Reena Jacobs's Blog, page 43

Novel Review: Unearthly by Cynthia Hand

Unearthly by Cynthia Hand was recommended to me at least twice. The first time I received the recommendation, it hadn't been released yet. So, I put it on my to-read list, thinking I may or may not get around to it when the time came. Really, it was one of those books which barely hit my radar. I'm not even sure I read the blurb. At least, I don't remember the blurb. A month or so later, the book-buying bug hit me again. I put out my typical "what should I read?" request on twitter and Unearthly came up again. Alright… I'll give it a try. First, the blurb from Ms. Hand's website.

Clara Gardner has recently learned that she's part angel. Having angel blood run through her veins not only makes her smarter, stronger, and faster than humans (a word, she realizes, that no longer applies to her), but it means she has a purpose, something she was put on this earth to do. Figuring out what that is, though, isn't easy.

Her visions of a raging forest fire and an alluring stranger lead her to a new school in a new town. When she meets Christian, who turns out to be the boy of her dreams (literally), everything seems to fall into place—and out of place at the same time. Because there's another guy, Tucker, who appeals to Clara's less angelic side.

As Clara tries to find her way in a world she no longer understands, she encounters unseen dangers and choices she never thought she'd have to make—between honesty and deceit, love and duty, good and evil. When the fire from her vision finally ignites, will Clara be ready to face her destiny?

Unearthly is a moving tale of love and fate, and the struggle between following the rules and following your heart.

I almost gave up on this one early. I'm glad I didn't. It started well. The stakes were practically set on the first page. I was mildly interested. Then the story dragged until page 40ish, and I feared the entire book would be a snoozer. I'm an impatient sort of reader. I have too many reads on my shelf to bother with the dull ones. But folks had raved about this book. I was afraid of giving up too soon. So I pushed through, and around page 60 I was hooked.

The way I judge if a book is good is if I can move past the tendency to critique and just enjoy the story. From page 1-40, I was in full critique mode, constantly rewording each sentence, substituting words, rearranging paragraphs, make cuts… Yeah. I had it bad. After page 60, I was too involved in the story to nitpick.

I hated Clara at first. For a book I truly enjoyed, that was quite odd. My dislike of the main character really didn't detract from my enjoyment of the book. For the first half of the book or so, she struck me as a spoiled brat, and the sad thing about it was she didn't even realize it. She just seemed like a user. Ugh. I suppose that was a good thing. I always enjoy a book with great character development and growth, and she had a long way to go to be likeable. The novel had picked up to have me stick with it, but I'd hoped to see Clara transform into something wonderful. What I found was Clara was one of those gals who seemed to change personalities according those around her. Not a bad thing but not good either. The verdict is still out on that one. I will admit, toward the end, the gal wasn't so bad.

A quick rundown of the rest of the characters. Loved Tucker. Digged Wendy. Christian was just okay. Angela was… not quite sure I liked her. Jeffrey–I didn't see too much of him, but what I did see of him, I wasn't exactly fond of. HOWEVER, I do want to see more of him. I so hope his story is next, cause I'm quite curious about that fella. Loved Mom and hope to learn more about her. For a cast of thousands, Ms. Hand did an excellent job giving each character a unique personality.

Plot wise: Wicked awesome. Yeah, it started slow, but the rest was enthralling. And the humor was great. It wasn't slap stick, which irritates me. It was more on the lines that sometimes real life is just funny–the little things that go wrong that bring a chuckle.

One thing for sure, I had a bunch of favorite lines. 75% of my notes included lines I loved.

"You want a Jolly Rancher." [It's just so simple yet so funny. But later we get...]
My red-hot Jolly Rancher is lying next to his head in the snow.
He loves the color of my lips and now the taste of my mouth is making his knees feel weak and he doesn't want to seem weak in front of me. [Okay. That's just cute.]
I think he seriously believes that deflowering an angel could mean an eternity in fiery hell.

If this novel had a stronger start and a more likable character, it might have made it to my 2011 favorites. Still a great read though. Once my daughter finishes The Hunger Games, I'm pushing Unearthly next.

I see Ms. Hand has her next title (Hallowed) scheduled for 2012. Long wait, but definitely a work I'm looking forward to.

Stray Cat Excerpt Chapter 1 Scene 2

Okay… I've been so bad lately about updating. I looked at my blog calendar today and realize I didn't do my review of Unearthly yesterday. Yeah. I suck. I'm not going to bother with it today, but I'll try to get to it tomorrow. Yeah… I'm still sucking. I almost forgot to post my excerpt. Okay I did forget, but I'm doing it now. If you didn't read the first scene from Stray Cat, which I've now renamed Chasing Shadows, have at it here. And remember, this is rather raw… still needs to go through the editing process and all.

Chasing Shadows
Chapter 1 Scene 2

Consciousness filtered into the void, creating a muddled awareness, and with it…pain. Excruciating pain. A throbbing ache in his skull which pulsating with every heart beat. Mujur fought the grogginess, even as the pounding in his head persisted.

