Michelle Hauck's Blog, page 51
December 9, 2015
#SFFChat Day
Dan Koboldt has put together a great #SFFpit for December 10th where you can pitch your science fiction and fantasy manuscript to agents on twitter. He's also put together a chat for the day before where you can ask questions and talk about SFF books with some published authors--I'm one of them.
So come by with questions about writing SFF or publishing or anything else writer related at 3:00 pm - 4:00 pm EST and 9:00 - 10:00 pm EST today. Use the hashtag #SFFchat. We'll do our best to give experienced advice and answer you all.
So come by with questions about writing SFF or publishing or anything else writer related at 3:00 pm - 4:00 pm EST and 9:00 - 10:00 pm EST today. Use the hashtag #SFFchat. We'll do our best to give experienced advice and answer you all.
Release Week for WITHOUT LIGHT OR GUIDE
The hero of Los Nefilim is Diago Alvarez. He, and his lover, Miquel, are part of a secretive group known as Los Nefilim (Spanish for The Nephilim--say it like "The Mob" and you've got the right idea). This group of angelic Nefilim monitor daimonic activity for the angels.
The only thing is: Diago is not fully angelic. He is part daimon, part angel, and his very unique form of magic is sought by both sides in the conflict between angels and daimons. Diago moves through a world of espionage and partisan warfare with a rogues' gallery filled with angels, daimons, and mortals.
In the first novella of the series, In Midnight's Silence, the reader is introduced to Diago's world. We meet Diago, Miquel, and Diago's son, Rafael. We get a brief glimpse of the shadowy world of Los Nefilim and its king, Guillermo Ramirez.
In Without Light or Guide, Diago's story continues as he tries very hard to fit in with Los Nefilim, but his daimonic heritage follows him, and seeds distrust among the other Nefilim. Guillermo assigns Diago to work with another Nefil by the name of Garcia, who is Guillermoâs plant within the Urban Guard.
In this scene from Chapter 2, Diago has just experienced a tense encounter with his dead father, Alvaro, on the subway. He did not mention seeing his father to Garcia, but Garcia suspects something happened. Hoping to avoid Garciaâs questions, Diago walks ahead, but Garcia isnât quite ready to let the incident go â¦
* * *
Diagoâs musings were cut short when a hand gripped his arm. Startled, he turned to find Garcia had caught up to him.
Diago tried to pull free without drawing attention to them but Garciaâs grip tightened. âWhatâ?â
âJust shut up and move.â He steered Diago into the mouth of an alley.
Diago jerked free and put his back against the wall. âWhat the hell is wrong with you?â
Garcia jabbed Diagoâs shoulder with one sharp finger. âI asked you a question on the train and you lied to me. Iâm going to pretend it was because of the mortals. Youâve got one more chance to get right with me. What happened?â
Be careful. You need him. You need him to vouch for you. Diago evaded the question and kept his tone even. âI donât report to you.â
Garcia coughed a humorless laugh. âYouâre confused, my friend.â
âWeâre not friends.â
Garciaâs tone turned sly. âThen youâd better make some, Alvarez. You might have fooled Guillermo, but the rest of us see you for what you are. Youâre daimon and youâll wind up just like your father. You did in your firstborn life and you will here, too.â Garcia punctuated his last statement with a hard jab to Diagoâs shoulder.
Youâll wind up just like your father. The accusation sealed any doubts Diago had about telling Garcia what happened at the bridge. âDonât touch me again.â
Garcia ignored the warning. âYou report to whomever asks you a question. Do you understand me?â He stabbed his finger in Diagoâs direction.
Diagoâs temper overrode his reason. He caught Garciaâs fist and squeezed until Garciaâs knuckles popped.
Why did Garcia push him? Does he want me to lash out? Of course, he did. This was probably how he provoked Miquel into punching him. The whole discussion was nothing more than an attempt to rouse Diagoâs temper. And itâs working. Except Diago wasnât quite as hotheaded as Miquel. This altercation didnât need to progress any further than it already had.
Striking Garcia wasnât necessary. Let him feel my power, acknowledge it with his face. Holding tight to the other Nefilâs fist, Diago waited until Garciaâs lips thinned to a single white line. Only then did he speak. âUntil I know who I can trust, I report to Guillermo. No one else.â He opened his fingers.
