Heather Marie Adkins's Blog, page 9
March 16, 2012
St. Patrick's Day DOES Go With Reading. Promise.
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Who doesn't like sales? Especially when combined with green beer, drinking games, St. Patrick's effigy on a stick, and leprechauns. (of course there are leprechauns)
Author David Gaughran has pulled together this massive sale of books from some of the finest authors out there. Not only is so much greatness in one place, but every book has been knocked back to 99 cents THIS WEEKEND ONLY. So, pick a few books for less than the cost of a case of Guinness (and preferably buy the Guinness, too.)
My book, "Abigail", is a paranormal romance usually priced at 2.99, yet you can grab a copy for 99 cents today, tomorrow, and Sunday. WOOT.
Find ALL the books on sale listed HERE.
***
In other exciting BOOK NEWS, the Eclective's 3rd short story collection is out! Not only is it published, but you can download a copy FREE FROM AMAZON for the next two days! It has leprechauns, zombies, vampires, and shamrocks. My story is about a banshee with somewhat of a drinking problem, and could be fun to read while imbibing.
Download your FREE copy HERE.
St. Patrick’s Day DOES Go With Reading. Promise.
[image error]
Who doesn't like sales? Especially when combined with green beer, drinking games, St. Patrick's effigy on a stick, and leprechauns. (of course there are leprechauns)
Author David Gaughran has pulled together this massive sale of books from some of the finest authors out there. Not only is so much greatness in one place, but every book has been knocked back to 99 cents THIS WEEKEND ONLY. So, pick a few books for less than the cost of a case of Guinness (and preferably buy the Guinness, too.)
My book, "Abigail", is a paranormal romance usually priced at 2.99, yet you can grab a copy for 99 cents today, tomorrow, and Sunday. WOOT.
Find ALL the books on sale listed HERE.
***
In other exciting BOOK NEWS, the Eclective's 3rd short story collection is out! Not only is it published, but you can download a copy FREE FROM AMAZON for the next two days! It has leprechauns, zombies, vampires, and shamrocks. My story is about a banshee with somewhat of a drinking problem, and could be fun to read while imbibing.
Download your FREE copy HERE.
March 7, 2012
Seshat – Egyptian Goddess of Writing
I've been thinking a lot of ways I can give myself a bit of "oomph" in my spellworking in reference to my writing. My rituals have fallen to the wayside in the wake of my many projects—between writing several books at the same time (what? I have ADD) and ebook formatting and working a full-time day job, I have little time or inclination to practice magick. So, how can I harness my own powers for the good of the writing, thus improving my writing prowess AND working on maintaining my direct line to the spiritual? I need to research, and research fast.
From where does this need stem? From the fact that I'm notorious for procrastinating. I've considered having the word legally added to my name. Anytime I HAVE a break in the madness, all I want to do is sit on my ass and stare at the television screen—to turn off my brain and just veg. My poor mind works overtime times three. That's a lot for one girl. I'm almost positive my recent bout of viral chest infection was brought on by all of the stress I place on myself.
I figured I would start by identifying a goddess of writing. I already knew of a few "gods" of writing, but come on—I'm a female. I'm 95% percent positive my muse is a woman. Without further ado, I give you SESHAT, goddess of writing, astronomy, astrology, architecture, and mathematics. (Smart woman. Day-um.)
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Seshat is the feminine consort/counterpart/wife/child of Thoth the Scribe, he who wrote the story/program of humanity's journey through time. She is a Magician, as is Isis, Thoth, Hermes, etc. Seshat bore the title 'Egyptian Fairy Godmother'. Her magic wand, with its seven pointed star, was the symbol which represented the source of all creative ideas, consciousness. Her powers of cause and effect for any affectation were legendary before the founding of Egypt. – (all quotations from this site) http://www.crystalinks.com/seshat.html
What's that? A magic wand? Holy cannoli, I have a magic wand! It doesn't have a seven pointed star at its point (instead, a clear quartz arrow-ish thing), but knowing now what that star represents, maybe I should add one? I could use a little "source of all creative ideas and consciousness" at my beck-n-call.
Her "powers of cause and effect"? Why, how strange! I have a book called Cause & Effect! So weird. It's like we're connected.
With this combination of a magic wand and cause and effect, could Seshat help me in my quest to be a better witch and writer? Let's move on.
The Egyptians believed that she invented writing, while Thoth taught writing to mankind. She was known as 'Mistress of the House of Books', indicating that she also took care of Thoth's library of spells and scrolls. She is the patron of libraries and all forms of writing, including census and accounting work. Seshat was the only female that has been found (so far) actually writing. Other women have been found holding a scribe's writing brush and palette – showing that they could read and write, but these women were never shown in the act of writing itself. As goddess of writing, she was seen as a scribe, and record keeper, and her name itself means (she who) scrivens (i.e. she who is a scribe).
[image error]I'll be damned. A woman invented writing! Are we surprised? (Um. No.) Not only did she create writing, she actually wrote. Seshat was a writer! She was also a patroness of libraries, and I might as well OWN a library. Nearly 3k books in my collection, and my friends request to borrow them so often I ought to give them library cards. So, okay, my name doesn't mean "she who writes", but it means "evergreen", and that is a tree, and paper is made from trees, and we write on paper! (Grasping at straws? Who?)
The plot thickens! What more?
Her headdress was also her hieroglyph which may represent either a stylized flower or seven pointed star on a standing goddess that is beneath a set of down-turned horns. The horns may have originally been a crescent, linking Seshat to the moon and hence to her spouse, the moon god of writing and knowledge, Thoth.
