Suzanne G. Rogers's Blog, page 39

What’s My Author Brand?

A great many independent writers are perplexed and frustrated about devising a marketing plan for their books. One suggestion I’ve seen repeatedly is “You have to first have an author brand.” This reminds me a little of my acting days, when my aspiring actor friends wondered how best to increase their chances of working in a very competitive industry:

“I wonder what sort of headshot will sell me best?”

“Well…who are you?”

“I dunno. I’ll have to ask my shrink.” Pause. “But whoever I am, I don’t want to be typecast.”

Disbelief. “Are you crazy?”

You really do have to be crazy NOT to want to be typecast in Hollywood. Why wouldn’t you want to be the go-to guy or gal for a particular role? Casting is done by type anyway, with calls going out for “a young Brad Pitt” or “Vanna White” and the like.

One successful actor marketing workshop I heard about sent its participants out to airports and large, public places to ask a bunch of people the following question:

When you get a large number of responses telling you that you look like a nerd, I guess you’d be successful nerd-type.  Personally, I tended to be cast as a cop.  Don’t know why.

I had two actor acquaintances who weren’t traditional leading men types who worked all the time as THAT guy. Both are pretty big stars now, but they didn’t get there by trying to be all things to all people.

My problem? I had a hard time accepting who I really was an an actor, and kept pushing for what I wanted to be instead. That tack didn’t work out well. These days, I’d like to be THAT gal as an author… but I have a better idea of who I am at this stage in life than I did back then.

Hopefully, my author brand represents fiction that is adventurous, wholesome, and uplifting. Ideally, my stories encompass classic ideals, with well-defined conflicts and characters, as well as fun, witty dialogue. I’m not worried about being typecast, but maybe I’m crazy.  *wink*

How do you develop your own brand as a writer, artist, or businessperson?

~ S.G. Rogers

 

 

 

 

 

 

Happy New Year!

Welcome to 2014. Thank you so much for being part of Child of Yden, and I hope the new year brings you much happiness and love.

~ S.G. Rogers

The Do-Over

The end of the year seems to be a good opportunity for a little self-reflection. Did you ever wish you could have a do-over in life? Perhaps there is a particular event or episode you would have liked to do differently.  Such things are the genesis of fantasy films or books, and don’t exist—or do they?

In my case, I have a do-over as it relates to my short story, Clash of Wills.  This romantic fantasy was the first story I ever sold, to a small, independent publisher known for its romance titles.  The contract was for two years, and the rights have now reverted back to me.  I intend to lengthen the story quite a bit, introduce new characters and conflicts, and apply everything I’ve learned about writing since my first sale.

It feels odd, re-reading the manuscript, because it’s sort of a mental snapshot in time. The original Clash of Wills represents where I was as a writer nearly three years ago. I can recall working with my editors on various matters, such as keeping my points-of-view from sliding around. Although it was frustrating at times, I learned quite a lot. This first professional editing experience was what helped me morph my “classroom” creative writing into a salable “product” with appeal to a broad cross-section of readers.

And now I have a do-over. I have the opportunity to make Clash of Wills into something which will reflect my experience and breadth of knowledge accrued from writing a myriad of books, novellas, novelettes, and short stories. How lucky can I get?

~ S.G. Rogers

 

Victorian Vise — Dilemma of the Newly Poor

“He cut off a long lock of her hair.”

In Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility, the Dashwoods are cast into poverty when Mr. Dashwood dies. The home passes to his only son from a first marriage, and his second wife and three daughters are left to fend for themselves. The situation is all more tragic when one realizes English women of a certain social strata in that era did not work, and perhaps had few marketable skills even if they could. Therefore, women were almost entirely dependent on a male protector for their very survival. Throughout the Victorian era, very little changed. Society women were discouraged from pursuing any course of education other than “drawing room” skills such as music or singing, or artistic endeavors such as embroidery, painting, and the like. What happened to newly impoverished Society women if they had no relatives? If they were lucky, they could procure a position as a governess or companion. The unluckier ones might be forced into a seamier career in East End in order to eat.

Sense and Sensibility was one of the inspirations for Jessamine’s Folly. In the story, Jessamine is orphaned at fifteen, and her estate is entailed away from her to an uncle. Although the uncle agrees to let her stay, her aunt and cousin make her life miserable. When Jessamine is of age, her aunt forces her to look for work as a governess. A loyal servant knows of a position, but it comes with a catch:

Excerpt:

“My cousin Garfield is valet to the Earl of Kirkendale. He wrote me just the other day about the young lady of the house needing a governess, or companion more like, since Lady Amelie is turning eighteen soon. The thing is, no governess has managed to last at Knight’s Keep more than a few weeks.”