For one tense moment, Diago was sure Garcia intended to escalate the confrontation. Something in Diagoâs eyes stopped him.
Garcia looked away and fumbled for his cigarettes. When he struck the match, flakes of sulfur cascaded to the sidewalk. âIâm going with you to see Ferrer.â
No. Not now. Not even if you begged. Diago wasnât going to be monitored by the likes of Garcia. âNo.â
âYouâre going to botch this without help.â
Or youâll make sure the interview goes badly for me. Garcia would love nothing more than to report Diagoâs incompetence to Guillermo. Work around him. âHow can I earn your trust if you are always looking over my shoulder? I go in alone or not at all. Then you can explain the situation to Guillermo.â
The tip of Garciaâs cigarette glowed like the fire in his eyes. He exhaled a cloud of smoke as caustic as his words. âGo alone. But Iâm watching you.â
Diago didnât flinch from the inspectorâs stare. âFair enough.â So much for Guillermoâs hope our working together would cement trust between us.
* * *
Throughout Barcelona, the mortals Diago has known are dying gruesome deaths. A daimon is loose in the city, and Diago's only clue to her identity is a mysterious phrase written in smoke: She Hunts.
The year is 1931.
The city is Barcelona.
The fate of mankind has nothing to do with mankind.
The hunt begins.
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--------------------------------------
T. Frohock has turned a love of dark fantasy and horror into tales of deliciously creepy fiction. She lives in North Carolina where she has long been accused of telling stories, which is a southern colloquialism for lying.
She is the author of Miserere: An Autumn Tale and numerous short stories. Her newest series, Los Nefilim, is from Harper Voyager Impulse.
You can find out more about T. at her website, or follow her on Twitter, or Facebook.
December 8, 2015
Release Day for THREE PROMISES
Welcome to Bishop O'Connell. He's the member of the Harper Voyager Impulse author's group that keeps all the rest of us entertained. I want to wish him a very happy release day!
Three Promises: An American Faerie Tale Collection is my third book. Itâs a compilation of short storiesâtechnically three short stories and a novellaâand while Iâve always struggled with short fiction, that wasnât the case here. These stories seemed to write themselves, and the characters truly shine. In my previous books, The Stolen & The Forgotten (available anywhere books are sold) the stories drove the characters. In Three Promises, the opposite is true. Thereâs no child to rescue, no shadowy enemy snatching kids off the street, and you get to see the characters for who they are. I was worried they wouldnât stand on their own, but I think they didnât just stand, they soared I really liked my characters before; now, I love them. I hope you will, too.
Hereâs a sample from one of the short stories, âThe Legacy of Past Promisesâ:
Elaine stared at the painting. While her body didnât move, her heart and mind danced in the halls of heaven. The depth and intensity of mortal passion was astounding to her, and her ability to experience it through art was like a drug. The heavy silence that filled her vast loft was broken by the high-pitched whistle of the teakettle. Elaine extricated herself from the old battered chair, which was so comfortable it should be considered a holy relic. She crossed her warehouse flat to the kitchen area, purposely stepping heavily so the old hardwood floor creaked. She smiled at the sound. It was like a whisper that contained all the memories the building had seen. Unlike the fae, the mortal world was constantly aging. But for those who knew how to listen, it sang of a life well lived in every tired sound. The flat took up the entire top floor of a warehouse that had been abandoned in the early 1900s. She owned it now and was its only permanent tenant. The lower floors of the five-story building were offered as a place to stay to the fiftiesâhalf-mortal, half-fae street kids, unwelcome in either worldâshe knew and trusted. But with all the unrest in Seattle, she was currently its only occupant.
She turned off the burner and the kettle went quiet. Three teaspoons of her personal tea blend went into the pot. The water, still bubbling, went next. The familiar and comforting aroma filled the air, black tea with whispers of orange blossom. Light poured in from the south-facing wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. But she ignored the view of the Seattle skyline. The twenty-foot ceiling was constructed of heavy wooden beams and slats, broken only by the silver of air ducts, a relatively recent addition. The floor was oak, original to the building but well maintained over the years, as were the exposed bricks of the walls and pillars. The flat was large, 5,000 square feet of open space, sparsely furnished with secondhand pieces. They had been purchased so long ago, they were technically antiques now. But she looked past all that to the paintings that covered the walls, collected over centuries and not always through strictly legal means. Nearly every school was represented by at least one piece. Her eyes followed the heavy strokes of a Van Gogh, thought lost by the general public. The emotions and impressions left behind by the artist washed over her. The melancholy and near madness, the longing and love, all mixed together like the colors of the painting itself.