What a coink-i-dink. I love the moon. She is my goddess, coo-coo-ki-choo. I think I need a patroness just like Seshat.
She is frequently dressed in a leopard-skin, a symbol of funerary priests, because the pattern of [image error] the skin represents the stars, both a symbol of eternity, and associated with the moon.
Read: leopard skin. Heather's brain: Um, ew. But, then, it goes on and I say: "Ohhhhh. Represents stars. Eternity. The moon. I get it. Totally okay leopard skin situation."
Wait! There's more! This is where it gets FREAKY.
No temple has ever been found in her name. But in a temple constructed during Hatshepsut's reign, queen Hatshepsut is shown directing Thoth to speak to Seshat to get the answers to his questions.
A few days ago, Andrew and I were being lazy on the couch. We've both become addicted to our streaming Netflix on the Wii. He picked out a 5-part series on Ancient Egypt and then promptly fell asleep. I, however, got sucked in as the narrator introduced me to this amazing QUEEN of Egypt named Hatshepsut. She was an activist, a feminist, and a daring, successful leader—the only successful female reign in Egypt. They told a few anecdotes—learned from the walls of her temple—and suddenly, I was struck with the idea for a book.
[image error]So, how strangely marvelous that I choose SESHAT to study within days of a glaring book idea for HATSHEPSUT, only to learn this multi-talented goddess is pictured in prominence on said Queen's temple wall! Of course, because Hatshepsut was a female, she's often depicted with male characteristics on her temple walls. Ridiculous, isn't it? Good ole patriarchy can be found in all sorts of historical places.
Needless to say, it seems I'll be building a close, personal relationship to a certain Egyptian goddess of writing. As I learn how to speak to and connect with Seshat, I'll be sure to keep the blog updated. Heck, just by DOING SO, I may actually blog more than once a month ;)
Maybe—just maybe—a little communion with Seshat will push me to be a better writer.
Barbara Silkstone – Have You Ever Lost a Hat?
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I lost everything including my home, my car, and even my retirement accounts. I was physically attacked inside and outside a court building. My daughter and baby granddaughter were threatened. I came at the bad guys like a mother tiger.
A few years earlier I had agreed to testify against a real estate developer in a civil racketeering case. He was obscenely rich and could afford a hanger full of Lear jets, four sneering lawyers, and a greedy judge. In an effort to discredit my testimony in his upcoming trial and to frighten me out of appearing against him, his team of legal manipulators pasted together a bogus suit against me designed to keep me tied up in court and unable to function. They underestimated my sense of justice.
I'd been sitting on the witness stand for the better part of a day… one of many in my five-year "trial." The judge, forgetting her microphone was on, had just proclaimed me "a pretty tough cookie." I'd given up expecting justice. It was much too late for fairness. I was in an out-of-body state observing my own funeral and laughing about it.
When the four-hundred pound lawyer asked me if I'd ever lost a hat, I thought one of us had lost our minds. I was pretty sure it wasn't me. He blinked as if he realized the absurdity of what he asked and dropped the line of inquiry. The question struck my funny bone and sent me into giggle-fits. And that was the moment when The Secret Diary of Alice in Wonderland, Age 42 and Three-Quarters was born.
Within a few months the lawyers I hired to help me sucked up every penny I could muster.
When I was broke, they walked off the case. Unlike in criminal cases, defendants in civil litigation must pay for their own attorneys. No money – no lawyers. I was on my own. I needed to defend myself. But how when the case was nonsense? How do you fight silly? The lost hat question was a perfect example of the charges brought against me. But the more ridiculous their charges, the stronger and feistier I grew. For each thing they threw at me, I came back that much harder, roaring and taking notes for my someday book.
Since I was a child my driving passion has been to write. In Catholic grade school I started an underground newspaper. When our nun forbade me to continue, I carried the paper further underground. While I continued to write as an adult, life eventually got in the way of living and my writing took a backseat. But now as I sat in the courtroom I was inspired and chomping at the bit to get this real-life fairytale on paper.
Anger boiled in me as I saw the precious time I had carved out for writing being eaten up as I defended myself in bizarre proceedings. I was spending all my time in the law library studying the Rules of Civil Procedure in order to write Motions and Pleadings and filing them against the court in such rapid fire I would have made Rambo back off.
Earning a living on commission sales is impossible when you are spending 14 hours a day fighting a pack of legal sharks. I had to take the creepiest part-time jobs… things that still give me nightmares. Things like working for a gold broker who brought us the teeth from dead people. We were expected to separate the gold from the molars – not unlike the lawyers I was dealing with. I needed the money but not that badly. I ran to the nearest exit.
Locked in a deadly struggle with the notorious real estate developer, I chose that time to become romantically involved with a Brit who, it turned out was not what he seemed to be. I stepped into the perfect storm. The Brit's upper-class accent and polished manners hid a not-too-clever conman, but clever enough to fool my starry eyes. The developer and the conman clashed in a rage of wicked deeds. I was sandwiched between them.
Is The Secret Diary of Alice in Wonderland, Age 42 and Three-Quarters true? Would Lewis Carroll say Alice in Wonderland was true? The emotions are real and still raw, but the journey was worth the results. Would I do it again? You bet your tushie. My sense of justice would not permit otherwise. But I would not be quite so naïve. I would expect slimy tricks and dirty pool. Merely because someone wears a robe and speaks of the law does not mean they abide by the law.
"The Hail Mary Pass" refers to any very long forward pass made in desperation with only a small chance of success. It's used in football and occasionally courtrooms.