"Wake him." A gruff voice seeped through his clouded mind.

Cold liquid splashed Mujur's face and yanked him out of his fogged existence. He lifted his leaden hand to wipe his face. His arm jerked to a stop, captured by bindings cutting into his wrist. With heavy lids, he struggled to blink the fluid out of his eyes and make sense of the shadows.

"Wake up."

The sting of a slap across his face brought him fully awake. Where was he?

The world around him slowly solidified in his right eye, though his vision in his left remained a blur, the swollen lid only allowing him to squint. Strapped to a cold slab of rock, he took in his surroundings. Outside the familiar wehr-tiger village, a multitude of faces looked on him, each twisted in an expression of disgust, hatred, or fear.

"Wha?" His tongue, thick, failed to function correctly and the words stuck in his dry throat. He licked his puffy lips, distended to the point of bursting and swallowed, moistening his mouth with the little wetness he could scrounge. "What's happening?"

The corpulent man, Gemuk, the one who'd captured him planted a beefy palm near Mujur's head and leaned close. His thick brow protruded over dull orange eyes which mocked, while his lips lifted in a disdainful smirk. He grabbed a handful of Mujur's hair and wrenched it back.

Shards of pain pricked Mujur's scalp, replacing the previous ache with the intensity, and he fought to stifle a moan through clenched teeth.

The man's breath wafted over him like rotted meat. "You thought you'd get away with it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Mujur said.

The man bent closer, hot moist air filled Mujur's ear as he exhaled. "You think anyone believes a word you say?"

The man straightened and sent his backhand flying across the side of Mujur's throbbing face.

Nausea threatened to overcome Mujur as pain reverberated through his skull.

The man glared at him as he took a few steps back. "Kasut, cane him."

"Why? I didn't do anything." He looked at the straps holding him, his wrists raw and ragged as he tugged. "Let me go."

The crowd drew away from him as another man entered the clearing. Dark lowlights streaked his reddish-brown mop of hair in a disorganized pattern. He carried a thick rattan cane which he slapped across the palm of his hand repeatedly.

Mujur increased his struggles, cringing as the rough rope bit into his ankles. "Wait! Don't do this. Please!"

"Your sins will be a brand on you into the next life." The man with the cane shook his head, his expression one of disappointment and regret.

Mujur sought the eyes of the bystanders. "Help me."

One by one, they turned away abandoning him to his fate. All but one girl, who looked no older than ten or eleven, her brownish-green eyes red rimmed and filled with sadness—a younger face of the dead woman—only she met his eyes as she hid behind a nearby tree.

"Please," he called to her.

The cane whipped through the air and his entire body tensed as the stinging rattan met his flesh, cutting into his chest. Whistling, it sliced down again and again, ricocheting off his body. Mujur fought to hold down the bile which rose in his throat as the pain consumed him.

Interview: Kimberly Cain on Music & Writing

I've been chatting with Kimberly Cain over the last few weeks. It's been absolutely wonderful to meet an individual who doesn't let conventional ideas about sex confine her. Makes me feel a little less alone in the world. Well, she agreed to let me interview her. So let's get to it!

Tell us a little about your writing and what works you have planned for the future.

I always have more "works" in my idea folders than I'll ever be able to manifest! That's okay because I find that the threads of the ideas usually run through just about everything, so whatever needs to come out eventually will come out in one work or another. I currently have a non-fiction work about intuition in progress, as well as loose notes for my next novel.

I see you're also artistic in other areas such as art and music. Share a bit about your style.

Style, hmmm. I've never really thought much about that. I'm a bit of a rock 'n' roll gal, I suppose. By that, I mean I don't make art by any hard and fast rules. I do it the way I want to do it, regardless of how anyone else says it should be done. I've written & performed music for most of my life – most of it in the rock/pop genre, though I love all types of music.

Besides my love of color, I believe my watercolor art was born simply out of a need for completion during the long novel research & writing process. I didn't take any lessons; I just bought beautiful paints & allowed my feelings to flow onto paper. It was a joyful discovery! It was gratifying to have completed pieces – it boosted my spirits & my energy.

How does music influence your writing?

Music is a major influence on my prose writing – so much so, that Heaven comes with a CD of original songs written & performed by various artists (including me).

Everything has a rhythm. Words & stories have a rhythm; we are rhythmic beings. Music is the great communicator of emotions, crossing all language barriers. When I hear a song I like, I can move into an altered state of consciousness that allows me to experience emotions or energy that may not be my own, but that of a character, a scene or a place. I wrote the entire novel to a soundtrack of favorite songs, specifically chosen for the mood they created. Before the writing began each day, I started the music & entered the space. The current non-fiction I'm writing requires a different soundtrack. Writing a proposal or some other "businessy" piece…I have to have total silence!

