Merry Farmer's Blog, page 11

Writing a Knock-Out Blurb

There has been a lot of discussion in my writing circle lately about blurbs and covers. As in, some of us in our niche genre (Historical Westerns) are deeply concerned about the quality of blurbs and covers we’re seeing. So we’ve been doing what we can to help newer authors to put their best foot forward.  

I’d like to extend that here, to you. So this week I’ll be talking about blurbs, and later I’ll be discussing the good, the bad, and the ugly of covers. 

So. Blurbs. We hate writing them. We just do. Because how do you summarize an entire novel in just a few paragraphs? And how do you do it in such a way that you’re intriguing the reader, convincing them to buy your book, but not giving too much of the story away? 

The purpose of your blurb is to tickle all potential readers, to leave them feeling like they HAVE to read your book to find out what happens. You want to introduce them to your characters, explain the problem they have, and convince them to care what happens to those characters. Here’s an example of a blurb that does all that: 

All Tasha Pike has wanted for the past twenty years is to rent Sand Dollar Point for a summer. The grand Victorian on the beach of Summerbury, Maine was the object of her childhood fantasy and her standard of romance—and it was finally happening. Her dream summer is ruined, however, when she arrives in Summerbury to find that Hollywood superstar Spencer Ellis has muscled his way into the house instead. His offer that they share Sand Dollar Point is not only infuriating—it’s insulting.  

He’s a celebrity, and one she’s determined to hate. 

Spencer’s summer in Maine was supposed to help him get his head screwed on straight. One look at Tasha, however, made that impossible. She’s beautiful. She’s angry. She doesn’t care who he is. She doesn’t care about his fame. In fact, she doesn’t even like him. 

She’s irresistible.  

He’s only got the summer. She’s only got her heart. They’ve only got each other.  

Okay, admittedly, that’s a blurb for one of my books. A blurb I didn’t write myself, I might add. My amazing friend and colleague Anne Chaconas of Badass Marketing wrote it. She nails it on the head, really. The characters are identified, an emotional connection is forged between them and the reader, and you find yourself wondering what’s going to happen between these two. 

Now, a bad version of this same blurb might look something like this… 

Tasha shows up at her summer rental only to discover that it’s been given to someone else, a Hollywood celebrity. They decide to put up with each other and share the house for the summer. They end up liking each other, but when people figure out a celebrity is in town, their privacy is invaded. They manage to have a summer fling anyhow, but have to decide whether it can continue once summer is over. 

Yep. Every bit of that is true. But it’s more like a book report than something that would suck you in, spark interest in the characters, and get you to read more. Remember, it’s all about reaching out and grabbing the reader, and making them care about your characters to the point where they have to read the book to find out what happens to them. 

My friend and fellow savvy author, Peggy L Henderson has this rule of thumb for writing blurbs: First paragraph tells a little about the heroine and her dilemma. Second paragraph tells about the hero and his dilemma. Third paragraph ties the two together. Each paragraph is no longer than three sentences. 

That’s the most concise and straight-forward way to think of it, and she’s right. Three paragraphs is a great way to organize a blurb. We’re talking Romance here, but it can be extended to any genre. Who is Character One and what is their problem? Who is Character Two and what is their problem? How do their problems collide, and what is at stake if they don’t reach their goals? Right there. That’s the bones you need to build your blurb on. 

I also find that it helps to imagine the blurb being spoken aloud by that guy who used to do all the movie trailer voiceovers. You know… “In a world where blurbs don’t write themselves and authors struggle with words….” Silly, yes, but it helps! 

So get out there and write some blurbs! They’re one of the two most important things you need to draw a reader in and sell a book. Next time, we’ll talk about covers.

Weekend Excerpt – His Perfect Bride/Corva: The Perfect Bride

Okay, you may have noticed that I’m posting this week’s book excerpt on the weeknend and not on a Wednesday. That’s because part of my New Year’s Resolution is to start (or restart, really) a new History blog post feature–Western Wednesdays–in the new year. I’m hoping to bring you little slices of life in the Old West based on the research I’ve done for my books. And I’m also going to try to get back into posting more writing tips and tricks for aspiring authors. But today, it’s all about Corva. Or His Perfect Bride, depending on whether you’re reading the nice or the naughty version. Here you go!

Franklin had to put a stop to this line of questioning. Clearly, it upset Corva, and he wouldn’t have that. “Dad, what are your plans for confronting Bonneville about the calves?”

Behind them, Cody laid a few more logs on the fire to brighten the room, as if it wasn’t hot enough already in spite of the spring chill outside.

“Now, now, son.” Howard shook a finger at him. “First things first. We’re investigating…I mean, learning about your wife.” He winked at Corva.

Corva blushed and stared down at her plate.

“Dad, maybe now isn’t the best time,” Franklin defended her.

“Nonsense. Now, young lady, what about your parents? Where are they?”

Corva swallowed. “My father was killed in the war. My mother died right after the war ended. That’s when I was sent to live with my Aunt Mildred, because the family thought we would cheer each other up.”

“Well? Did you?” Howard demanded.

Franklin cringed. He knew his father meant well, but he was like a grizzly bear in a house of cards. Franklin tried to shake his head to call his father off, but he was oblivious.

“No, not really,” Corva answered. “Aunt Mildred didn’t like children. She…she married my Uncle Stanley two years later, but…” She closed her mouth and swallowed.

Franklin saw the tell-tale signs of a woman about to cry. “Dad, I know you want to learn all about Corva, but this business with Bonneville is far more pressing. We need every one of those calves to stay with our herd if we stand a chance of increasing our numbers.”

“The only solution I can think of is to keep the pregnant cows close to home,” Travis spoke up.

Franklin sent him a nod of thanks for coming to the rescue.

Howard sighed. “I doubt Bonneville himself is behind it. More likely it’s that bast—” He cleared his throat, darting a glance at the women and children present. “That scoundrel he’s got running his operation, Brandon.”

“Kyle Brandon is a menace,” Travis growled.

A snap sounded from the fireplace behind Franklin and Corva. Franklin ignored it, but Corva turned, as if only just realizing she’d been seated in front of it. The logs Cody had laid on the fire had caught and were now blazing away.