My Hail Mary Pass knocked the bad guys on their butts. I filed a Petition for a Writ of Certiorari, which is a request to the United States Supreme Court asking that Court to review the decision of a lower court. I cast a spotlight on their dark shenanigans.
And as my Petition worked its way along the queue in the United States Supreme Court, making it almost to the finish line, the judge on my case went strangely silent, the notorious developer disappeared, and the Brit wandered off. I had become a writer but not in the way I had envisioned. I was a self-taught legal guerrilla who had managed to land her petition to be heard by the highest court in the United States… right through the goal post. Unfortunately, in the end corruption won and I barely escaped with a toothbrush and a change of clothes.
Were those five years tough? Yes. But I fought because I knew I couldn't live with myself if I rolled into a ball. I fought with the wit and sarcasm of Alice in the original Alice in Wonderland. Standing on the outside watching the Jabberwocky operate on the inside. I knew that someday my story, fictionalized with absolutely no resemblance to anyone living or dead and the names changed to protect the corrupt, would make a darn good yarn. And each step of the way, like Lewis Carroll and my out-of-body ordeal, I would allow the action to the skate on the edge of logic.
In The Secret Diary of Alice in Wonderland, Age 42 and Three-Quarters, a few murders have been thrown in for comic relief, and the characters have been shaken and stirred, then presented in a Pythonesque light. Any similarities to the jerks I dealt with are purely coincidental.
Have I ever lost a hat? Probably.
But did I retain my passion for writing, and even kick it up a notch? Absolutely.
Every adventure contains a novel.
Sometime you have to pay dearly for it.
~
Quoting the Cheshire Cat:
"Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?" (Alice)
"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat.
"I don't much care where—" said Alice.
"Then it doesn't matter which way you go," said the Cat.
"—So long as I get somewhere," Alice added as an explanation.
"Oh you're sure to do that," said the Cat, "if you only walk long enough."
***
This is one story from Indie Chicks: 25 Women 25 Personal Stories available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble. To read all the stories buy your copy today. All proceeds go to fund breast cancer research.
About the Author
Barbara Silkstone is the best-selling author of The Fractured Fairy Tales series that currently includes: The Secret Diary of Alice in Wonderland, Age 42 and Three-Quarters; Wendy and the Lost Boys; and London Broil.
Silkstone's writing has been described as "perfectly paced and pitched – shades of Janet Evanovich and Carl Hiaasen – without seeming remotely derivative. Fast moving action that shoots from the hip with bullet-proof characterization."
Wendy and the Lost Boys topped the charts in comedy, climbing over Tina Fey, Sophie Kinsella, and Ellen DeGeneres. The Secret Diary of Alice in Wonderland, Age 42 and Three-Quarters has been a consistent best seller in comedy. Both Wendy and Alice have been in the top 20 Amazon comedies at the same time. Silkstone has been fortunate enough to take part in writing workshops with Stephen King, Robert B. Parker, and James Michener. She lives in South Florida but has no time to visit the beach.
Barbara Silkstone loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at: barbara_silkstone@yahoo.com
Or visit her at: Barb's Wire eBooks & More http://barbswire-ebooksandmore.blogsp...
Twitter @barbsilkstone http://twitter.com/#!/barbsilkstone
Facebook http://www.facebook.com/people/Barbara-Silkstone/100000778601230
Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/barbsilkstone/
Fractured Fairy Tales by Silkstone
Criminally Funny Fables
The Secret Diary of Alice in Wonderland, Age 42 and Three-Quarters
This author has a unique narrative voice, and reading the story is like taking a smooth slide into Alice's surreal world. The premise is outstanding – a classic we all love, with a contemporary, intelligent twist. ~ Elizabeth Lindberg, author Upper West Side Stories
Purchase for your Kindle at: Amazon
Purchase for your Nook at: Barnes & Noble
Wendy and the Lost Boys
Be aware, this is not the Peter Pan story you want your kids reading. It is clearly intended for adult readers. Yet it appeals to the childlike part of us that loved the classic original stories. Combine that childlike love with modern politics and technology, and you get this smart, snarky, hilarious mystery. The story is richly developed and leaves you guessing until the very end. I am liking this grown-up version of Peter Pan even more than the original. ~ Tiffany Harkleroad for Tiffany's Bookshelf
Purchase for your Kindle at: Amazon
Purchase for your Nook at: Barnes & Noble
London Broil — the sequel to Wendy and the Lost Boys
The snarky Python sequel to Wendy and the Lost Boys. A murderous rollercoaster ride through London during a killer heat wave. ~ Ravan Reviews
Purchase for your Kindle at: Amazon
Purchase for your Nook at: Barnes and Noble
Zo White – coming Summer 2012
March 3, 2012
Guest Post – Sibel Hodge
Sibel HodgeFrom 200 rejections to Amazon top 200!
Ever since I was old enough to scrawl my first word, which was Halibaaaaa, I knew I wanted to write books. OK, so the word didn't actually make sense, and it might take a little longer for me to actually string a whole sentence together, but that didn't put me off. I was going to write books and no one would stop me…
From when I was really young, my mum encouraged me to read. "If you can read books, you'll never be bored," I remember her telling me. I secretly think it was a ploy to keep me out of her hair and quiet for a while. I was always a loud kid with lots of energy, and always getting into some sort of trouble with the boys down our street. (Yep, even then I was a sucker for boys!). After discovering the wonderful world of books, I thought I'd have a go myself, and remember scribbling down stories whenever I had a spare moment. Shame I was only six, and there was no way anyone would publish a book with I Want Big Girls' Knickers in the title.