I have to say, I love the cover art on Heaven. The subject matter also seems to be on the controversial side. What pushed you to step out there and present Heaven to the world?

Thank you! I love the cover art too – designed by my extremely talented sister, Kelly Brown, of Studio Honey (www.StudioHoney.com). She really captured the look & feel of the story. And for those who understand the symbolism of the tattoo, the naked woman becomes even more alluring!

You're right about the subject matter. Heaven is about the nature of God as seen through the eyes of Eve, an exotic dancer. It is a story of healing the perceived separation between our spiritual & our sexual selves.

We clamor for sexual imagery in our Western culture & the media serves it up in spades, yet we still practice Puritanical values in our daily lives, acting as if the sight of nipples peaking out from a blouse is somehow "slutty".

The mixed messages lead to confusion & guilt for more people than one might imagine. I learned from therapists & ministers that they see an overwhelming number of people dealing with sexual issues due to religious repression. Many exotic dancers revealed, in interviews, the mistreatment they had received from religious caretakers.

Eastern practices involving the Kundalini energy introduce the sexual nature to the spiritual nature. It's time these two aspects of our humanity became friends! When they are fully integrated within us as a culture, we'll be healthier people.

I was inspired to write Heaven in novel form because, as a performer, I have always felt the spiritual & sexual aspects of my being united in a very joyful way. I believe entertainment has great power to transform culture by stimulating the imaginations of people & creating conversations around new perspectives. Controversy tends to be stimulating & I can't think of anything more provocative than sex & religion!

Do you use music to promote your writing and vice versa? And if yes, how?

I definitely do! They really go hand in hand. The Heaven release event included a concert where I performed songs from the novel's accompanying CD & did corresponding passage readings. Music can convey the same messages carried in the novel in shorter bits & with an immediate intensity of emotion. You can hear some of the songs at www.HeavenTheNovel.com.

Sometimes, with short readings, I'll use a passage containing music lyrics. I'll often sing those, instead of speaking them – it adds a different dimension or depth.

My radio show, Naked Vibes , contains music interspersed between readings & interviews with other artists & healers of all types. http://www.kimberlycainblog.com/lio-radio-live-inside-out/

I also do presentations for groups, one-on-one intuitive guidance & a workshop called Move Your Sexy Spirit SM. Many of the novel's concepts are incorporated & I almost always use music & movement to help integrate the concept of wholeness – body, mind, & spirit. (www.KimberlyCain.com)

Reena, thank you for your wonderful website & for the interview! Blessings on all of your endeavors.

******************************

Kimberly Brown Cain is an intuitive spiritual guide, author, speaker & performing artist. Performing as Frankly Scarlet with sister, Kelly Brown, she has opened for artists such as David Bowie and shared the stage with Sarah McLachlan (Lilith Fair), and others. She has received songwriting awards from Billboard and Musician Magazines.

Heaven is Kimberly's first novel. While writing to a background of her favorite music, she realized how integral it was to the feel of the novel & the idea was born for an accompanying CD.

Find out more about Kimberly Cain, her music, and novel on her website and blog.

A Round of Words in 80 Days #ROW80 – Update 5

So I broke up my #ROW80 goals into months. Let's see how I did for January and see about a rollover plan for February.

January:

Market Shadow Cat. I worked my butt off in this area. I'm satisfied I've done what I could. If Shadow Cat sinks or fails, it's not because I haven't put forth an effort. I think really, it just needs time for reviews to come out and the cover to become familiar to folks. Plus, I need to get another work out there.
Write the Sex scene for Control Freak: Regina's Story. I totally failed this, but I'm learning something about myself. I just don't like the stress of creating sex scenes. It's not that I'm embarrassed about them. It's more that I put so much pressure on myself. I want every sex scene to be unique and exciting. But in my mind, there's only so much one can do before it because repetitious. And honestly, I skip over a lot of sex scenes when I read. So why am I trying to write erotica when it doesn't keep me interested? Anyway, I have the scene planned for Regina already, so her story is still a go. But I think after I finish the Striped Ones Series, I'm going to step away from erotica.


Do the first round of edits on Unprotected. I didn't finish this either. I started it, but that's it. I really need to finish this, because it's a work which really should get out to the public.


Continue to chip away at Stray Cat. (200+ words a day) I totally rocked this goal. Started at 20,235 according to last week. January 31, 2011 I was at 22,602.

Bonus Goal: Work on New Adult novel Maintaining 100+ words a day over at Word Count Union. This is on top of any other goals I have. I'm really liking it. I figured at 100 words a day, I'll finish this novel this year. Another goal I rocked! Last check-in I was at 22,626. As of today, I'm at 24,561. I'm totally loving this book.

**************************

So that brings us to the present.

