K. Victoria Chase's Blog, page 9
December 4, 2012
AUTHOR INTERVIEW
I'm being featured in an author interview today at Diverse Pages (most likely up by 9am). Talking about interracial romance, story ideas, and covers. Stop by and leave a comment! Thank you. :-)
December 3, 2012
COVER CONTEST
I know this is last minute, but if you have time to vote today,
Rafael
is up for 'sizzling cover.' Just go to the below link, press start and scroll until you see
Rafael
--near the bottom.
Thank you!!!
http://www.sizzlinghotbooks.net/2012/12/sizzling-cover-poll.html
Thank you!!!
http://www.sizzlinghotbooks.net/2012/12/sizzling-cover-poll.html
December 1, 2012
'AVRA'S GOD' BLOG TOUR - EXCERPT & GIVEAWAY!!!
Please welcome back author Ann Lee Miller!
Giveaway: Everyone who leaves a comment with their e-mail address will
receive a free e-copy of Kicking Eternity ,
also from the New Smyrna Beach Series. And one lucky winner will receive a free
e-copy of Avra’s God .
Chapter 1
A hot blast of pepperoni-laden air rolled over Avra as Stavro’s Pizza
kitchen door swung shut. She inched ahead in line for a table with her family.
“Yep, me and the idiot sisters are eatin’ fine tonight.”
She swiveled. That voice.
The guy from Humanities 301 thumbed through change he pulled from the
pocket of his cutoffs. Cisco. And she didn’t shower and change after soccer
practice—why?
Her brother’s elbow knocked into her. “It’s gotta be meat lovers,”
Drew’s stuck-in-puberty voice rasped.
Cisco glanced in her direction. Her gaze skittered back to her brother.
Please, God, tell me Cisco didn’t just
catch me staring at him!
Her attention drifted to Cisco’s corkscrew curls that brushed the
shoulders of his ancient Whitey’s Bait
& Tackle—Size Counts T-shirt. The girl behind the register tracked
Cisco from under dark lashes as if she were having a conversation with the back
of his head.
“I want ham and pineapple.” Her brother, Kurt, shot an
I’m-slumming-in-Stavro’s-with-my-family look at a couple of girls behind them.
“Veggie,” Avra said, distracted by Cisco’s gaze on her. “Let’s get
three.”
Cisco’s forehead crinkled like he was trying to remember where he’d
seen her.
Avra feigned fascination with the Best
Pizza in New Smyrna Beach, Florida, plaques on the wall. She frowned at the
reflection in the window of her droopy ponytail and unisex soccer uniform.
Beside her reflection in the glass, the counter girl wore her Stavro’s polo as
a second skin. What was the use? Avra turned toward her family.
Mom eyed them. “We’re celebrating Kurt’s first day of college, the
beginning of Avra’s junior year, not graduation—”
Drew huffed. “What about my senior year of high school?”
Mom dropped her gaze from the illuminated menu on the wall. “We’ll get
two large pepperonis.”
The girl bit a hangnail and watched Cisco. The gummy corners of
“Isabel” curled off her red plastic badge. Overhead, a cardboard pizza twirled
in the draft from the air conditioning vent. Isabel blinked at her customer and
scrawled the order on a guest check.
Dad threaded an arm around Mom’s waist. “And spicy cheddar cheese
poppers.” He batted his eyes through his glasses at Mom and made her laugh.
They melted against each other and glided toward the empty bench talking in
quiet voices.
I want a guy who will love me like
that―forever.
She looked at her brothers. “When I’m married, my kids will have
whatever kind of pizza they want. And I’ll bake cookies―”
Drew’s blue eyes brightened in his freckle-spattered face. “Make some
chocolate chips tonight.”
Kurt shot her an evil grin. “Who’d marry you, Avra? Morgan?”
“Puleeese.” Avra made a gagging noise. She caught Cisco’s smirk out of
the corner of her eye and stopped, mid-gag. Warmth crept into her face. Oh, great. Cisco and everyone in
Stavro’s was going to see her face go apple-red under the track lights.
Cisco’s smirk widened into a smile. “I can’t remember the last time I
had really good entertainment in the pizza line.”
Metal scraped across metal in the kitchen, and she looked toward the
swinging stainless steel doors. Isabel gave her the L.O.D., as Kurt called it.
The look of death.
She narrowed her eyes at Isabel. Trust
me, sister, humiliating yourself in public is not the kind of attention a girl
wants. Look at me. Look at you. Which one of us is likely to get the guy? It’s
not rocket science.
“Hey, what about baking cookies tonight?” Drew croaked.
Cisco pushed off the partition separating the counter area from the
dining room and joined them. “That’s what I’m talking about! My
half-price-plus-a-buck specials sounded pretty good till I heard you guys
discussing homemade cookies.”
The corners of Avra’s mouth turned up. Dark hair curled on Cisco’s bare
ankles above the loose laces of his tennis shoes. Her stomach quivered as it
did when a soccer ball hurtled toward her. She opened her mouth to say
something, anything, and turned away with a flutter of her hand. She shrank
into herself—the result of being too tall for too many years. Just disappear.
That’s what she was good at.
Cisco nudged her shoulder with his. “Thanks again for the show.”
She eyed his shoulder, even with hers. “Sure, Cisco, anytime.”
Cisco jutted his chin at her. “The lady knows my name.”
Heat swept back to her face. Isabel’s L.O.D. burned into her.
Cisco winked. “See you in Humanities Wednesday—Avra.” He pushed out the
door, pizza boxes balanced in one hand over his shoulder. A two liter Orange
Crush dangled from between two fingers.
Breathe, Avra. It was just a wink. But he knew her name.
Isabel’s gaze raked over her as though she were a palmetto bug. She
tossed a boxed pizza onto the counter in front of a man in a rumpled
three-piece-suit. Isabel must have been all of five-three, but in some weird
way, she made Avra feel small.
Avra trailed Kurt’s faded Ron Jon
Surf Shop T-shirt toward the corner table where her parents sat. She would
be translucent again by Wednesday, a blur guys look through but never see. This
was what she prayed for when she hit five-eleven in the fifth grade.
She scooted across the vinyl bench after Kurt, shooting a glance at the
door where Cisco had disappeared. Her hand touched the shoulder Cisco had
bumped—as if anything would ever come of it.