The smell of her tea, now perfectly brewed, broke her reverie. As she poured tea into a large clay mug, her gaze settled on a Rossetti. Elaine smiled as she remembered seeing the painting come to life. Gabriel RossettiâElaine could never bring herself to think of him as Dante, it was such an absurd nameâhad captured Janeâs beauty spectacularly. Jane Morris had been a truly beautiful mortal; it was no wonder Gabriel so often chose her as a model.
Elaine carried the mug back to her chair, sank into the plush cushions, and hit play on the remote. Vivaldiâs Cello Concerto no. 4 in A Minor filled the space. She closed her eyes, letting the music fill her soul. The mournful cello danced with the playful harpsichord. She sipped her tea, opened her eyes, and her gaze fell upon another painting, the one sheâd almost lost. Unwanted memories rose to the surfaceâand just like that, she was back in France, deep in the occupied zone.
The warâor more correctly, the Nazisâhad mostly turned the once beautiful countryside and small villages to rubble. The jackbooted thugs had marched with impunity, leaving only death and destruction in their wake
Even now she could almost hear the voices of her long-dead friends.
âÃtes-vous attentive?â
Elaine blinked. âPardon?â
François narrowed his eyes. âI asked if you were paying attention,â he said, his French heavy with a Parisian accent. âBut you answer my question anyway, yes?â
There were snickers from the collection of men, scarcely more than boys, gathered around the table and map.
âSorry,â Elaine said, her own carefully applied accent fitting someone from the southern countryside. âYou were saying a convoy of three German trucks will be coming down this road.â She traced the route on the map with her finger. âAnd this being one of the few remaining bridges, theyâll attempt to cross here. Did I miss something?â
François turned a little pink, then a deeper red when the chuckles turned on him. When Paul offered him the bottle of wine, Françoisâs smile returned, and he laughed as well.
âOur little sparrow misses nothing, no?â he asked, then took a swallow of wine before offering her the bottle.
Elaine smiled and accepted.
Six hours later, just before dawn, the explosives had been set and the group was in position. She sat high in a tree, her rifle held close. Despite having cast a charm to turn the iron into innocuous fae iron (a taxing process that had taken her the better part of three weeks), she still wore gloves. On more than one occasion sheâd had to use another weapon, one that hadnât been magically treated.
As the first rays of dawn touched her cheeks, she had only a moment to savor the sublime joy of the morning light. Her keen eyes picked up the telltale clouds of black diesel smoke before she ever saw the vehicles. She made a sparrow call, alerting her fellow resistance fighters.
A thrush sounded back.
They were ready.
Elaine hefted her rifle and sighted down the barrel, her fingertip caressing the trigger. She watched the rise, waiting for the first truck to come into view.
Her eyes went wide and her stomach twisted when she saw the two Hanomags, armored halftrack personnel carriers, leading the three big trucks. That was two units, more than twenty soldiers. She made another birdcall, a nightingale, the signal to abort.
The thrush call came in reply, repeated twice. Proceed.
âFools,â she swore. âYouâre going to get us all killed.â
She sighted down the rifle again and slowed her breathing. They were outnumbered almost three to one and up against armor with nothing but rifles and a few grenades.
âJust an afternoon walk along the Seine,â she said. Of course Germany now controlled Paris and the Seine, so maybe it was an accurate comparison.
The caravan crawled down the muddy road, inching closer to the bridge. Looking through the scope, she watched the gunner on the lead Hanomag. His head was on a swivel, constantly looking one way then another. Not that she could blame him. This was a textbook place for an ambush.
The first Hanomag stopped just shy of the explosive charges.
