Anne Frasier's Blog, page 7

New Adult Romance Cover Reveal

My New Adult romance comes out in October and as soon as I have pre-order information I'll post the links, but  I wanted to share the cover and blurb:



Molly Young has a secret. To keep it she holds the world at a distance. Behind her lies a trail of dumped boyfriends who came too close to discovering what no one can know. When her estranged father dies of an unexpected heart attack he leaves an even deeper secret, one tied to Molly's.
At the funeral repast Molly is unable to tolerate the shoulder-to-shoulder mourners and runs out the door and down the street to the nearest bar. Come dawn, with no memory of the past ten hours, she finds herself in bed with a beautiful stranger. She slips away before he wakes up, unaware of the role he's about to play in her life. Is he the one guy who can convince Molly to face her disturbing and painful secret and become the person she's meant to be? ~

Excerpt:

Chapter 1


I was abnormal. There. I said it. I had secrets I could never share. Maybe it was shame. Yeah, it was shame. I had to at least be honest with myself even if I wasn't completely honest with anybody else. You have those people who go out of their way to appear different. The art students. The music people. The Dumpster divers and crust punks who lived in communal houses.  I had nothing against any of that, but a lot of those people were fake. A lot of them were slumming, coming in from the suburbs to play poor because in reality their parents lived in million-dollar homes and drove expensive cars. So you have those people, the ones who want to be abnormal. But if they'd grown up abnormal like me, the daughter of a batshit crazy psychology professor at the University of Minnesota, their one goal might be to wear a cloak of normalcy. Because I would never be normal. And I would always be broken. And my secrets were the reason the day my father died was both the worst and the best day of my life.I loved him. I know I shouldn't have, and maybe that's where the confusion came from. The guilt. I mean, how could I love a monster? And what made it worse is that the rest of the world worshipped him.  Now that the funeral was over I stood at the door of my father's two-story bungalow located in the Marcy Holmes neighborhood of Minneapolis. Marcy Holmes was a short walk from the U of M campus, and an even shorter walk to Dinkytown, once the hangout of Bob Dylan but now the hangout of frat boys.  I stood there in my summer dress and black, calf-high boots, welcoming people who were bringing plates of food, who were hugging me, asking what I planned to do, and if I'd keep the house, and if I'd move back home. Would I request a deferral from my first year at the U? And all I wanted to say was: "Isn't it wonderful? He's gone. He's finally gone."


I've set up a separate NA FACEBOOK PAGE where you'll be able to get the most current information on new NA releases. I also have a newsletter for release announcements of both Frasier and Weir titles.

NEWSLETTER SIGN-UP PAGE

Come As You Are on Goodreads
And since I'm doing cover reveals...  Here's the cover for The Geek with the Cat Tattoo, which will be out in 2014.

