Cardeno C.'s Blog, page 23
April 5, 2018
New Release by Felice Stevens
Many of you may have heard my Facebook account was suspended and I am in "Facebook jail" for thirty days until April 27th. That's a long freaking time. It's a pain but it wouldn't be SO bad if I didn't have two releases coming.
One book, Austin, just released the other day. It's 99 cents and in KU. It has a little bit of a cliffhanger, but honestly, it isn't THAT bad. Honest.
One book, Austin, just released the other day. It's 99 cents and in KU. It has a little bit of a cliffhanger, but honestly, it isn't THAT bad. Honest.
The Power of Pause
This week, I, Rayna Cole, your usual host, have something to share about what I've learned as a narrator and producer. I'm also taking my own advice in a way and giving the guys a week off. For sake of argument, we'll ignore the fact that I know full well they will spend the time they're not writing by recording more books.
I came in to audiobook narration with a built-in instinctive fear of "dead air." That's the first rule of broadcasting, right? Fill the silence, hold the audience's attention, your voice is the story. But the goal is not to rapid fire stack up lines like logs in a lumber-yard. Each word on the page is more than a specific sequence of sounds, it is a moment in the story. Each word is an integral part of the performance and must be given its due in weight and tone. This concept is hard enough to grasp and apply to the obvious vocal aspects of narration, but then, there's the pause...
The pause is uncomfortable, right? It's that endless moment of awkwardness at a family dinner party right after someone has said too much, and now there's nothing safe to say. It's those layers of tension
that build while we rush to fill the silence with trite conversational rubbish.The pause can be pregnant or respectful, it can be for effect, it can mark the power of a preceding phrase, it can echo ominously with import that conveys more than any spoken word, and it can be a moment in the narrative for the character (and the narrator) to collect our collective literal and figurative breaths. It can be that for the listener as well, a cue, a clue, a nudge in the direction the author intended, a breathless moment when the pieces come together in the mind and the mystery is solved, and in the pause is a shared acknowledgement of that success. The pause is piece and part of the narrative, and it enhances the enjoyment of the story. Narrations where the pause is neglected seem disconcertingly false to the ear and tend toward droning in their regularity, and this is what must be avoided, not those spaces in between.
And now that I've had a moment to pause and reflect, this is one of those parable lessons about life that seem like so much common sense, but have to be forcibly reinforced every so often. I know as a small business owner, I certainly need to remember to take time to let go of the stess-hectic mindset, and I know everyone has their own version of the trials of every day life and the front of mind focus that seems so ASAP urgent. With the constant, instant audio and visual distractions, social media, politics and deadlines, it is all too easy to get caught up in the fast forward and forget to pause. We need the pause to catch our breath and make sense of all the action. We need to pause to appreciate the story. We need to pause in our pursuit of happiness to occasionally just be happy. See you next week with more on audiobooks. Have a happy day!Find Rayna Cole and Falcon Sound Company on Facebook, or at www.falconsoundccompany.com
Check out these newest romances from Falcon Sound Company!
"A Baby for the Firefighter," by Ann-Katrin Byrde, and narrated by John Solo.
"High Test," by Elizabeth Noble is our new release from our newest narrator, Colin Darcy,
April 3, 2018
Short story love from BA, Julia, Kiernan and Sean and .69 cent stories!
Hey y'all!
Starting next week, the four of us will be putting up short stories, old and new, on our self-pub retail outlet, Evil Plot Bunny. (www.evilplotbunny.com)
In honor of that, we went ahead and did some Q&A about short stories!
Here are the Q's
Do you like short stories?
Who's your favorite short story writer?
What's the hardest thing about writing shorts?
What's the best thing about them?
And the A's
BA Tortuga
Do I like short stories? God, yes. Love them. They're a glorious art form all on their own.
My favorite short story writer is Stephen King. (The Boogeyman, OMG)
The hardest thing about writing short is not falling for the character so hard that you need to write a novel about him/her. The best thing is that you can visit that one idea that's never going to get out otherwise. Also, it's a great way to break into another genre/publishing house.
Julia Talbot
I love short stories. I love the encapsulated feel of them and the skill it takes to write a story and not just a vignette.
My favorite shorts writer is Shirley Jackson. She has this great sense of dread and can make you afraid to turn the page.
The hardest thing is making the story complete, with a beginning, middle and happy ending.
The best thing about them is they're like single serving romances. And I love seeing 5 or more authors doing the same theme and how different all the stories are.
Kiernan Kelly
I love short stories so much when they're done well!
Some of my favorite shorts are by Stephen King, Richard Matheson, and Robert McCammon. I'm also a sucker for Shirley Jackson's The Lottery.
The hardest thing about writing them is world building. You need to encapsulate everything in as few words as possible while still making sure readers are fully immersed in the universe you've created (easier to do when writing in an established universe; not do much in an original one).
I love getting whole, fully fleshed stories in bite sized pieces. They're great for when you're pressed for time or need a quick pick me up.
Sean Michael
Yes, I like short stories.
My favorite short story writer is Stephen King. He has a knack for fitting everything the story needs into that short format.
The hardest thing about writing shorts is being able to fit everything into the short format so that it has all the information needed and is interesting and feels complete. And also being able to write something that feels complete.
Some characters don’t have a full novel in them, or even a novella and there is something very satisfying in being able to put together a short story over something longer and make it work.
So be sure to check out Evil Plot Bunny for .69 short stories, starting next week!
Visit our websites:
Sean's is http://www.seanmichaelwrites.com
Julia’s is http://www.juliatalbot.com
BA’s is http://www.batortuga.com
Kiernan's is www.KiernanKelly.com
Facebook:
Sean -- https://www.facebook.com/SeanMichaelW...
Julia -- https://www.facebook.com/juliatalbota...
BA -- https://www.facebook.com/batortuga
Kiernan -- https://www.facebook.com/kiernan.kelly
March 31, 2018
Bookbub Special Price By S.C. Wynne
Good Morning!
