D. Michelle Gent's Blog, page 5

This is disturbing...

There's no wonder that new writers are finding it so very difficult to get even a sniff of a ladder, let alone one foot on the thing!
This article disturbs me.
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/uk/article669160.ece
I think that this practice needs to be seriously looked at! How on earth can new Publishing Houses compete with those kind of shenanigans?
As a writer that is going to Self-Publish, how can I get my book into those shops? The answer is, I can't.
My book may not make the Best Sellers lists but would it have made it there if this kind of thing wasn't happening?
How many really great books are not getting a fair crack of the whip just because the Publisher simply cannot afford to purchase this kind of advertising - and that's exactly what it is - Advertising!
It's like the 'Infomercials' on TV - They should be clearly labelled that they are NOT independently reviewed but bought and paid for!
The public are being shepherded into buying books that are 'great reads' and 'unputdownable page-turners' when in reality they haven't even been read in some cases!
How many times have you bought a book on a store recommendation or because the author is well-known and published lots and then read it, and thought "What a load of rubbish! I could do better!"? I know I have - I did!
It's WRONG and it should be stopped!
Rant over... more later.

Introducing...

I'd like to introduce you to the first Werewolf in my book 'Deadlier'
"Fuck this," he growled, "you need a fright to get you going!"
With that, he let go of her coat and stood upright, away from her and the wall that he had been trapping her against. He half hoped she would try to make an attempt at escape now that he had let her go.
His full height of six feet, two inches was impressive, as was his body which was sleek and toned under his silk shirt. Her eyes were locked on his as his entire face began to alter. The skin and muscles were independent of the bone structure beneath yet were following the same path. His features rippled as his skin then began to change its texture. He knew what he looked like, he'd spent time practicing this - just like a wanna-be pop star does.
Though rather than dancing around the bedroom with the obligatory make-believe microphone, he had instead watched his own transformation. He had studied this process, studying his own face in the mirror countless times until he had perfected this elaborate and terrifying metamorphosis. He had worked hard for each of his victim's benefit, making their ordeal as shocking as possible – after all, it would be their last experience.
His forehead changed and flattened - as did the slope of his cranium - the hairline moving forward. At the same instant, his mouth began to protrude from his face, bringing the nose with it and elongating his jaw. The teeth moved by themselves to fill the new jaw, they became longer and pointed – a visible and lethal sharpness as his lips drew back from them. His hairline was continuing forward - like water burbling over shale - down his face, changing texture as it enveloped skin. It passed over his jaw line and down his throat on into the open collar of his shirt. His eyes turned from dark brown to preternatural yellow as the hair sprouted along his lengthened nose. Then as the transformation of his face had finished, his tongue, glistening with saliva, touched the tip of one front fang in a final and theatrical gesture.
The face of the full moon watched over this horrifying tableau and still the woman's gaze never faltered.
He stood still and quiet for a moment and then, pride and arrogance gleaming in his eyes, continued to set the scene for her.
"I need no introduction; you can see exactly what I am. I belong with the dark terrors that reside in the back of your mind. I am the embodiment of what you humans hope does not exist and try to convince yourselves so, yet still fear is real. I am a Werewolf! My kind have inhabited your stories and nightmares for centuries, you delight in the telling and re-telling of stories which scare you to death and what happens when you encounter such a being? Do you revel in the experience? No, you scream and plead and beg for it not to be so. Well, I fulfil my part of the bargain; I want you to honour your part. All you need to do is make a break for it; your flesh will taste so much better if you pump adrenalin into it." His voice sounded deeper because of his distorted vocal chords.

One more taster...

A man and a woman arrived at the bar just as Red turned back around. Claire spoke to Red before she did the couple, as she knew Red had been waiting, albeit with her back to the bar.

"Oi! We were here first!" The woman shouted at Claire. Then it was Red's turn to raise her eyebrow in surprise. "You fucking served her before us last time!" She continued her tirade.

Again, Red shrugged, combined with a gesture that said to serve them first – just for the sake of peace, but Claire didn't suffer fools gladly. The man barked his drinks order at Claire "Bottle of Bud, Vodka 'n' Coke, two Aftershocks!"

"Please." Claire helped him with his manners. In answer he sneered at her.

Claire arrived back with a bottle for Red before getting their drinks, but Red was still watching the dancing, only half-aware of the fuss at the side of her. Claire tapped Red's shoulder with the bottle and turned to get Mr & Ms No-manners their order. Red had her hand in her front pocket getting the money out for when Claire got back when the woman at the side of her said to her boyfriend "That arrogant bitch needs pulling down a peg or two!"

Red glanced in their direction as he nodded his agreement. Claire handed them their drinks and took a tenner from him. She collected Red's money at the same time. Claire watched astonished as the woman tipped her drink down Red's arm.

The first Red realised of this was that her arm was cold and wet. Red was incredulous as she looked at her dripping arm, then at the woman. She could see by the look on her face that it was no accident.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" The woman said, jerking her head forward with blunt aggression.

Red turned her whole body to face her, she was cool and calm as she switched the bottle from her right to her left hand. She looked again at her wet arm then brushed the liquid from it with her right hand. She brought it up again as if to repeat the motion but instead she snapped her hand back to catch the woman a back-hander across her mouth. The woman staggered a couple of steps towards the dance floor and her boyfriend didn't miss a beat and punched Red in the face. He caught her below the eye, just on the top of her cheekbone.

Red dropped the bottle and grabbed hold of his throat with her left hand. Her right hand was pulled back, claws already replacing fingernails; instinct was too close to the surface because of the alcohol and caution was abandoned. The music didn't stop but the dancing did, or at least it moved away from where the trouble was starting. The toes of the man's shoes were now barely touching the floor. Both hands were scrabbling on Red's hand, trying to break her grip. His eyeballs were starting to protrude. The doormen had responded to Claire hitting the panic button and were running in. Red registered all of this yet she was taking no notice of it. She was just ready to strike with her right hand when…