Her heart began to race. Had they spotted it? No, it was buried and the mud didnât leave any sign that even she could see. No way could these mortal goose-steppers haveâ
An officer in the black uniform of the SS stepped out of the second Hanomag, flanked by half a dozen regular army soldiers. Elaine sighted him with her scope, noted her heartbeat, and placed her finger on the trigger.
The tingle of magic danced across her skin as the officer drew a talisman from under his coat. âOffenbaren sich!â he shouted.
There was a gust of wind, and the leaves on the trees near her rustled. She whispered a charm and felt it come up just as the magic reached her. The spell slid over her harmlessly. Her friends werenât so lucky. A red glow pulsed from the spot where the explosives had been set, and faint pinkish light shone from six spots around the convoy.
âAus dem Hinterhalt überfallen!â the officer shouted and pointed to the lights.
The gunners on the Hanomags turned and the soldiers protecting the officer took aim.
âMerde,â Elaine cursed, then sighted and fired.
There was a crack, and the officerâs face was a red mist.
Then everything went to hell.
Soldiers poured from the trucks and the Hanomags, the gunners turned their MG-42s toward the now-fading lights marking François and the others. The soldiers took cover behind the armored vehicles and divided their fire between her and her compatriots. She was well concealed, so most of the shots did nothing more than send shredded leaves and bark through the air. Only a few smacked close enough to cause her unease.
Elaine ignored them and sighted one of the MG-42 gunners.
âVive la France!â someone shouted.
Elaine looked up just in time to see Paul leap from cover and charge at the soldiers, drawing their attention and fire. She watched in horror as the Nazi guns tore him to shreds. Somehow, before falling, he lobbed two grenades into one of the armored vehicles. There came a shout of panic from inside the Hanomag and seconds later came two concussive booms. Debris flew up from the open top of the halftrack and the shouts stopped.
François and the others took advantage of Paulâs sacrifice, moved to different cover, and started firing. A few Nazi soldiers dropped, but the remaining MG-42 began spraying the area with a hail of bullets.
Elaine gritted her teeth and fired two shots; both hit the gunner, and he fell. This again drew fire in her direction.
The fight became a blur after that. She took aim and fired, took aim and fired, over and over again, pausing only long enough to reload. It wasnât until she couldnât find another target that Elaine realized it was done, and all the Nazis were dead or dying.
She lay on the branch for a long moment, until the ringing in her ears began to fade. When she moved, a sharp pain in her shoulder brought her up short. More gingerly, she shifted and saw tendrils of white light filled with motes of green drifting from her shoulder. At the center was a growing blossom of gold blood. She rolled and dropped from the tree, landing only slightly less gracefully than normal. Still, the jolt made the pain jump a few numbers on the intensity scale.
She clenched her jaw, hefted her rifle, and carefully inspected the scene. The Germans were all dead, but the driver of one of the Hanomags was still alive. He took a couple shots at her with his Luger, but heâd apparently caught some ricochets or shrapnel because he didnât even come close. Elaine put him down with a shot through the viewing port.
âPlease, help me,â someone said in bad French.
Elaine spun to see a German soldier lying on the ground. He was little more than a kid, maybe sixteen; it didnât even look like heâd started shaving. She just stared at his tear-filled eyes, blood running down his cheek from the corner of his mouth. He had at least half a dozen holes in his chest. He was already dead, he just didnât know it.
âJa,â she said.
âDankââ
His thanks were swallowed by the loud report of the rifle as she put a bullet between his eyes. There was nothing she, or anyone else, couldâve done for him. She wiped tears away and muttered a curse at Hitler and his megalomaniacal plans.
After double-checking that all the soldiers were dead, Elaine made her sparrow call. Her mouth was so dry, the call was hardly recognizable.
Only silence answered her.
Swallowing, she hardened her heart and went to where François and the others had been taking cover. She couldnât bring herself to look down at the bloodied mess that had been Paul. She just kept walking. Her rifle fell to the ground, then she went to her knees, sobbing, covering her mouth with her good hand.
They were dead, which wasnât a surprise, but it didnât make finding them any less heartbreaking. Rémy was almost unrecognizable. If it wasnât for his blond hair, now matted with bloodâElaineâs stomach twisted and she retched to one side. Michel, Julien, Daniel, Christophe, and Christian were in slightly better shape, for the most part. Julienâs left arm had been chewed up by the machine gun, and Christopheâs torso had been ripped open, allowing his insides to spill out. Elaine sobbed and turned to François. His rifle had been discarded and his pistol was still clutched in his left hand, two fingers having been shot off his right.