February:

Work on Stray Cat

Basically just finish the draft I started. I ended January at 22,602 words. And my overall goal was to hit 50k. Honestly, I'm not sure if 50k is going to happen at this point. I have 4 chapters left before I finish the first draft. I still need to go back and fill in parts, though, so we'll see. Pros and cons to this. 1) It's already in novella territory so putting it into the world at this length isn't the end of the world. Right now, I'm envisioning 30-40k when all is said and done. 2) Less of a wait for folks waiting for the sequel to Shadow Cat Woot! 3) The first draft of the final book is written, so perhaps I can get them both out rather quickly. Double woot! 4) I really wanted it to be a full length novel. so that's a rather bummer for me.
In order to accomplish my goal of finishing Stray Cat (working title, by the way… I'm leaning towards "Chasing Shadows), I need to write 1k words a day. Day 1 I did well (1,106 words). Day 2, not so well (394 words). So I'm currently at 24,106.


Write the Sex scene for Control Freak: Regina's Story. I think the problem with this is it's a quickie thing to do. I need to come up with something measurable… choose a date to just do it.
Do the first round of edits on Unprotected. Same issue here. It's a quickie. One of those just do it kind of things.


March: TBD

Might work on Trinity's Awakening
Might edit Alley Cat


Bonus Goal: Work on New Adult novel

Maintaining 100+ words a day over at Word Count Union. This is on top of any other goals I have. I'm really liking it. I figured at 100 words a day, I'll finish this novel this year. Still going strong! Last check-in I was at 22,626. As of today, I'm at 24,561. Tonight I'm hoping to hit 25k even though my goal is just 100 words a day.

So that's it. I'm doing better with some goals than others.

For those of you who are interested in keeping track of ROW80 participants, head over to the linky.

No One Likes a Tease: Stray Cat (working title) Excerpt

If you're read Shadow Cat, you've heard of Mujur. His book is next, folks. I'm about 20k words into it right now and plan to finish the first draft next month. Over the next few Tuesday, I want to share a some scenes from the first chapter. Keep in mind, this is raw and not all the kinks are worked out, but it'll give you a taste of what's to come. Anyway. Chapter 1 Scene 1

Chapter 1

Six years earlier

Blood. So much of it. It coated Mujur's hands, running through the cracks of his palms. A thick drop fell, splattered on the woman's cheek, and fanned out resembling the spindly legs of a crimson spider. He wiped his hands along the forest floor, trying to cleanse himself of the glutinous fluid, but only succeeded in making a grimy mess as flakes of decayed leaves and earth stuck to his palms.

Scratches covered her body, deep enough to flay open her skin, but none of them mortal wounds. Only the most recent, a deep gash raked along her side which oozed the dark, red liquid and formed a puddle around her body as it seeped into the ground—that was what ended it all. Her wide glazed, fish-like eyes fixated beyond him. An expression of terror etched on her face for all eternity.

"She was over here last I saw her," a voice said in the distance.

Mujur jumped to his feet. His heart pounded as he focused on the voices drawing closer. He took one last glance at the mutilated body partially hidden in the bushes and ran. Only a few strides later a man stepped from behind a tree. Driven by momentum, Mujur barreled into him, rebounded, and fell to the ground.

The man, a fellow wehr-tiger, towered over him. One corner of his mouth raised in a sneer revealing dingy teeth stained red from betel nuts. "You're not going anywhere."

Mujur scrambled backward.

The man lumbered forward, his corpulent body swaying, and shoved a heavy foot into Mujur's side.

The air whooshed from Mujur's lungs with a grunt. He doubled over, gasping for air as he crawled away. A dull thud, then an explosion of pain behind his eyes halted his progress, and he sunk to the ground.

"You find anything, Gemuk?" someone asked.

"Over this way," the fat wehr-tiger said, his voice barely audible as the haze surrounding Mujur faded to black.

**********************************

[image error]Don't miss out on the story which started it all. Shadow Cat is available on Smashwords, Amazon, and Barnes & Nobles. Add Shadow Cat to your Goodreads list.

Six years earlier

Blood. So much of it. It coated Mujur's hands, running through the cracks of his palms. A thick drop fell, splattered on the woman's cheek, and fanned out resembling the spindly legs of a crimson spider. He wiped his hands along the forest floor, trying to cleanse himself of the glutinous fluid, but only succeeded in making a grimy mess as flakes of decayed leaves and earth stuck to his palms.

Scratches covered her body, deep enough to flay open her skin, but none of them mortal wounds. Only the most recent, a deep gash raked along her side which oozed the dark, red liquid and formed a puddle around her body as it seeped into the ground—that was what ended it all. Her wide glazed, fish-like eyes fixated beyond him. An expression of terror etched on her face for all eternity.

"She was over here last I saw her," a voice said in the distance.

Mujur jumped to his feet. His heart pounded as he focused on the voices drawing closer. He took one last glance at the mutilated body partially hidden in the bushes and ran. Only a few strides later a man stepped from behind a tree. Driven by momentum, Mujur barreled into him, rebounded, and fell to the ground.

