Terri Herman-Poncé's Blog: Terri Herman-Ponce, page 19

When Your Editor Says Your Book Sucks (part 2) — the real eye opener

Last week I talked about how my beta reader/editor pretty much said my latest book sucked. Since then, I was inundated (INUNDATED!) with commiserations, kind advice, and loads of requests for an update on what’s happened since.

So here’s the continuing tale…

Though my beta reader had sent me her comments to my third book, I sat on them for a bit. For a couple of reasons. One, because I was writing my next book and didn’t want to be sidelined. And, two, I had to mentally and emotionally prepare.

So this past Monday, when I was finally feeling better after a long bout of the stomach flu and enjoying a snowy day inside, I opened her email. (This, mind you, after she pinged me the night before and said, “Just stick to reading my thoughts on chapter 1; the rest of it is too, too brutal.”)

Being the long-time, best friend I am, I read the whole thing anyway. Plus, I have zero self-control.

Now, I’ve either grown an incredibly thick skin these past seventeen writing years, or she underestimated the value of her feedback.

I’m thinking it’s both.

Before I go into detail about my reaction to “your book sucks”, there are a few very important tenets a writer always, always, ALWAYS must follow when they write fiction:

write what you know
write tension — not necessarily a physical fight or a shouting match or the world positioned on the brink of destruction, but the push/pull dynamics of a protagonist and antagonist who are actively seeking something that is in direct opposition to the other, and on every page
write characters who are engaging — this means making them real and realistic, and believable and three-dimensional, and who have a pulse on the page
write in your genre — this means if your story is suspense, it shouldn’t read like a romance (readers, don’t take offense at that please; I’m purely making a point on how it’s important to write what the story is about and not something else)
write to your limits, and then push harder — if you take the easy way out with your writing, your story will bore the reader
write to your character’s limits, and then push harder — if you’re not pushing your characters to their limits, you’ll have characters with no pulse (see item #3) and your story will have zero entertainment or thrill value
write a book that’s better than the one you wrote just before it

Okay. So keep all of that in mind while you read some of the comments she sent to me:

The whole opening gambit was very interesting and built me up to expect something really interesting. Unfortunately it never happened.
I thought – OMG the character’s dead!!! Yessss!!! Exciting! But then, the character wasn’t and it wasn’t (exciting, that is).
A nothing chapter that did nothing but reiterate her ‘trouble’ feeling which is becoming tiring.
Good chapter but frustrating that [character] didn’t progress with the [other character] problem. The fact that *she* didn’t progress means the reader didn’t get any further into that mystery. Again a missed opportunity.
Still interesting but still not going anywhere. Too much play in his sexiness — it’s getting flat (and what genre is this supposed to be anyway?)
[character] fails miserably – he fails the other character and he fails the story
That weird stuff with [character] didn’t go anywhere or do anything — stare down both of them — shown some backbone, some three-dimension… something!!!

Now, to some of you this may sound brutal. To me, this was my beta reader being honest and in a way I understand, because those tenets I itemized above? I’d ignored them and she flagged me on it. I don’t take her feedback personally…she’s commenting on my story and not me. And you know what? She was right. On each and every single count, she was right.

As you may remember, all of this came to a head because I (stupidly?) decided to try another way of writing (as in, writing out the entire story and then going back to revise it in full later). This obviously does not work for me.

So, I’ve since returned to my old write-itor writing style (writing a chapter, revising, reading, tweaking, reading again, revising, and then moving on to the next chapter) and am doing that with the next book in my Past Life Series. As for the book referenced in this blog? It’s a standalone, and I’ve decided to sit on it for a bit.

Oh, but I don’t feel bad. If anything, I feel excited and jazzed because, once again, my beta reader gave me valuable insight. And this, my friends, is what a valued and trusted editor does. They save a writer from themselves, each and every time. They are the true heroes behind a book.

And thank the gods I have one.

PS – For the hell of it, I’ve since sent my beta reader the seven or eight chapters I’d written to the next book in my Past Life Series. She immediately read those chapters and wrote back: “Brilliant! You’ve got another winner!”

See? A great editor is priceless.

Copyright © 2012-2014 · All Rights Reserved · TerriPonce.com

Filed under: Stories Behind The Stories Tagged: beta reader, characterization, editing, editor, fiction, Past Life series, write-itor, writing, writing fiction, writing lessons, writing longhand

When Your Beta Reader/Editor Says Your Book Sucks (aka, lessons learned)

I sent my third book (not the third book I’ve ever written, but the third book I’m looking to publish) to my best friend and beta reader about two weeks ago. Last week, she asked me, “How brutal can I get?” I’m pretty sure this was code for, “Your book sucks.”

This led me to a very important lesson.

LMRitchie | WANA Commons

For those of you who have been following my writing journey, you know it hasn’t been without its ups and downs. As a writer, I sometimes struggle with storytelling and always struggle with wanting to be discovered by readers. I also know how important it is to keep getting better at the craft. To write and write and write, and to study and learn and write some more, always trying to improve.

For this third book, I wanted to shake things up. I had a method for writing that has always worked for me. I’d write a chapter, edit, revise, reread, and revise some more until I was comfortable that chapter was as close to good as it could get. Then I’d move on to the next chapter and do the same thing (this is known as being a write-itor). The result? A pretty damned solid first draft. It took longer to finish a book that way, but I always had an ongoing sense of the plotholes and details that still needed closure by book’s end (very important when you’re writing suspense!).