Cisco swung the Orange Crush beside him. His sisters would get into a
brawl about the soda. How was he supposed to remember who liked what? If
tuition wasn’t killing him, he’d be out of there.
A sea breeze rustled the moss-draped oaks overhead. The pizza warmed
the palm of his hand through its box. He breathed in the pepperoni scent and
thought about Avra’s family in Stavro’s who could have stepped out of Charity
De Meer’s Photography window. Their banter had splashed over him, making him
thirsty for more.
Families intrigued him—not his, with Mamá cleaning schools, three to
eleven, Pop living on Freedom’s Call
tied up behind the city marina. His kid sisters screeched at each other all day
like it mattered. No, happy families interested Cisco.
He cracked open the pizza boxes in the twilight to make sure Isabel got
the order right.
His mind swerved away from Isabel to this morning’s class. Avra had
smirked into her Humanities book without looking up when Mr. Smythe-Rollings
called him “Mr. Carter” instead of “Cisco.” His lips curled into a smile at the
memory. She was the kind of girl who blended in on campus. But when you really
looked at her, she was a treat—a sloppy-soft ponytail the color of caramels;
ocean blue eyes; and long, toned legs beneath the soccer shorts.
He cut across the dirt yard to his front door thinking about homemade
cookies, a house with two parents, and siblings that didn’t cuss each other in
two languages.
He tripped on the jagged front step. What was he going to do about
Isabel?
Jesse stood in the asphalt lot behind Daytona State College and locked
the door of his Dodge Neon. He fanned his shirt away from his body in the muggy
morning.
Someone laid on a horn.
His head popped up.
Cisco darted around the grass islands on the far side of the lot in his
Geo Prism as if they were florescent cones.
Jesse shook his head. Only Cisco could make that piece of junk look
cool.
Cisco cut his engine and coasted to a stop facing the cemetery where
grass grew in fits and starts along Welch Drive. Sand grated under Cisco’s feet
when he hopped out in front of him.
Jesse grinned. “Hey, Bro.”
Cisco bumped knuckles with him. “Bud. Where you been all summer?”
Through the open window, Cisco snatched his backpack from the passenger seat,
and they headed for campus.
“I’ve been nowhere at all—the whole stinking summer. You?”
Cisco thumped his chest. “At the beach all day, every day!” He stretched
lazily. “It’s the life!”
Jesse widened his grin. “Still changing oil at Walmart, huh?”
Cisco grimaced. “Old man lock you up in the church all summer?”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much it—mowing, clipping, swabbing down the
decks—cold cash for college.” Just once he’d like to hit the beach. Dad would
go ballistic, spewing fire like a dragon—a sermon and a half on the sins of the
flesh—gaining steam as he went. “Tunes, man. Wrote tunes all summer.”
As they walked toward the library a Votran bus pulled up to the curb.
Cisco nudged him. “You know that girl, the one on the left?”
“Sure, like forever. Avra Martin—I got a pack of ‘A’s from working on
group projects with her. Why?”
Cisco headed toward the gym. “Saw her in Stavro’s last night.”
“And—”
“That’s all.”
He narrowed his eyes at Cisco. “Yeah, right.” He tossed his backpack
onto the sun-warmed bricks on Echo Plaza, and planted a foot on a bench.
The undergrad girls headed toward them, their soft roundness barely
camouflaged in store-starched clothes. He rapped on Cisco’s chest with his
knuckles. “Look alive!”
“All right!” Cisco fended himself up from the bench and rubbed his
hands together. “Come to Papa.” He waggled his eyebrows.
Jesse laughed. He had missed Cisco’s humor, the hero-worship in the
younger girls’ eyes. This was living. The girls’ breathless chatter, their
short shorts, captivated him.
Billy stepped into the group, hit knuckles with Jesse, then Cisco. The
girls giggled. Billy’s shower-damp hair curled on top of his six-foot frame.
His cheeks glowed pink as if he’d over-scrubbed his acne.
The crowd swelled beyond Jesse’s group. Students gathered under the
clock tower, shouting to friends headed across Echo Plaza. Others milled on the
grass, squinting into the sun. Some guys tossed a Frisbee around. A peal of
laughter erupted from the cheerleaders’ bench.
Ah, Sleeping Beauty Kallie. Jesse shot a smile at the girl wedged on
the wrong end of the cheerleaders’ bench. Her face was pale, her body rigid.
Her gaze clamped on his like a lifeline in a sea of unfamiliarity. If she was
trying to disappear, she failed―in those traffic-cone-orange jeans and green
Converses. But she looked smokin’ hot just the same.
The basketball team camped around the cheerleaders. Jesse frowned. Jocks.
He nodded at Kallie and settled his gaze back on the faces in his circle. “It
was so boring in New Smyrna Beach this summer…”
Cisco, Billy, and the girls glanced curiously at the cheerleaders’
bench and back at Jesse.
He ignored their interest. “…that the Hometown News ran a half-page
article on mosquitoes…”
When Jesse’s crew scattered for their classes, he shot a glance at Kallie’s
cascade of straight blonde hair that slipped over her shoulders like silk. Eyes
averted, she clenched a salmon-colored class schedule in her hand. He should
welcome her to Daytona State, but he hadn’t recovered from meeting her last
Thursday when he caught her eavesdropping on his solo jam session. In three
minutes, she’d slipped into his soul.
Someone jostled into Avra as she funneled through the doorway after
Humanities. She pushed a tress of hair behind her ear and looked up. Cisco. Oh,
great. He was going to think she ran into him on purpose. “Sorry.” Feeling the
heat rush to her face, she ducked her head.
“Make cookies the other night?” Cisco asked as they pressed into the
hall and melded with the stream of students.
She resisted the urge to look around to see if he was talking to her.
They walked in step, shoulder to shoulder. “Yeah.”
“Chocolate chip?”
She nodded. The hottest guy in Humanities 301 was making polite with
her. What was wrong with this picture?
“Quite the conversationalist, aren’t you?”
She shrugged. She wasn’t practiced up on small talk.
“Have it your way.” He held the glass door open for her. “Next time you
bake cookies, invite me over.”
Her eyes popped open like Garfield’s Odie. Her mind whirled. He was
kidding, right? “You don’t know where I live.” That was inane.
“If you invited me,” Cisco said in a singsong voice, “you could tell me
your address.”
She laughed. “We’ll see.” She shuffled away in a fog. Maybe there was
something to “the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” Who’d a thunk it? She should have
tied a chocolate chip cookie around her neck eons ago.