When I was in secondary school my favourite subject was English language. I'd lose myself for hours. And even though I hadn't thought about my forthcoming career before I left (apart from being Wonder Woman or an astronaut), I knew, even then, I had a love of creating. I also loved to make people laugh from an early age. In the beginning, it wasn't intentional. I was always saying ridiculous things that I thought were quite serious. Like the time I went to the butchers shop with my nan, and the lady behind the counter asked where I was from. "South America," I said. (I know, where the hell did that come from? I must've had an overactive imagination from the start.) So when people started laughing at me, I thought, hey, this is pretty fun! We live in such a hectic world and laughter is a perfect way to de-stress. Because my personality is quirky, fun-loving, and slightly nuts, it was probably a given that I would eventually write chick lit, although I have recently delved into the dark side of my brain (which is a pretty scary place to be sometimes!) and written a psychological thriller.
But when I left school no one mentioned writing as a career. It was all boring things like secretarial jobs, travel agents, office work. I didn't even know about creative writing courses until about ten years ago! I think they considered that writing wasn't a "proper career." No one suggested journalism or further education in writing. So what was a girl to do? Although my mum wanted me to go to University and study to be something like a doctor or lawyer (eeek!), I didn't have a clue what I wanted to do for a career, so I flitted from one job to the next, trying to find something that interested me, and eventually ended up working for the police for ten years. So there I was, too busy paying the mortgage, working shifts, and living in the rat race of life to have the proper time or opportunity to write a novel. It didn't stop me trying, though.
It was drastic things like splitting up with a boyfriend that made me start my first novel when I was about seventeen. I never got further than the first three chapters, though, because I didn't have a clue what I was doing, other than using a typewriter! Then I started another one (I got dumped again – can you see a pattern here?) when I was about twenty-three, and ditto (I'd hate for those to ever see the light of day). I just knew that I loved writing and therefore it stood to reason that one day I'd do it, didn't it? And although I look back now and think I wish I'd started writing earlier, actually, I have to say, that it would've been bad timing. Back then I wouldn't have had anything to really write about. A lot of the things that go into my books now are based on my experience of life. People I've met, places I've been, books I've read, things I've done, struggles I've achieved. At twenty-three, what did I really know about any of that?
And then five years ago, hubby and I had had enough of the UK. We got fed up with the constant grey weather, bills that seemed to increase as you looked at them, working constantly to pay them, and never having quality time for ourselves or our family. Right, it was time to make my childhood dream come true and move somewhere exotic, where the cost of living was lower, and we would actually have time to enjoy each other and life again. Then I would finally have the time and opportunity to dedicate to writing. Yes, we'd have to sacrifice a lot of things to achieve it, but it would be worth it in the end. So we moved to North Cyprus, and it was like my brain suddenly said, Hallellujah! Now we divide our time between Cyprus and the UK.
I didn't actively think about what I was going to write, but a year after we'd moved there I had an exciting idea for a story, using my unique Turkish Cypriot/British cultural heritage, and my debut romantic comedy Fourteen Days Later was born. Then I actually became the guinea pig for the sequel, My Perfect Wedding! But it was all very well completing my dream of writing a book, but until it was published, no one would get to read it.
So I started querying hundreds of agents and publishers. I got too many rejections to even count! OK, small white lie, a while ago I did count them out of morbid curiosity, and it was a whopping two hundred!
I did come close a couple of times to being traditionally published, but it never quite worked out. It was either, "one group of editors liked it but another didn't", or "the chick lit market is saturated", or "we love it but…"
When I first looked into publishing independently, platforms like Amazon Kindle didn't support international authors. So the way I saw it, I had two choices. Either I could write another book, hone my writing skills and learn all I could about my craft, and wait for an opportunity to come up, or I could let all the rejection letters get me down, think my writing career was over before it had begun, and stick my head in the oven! Since heat tends to turn my curls into a ball of frizz, it was no contest, really. I wrote my next novel, a chick lit mystery called The Fashion Police, and waited. Because I knew, I just knew, that I COULD do this. I could write novels that people wanted to read. If only I could get the chance.
In the meantime, I also entered several writing competitions. And while I was still getting the dreaded rejections, Fourteen Days Later was shortlisted for the Harry Bowling Prize 2008 and received a Highly Commended by The Yeovil Literary Prize 2009. And The Fashion Police was a runner up in the Chapter One Promotions Novel Competition 2010 (and later nominated for the Best Novel with Romantic Elements 2010 by The Romance Reviews). Surely I was doing something right, wasn't I? But I STILL couldn't get a publisher!
Then last year, when Amazon opened up their doors to non-US authors, I uploaded Fourteen Days Later and The Fashion Police onto their Kindle store. I couldn't believe it when I finally saw my books on sale. It was scary, rewarding, exciting, amazing – so many experiences rolled into one.
But what if no one liked my novels? What if I had all bad reviews? What if all the two hundred rejections were right? What if, what if…?
Time for a deep breath, Sibel. If you want to be an author, you have to repeat this mantra everyday… "I can do this. I can do this. I CAN do this."
So I did.
And boy am I glad I did! The first month with Fourteen Days Later and The Fashion Police, I sold 44 books (another eeek!). Then I released my third novel, a romantic comedy called My Perfect Wedding, and later released my second chick lit mystery Be Careful What You Wish For. In the last 6 months alone I've sold over 40,000 ebooks, and all my novels are consistently in the Amazon top 100 genre categories for humor, contemporary romance, comedy, and romantic suspense. My highest overall sales ranking to date is 136, just missing out on the Amazon top 100 bestseller charts. Considering there are over 900,000 Kindle books on Amazon, that's not bad!