Sadness mixed with anger, and she screamed curses at him.
âYou arrogant fool!â she said between sobs. âWhy didnât you just call off the operation? You got them all killed!â
It wasnât long before Elaine grew numb inside. She used her fae healerâs kit to remove the bullet from her shoulder, and a liberal smearing of healing ointment numbed the pain enough to give her almost full use of her arm again. Lastly, she set the pinkish, putty-like dóú craiceann over the wound, sealing it like a second skin. Sheâd never been much of a healer herself, but she got the job done. With effort, and still careful of her wounded shoulder, she dragged Paul into the cover to join his brothers-in-arms. Elaine whispered a charm and the earth drew itself up and over her friends. A moment later, lush green grass covered the seven mounds.
âAdieu, mes amis,â she said softly.
The ebook is only $0.99 (and how can you not buy a $0.99 book?), but if you preorder the paperback (releases 1/8/16 and is only $3.99) from The Fountain Bookstore, not only will it be signed, but youâll get an exclusive gift. As a nice bonus, you can also order signed copies of The Stolen and The Forgotten while youâre there, and donât worry, they ship worldwide.
Bishop O'Connell is the author of the American Faerie Tale series, a consultant, writer, blogger, and lover of kilts and beer, as well as a member of the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America. Born in Naples Italy while his father was stationed in Sardinia, Bishop grew up in San Diego, CA where he fell in love with the ocean and fish tacos. While wandering the country for work and school (absolutely not because he was in hiding from mind controlling bunnies), he experienced autumn in New England. Soon after, he settled in Manchester, NH, where he writes, collects swords, revels in his immortality as a critically acclaimed "visionary" of the urban fantasy genre, and is regularly chastised for making up things for his bio. He can also be found online at A Quiet Pint (aquietpint.com), where he muses philosophical on life, the universe, and everything, as well as various aspects of writing and the road to getting published.
Three Promises: An American Faerie Tale Collection is my third book. Itâs a compilation of short storiesâtechnically three short stories and a novellaâand while Iâve always struggled with short fiction, that wasnât the case here. These stories seemed to write themselves, and the characters truly shine. In my previous books, The Stolen & The Forgotten (available anywhere books are sold) the stories drove the characters. In Three Promises, the opposite is true. Thereâs no child to rescue, no shadowy enemy snatching kids off the street, and you get to see the characters for who they are. I was worried they wouldnât stand on their own, but I think they didnât just stand, they soared I really liked my characters before; now, I love them. I hope you will, too.
Hereâs a sample from one of the short stories, âThe Legacy of Past Promisesâ:
Elaine stared at the painting. While her body didnât move, her heart and mind danced in the halls of heaven. The depth and intensity of mortal passion was astounding to her, and her ability to experience it through art was like a drug. The heavy silence that filled her vast loft was broken by the high-pitched whistle of the teakettle. Elaine extricated herself from the old battered chair, which was so comfortable it should be considered a holy relic. She crossed her warehouse flat to the kitchen area, purposely stepping heavily so the old hardwood floor creaked. She smiled at the sound. It was like a whisper that contained all the memories the building had seen. Unlike the fae, the mortal world was constantly aging. But for those who knew how to listen, it sang of a life well lived in every tired sound. The flat took up the entire top floor of a warehouse that had been abandoned in the early 1900s. She owned it now and was its only permanent tenant. The lower floors of the five-story building were offered as a place to stay to the fiftiesâhalf-mortal, half-fae street kids, unwelcome in either worldâshe knew and trusted. But with all the unrest in Seattle, she was currently its only occupant.