She glanced back over her shoulder. Cisco’s dark curls, bleached white
in the sun, bobbed away with the current of students flowing toward the theater
building. I guess he remembered me.
Cisco threaded through the flotsam of students toward the theater
building. We’ll see? I don’t think so, Avra
Martin. He didn’t get maybes,
only yeses. The girl had family,
cookies, and legs you’d have to be in a coma not to appreciate. He bet a lot
went on under those blue eyes of hers. Suddenly, he wanted to find out.
Buy Links:
Amazon
B&N
Smashwords
Goodreads
Shelfari
Bio
Ann Lee Miller earned a BA in
creative writing from Ashland (OH) University and writes full-time in Phoenix,
but left her heart in New Smyrna Beach, Florida, where she grew up. She loves
speaking to young adults and guest lectures on writing at several Arizona
colleges. When she isn’t writing or muddling through some
crisis—real or imagined—you’ll find her hiking in the Superstition Mountains
with her husband or meddling in her kids’ lives.
AnnLeeMiller.com
http://www.facebook.com/AnnLeeMillerA...
Twitter: @AnnLeeMiller
Blog: The-Art-Of-My-Life.blogspot.com
Giveaway: Everyone who leaves a comment with their e-mail address will
receive a free e-copy of Kicking Eternity ,
also from the New Smyrna Beach Series. And one lucky winner will receive a free
e-copy of Avra’s God .
Chapter 1
A hot blast of pepperoni-laden air rolled over Avra as Stavro’s Pizza
kitchen door swung shut. She inched ahead in line for a table with her family.
“Yep, me and the idiot sisters are eatin’ fine tonight.”
She swiveled. That voice.
The guy from Humanities 301 thumbed through change he pulled from the
pocket of his cutoffs. Cisco. And she didn’t shower and change after soccer
practice—why?
Her brother’s elbow knocked into her. “It’s gotta be meat lovers,”
Drew’s stuck-in-puberty voice rasped.
Cisco glanced in her direction. Her gaze skittered back to her brother.
Please, God, tell me Cisco didn’t just
catch me staring at him!
Her attention drifted to Cisco’s corkscrew curls that brushed the
shoulders of his ancient Whitey’s Bait
& Tackle—Size Counts T-shirt. The girl behind the register tracked
Cisco from under dark lashes as if she were having a conversation with the back
of his head.
“I want ham and pineapple.” Her brother, Kurt, shot an
I’m-slumming-in-Stavro’s-with-my-family look at a couple of girls behind them.
“Veggie,” Avra said, distracted by Cisco’s gaze on her. “Let’s get
three.”
Cisco’s forehead crinkled like he was trying to remember where he’d
seen her.
Avra feigned fascination with the Best
Pizza in New Smyrna Beach, Florida, plaques on the wall. She frowned at the
reflection in the window of her droopy ponytail and unisex soccer uniform.
Beside her reflection in the glass, the counter girl wore her Stavro’s polo as
a second skin. What was the use? Avra turned toward her family.
Mom eyed them. “We’re celebrating Kurt’s first day of college, the
beginning of Avra’s junior year, not graduation—”
Drew huffed. “What about my senior year of high school?”
Mom dropped her gaze from the illuminated menu on the wall. “We’ll get
two large pepperonis.”
The girl bit a hangnail and watched Cisco. The gummy corners of
“Isabel” curled off her red plastic badge. Overhead, a cardboard pizza twirled
in the draft from the air conditioning vent. Isabel blinked at her customer and
scrawled the order on a guest check.
Dad threaded an arm around Mom’s waist. “And spicy cheddar cheese
poppers.” He batted his eyes through his glasses at Mom and made her laugh.
They melted against each other and glided toward the empty bench talking in
quiet voices.
I want a guy who will love me like
that―forever.
She looked at her brothers. “When I’m married, my kids will have
whatever kind of pizza they want. And I’ll bake cookies―”
Drew’s blue eyes brightened in his freckle-spattered face. “Make some
chocolate chips tonight.”
Kurt shot her an evil grin. “Who’d marry you, Avra? Morgan?”
“Puleeese.” Avra made a gagging noise. She caught Cisco’s smirk out of
the corner of her eye and stopped, mid-gag. Warmth crept into her face. Oh, great. Cisco and everyone in
Stavro’s was going to see her face go apple-red under the track lights.
Cisco’s smirk widened into a smile. “I can’t remember the last time I
had really good entertainment in the pizza line.”
Metal scraped across metal in the kitchen, and she looked toward the
swinging stainless steel doors. Isabel gave her the L.O.D., as Kurt called it.
The look of death.
She narrowed her eyes at Isabel. Trust
me, sister, humiliating yourself in public is not the kind of attention a girl
wants. Look at me. Look at you. Which one of us is likely to get the guy? It’s
not rocket science.
“Hey, what about baking cookies tonight?” Drew croaked.
Cisco pushed off the partition separating the counter area from the
dining room and joined them. “That’s what I’m talking about! My
half-price-plus-a-buck specials sounded pretty good till I heard you guys
discussing homemade cookies.”
The corners of Avra’s mouth turned up. Dark hair curled on Cisco’s bare
ankles above the loose laces of his tennis shoes. Her stomach quivered as it
did when a soccer ball hurtled toward her. She opened her mouth to say
something, anything, and turned away with a flutter of her hand. She shrank
into herself—the result of being too tall for too many years. Just disappear.
That’s what she was good at.
Cisco nudged her shoulder with his. “Thanks again for the show.”
She eyed his shoulder, even with hers. “Sure, Cisco, anytime.”
Cisco jutted his chin at her. “The lady knows my name.”
Heat swept back to her face. Isabel’s L.O.D. burned into her.
Cisco winked. “See you in Humanities Wednesday—Avra.” He pushed out the
door, pizza boxes balanced in one hand over his shoulder. A two liter Orange
Crush dangled from between two fingers.
Breathe, Avra. It was just a wink. But he knew her name.
Isabel’s gaze raked over her as though she were a palmetto bug. She
tossed a boxed pizza onto the counter in front of a man in a rumpled
three-piece-suit. Isabel must have been all of five-three, but in some weird
way, she made Avra feel small.
Avra trailed Kurt’s faded Ron Jon
Surf Shop T-shirt toward the corner table where her parents sat. She would
be translucent again by Wednesday, a blur guys look through but never see. This
was what she prayed for when she hit five-eleven in the fifth grade.