So yeah. About shaking things up. See, when I started writing the third book I’d been hearing a lot about how a writer needs to just write. To get his or her thoughts onto the page and just keep going until they got to the end. And then, go back and revise, revise, revise. So I thought, yeah, I could see the merit in that. I mean, it’s all about the creativity, right?

LMRitchie | WANA Commons

When I started writing a gazillion years ago (seventeen years, to be exact), I used to write longhand in a notebook. It was a very liberating experience because I just let the images come to mind and then they’d flow out onto the paper. I loved the feel of the paper and pen in my hand and though it was painstaking work (for both my fingers and the length of the process), it was enjoyable. Fast forward those seventeen years and the start of book three, and I got to thinking maybe I should try that again. Let the old creative juices flow through a pen and paper, and just write, write, write and then type it into the computer and then revise, revise, revise.

Well, guess what?

Yep. The dreaded five words from my beta reader: How brutal can I get?

Sob.

Ouch.

Time to break out the vodka.

You know, the whole writing-longhand-in-a-notebook-experience, without looking back and just letting the story flow, really is liberating. Problem is, it’s too liberating. As much as I thought I had a sense of storyline, and theme, and characterizations and conflict and red herrings and driving suspense along the way…well, I didn’t.

LMRitchie | WANA Commons

So yeah, here I am looking back at the past six months it took me to write that book and I’m thinking, oh boy. I see a major rewrite coming. And guess what? I’ll be doing it as a write-itor again, on my laptop, one chapter at a time, writing until I’m comfortable and certain that chapter is as good as it can get. And only then will I move onto the next. And I can guarantee you I’ll be doing the same thing for book four and every book after that.

It was a valuable and hard lesson learned, and one I hope every writer out there takes to heart:

Write in the way that works best for you and dismiss the advice everyone else tries to pass on. They have no clue how you tick.

Copyright © 2012-2014 · All Rights Reserved · TerriPonce.com

Filed under: Stories Behind The Stories Tagged: beta reader, editing, editor, fiction, write-itor, writing, writing fiction, writing longhand

Are You an Old Soul or a Young Soul?

Some people look at other people in terms of maturity levels. And, let’s face it, age doesn’t mean a hill of beans when it comes to maturity. We’ve all met folks who, no matter their numeric age, still act not so grown up. But I look at people in a different way — and here’s why.

There’s this concept of old soul and young soul. Ever heard of it?

Well, it’s something I believe in. I can meet some people, a toddler or a teenager or someone in mid-life or later, and immediately know they’re an old soul. I don’t know why or how, it’s just a sense that I have, but I get the feeling that these people have something different from everyone else. It’s in the way they carry themselves or react to situations. It’s in the peace and tranquility that hallmarks their personality. It’s in the way they face challenges and setbacks. It’s in the way they deal with other people.

These old souls have a sense that they’ve been through life before and have come back with a perception that exceeds the norm. Where young souls will find ways to mock others, or say things to make themselves feel better, or battle overwhelming insecurity and try to bring everyone else down with them, old souls will listen and guide and often let all the negative stuff roll off their back. Very little fazes them, but it’s not out of indifference. It’s from understanding and a true sense of self.

Is it because they’ve lived before? I don’t know. The idea of having lived before and coming back to learn more so we can move on to another plane of existence is an intriguing one. It’s also the theme of my Past Life Series. This isn’t to be confused with being young at heart, though. I mean, I want to be young at heart for as long as I live this life. But there’s something indefinable about certain people that just oozes inner peace that has nothing to do with being young at heart and everything to do with understanding the bigger picture and how everything is interconnected.

It’s something to think about. And something to learn from — at least for me. My best friend, I’m convinced, is a very old soul. So is my son. I know a couple of old souls in my extended family, and have met other people throughout life who exhibit a kind of spirituality that I want to integrate into my own life.

What about you? Do you believe in old souls?

Whatever your answer, one thing is certain: embrace the life you have and the beautiful journey ahead of you. There’s so much to learn and enjoy along the way!

Copyright © 2012-2014 · All Rights Reserved · TerriPonce.com

Filed under: Stories Behind The Stories Tagged: old souls, Past Life series, past lives, Terri Herman-Ponce, Terri Ponce, tranquility, young souls

The Sexorific Picture That Launched 63,000 words

I’m a visual and so inspiration for my stories usually comes from a movie or a TV show. In the case of my latest book, it came from a picture. A sultry, sexy, smoldering picture.

It was probably around May of last year when I was surfing around, looking at pictures of sexy men. I wasn’t looking for inspiration, really–at least not of the book kind–but when I saw this photo…

copyright David Gandy

…I was GRABBED.

My first thought? What are they doing? Why are they there? What is he thinking and why does she look like she’s being dismissed? And does that bother her? Does it bother him? Is this a relationship of convenience, comfort, or something more? Are they conniving a heist? Feeling guilty over a love affair? Or hiding from authorities because of a murder they’ve committed?

The questions led to all kinds of thoughts, and then BAM! The story idea hit me.

And then I saw this photo…

copyright David Gandy

…and my creative wheels went into overdrive and the story finally got its teeth. I was in a 63,000 word story wonderland.