The man, a fellow wehr-tiger, towered over him. One corner of his mouth raised in a sneer revealing dingy teeth stained red from betel nuts. "You're not going anywhere."

Mujur scrambled backward.

The man lumbered forward, his corpulent body swaying, and shoved a heavy foot into Mujur's side.

The air whooshed from Mujur's lungs with a grunt. He doubled over, gasping for air as he crawled away. A dull thud, then an explosion of pain behind his eyes halted his progress, and he sunk to the ground.

"You find anything, Gemuk?" someone asked.

"Over this way," the fat wehr-tiger said, his voice barely audible as the haze surrounding Mujur faded to black.

Guest Post: Terrance Foxxe ~ The Budding Writer (Part 4)

You've reached the final part of Terrance Foxxe's series, the Budding Writer. If you missed the first two posts, have a look see (Part I , Part II, and Part IIII).

Lessons from a Twenty Year, Almost Career (Part IV)
by
Terrance Foxxe

"It's not what you say, but how you say it."

Bullshit!

It is what you say, and how you say it!

Writing well is the key. Creating an exciting story that's exciting to read is the key. The lock that key goes into is writing well. Keys are shaped to fit locks. Locks are mechanisms. You can learn to understand the mechanism, but if you study the lock, can you tell what shape the key must take? Try saying all that three times real fast.

Technique. Form. Dedication. All of this can be learned by those wishing to learn it. Don't sweat it. Not yet. Don't ignore it, either.

As I said, my first novel had some great ideas in it. The plot was simple. Good vs. evil. What my characters did and said moved my plot along. How they acted, reacted, how they reacted to other's actions and reactions, all brought me, and them, to the end of the book.

I added to it where I thought it lacked, thinking all the time how I could get more excitement into the story. I took away all I thought didn't belong, hoping what I was removing was the boredom. It still lacked something. It was tenderly tucked into my file drawer with one or two regrets I quickly swallowed. There was a moment of depression I immediately gulped down, too. I'm a writer, and there is no time for mental masochism.

I dumped whatever I felt about it out of my mind and wrote my second novel. Again, horror. Good against evil. This time something was different. This time I ignored the much touted writing advice from all of my books, and let everything I was vomit out my fingertips, and had a lot of fun doing it. I wrote what I wanted to read, how I wanted to read it. This time I did something right. I wrote a good book.

My novel was full of gritty real-life drama. It didn't pull punches. I hit below the belt when it came to my character's reality. I had made my horror, real. Some passages bordered just this side of being pornographic, but reality, the reality I built for my characters, was art. Any fellow writer who I could convince to read the story gushed over its brilliance. They weren't yanking my chain. They would have told me, diplomatically, if it had sucked.

Writers dedicated to the craft are like that, by the way. They love good reads just as much as you do. They love pointing out your mistakes, even when they misunderstand your intentions, and you must forgive them, because they are trying to help you. Most want to tell you things without hurting your feelings, because they don't like getting their feelings hurt when they, in turn, show you something of theirs that bites.

Nope, my second novel did what I set out for it to do. In 1995 Leisure Books looked at it for eight months, then turned it down. A very agreeable, handwritten rejection letter. Everybody else sent the form rejection letter within the specified time limit. But, that letter from Leisure Books told me something, even if I had to read between the lines to figure out what it was.

I had a book with potential, it caught someone's attention, but they eventually turned it down. I set it to the side for a while because I had to. I figured I was too close to the problem. When I did pick up the manuscript again, six months later, the answer hit me upside the head, hard.

I screwed myself to the wall by not producing a highly polished manuscript, and I mean that high-gloss foot-deep shine. I was an unpublished nobody from Iowa, of all places, with a less than perfect manuscript. I cut my own throat.

The manuscript was as rough as sandpaper, and needed a lot of top-coat polishing. It was up to me to have a mistake-free manuscript, and I failed. I failed myself. The problems I ran into were many. I was relying too much on my word processing program. Bare, bear. I can't bear a bear with a bare butt. Get it? I now bracket words I'm not sure of as I edit, and run my manuscripts through three independent word programs. I double-check everything again with a freakishly big dictionary, that human factor, relying on me to catch what the machinery or software didn't.

Indie Authors, take note. I had a great story, but I had a badly written book. An author with a badly written but great story isn't going anywhere. Your readers will judge you, and your sales are their verdict.

Where was I? Yes. I applied this same simple principle of writing heart and soul to all of my short stories. I wrote what I wanted to read. I had fun. I cleaned up my punctuation, my grammar, the gaps in my logic, and I did that for every short story and novel I wrote. I added to them where I thought they lacked, and took away all I thought didn't belong. I fixed all I could fix, and made sure my stories were as perfect and exciting as possible. More rejection slips arrived, but I also received a few acceptance slips. I made some money, too.

Talent.

Some people have natural talent. Most can learn.