She scooted across the vinyl bench after Kurt, shooting a glance at the
door where Cisco had disappeared. Her hand touched the shoulder Cisco had
bumped—as if anything would ever come of it.
Cisco swung the Orange Crush beside him. His sisters would get into a
brawl about the soda. How was he supposed to remember who liked what? If
tuition wasn’t killing him, he’d be out of there.
A sea breeze rustled the moss-draped oaks overhead. The pizza warmed
the palm of his hand through its box. He breathed in the pepperoni scent and
thought about Avra’s family in Stavro’s who could have stepped out of Charity
De Meer’s Photography window. Their banter had splashed over him, making him
thirsty for more.
Families intrigued him—not his, with Mamá cleaning schools, three to
eleven, Pop living on Freedom’s Call
tied up behind the city marina. His kid sisters screeched at each other all day
like it mattered. No, happy families interested Cisco.
He cracked open the pizza boxes in the twilight to make sure Isabel got
the order right.
His mind swerved away from Isabel to this morning’s class. Avra had
smirked into her Humanities book without looking up when Mr. Smythe-Rollings
called him “Mr. Carter” instead of “Cisco.” His lips curled into a smile at the
memory. She was the kind of girl who blended in on campus. But when you really
looked at her, she was a treat—a sloppy-soft ponytail the color of caramels;
ocean blue eyes; and long, toned legs beneath the soccer shorts.
He cut across the dirt yard to his front door thinking about homemade
cookies, a house with two parents, and siblings that didn’t cuss each other in
two languages.
He tripped on the jagged front step. What was he going to do about
Isabel?
Jesse stood in the asphalt lot behind Daytona State College and locked
the door of his Dodge Neon. He fanned his shirt away from his body in the muggy
morning.
Someone laid on a horn.
His head popped up.
Cisco darted around the grass islands on the far side of the lot in his
Geo Prism as if they were florescent cones.
Jesse shook his head. Only Cisco could make that piece of junk look
cool.
Cisco cut his engine and coasted to a stop facing the cemetery where
grass grew in fits and starts along Welch Drive. Sand grated under Cisco’s feet
when he hopped out in front of him.
Jesse grinned. “Hey, Bro.”
Cisco bumped knuckles with him. “Bud. Where you been all summer?”
Through the open window, Cisco snatched his backpack from the passenger seat,
and they headed for campus.
“I’ve been nowhere at all—the whole stinking summer. You?”
Cisco thumped his chest. “At the beach all day, every day!” He stretched
lazily. “It’s the life!”
Jesse widened his grin. “Still changing oil at Walmart, huh?”
Cisco grimaced. “Old man lock you up in the church all summer?”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much it—mowing, clipping, swabbing down the
decks—cold cash for college.” Just once he’d like to hit the beach. Dad would
go ballistic, spewing fire like a dragon—a sermon and a half on the sins of the
flesh—gaining steam as he went. “Tunes, man. Wrote tunes all summer.”
As they walked toward the library a Votran bus pulled up to the curb.
Cisco nudged him. “You know that girl, the one on the left?”
“Sure, like forever. Avra Martin—I got a pack of ‘A’s from working on
group projects with her. Why?”
Cisco headed toward the gym. “Saw her in Stavro’s last night.”
“And—”
“That’s all.”
He narrowed his eyes at Cisco. “Yeah, right.” He tossed his backpack
onto the sun-warmed bricks on Echo Plaza, and planted a foot on a bench.
The undergrad girls headed toward them, their soft roundness barely
camouflaged in store-starched clothes. He rapped on Cisco’s chest with his
knuckles. “Look alive!”
“All right!” Cisco fended himself up from the bench and rubbed his
hands together. “Come to Papa.” He waggled his eyebrows.
Jesse laughed. He had missed Cisco’s humor, the hero-worship in the
younger girls’ eyes. This was living. The girls’ breathless chatter, their
short shorts, captivated him.
Billy stepped into the group, hit knuckles with Jesse, then Cisco. The
girls giggled. Billy’s shower-damp hair curled on top of his six-foot frame.
His cheeks glowed pink as if he’d over-scrubbed his acne.
The crowd swelled beyond Jesse’s group. Students gathered under the
clock tower, shouting to friends headed across Echo Plaza. Others milled on the
grass, squinting into the sun. Some guys tossed a Frisbee around. A peal of
laughter erupted from the cheerleaders’ bench.
Ah, Sleeping Beauty Kallie. Jesse shot a smile at the girl wedged on
the wrong end of the cheerleaders’ bench. Her face was pale, her body rigid.
Her gaze clamped on his like a lifeline in a sea of unfamiliarity. If she was
trying to disappear, she failed―in those traffic-cone-orange jeans and green
Converses. But she looked smokin’ hot just the same.
The basketball team camped around the cheerleaders. Jesse frowned. Jocks.
He nodded at Kallie and settled his gaze back on the faces in his circle. “It
was so boring in New Smyrna Beach this summer…”
Cisco, Billy, and the girls glanced curiously at the cheerleaders’
bench and back at Jesse.
He ignored their interest. “…that the Hometown News ran a half-page
article on mosquitoes…”
When Jesse’s crew scattered for their classes, he shot a glance at Kallie’s
cascade of straight blonde hair that slipped over her shoulders like silk. Eyes
averted, she clenched a salmon-colored class schedule in her hand. He should
welcome her to Daytona State, but he hadn’t recovered from meeting her last
Thursday when he caught her eavesdropping on his solo jam session. In three
minutes, she’d slipped into his soul.
Someone jostled into Avra as she funneled through the doorway after
Humanities. She pushed a tress of hair behind her ear and looked up. Cisco. Oh,
great. He was going to think she ran into him on purpose. “Sorry.” Feeling the
heat rush to her face, she ducked her head.
“Make cookies the other night?” Cisco asked as they pressed into the
hall and melded with the stream of students.
She resisted the urge to look around to see if he was talking to her.
They walked in step, shoulder to shoulder. “Yeah.”
“Chocolate chip?”
She nodded. The hottest guy in Humanities 301 was making polite with
her. What was wrong with this picture?
“Quite the conversationalist, aren’t you?”
She shrugged. She wasn’t practiced up on small talk.
“Have it your way.” He held the glass door open for her. “Next time you
bake cookies, invite me over.”