She turned off the burner and the kettle went quiet. Three teaspoons of her personal tea blend went into the pot. The water, still bubbling, went next. The familiar and comforting aroma filled the air, black tea with whispers of orange blossom. Light poured in from the south-facing wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. But she ignored the view of the Seattle skyline. The twenty-foot ceiling was constructed of heavy wooden beams and slats, broken only by the silver of air ducts, a relatively recent addition. The floor was oak, original to the building but well maintained over the years, as were the exposed bricks of the walls and pillars. The flat was large, 5,000 square feet of open space, sparsely furnished with secondhand pieces. They had been purchased so long ago, they were technically antiques now. But she looked past all that to the paintings that covered the walls, collected over centuries and not always through strictly legal means. Nearly every school was represented by at least one piece. Her eyes followed the heavy strokes of a Van Gogh, thought lost by the general public. The emotions and impressions left behind by the artist washed over her. The melancholy and near madness, the longing and love, all mixed together like the colors of the painting itself.
The smell of her tea, now perfectly brewed, broke her reverie. As she poured tea into a large clay mug, her gaze settled on a Rossetti. Elaine smiled as she remembered seeing the painting come to life. Gabriel RossettiâElaine could never bring herself to think of him as Dante, it was such an absurd nameâhad captured Janeâs beauty spectacularly. Jane Morris had been a truly beautiful mortal; it was no wonder Gabriel so often chose her as a model.
Elaine carried the mug back to her chair, sank into the plush cushions, and hit play on the remote. Vivaldiâs Cello Concerto no. 4 in A Minor filled the space. She closed her eyes, letting the music fill her soul. The mournful cello danced with the playful harpsichord. She sipped her tea, opened her eyes, and her gaze fell upon another painting, the one sheâd almost lost. Unwanted memories rose to the surfaceâand just like that, she was back in France, deep in the occupied zone.
The warâor more correctly, the Nazisâhad mostly turned the once beautiful countryside and small villages to rubble. The jackbooted thugs had marched with impunity, leaving only death and destruction in their wake
Even now she could almost hear the voices of her long-dead friends.
âÃtes-vous attentive?â
Elaine blinked. âPardon?â
François narrowed his eyes. âI asked if you were paying attention,â he said, his French heavy with a Parisian accent. âBut you answer my question anyway, yes?â
There were snickers from the collection of men, scarcely more than boys, gathered around the table and map.
âSorry,â Elaine said, her own carefully applied accent fitting someone from the southern countryside. âYou were saying a convoy of three German trucks will be coming down this road.â She traced the route on the map with her finger. âAnd this being one of the few remaining bridges, theyâll attempt to cross here. Did I miss something?â
François turned a little pink, then a deeper red when the chuckles turned on him. When Paul offered him the bottle of wine, Françoisâs smile returned, and he laughed as well.
âOur little sparrow misses nothing, no?â he asked, then took a swallow of wine before offering her the bottle.
Elaine smiled and accepted.
Six hours later, just before dawn, the explosives had been set and the group was in position. She sat high in a tree, her rifle held close. Despite having cast a charm to turn the iron into innocuous fae iron (a taxing process that had taken her the better part of three weeks), she still wore gloves. On more than one occasion sheâd had to use another weapon, one that hadnât been magically treated.
As the first rays of dawn touched her cheeks, she had only a moment to savor the sublime joy of the morning light. Her keen eyes picked up the telltale clouds of black diesel smoke before she ever saw the vehicles. She made a sparrow call, alerting her fellow resistance fighters.
A thrush sounded back.
They were ready.
Elaine hefted her rifle and sighted down the barrel, her fingertip caressing the trigger. She watched the rise, waiting for the first truck to come into view.
Her eyes went wide and her stomach twisted when she saw the two Hanomags, armored halftrack personnel carriers, leading the three big trucks. That was two units, more than twenty soldiers. She made another birdcall, a nightingale, the signal to abort.
The thrush call came in reply, repeated twice. Proceed.
âFools,â she swore. âYouâre going to get us all killed.â
She sighted down the rifle again and slowed her breathing. They were outnumbered almost three to one and up against armor with nothing but rifles and a few grenades.
âJust an afternoon walk along the Seine,â she said. Of course Germany now controlled Paris and the Seine, so maybe it was an accurate comparison.
The caravan crawled down the muddy road, inching closer to the bridge. Looking through the scope, she watched the gunner on the lead Hanomag. His head was on a swivel, constantly looking one way then another. Not that she could blame him. This was a textbook place for an ambush.
The first Hanomag stopped just shy of the explosive charges.