I’ve since finished wrapping up the first draft of that story idea, which has been shipped off to my beta reader for first-round editing. The story needs work, but man oh man, I’m loving the concept. It’s suspense, with some sexy rolled in. I mean, how could you not look at those pictures and feel a curious burn? Perfect combo, if you ask me.

I doubt many readers realize where their favorite author’s inspiration comes from, but let me tell you–it can sometimes be downright h-o-t when it hits.

Copyright © 2012-2013 · All Rights Reserved · TerriPonce.com

Filed under: Stories Behind The Stories Tagged: books, David Gandy, inspiration, Terri Herman-Ponce, Terri Ponce, writing, writing inspiration

Bit off more than you can chew? Ways to find your focus again.

It’s the new year and we’re stepping into reality with the resolutions we’ve made. For some, those resolutions still feel fresh and invigorating. For others? They’re feeling a bit of the dreaded overload coming on. But there IS a way to overcome that feeling, and that’s by focusing more on YOU.

© Abdone | Dreamstime Stock Photos

We’ve all been there. That frightening, overwhelming, sometimes annoying place where you feel overwhelmed and like you’ve got too much to do. We’ve also been in that place where we’ve set some goals, maybe New Year resolutions, and are starting to feel the strain. It’s not a happy feeling, and the human in us just keeps thinking: what am I doing wrong? Why can’t I accomplish more at work / lose more weight / save more money / find more time to write / find time to exercise / fill in the blank?

It could be that you’re simply trying to take on too much. So what is a person, who set out into 2014 with wonderful expectations, to do? Well, you don’t have to give up, that’s for sure. You only need to refocus.

Here are some small changes you can make that will, believe it or not, reduce the anxiety when you’re feeling you’re not meeting up to (your own) expectations:

Realize that you’re human and can only do so much. In today’s hundred-mile-per-hour mindset, it’s easy to forget that important point.
Trust in yourself. You are capable of doing what you’re capable of, so trust in yourself to eventually complete what’s most important. You hear that? What’s most important. Everything else is filler, so let it go.
The only person worth comparing yourself to is you. This is important. Because of advertising, and the speed with which we receive information — which permeates the idea of “overnight successes” — many of us are in a constant state of comparison. So-and-so can run longer and faster than I can. So-and-so just got a promotion and I’m still doing the same old thing. So-and-so just took a vacation and I haven’t had one in years. And you end up in a state of feeling short-changed or incomplete. Forget about what others have or are doing. It has nothing to do with you. And, ironically, someone else is probably comparing themselves against you, too. It’s a fruitless exercise.
Keep your to do list short. I once heard that if there are more than 3 or 4 things on your immediate to do list, it’s not a to do list anymore but a things-I-probably-can’t-do list. Focus on what’s truly critical at the moment because everything else is fluff. Finish those critical things, then make a new 3-4 point to do list.

© Charles Shapiro | Dreamstime Stock Photos

Make your goals achievable. Easily said. Harder to complete. But this ties into item 4, and if you make goals that are unreasonable, you’ll soon feel disheartened and will give up on your goal faster than you made it. Take baby steps. Focus on the goals that are most important to you. And, yes, it can be even one goal. The point is, the more manageable the goal, the more likely you’ll find success, and through that success you’ll feel good about your accomplishment and will want to move on to another.
You don’t have to read every email. Or respond to every text. Or join in every Facebook conversation. You can take some time just for you. Alone.

Okay, those are my thoughts. I try to live by them, not always successfully, but I try, and I’m hopeful the things I’ve learned along the way can be helpful to you, too.

Because you do know you don’t have to do it all, right?

Copyright © 2012-2014 · All Rights Reserved · TerriPonce.com

Filed under: Stories Behind The Stories Tagged: goals, reducing anxiety, resolutions, setting goals

The Tips to Maximize Conflict in Your Novel

A wonderful reminder about the things a writer can forget about when writing, but that readers need to engage in your story.

The Tips to Maximize Conflict in Your Novel.

Filed under: Stories Behind The Stories Tagged: editing, editing tips, writing, writing tips

An Interview with David M. Bellotti – sexy male protagonist from COVET

Source: Unknown

Just so you know, it took a bit of wrangling to get David Bellotti – the protagonist from Covet, my next paranormal suspense – to sit down with me and answer some questions. He’s on his way to the airport, off to command another mission, and he can’t tell me who it’s for or where he’ll be. But I’m grateful for the few minutes he can offer. At some point, I’m hoping to have a more in-depth interview with him. Until then, he’s been gracious enough to answer some questions and I hope you enjoy his responses as much as I did.

I have to admit that he’s a bit intimidating to meet at first. It’s not because he’s strong or because his personality fills the room once he strides into it. It’s because his eyes have a way of cutting right through you, like he’s seeing more of you than you do. And they’re incredibly green. It’s a bit disconcerting, really. But when he starts talking, he makes you feel like you’re the only person important to him. Like you’re the only thing that matters. And then you realize he considers himself just another guy.

When he sits down at the table across from me, I’m struck by two things. His eagerness to actually be here with me, and the power hidden beneath his gray t-shirt and jeans. He’s one guy you want with you if you’re ever caught on the wrong end of a dark alley.

So, without further wait, here are some things I learned about David that I’d like to share with you.

Where do you go when you’re angry?