I love to read, but made the mistake of not reading anything when I was writing. I didn't want what I was reading to influence my writing. Well, the flaw in that logic is published words from talented writers will influence your own words. You want that to happen. You need to learn from those who came before. It's a good thing. That's how you can build up your own talent.

********************************

[image error]

Novella Review: Forsaken by Shadow by Kait Nolan

I've wanted to read Forsaken by Shadow by Kait Nolan for some time now. My interest perked after reading Hush Money by Susan Bischoff (review here), which I LOVED. I figured with the two of them as critique partners, I was in for something worthy. Last month I won a copy from Stacey Wallace Benefiel, giving no excuse to put it off. I finally got around to it. So the blurb from Ms. Nolan's website:

Cade Shepherd is on top of the world as this year's Ultimate Fighting Champion. He doesn't even remember his life as Gage Dempsey, a Shadow Walker with the ability to magically transport himself from shadow to shadow. In fact, he can't remember anything before waking up in a cheap motel room ten years ago with mysterious burns on his hands–not even the woman he almost died for.

Embry Hollister has picked up the pieces of her life, learned to control her ability to generate flame, and now works an enforcer for the Council of Races. But when her father is captured by the human military and the Council refuses mount a rescue mission, Embry has no choice but to go rogue. All she has to is find the man with the new name and new life who was completely wronged by her people, give him back the memories they stole, convince him to join her on what's probably a suicide mission, and hope that after ten years of living as a regular guy he still remembers what her father taught him.

And after that, she just has to leave him. Again.

This was one of those novellas I didn't read the blurb about. haha Honestly, I still haven't, let me do that now. Okay. Done.

First off, I have to say Forsaken by Shadow had an awesome set up. Chapter 1 begins with Cade Shepard (age 23) waking up, not knowing who he was, and trying to piece a life together–quite a bold plot. I had no idea what to expect, and neither did Cade. I was thrilled to have my first young male protagonist. I quickly learned chapter 1 was more of a prologue, occurring 10 years earlier from the rest of the novella and not giving any pertinent info which wasn't revealed later. I have to admit, I was rather bummed since that put my young male protagonist at a ripe ole age of 33. I think time clues at the beginning of the first two chapters would have curbed a bit of disappointment. I didn't realize the story had a 10 year gap until deeper into chapter 2. Guess that's what I get for skipping the blurb, right?

So I got over my sadness of little Cade growing into a man and got full swing into the story. Cade reminded me a lot of Downey in the Sherlock Holmes movie. He seemed to anticipate future moves. Not sure if it was an supernatural ability or just his natural ability to guess how things would go. The novella never really went into that. I did like Cade. He was a friendly sort of chap and made friends wherever he went. The guy knew his limits and was quite practical at times even when pushed by Embry.

Embry wasn't so bad either. She was the wild card in this story. Headstrong, reckless–I never knew when she'd screw things up. She's the type of gal who needs a handler so she doesn't get into too much trouble. A lot of times I didn't understand Embry. She really frustrated me with her secretiveness. I couldn't figure out why she wasn't more forthcoming with her information. She had everything Cade wanted–his past… his affection. The girl was a mystery to me. But I guess some folks are like that. As the reader, I would have liked to be a bit deeper in her head. Most of the time I knew as much as Cade when I was in her POV. It made it difficult to connect with her as a character, at least early in the story.

Plot wise! Their plan was so mission impossible. All I could think about is, how are they going to pull this off. Even Cade AKA Gage knew the plan sucked, which totally rocked cause it kept me wondering what's next.

Overall, I thought this was an okay read. I liked the idea of different supernatural creatures, though I never got a clear definition of what the Mirus species was. I'm thinking it's all supernatural creatures, but the term species makes me think they're related in a scientific classification kind of way. There were a few plot holes in my mind and a bit of missing information. I think this work could have benefited from a bit more fleshing in some areas, but all in all, it was a fun read.

Guest Post: Terrance Foxxe ~ The Budding Writer (Part 3)

Welcome to part 3 of Terrance Foxxe's series, the Budding Writer. If you missed the first two posts, have a look see (Part I and Part II). And don't forget to return tomorrow for the wrap-up post.

Lessons from a Twenty Year, Almost Career (Part III)
by
Terrance Foxxe

Anyway, I jammed through my first novel, and was so happy to get it done, I sent it off to all the big publishing houses all at the same time. It cost me a small fortune in postage. Never again.

I did it! I wrote my first novel . . . and the overall story wasn't that bad. It had a lot of promise, but what did I know about polished words? I just knew I did it, used almost a ream of paper to do it with, and it all made sense in the end. I even waited until the last two pages to reveal the true face of my monster. I thought it kicked shit all the way to Shinola. I couldn't have been more wrong.

Between my first novel and a dozen short stories that year, I had fifty or more rejection slips. That's when I took everything I had to date and put it in a drawer. I knew I was doing something wrong, but I didn't know what it was. Like most of you out there today, there was nobody around I could ask for help.