TRUE STORY, PART TWO

Got a hankerin' to read part one? Go here: PART ONE
PART TWO
Debbie and I continued our lunchtime smoke breaks under the carport. I was surprised to find that a junior high school that beat the crap out of you with a special paddle if you were caught chewing gum didn't seem to care if you left campus at noon. We weren't the only ones wandering away, and the exodus was no secret.  Nobody seemed to care what we did as long as we didn't do it on school property. High school guys would pull up in front and wait for their younger girlfriends to run down the sidewalk and jump in the car. And speaking of cars. Debbie sometimes drove herself to school even though she was way too young to have a license. On those days we didn't smoke under the carport. Instead, we cruised the strip, cruised the high school, and cruised the other junior high across town while we smoked our Marlboros and drank whiskey from the fifth Debbie kept under the seat. We were thirteen. Debbie must have finally thought it was time to take our friendship to the next level because she asked me to stay the night. "We can ride horses on Saturday. " Horses? Her aunt and uncle must have been rich, and they must have let her run wild because she wasn't their kid and they were just giving her a place to sleep until her mother came home from Paris. I was almost jealous.After school Debbie drove me to her house.  Down dusty New Mexico roads that never seemed to stop. Over flat land that stretched out forever.  After twenty miles I finally spotted a mailbox that marked another dusty lane, this one with a house at the end. I immediately understood that her aunt and uncle were poor. Really, really poor. The house was this sad bunch of squares sitting on top of dirt. There was the main square made of plywood and stuff that had probably come from other houses. Nothing fit, but the building did have windows and a roof and some paint here and there.  The biggest square must have been the start of the home, and then as time went on other rooms were added, all with salvaged wood and mismatched windows. Inside it was clean, with nothing but a kitchen table and chairs, and off in one corner a couch and television.  Debbie said hi to a woman standing at the stove frying chicken in a cast-iron skillet. The woman turned and gave me a smile. She had very few teeth, her skin was like leather, and her hair was a wild tangle around her head. Debbie's grandmother? Great grandmother? One of the additions to the house turned out to be Debbie's room, and we headed straight for it, shut the door, and settled on the bed with a scrapbook. "There's my mom." She pointed to an elegant woman standing next to a fancy car.  She was so pretty. Like a movie star. Did she pay the aunt and uncle to take care of Debbie? I'll bet she did."Is that your grandmother out there?" I whispered.Debbie laughed. "It's my aunt.  Isn't she something?""She looks so old.""She's in her forties."A door slammed and the aunt shouted that it was time to eat.We sat down. Four of us now, because Debbie's uncle had arrived from the oil refinery.  He didn't look nearly as old at the woman, and he had all his teeth. Green Formica table. Aunt and uncle at opposite ends. Debbie and I across from each other. Fried chicken. Baked beans. Potato salad. I got the feeling this wasn't their normal meal, that they'd prepared it because of company. I felt honored.  We passed bowls of food in silence. Ate in silence.  Struggling to come up with a topic of conversation, I finally looked across the Formica to my friend and asked, "When's your mom coming back from Paris?"Debbie froze.The aunt and uncle froze. What had I done? What had I said?  Maybe the mom wasn't coming back. Maybe she'd left Debbie here forever.The uncle finally spoke. "Your mother?" he asked Debbie.She said nothing."Your mother in Paris?"Debbie still wasn't talking, so I tried to smooth things over. "Debbie told me about how her mother is living in Paris, and how she's staying here with you two for a while."The aunt and uncle looked at each other, then burst out laughing. The guy tossed back his head and roared. The woman joined in with her toothlessness.Debbie threw her chicken leg on her plate and ran to her room, slamming the door.Which left the three of us. The aunt finally stopped laughing. When the uncle could finally talk, he said, "That's what she told you?  That we're her aunt and uncle?" He burst out laughing again.I finally got it. They were Debbie's parents.  I felt so stupid. None of her story had made any sense. None of it. Later Debbie unlocked the door and I joined her in the bedroom. She'd been crying. "I'll bet they told you they're my parents, didn't they?" she said. "Well, they aren't. They're a couple of liars."This was the new story she'd concocted while I sat at the table.  I actually liked her parents. Liked the way they hadn't gotten mad. "You are the liar," I said.If I'd been older I might have been more sympathetic. I would have tried to figure out why she'd done what she'd done. Invented a mother because she was ashamed of her own. Invented a life because she was ashamed of the one she had. Instead, I never talked to Debbie again. I never forgave her. Occasionally I'd spot her in the hall, but she always looked away. And I'd wonder if she was waiting for a new kid to come along so she could tell her about the mother who lived in Paris.

STAY DEAD RELEASE

Stay Dead, the sequel to Play Dead, has a release date.