David laughs at this. “I go running,” he says. “And as far away from people as I can. Lottie says I’ve got a temper, and I do, so I try to stay away where it’s safe. For me.” He smiles at that, and for a brief moment his features soften like he’s thinking something about Lottie that he’s not about to share. Which isn’t a surprise, because I know how much he loves her. Then his eyes are back on me and he’s all business again.

What makes you laugh out loud?

“My best friend, Nat.” His cell phone vibrates and he checks it quickly. But he also realizes he’s talking to me, so he shuts it off and shoves it into his pocket, giving me his full attention. “I’ve known Nat for a long time and he’s got this simple way of looking at life that cuts through the crap. And he does goofy things. Reminds me of how important it is to never lose the kid in you.” David sighs. “But that’s not always easy.”

Let’s pretend it’s the weekend and you’re home. You’ve got no mission to command and no work to do. What’s on your agenda for the day?

David’s eyes turn dark, like there’s a decadent memory or image that my question has sparked to life. Then he presses his lips together, the hint of a libidinous grin tugging at the corners. “I spend time with Lottie.” He says nothing more than that. And I decide maybe I should move on to the next question.

What is your idea of perfect happiness?

David heaves out a sigh, and that surprises me. Like he’s thought about this question before and hasn’t quite come to terms with it yet. “Spending time with Lottie. My family. My friends. With no worries and issues. For once, I’d just like to enjoy the simplicity of life — of all my lives — without the noise that comes with it.”

What is one memory that has stuck with you from childhood? From any childhood? And what makes it so powerful for you?

“Oh man, that’s a tough one.” David leans back in his chair and scrubs a hand over his chin. “That’s also not fair, because you know I’ve got more than one childhood to look back on.” I nod and agree, but I encourage him for an answer anyway. He’s got a rich history that we’re both learning about, and I’d love to know more. “I’d have to say that it’s the first time I met Lottie, though she wasn’t Lottie at the time.” A wistful look passes over his face. I notice that he’s got some stubble shadowing his cheeks and chin. “She was — still is — a formidable woman. Don’t let her calm demeanor fool you. When she sees something she wants, she’ll claw for it.” I ask, “Like you?” David grins. Then the grin widens. “Yeah. Like me.”

Want to know more about David’s and Lottie’s story? Click here to order your copy of Covet. I hope you enjoy the read!

Copyright © 2012 · All Rights Reserved · TerriPonce.com

Filed under: Sneak Peeks Tagged: Amazon, books, COVET, Crimson Romance, David Bellotti, paranormal, reading, reincarnation, romance, romantic suspense, suspense, Terri Herman-Ponce, Terri Ponce

Sneak Peek: COVET Chapter 2 (a paranormal suspense)

Read Chapter One here

COVET
Chapter Two

To Dr. Lottie Morgan, hindsight wasn’t twenty-twenty. It was a curse.

Sure, she knew to be more positive about recent life lessons that led to her to that conclusion, but that was hard to do when you were sitting in your Jeep in the office parking lot, ready to go into work, while dozens of people stood outside the front door waiting to meet you. Or ask for an autograph.

If it had been a one-time incident it wouldn’t have been a big deal, but the crowding turned into a regular occurrence, an expectation even. Every morning Lottie ate breakfast, prepared for work, and hoped the day would turn out differently. It never did. And she only had herself to blame. Well, she could blame fate, too, but her life now was the direct result of a decision made several months ago and as much as she wanted to place blame elsewhere, Lottie couldn’t. Her decisions and their consequences belonged to her, and they didn’t excuse her from her clients or her job.

With a resigned sigh, she cut the engine, locked the Jeep, and strode toward the door. Halfway to Amrose Counseling Center, the crowd overwhelmed her. Head down, Lottie shoved through the group and plunged through the front door, knowing she’d been rude but also knowing she had no other choice. She wasn’t a celebrity, only a psychologist trying to help others find their way through life much like she’d found hers.

Some of the bystanders spilled into the building after her, converging on the reception area like sand pouring from a beach pail. Alicia, Amrose’s smart-dressed and middle-aged receptionist, jumped from her desk and rushed to Lottie’s side, threatening to call the police if the bystanders didn’t vacate the premises. The group hesitated and Alicia barked at them again, and when the last visitor loped back outside into the chilly October air, Lottie turned to Alicia and offered her thanks.

Alicia sent a soft smile and returned to her desk.

Someone coughed and Lottie noticed a full waiting room; people who wanted emotional guidance and mental help and who deserved a safe haven that Lottie once again disrupted. Feeling more than guilty and every bit the troublemaker, she strode toward the hall and her office at the end, hoping to leave the bad energy behind. Once inside, she powered up her computer, opened the window a couple of inches, and checked her watch.

Twelve more hours, she reminded herself. Just twelve more hours until David got home and they started vacation. She closed her eyes and let her mind wander to walks on the beach with a bottle of red and a warm blanket, a much-needed respite from the craziness waiting outside the front door. Oh hell, who was she kidding? She intended to keep David in bed for a whole week.

“Just twelve more hours,” she said out loud.

But the mantra wasn’t going to make the time pass any faster, and counting minutes would only drive her crazy. To get her mind on other things, she launched her schedule and checked her appointments. The calendar showed a new client in ten minutes followed by two regulars, lunch, and two more new ones in the afternoon. A full day but not an unmanageable one.

