossed the hall, tapped on Kyle’s door before entering. The young man lay in the middle of the bed, naked skin decadent against the red silk sheets. Cyrus smiled, indulgent. His darling looked lonely.
“Did you need me, sweetheart?” he asked as he lay down and gathered Kyle’s body in his arms. The boy’s skin felt dry, soft; tight over a sparse skeleton. Cyrus could break his bones if he held too tightly.
Kyle’s enormous blue eyes swam with tears, bright with desperation. So lovely. “You’re leaving again?” he whispered, timid.
“We’ve discussed this. I always go out on my Birthday.”
“But if something happens to you…”
“I suppose you’ll die of starvation. No, thirst.” Cyrus laughed at the shudder that swept the emaciated body. “Nothing will happen to me. Promise.”
The Birthday
Part of Freaky Flashes Anthology
ARe Books: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-freakyflashes-987769-140.html
Every birthday Cyrus visits the dance clubs with a surprise for the young men. This year, the tables are turned.
Author biography:
After growing up in California and spending the first ten years of marriage in Colorado, I now live in the beautiful Willamette Valley of Oregon with my incredibly patient husband, who puts up with the endless hours I spend hunched over the keyboard letting my characters play.
I have to say, Oregon’s raindrops are the perfect setting in which to write. There’s something about being cooped up in the house while it pours rain outside, a fire crackles on the hearth inside, and a cup of hot coffee warms my hands, which kindles my imagination.
The intricate and fragile nature of the mind is always fascinating. Having worked with the public through various careers I’ve come to respect the resilience and strength of the human spirit. I’m always trying to capture that spirit in my writing.
Currently, I work as a floral designer in a locally-owned gift shop. Which is the perfect job for me. When not writing, I can express myself through the rich colors and textures of flowers and foliage.
June 5, 2013
SUFFER THE CHILDREN Rebooted: Cover Reveal
(Cross-posted on the WriteClub blog)
SUFFER THE CHILDREN, my first novel with Lyrical Press, will be relaunched as a e-book at the end of June. Lyrical returned the rights to me at the end of my three-year contract, and I have decided to re-release it, as a back list title, myself.
I can now reveal for the first time its awesome new cover, featuring original artwork from David Bezzina.
I always had a special fondness for SUFFER THE CHILDREN, for many reasons, and not just because it was my first published novel. It took me ten years to write, and I learned so much in the process – not just in the writing, but in the editing and publishing process that followed. I still think it holds its own as a horror novel, and I am very excited that I am able to make it available once more, with a new cover.
So if you haven’t read SUFFER THE CHILDREN yet, never fear – it will soon be available to download to your e-reader once more. Watch this space for further information…
May 30, 2013
Shara Returns
(Cross-posted on the WriteClub blog)
It’s been 18 months since I finished the third draft of the second Shara Summers novel, entitled DEAD COOL. I haven’t touched it since then.
Why? I got discouraged. Feedback I had from beta readers suggested there was a lot of work still to do on it. So much so, I didn’t know where to begin.
Some writers refuse to listen to criticism. Sometimes I think I have the opposite problem. I listen to too much criticism. Someone says to me, “I don’t think this plot is working”, I look at it and think, “they’re probably right”. But then I have no ideas for a new plot so I just stop working on the story. I have had a few people say, “I don’t like your amateur sleuth; she’s not a strong enough character to take through a series”. This triggers a little voice in my head that insists there’s no point in carrying on with any more books about this character because no one likes her.
All this effectively meant I got so discouraged about writing about Shara I couldn’t carry on with the series. A book I got three drafts into has been languishing on the PC ever since.
Two significant things happened since then. First, my NetBook died about a week after the crit session I had for this manuscript. I had been using said NetBook to make copious notes about what my critiquers were saying. I didn’t back this up anywhere. When the NetBook died, this file was lost in the ether forever. Given that this was some time ago, I no longer have a clear memory of what I was told I needed to fix.
Second, I have recently had feedback from someone else I gave the manuscript to – a retired copper who used to work for the Metropolitan Police Murder Squad. I gave him the manuscript because I wanted to know if I was making any glaring errors in the police procedural bits.
He came back to me recently and told me how much he enjoyed it. It was a good holiday read, he said – the sort of story he’d probably take to the beach to enjoy while relaxing in the sun. And he had no problem with any of my procedural scenes (except apparently they don’t draw chalk lines around bodies anymore). He also didn’t have a problem with my amateur sleuth taking advantage of the fact that one of the investigating police officers fancies her, and using that to get information about him about the case. My writing group critiquers had a problem with that. It’s highly unethical for a police officer to have any kind of relationship with someone who should be a suspect, they said.
It might be unethical, but as my copper friend pointed out, policemen are as human as anyone else. They might well engage in unwise relationships with someone they encounter on a case. In fact, he’d come across such things happening in his career.
The strange thing is, encouraging comments from just one person who enjoyed the book have inspired me to finish it. And maybe the fact I no longer have my crit session notes is not such a bad thing. There’s a balance to be had between ignoring all criticism and heeding every negative comment. Sometimes, you have to trust your instincts. With the Shara books, the fact that I enjoy writing about her should be enough to keep me coming back to her.
And that small voice inside? That’s the voice of self sabotage. That’s the voice that tells me to listen to all the criticism. And I think maybe I need to learn to ignore her every once in a while.
Shara Summers will be back very soon. And if you haven’t been introduced to her yet and are curious about my actress amateur sleuth, DEATH SCENE is available for the Kindle for a mere £2.59. American readers can find the US link here.
In the meantime, I am working on the fourth and hopefully the final draft of DEAD COOL. And you know what? It’s not nearly as bad as I thought it was.