The first book in my psychic detective series, Shadow's Edge, is only 99 cents right now, and will go back up on Monday. I wanted to give you a heads up in case you haven't had a chance to read book one just yet. Grab it while you can!
AMAZON US
OTHER VENDORS
Blurb:
Blurb:Liam Baker can see things. Dead people like to visit him and tell them how they were wronged. Some might call it a gift, other’s a curse. But either way this ability makes him useful to Los Angeles homicide detective Kimball Thompson.
Some madman is slitting the throats of young male prostitutes and then dumping their bodies in the desert with vague clues of pink feathers and the number five. Usually Liam can talk to the spirits of the dead. But someone is blocking him. Someone is taunting him.
The case is rapidly deteriorating into a violent, psychic pissing contest and Liam can’t see far enough ahead to figure out who wins or who dies.
EXCERPT:
“Why do you always bring me to Sal’s?” I glanced around at the dark paneled walls and dusty Bud Light lamps hanging over the vinyl booths. There was a group of cops sitting at the bar, and the looks they gave me weren’t exactly welcoming. “Don’t you know any other bars?”
Thompson smiled and touched the small of my back, but then quickly pulled his hand away and said, “Sorry.” I wasn’t sure if he was apologizing for bringing me to this dump or because he’d touched me.“Seriously, would it kill you if we talked about the case at an Applebee’s sometime?” I grumbled and slid into the usual dingy booth.Thompson cocked his head, considering me for a moment. “You don’t like it here?”“Are you serious?” I tilted my head toward his coworkers. “These guys think I’m a fake. You know that, right?”He bugged his eyes. “Shut the fuck up. You’ve solved five dead files in the last three months. They don’t think that.”I snorted. “They think it’s luck.”“Nah. That’s just Perrell that thinks that.”“No. You’re wrong.”“Well, then they’re all crazy. Some of those cases were twenty years old. Why did the luck only kick in when you arrived on the scene?” He waved at the waitress and she made a beeline. He had a certain quiet authority about him that people seemed to respond to.“Usual, loves?” Belinda asked, pulling out her pad. I suspected she’d been working at Sal’s as long as the grimy lamps had been here. In fact, I wasn’t sure the place had another waitress. She was probably only in her thirties, but she looked older, as if life had been rough and sucked a decade from her. I’d sensed a few abusive boyfriends and crying jags from her since we met. But I tried not to read her very often. It was too depressing.Thompson nodded and then said, “Bring a couple of tequila shots while you’re at it.”“My, my, someone’s having a rough night.” She sauntered away, wiggling her plump hips. I noticed Thompson’s gaze didn’t linger on her.He laced his fingers together on the table. “So you think the perp is a psychic?”“I know he is.” That signal had been as clear as a beacon. He’d wanted us to know, and that made me nervous. “He threw us a bone because we aren’t even close.”“Why would he do that?”Shrugging, I said, “He thinks he’s smarter than us.” I smirked. “He’s probably right.”“Yeah, but giving us clues makes it more likely we’ll catch his ass.”“He doesn’t see it that way.”The drinks arrived and Belinda set my club soda in front of me with a wink. “Hope you’re not driving.”I smiled politely. For the last three months, every time she’d set my nonalcoholic drink down she’d blessed me with a witty comment. I was used to people ragging on me for not drinking. But little did they know it was for their own good. I tended to get in arguments with my ethereal visitors when I had a few too many. And since I was a lightweight when it came to booze, one was sometimes too many.Thompson pushed one of the shot glasses toward me. “Drink up.”Scowling, I shook my head. “No.”He leaned forward and his light gaze was serious. “One drink isn’t going to kill you.”“Why do you want me to drink?”He shrugged. “I want you to loosen up a little. You’re wound as tight as the queen at an IRA meeting.”I laughed in spite of myself. “I’m not that fun when I’m loose. You need to trust me on this.”“I’m not saying get wasted. It’s one shot.” His smile was warm and coaxing. He usually reserved that charm for reluctant witnesses and his captain. “Come on. I want to get to know you better.”You do?The cops at the bar were looking over and sniggering every now and then. I was surprised Thompson didn’t seem to care. Most hardened macho cop types treated me like I had cooties. None of them were in a hurry to go out drinking with me that was for sure. I was lucky if they didn’t glare at me when I arrived at a crime scene. I wasn’t sure why they seemed to dislike me so much really. It wasn’t like I was after their jobs. Maybe it was simply that the unknown bothered them because they didn’t understand it.“Why?” I asked quietly.His brow wrinkled. “Why what?”I looked at the tequila shot and then back at him. “We’ve been solving cases together for three months. Why all of a sudden do you want to know me better?”He sipped his beer and fingered his untouched shot. Then he said, “We work together.”“So?”He shrugged and dropped his gaze. “Look, I should have taken the time long ago. But you’re kind of touchy and I didn’t bother for whatever reason.” He lifted his eyes to mine. “The more we work cases together, the more I realize I respect what you do. Because of that I want to know more about you. Is that a crime?”His sincerity was like a warm blanket as it washed over and through me. I shivered at the intensity of the feelings it drummed up in me. Confused by the strange sensations I was experiencing, I grabbed the shot and took a sip, coughing as the bitter liquid slid down my throat.He smiled and threw his shot back in one gulp. Then he licked his lips and that shiver rippled through me again. What the fuck was going on with me? My cock throbbed gently between my legs as he watched me intently. If I didn’t know better, I would say we were having a moment. A sexual moment. But this was Thompson and I didn’t have moments with guys like him. Or anyone for that matter lately.“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked softly.I just stared at him uncertain of what to say and hoping he couldn’t tell what was going on inside of me.He leaned back against the booth. “Why do you suppose Samuel didn’t talk to you tonight?”That was still bugging me too. “I’m not sure.” I touched my throat as I remembered the choking sensation that had come over me at the crime scene. It had almost felt as if the presence of the murderer was there instead of Samuel’s.“Has that ever happened before?”“You mean the dead person not talking to me part?”“Yeah.”“Sometimes if the body is moved from where the murder took place, it’s like the soul stays behind where they died.” I swallowed. “But from the amount of blood and…” I shook my head. “I think that was definitely the crime scene.”“Me too.” He cleared his throat. “Have you always had the ability to talk to…?”“Dead people?” I guess maybe he really was interested in who I was. “Yes. But it’s gotten stronger with age.”