Jessamine blinked. “Is the girl difficult?”

“The problem might lie with the master of Knight’s Keep. Lord Kirkendale is Lady Amelie’s elder brother, and the Earl of Kirkendale since his father died. It seems no lass young enough to be a governess or companion to Lady Amelie can avoid falling in love with the man. He’s that handsome, says my cousin.”

“What a bunch of ninnies!” Jessamine exclaimed.

“Aye. Well, you know how impressionable young women can be. Anyway, Lord Kirkendale is looking to fill the post. It’s likely only a temporary position, however, until Her Ladyship makes a good marriage.”

“I think I can avoid falling in love until then,” Jessamine said.

Can Jessamine can avoid falling in love with Lord Kirkendale, or is taking such a position sheer folly? Unfortunately for Jessamine, she has little choice but to try.There is much to admire about 19th century dress, manners, and style but the cultivated helplessness of upper class women isn’t something I could easily accept. Fortunately, my time machine has never failed me yet. ~ S.G. Rogers

Merry Christmas

 

Written For Christmas – Flash Fiction

On the eve of Christmas, here is a reprise of my holiday flash fiction story, Written for Christmas.  Enjoy!  ~ S.G. Rogers

Diva hesitated a moment before pulling the gift-wrap from Lorelei’s Larceny.  As she gazed at the author photo on the dust jacket, the corners of her mouth turned up in a wistful smile.  The lights on the Christmas tree in the corner winked at her and the window beyond revealed a light snow flurry falling outside. She turned the novel over in her hands, wondering if she should brave the elements to walk to the corner coffeehouse.  While nursing a couple of peppermint mochas, she could make a pretty good dent in the book.  Besides which, she didn’t want to spend Christmas Eve alone.

“I can’t believe you opened that now,” Captain Westerly scolded. “Didn’t you promise Brandon Forster you’d wait until Christmas?”

Diva’s eyes slid over to the miniature pirate as he emerged from the pages of her recently released romance novel, Captain Westerly’s Conquest. The book rested on the table in front of the sofa, next to a Yule candle. “Nobody asked you,” she said.  “And besides, Brandon won’t know.”

The dashing captain tilted his head as he examined the dust jacket.  “Hey, he resembles me…or perhaps I resemble him.”

A crease of annoyance marred Diva’s brow.  “Do you have to leap off the page like that?  It’s kind of disconcerting.”

“It’s the way you wrote me, my lady,” Westerly said, with a courtly bow. “Why didn’t you give Brandon a copy of my book?  I mean, your book.  He would have enjoyed Captain Westerly’s Conquest.”

“Are you kidding?  He’s a man.  Men don’t read romance,” Diva said.

“I don’t see why not? Brandon’s a handsome devil, even if I say so myself—secure in his masculinity.”

“And furthermore, we’re just friends.  There’s simply no way a man like him would be interested in me,” she finished.

Westerly stroked his chin, covered with manly stubble.  “I thought we were talking about books.”

“Behave, Captain, or your next story will involve a wife and kids.”

Her decision made, Diva launched herself off the sofa and disappeared into her bedroom.  A few moments later, she emerged with her coat and scarf in hand.  She stopped short, gaping, as Westerly helped a miniature cat burglar step out of the pages of Lorelei’s Larceny.  Clad in a sexy black unitard, the woman bore an uncanny resemblance to Diva.

“You look like me!” Diva exclaimed, wide-eyed.

“It’s the way Brandon Forster wrote me,” Lorelei replied, tossing her glossy sable locks over one shoulder.

Captain Westerly kissed Lorelei’s hand.  “Would you care for a tour of my ship, my lady?” he asked.  “We’ll toast the season with a glass of rum punch.”

Lorelei raised an eyebrow as she gave the pirate an appraising glance.  “Lead on.”

“Wait a minute, you can’t—” Diva began, but the two main characters disappeared into the pages of Captain Westerly’s Conquest without so much as a backward glance.

A knock on the apartment door caused Diva to blanch.  She draped her coat and scarf over a chair and went to answer it.   Brandon Forster stood there, clutching Captain Westerly’s Conquest.  “I hope you don’t mind me s-stopping by,” he stammered.  “I, um, had to tell you how much I loved your book.”