One look at the flames, and Corva screamed, launching out of her chair. Her plate spilled to the carpet. She only made it two steps before stumbling over one of the children.

Franklin thrust his plate aside and jumped up after her. “It’s okay,” he assured her, closing his arms around her and drawing her into an embrace, even though he wasn’t all that steady himself. “It’s okay.”

Corva hid her face against his shoulder with a sob. She shook like a leaf, so Franklin tightened his hold around her. Throughout the room, his family and friends gaped and murmured in baffled surprise.

“She lived through the burning of Atlanta,” he told them quietly.

A few hums and nods of sympathy followed, but Corva continued to shake and refused to come out of hiding.

“Move those chairs,” Howard ordered, blustering, but red-faced with embarrassment. “What fool put them there in the first place?”

Probably him, but Franklin wasn’t going to say anything.

“I’ll fix you a new plate, dear,” his mother said, patting Corva’s back as she skipped through the room to the dining room.

“Why is Aunt Corva crying?” Minnie asked.

Everyone jumped into motion to drown the impertinence of Minnie’s question, shuffling seats and moving Franklin and Corva’s chairs to the hallway side of the parlor. There was so much movement and fuss that not one of them heard the front door open and slam shut.

It wasn’t until he shouted, “Haskell, I demand you stop this underhanded farce at once,” that they realized Rex Bonneville had barged into the house.

 

Quick little historical fact, in case you were wondering…. The word “Dad” as used to refer to your father is actually not as modern as you might be tempted to think it is. It was first recorded around the year 1500 as a name for your father, but language historians believe it’s much, much older than that.

His Perfect Bride (naughty version) and Corva: The Perfect Bride (nice version) are coming on December 28th! Stay tuned for links and more! But if you want to get the background to this story and the series, I recommend reading Trail of Destiny….

Romance – Now More Than Ever

image courtesy of Christian Muñoz via Flickr

Every six months or so, the knives come out. Somewhere on the internet, someone will shake their fist and proclaim that Romance is a worthless genre, that romance writers are all hacks, and that no self-respecting reader out there should be caught dead reading such drivel. 

*ahem* 

Every six months or so, someone makes an idiot of themselves. 

Romance is the heart of humanity. Clearly it’s a hot-button issue, because every time the arguments begin to rage, defenders of romance rush forth to set the cynics straight. More than that, they remind the world that the romance genre is the top-selling genre out there, a six billion dollar a year industry. The fact that romance sells so well AND the fact that it is always attacked with such ferocity is proof that love, relationships, yearning, and intimacy are at the heart of who we are. 

I would like to propose that in today’s world, romance goes further than that. Right now, in a world that has been whipped up to epic levels of hysteria, in a world where loud-mouthed individuals and groups with a dark agenda can captivate billions and instill them with fear like never before, romance is essential. Now more than ever, the world needs romance novels. 

Because it’s scary out there right now, folks. Every time you turn on the news, you can’t help but cringe over something that someone said or about violence and injustice going on somewhere in the world. We sometimes forget that this isn’t the only time in our history that this sort of thing has happened. What I find interesting, though, is what happened last time the world found itself mired in senseless war, questionable conflict, and the strain of social injustice. 

I’m talking about the 60s, of course. The Vietnam War. The racial unrest. The uncertainty across the globe. But what else do we remember about the 60s and the Vietnam Era? We remember hippies, peaceniks, music, and The Summer of Love. 

Love goes hand-in-hand with peace. We all want peace, but you could definitely make the argument that without love first, without the opening of our hearts, peace isn’t possible. And what are romance novels but deep, expressive examples of love? 

The whole point of a romance novel is to have a hero and heroine (or hero and hero, or heroine and heroine, or…you get the point) meet, have a spark between them, and overcome odds to be together. I was struck this summer when I heard Catherine Bybee speak at the Ind’Scribe Conference about how for her, romance novels were how she learned about monogamy and happily ever after in romantic relationships. She was so right. Too many of us don’t have those examples in our real lives. What we learn, we learn between the pages. 

I think it extends beyond relationships and happily ever afters. Romance novels go one step further to show us that it is not only possible to conquer demons (literal and figurative) it’s right. In today’s world, it is far too easy to give up and assume that the bad guys will win because they’re louder or more ruthless. Romance novels show us that that’s not the case. No matter how dastardly or clever the bad guy is, love saves the day. 

We need this sentiment in the world right now. We need to be reminded over and over that good will triumph over evil, that great acts of compassion are possible, that the future can be filled with peace and happiness. It may be hard to have those feelings when you turn on the news right now, but when you open the pages of a book, a romance novel, you see that it can be done. We may be skeptical, we may be tempted to join those detractors and think that it’s all just fiction, but I think that the more we immerse ourselves in those examples of love and happy endings, the more we can not only come to believe they are possible, the more we will work to make them possible. 

So turn off the news. Ignore the detractors. Let your soul breathe for a few hours. Pick up a romance novel and change the way you look at the world. Welcome in peace to a world that needs it, and learn to believe that we can all have our happily ever after.

Excerpt Wednesday – His Perfect Bride/Corva – Trouble Brewing

It’s Wednesday! Are you feeling naughty or nice? Lucky for you, with this next series of mine, you can pick. I’ll be releasing both a spicy version – His Perfect Bride – and a sweet version – Corva: The Perfect Bride – so you won’t have to worry about reading too much of the bedroom stuff…or not enough. Either way, there’s trouble brewing for Franklin and Corva almost right from the start. Take a look! Both books release on December 28th….

His explanation was cut off by a high-pitched, female shout. Corva had to search for a second before she spotted a short woman in a flouncy purple dress with honey-brown hair waving her arms at him. The woman had jumped up from a circle of three other young women, all of whom bore a distinct resemblance. The woman who had called out hopped down from one of the higher benches and charged across the field. The only hint Corva had of Franklin’s feelings about the woman was a quick, heavy sigh.

“Franklin, what a treat to see you in town today. I wish you had told me you were coming in. I would have invited you to come watch the boys practice with us. We’re having such a jolly time.” The flouncy woman finally puffed to a stop when she was mere feet from Franklin.

“Vivian.” Franklin managed a tense pinch of his mouth, which may have been an attempt at a smile.