And this is one lesson I've learned in the last couple of years…You can do anything you want to in life. It may mean you have to go a different route than you originally planned, but if you're determined enough and believe in yourself, you can overcome any obstacles.
So I'm toasting all you women out there with my glass of wine. Cheers to dreams and making them come true! Looks like I got my big girls' knickers after all!
You can find Sibel's books in paperback and all ebook formats. For more info, please check out her website
This is one story from Indie Chicks: 25 Women 25 Personal Stories available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble . To read all of the stories, buy your copy today.
***
The Fashion Police at Amazon!
February 27, 2012
Guest Post – Christine DeMaio-Rice
I have quite a few regular clients for formatting, and they're all pretty rockin'. One of the aspects I've truly, truly enjoyed about building the CyberWitch business is the fact that I've found some great relationships in the people I work for. I recently posted Dani Amore's Indie Chicks post–she's one of those clients. Today's post is another one of those clients.
I've read (and formatted) all of Christine's books. Even her kid's book. She is an incredibly talented writer, as well as a cover artist (she did the cover for my first YA, Heaven Below). She's wry, snarky, and has the kind of sense of humor that I LOVE. I'm honored to have her at my blog today!
Christine DeMaio-Rice
How A Big Yellow Truck Changed My Life
(for the better)
An orange peel grapple is a big machine. Excavator on the bottom. Long arm in the middle. And a metal grapple on the end that looks like a horror movie claw. The base spins. The arm moves up and down. The grapple grabs stuff like SUVs and big piles of metal.
You may come across one while driving, and if you have a little boy in the car, you may have to pull over to watch the thing move cars into a tractor trailer. Otherwise, nothing about this machine will rock your world.
But an orange peel grapple changed my life.
My life was a complete disaster at the time. Though I had a beautiful baby boy and a good husband, I had a job in an industry I swore I would never return to, at a company that wanted nothing more than to suck the blood directly from my heart with a curly straw. This, after I had already sold all the blood in my heart to the film industry, which after a few meetings and screenwriting awards, looked like it might want to take a sip from that straw.
A sip, because as good as things were looking, I saw a long road in front of me. My work was not "commercial enough," and my manager had made it clear that years would pass before I would be able to convince anyone that this lack of commerciality was a quality that was, well, commercial.
But no. My husband lost his job, and I found work in the fashion industry soon after. What I rapidly discovered was that, though out-of-towners could schedule meetings back-to-back all over town, Angelenos were expected to take a meeting at the last minute, or blithely accept a rescheduling. My boss, on the other hand, had no interest in moving around my personal days, and my sick days dwindled in my first three months on the job. It took only a few months for the meetings to dry up and for me to start writing a Santa Claus script out of desperation.
So, the blood-sucking fashion job with the inflexible hours was right next to a scrap yard, which apparently opened at the crack of dawn because when I got there at seven thirty every morning, the orange peel grapple was already grabbing away. If I had a minute, I watched it go up and down as I clutched my coffee, and I thought, one day I should get a video camera and film this because my son would love it. Really love it.
My son was about eighteen months old and just learning to talk. I missed him while I was at work, adored him when he was awake and with me, and the rest of the time, I found room to resent him for taking me away from writing. He was then, and has remained, a fireball of energy. His teacher alternated between calling him a Jack Russell terrier and a buzz saw. He is also obsessive. Right now, he has a room full of Legos. Before that, it was Thomas the Tank Engine, and before that, it was trucks. Big yellow trucks. He wouldn't fall asleep unless he gripped a toy truck in each fist. When he received a Tonka loader for Christmas, it was love at first sight. He called it "lolo."
One morning, with the vision of that big 'lolo' that I would later know as an orange peel grapple dancing in my head, I dialed a friend's number. I'd known this man from Brooklyn, and he'd come to Los Angeles a few years earlier to attend the American Film Institute. Most importantly, he had a camera. When I got his answering machine, instead of asking him for the camera, I said something else entirely, something like, "Hey, wanna produce a kid's video together? Here's the pitch. Trucks. Okay, bye."
That moment may not seem pivotal, but most turning points don't when they happen. That moment, I took control of my creative life. My friend called me back the minute he got up, and we began the journey toward becoming business owners. We did not pitch the idea around town, and we did not ask permission to bring the work to the public. We put the DVDs on Createspace, and eventually had to hold inventory to meet the demand.
Lolo Productions and the Totally Trucks series have had ups and downs, but the process taught me two things. One, my concepts need to be simple. If I can't pitch it in five words, it's not a concept I should develop. My second lesson is that I can be in control of my product and my creative life. If I think something is worthwhile, I can bring it to my customers. Becoming the producer and publisher of my work means I understand now what agents and studio executives meant when they said "commercial."
Without my son, I never would have taken the life-sucking job. And without that job, there would have been no orange peel grapple. And without that scrapyard, there would have been no Totally Trucks. No eye for the commercial and no control of self-publishing. Who knows what I would have made without all the things that pissed me off for interrupting my work.
***
Christine lives in Los Angeles with her family, though her accent is pure Brooklyn. She has been involved in the fashion industry for over 20 years, and though she protests that she'd rather not talk about it, she complains about little else.
Find Christine Online!
***
Find Dead Is the New Black Online
"Dead is the New Black" has all the elements of a good mystery: unique characters, plentiful suspects, and several clues that seem to point in different directions until they are all fit together like puzzle pieces. – Big Al's Books and Pals
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Laura Carnegie gave up on the man of her dreams a long time ago. He's fashion designer Jeremy St. James, and not only is he her boss, everyone knows he's gay.