A knock on the door disrupted her focus. She looked up and found Stuart Hanley, the director of Amrose Counseling Center, standing at the threshold. He strode in and settled into one of the two chairs facing her desk, his large-framed glasses and plaid shirt reminding Lottie of one of her psych professors back in college. He tipped the glasses up his nose and settled Lottie with an incisive, brown-eyed gaze.

“This is becoming a habit,” he said, and Lottie knew better than to ask what he meant. They’d been having the same conversation for more than a month, and each time Stuart resurrected it, she responded with the same answer.

“I’m sorry, Stuart,” Lottie said. “If I had known the interview in Current Psychology would have caused all of this publicity, I never would have done it.”

“Our clients expect refuge, Lottie, not a circus.”

“Some of those people outside are potential clients,” she reminded him. “They’re looking for help they can’t get elsewhere.”

“Because you took a trip to the dark side and invited them in.” Stuart shook his head, his dissatisfaction evident in the firm set of his mouth. “Seriously, Lottie, what were you thinking?”

She stifled a sigh. If she explained this once, she explained it too often, and explaining it again wasn’t going to make any difference. Still, she needed to try.

“Past life regression is a fact, Stuart. It happened to me three months ago, just as it’s happened to many others over the millennia, and people need to know about it. You know that’s why I did the interview with the magazine.”

“Past life regression is entertainment for movies and books,” he fired back. “It has no basis in reality and no place in this Center.”

“Then how do you explain the documented cases in perceptual studies, Stuart?”

“Those cases are rigged for publicity—”

“Many are children,” Lottie said. “Five- and six-year olds who remembered facts of previous eras and lives. Details that no one else knew about until people started digging and making connections.”

Stuart sent her a long, disbelieving look.

“Did you see the article in NatGeo?” Lottie asked. “An archaeologist in Egypt discovered a thirty-five-hundred-year-old burial tomb with a story that corroborated the memories I started remembering back in July.”

Stuart held up a hand. “I am not here to discuss the article, Lottie.”

His demand didn’t stop her. “There are other people who are experiencing what I experienced and who need guidance. The article was my way of letting them know they’re not alone and that their situations should be addressed and taken seriously.”

“Regression therapy I agree with,” Stuart said. “Not some bizarre dissertation about a life you lived in ancient Egypt thousands of years ago. Do you even realize how that sounds?”

“Open minds are more conducive to change,” Lottie said, even though she knew the words wouldn’t shift his perception. People believed what they wanted to believe, even when what they believed wasn’t based on complete knowledge or entire truth.

Taking his silence as encouragement, Lottie went on. “Do you realize that my client roster grew by almost thirty percent in the past month since the piece ran in Current Psychology?”

Stuart folded his arms over his chest. “How many of those new clients want regression therapy, Lottie?”

“Almost half.”

“How many of them are nutcases?”

“Stuart, please don’t call them nutcases—”

“How many?”

Lottie folded her arms over her chest, mirroring his defiance. “I’m not answering that question because it’s demeaning. You see the office stats. You can figure out my client representation without my help.”

“I asked you to seek therapy of your own. Have you done it yet?”

“Stuart—”

“Have you?”

Lottie suppressed a sigh. “No, because it’s not necessary.”

Stuart leaned forward, challenging her. “According to who?”

“You think that I’m dealing with issues, and I understand that—”

“I think you’re not always operating in reality and that you need help. Go get it.” The alarm sounded on Lottie’s computer, signaling her first appointment. “I want you to find a reputable psychiatrist who will help you through this or I will choose one for you.” Stuart stood up and stared her down. “I also want you to clean out your client list and focus only on those people who need help. Real help. It’s now mid-October, and I want both accomplished by the end of the month.”

“I’m on vacation for two weeks after today.”

“Then figure out how to do this while you’re on vacation.”

Lottie stared back at him, meeting his challenge. “And if that doesn’t happen?”

“Consider October thirty-first your last day at Amrose.”

“Closed minds won’t help this practice, Stuart.”

“And quackery will destroy it.”

Lottie pressed her lips together, the curse of her decision to do the interview once again rearing its ugly head. This was something that should have been simple. She’d been meeting so many people who craved acceptance because they were being dismissed the way Lottie was being dismissed now. And it gave Lottie a better understanding of why prophets and so-called witches were treated as dangerous and often killed. People were afraid of what they didn’t understand.

A young girl in a gray baseball cap, pink and gray shirt, and blue jeans rapped on the door. “Who’s Dr. Morgan?” she asked.

Lottie stood and looked past Stuart, erasing the impatience and dissatisfaction from her face. “That would be me,” she said.

“Excellent.” The girl barreled inside and headed toward Lottie. “Can I have your autograph before we start my therapy?”

Stuart caught Lottie’s gaze and gave her a stern look just before he left. “By the end of October,” he warned.

The girl shoved a piece of paper and a pen at Lottie. Lottie ignored her, walked to the door and looked down the hall, trying to locate either a mother or father and finding no one.

The girl followed and shoved the paper and pen at Lottie again. “For a psychiatrist, you’re not a very good listener.”

“I’m a psychologist.”

Lottie looked down at the girl, took the paper and pen, and placed them on a nearby bookshelf. When she turned back, the girl was thumbing through an issue of Current Psychology.