“I hate to picture you as a kid seeing the gruesome shit you do.” He bit his lip.“I didn’t. Well, at least not at first.” I swallowed hard. “I used to just get feelings about stuff. Like maybe someone was beside me when no one was there.”“Creepy.”“Yeah.” I sipped my shot some more, actually enjoying the heat that was settling in my stomach now. “Then I started actually seeing things that weren’t there. Or at least I was the only one who knew they were there.”“Like what?”I laughed. “There was this one guy, I think he was in a gang and his own guys popped him. He would hang outside the front of the Popeye’s Chicken in town, bitching about how he was betrayed and stuff. He was one of the first ones I really heard clearly.”Thompson grinned. “Popeye’s Chicken is delicious. If I ever get murdered, that’s where I’m hanging out too.”We held each other’s gaze, smiling a little longer than usual. I looked away first. “Anyway, I started noticing spirits more and more, especially the ones who died violently.” To be more accurate I should have said they started noticing me noticing them. It was as if the second they discovered I could see and hear them, they were desperate to tell me stuff. Sometimes I pretended I couldn’t hear them just so I could ignore them in peace.“And you didn’t have to touch anything of theirs to hear them?”I shook my head. “No. I think it’s because they’re reaching out to me.” I swallowed as I remembered the bloody visions of Samuel’s death that had come to me tonight. “I can also open my mind to specific things. Like this case. Since I want to see things connected with this case the information should funnel to me. I’m not sure why I couldn’t connect to Samuel tonight at the crime scene, but I should be able to see and talk to any of the future victims.”He frowned. “I’m hoping we can stop this animal before there are others.”“Of course.” I kept my gaze on the top of the table. Everything in me screamed there were going to be more.“I think they’re going to lift at least one print off Samuel’s body since the murderer didn’t wear gloves.”“But if the killer doesn’t have a record that may not be helpful.” I hated that what I was saying was making Thompson’s pretty mouth droop. “I’m sorry. I wish I was a mind reader.”“What?”“This skill I have… it just comes and goes. I can’t predict when or where the next victim will be. It’s frustrating because it’s like I can see and hear just enough to be almost helpful.” I finished off my shot and bumped the glass down. “And in the meantime, these poor kids are being brutally murdered and all I can do is replay the horror of their death over and over in my head.”“Shit, Liam.” He started to reach out, but he stopped himself. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you are helping. The first two victims gave you valuable info.”“It doesn’t seem like it.”“Well, we know victim number two was booked off of Craigslist for a ‘massage.’” He used air quotes on that last word.“And that got us nowhere yet.”“It will. Plus, thanks to you, we already know the murderer’s hair color and approximate age. At least you were able to tell us that.”I gave a hard laugh. “Yeah, there are only about 2,000,000 blond guys in their midthirties in Los Angeles. That really narrowed it down.”“Hey, you shaved off about 8,000,000 possible suspects.”I didn’t smile and he sighed. “You’ve been doing this a little over a year counting when William was alive. I’ve been doing this twelve, and I know how frustrating this process is. Trust me when I tell you I’m happy to have you on board.”I rested my elbows on the table. “I guess I’d feel even worse if I wasn’t at least trying to help you.”He finished his beer and signaled Belinda. “You want another shot?” he asked me.My muscles felt nice and relaxed from the first one, and I was tempted. “I probably shouldn’t.”“Come on. Live a little.”I snorted. “That’s funny considering I talk to dead people.”He smiled and surprisingly my stomach fluttered. He had really nice dimples. I’d never noticed that before so maybe it was the tequila. And while he was rumpled, he had a sexy I don’t give a fuck vibe that was actually kind of attractive to me. Probably because most of the time I literally didn’t give a fuck about things. I knew he wasn’t married, but I wondered if he had a girlfriend. I couldn’t get a sense of anyone in particular in his life, although I did get a flash of a blue parakeet.“Huh.” I gave a short laugh at the idea of him owning a bird. He definitely seemed more like one of those manly man type of dog owners.He arched one brow. “What’s so funny?”Belinda had arrived at our table to take our order. “Nothing.”He looked skeptical, but he let it go. “We’ll have two more shots, and I’ll have another beer.” His voice was firm and his expression cocky with one smooth brow lifted. “If one drink didn’t kill you, two probably won’t.”I straightened. “Yeah, no such luck.”His jaw hardened immediately, and I flushed. It had been a stupid thing to say considering my past history, especially since he’d been present at my weakest, most pathetic hour. I bit my lower lip and dropped my gaze, aware of his stare.After Belinda walked away, he spoke. “You want to hurt yourself, Liam?”I met his suspicious stare, although it took willpower not to look away nervously. “It was a joke.”“I didn’t find it funny.”“I was kidding. I don’t want to die.” I could sense he didn’t believe me. And when the waitress brought the drinks, he slid both shots in front of himself, hunching over them protectively.“Seriously?” I pointed to the tequila. “You’re going to drink both of those, another beer, and drive home?”“I’ll take a cab. I should anyway.”I put up my hands. “Fine. I didn’t even want another shot.”He studied me silently for what felt like a full minute. “Is that why you aren’t eating or taking care of yourself? Because you want to die?”I groaned and slumped back in my seat. “Thompson, for the love of God I was just kidding.”He shook his head and then threw back one of the shots. I’d never seen him quite this disgruntled toward me. His gaze was guarded and his broad shoulders stiff. He pointed a long finger at me. “You and I both know there’s nothing funny about death. I’m surrounded by it day in, day out. Sometimes I feel like I stink of it because I spend more time with corpses than living people. So excuse me if I don’t find suicide amusing.”He didn’t try and stop me when I grabbed the remaining shot. “Okay. I get it.” I held the little glass between my two palms.“After all the dreary cases we’ve been through together, and you trying to hurt yourself, how can you even kid about shit like that?”“Jesus, simmer down.” I sighed. “Look, yes, I wanted to die that night.” Remembering how distraught I’d been, I tried to swallow, but my throat felt like wool. “And if you want to know the truth, for a long time I hated you for interfering.”He narrowed his gaze. “Oh, really?” I leaned toward him my gaze hard. “Yeah, really.” I lifted the shot as if toasting him and then swallowed it, wincing as it burned a trail down my throat. My eyes watered as I stared at him. “But I’m better now,” I said in a raspy voice.