Her eyes popped open like Garfield’s Odie. Her mind whirled. He was
kidding, right? “You don’t know where I live.” That was inane.
“If you invited me,” Cisco said in a singsong voice, “you could tell me
your address.”
She laughed. “We’ll see.” She shuffled away in a fog. Maybe there was
something to “the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” Who’d a thunk it? She should have
tied a chocolate chip cookie around her neck eons ago.
She glanced back over her shoulder. Cisco’s dark curls, bleached white
in the sun, bobbed away with the current of students flowing toward the theater
building. I guess he remembered me.
Cisco threaded through the flotsam of students toward the theater
building. We’ll see? I don’t think so, Avra
Martin. He didn’t get maybes,
only yeses. The girl had family,
cookies, and legs you’d have to be in a coma not to appreciate. He bet a lot
went on under those blue eyes of hers. Suddenly, he wanted to find out.
Buy Links:
Amazon
B&N
Smashwords
Goodreads
Shelfari
Bio
Ann Lee Miller earned a BA in
creative writing from Ashland (OH) University and writes full-time in Phoenix,
but left her heart in New Smyrna Beach, Florida, where she grew up. She loves
speaking to young adults and guest lectures on writing at several Arizona
colleges. When she isn’t writing or muddling through some
crisis—real or imagined—you’ll find her hiking in the Superstition Mountains
with her husband or meddling in her kids’ lives.
AnnLeeMiller.com
http://www.facebook.com/AnnLeeMillerA...
Twitter: @AnnLeeMiller
Blog: The-Art-Of-My-Life.blogspot.com
November 29, 2012
IT'S TIME
I'm super excited to be self-publishing the third novel in my Virginia Justice series,
Killer Shoot
. In fact, I may just make it a stand alone or the first in a new series of books I have in mind featuring police recruits. I've been doing a lot of research on cover art and how to use it to target your audience, distribution platforms, pricing, niche marketing, the whole gamut--and I feel ready for this next step in publishing. I'm following the progress of those who have blazed the trail before me in hopes that I avoid common pitfalls and mistakes.
One notable pitfall is the use of vanity publishers.
Simon and Schuster announced the creation of their vanity imprint, Archway Publishing, and would you know they've attached some RIDICULOUS prices to their publishing packages? Who in the world is going to pay $15,000 for the super-duper-deluxe-all-inclusive-megawatt-not-guaranteed-to-make-you-a-bestseller-but-probably-a-good-bet-you-won't-recoup-the-cost-in-royalties-publicist package? Well, the sad thing is someone will (and others have in the past) or they wouldn't be charging that asinine fee.
Freelance, people.
It's great that authors such as Theresa Ragan, have listed the professionals they use for editing, cover design, formatting and when you research the end products through reviews, you can see for yourself whether or not people noticed glaring editing errors or if they loved/hated the cover, and a few just might mention the formatting on their ereaders.
Okay, but if you're not spending $15Gs, what are you spending?
This article lists a range of typical fees indie authors will have to pay upfront and I say, based on my limited knowledge, it's pretty accurate. I'll be looking at mainly the last three out of the four areas covered:
Beta Readers: $400-$4000 (Get some friends to do it for free ;-) )
Copy Editing: $35-$100/hr (I've found prices by page count and/or word count)
Cover Art: $200-$400 for images $100-$500 for fonts and Designers vary (I've seen prices way cheaper--especially if you buy the images yourself--and I've seen great pre-made covers comparable to what's selling for as low as $60)
Formatting: $100-$200 (You can find cheaper deals)
Alright, so the greatest expense will most likely be the editing. I'm tracking I'll need to spend anywhere from $500-$1000 to produce Killer Shoot . Way cheaper than the aforementioned S&S package, and given the percentage of royalties I'm receiving now, if I earn the full 60-70% with the rest due to the distributor (Amazon, Smashwords, etc), I can recoup my expenses in a couple of months (using sales numbers from Rafael ).
Sounds like a plan, right?
Self-publishing may sound scary and something way to complicated to take on by yourself, and believe me I felt the same way awhile back, but I see this as an opportunity to do something I've never done before--be my own boss. I enjoy researching the industry and I have a drive to be independent.
An indie author.
Instead of relying on a publisher (of whom I'm one of many authors), I'll be responsible for knowing what works and what doesn't in publishing to readers and experimenting with marketing techniques and pricing methods. Captain of my own bridge--and honestly, no one has more vested interest in the success of my books than I do so I should be at the helm.
I'm not alone in that sentiment as today you can't browse the shelves of Amazon or B&N without coming across indie titles AND big-time, Big 6 published authors who've done the exact same thing. Am I comparing myself to those authors that have "made it"? Not at all. I've found common ground with other indie authors and am fueling my entrepreneurial spirit.
More to come!
One notable pitfall is the use of vanity publishers.
Simon and Schuster announced the creation of their vanity imprint, Archway Publishing, and would you know they've attached some RIDICULOUS prices to their publishing packages? Who in the world is going to pay $15,000 for the super-duper-deluxe-all-inclusive-megawatt-not-guaranteed-to-make-you-a-bestseller-but-probably-a-good-bet-you-won't-recoup-the-cost-in-royalties-publicist package? Well, the sad thing is someone will (and others have in the past) or they wouldn't be charging that asinine fee.
Freelance, people.
It's great that authors such as Theresa Ragan, have listed the professionals they use for editing, cover design, formatting and when you research the end products through reviews, you can see for yourself whether or not people noticed glaring editing errors or if they loved/hated the cover, and a few just might mention the formatting on their ereaders.
Okay, but if you're not spending $15Gs, what are you spending?
This article lists a range of typical fees indie authors will have to pay upfront and I say, based on my limited knowledge, it's pretty accurate. I'll be looking at mainly the last three out of the four areas covered:
Beta Readers: $400-$4000 (Get some friends to do it for free ;-) )
Copy Editing: $35-$100/hr (I've found prices by page count and/or word count)
Cover Art: $200-$400 for images $100-$500 for fonts and Designers vary (I've seen prices way cheaper--especially if you buy the images yourself--and I've seen great pre-made covers comparable to what's selling for as low as $60)
Formatting: $100-$200 (You can find cheaper deals)
Alright, so the greatest expense will most likely be the editing. I'm tracking I'll need to spend anywhere from $500-$1000 to produce Killer Shoot . Way cheaper than the aforementioned S&S package, and given the percentage of royalties I'm receiving now, if I earn the full 60-70% with the rest due to the distributor (Amazon, Smashwords, etc), I can recoup my expenses in a couple of months (using sales numbers from Rafael ).