“And that’s precisely the point,” Lottie said, watching the girl drop the magazine onto the coffee table and move to the sofa where she flopped down, watching Lottie from beneath her cap’s brim. “I’m a psychologist not a psychiatrist, and I’m also not a celebrity. Are you Monica?” Lottie added, trying to find out if the girl was her nine o’clock appointment and if someone had made a mistake when they pulled together her profile. Lottie was expecting someone older.

“No. I am,” someone else said.

Lottie turned to a woman standing at the doorway. She was short-haired, square-jawed, and olive skinned, and looked as if she had just walked off a Mediterranean photo shoot in a billowy pink blouse and tight jeans. Her eyes were as striking and as brown as her pixie cut, her body fit and tanned, and if Lottie didn’t have a file that specified her as forty-five, she would have pegged her for a dozen years younger instead.

Lottie welcomed Monica inside, and Monica turned on the young girl.

“What have you been up to?” Monica asked with a dark eyebrow arched in warning.

The girl’s equally dark brow rose with rebelliousness. “I wanted Dr. Morgan’s autograph. Is that a problem?”

“Yes, because it’s rude.” Monica sent Lottie a sideways glance. “Sorry about that, Dr. Morgan. Ada’s smart for an eleven-year old, but she’s also impatient. Ever since she’s seen your article in Current Psychology, you’re all she’s been talking about.”

Lottie looked from Monica to Ada and couldn’t rein in her surprise. “Ada reads CurrentPsychology?”

“I also read about the find in Egypt in NatGeo.” Ada jumped to her feet, came over, and stared up at Lottie, wide-eyed and eager. “Was that really your mummy that they discovered in that dig they did back in July? Was that really all your gold? And was that man buried with you really your lover?”

“Ada!” Monica snapped.

“I only want to know.” Ada rolled her eyes. “Come on, Mom. You’re always saying how we gotta find the truth in life, and Dr. Morgan’s one of us so it’s gotta be okay.”

“That’s enough already.” Monica grasped Ada by the arm and escorted her to the door. “Go to the waiting room. I’ll be out when I’m done here.”

“But Mom—”

“Go!”

Ada made a face and muttered colorful thoughts that were just loud enough to hear, then followed Monica’s pointed finger to the reception area. Once she was gone, Monica looked at Lottie with obvious apology.

“Children,” she said with a quirked smile that revealed teeth as white as the whitest paper. “A parent’s blessing and curse.”

Lottie nodded, having heard that wisdom hundreds of times before, and motioned toward the sofa. “How about taking a seat so we can both be more comfortable when we talk?”

“Oh, I’m not here for the entire session,” Monica said. “In fact, I’m here for you not me.”

“Pardon?”

Monica dug into her Fendi, pulled out a business card, and handed it to Lottie. Only a phone number appeared on it.

“What is this?” Lottie asked.

Monica rested a warm hand on Lottie’s shoulder. “There is a group of us who are just like you,” she said. “Those who experienced regressions just like you did, who remembered and relived details of past lives, and who’ve spoken about it and now face persecution as a result. We meet regularly and we want you to join us.”

“Meet for what?”

Monica’s smile widened. “Whatever it is you will need.”

“I don’t understand.”

Monica patted Lottie’s arm. “You will, once you leave this counseling center behind you and move on to what you’re really meant to do with your life.”

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Want to read the rest? COVET will release on March 25.

Copyright © 2012 · All Rights Reserved · TerriPonce.com

Filed under: Sneak Peeks Tagged: books, COVET, Crimson Romance, paranormal, parapsychology, past lives, reincarnation, romantic suspense, suspense, Terri Herman-Ponce, Terri Ponce, writing

Cover Reveal: COVET (a paranormal suspense with no vampires and a side of romance)

It’s here!

I got my final cover for COVET today and I’m thrilled to be able to share it with you. Love the wallet, and the bar and the bar scene in the background…which is where all the trouble starts for David Bellotti while on a takedown in a Turkey nightclub where he finds a photo of Lottie, the love of his life, in drug lord Zev Sahin’s wallet.

Want to read chapter 1? Click here.

Another step closer to the big release day — March 25!

And many thanks to Crimson Romance for working with me on this, and listening to my input.

Copyright © 2012 · All Rights Reserved · TerriPonce.com

Filed under: Sneak Peeks Tagged: COVET, Crimson Romance, paranormal, romantic suspense, suspense, Terri Herman-Ponce, Terri Ponce

Sneak Peek: COVET, Chapter 1

Hey you. Yeah, you! I’m getting ready for another release day and want to celebrate!

To share my excitement I’ve uploaded Chapter 1 of  COVET, my newest paranormal suspense that will be released on March 25. Hope you enjoy!

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Chapter One

I’m not a guy who plays games but right now I felt like a knight on a chessboard. Moving strategically but unable to set up for checkmate. It wasn’t that my patterns were ineffective. It was that fate had decided to throw an extra playing piece on the board.

“She’s going to make a move,” Galen said.

I’d seen the woman he was referring to from the corner of my eye, watching me. The problem was, she wasn’t my target. I downed my beer and ordered another from the bartender. He was juggling two martinis, some pink girly drink, and a white wine while someone at the other end of the bar whined about being cut off. I momentarily wondered if life as a bartender might be a lot simpler and immediately dismissed the thought. I thrived on excitement. That’s why I was here, senses alert, adrenalin pumping, on the edge. Ready. And if it got dangerous . . . well, I was ready for that, too.