Coming April 22, 2014Writing book descriptions is a skill I lack, and I'm confident the publishing house and my editor will come up with cover copy far more enticing than my feeble attempt:Stay Dead
Savannah homicide detective Elise Sandburg is recovering from injuries received while being held captive by a killer now in a coma when she gets news of a fresh murder with the same MO as the unresponsive man in the hospital bed. Elise is forced to cut her recovery short and risk her life once again in order to help her less-than-stable partner, David Gould, track down a madman the media has nicknamed The Organ Thief.
Coming close to death left Elise questioning her occupation as a detective. She has a teenage daughter to think about, and Elise wants to be a better mother. Dealing with a more immediate deadline, Elise hopes to make her home livable in time for Thanksgiving and her daughter's return from a foreign-exchange trip.  But when Elise tries to leave the world of homicide behind, a repressed memory comes back to haunt her, and in a surprising twist she discovers that she and The Organ Thief have more in common than she could ever have guessed…
On top of that, Elise's mother calls to beg her estranged daughter to investigate Elise's Aunt Anastasia's mysterious death. It seems that the dead Anastasia made a midnight phone call to Elise's mother, leaving Elise to question her mother's sanity and ask the recurring question: Doesn't anybody stay dead around here?

TRUE STORY

Let's just call her Debbie. We met on my first day at the new school. Mom had remarried and we'd moved from the city of Albuquerque to a small desert town in southern New Mexico. Way beyond where the sidewalk ends. Eighth grade. Girls dressed like the past, talking with strong accents.
When you start a new school in the middle of the year, you have to be careful of the kids who latch onto you. I knew the drill. Don't be too friendly. Don't let them talk you into a visit.  But Debbie seemed different. Not desperate, and other kids didn't avoid her.  She was kind of cool in a tough cowgirl way.  At noon, when boys and girls stood in the lobby drinking pop and eating candy bars, she crooked her finger at me and tipped her head toward the door. I went, curious, glad to get away from the stares.
 With shoulders hunched and her gate rolling—all of this accomplished in a print dress, oxfords, and white knee socks—she strode past the flagpole with deliberate intent. I followed.
We crossed the street to a beige ranch-style house with a For Sale sign and carport. The place was empty, windows smeared and a yard full of pale dirt and dead grass. Hidden from the school, Debbie produced a pack of Marlboros from the pocket of her jean jacket and we lit up. She told me how she wasn't from there, and how she hated the one-horse town. Her mother was an artist studying in Paris for a year, and Debbie had been sent to live with her aunt and uncle. She hated them too. "Dumb, drunk rednecks."  It was nice to know another outsider.
But I was feeling queasy.
Back in the school, Debbie showed me where the science class was located, then, like a weary bronc rider,  she lumbered down the hall.
Slinking into a seat near the door, I burped and a puff of smoke came out of my mouth.
To be continued…

WHEN THE MUSE BITES YOU IN THE JUGULAR

I've been a writing fool lately. I spent so much of the past few years making my entire backlist available that I feel I really neglected NEW writing. Also in there I took a year off to dedicate to the promotion of The Orchard, which in retrospect probably wasn't the wisest thing to do. But anyway, I think subconsciously or consciously I felt I had a lot of catching up to do as far as getting new material written.

 I wrapped up the third draft of Stay Dead, the Play Dead sequel, about a month ago. I'd planned to take a couple of weeks off, then dive into the Geek with the Cat Tattoo, my second cat book which is still 1/3 done.  But I somehow got caught up in New Adult fiction. Not all that many years ago I asked my then editor about writing for college kids, and she said there was no market for books like that. And at the time I guess she was right. Well, nobody had really tested it, but now with NA being such a hot market, I started thinking about it again. And instead of taking some time off, and instead of cleaning my house, I had this idea for an NA, and I thought I'd just get the stuff in my head down on paper. Day or two of writing. A week and a half later the first draft of the NA is 1/3 done.  So I have two books 1/3 done.

But...

I'm excited about this new project. Really excited. I love the book, I love the characters, love the setting, love the concept. It has three pretty big twists, and when you think the twist are done, it will have a final one. Takes place in Minneapolis, in and around the University of Minnesota. Female lead is 22, male is 25.

But...

I would never have written this if not for self-publishing. I would never, ever have even started it. Not in a million years. Because I would have known there would be no place to send it. But now... NOW....   THIS is how self-publishing is changing the face of publishing. And what a concept to be able to think of an idea, love it, and actually WRITE IT. It's exciting.

Funny thing, as the story progressed it took on more levels of complexity until I now think it might appeal to a publishing house, but I don't think I'm going to submit it to one.  Think I'll self-pub it.