“You’re looking dashing today,” Vivian went on. “Is that a new suit? It looks expensive. Did it come in on the train just now? I simply love it when you or your family send away for fancy things that come in on the train.”

A hitch formed in Corva’s chest, not of jealousy—which part of her thought she should be feeling, considering how beautiful and fine the woman in front of her was—but of embarrassment for the woman’s sake. She was well aware that men came west looking for gold, but apparently women did too.

“This isn’t a new suit,” Franklin said. He cleared his throat. “I did meet the train, however. I came to town to greet Corva when she arrived.” He glanced to Corva.

Only then did Vivian blink and glance to Corva, noticing her existence. “Who’s she?”

Franklin took his time answering. “Vivian, I’d like you to meet Miss Corva Collier.” He stopped, nodded to himself, then said, “I mean, Mrs. Corva Haskell.”

A warm flush filled Corva’s body. That was her name now, wasn’t it? Not just in her imagination. “How do you do?” She held out a hand to Vivian.

Vivian stared at her, then at Franklin. Ever so slowly, her lip curled. “Mrs. What?”

Franklin blew out a breath. Corva had the impression that if he wasn’t holding her arm with one of his and his cane in his other hand, he would have rubbed his face, possibly to hide.

“Corva and I have just been married,” he said, offering no other explanation.

Vivian’s transformation was quick and alarming. Her pretty smile evaporated into a sour grimace, which morphed into a bitter pout. “But Franklin,” she choked. “I wanted to marry you.”

The comment was so bold and had so much insistence behind it that Corva’s brow shot up and her heart pounded against her ribs. Clearly, Vivian was a force to be reckoned with. Corva wanted to let Franklin’s arm go and step away, possibly even running back to the train station, although the train had moved on.

“Vivian, you know what I’ve said about that in the past.” Franklin kept his voice low and his eyes fixed on Vivian, almost as if he was scolding her.

“You said you would never marry anyone, that no one deserved a cripple for a husband,” Vivian pouted.

Corva snuck a sideways glance to Franklin, who looked a little like a moth that had been skewered with a pin in a case. The same feeling of heartache that she’d felt the moment she saw him returned.

Vivian turned her vicious stare on Corva and went on with her outburst. “I see now that you lied.” Her chin and nose shot up. “I had no idea you were such a liar, Franklin Haskell. Papa will be furious.”

“I’m sorry if you had the wrong idea about things.” Franklin did his best to placate her. “I thought I had made my intentions clear from the first.”

Vivian sniffed. “You didn’t know what you were talking about. You were supposed to come around…eventually.”

“You know that wasn’t—” He stopped, pressing his lips together and squeezing his eyes shut.

It dawned on Corva that her new husband was a patient man. That thought made her smile, in spite of the confrontation they were mired in.

At last, Franklin took a breath, hugging his arm, and with it, Corva’s hand, closer to his body. “I’m sorry if you are disappointed, Vivian, but with so many single men in these parts, I’m sure you’ll find a husband in no time.”

 

Stay tuned for more! And if you’d like a reminder when His Perfect Bride and Corva: The Perfect Bride come out on December 28th, please sign up for my newsletter!

Excerpt Wednesday – His Perfect Bride: A First Look

I know, I know, it’s Thursday again, not Wednesday. But I have an exciting new excerpt for you anyhow! It’s from the first book of a super exciting new series, The Brides of Paradise Ranch! Here’s the twist, though. For each book in this series, I will be releasing a Spicy version and a Sweet version. They’ll be the same story with the same plot, same characters, same everything, but one version will contain those sexy, spicy scenes that some of you love, and the other will be fresh and clean as a daisy. Each version will have a different cover and a slightly different title.

Today, I bring you a snippet of the first book in the series, His Perfect Bride (spicy version) aka Corva: The Perfect Bride (sweet version). Many apologies about not having covers yet, but here’s a bit of Chapter One that, well, that more or less sets up the entire series….

 

He took a breath, settled back in his chair, and rolled his shoulders. “The other night, Olivia and I were going over some business regarding my dear, old friend and mentor, Josiah Hurst’s, estate. You know that among many of the other charitable institutions he left behind when he passed on, one of them is a home for women who have been battered or abused or otherwise escaped from dangerous situations.”

“Hurst Home.” Josephine nodded. “You are truly a saint for setting up such a wonderful, safe place for those women.”

“Well, it was Olivia’s idea as much as mine,” Charlie insisted.

“Either way, it warms my heart to know that there’s a safe place for those poor women to go in troubled times,” Virginia added.

“Exactly,” Charlie continued. “That’s what set Olivia to thinking the other night. Some of the stories of the women currently living at Hurst Home would break your heart. They’ve endured so much, and even though the home is a safe place for them, Olivia had the idea that it would be even safer for some of them to start new lives far, far away from the troubles of their pasts.”

“New lives?” Josephine exchanged a glance with Ellen…who was more interested in the cup of fruit at Josephine’s place than the conversation. “How so?”

Charlie leaned forward. “Olivia was reading a newspaper that her mother sent her from back home in Ohio. Among its pages, she noticed an advertisement by a miner over in Colorado, looking for a wife.”

“Ah, mail-order brides.” Virginia nodded. “I hear that quite a few men who have settled out here are sending back East for wives these days.”

“Which brings me to my point.” Charlie smiled. “Olivia and I feel as though it would benefit a great deal of people if we could find a way to bring some of the women from Hurst Home out here, to Haskell, to be brides for the young men working at Paradise Ranch, or in town, or on any of the other ranches in the area.”

Josephine and Virginia hummed and exchanged looks of surprise and interest.

“Well, it would certainly stop so many of them from patronizing Bonnie’s all the time,” Josephine said.

“Very true.” Virginia nodded slowly. “I’m not saying Bonnie Horner wasn’t smart to open a whorehouse in Haskell.”

“She certainly did cut down on the amount of mischief all those virile, young ranch hands got into,” Josephine added with a wry drawl.

“Mmm.” Virginia arched an eyebrow. “Several of those boys are far more grown up now than they were when Bonnie opened her doors. It’s about time they settled down and started families.”

“The only way for Haskell to grow is by welcoming families and inviting them to put down roots,” Josephine agreed.

The two women turned to Charlie once more.