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When he's arrested for murder, secrets come to light and nothing is what it seems. If Laura can just solve this crime, keep the cops off her tail, break up a counterfeiting ring, and get the show on the runway by Friday, she might stop being Seventh Avenue's perpetual loser.
February 25, 2012
Guest Post – Cheryl Bradshaw "Just Me and James Dean"
I have been painfully remiss in my blogging. For the first half of February, I was INSANELY busy with formatting jobs. I'm not sure I took a deep breath for three weeks. Which is probably why I then managed to get sick with some kind of lovely chest infection. I've been fighting it all week. Doc said it's a virus and it just has to run its course. YAY. So, next couple days I need to catch up on the Indie Chicks I've forgotten to post, and hopefully I can somehow maintain a steady blogging schedule from then on!
Cheryl Bradshaw
Just Me and James Dean
When I was a little girl I used to make up stories at bedtime for my younger sister, Michelle. The most vivid centered on a boy and a girl who received a piece of gum for Halloween in their trick-or-treat bag, and when they chewed it, they were transported to a magical land where they were granted unlimited wishes. Even at such a young age, the process of concocting stories was effortless. My mind revolved like the reel of a movie spinning inside my head.
I spent many hours daydreaming as a child. Back then everything was as beautiful and white as a freshly painted fence. I fantasized about the day I would get married, the children I would have, the house I would own, and the life I would live when I was all grown up.
When I was a teenager, my mind still swirled with girlish hopes and dreams. I remember lying on my bed in my room staring at a poster on my wall of James Dean. He was hunkered down on the seat of a motorcycle, and Marilyn Monroe was perched behind him with her arms wrapped around his waist, and her head resting on his shoulder. I wanted to jump into the poster like the girl in A-Ha's Take on Me video and ride off into life's highway, just me and James. Together, forever.
When I became an adult and moved out on my own to attend college at the tender age of eighteen, I thought I had my whole world figured out. I'd developed a slight obsession with Agatha Christie and knew mysteries and thrillers were the perfect genre for me as a writer. All kinds of ideas flowed for the first novel, and I thought I was on my way. There was just one problem: I never started writing.
Why?
I wasn't prepared for the events that were about to take place in my life or how they would affect my journey. Life didn't turn out to be the dream I thought it would be, and I struggled—a lot, and faced challenges and trials that at times seemed more than I could bear. My relationships didn't always work out, and all the babies I hoped to have didn't come like I'd planned. There were times when I felt like my life was like a shattered mirror, and I was on my hands and knees desperately searching for all the pieces of myself so I could glue them back together and feel whole again. During those times I wondered how many other women out there in the world felt the same exact way.
Time went on and I struggled, but eventually I picked myself back up and I healed. With a new lease on life and a positive attitude about what I'd overcome, I thought about writing again. In 2009 I wrote Black Diamond Death, the first novel in my Sloane Monroe series. Sinnerman followed six months later and now I'm hard at work on the third, I Have a Secret.
As I sit here and write this, I'm shocked that I am being so candid. Normally, I safeguard my feelings. To say I'm a private person is an understatement, but I feel compelled to get this out. My message in all of this is to never lose sight of your hopes and dreams. Never forget who you are, where you came from, and what you are capable of accomplishing in your life. And if you have a passion, foster it with everything you have inside you. Let it shine. Let it breathe. Let it be.
When I pondered about the dedication I would use for Sinnerman, my direction was clear and I wrote the following:
This book is dedicated to anyone who's ever had a dream. We have but one life, and one opportunity to live it. Make it last, make it count, and make it the best it can be. Live your dreams, I know I am.
Today, I'm no longer waiting for James Dean to ride up on his shiny black motorcycle. I've fallen for a different kind of boy now, one who dreams of wide open spaces and a simple life. One who wants to be a cowboy when he grows up. Now the poster I see in my visions is one of man hoisting me up on the back of his trusty steed while we ride away together into the Wyoming sunset.
If you asked me ten years ago if this was the life I thought I wanted, my answer might have been no, but if you asked me today I would say I'm right where I'm supposed to be. My life isn't perfect, the challenges are still there, and I still have a lot to learn about myself. But no matter what the future holds for me, I know one thing for sure: I'll never stop writing.
***
Find Cheryl Online!
***
Sinnerman
February 24, 2012
Guest Post – Cheryl Bradshaw “Just Me and James Dean”
I have been painfully remiss in my blogging. For the first half of February, I was INSANELY busy with formatting jobs. I’m not sure I took a deep breath for three weeks. Which is probably why I then managed to get sick with some kind of lovely chest infection. I’ve been fighting it all week. Doc said it’s a virus and it just has to run its course. YAY. So, next couple days I need to catch up on the Indie Chicks I’ve forgotten to post, and hopefully I can somehow maintain a steady blogging schedule from then on!
Cheryl Bradshaw
Just Me and James Dean
When I was a little girl I used to make up stories at bedtime for my younger sister, Michelle. The most vivid centered on a boy and a girl who received a piece of gum for Halloween in their trick-or-treat bag, and when they chewed it, they were transported to a magical land where they were granted unlimited wishes. Even at such a young age, the process of concocting stories was effortless. My mind revolved like the reel of a movie spinning inside my head.
I spent many hours daydreaming as a child. Back then everything was as beautiful and white as a freshly painted fence. I fantasized about the day I would get married, the children I would have, the house I would own, and the life I would live when I was all grown up.