Diva’s mouth opened, but no sound would come out.  Brandon flushed pink and ran his fingers through his closely cropped hair. “I’m sorry, that was lame.  What I mean to say is…do you, er, want to get a cup of coffee?”

“I’d love some coffee,” she said with a slow smile.

Brandon let his breath out in a gust.  He glanced at the sprig of mistletoe hung over the door and returned her smile with one of his own.

“How did that get there?” she exclaimed, startled.

A distant foghorn sounded from the vicinity of Captain Westerly’s Conquest, on the table behind her.

“I don’t know, but who am I to buck tradition?” Brandon asked. He leaned forward, his lips hovering over hers.

“Merry Christmas,” she said, before she sealed it with a kiss.

~ S.G. Rogers

Fantasy Fans – Initiate by Tara Maya

For my fantasy readers, here’s a look at the first book in a series by author Tara Maya! ~ S.G. Rogers

The Unfinished Song (Book 1): Initiate by Tara Maya

BLURB

DEADLY INITIATION

A DETERMINED GIRL…

Dindi can’t do anything right, maybe because she spends more time dancing with pixies than doing her chores. Her clan hopes to marry her off and settle her down, but she dreams of becoming a Tavaedi, one of the powerful warrior-dancers whose secret magics are revealed only to those who pass a mysterious Test during the Initiation ceremony. The problem? No-one in Dindi’s clan has ever passed the Test. Her grandmother died trying. But Dindi has a plan.

AN EXILED WARRIOR…

Kavio is the most powerful warrior-dancer in Faearth, but when he is exiled from the tribehold for a crime he didn’t commit, he decides to shed his old life. If roving cannibals and hexers don’t kill him first, this is his chance to escape the shadow of his father’s wars and his mother’s curse. But when he rescues a young Initiate girl, he finds himself drawn into as deadly a plot as any he left behind. He must decide whether to walk away or fight for her… assuming she would even accept the help of an exile.

EXCERPT

Blue-skinned rusalki grappled Dindi under the churning surface of the river. She could feel their claws dig into her arms. Their riverweed-like hair entangled her legs when she tried to kick back to the surface. She only managed to gulp a few breaths of air before they pulled her under again.

She hadn’t appreciated how fast and deep the river was. On her second gasp for air, she saw that the current was already dragging her out of sight of the screaming girls on the bank. A whirlpool of froth and fae roiled between two large rocks in the middle of the river. The rusalka and her sisters tugged Dindi toward it. Other water fae joined the rusalki. Long snouted pookas, turtle-like kappas and hairy-armed gwyllions all swam around her, leading her to the whirlpool, where even more fae swirled in the whitewater.

“Join our circle, Dindi!” the fae voices gurgled under the water. “Dance with us forever!”

“No!” She kicked and swam and stole another gasp for air before they snagged her again. There were so many of them now, all pulling her down, all singing to the tune of the rushing river. She tried to shout, “Dispel!” but swallowed water instead. Her head hit a rock, disorienting her. She sank, this time sure she wouldn’t be coming up again.

“Dispel!” It was a man’s voice.

Strong arms encircled her and lifted her until her arms and head broke the surface. Her rescuer swam with her toward the shore. He overpowered the current, he shrugged aside the hands of the water faeries stroking his hair and arms. When he reached the shallows, he scooped Dindi into his arms and carried her the rest of the way to the grassy bank. He set her down gently.

She coughed out some water while he supported her back.

“Better?” he asked.

She nodded. He was young–only a few years older than she. The aura of confidence and competence he radiated made him seem older. Without knowing quite why, she was certain he was a Tavaedi.

“Good.” He had a gorgeous smile. A wisp of his dark bangs dangled over one eye. He brushed his dripping hair back over his head.

Dindi’s hand touched skin–he was not wearing any shirt. Both of them were sopping wet. On him, that meant trickles of water coursed over a bedrock of muscle. As for her, the thin white wrap clung transparently to her body like a wet leaf. She blushed.

“It might have been easier to swim if you had let go of that,” he teased. He touched her hand, which was closed around something. “What were you holding onto so tightly that it mattered more than drowning?”