Her heart began to race. Had they spotted it? No, it was buried and the mud didnât leave any sign that even she could see. No way could these mortal goose-steppers haveâ
An officer in the black uniform of the SS stepped out of the second Hanomag, flanked by half a dozen regular army soldiers. Elaine sighted him with her scope, noted her heartbeat, and placed her finger on the trigger.
The tingle of magic danced across her skin as the officer drew a talisman from under his coat. âOffenbaren sich!â he shouted.
There was a gust of wind, and the leaves on the trees near her rustled. She whispered a charm and felt it come up just as the magic reached her. The spell slid over her harmlessly. Her friends werenât so lucky. A red glow pulsed from the spot where the explosives had been set, and faint pinkish light shone from six spots around the convoy.
âAus dem Hinterhalt überfallen!â the officer shouted and pointed to the lights.
The gunners on the Hanomags turned and the soldiers protecting the officer took aim.
âMerde,â Elaine cursed, then sighted and fired.
There was a crack, and the officerâs face was a red mist.
Then everything went to hell.
Soldiers poured from the trucks and the Hanomags, the gunners turned their MG-42s toward the now-fading lights marking François and the others. The soldiers took cover behind the armored vehicles and divided their fire between her and her compatriots. She was well concealed, so most of the shots did nothing more than send shredded leaves and bark through the air. Only a few smacked close enough to cause her unease.
Elaine ignored them and sighted one of the MG-42 gunners.
âVive la France!â someone shouted.
Elaine looked up just in time to see Paul leap from cover and charge at the soldiers, drawing their attention and fire. She watched in horror as the Nazi guns tore him to shreds. Somehow, before falling, he lobbed two grenades into one of the armored vehicles. There came a shout of panic from inside the Hanomag and seconds later came two concussive booms. Debris flew up from the open top of the halftrack and the shouts stopped.
François and the others took advantage of Paulâs sacrifice, moved to different cover, and started firing. A few Nazi soldiers dropped, but the remaining MG-42 began spraying the area with a hail of bullets.
Elaine gritted her teeth and fired two shots; both hit the gunner, and he fell. This again drew fire in her direction.
The fight became a blur after that. She took aim and fired, took aim and fired, over and over again, pausing only long enough to reload. It wasnât until she couldnât find another target that Elaine realized it was done, and all the Nazis were dead or dying.
She lay on the branch for a long moment, until the ringing in her ears began to fade. When she moved, a sharp pain in her shoulder brought her up short. More gingerly, she shifted and saw tendrils of white light filled with motes of green drifting from her shoulder. At the center was a growing blossom of gold blood. She rolled and dropped from the tree, landing only slightly less gracefully than normal. Still, the jolt made the pain jump a few numbers on the intensity scale.
She clenched her jaw, hefted her rifle, and carefully inspected the scene. The Germans were all dead, but the driver of one of the Hanomags was still alive. He took a couple shots at her with his Luger, but heâd apparently caught some ricochets or shrapnel because he didnât even come close. Elaine put him down with a shot through the viewing port.
âPlease, help me,â someone said in bad French.
Elaine spun to see a German soldier lying on the ground. He was little more than a kid, maybe sixteen; it didnât even look like heâd started shaving. She just stared at his tear-filled eyes, blood running down his cheek from the corner of his mouth. He had at least half a dozen holes in his chest. He was already dead, he just didnât know it.
âJa,â she said.
âDankââ
His thanks were swallowed by the loud report of the rifle as she put a bullet between his eyes. There was nothing she, or anyone else, couldâve done for him. She wiped tears away and muttered a curse at Hitler and his megalomaniacal plans.
After double-checking that all the soldiers were dead, Elaine made her sparrow call. Her mouth was so dry, the call was hardly recognizable.
Only silence answered her.
Swallowing, she hardened her heart and went to where François and the others had been taking cover. She couldnât bring herself to look down at the bloodied mess that had been Paul. She just kept walking. Her rifle fell to the ground, then she went to her knees, sobbing, covering her mouth with her good hand.