“I see we’re in agreement.” Charlie winked. “And I think Bonnie would agree with us too, at heart.”

“She’s got other irons in the fire, that Bonnie,” Virginia said, exchanging a knowing look with Josephine.

“So are we agreed?” Charlie asked. “Should we send a telegraph to Mrs. Breashears at Hurst Home asking how she feels about the plan?”

“Absolutely,” Josephine said.

“The sooner the better,” Virginia agreed.

“Excellent.” Charlie smiled and tapped the table to seal the deal. “Now all we have to do is figure out which lucky man should be our trial groom.” He twisted to wave across the hotel dining room, catching the eye of the stately, white-haired man standing ramrod straight near the doorway to the lobby.

The white-haired man nodded and glided across the room to the table. “Can I help you, Mr. Garrett?”

“Yes, Gunn. Breakfast for my two sweet angels.” He winked across the table to Ellen, and reached to his side to ruffle Allen’s hair. “And anything else that Mrs. Piedmont and Mrs. Evans want.”

“Right away, sir.” Mr. Gunn bowed and moved off.

“What about Theophilus Gunn?” Josephine asked. “He’s getting up in years and could use a wife.”

Charlie shook his head and chuckled.

Virginia laughed outright. “Mr. Gunn is far too long in the tooth for any of the young ladies of Hurst Home. Besides, to hear Charlie tell it, he’s married to his job.”

“Best hotel manager Wyoming has ever seen,” Charlie agreed. “And Virginia is right. We need to think younger. What young man in Haskell do we know who needs a bride?”

“And who is mature and kind enough to treat a woman who has been through the wringer well,” Josephine added.

The three of them sat back in silence, mulling over the question. Charlie rubbed his chin, studying his babies. They were too young by ages to even thing about marriage, as were his two older children, but he still put himself in the position of the father of a daughter in need of a mate. Which young men in town would he most trust with a tender heart?

One of Mr. Gunn’s waitresses returned with a breakfast tray, laying all manner of delicacies out for them. Children and grown-ups alike dove in. It was easier to think on a full stomach.

“You know who I have wanted to find a good woman and settle down for years,” Virginia began as the last of the cream tarts and bacon was devoured.

“Who?” Charlie dabbed his mouth, then put his napkin down, ready for business.

Virginia hesitated before saying, “My nephew, Franklin.”

A wave of uncertain excitement swept over the table. Franklin Haskell. Yes. He was Howard Haskell’s son, not to mention Howard’s right-hand man on the ranch. Franklin more or less ran things, now that Howard was more interested in building a unique town and helping it to thrive. But all Charlie really knew about Franklin was that he was quiet, serious, and a cripple.

 

Excited? Ready to read more? His Perfect Bride/Corva: The Perfect Bride releases on Monday, December 28th, right after Christmas, and just in time for you to use the Amazon gift cards that I know you’re going to get! Be sure to sign up for my newsletter to be notified when they release and for future releases!

Top 5 Habits of the Most Successful Writers I Know

My Facebook Page

After four years of working really hard at this writing thing, I think I’m finally at the point where I can say I’m doing a few things right. More than that, I have made a bunch of friends who are wildly successful. They’re definitely doing things right. It’s been a pleasure to watch them, to adapt my own practices to become more successful, and to really get a clue about best practices in self-publishing. So I thought it would be nice to share some of the things I see people doing that really, really work. They might not be things that you’ve considered before. Here goes…

They Put the “Social” in Social Media – Possibly the biggest mistake I see newbie…um, and seasoned…writers make is viewing social media strictly as an advertising tool. This means that on release days, they will post-bomb every Facebook page they’re a member of and Tweet every ten minutes about buying their book. Not just on release days either. All the time.

The truly successful authors I know use social media as a way to virtually hang out with fans. Not just their fans either, but fans of the genre in which they write. They interact on a meaningful level with fans, get to know them, post silly, fun things, post serious, personal things, and generally treat their readers like buddies. They even get together for special dinners with fans in local areas and beyond. Talk about a way to build loyalty!

They Work Together – The whole thing about socializing goes way beyond fans. The most successful authors I know hang out with each other—online and in the real world. I can’t tell you how many epic projects have been hatched over late-night (or early-morning in my case) Facebook chats, or across the dinner table in an Irish pub in Manhattan at a conference (for example). We are all creative, but when you mass that creativity together to bounce ideas off each other or come up with group projects, amazing things happen.

Remember, books are not a zero-sum deal. Readers are not limited to buying one book or one author. As such, we are not in competition with each other. It goes far beyond never saying anything bad about another author or their work. When we actively help each other, we help ourselves. As they say, a rising tide lifts all boats.

Me near the middle with the amazing and talented InD’Tale crew!

They Travel (and Give Stuff Away Where They Go) – Conferences are an amazing thing. Whether it’s a professional conference—Like RWA Nationals or RT Booklovers Conference in the Romance world—or a smaller reader event, the most successful authors I know will make a point to get out there. There are so many choices for readers these days. Actually seeing an author in person and having them go out of their way to talk to them is a fantastic way to go from digital name to real, live person.

To that I would add that you can’t just sit in your signing spot watching the world go by at events like these. It’s all-important to smile and greet everyone who walks by your spot. Everyone. Even people who look like they’re ready to snap someone’s neck. Actually, those are the people I’ve had the best surprise responses from. It’s also important to give things away—pens, postcards, bookmarks, and, yes, BOOKS. Being stingy with your paperbacks is not going to help you. Give those suckers to everyone! Even if they don’t read it, they’ll give it away, and that book will be out there in the world, waiting for a reader.

Also, as I mentioned in number 2, conferences are where that bonding with your fellow authors happen and where projects are magicked into existence. Yes, conferences can be expensive. But they are worth every penny. EVERY PENNY!

They Plan Ahead – Don’t worry, I’m not necessarily talking about plotting. Although I have noticed that a lot of the most successful writers I know do actually plot at least a little bit. No, what I’m talking about here is making a business plan, of sorts. 2016 is fast approaching. Many of my author friends already have a schedule of what books they will be writing under what names and in which series when. I know I’m planned out about 15 books ahead, and I already have my next three books outlined. Super hard work? Not as much as you might think. It’s work that has me organized to a T so that I won’t have to dilly-dally about what I’ll be writing.