My collection of How To books grew. Literary dandelions. My How To medley now stands at 35 books. It took all that for me to figure out what I was doing wrong, and what I was doing right. I read good How To books, and bad How To books. I'll list the good How To books in a coming post, if you want to know them or buy them. I have no deals with any of their publishers. I'm giving you this information freely, as an opinion. My learned-da-hard-way opinion.

Every single one of my "How To" books can tell you what is, in their words, the right thing to do. Some dry reading, to be sure. Many include writing exercises you can use to improve your skills. They all give examples of what not to do, but they don't go in-depth. Everybody learns from their mistakes. It's human nature. God knows I certainly learned from mine.

I'm going to expose myself like an unashamed flasher. You get to read about and learn from my mistakes. Chances are, these are the same mistakes you're bashing your head into the wall about, and drywall is a pain to replace.

Writing is a craft. It's an art form. It's not what you say, but how you say it. Writing well is the key. Technique. Form. Talent. Dedication. Blah, blah, blah.

I believed this nonsense. And it is nonsense. Others will argue this statement to the death, but for me this declaration rings true. It's nonsense, up to a point. Where does it stop being nonsense, you ask? Read on and figure it out on your own. You see, the answers are different for us all. My conclusions will not necessarily be yours.

"Getting published is easy. Writing well is hard." – Gary Provost.

My ass. Getting published by the big boys is hell-on-wheels in this day and age, and writing well is much easier than you think.

There is a Catch 22 when it comes to getting published by the big boys. I bumped heads with it for years. It is: You have to be published, in order to get published. Or, to put it another way; you don't have any credits until you get published, and publishers want to see your credits before they risk publishing you. And on and on and on.

A nasty, endless circle of twisted logic that really doesn't make any sense. You see, me and several of my writing friends have great credits. Published many times at the semi-pro and pro level, and we got nowhere. When it became truly possible to bypass the clearinghouse, fee-charging self-publishers, I decided to take the Indie Author path. I'm much happier these days, despite doubling my workload.

The fact is, within monolithic publishing, crap sells. I don't know why, but it does. Agents and publishers know this. Think Snookie, Paris's dog, and so many others.

Great books, wonderful stories, they get turned down every freaking day. The gatekeepers think only in dollars. If they think they can make money off of you, lots of money, you're in. But, they don't know what will sell oodles of books. They simply follow trends, and then they beat those same trends to death.

With us, thinking publishing as a business, and you're one of those people who think your finished first novel is gold, good to go; do yourself a favor and put it in a drawer for six months. Don't touch it, don't even think about it. Six months. Write another novel. At the end of that six months pull it out and read it again. If you still think you have gold, and be truthful, without having to rework almost every page for some reason or another, do whatever it takes. But, like I said, be truthful to yourself, first and foremost.

Twenty years of reading everything I could get my grubby hands on about writing and publishing has taught me a lot. It taught me even the best storytellers out there today may never, ever, get a contract. Future Pulitzer Prize winners may never see print by monolithic publishing, until after they win a Pulitzer. Indie Authors, some of us are magnificent storytellers. We care about our readers. We care enough to try to be the best there is out there today, in content and quality. Not getting published by monolithic publishing means nothing in terms of the quality of our stories. Nothing!

Return tomorrow for Part 4.

********************************

Terrance Foxxe is crazy enough to share everything he knows about catering to readers, because readers matter most to the Indie Author of today, and tomorrow. He had two books published under his real name, only to discover publishers really suck. After being drawn and quartered, royally ripped off and then some, plus more, he is the Indie author of A Post-apocalyptic Story of Love, $2.99 USD for the Kindle. Link provided. He's now a happy man. Buy his book. Read it. Write a review.

A Post-apocalyptic Story of Love is available at Amazon.

He blogs at http://terrancefoxxe.blogspot.com/

Guest Post: Terrance Foxxe ~ The Budding Writer (Part 2)

If you missed Part I of Terrance Foxxe's series for the Budding Writer, definitely head over for a look see (post here). Tomorrow he'll have more on his life lessons, so be sure to return.:)

Lessons from a Twenty Year, Almost Career (Part 2)
by
Terrance Foxxe

So . . .

Jump right in and write what sells. Do it cold. Don't bother learning the rules, they don't mean a thing. You just sit yourself down and start churning out novels or short stories.

I did that.

You hear all the time about writers cashing freakishly enormous checks, just for sitting around in their undies, drinking the beverage of their choice while they create worlds with words. I want in on that. I'm not ashamed to say so. I want to sit in my boxers, drink coffee, inventing literary wonders. Twenty years back I believed I was a natural, and could be the instant winner in big name publishing's lotto. My very first novel, and millions of dollars would be mine. Just send it in and wait for instant recognition, and all those who inhabit the literary landscape to kneel at my feet, praising my talent.

Didn't I say I was stupid?