Sounds like a plan, right?
Self-publishing may sound scary and something way to complicated to take on by yourself, and believe me I felt the same way awhile back, but I see this as an opportunity to do something I've never done before--be my own boss. I enjoy researching the industry and I have a drive to be independent.
An indie author.
Instead of relying on a publisher (of whom I'm one of many authors), I'll be responsible for knowing what works and what doesn't in publishing to readers and experimenting with marketing techniques and pricing methods. Captain of my own bridge--and honestly, no one has more vested interest in the success of my books than I do so I should be at the helm.
I'm not alone in that sentiment as today you can't browse the shelves of Amazon or B&N without coming across indie titles AND big-time, Big 6 published authors who've done the exact same thing. Am I comparing myself to those authors that have "made it"? Not at all. I've found common ground with other indie authors and am fueling my entrepreneurial spirit.
More to come!
November 16, 2012
SURPRISE FEATURE!!!
I was contacted, out of the blue, by a blogger at Diverse Pages, a blog celebrating heroes and heroines of color in novels. So excited for their feature today! Check it out. :-)
November 14, 2012
GUEST POST: AUTHOR DAVID WALKER
Please welcome back author David Walker!
WANA: We may not have it all together, but together we have it all.
In 1979 & 80 I was involved in several oil deals, none
of which made me any money. As I thought back on what had gone on, I began to
think about "what if" and started writing a novel in which the
biggest deal did work. After shopping it to agents with no results, I gave up
fiction writing, but I never lost interest.
A decade later, my work schedule allowed me time to do some
writing, and I took up the idea of novel-writing once again. In fact, I wrote
six novels in the early 90's, none of which was publishable. For the next
decade and a half I wavered between writing and giving it up forever, but I
could never get away from it. I guess the passion just took over.
I'm now in my fourth writers' group. I've learned a lot of
wrong things and a few right things from each group, but one thing they have
all done is feed that passion. After realizing that none of my earlier novels
was worthy of publishing, I began to think about breaking my favorite one, Fancy ,
into a series of novellas. This allowed me to get around some problems that
kept the original novel from working.
The first two novellas— Fancy and Fancy: The Search
are now on the market. Click here for more
information and links to purchase them. Number three is being edited, and I'm
working on number four.
Biography
David N.
Walker is a Christian husband, father and grandfather, a grounded pilot, a
would-be Nashville star, and a near-scratch golfer who had to give up the game
because of shoulder problems. A graduate of Duke University, he spent 42 years
as a health insurance agent. Most of that career was spent in Texas, but for a
few years he traveled many other states.
He started writing about 20 years ago and has been
a member and leader in several writers' groups. Two of his books, the
devotional Heaven Sent and the novella Fancy , are now
available in paperback and in Kindle and Nook formats. Click here for more
information and links to purchase these books.
Do you have a passion for writing? If so, how are you feeding that passion?
November 12, 2012
THREE LESSONS LEARNED FROM PUBLISHING THREE BOOKS
1. Set goals within a flexible plan. After you do your research into whichever publishing venue you decide, set some goals that include marketing and readership growth. Once your book hits the market, be open to changing your plans. If one type of advertising doesn't work, drop it. If you get a tip, try it. Reach out to other successful authors and talk to writers sitting next to you in the boat of publishing and ask them for ideas. Armed with ammo for the next release, you may just save yourself a few bucks in advertising and make some new friends along the way. Remember that overnight success comes over many-many-many nights--and I'm still working on the first 'many'. It'll be over some night, to be sure--just not tonight.
2. There's no publicity like free publicity. Whether it be word of mouth or hitting Amazon's lists, the best advertising out there are the readers themselves. I've read how authors can sometimes be the worse hockers of their material because they're--hocking. It's true you're hocking, but so is every other business--just wait for the next commercial break. Set aside those insecurities. Get your friends, family, and casual acquaintances to help spread the word. You'll be surprised how eager they are and what little hindrance they have. I asked my hair stylist if I could leave my postcards on the front desk at the salon. Now, my name and the covers of two of my books are right there for countless customers to see--and my sales spiked that night. People want to read--and they just may want your book.
3. Have a thick skin. Whether you're working with an editor to make your manuscript shine, or collaborating with a cover artist to paint a visual picture of your story, or waiting for reviews, don't take critiques and suggestions personally. You'll meet plenty of nasty people. Don't be this person. Bottom line is this is a business. Keep you eyes focused on the goal. Steer the direction of the conflict back to the end product. When dealing with professionals, stick with the facts and not your feelings. When handling reviews, don't respond--unless it's favorable ;-)--the last thing you want to do is get into an argument with a reader who just may give you another chance with your next book. You can't change someone else, but you can make sure negativity doesn't cripple you emotionally. Business relationships and readers will come and go, but you're stuck with you forever.
Are these the only lessons I've learned? Far from it. I've learned that even in a business setting, some people are empire builders and others aren't. People will cut you down while demanding your respect. Others are so generous--going the extra mile even though the first mile is more than enough. Publishing is a cutthroat business. Interacting with readers is fantastic. Strangers are varsity cheerleaders--no, make that professional-level cheerleaders. What I think is brilliant one day, is cheesy the next.
The room for personal and professional growth? Tremendous.
November 8, 2012
BLOG TOUR: AUTHOR DAVID WALKER
Please welcome David Walker, author of Heaven Sent. I believe this is my first male author guest and I'm thrilled!!!
Welcome!
What inspires your
writing?
In leading my Sunday School class through the years, I've read and saved dozens
of inspirational, devotional and expository stories from e-mails people have
sent me. I began thinking about all of those stories just sitting in a file in
my computer doing no good for anyone, and I decided to put them together in a
book, along with my comments on each of them.
Can you briefly tell us
your journey to publication? It's been a long journey. Basically a novelist, I
began writing thirty years ago, but I never had any success getting a novel
published back in the day when there was little alternative to the big houses.
In the last couple of years I've learned a good bit about novel construction
which showed me why none of mine had been published, but by then this work of
Christian nonfiction was on my heart, so I began putting it together before
returning to novel-writing.
What is your
favorite/worst part of the writing/publishing process? The writing itself is by
far my favorite part of the process, and all the things a writer has to do to
build a platform attracting readers to buy the books is somewhat less
attractive to me.