Hope you enjoyed that snippet, and have a wonderful weekend!S.C.www.sc-wynne.com
The first book in my psychic detective series, Shadow's Edge, is only 99 cents right now, and will go back up on Monday. I wanted to give you a heads up in case you haven't had a chance to read book one just yet. Grab it while you can!
AMAZON US
OTHER VENDORS
Blurb:
Blurb:Liam Baker can see things. Dead people like to visit him and tell them how they were wronged. Some might call it a gift, other’s a curse. But either way this ability makes him useful to Los Angeles homicide detective Kimball Thompson.
Some madman is slitting the throats of young male prostitutes and then dumping their bodies in the desert with vague clues of pink feathers and the number five. Usually Liam can talk to the spirits of the dead. But someone is blocking him. Someone is taunting him.
The case is rapidly deteriorating into a violent, psychic pissing contest and Liam can’t see far enough ahead to figure out who wins or who dies.
EXCERPT:
“Why do you always bring me to Sal’s?” I glanced around at the dark paneled walls and dusty Bud Light lamps hanging over the vinyl booths. There was a group of cops sitting at the bar, and the looks they gave me weren’t exactly welcoming. “Don’t you know any other bars?”
Thompson smiled and touched the small of my back, but then quickly pulled his hand away and said, “Sorry.” I wasn’t sure if he was apologizing for bringing me to this dump or because he’d touched me.“Seriously, would it kill you if we talked about the case at an Applebee’s sometime?” I grumbled and slid into the usual dingy booth.Thompson cocked his head, considering me for a moment. “You don’t like it here?”“Are you serious?” I tilted my head toward his coworkers. “These guys think I’m a fake. You know that, right?”He bugged his eyes. “Shut the fuck up. You’ve solved five dead files in the last three months. They don’t think that.”I snorted. “They think it’s luck.”“Nah. That’s just Perrell that thinks that.”“No. You’re wrong.”“Well, then they’re all crazy. Some of those cases were twenty years old. Why did the luck only kick in when you arrived on the scene?” He waved at the waitress and she made a beeline. He had a certain quiet authority about him that people seemed to respond to.“Usual, loves?” Belinda asked, pulling out her pad. I suspected she’d been working at Sal’s as long as the grimy lamps had been here. In fact, I wasn’t sure the place had another waitress. She was probably only in her thirties, but she looked older, as if life had been rough and sucked a decade from her. I’d sensed a few abusive boyfriends and crying jags from her since we met. But I tried not to read her very often. It was too depressing.Thompson nodded and then said, “Bring a couple of tequila shots while you’re at it.”“My, my, someone’s having a rough night.” She sauntered away, wiggling her plump hips. I noticed Thompson’s gaze didn’t linger on her.He laced his fingers together on the table. “So you think the perp is a psychic?”“I know he is.” That signal had been as clear as a beacon. He’d wanted us to know, and that made me nervous. “He threw us a bone because we aren’t even close.”“Why would he do that?”Shrugging, I said, “He thinks he’s smarter than us.” I smirked. “He’s probably right.”“Yeah, but giving us clues makes it more likely we’ll catch his ass.”“He doesn’t see it that way.”The drinks arrived and Belinda set my club soda in front of me with a wink. “Hope you’re not driving.”I smiled politely. For the last three months, every time she’d set my nonalcoholic drink down she’d blessed me with a witty comment. I was used to people ragging on me for not drinking. But little did they know it was for their own good. I tended to get in arguments with my ethereal visitors when I had a few too many. And since I was a lightweight when it came to booze, one was sometimes too many.Thompson pushed one of the shot glasses toward me. “Drink up.”Scowling, I shook my head. “No.”He leaned forward and his light gaze was serious. “One drink isn’t going to kill you.”“Why do you want me to drink?”He shrugged. “I want you to loosen up a little. You’re wound as tight as the queen at an IRA meeting.”I laughed in spite of myself. “I’m not that fun when I’m loose. You need to trust me on this.”“I’m not saying get wasted. It’s one shot.” His smile was warm and coaxing. He usually reserved that charm for reluctant witnesses and his captain. “Come on. I want to get to know you better.”You do?The cops at the bar were looking over and sniggering every now and then. I was surprised Thompson didn’t seem to care. Most hardened macho cop types treated me like I had cooties. None of them were in a hurry to go out drinking with me that was for sure. I was lucky if they didn’t glare at me when I arrived at a crime scene. I wasn’t sure why they seemed to dislike me so much really. It wasn’t like I was after their jobs. Maybe it was simply that the unknown bothered them because they didn’t understand it.“Why?” I asked quietly.His brow wrinkled. “Why what?”I looked at the tequila shot and then back at him. “We’ve been solving cases together for three months. Why all of a sudden do you want to know me better?”He sipped his beer and fingered his untouched shot. Then he said, “We work together.”“So?”He shrugged and dropped his gaze. “Look, I should have taken the time long ago. But you’re kind of touchy and I didn’t bother for whatever reason.” He lifted his eyes to mine. “The more we work cases together, the more I realize I respect what you do. Because of that I want to know more about you. Is that a crime?”His sincerity was like a warm blanket as it washed over and through me. I shivered at the intensity of the feelings it drummed up in me. Confused by the strange sensations I was experiencing, I grabbed the shot and took a sip, coughing as the bitter liquid slid down my throat.He smiled and threw his shot back in one gulp. Then he licked his lips and that shiver rippled through me again. What the fuck was going on with me? My cock throbbed gently between my legs as he watched me intently. If I didn’t know better, I would say we were having a moment. A sexual moment. But this was Thompson and I didn’t have moments with guys like him. Or anyone for that matter lately.“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked softly.I just stared at him uncertain of what to say and hoping he couldn’t tell what was going on inside of me.He leaned back against the booth. “Why do you suppose Samuel didn’t talk to you tonight?”That was still bugging me too. “I’m not sure.” I touched my throat as I remembered the choking sensation that had come over me at the crime scene. It had almost felt as if the presence of the murderer was there instead of Samuel’s.“Has that ever happened before?”“You mean the dead person not talking to me part?”“Yeah.”“Sometimes if the body is moved from where the murder took place, it’s like the soul stays behind where they died.” I swallowed. “But from the amount of blood and…” I shook my head. “I think that was definitely the crime scene.”“Me too.” He cleared his throat. “Have you always had the ability to talk to…?”