When I was a teenager, my mind still swirled with girlish hopes and dreams. I remember lying on my bed in my room staring at a poster on my wall of James Dean. He was hunkered down on the seat of a motorcycle, and Marilyn Monroe was perched behind him with her arms wrapped around his waist, and her head resting on his shoulder. I wanted to jump into the poster like the girl in A-Ha’s Take on Me video and ride off into life’s highway, just me and James. Together, forever.
When I became an adult and moved out on my own to attend college at the tender age of eighteen, I thought I had my whole world figured out. I’d developed a slight obsession with Agatha Christie and knew mysteries and thrillers were the perfect genre for me as a writer. All kinds of ideas flowed for the first novel, and I thought I was on my way. There was just one problem: I never started writing.
Why?
I wasn’t prepared for the events that were about to take place in my life or how they would affect my journey. Life didn’t turn out to be the dream I thought it would be, and I struggled—a lot, and faced challenges and trials that at times seemed more than I could bear. My relationships didn’t always work out, and all the babies I hoped to have didn’t come like I’d planned. There were times when I felt like my life was like a shattered mirror, and I was on my hands and knees desperately searching for all the pieces of myself so I could glue them back together and feel whole again. During those times I wondered how many other women out there in the world felt the same exact way.
Time went on and I struggled, but eventually I picked myself back up and I healed. With a new lease on life and a positive attitude about what I’d overcome, I thought about writing again. In 2009 I wrote Black Diamond Death, the first novel in my Sloane Monroe series. Sinnerman followed six months later and now I’m hard at work on the third, I Have a Secret.
As I sit here and write this, I’m shocked that I am being so candid. Normally, I safeguard my feelings. To say I’m a private person is an understatement, but I feel compelled to get this out. My message in all of this is to never lose sight of your hopes and dreams. Never forget who you are, where you came from, and what you are capable of accomplishing in your life. And if you have a passion, foster it with everything you have inside you. Let it shine. Let it breathe. Let it be.
When I pondered about the dedication I would use for Sinnerman, my direction was clear and I wrote the following:
This book is dedicated to anyone who’s ever had a dream. We have but one life, and one opportunity to live it. Make it last, make it count, and make it the best it can be. Live your dreams, I know I am.
Today, I’m no longer waiting for James Dean to ride up on his shiny black motorcycle. I’ve fallen for a different kind of boy now, one who dreams of wide open spaces and a simple life. One who wants to be a cowboy when he grows up. Now the poster I see in my visions is one of man hoisting me up on the back of his trusty steed while we ride away together into the Wyoming sunset.
If you asked me ten years ago if this was the life I thought I wanted, my answer might have been no, but if you asked me today I would say I’m right where I’m supposed to be. My life isn’t perfect, the challenges are still there, and I still have a lot to learn about myself. But no matter what the future holds for me, I know one thing for sure: I’ll never stop writing.
***
Find Cheryl Online!
***
Sinnerman
February 5, 2012
Guest Post – Dani Amore "Writing From a Flour Sack"
Dani AmoreWriting From a Flour Sack
Fact: I was born on a bathroom floor. Literally. My arrival into this world was followed seconds later by an unceremonious drop onto the cold tile of St. John's Hospital in Detroit, Michigan.
You see, I was the fifth out of six children. My mother knew my delivery would be fast, but the nurse at the hospital insisted she go to the bathroom before the doctor arrived.
Later, after the drama and I was pronounced healthy, my mother told the doctor that the nurse should have listened to her, that she had warned the nurse that the baby (me) was going to arrive any second. That, having already delivered four children, she knew her body pretty well.
The doctor said, "Five kids, huh? Maybe you should tell your husband to keep it in his pants."
True story.
* * *
Both of my parents were born in Italy. They emigrated to the U.S. in the 1950s. My father always said the biggest difference between Italy and America at that time was that you could work your ass off in Italy and have nothing to show for it. If you worked hard in America, you could eventually become wealthy. He started a construction company and worked 6 days a week, from dawn to dusk. Eventually, he was successful.
My mother raised six children.
She is a strong woman.
Both she and my father share a love of aphorisms.
The one I remember most? "A well-made flour sack stands on its own."
It was almost like a mantra with her.
At a key point in my writing life, that phrase came in handy.
* * *
So there I am. I've got a full-time job in advertising. I'm writing about products that suck, working for people I can't stand, and with two good friends, drinking every night after work. At a little bar not far from the office. I'm averaging about five or six drinks a night. Every weeknight. More on the weekends.
But on those weekend mornings, I'm writing fiction. Just short stories that I try to picture in The Paris Review.
Everything gets rejected with remarkable efficiency.
One night, probably half in the bag, I come across THE DAY OF THE JACKAL on television. The original movie is pretty campy and the remake with Bruce Willis is a pure load of crap. But the book. The novel by Frederick Forsyth is one of my all-time favorites.
The scene on television is the best part of the movie: It's where the Jackal is sighting in his rifle. He paints a little face on a small melon, then blows it apart from 500 yards away.
There's no epiphany. I go to bed. But as I toss and turn, vodka fumes in a cloud around my pillow, I think about the narrative structure of the story. I've read the book several times. Even have a collector's edition. The chase. The tension. The violence.
When I wake up the next morning, I make an especially strong pot of coffee. I push aside my short literary fiction, and start a new story.
It's about a hitman and a female escort.
Later that day, during some interminable meeting where everyone is throwing out insidious phrases like "let's get on the same page," and "think outside the box," I realized what I was doing.