It goes beyond planning the books you’re going to write, though. I’m talking about financial planning too (the credit cards WILL be paid off in 2016!), and lining up conferences and stuff. All of that helps keep your eye on the prize, and lets you see where you’ll need to allocate your funds and your time going forward.

They Move On – One thing I have never seen any of the top, top most successful authors I know do is get their panties in a twist—over a bad review, over a missed deadline, over a harsh critique, or over a promo that didn’t work. I rarely even see the really successful authors bellyaching over Amazon and it’s Amazon-y ways (although short, sighing gripe sessions do tend to happen when the ’Zon makes a change that adversely affects us all). Why? To quote that awesome meme, ain’t nobody got time for that!

The really successful authors I know have already moved on to the next book, the next idea, and the next promo opportunity by the time negativity comes their way. It’s far, far easier to shake it off when you already have something else you’re excited about working on. It lessens the impact of all that criticism and sales disappointments. Disappointment is part of this job, but it doesn’t have to be your focal point. There’s always another mountain to climb.

I’m sure I could come up with five more habits that I see my really successful friends engaged in, but I’ll leave you with that for now. Also with this…patience is key. It takes putting all of these things into practice over a long time to reach the point where you can kick back, relax, and know you’re successful. Even then, we tend to redefine success every time we hit a milestone. So keep writing!

Release Day – Willow: Bride of Pennsylvania

I’m so proud to introduce you all to Willow today! At last, my contribution to the American Mail-Order Brides is out. It’s been a privilege to be part of this epic, 50 book collection. But that’s enough from me. I’ll let Willow speak for herself. You can get started reading her story here, then pop on over to Amazon to buy the book or download it through Kindle Unlimited…

Willow caught her breath as the train slowed in its approach to the Strasburg station. Her heart pounded against her ribs. She could feel it as she clutched the handles of her worn, old carpetbag to her chest over her heart. This was it. Somehow, in less than a month, she’d gone from being an ordinary factory worker to the fiancé of a man she’d never met. By tonight, she would be his wife…and she had never even laid eyes on him.

All that was about to change.

“Strasburg,” the conductor called as he walked down the aisle from the front of Willow’s train car to the back. “Strasburg station.”

The train rocked and jerked as it slowed, the pull of motion hitting Willow right in the stomach. She peeked past the sleepy matron who she shared the bench with to look out the window. She was sitting on the side of the train facing away from the platform, so she couldn’t see the people waiting, just the quaint town itself. Its whitewashed buildings and neat windows filled her with rare confidence.

With a final puff of steam, the train stopped, and Willow stood, launching herself into the aisle. Other passengers stood as well—reaching for bags and trunks, quieting fussy children, and chattering with the friends and family they’d traveled with. Willow continued to clutch her carpetbag to her chest, forcing herself to take deep breaths. This was a good decision, the best decision she’d made in her life. Being someone’s wife would give her the chance to redeem herself, to make up for the disaster she’d caused.

Because the fire was her fault, no matter what her friends said.

“You need to stop blaming yourself if you’re ever going to lead a happy life,” her friend Emma had advised her on the train platform in Lawrence, just the day before. Emma, Gillian, and Rose—the precious, wonderful friends who had been her roommates in the factory’s dormitory, then shared an apartment with her after the fire—had escorted her to the train station to wish her well as she set off for her new life.

“There’s no proof that you caused the fire,” Gillian seconded.

Willow went bright pink at the ease with which her friend showed her support. “There’s no proof that I didn’t cause it either,” Willow answered. “What if I left my work too close to the lamp? What if I didn’t clean my area properly? There was so much dust and fiber near the flame. You know how clumsy I can be. What if that clumsiness was the end of things this time?”

As soon as she burst out with her worries, Rose stepped forward, reaching for her hand and squeezing it. From Rose, that was as good as a bear-hug. “I don’t think it was you. You’re more careful than you think you are and twice as competent.”

“But what if—”

“Don’t think about the past,” Gillian cut her off. “Think about the future.”

“Yes,” Emma agreed. “This Amos sounds like a lovely gentleman, and well off, too. You’re so lucky to have found a man of means who will provide for you.”

“I suppose,” Willow replied. Her stomach fluttered with nerves. “As long as I don’t ruin things.”

“You won’t,” Gillian said.

“I just know you’ll be happy.” Rose smiled.

“Me too,” Gillian agreed. “Now hurry along before the train leaves without you.”

“Yes, hurry.” Emma took her arm, Gillian took her other one, and with Rose completing their group, they rushed to the train.

That last goodbye had been over before Willow could blink. She’d hugged and kissed her friends, promised to write as much as possible, wished them well in their own search for a better future, then hopped onto the train. Granted, she missed one of the steps, tripped, knocked her shin and dropped her carpetbag as she did, but the conductor had been there to help her.

He was there to help her now as she inched her way down the aisle to the back of the train and the steps that would take her down to the Strasburg platform and on to a whole new world. Her heart beat so thunderously in her chest that it made her dizzy.

“Watch yourself there, missy,” the conductor said with a knowing wink. He took her arm and helped her descend the stairs. She blushed, but secretly, Willow was glad for the help.

And then she was there. Hardly able to breathe through her fear, Willow took a few steps across the wooden platform to get out of the way of the other passengers disembarking. She scanned the area, looking for Amos Stoltzfus. The platform was crowded with farmers and businessmen, women in calico and matrons wrapped in shawls to keep out the early-October chill. There were several Amish men and women as well. A strange tug of curiosity and longing struck Willow’s heart at the sight of the women in their plain dresses and white prayer kapps, men with straw hats and suspenders. The sight of them calmed her by a fraction, as did the fact that they stared at her as much as she stared at them.

“Willow Miller?”

Willow caught her breath and turned with a start. A numb buzz swept through her body as she caught sight of a man walking toward her. He was tall with broad shoulders and arms that stretched the fabric of his simple blue shirt. He was clean-shaven, with walnut-brown hair and hazel eyes that crinkled as he smiled. His clothes were similar to the Amish men on the platform, but just different enough to mark that he was not one of them. All-in-all, he was a very handsome man. And he held three apples in one of his large hands.