“Dead people?” I guess maybe he really was interested in who I was. “Yes. But it’s gotten stronger with age.”“I hate to picture you as a kid seeing the gruesome shit you do.” He bit his lip.“I didn’t. Well, at least not at first.” I swallowed hard. “I used to just get feelings about stuff. Like maybe someone was beside me when no one was there.”“Creepy.”“Yeah.” I sipped my shot some more, actually enjoying the heat that was settling in my stomach now. “Then I started actually seeing things that weren’t there. Or at least I was the only one who knew they were there.”“Like what?”I laughed. “There was this one guy, I think he was in a gang and his own guys popped him. He would hang outside the front of the Popeye’s Chicken in town, bitching about how he was betrayed and stuff. He was one of the first ones I really heard clearly.”Thompson grinned. “Popeye’s Chicken is delicious. If I ever get murdered, that’s where I’m hanging out too.”We held each other’s gaze, smiling a little longer than usual. I looked away first. “Anyway, I started noticing spirits more and more, especially the ones who died violently.” To be more accurate I should have said they started noticing me noticing them. It was as if the second they discovered I could see and hear them, they were desperate to tell me stuff. Sometimes I pretended I couldn’t hear them just so I could ignore them in peace.“And you didn’t have to touch anything of theirs to hear them?”I shook my head. “No. I think it’s because they’re reaching out to me.” I swallowed as I remembered the bloody visions of Samuel’s death that had come to me tonight. “I can also open my mind to specific things. Like this case. Since I want to see things connected with this case the information should funnel to me. I’m not sure why I couldn’t connect to Samuel tonight at the crime scene, but I should be able to see and talk to any of the future victims.”He frowned. “I’m hoping we can stop this animal before there are others.”“Of course.” I kept my gaze on the top of the table. Everything in me screamed there were going to be more.“I think they’re going to lift at least one print off Samuel’s body since the murderer didn’t wear gloves.”“But if the killer doesn’t have a record that may not be helpful.” I hated that what I was saying was making Thompson’s pretty mouth droop. “I’m sorry. I wish I was a mind reader.”“What?”“This skill I have… it just comes and goes. I can’t predict when or where the next victim will be. It’s frustrating because it’s like I can see and hear just enough to be almost helpful.” I finished off my shot and bumped the glass down. “And in the meantime, these poor kids are being brutally murdered and all I can do is replay the horror of their death over and over in my head.”“Shit, Liam.” He started to reach out, but he stopped himself. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you are helping. The first two victims gave you valuable info.”“It doesn’t seem like it.”“Well, we know victim number two was booked off of Craigslist for a ‘massage.’” He used air quotes on that last word.“And that got us nowhere yet.”“It will. Plus, thanks to you, we already know the murderer’s hair color and approximate age. At least you were able to tell us that.”I gave a hard laugh. “Yeah, there are only about 2,000,000 blond guys in their midthirties in Los Angeles. That really narrowed it down.”“Hey, you shaved off about 8,000,000 possible suspects.”I didn’t smile and he sighed. “You’ve been doing this a little over a year counting when William was alive. I’ve been doing this twelve, and I know how frustrating this process is. Trust me when I tell you I’m happy to have you on board.”I rested my elbows on the table. “I guess I’d feel even worse if I wasn’t at least trying to help you.”He finished his beer and signaled Belinda. “You want another shot?” he asked me.My muscles felt nice and relaxed from the first one, and I was tempted. “I probably shouldn’t.”“Come on. Live a little.”I snorted. “That’s funny considering I talk to dead people.”He smiled and surprisingly my stomach fluttered. He had really nice dimples. I’d never noticed that before so maybe it was the tequila. And while he was rumpled, he had a sexy I don’t give a fuck vibe that was actually kind of attractive to me. Probably because most of the time I literally didn’t give a fuck about things. I knew he wasn’t married, but I wondered if he had a girlfriend. I couldn’t get a sense of anyone in particular in his life, although I did get a flash of a blue parakeet.“Huh.” I gave a short laugh at the idea of him owning a bird. He definitely seemed more like one of those manly man type of dog owners.He arched one brow. “What’s so funny?”Belinda had arrived at our table to take our order. “Nothing.”He looked skeptical, but he let it go. “We’ll have two more shots, and I’ll have another beer.” His voice was firm and his expression cocky with one smooth brow lifted. “If one drink didn’t kill you, two probably won’t.”I straightened. “Yeah, no such luck.”His jaw hardened immediately, and I flushed. It had been a stupid thing to say considering my past history, especially since he’d been present at my weakest, most pathetic hour. I bit my lower lip and dropped my gaze, aware of his stare.After Belinda walked away, he spoke. “You want to hurt yourself, Liam?”I met his suspicious stare, although it took willpower not to look away nervously. “It was a joke.”“I didn’t find it funny.”“I was kidding. I don’t want to die.” I could sense he didn’t believe me. And when the waitress brought the drinks, he slid both shots in front of himself, hunching over them protectively.“Seriously?” I pointed to the tequila. “You’re going to drink both of those, another beer, and drive home?”“I’ll take a cab. I should anyway.”I put up my hands. “Fine. I didn’t even want another shot.”He studied me silently for what felt like a full minute. “Is that why you aren’t eating or taking care of yourself? Because you want to die?”I groaned and slumped back in my seat. “Thompson, for the love of God I was just kidding.”He shook his head and then threw back one of the shots. I’d never seen him quite this disgruntled toward me. His gaze was guarded and his broad shoulders stiff. He pointed a long finger at me. “You and I both know there’s nothing funny about death. I’m surrounded by it day in, day out. Sometimes I feel like I stink of it because I spend more time with corpses than living people. So excuse me if I don’t find suicide amusing.”He didn’t try and stop me when I grabbed the remaining shot. “Okay. I get it.” I held the little glass between my two palms.“After all the dreary cases we’ve been through together, and you trying to hurt yourself, how can you even kid about shit like that?”“Jesus, simmer down.” I sighed. “Look, yes, I wanted to die that night.” Remembering how distraught I’d been, I tried to swallow, but my throat felt like wool. “And if you want to know the truth, for a long time I hated you for interfering.”He narrowed his gaze. “Oh, really?” I leaned toward him my gaze hard. “Yeah, really.” I lifted the shot as if toasting him and then swallowed it, wincing as it burned a trail down my throat. My eyes watered as I stared at him. “But I’m better now,” I said in a raspy voice.