LINKS

Tara’s blog http://bit.ly/12dFdNy

Tara’s Twitter http://bit.ly/162sCtE

The Unfinished Song on Facebook http://on.fb.me/1400mMq

Amazon http://amzn.to/15ciwYc

Barnes and Noble http://bit.ly/13yM5Dr

Kobo http://bit.ly/1aFhg1P

iTunes http://bit.ly/1baddhN

Smashwords http://bit.ly/17zK8Xn

Initiate is free everywhere except on Barnes and Noble (where it’s $0.99). You can download a free .epub version via Smashwords.

Witch’s Thief – Guest Author Tricia Schneider

I used to be able to write at any time I wanted. Before work, after work, or during lunch breaks. Sometimes I would drive to a pretty spot by a lake or a park and scribble on my notebook (before I got a laptop). It was a luxury, I realize now.

Those days of freedom are over. For the time being, at least. Now, I have three children who need constant attention. And I mean constant! I turn my back for an instant and one of them is drawing on the walls with a marker, the other one is pushing his brother who in turns pushes back and knocks over an end table stacked with books and papers all of which comes crashing to the floor. I hear a quick, “I’m okay!” and then he’s off chasing his brother through the house.

My three angels have kept me crazy for seven years. I have a 7 year-old son, a 6 year-old son, and a 3 year-old daughter, and don’t let her cute little pixie face fool you…she’s more trouble than her brothers combined! A friend of mine once told me when I was pregnant with my firstborn that I was going to have so much time to read and write. Babies sleep so much when they’re young. Well, she lied about babies sleeping so much AND she didn’t mention how quickly they grew!

I thought perhaps I might be able to write more as they grew older, since writing when they were young was just insane! I did it. I don’t know how I did it, but somehow I managed to get two books written between the births of my first and second sons. Writing while my daughter was a baby was the most difficult. I don’t exaggerate when I say she woke up once or twice a night EVERY night for the first two years. Since she’s only just turned 3, I’m so pleased to finally get a full night’s sleep. I’d almost forgotten what that was like!

I’m writing in the mornings now. My children and I have come to an agreement of sorts. They watch an hour of morning cartoons while I write in the kitchen. I can see them since I place my chair at a strategic location to have clear view of the living room since sometimes the cartoons don’t hold their attention and they start jumping on the sofa. And if I’m lucky, I can get a thousand words written before they realize they’re hungry (again!) and come trotting into the kitchen with puppy dog eyes to ask if they can have a second or even third breakfast. I’m stocking up on cereal and fruit so I can just grunt and wave my hand, although that doesn’t work for my daughter. She climbs onto my lap and sticks her head in front of my face and is content to sit there all day if I let her while she pokes at my computer screen with sticky fingers and taps at the keys because she likes to see the letters buzz across the screen.

Yep, that’s my life now. And you know what? I love it! I really do. My kids are the greatest and have made life interesting and certainly challenging for me, but I would never change a thing. They make me smile, even in the mornings when I know I only just closed my eyes to go to sleep, and they make me laugh with their silly antics and jokes. They keep me active with all the chasing I must do to keep pens and markers out of little toddler hands, as well as refereeing when the boys start their wrestling matches. I can’t understand how I wrote without distractions before! It’s weird how life works, isn’t it?

Check out The Witch’s Thief (the novel I wrote during my sleepless nights with my daughter). It’s being offered FREE on Kindle from December 17-21. Hurry over and grab your copy!

Here’s the blurb and excerpt for The Witch’s Thief:

To save her sister’s life, Julia Grey seeks a spell hidden somewhere within Merriweather Manor. Her position as a lady’s companion affords her the freedom to search the house. But time is running out. The necromancer she’s bargained with is growing impatient. And an unexpected appearance of a man from her past makes matters worse in an already complicated situation.

Basil Merriweather returns to England after ten years abroad to discover his childhood sweetheart living in his home. But, he’s no longer the carefree man of his youth and she’s hiding something–deadly secrets Basil vows to uncover even as he hides a dark secret of his own.

While neither Basil nor Julia will trust in the other, their hearts speak a truer language.  In a grand attempt to save Julia’s sister and Basil’s life, the two must finally confess sinister truths. Will their admissions help or hinder any future they may have together? Or will the necromancer destroy all in a vile attempt at revenge.

Excerpt:

“What are you doing?”

He ignored her frantic questioning. Instead, he blocked out the sound of her voice and raised his arms into the air at his sides, his fingers splayed out as he extended his senses to scan the area. His power eased out, like extensions of his fingertips, stretching into the corners of the room, seeking, searching for the source of the magic he sensed.