“I’m telling you, Bellotti,” Galen said. “She’s interested. More than interested.”

This was going to be a problem. I took the fresh draft from the bartender, slid him a bunch of Euros, and watched the woman through the reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Not bad but I wasn’t interested. I’d already committed to the best. Back home.

“Concentrate on the op,” I said, lowering my voice.

The music pounded in the adjoining, jammed dance floor. People boozed it up and snorted stuff I didn’t want to know about in dark corners of Istanbul’s hottest nightclub.

I buried myself in my beer, keeping true to my cover. “We have a job to do,” I told Galen. “No distractions.”

We were to surveil a local drug dealer, Zev Sahin. Local for Turkey. Not local for Galen and me. I looked the Italian-American tourist, but Galen—a native Australian—somehow inherited Middle Eastern features. That made moving around the country a little easier. The nightclub was top-grade and the food and drink were covered by PROs, the professional military corporation we worked for, and if everything went as planned, in two days the op would be a wrap and I’d be vacationing back home with the love of my life.

Loud laughter broke out at a nearby table and I used the pulsating lights that illuminated the dance floor to scan the nightclub again. I watched the dealer, careful not to draw attention to myself. He sat on a sofa set back in a dark corner, surrounded by women, beefy bodyguards, and empty bottles of Cristal. And I waited for the lynch pin—the person who was going to set the wheels in motion for the night.

“She’s playing with her hair and she’s staring at you, Bellotti. I think she’s going to make a move soon.”

“Wipe that grin off your face or I’ll do it for you,” I told Galen.

“I’m just waiting for the fireworks.” Galen laughed as he picked up his glass. “What line are you going to use this time? You have an arsenal that always seems to piss off women.”

“I don’t piss them off,” I said. “They just aren’t used to honesty. Which doesn’t say a whole lot for relationships or dating these days, does it?”

Galen shrugged. “I think you’re jaded. You walk in with attitude and Armani, turn heads, and then moan about the unwanted attention you get.”

I studied the two of us in the mirror, both in designer clothes, both trying to blend in with the upscale crowd. Only Galen didn’t have the harshness on his face that I did. People probably looked at me tonight and saw someone who wanted to break a face. In reality, it was exhaustion. I really needed that damned vacation.

“You’re making too big a deal out of this,” I said.

I was going to say more but stopped when I saw our lynch pin walk into the club. She positioned herself near a granite column off to the side of the dance floor, all long legs, blonde hair, and killer body in a tight blue dress.

Lady in Blue slinked through the crowd, every man’s head turning as she moved. Galen stilled and said, “Wow.”

“We’re a go,” I said, setting down the beer. I glanced at Sahin once more through the mirror’s reflection.

“Do you think this will work?” Galen asked.

“It has to. If we’re to get into Zev Sahin’s compound and warehouse, we need that keycard he keeps in his wallet. His weak spot for women will get us that card.”

“Poor damned SOB has no idea what’s coming,” Galen said as Lady in Blue moved in. Then he sighed, had a little more of the vodka he’d been nursing, and shrugged it off. “You realize that this will be the easy part compared to getting him to turn.”

“That’s not our problem,” I reminded him, staring him down. Galen knew it was all about the rest of our team, the DEA, and the U.S. Government. All we had to do was get the card after the wallet was lifted and make the drop, and then the rest of our guys would get into the warehouse and take it down. After that, we stepped out of the picture.

And my vacation with Lottie began. With brisk walks on the beach, huddling in a warm blanket, and relaxing with a bottle of red. I shook my head. Who the hell was I kidding? I intended to keep Lottie in bed for a whole week.

“Do you think it will be that easy?” Galen asked.

I grinned, knowing Lottie wanted that week in bed, too. “Damned straight.”

“I hope you’re right.”

I realized Galen was talking about the op and that I’d let my mind wander. Not good. In this business, distraction led to death.

“She’s moving in, Bellotti,” Galen said.

Lady in Blue strode toward Sahin, bending over to adjust the strap on her high-heeled shoe, giving him enough bare leg and bare breast to catch his attention. It worked. Sahin smiled at her and beckoned her over with a bottle of Cristal. She cocked her head, giving him just enough coy to reel him in.

A warm body brushed against my arm. I ignored it, watching the way Lady in Blue moved and keeping Sahin just inside my field of vision. A hand settled on my bicep and squeezed. It was the woman who had been trying to get my interest.

“Hi,” she said, a smile on her face and in her voice.

“Hi,” I said, not smiling at all.

“My name is Yvette.” She was decked out in red hair and red dress, and was now officially baggage. “Mind if I join you?” She pulled up a spare barstool between Galen and me.

Past Yvette, Lady in Blue nuzzled onto Sahin’s lap. Sahin snagged a waitress, said something to her, and stuffed a wad of Euros down her cleavage. She strutted away, happy with the fat tip.

Yvette snuggled onto the barstool, blocking my view.

“Yvette,” I said firmly, “I’m not looking for company.”

“Oh.” She seemed put off at first but quickly recovered. I got the feeling I’d just become a challenge and she leaned in closer. C-cups, pressed hard against my arm.

That gave me a clear view of the action again. Lady in Blue slipped her arms around Sahin, slid off his jacket, and ran her hands over his chest and stomach. Good. All she had to do next was distract him the way only a woman like her could, snatch the wallet, and pretend to break outside for a smoke, where I’d meet her to make the exchange.