Hope you enjoyed that snippet, and have a wonderful weekend!S.C.www.sc-wynne.com
March 29, 2018
Happy Holidays! by Felice Stevens
Happy almost weekend! Tonight is the first night of Passover and I have been frantically cleaning and cooking all day. I cleared my cabinets of all bread and flour products and for the next eight days I won't be eating any unleavened bread or products made with wheat, soy, rice or any grains at all. In fact all the food I eat will have to be market Kosher For Passover on the outside label. Needless to say it isn't my favorite holiday.
Dinner will be the traditional matzo ball soup, brisket, potatoes and some vegetable, probably broccoli. (You can find recipes for these and other holiday meals in Learning to Love).
The nice thing about the holiday is that it brings family together. With my son in China, it will be only my husband and daughter. My brother lives in Westchester, NY but he's religious and doesn't travel on holidays or on Friday night, when the Jewish Sabbath starts.
For those of you interested in my traditional Mazto Ball soup recipe, which came from my mother, here it is:
Dinner will be the traditional matzo ball soup, brisket, potatoes and some vegetable, probably broccoli. (You can find recipes for these and other holiday meals in Learning to Love).
The nice thing about the holiday is that it brings family together. With my son in China, it will be only my husband and daughter. My brother lives in Westchester, NY but he's religious and doesn't travel on holidays or on Friday night, when the Jewish Sabbath starts.
For those of you interested in my traditional Mazto Ball soup recipe, which came from my mother, here it is:
Good morning! This week for your enjoyment, narrato...
Good morning! This week for your enjoyment, narrator Nick J. Russo joins us along with his A.I. assistant to talk technology and the magic that is taco delivery. And where does he get all these wonderful toys?
A love letter to technology...
Oh gadgets and gizamatrons - how I adore you. You allow us to post everything our brains think of to be seen by the world. Be it our opinions, vacation happenings, political rants, pictures of fancy desserts we’re about to eat, or videos of cats acting like they’re on LSD, the ease in which we’re able to connect with one another is nothing short of amazing.
Among its many marvels, it has allowed new and exciting businesses to be born. My wife and I are starting to become a little too addicted to Uber Eats - we can see exactly where the guy bringing us tacos is! Right from our phones! He’s right outside the house!
But above all else, my love for high speed internet, fast computers, and the Renaissance that is the modern internet always narrows to one thought in particular - I wouldn’t be able to do what I do for a living without it.
Twenty years ago, (or hell - even ten!), the idea of being a voice actor working from home living in Columbus, Ohio would of sounded like a pipe dream. A voice actor trying to score work in the midwest? Sorry, guy, try your luck in a city where the jobs actually are - Los Angeles, New York. Maybe Chicago? And good luck finding where to go when you get there - that’s what agents are for!
Not so much the case anymore. Thanks to a few major advances in technology like high end, reasonably priced recording equipment, file sharing services, and job sharing sites like ACX and Upwork, voice acting is now a dream attainable to anybody regardless of where they live.
It’s an exciting time to be alive to be sure. And with the rate in which it’s continuing to evolve, it’s only going to get better. Case in point, I’m now unapologetically addicted to anything Google tries to sell me. Especially Google Homes. To the uninitiated, Homes are personal assistants you can talk to, schedule appointments with, tell you any fact you ever want to know, and will probably be responsible for kicking off Skynet someday. I recently furnished my home with these little things, including my recording booth, and let me tell you - it’s changed the way I record any given chapter. Need to look up a word I don’t recognize? Translate a phrase an author wrote in Russian? Pronounce mantra?- (is it man or mon? I never remember.) Let me just talk to this inanimate clam shell shaped object for a quick second and find out! - On a side note, I think I should now take the time to say this blog post is NOT sponsored by Google. This is not some shameless promotion. But it totally could be - Google, you have all my info. Call me! -
The point is, I absolutely love what I do for a living, and if were not for the technological advancements made over the past ten to fifteen years, it is almost a certainty that I wouldn’t be doing it today. I wouldn’t be voicing audio books, I wouldn’t know any of the incredibly talented and hard working people I’ve met in the industry, and I wouldn’t be concluding the final paragraph of this blog post I’m writing.
So in conclusion - thank you technology for being all that you are. You’re a heck of a guy, and I salute you.
Find Nick and Falcon Sound Company on Facebook, or at www.falconsoundcompany.com.