“Willow?” he asked a second time.

Willow opened her mouth to reply, but only a squeak came out. She wouldn’t let herself ruin things so soon. Instead, she nodded vigorously, face hot with a blush, until she found her voice. “Yes. Amos Stoltzfus?”

His smile widened. “That’s me.” He paused, shifted his weight, studied her for a moment, then said, “Well, that wasn’t as difficult as I worried it could be.”

“Oh?” She swallowed. He had been worried? Had he somehow gotten wind of her reputation for ineptitude?

He reached for her carpetbag with his free hand. “I thought maybe there would be so many people on the platform I wouldn’t be able to find you, or that I would search and search and you would be standing right in front of me, disappointed. Or that you would change your mind and not come,” he added in a quieter voice. “Apple?”

The tight fluttering in Willow’s heart resolved into a warm, melting sensation. He had been worried she would change her mind, not that she was a mess. How…how sweet of him.

“I made a promise to you, Mr. Stoltzfus. I would never go back on that. Of course I am here to marry you.” She gave him her best smile and surrendered her carpetbag, reaching for the apples. “Let me take those.”

He gripped her carpetbag firmly, but as she moved to take the apples from his hand, she fumbled them, dropping one to the platform with a thunk.

“Oh dear,” she squeaked, flushing scarlet, and leaned over to scoop up the fallen apple. Amos bent for it at the same time, and their heads knocked together.

 

Want to know what happens next? Zip on over to Amazon to purchase or borrow Willow! And be sure to check out the home page for the American Mail-Order Brides series so that you know what’s coming up and where to get any books you might have missed….

Willow: Bride of Pennsylvania – A First Look

Okay, technically there are only two days until the release of Willow: Bride of Pennsylvania, Book Two in the American Mail-Order Brides series, and I usually wait and post the first chapter on release day, but I just couldn’t wait! Here’s a sneak peek at what’s going on with Willow and Amos. Remember, you can pre-order the book right now on Amazon!

Willow craned her neck to see if she could get a better look at the man striding across the field that separated Amos’s yard from the stretch of woods and hill. The man was Amish, his beard indicating he was married, and he had his hands tucked into his pockets and a smile on his face as he walked in the afternoon sun.

Amos took one look at him out the window, frowned, let out a rigid breath of frustration, then turned to march out of the room. His heavy footfalls rushing down the stairs sent Willow blinking. Curiosity propelled her after him, down through the cozy house that had given her such a good first impression, and out to the back porch.

“What are you doing here?” Amos barked at the Amish man as he strolled into the yard. His unfriendly tone was enough to stop Willow halfway down the stairs. She gripped the rail and watched, heart beating as fast as it had when the train pulled into the station.

“Amos.” The Amish man nodded. His smile stayed in place, but it was strained. He and Amos were close enough to the porch that Willow could see a streak of sadness in the man’s eyes. “Can’t a neighbor and an old friend stop by on a sunny afternoon to pass the time of day?”

Amos didn’t answer. He snuck a peek at Willow on the porch. The same sort of strain and sadness that she saw in the Amish man’s eyes filled his. He pressed his lips into a tight line, then turned back to the Amish man. “Mark, I’d like you to meet Willow,” he said without answering the question. He held his arm out toward Willow, inviting her to come forward.

Willow hadn’t had much cause for social interaction with men in her last two years at the factory, but she knew an uncertain relationship when she saw it. Her heart leapt at the chance to do something good, to present a kind and welcoming spirit to this neighbor. She smiled and stepped up to Amos’s side with a shy, “Hello.”

“Willow is my wife,” Amos continued. The faint blush that painted his cheeks and the self-conscious flash in his eyes was perfectly understandable.

The Amish man, Mark, raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t realize you were engaged.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “Saul Byler just told me he saw you greeting a woman at the train station in Strasburg.”

Amos’s expression darkened. “So you share gossip with Byler now, do you?”

Willow caught her breath at the sudden rise in tension, darting a look between the two men.

Mark held up his hands and let out a careful breath. “We share a property line on the far end, down by the creek. I was mowing that section of hay when Saul drove across the hill on the way back from the market, and he mentioned it.”

Amos said nothing, but crossed his arms and grunted. Willow’s back itched with the need to know what was going on between these two men. If they were enemies, then why would Mark have come to ask about her the moment he heard about her arrival from someone else? But if they were old friends, like Mark had said, why would Amos be so cold to him?

“I’m sorry, where are my manners.” Mark shifted his focus to Willow. His smile returned, and he held out a hand to her. “Mark Lapp, your neighbor over the hill.”

Willow peeked at Amos before taking Mark’s hand in a quick shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She added a smile, checking again with Amos to see how he would react. “Perhaps we should have you over to supper sometime.”

Amos’s expression darkened, and tiny lines of strain formed around his eyes and mouth. Willow felt the impact of that expression as if he’d scolded her. She hadn’t been at the farm for more than half an hour, and already she was muddling things and making a fool of herself.

“I mean…that is….” She had no idea how to fix the mistake she’d made.

“If I had known Amos was getting married, I would have invited both of you over for supper at our place,” Mark rescued her. “My wife, Beth, is the finest cook in the district and loves to entertain.”

“Thank you, but we won’t be taking you up on any offer,” Amos answered. Willow’s heart sank. Amos must have noticed. The color in his face grew more pronounced, as if he regretted his harshness. “What I mean is, it’s still the end of the harvest season, and we have a lot to do around the farm. Willow has just arrived here and needs time to settle in.”

“But it was a lovely invitation,” she added, surprised by her own daring. It was pleasant to think that there was another woman, another wife, just over the hill.

 

Interested? Like I said, you can pre-order Willow right now on Amazon. Release Day is Friday! And be sure to check out all of the other books in the American Mail-Order Bride series, listed here. This is a cool page, and you can also download the prequel to all 50 books for free.

Villains You Love To Hate…And Those You Just Hate

Image courtesy of Roman Soto via Flickr

Never underestimate the power of the antagonist. That’s easily the most valuable lesson I’ve learned about the craft of writing through my publishing journey in the last four years. Heroes are crucial for drawing your readers into a story, heroines even more so. In romance, your reader wants to identify with the heroine and fall in love with the hero. But without an effective villain, a story lacks punch.