“You’re the hottest guy in here,” Yvette said, leaning in and giving me a clear view of a nicely filled red and black bra. “You alone?”

Galen tapped the bar to get my attention and flicked his eyes to a position behind him. His six o’clock.

My gaze slid past Yvette’s other shoulder. Another woman, dressed in a black pantsuit, stood at the entrance to the dance floor where Lady in Blue had been earlier. Only this woman’s body language said she was ready to kill, and I immediately knew who the victim would be.

It was Sahin’s wife. I looked back at Yvette. “I saw you making the moves on that Navy guy over there,” and I jerked my head to where he sat with a bunch of his friends.

She looked at him then looked back at me. “I’m not interested in him.”

“Yeah.” I grinned. “But I am.”

Yvette’s mouth opened and stayed that way.

“Should we move in?” Galen asked.

Yvette shoved away, probably thinking Galen was talking about the Navy guy.

I watched Sahin’s wife weave through the crowd to her husband, whose head was buried in Lady in Blue’s breasts. One of his bodyguards saw the wife coming and tapped Sahin’s shoulder. Sahin ignored him.

Sahin’s wife stood, hands on hips, staring down at her husband. Then, without warning, she picked up a bottle of Cristal and slammed it on the table and started screaming. She took another and smashed it on the floor, then another. The loud pops startled the crowd, someone yelled “she’s got a gun!” and the place went berserk. People scrambled to get out, shoving off the dance floor, jamming into the doorways, and screaming for safety. Bouncers pushed against the tide of patrons, yelling for them to calm down, and rounding them up like cattle.

Sahin barked at his wife in Turkish. His wife lunged for Lady in Blue and swung at her with another bottle. Lady in Blue dodged the attack, a foot slid out from under her, and she went down, her head clipping the coffee table. She didn’t move.

“Watch my back,” I told Galen.

“I’ll go after Blue,” he said. “You get that wallet.”

I nodded and took off.

Sahin argued with his wife, surrounded by the bodyguards. I moved in fast, knowing I had one shot at this. Screw it up and I blew my cover. Succeed and I still had a career. I strode toward the group of them, eyes on Lady in Blue but my mind on that wallet. One of the bodyguards slammed a hand to my chest, stopping me. He said something in Turkish that I didn’t understand but I got the message. I wasn’t getting any closer.

“She’s hurt,” I said, pointing a finger to our spook on the floor. “She needs help.”

I made to move in again but the guy put a gun to my head. I stared at him, calm on the outside, heart pounding within. I held my hands up in surrender. No need to piss him off. Let him think he had me. I just needed another plan.

Galen was one step ahead of me. He muscled his way in to Lady in Blue, distracting the bodyguards. The gun that was on me swung to Galen. I grabbed Sahin’s jacket, swiped the wallet and threw the jacket back on the chair. I kept going, not breaking stride, slipping the wallet into my pocket. I didn’t look back.

I was almost at the door when a gun fired, followed by a heavily accented shout. “Stop him! Stop him!”

I blew out the entrance and took off, hustling through the panicked crowd. Another gun fired and police sirens sounded in the distance. I made a left down a small street then a right into an alley, jumping a garbage can, hurtling over a short wall, and disappearing into the neighborhood. If Galen didn’t make it to our backup rendezvous point, I had to get to the safe house and that was five miles away. And right now, I had no idea if Galen and Lady in Blue were still alive.

I skidded past a corner, wondering if I should take the chance and call an alert into HQ, when I heard screeching tires. I backed up, pressed myself against a wall, and realized who it was. Galen in a Toyota. He threw open the passenger door and I jumped in, slamming the door shut as Galen jammed the gas pedal.

“You get it?” he asked, swerving through a turn then dropping our speed so we didn’t draw attention.

I nodded. “Is Lady in Blue okay?”

Galen hugged another turn. “She will be. She came to when the gunshots were fired.”

I blew out a sigh of relief. It wasn’t the first time a distraction job had taken a bad turn, but it was still a worry. “And the cops?”

“All at the nightclub. But we will have to lose the car.” He used his cell phone and dialed our contact, making arrangements for cleanup.

I pulled out Sahin’s wallet and lifted the keycard. “Payday,” I said, holding it up.

“Mommie Dearest says we should leave the wallet and card with the car.” Galen disconnected the call. “They will pick it all up at the Starbucks near the safe house in ten minutes.”

I drew in a breath and held it, forcing my heart and my lungs to calm down. Another close call. I loved this shit.

“You love this shit way too much,” Galen said, glancing my way.

I had known Galen all of three months and he was far too good at reading my mind already. I was trying to get my head wrapped around the fact that we were connected in a way that didn’t make sense, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. Ignoring him, I sank into the seat, letting the adrenalin wear off.

“Let’s see what else we’ve got on this guy.” Inside his wallet I found a black American Express, a MasterCard, and over five thousand Euros in the billfold. A picture was tucked in with his identification. I pulled it out and held it up to catch the light from passing street lamps.

It was a photo of the love of my life kissing another man.

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If you behave nicely, I just might share Chapter 2 before release day, too!

Copyright © 2012 · All Rights Reserved · TerriPonce.com

Filed under: Sneak Peeks Tagged: books, chapter one, COVET, Past Life series, romantic suspense, suspense, Terri Herman-Ponce, Terri Ponce