It was here…somewhere.

He had sensed it earlier on his arrival, but being that his aunt and siblings practiced magic on a regular basis he’d never given it a second thought.

This room, however, stank with it. He smelled the odor, something strangely like sulfur…

“A spell has been cast in this room,” he muttered. A strange spell. Odd. A spell he’d never sensed before, something new. It felt off is some way he couldn’t explain. Who would be working new magic of this kind in his home? And, in this room in particular. Aunt Petunia worked her spells in the privacy of her rooms upstairs, or sometimes in the gardens, but never in this room. And his siblings each, practiced in their own private settings, places where they could concentrate without the threat of being disturbed. A fairly difficult task with the number of people normally in residence at Merriweather Manor.

He took a step closer to the center of the room where he sensed a surge of power. He shivered as coldness seeped into his skin. It wrapped around his arm, sinking into his flesh, right down to the bone. This was not right.

The magic in his house was always full of warmth and gentleness. Goodness and love. This magic chilled him to the bone. His heart skipped a beat. There was fear, terror, pain. This spell was full of darkness.

About the author:

Tricia Schneider is a paranormal and gothic romance author. She worked as an Assistant Manager at a bookstore for several years. Now she writes full-time while raising her 3 young children in the coal region of Pennsylvania. For more information about her books visit:

To learn more about Tricia Schneider, you can find her at her website, blog, Facebook, Twitter, or on Goodreads

To buy her books:

The Wild Rose Press

Amazon

Victorian-Era Walking Sticks to Stir the Imagination

In my Victorian-era romance Duke of a Gilded Age, Wesley is obliged to hire a valet to tend to his new wardrobe and help him navigate the potential minefield of moving in Society as an American duke. Bristling at the idea he can no longer dress himself nor enjoy the complete freedom he’d had in Brooklyn, Wesley is determined to hire someone who will stay out of his way. When valet candidate Cavendish appears, he represents himself as a drunk who enjoys baseball–thereby fulfilling all of Wesley’s requirements. Although Cavendish wins the job, he quickly proves himself to be much more than he seems…starting with a rather extraordinary collection of walking sticks.

Excerpt:

As he reached for a freshly baked fruit muffin, Wesley noticed yet another one of Cavendish’s walking sticks propped up in the corner. This one was slender, fashioned of a highly polished dark wood, and sported a deep blue cut‐glass knob handle. I wonder how many walking sticks the man has?

Since there was much to be done, Cavendish didn’t allow his master to linger overlong at breakfast. After Wesley bathed, the valet gave him a shave and manicure. Wesley examined his buffed fingernails, impressed.

“I’m not uncouth anymore,” he said.

“I daresay you never were, Your Grace.”

“Tell me, Cavendish, how many walking sticks do you own?”

“I’ve never actually counted them, Your Grace, but I am quite the collector.”

Wesley read Jules Verne until his mother was ready to go, while Cavendish sat nearby reading a pocket‐sized copy of L’Art de la Guerre. Wesley gave the book’s title a curious glance.

“Is that French?” he asked.

“Yes. It’s The Art of War by Chinese military general Sun Tzu.”

“He speaks French?”

“No, he lived thousands of years ago. This is a translation from Chinese.”

“Why don’t you read it in English?”

“Sadly, the English translation does not yet exist.”

Wesley returned to his book, puzzled. The man is extremely learned for a valet. Could there be more to Cavendish than meets the eye?

An an author, my imagination is seized by the idea of Victorian-era walking sticks serving more than one purpose. Cavendish has all manner of decorative walking sticks, but he also has a very cool walking stick with a compass, a tippling stick containing a compartment in which alcohol can be stored, and a cane with a blade for self-defense. Although admittedly low-tech, it’s rather James Bond-ish, to my way of thinking.  Here are a few resources, if you’re inclined to do further research or purchase one for yourself. Some of these walking sticks are truly amazing works of art. Like Cavendish, I suspect one could build an impressive and fun collection.

~ S.G. Rogers

Design Toscano

Scotties Walking Sticks & Canes (UK)

Ebay

M.S. Rau Antiques

Antique Cane World

A Gift for Lara (A Victorian Christmas Story) – Free

Hop in your sleigh, fly over to Amazon, and download A Gift for Lara FREE, Friday December 13 only. Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas. ~ S.G. Rogers