Ah, but there’s the catch. Every good story needs an effective villain. Not all villains are created the same. There are villains that we love to hate, and then there are villains that we just hate. The different between the two is one of subtlety and realism.

In the last two years, I’ve read over a hundred books—everything ranging from New York Times bestsellers from big name authors to manuscripts that I’ve beta-read for newbie authors. In the process, I’ve read some truly awful, cardboard cut-out, cartoon villains. If any of the authors I’ve read for and made comments about their villains happen to be reading this, I’m not secretly singling any one of you out and pointing fingers, because bad villains are a rampant problem at all levels of writing, and I keep seeing the same problems over and over.

What problem is that? It’s the villain who is so dastardly, who is so disgusting and loathsome, that he’s just not real. We’re talking about the villain who lusts after the heroine to the point of insanity and abuse, the diabolical fiend whose actions are so over the top they would make Snidely Whiplash proud. This villain is usually balding, stinky, and drools. I’ve seen too many of these guys who are drawn like a Scooby-Doo villain, and my reaction is always the same: eye-rolling and laughter.

I’m sorry, but these kinds of clearly deranged, dime novel villains are an insult to the intelligence of the reader. They’re up there with click-bait headlines that proclaim “You’ll never believe the shocking depravity that this man stooped to!” in terms of sophistication. Their two-dimensionality brings down the caliber of the entire story.

There’s a common saying in writing that the villain of any book is a hero in his own story. This is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to constructing an antagonist that will provide tension and conflict for your novel. Remember, the point of an antagonist is to oppose the goals of the hero and heroine and to get in the way of their being together. Sure, that can be done Snidely Whiplash style by tying the heroine to some train tracks, but are those truly the things that keep two people who should obviously be together from their happily ever after?

I recently read a book that has one of the finest examples of a villain that I’ve ever read, What the Groom Wants, by Jade Lee. Granted, the book was a little too dark for my taste—and the villain was definitely part of that—but Demon Damon was drawn so well that I have to give Lee snaps. Damon had every horrible character flaw that all the cartoon villains I’ve read had. He was spiteful and lustful. He wanted to hurt and destroy the heroine and viciously murder the hero. He had done and continued to do some truly vile things. But he was so amazingly charming at the same time that even the heroine caught herself wondering if it wouldn’t be so bad if she just gave in to him.

Another thing Damon had going for him was a well thought out backstory that realistically explained exactly how he ended up as the charming, sadistic devil he was and showed a step-by-step progression of how he got there. He was the snotty, left-behind kid. He had a chip on his shoulder and the drive to do whatever it took so that people would never ignore him again. The rush he got from hurting people was completely identifiable, because it was couched in experiences and feelings we’ve all had. Sure, he was unredeemable, but it was also easy to see how he got that way…and to identify with it.

Another of my favorite villains is President Snow from the Hunger Games trilogy. He’s sly, he’s manipulative, and he’s trying to hold a country together…whether it should be held together or not. He’s also hurt himself in the process of annihilating others. The books are dystopian, but come on, who hasn’t watched politicians during an election year and gotten the same sort of chill?

By now you may have recognized certain pieces of advice you’ve been given over the years about writing villains. They are the hero of their own story. They have human flaws beyond just being ridiculously evil. They remind us of people we know, maybe even ourselves. The reason all of these things work to create an exciting and memorable villain that doesn’t make you roll your eyes is because these guys hit you on an emotional level that goes much deeper than shock and revulsion. What makes them so effective is not that they commit acts we would never, ever commit ourselves, but that they skillfully engage in behavior that we might just be tempted to partake in ourselves, if the price was right.

So really, if the heroine is who we want to be and the hero is who we want to be with, the villain should be the person we fear becoming. That’s where the real impact of an antagonist lies.

Trail of Aces – Release Day!

It’s here! Trail of Aces is here! Book 8 in my Hot on the Trail series! I know you’ve been waiting for it, and for a very limited time (we’re talking days here) it’s available to you for the low, low price of 99 cents! This price is until Saturday only, though, when the book will return to its regular price of $3.99. So how about we continue with the rest of chapter one today?

Charlie clenched his jaw, heart thumping hard in his chest as he watched Olivia run from him. He wanted to chase after her, draw her into his arms, and stop her. He wanted to assure her that whatever lies Chet had spilled to her, they were just that, lies. Chet Devlin may have been one of his oldest friends, but as he flicker his glance in Chet’s direction, the only thing he saw was a vicious trickster having the ultimate revenge. Charlie wanted to tell Olivia that this was all a bad nightmare and, in truth, he was everything she had come to believe he was in the last several weeks of their journey across the prairie and into the West along the Oregon Trail.

He wanted to, but he couldn’t. Because whatever Chet had said, it was probably true. He was a liar and a crook.

But he wasn’t defeated. Not yet.

“What did you say to her?” He rounded on Chet, marching up to him with such intensity that his dear old “friend” backpedaled, nearly tripping over a traveler’s crate. He reached out and grabbed a fistful of Chet’s fine, linen shirt, raising his fist. “What did you say?”

Behind him, Charlie’s true friends sprang into action.

“Whoa, whoa, hold on there.” Pete leapt forward, Gideon beside him. The two rushed to pull Charlie off of Chet before any blows could be landed.

“Take it easy,” Gideon advised in his gentle, scientific voice.

Chet merely laughed, brushing his sleeves once Charlie was restrained. “Looks like I’ve got you good and riled this time,” he said, an infernal light in his eyes that made Charlie’s skin crawl. “Don’t worry, boys,” Chet went on to Pete and Gideon. “Wouldn’t be the first time old Charlie and I came to blows over a woman.”

“That woman is my wife,” Charlie insisted.

“In name only,” Chet teased, his smile bordering on a sneer. “Unless there’s something I don’t know.”

Charlie froze. True, he’d never intended things to go as far with Olivia as they had. Theirs was an unusual marriage, born of a bet, a jest. It had become so much more, in spite of everything.

As the tension left Charlie’s body, Pete and Gideon let him go. Charlie pulled out of their grip, shaking his arms to straighten the sleeves of his expensive, tailored jacket. Panic and anger may have ripped through his insides, but that was no excuse not to look his best. He straightened his hat, rolled his shoulders, then resumed glaring at Chet as though he could strike the man down with a glance.