And check out Nick's newest narration, "A.J.'s Angel," by L.A. Witt on Audible.
March 27, 2018
Happy Easter and Sale on Kiernan, BA, Julia, and Sean
We love y'all! Check out our .99 sales through the 1st and a 30% off coupon on our self pub stuff at www.evilplotnunny.com
XXOO
Julia
Visit our websites:
Sean's is http://www.seanmichaelwrites.com
Julia’s is http://www.juliatalbot.com
BA’s is http://www.batortuga.com
Kiernan's is www.KiernanKelly.com
Facebook:
Sean -- https://www.facebook.com/SeanMichaelW...
Julia -- https://www.facebook.com/juliatalbota...
BA -- https://www.facebook.com/batortuga
Kiernan -- https://www.facebook.com/kiernan.kelly
March 24, 2018
Writing Mystery VS Romance By S.C. Wynne
Good morning, people!
I've been in heaven the last few days because we actually got some rain here in S. California. I know many of my fellow authors and readers are more to the east, and you guys get more than enough of snow and rain, but us S.Californians need the sprinkles from heaven so we can avoid another drought. Plus I just plain old love rain. lol
But I digress. What I actually was going to blog about today was how different it is writing mm mystery as compared to mm romance. I love writing both. I love writing many different things. I write mm romance, mystery, gay new adult, mpreg romance. I really just love all sorts of genres in books just like I do in movies and music. I've never been someone who just likes one thing. Which is weird, considering I hate change in my life!
Me and my hubby watch a TON of British mysteries. I adore Vera and Poirot. I can watch and re watch those shows over and over. I just love tagging along as they find the clues and grill the characters. I will say though, writing a quality mm mystery is a lot of work. It's a labor of love, but there is no question it's a little more challenging than writing an mm romance. For me. I should stipulate that I am talking about myself. Don't get me wrong, I love, love, LOVE writing mm romance too. But it takes a different thought process to write a mystery.
Of course you should always know where your story is going, but I definitely am more of a panster. But when you write a mystery there is no way to be successful without an outline. At least, not for me. Mysteries have so many moving parts that have to make sense when the dust settles. The last thing an author wants is our editor telling us our mystery makes no sense. In a romance, things need to make sense too, but it's not quite the same.
I have Book one of my next mystery series coming out April 3rd. It's called Strange Medicine and it's the first book in the Dr. Maxwell Thornton Murder Mysteries. My lead guy is a prickly doctor who comes from the big city to the small town of Rainy Dale, TX. He's not prepared for how nosy and quirky the towns people are, and the last thing he expects is to get involved romantically with the sexy sheriff. But that little romance hits a snag when a dead body turns up in Dr. Thornton's pool.
What about you? Do you like to read mm mystery and mm romance? Or do you only like one of them?
S.C.
www.sc-wynne.com
I've been in heaven the last few days because we actually got some rain here in S. California. I know many of my fellow authors and readers are more to the east, and you guys get more than enough of snow and rain, but us S.Californians need the sprinkles from heaven so we can avoid another drought. Plus I just plain old love rain. lol
But I digress. What I actually was going to blog about today was how different it is writing mm mystery as compared to mm romance. I love writing both. I love writing many different things. I write mm romance, mystery, gay new adult, mpreg romance. I really just love all sorts of genres in books just like I do in movies and music. I've never been someone who just likes one thing. Which is weird, considering I hate change in my life!
Me and my hubby watch a TON of British mysteries. I adore Vera and Poirot. I can watch and re watch those shows over and over. I just love tagging along as they find the clues and grill the characters. I will say though, writing a quality mm mystery is a lot of work. It's a labor of love, but there is no question it's a little more challenging than writing an mm romance. For me. I should stipulate that I am talking about myself. Don't get me wrong, I love, love, LOVE writing mm romance too. But it takes a different thought process to write a mystery.
Of course you should always know where your story is going, but I definitely am more of a panster. But when you write a mystery there is no way to be successful without an outline. At least, not for me. Mysteries have so many moving parts that have to make sense when the dust settles. The last thing an author wants is our editor telling us our mystery makes no sense. In a romance, things need to make sense too, but it's not quite the same.
I have Book one of my next mystery series coming out April 3rd. It's called Strange Medicine and it's the first book in the Dr. Maxwell Thornton Murder Mysteries. My lead guy is a prickly doctor who comes from the big city to the small town of Rainy Dale, TX. He's not prepared for how nosy and quirky the towns people are, and the last thing he expects is to get involved romantically with the sexy sheriff. But that little romance hits a snag when a dead body turns up in Dr. Thornton's pool.
What about you? Do you like to read mm mystery and mm romance? Or do you only like one of them?
S.C.
www.sc-wynne.com
March 22, 2018
Retirement? by Felice Stevens
It's been one month now since I retired and it still doesn't seem real. I still wake up early, only now I make my coffee, not get it from Starbucks. Cha-ching! I can't help checking my watch at around 8 am and thinking I should be leaving the apartment. Instead, I stretch out on my sofa and keep writing (or chatting as most likely is the case).
I've yet to settle into that routine I promised myself, of splitting my day between writing and cleaning up all the junk that accumulated. Nor have I gone to the gym as much as I thought-it's been the same as before. I prefer to think that it's this horrible weather which prevented me from doing that so far.
But I'm cutting myself some slack, because...well, I can. These deadlines I've put upon myself are self-imposed. I don't HAVE to do things. But I know if I don't I'll devolve. So I make sure to get out of the house at least once a day. I've tried to lessen my time on social media, especially Facebook due to its constant outbreaks of drama. I left work to get rid of stress. I don't need it now.
I think it's important for all of us to give ourselves a break every now and then and step away. I don't mean for days or months, but if that's what's necessary, then it needs to happen. Burnout is a real thing and we can only keep up a punishing pace by allowing ourselves room to breathe.