When I started the NA I had this idea that I'd pub it under a whole new name and I spent too much time deciding on a pen name and I created a Facebook page for that name. But as I wrote I realized...wait, this is really morphing into a Theresa Weir book, so to hell with the pen name. I plan to publish it under my own name.

I have my contracted book, Stay Dead, which is a priority right now.  I have to be ready to put all other stuff aside whenever I get edits, etc. back on it, but  in the meantime...  WRITING FOOL.

And for those people asking about the Geek with the Cat Tattoo. I can't be a 100% sure I will finish it, but at this moment I plan to to finish it once I have the NA completed. So both books should be out in 2014.  Stay Dead also comes out in 2014, so that will mean several books out in the upcoming year.


I took this about a year ago in Luck, Wisconsin.

PREMISE AND ROMANTIC COMEDY

Another week and I'll be done with the second draft of my contracted suspense due to the publisher the end of the summer. But as I'm wrapping up round two, I'm suddenly hit with a dream plot for a romantic comedy. By dream plot, I mean I actually dreamed it. 



 I love the concept, and I want to write it. But the premise is a bit far-fetched. Not horribly far-fetched, just a bit. It kind of treads Nick Hornby About a Boy territory. Not the plot, but the far-fetched aspect. I've never written romantic comedy or any comedy other than the Girl with the Cat Tattoo, so I started thinking of comedy books and movies, and it occurred to me that they all have a bit of a far-fetched element.  In writing suspense, especially crime fiction, you have to be so careful to keep it real, but is it okay to step outside that with romantic comedy?  I'm thinking it is? 

WOW, HARLEQUIN. REALLY?

Outraged friends have been contacting me about this new Harlequin title.  Not sure if I should be outraged, flattered, or if I should just shrug it off.  I tend to think shrug it off, but some people are spitting mad.

Chewy emotional center

Don't neglect a character's emotions even when dealing with an externally driven plot.

WRITER AT WORK

The thing that's hard? Finding time to write. I blocked out entire month of May for nothing but writing, and I'm also forcing myself to avoid the temptation of social media. It's working.I'm halfway through second draft of the sequel to Play Dead due to publisher September 1. I actually keep thinking of things I want to blog about, but restrain myself!

IN THE WORKS

April has been a crazy busy month for book events, but last night was my last one for a while.  This was a book club, and wow. What a nice group. I love book clubs, because the interest and enthusiasm is off the chart.  People have read the book. They want to talk about it. They are truly interested.  This was for The Orchard, and I do think memoirs might lend themselves to book discussions.  And it's humbling and gratifying to hear from people who were impacted by the story in ways I couldn't have foreseen. I'm always surprised by the personal stories people share.
But now I have to buckle down and get to writing again. I'm ready to tackle the second draft of Stay Dead, the Play Dead sequel.  Several people have asked about the cool cat series, but since those books are self-published, they have to go on the back burner even though I'm really anxious to get back to the second cat book.  Stay Dead is a contracted book, due to the publisher September 1. So I'm guessing I won't have the second cat book done until 2014 by the time it's edited and formatted, but it could be earlier. Kind of doubt it though.
Some people have said they want to read more about Max.  Well…
For the curious … a little about The Geek with the Cat Tattoo.  The cat in book two is Max's brother, and book three will feature Max's sister.  The second book is set in Minneapolis. Max's brother has a bit more…power (cool?) than Max. (Max always felt inferior to his siblings, although they all consider themselves matchmakers.)
 Max's brother runs away from an abusive owner and immediately stumbles upon a geeky guy throwing up outside a bar. Max's brother follows the guy home to make sure he's okay, and ends up being adopted by the geeky guitar-repair dude who is painfully shy around females.  (Which is how he ended up drinking too much and throwing up.) And so begins the matchmaking.  The love interest in the story is Melody's sister (from book one), someone geeky dude has had a crush on for two years because she often comes into his shop to drop off and pick up her dad's guitars.  So we will see a glimpse of Melody and Max, but not much. 
I always worry about giving away too much of the plot. Hope that's not too much. :D