I understand the difficultly of platform building. What has been your most
memorable experience as a published author? I think the day I first saw Heaven Sent
listed on Amazon.com was probably the most memorable so far.
Isn't that an awesome feeling? So tell us a little about
your book. What prompted this story? As I mentioned above, the availability of all the
stories I'd collected through the years probably prompted it. I went through a
process of trying to secure permission from the original authors of the stories
where they were identifiable. I included only those stories which were
anonymous or whose authors gave permission for me to include them. Then I added
three pieces of my own and one written by my daughter.
What advice would you give
aspiring authors? Start gathering all the Twitter followers you can, and start writing a
blog consistently at least twice a week. Experiment with different methods of
writing your book. Some writers I know swear by fast-drafting, where they just
go straight through writing the story from beginning to end without worrying
about editing, etc. That doesn't work for me. I read and re-read what I'm
writing, frequently changing a section I've already written, and when I finish
writing the book, it's pretty much ready for beat reading and editing. Find
your own pace, but assign yourself a certain number of words to write every
day. It may be 500 or 3,000—the important thing is to do it regularly. I find that
I generally need to get my daily quota out of the way before I allow myself to
spend any time on Twitter, Facebook, blogging or other activities.
Where can readers find
you? My
website is http://davidnwalker.com
Anything you like to ask
readers of this post? Just go to my website. Read some of my posts if you like (I hope you
will), but whether you read them or not, navigate to the page for Heaven
Sent and read about it. Then you can order the book for Kindle, Nook or in
paperback by following the links on that page. If you do buy and read the book,
I'd appreciate your putting a review on Goodreads and maybe on the page where
you ordered it as well.
Biography
David N. Walker
is a Christian husband, father and grandfather, a grounded pilot, a would-be
Nashville star, and a near-scratch golfer who had to give up the game because
of shoulder problems. A graduate of Duke University, he spent 42 years as a
health insurance agent. Most of that career was spent in Texas, but for a few
years he traveled many other states.
He started
writing about 20 years ago and has been a member and leader in several writers'
groups. His devotional, Heaven Sent , is now available in paperback as
well as in e-versions for both Kindle and Nook.
His new series,
Fancy, is set during the period from 1860 to 1880 and shows her being orphaned
by the Civil War and struggling to make her own way against numerous problems
and impediments thrown in her path. The first two volumes, Fancy and Fancy:
The Search are available in paperback as well as in e-versions for both
Kindle and Nook.
Welcome!
.jpeg)
What inspires your
writing?
In leading my Sunday School class through the years, I've read and saved dozens
of inspirational, devotional and expository stories from e-mails people have
sent me. I began thinking about all of those stories just sitting in a file in
my computer doing no good for anyone, and I decided to put them together in a
book, along with my comments on each of them.
Can you briefly tell us
your journey to publication? It's been a long journey. Basically a novelist, I
began writing thirty years ago, but I never had any success getting a novel
published back in the day when there was little alternative to the big houses.
In the last couple of years I've learned a good bit about novel construction
which showed me why none of mine had been published, but by then this work of
Christian nonfiction was on my heart, so I began putting it together before
returning to novel-writing.
What is your
favorite/worst part of the writing/publishing process? The writing itself is by
far my favorite part of the process, and all the things a writer has to do to
build a platform attracting readers to buy the books is somewhat less
attractive to me.
I understand the difficultly of platform building. What has been your most
memorable experience as a published author? I think the day I first saw Heaven Sent
listed on Amazon.com was probably the most memorable so far.
Isn't that an awesome feeling? So tell us a little about
your book. What prompted this story? As I mentioned above, the availability of all the
stories I'd collected through the years probably prompted it. I went through a
process of trying to secure permission from the original authors of the stories
where they were identifiable. I included only those stories which were
anonymous or whose authors gave permission for me to include them. Then I added
three pieces of my own and one written by my daughter.
What advice would you give
aspiring authors? Start gathering all the Twitter followers you can, and start writing a
blog consistently at least twice a week. Experiment with different methods of
writing your book. Some writers I know swear by fast-drafting, where they just
go straight through writing the story from beginning to end without worrying
about editing, etc. That doesn't work for me. I read and re-read what I'm
writing, frequently changing a section I've already written, and when I finish
writing the book, it's pretty much ready for beat reading and editing. Find
your own pace, but assign yourself a certain number of words to write every
day. It may be 500 or 3,000—the important thing is to do it regularly. I find that
I generally need to get my daily quota out of the way before I allow myself to
spend any time on Twitter, Facebook, blogging or other activities.
Where can readers find
you? My
website is http://davidnwalker.com
Anything you like to ask
readers of this post? Just go to my website. Read some of my posts if you like (I hope you
will), but whether you read them or not, navigate to the page for Heaven
Sent and read about it. Then you can order the book for Kindle, Nook or in
paperback by following the links on that page. If you do buy and read the book,
I'd appreciate your putting a review on Goodreads and maybe on the page where
you ordered it as well.
Biography
David N. Walker
is a Christian husband, father and grandfather, a grounded pilot, a would-be
Nashville star, and a near-scratch golfer who had to give up the game because
of shoulder problems. A graduate of Duke University, he spent 42 years as a
health insurance agent. Most of that career was spent in Texas, but for a few
years he traveled many other states.
He started
writing about 20 years ago and has been a member and leader in several writers'
groups. His devotional, Heaven Sent , is now available in paperback as
well as in e-versions for both Kindle and Nook.
His new series,
Fancy, is set during the period from 1860 to 1880 and shows her being orphaned
by the Civil War and struggling to make her own way against numerous problems
and impediments thrown in her path. The first two volumes, Fancy and Fancy:
The Search are available in paperback as well as in e-versions for both
Kindle and Nook.
November 1, 2012
October 31, 2012
ONE DAY REMAINING
Tomorrow marks the release of my third book and the second in the Virginia Justice series,
Marked by the Mob
. Remember FBI agents Douglas Fairbanks and Sara Deckker from book one (
Serial Games
)? This is their story.
My writing style has changed over the year since I wrote Serial Games , and I hope it shows in Marked . This time I decided to write a beta hero (Doug) and a not so nice woman who uses men for her own gain (Sara). Doug is insecure and Sara has some dark issues she'll have to overcome by story's end. It's been a thing of late--writing darker stories.