So I'm going to the movies now and next week when it's supposed to be warmer, I talk a walk on the Promenade, or maybe the Brooklyn Bridge and take a look at the boats chugging along the river. After thirty years of spending my days locked in an office, I'm ready to take back my city and rediscover everything I've missed. I hope to take you along with pictures and maybe videos if I can learn to do that properly.
And maybe run into Gus, Matt and Beemo. Or Paul and Sergio. Or Matthew Sinnaeve. Hey a girl can dream!!
And before I forget, Last Call, the MMM I co-wrote with Christina Lee, is now out in audio narrated by the always fabulous Kale Williams. You can pick it up here:
LAST CALL AUDIO
Have a great weekend and happy reading!
I've yet to settle into that routine I promised myself, of splitting my day between writing and cleaning up all the junk that accumulated. Nor have I gone to the gym as much as I thought-it's been the same as before. I prefer to think that it's this horrible weather which prevented me from doing that so far.
But I'm cutting myself some slack, because...well, I can. These deadlines I've put upon myself are self-imposed. I don't HAVE to do things. But I know if I don't I'll devolve. So I make sure to get out of the house at least once a day. I've tried to lessen my time on social media, especially Facebook due to its constant outbreaks of drama. I left work to get rid of stress. I don't need it now.
I think it's important for all of us to give ourselves a break every now and then and step away. I don't mean for days or months, but if that's what's necessary, then it needs to happen. Burnout is a real thing and we can only keep up a punishing pace by allowing ourselves room to breathe.
So I'm going to the movies now and next week when it's supposed to be warmer, I talk a walk on the Promenade, or maybe the Brooklyn Bridge and take a look at the boats chugging along the river. After thirty years of spending my days locked in an office, I'm ready to take back my city and rediscover everything I've missed. I hope to take you along with pictures and maybe videos if I can learn to do that properly.
And maybe run into Gus, Matt and Beemo. Or Paul and Sergio. Or Matthew Sinnaeve. Hey a girl can dream!!
And before I forget, Last Call, the MMM I co-wrote with Christina Lee, is now out in audio narrated by the always fabulous Kale Williams. You can pick it up here:
LAST CALL AUDIO
Have a great weekend and happy reading!
Just Call Me Uncle Tusky
Good Thursday to you, cafe-goers! This week, narrator Andrew McFerrin talks about the process of creating unique character voices for narration, which may or may not sometimes involve research and vocal exercises and video games. Also, orcs, a flock of seagulls, and pizza delivery, in case anyone's feeling peckish. Enjoy! When I tell people at parties what I do for a living the first question they ask, invariably, is this:
"Uhhh....what?"
But that's not a very interesting question to try to spin off into a blog post, is it? Fortunately the follow-up's usually a bit meatier:
"Do you, like, do all those voices? How do you do that?"
In a party setting the answers to those questions tend to be "Yes" and "I moves my mouth and the soundses comes out" respectively. Because they don't really want an acting class on the spot, they're just making conversation in between rounds of shots in the kitchen and stage combat in the backyard.
I have interesting friendsBut it's a good question, right? How do you voice ten, twenty distinct characters without wardrobe or lighting or makeup or crystal methamphetamine or any of the other tools actors on the big screen have at their disposal? Sure, accents are easy, but that only gets you so far. What if the story is set within the confines of a single family home? Or a mining colony on the dark side of Ganymede populated entirely by robots and clones? Or New Zealand? We're talking about creating characters here, not caricatures.
You have to spend a certain amount of time thinking about what the character's actually like. Inflection's a big part of it. A younger, inquisitive character would tend to speak faster and pitch their voice up toward the end of phrases. Older and wiser? Kind of the opposite. Smarmy suck-up? Have I got the perfect slow, oily drawl for you...
But while it's tempting to make a laundry list of personality traits and assign a vocal component for each one, that still doesn't make a character. And trying to do it like that is a good way to drive yourself nuts. If you want to inhabit the character's attitude, then you need to understand how that character interacts with the world around them.
Let's say you have to voice a major romantic character who also happens to be an orc. Y'all have a pretty good idea what orcs are like, right? Big, gruff, tusks, muscles, usually green, um..."unconventionally attractive", totally within the public domain? Definitely gonna be a deeper voice, probably fairly gravelly, and you'll want to keep your teeth bared and nostrils flared because...well, tusks. Duh.
So we have established the quality of orc-ness. Now, to turn this collection of traits into a character.
How do we do that? We order pizza.
No really, go with it for a second. How would our orc go about procuring something which he wants, but has to rely on someone else to bring to him? How would our orc react to the pizza being delivered late? Is our orc a good tipper? Does our orc have coupons that he forgot to mention when he placed the order?
These sound like some unbelievably stupid questions to be asking, but they're really not. Of course orcs don't order pizza, orcs and pizza generally don't exist within the same literary universes. But you have presumably ordered pizza at some point in your life. You have direct experience of the entire gamut of human emotions involved in pizza-ordering. You have been hungry, too tired to cook, frustrated that it has now been 33 minutes AND OH MY GOD THEY'RE STILL NOT HERE YET. 'cause I know I have been.
THAT WAS 47 MINUTES WHAT THE SHIT, CHIP?Now our romantic lead orc probably will not be ordering pizza. But at some point in this story he will feel heightened emotion of some kind. He may not be frustrated about pizza, but he will be frustrated about his inability to connect on a deeper level with the sexy but emotionally distant werebear he's been kicking it with for the last 130 pages and don't even pretend you wouldn't read that book.
The idea here is that you use your own experiences and the emotions that come from them as a conduit to get you into the character's mind. In the booth, I'm not trying to sound like an orc—in that moment, I'm trying to BE an orc.
There is a little piece of my experience in every character I voice, even the ones who are nothing at all like me. I like to think that comes through. I hope it does, anyway.
Also, if anyone wants to author a story involving both orcs and pizza I would totally narrate that so hard.
Find Andy and Falcon Sound Company on Facebook, or at www.falconsoundcompany.com.
And check out Andy's latest narration, "Prelude to Love," by Anne Barwell.