I was writing to please others, instead of focusing on the kind of stories and books I like.
Crime fiction. Thrillers. Suspense.
I had forgotten one of my mother's cardinal rules.
A well-made flour sack stands on its own.
* * *
I know it sounds melodramatic. But the truth is, everything changed after that night. I still despised the advertising industry, but I no longer let it bother me so much. I begged off going to the bar with my friends, instead choosing to work out and then get some writing done in the evenings.
Eventually, I finished several crime novels. Even landed a big New York literary agent.
But a funny thing happened. My agent, and publishers, seemed to have endless debates about how to market me. Should I be a hardboiled crime novelist? A thriller writer? A traditional mystery author?
There were suggestions to change this book and change that one. Then change it back. Then change it to something else.
But now I had learned. I was smarter.
I told them thanks, but no thanks.
It was time to stand up and be the writer I wanted to be.
So I became an indie author.
And when my first book became a Top 10 Mystery on Amazon, I knew I had made the right decision.
Never underestimate the power of an Italian mother armed with an aphorism.
***
[image error]
Dani Amore is a crime novelist living in Los Angeles, California. You can find out more about her, and see what she's blogging about, at her website: http://www.daniamore.com
Find Dani Online!
***
I'm actually working my way through Dani's books, currently. I've read To Find A Mountain and The Killing League, both amazing books (though very dissimilar). I'm about halfway through Dead Wood, which is by far one of the best books I've read in a long time. I highly recommend everything she's written!
Guest Post – Dani Amore “Writing From a Flour Sack”
Dani AmoreWriting From a Flour Sack
Fact: I was born on a bathroom floor. Literally. My arrival into this world was followed seconds later by an unceremonious drop onto the cold tile of St. John’s Hospital in Detroit, Michigan.
You see, I was the fifth out of six children. My mother knew my delivery would be fast, but the nurse at the hospital insisted she go to the bathroom before the doctor arrived.
Later, after the drama and I was pronounced healthy, my mother told the doctor that the nurse should have listened to her, that she had warned the nurse that the baby (me) was going to arrive any second. That, having already delivered four children, she knew her body pretty well.
The doctor said, “Five kids, huh? Maybe you should tell your husband to keep it in his pants.”
True story.
* * *
Both of my parents were born in Italy. They emigrated to the U.S. in the 1950s. My father always said the biggest difference between Italy and America at that time was that you could work your ass off in Italy and have nothing to show for it. If you worked hard in America, you could eventually become wealthy. He started a construction company and worked 6 days a week, from dawn to dusk. Eventually, he was successful.
My mother raised six children.
She is a strong woman.
Both she and my father share a love of aphorisms.
The one I remember most? “A well-made flour sack stands on its own.”
It was almost like a mantra with her.
At a key point in my writing life, that phrase came in handy.
* * *
So there I am. I’ve got a full-time job in advertising. I’m writing about products that suck, working for people I can’t stand, and with two good friends, drinking every night after work. At a little bar not far from the office. I’m averaging about five or six drinks a night. Every weeknight. More on the weekends.
But on those weekend mornings, I’m writing fiction. Just short stories that I try to picture in The Paris Review.
Everything gets rejected with remarkable efficiency.
One night, probably half in the bag, I come across THE DAY OF THE JACKAL on television. The original movie is pretty campy and the remake with Bruce Willis is a pure load of crap. But the book. The novel by Frederick Forsyth is one of my all-time favorites.
The scene on television is the best part of the movie: It’s where the Jackal is sighting in his rifle. He paints a little face on a small melon, then blows it apart from 500 yards away.
There’s no epiphany. I go to bed. But as I toss and turn, vodka fumes in a cloud around my pillow, I think about the narrative structure of the story. I’ve read the book several times. Even have a collector’s edition. The chase. The tension. The violence.
When I wake up the next morning, I make an especially strong pot of coffee. I push aside my short literary fiction, and start a new story.
It’s about a hitman and a female escort.
Later that day, during some interminable meeting where everyone is throwing out insidious phrases like “let’s get on the same page,” and “think outside the box,” I realized what I was doing.
I was writing to please others, instead of focusing on the kind of stories and books I like.
Crime fiction. Thrillers. Suspense.
I had forgotten one of my mother’s cardinal rules.
A well-made flour sack stands on its own.
* * *
I know it sounds melodramatic. But the truth is, everything changed after that night. I still despised the advertising industry, but I no longer let it bother me so much. I begged off going to the bar with my friends, instead choosing to work out and then get some writing done in the evenings.
Eventually, I finished several crime novels. Even landed a big New York literary agent.
But a funny thing happened. My agent, and publishers, seemed to have endless debates about how to market me. Should I be a hardboiled crime novelist? A thriller writer? A traditional mystery author?
There were suggestions to change this book and change that one. Then change it back. Then change it to something else.
But now I had learned. I was smarter.
I told them thanks, but no thanks.
It was time to stand up and be the writer I wanted to be.
So I became an indie author.
And when my first book became a Top 10 Mystery on Amazon, I knew I had made the right decision.
Never underestimate the power of an Italian mother armed with an aphorism.
***
[image error]
Dani Amore is a crime novelist living in Los Angeles, California. You can find out more about her, and see what she’s blogging about, at her website: http://www.daniamore.com
Find Dani Online!
***
I’m actually working my way through Dani’s books, currently. I’ve read To Find A Mountain and The Killing League, both amazing books (though very dissimilar). I’m about halfway through Dead Wood, which is by far one of the best books I’ve read in a long time. I highly recommend everything she’s written!