Meet the cast:
Special Agent Douglas Fairbanks (aka Jesse Williams) Oh, so pensive. Thinking about Sara?
Special Agent Sara Deckker (aka Charlotte Sullivan) Tears in her eyes? She's had a lot to deal with.
Recognize these two actors? :-)
Blurb
FBI Agent Sara Deckker returns to the home she abandoned more than ten years ago, at the request of her father -- a man she loathes. Dying of cancer, Jim Deckker is on the run from a criminal family who wants his testimony silenced. Knowing he has little time left, he wants to reconcile with the daughter he failed to protect, in hopes of being forgiven.
Agent Douglas Fairbanks is the son of a criminal. Fighting for respect his whole life, Doug is now the lead agent on a case where the crimes are not unlike those committed by his father. This is his chance to prove he's a man of integrity and gain the respect he feels he deserves. Protecting Jim Deckker means being in close contact with the one woman who never gave him a chance. The Deckkers hold a terrible family secret--learning it could shatter everything.
A Christian interracial romantic suspense.
Excerpt
"If they
saw us go over the edge, they may see an opportunity to finish us off. Or, they
may think we're good as dead and keep going."
"Did you
get a good look at them? Oh!" she exclaimed after landing flush against
his chest.
He held her to
him to steady her and heat shot through his entire body. Her face softened as
her eyes remained glued to his. The earlier flush in her cheeks returned and a
soft pink traveled to her hairline and down her neck. She was warm too.
Doug answered
her question with a slow shake of his head. He broke eye contact and focused on
her lips. She had a small, yet curvy mouth -- a breath away. The overwhelming
urge to kiss her was back and in an overturned vehicle on the side of a wooded
hill, with windows shot out by a couple of thugs, they both stood alive and
reasonably well and he wanted nothing more than to feel her lips -- if only
once.
He forced his
eyes up. Hers were filled with fear -- true fear, and it stunned him. What was
she afraid of? Other than his sister, Sara was the most confident woman he'd
ever known. Nothing seemed to shake her and her walls were formidable;
impenetrable. But here she was, wrapped in his arms, pink from a lovely blush,
her eyes wide with the knowledge of his thoughts.
Doug weighed his
options. If he kissed her -- well, they'd both enjoy it. If he didn't kiss her,
he might never have another chance and then he'd regret the missed opportunity
for the rest of his life. Doug swallowed. Sara neither tried to escape nor
voice her dissent. Did she want the kiss? She needed to be kissed. He could
wipe away all of that pent-up frustration and anger--
"I hear
sirens," she whispered, still making no move to retreat from his embrace.
Doug forced his ears to concentrate on any
sound other than the beat of his own heart. Sirens. It was now or never. He
licked his lips.
Cover
Now, I'm well aware of what some of you may say about the cover. I understand. The powers that be decided not to give me a couple. It's my hope that you'll enjoy the story anyway. There is a treat for you--a cameo of sorts, and you'll get to meet two new characters that may get a story of their own. :-)
If you haven't read Serial Games , then hurry! Marked by the Mob releases November 1st!
My writing style has changed over the year since I wrote Serial Games , and I hope it shows in Marked . This time I decided to write a beta hero (Doug) and a not so nice woman who uses men for her own gain (Sara). Doug is insecure and Sara has some dark issues she'll have to overcome by story's end. It's been a thing of late--writing darker stories.
Meet the cast:
Special Agent Douglas Fairbanks (aka Jesse Williams) Oh, so pensive. Thinking about Sara?
Special Agent Sara Deckker (aka Charlotte Sullivan) Tears in her eyes? She's had a lot to deal with.
Recognize these two actors? :-)
Blurb
FBI Agent Sara Deckker returns to the home she abandoned more than ten years ago, at the request of her father -- a man she loathes. Dying of cancer, Jim Deckker is on the run from a criminal family who wants his testimony silenced. Knowing he has little time left, he wants to reconcile with the daughter he failed to protect, in hopes of being forgiven.
Agent Douglas Fairbanks is the son of a criminal. Fighting for respect his whole life, Doug is now the lead agent on a case where the crimes are not unlike those committed by his father. This is his chance to prove he's a man of integrity and gain the respect he feels he deserves. Protecting Jim Deckker means being in close contact with the one woman who never gave him a chance. The Deckkers hold a terrible family secret--learning it could shatter everything.
A Christian interracial romantic suspense.
Excerpt
"If they
saw us go over the edge, they may see an opportunity to finish us off. Or, they
may think we're good as dead and keep going."
"Did you
get a good look at them? Oh!" she exclaimed after landing flush against
his chest.
He held her to
him to steady her and heat shot through his entire body. Her face softened as
her eyes remained glued to his. The earlier flush in her cheeks returned and a
soft pink traveled to her hairline and down her neck. She was warm too.
Doug answered
her question with a slow shake of his head. He broke eye contact and focused on
her lips. She had a small, yet curvy mouth -- a breath away. The overwhelming
urge to kiss her was back and in an overturned vehicle on the side of a wooded
hill, with windows shot out by a couple of thugs, they both stood alive and
reasonably well and he wanted nothing more than to feel her lips -- if only
once.
He forced his
eyes up. Hers were filled with fear -- true fear, and it stunned him. What was
she afraid of? Other than his sister, Sara was the most confident woman he'd
ever known. Nothing seemed to shake her and her walls were formidable;
impenetrable. But here she was, wrapped in his arms, pink from a lovely blush,
her eyes wide with the knowledge of his thoughts.
Doug weighed his
options. If he kissed her -- well, they'd both enjoy it. If he didn't kiss her,
he might never have another chance and then he'd regret the missed opportunity
for the rest of his life. Doug swallowed. Sara neither tried to escape nor
voice her dissent. Did she want the kiss? She needed to be kissed. He could
wipe away all of that pent-up frustration and anger--
"I hear
sirens," she whispered, still making no move to retreat from his embrace.
Doug forced his ears to concentrate on any
sound other than the beat of his own heart. Sirens. It was now or never. He
licked his lips.
Cover
Now, I'm well aware of what some of you may say about the cover. I understand. The powers that be decided not to give me a couple. It's my hope that you'll enjoy the story anyway. There is a treat for you--a cameo of sorts, and you'll get to meet two new characters that may get a story of their own. :-)
If you haven't read Serial Games , then hurry! Marked by the Mob releases November 1st!