God knows I've spent years reading books and magazines of all kinds. Non-fiction, genre fiction, you name it. I like to read. I understood the written word as it existed in the past, and as it exists today. I considered myself to be an intelligent sophisticated man. I spent years tweaking advertising copy for small businesses and large corporations. I was an Art Director, and a Marketing Coordinator. I was an "in" man. The corporate (nerd) life was mine for the taking, but I wanted more. I needed more. Deep down inside I needed more. I had a dream I wanted to follow. I thought I could jump right into the writing world with my shoes on. Roll up a lot of self-confidence and determination into a hard tight ball, and start choking it down without the wine of reason to guzzle.

I could do it. I knew I could do it. Live writing, breathe writing, eat, sleep, drink writing. And the genre I loved the most was horror.

Science fiction was cool, fantasy rocked, but I loved to be scared. Horror it was. I was going to be the next Stephen King, Dean Koontz, the next Peter Straub. I wanted to pass Clive Barker on the fame and fortune expressway like he was standing still. And then horror as a paying genre went phuuttt! Most writers of horror turned to the small presses, while the biggest names, and only the biggest names, continued on as if nothing happened. Some horror authors started their own companies to produce their own work (and friend's work) as limited editions. I didn't know it then, but that was the very first indicator that big name publishing had basically slit its own throat. The midlist was dying to dead in a few short years. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Computers were well out of my price range way back then. Bills pile up in my house too, you know. I did find a Personal Word Processor within my budget and bought it. An over-glorified typewriter. It could format the page, save everything onto a floppy disc, and I loved it's most important feature . . . Spellcheck™! What more could a man of my unlimited potential ask for? I could add to or delete from any file on a whim, save the changes to disc, and get past my personal Kryptonite, my inability to spell big words. I understood them, but couldn't spell them.

I bought the machine, picked up some discs, set it up in my own little nesting spot in the basement, and read just enough of the directions to get started. I kept the "Quick Look" reference guide handy at all times. "Control" plus the scroll button for down would always take me to where I wanted to be.

Like a gleeful deity I created all that pleased me. The power was absolutely amazing. My dreams and thoughts, my soul, all were appearing before my eyes like magic. I jammed keys throughout the week and on into weekend, and saved a hundred pages of my very first novel. I could hardly sleep. There were times I woke up in the wee hours with an idea, and had to get it down on paper for the next day. Then I'd lay there, trying desperately to get back to sleep. Day jobs are annoyingly unforgiving.

I fashioned characters, breathed into them life, and killed them one by one as I applauded their demise in ways I thought unique, laughing manically between cups of stout joe. It was when I wanted to review what I had at the end of that first week, thinking I may be able to add more blood and chills to the pages, when I found out my wonderful new tool couldn't save more than five full pages of text to a file!

I had pages 1, 2, 3 . . . . . . . . . . . 99, 100.

Oh yeah, it hurt.

I sat down to start over a week later. It took me that long to figure out if I wanted to continue on this corrupting path.

Two weeks after that I understood half the quirks my PWP was capable of, but my PWP never failed to surprise me. I think it lived Murphy's Law to the letter, and did so just to piss me off. What can go wrong, will go wrong, usually at the most inopportune time. The worst problem was, I would add to a paragraph on page two, and a line of text would vanish from page four. I took it back to have it repaired twice, and the third time they gave me a new machine. Nothing had changed. I blame the programmers.

My computer and me, we have an understanding. I treat it nice, it treats me nice. I also burn backup copies of every file I make or edit onto three separate flash drives. One sits in the house, one goes wherever I go, and one sits outside the house in a bank, just in case. Make a change, back it up. Start a story, back it up. Rotate the flash drives once a month. I don't lose words or time. And if, God forbid, your hard drive gives up the ghost, you won't have to start all over from square one. I learned that the hard way too. And no, I don't want to get into it. The memories are too painful.

Never underestimate the many and unique ways things can go wrong. Murphy's Law is a fact of life.

Return tomorrow for Part 3.

********************************

Terrance Foxxe is crazy enough to share everything he knows about catering to readers, because readers matter most to the Indie Author of today, and tomorrow. He had two books published under his real name, only to discover publishers really suck. After being drawn and quartered, royally ripped off and then some, plus more, he is the Indie author of A Post-apocalyptic Story of Love, $2.99 USD for the Kindle. Link provided. He's now a happy man. Buy his book. Read it. Write a review.

A Post-apocalyptic Story of Love is available at Amazon.

He blogs at http://terrancefoxxe.blogspot.com/

Glynis Smy Interviews Me on Her Blog

So I've been so busy today. I just decided to check my e-mail. And guess what? Glynis Smy, writer and poet, posted the interview she did with me on her blog. Head over and find out whom I'd go to dinner with. Yeah… not all to inventive, but still. Still looking for your copy of Shadow Cat? Enter the giveaway she's hosting.

And if you haven't already, check out the guest post Terrance Foxxe did here today.