“What did you say to her?”

Chet shrugged, relaxing into the kind of smile that sent female hearts beating. “Only that you have a tendency to gamble with kindly older gentlemen who have fortunes to bestow.”

Charlie’s scowl darkened. Behind and around him, Pete, Graham, Gideon, and the women looked on with as much confusion and uncertainty as if Chet had started speaking in Russian. They may not have had a clue what Chet’s cryptic words meant, but Charlie did. He was no fool. Chet had revealed something to Olivia that he would have given his right arm to keep secret.

“You’re a lying, cowardly snake,” he growled.

Chet only laughed. “You would know snakes, wouldn’t you, my friend.”

It took everything Charlie had not to snap that Chet had no right to call him a friend ever again, that they’d never been friends in the first place—not the way he’d come to be friends with the likes of Pete and Graham and Gideon. He ground his jaw tightly shut, forced a grin. There was an old saying about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer. If ever he needed to heed those words, it was now.

“You sly devil,” he growled, narrowing his eyes at Chet.

“Yep,” Chet chuckled. “You can thank me later.”

The snake, in all his conceited glory, touched the brim of his hat, then turned to go.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Charlie hissed, “I’ll murder him.”

“No, you won’t.” Pete was quick to step in. “Not in my train, at least.”

Charlie turned to him, frustration warring with the sore temptation to fall back into every devious, destructive way he’d put behind him for as long as it took to get revenge.

Pete caught the look and went on. “I told you before, I don’t give a hoot what your past was as long as you keep your nose clean in the present.”

“Sometimes you’ve got to get a little dirty in order to keep everything else clean,” Charlie warned him.

Pete raised his hands. “Be that as it may, sounds to me like you’ve got bigger problems on your hands right now.” He nodded over Charlie’s shoulder.

Charlie turned, spotting Olivia marching between wagons at the far end of the parked train. She had her carpetbag in one hand and a sack of other belongings over her shoulder. Her cheeks were red with anger and misery.

The sight of her looking so distressed—even from a distance—shot an arrow through Charlie’s heart. She was a sight to behold, his Olivia. When he’d joined up with Pete’s wagon train, he’d heard a few of the farmers and pioneers say that Olivia wasn’t much to look at, that she was too pale and delicate. They couldn’t have been more wrong. She was an angel, with hair the color of corn silk and eyes as blue as the sky on a sunny day. She might not have come up to his chin, but she had a height of character that towered above any woman he’d ever known.

And he was on the verge of losing her.

He wouldn’t have it. Squaring his shoulders, he started off in her direction.

“Hold on there.” Pete stopped him as Graham made a sound to stop him as well, and Gideon reached out to grab his arm.

Scowling like a thundercloud, Charlie whipped back to them. “Unhand me,” he told Gideon.

Gideon did as he was asked, but the solidity of his stare was as tight as any grip.

“Don’t go kicking a hornet’s nest, son,” Pete counseled him, though the man couldn’t have been ten years older than him.

“I need to speak to my wife,” Charlie replied, pulling himself up to his full height. “I need to set things right before they get any worse.”

“Let us go talk to her,” Lucy spoke up, glancing to Josephine. “Sounds like she needs the company of other women right now.”

Charlie blew out a breath, wiping a hand over his face. How had things gotten so out of hand so quickly? It seemed like only days ago that he and Olivia were getting along like a dream, growing closer, enjoying each other’s company, each other’s kisses. Where had things gone so wrong?

He knew the answer to that as soon as the question popped into his head. Chet Devlin.

“I should have shot that bastard the moment I saw him again at Ft. Laramie,” he finished his thought aloud.

“It wouldn’t have done any good,” Pete told him. He nodded to Josephine as she and Lucy sent Charlie one last look before hurrying off to find Olivia.

“It would have made me feel better,” Charlie insisted. Now that the ladies were gone, he wanted to use far more colorful language to describe the kinds of things he wanted to do to Chet.

“Give her a chance to cool off,” Graham advised him. “A woman has a right to be in a temper when she’s had a shock.”

“And when she hasn’t,” Gideon added. He and Graham exchanged looks, then burst into guilty laughter. And no wonder, seeing as the two of them had both landed themselves fine examples of femininity in the form of Estelle and Lucy.

Pete broke the momentary light mood. “Do you know what Chet told Olivia?” he asked.

“I have a pretty good idea.” Charlie planted his hands on his hips, wishing he had a revolver to reach for.

“And is it that bad?” Pete asked on.

Charlie hesitated. “Could be.”

In fact, if what he suspected was true, if Chet had revealed the source of his fortune, it could be devastating. Because, of course, Chet wouldn’t tell the true story. Chet didn’t know the true story. He only knew enough to bring Charlie down in the eyes of the only woman he’d ever cared about.

He had given up his heart and soul to Olivia. These past few weeks had been a revelation. They had changed everything. At least they had changed everything for him. His heart went all soft, like a loaf of warm bread, fresh from the oven, when he thought about the journey so far. It wasn’t just the landscape that had changed as they traversed every mile. He’d changed too.

“I still say that if you give her some time, she’ll come around,” Pete said, thumping Charlie on the back.

“She won’t come around on her own,” Charlie replied. He shifted his weight, staring at the back of the wagon train, hoping to catch a glimpse of his wife.

Olivia hadn’t wanted to marry him in the first place. Even though she did, he’d had to win her over. He’d tried every trick up his sleeve to turn her head and make her smile. She’d kept him up nights and shaken him down to his soul. His mind and body had been unsettled since the moment they’d met, but he prided himself on the fact that he’d managed to stir her up as much as she’d stirred him.

It had taken work, effort, charm, and class to get his surprise wife to smile at him with fire in her eyes, to turn her head up to him and soften her lips in hopes of a kiss. He’d coaxed her along, losing his heart to her in the process. It had been worth it.

It would be worth it again. He’d been able to win Olivia once before, he would be able to win her back now.

All he had to do was retrace his steps….

 

Remember, Trail of Aces is only 99 cents, but only until Saturday, and only at Amazon! Better grab your copy while you can! Click here to go to Amazon!