They were dead, which wasnât a surprise, but it didnât make finding them any less heartbreaking. Rémy was almost unrecognizable. If it wasnât for his blond hair, now matted with bloodâElaineâs stomach twisted and she retched to one side. Michel, Julien, Daniel, Christophe, and Christian were in slightly better shape, for the most part. Julienâs left arm had been chewed up by the machine gun, and Christopheâs torso had been ripped open, allowing his insides to spill out. Elaine sobbed and turned to François. His rifle had been discarded and his pistol was still clutched in his left hand, two fingers having been shot off his right.
Sadness mixed with anger, and she screamed curses at him.
âYou arrogant fool!â she said between sobs. âWhy didnât you just call off the operation? You got them all killed!â
It wasnât long before Elaine grew numb inside. She used her fae healerâs kit to remove the bullet from her shoulder, and a liberal smearing of healing ointment numbed the pain enough to give her almost full use of her arm again. Lastly, she set the pinkish, putty-like dóú craiceann over the wound, sealing it like a second skin. Sheâd never been much of a healer herself, but she got the job done. With effort, and still careful of her wounded shoulder, she dragged Paul into the cover to join his brothers-in-arms. Elaine whispered a charm and the earth drew itself up and over her friends. A moment later, lush green grass covered the seven mounds.
âAdieu, mes amis,â she said softly.
The ebook is only $0.99 (and how can you not buy a $0.99 book?), but if you preorder the paperback (releases 1/8/16 and is only $3.99) from The Fountain Bookstore, not only will it be signed, but youâll get an exclusive gift. As a nice bonus, you can also order signed copies of The Stolen and The Forgotten while youâre there, and donât worry, they ship worldwide.
Bishop O'Connell is the author of the American Faerie Tale series, a consultant, writer, blogger, and lover of kilts and beer, as well as a member of the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America. Born in Naples Italy while his father was stationed in Sardinia, Bishop grew up in San Diego, CA where he fell in love with the ocean and fish tacos. While wandering the country for work and school (absolutely not because he was in hiding from mind controlling bunnies), he experienced autumn in New England. Soon after, he settled in Manchester, NH, where he writes, collects swords, revels in his immortality as a critically acclaimed "visionary" of the urban fantasy genre, and is regularly chastised for making up things for his bio. He can also be found online at A Quiet Pint (aquietpint.com), where he muses philosophical on life, the universe, and everything, as well as various aspects of writing and the road to getting published.
December 7, 2015
Five Tips for Writing a Strong Fantasy
There are overall rules for writing no matter what genre is your focus. Your main character has to be active and not passive for instance. But fantasy does differ in some ways from other genres and has its own set of unspoken expectations. Once you know about them, itâs kind of cool to watch for them in a book and see if you can catch what tricks a writer is usingâor fails to use. If a book feels flat, many times itâs because the author left one of these out.
Crowds of characters: Unlike many other genres, fantasy is known for having an obscene number of characters. Fantasy and the other speculative fiction genres, like science fiction, are pretty much the only books to come with their own glossary of names in the back. The Wheel of Time series from Tor just released their own eight-hundred page glossary of characters, places, and terms. Thatâs some serious crowd. No one could keep all those characters straight.
So in fantasy expect lots of people from door guards to generals, scullery maids to kings. The tip for writers comes in remembering that each of these characters, even the ones who have no lines, should have their own motivation. The handmaiden to the princess needs to have a reason for her life and actions just as important to her as it is for the princess to escape her tower. In other words, donât forget to give motivation to all your characters, even if it be as simple of a guardâs feet hurting and he canât wait to get off his shift. It doesnât have to be stated, but the characterâs actions can make it apparent.
POV Party: Why have one main character to follow through the whole book when you can have threeâor five! Sure, there are plenty of fantasy stories that stay in first person with just one character, but there are just as many that tests the boundaries and uses multiple points of view from several main characters or even secondary charactersâused simply because they are expendable. (You know, the guys in the red shirts sent out there to die and show the situation is serious.)
In Grudging, I have four main character points of view, each with their own character arc. The important thing is to make them different enough from each other so that the reader doesnât feel theyâve seen this before. They need to have different goals, different character journeys, and even different personalities. We donât want to spend time with five characters who are just alike. I created an experience politician, an inexperience boy finding his way to manhood, a girl who wants to find her magic, and a priest testing his faith. All very different.
Each POV character should move the action of the plot and yet also have their own story to tell.
Wacky Worldbuilding: Where else but fantasy do you get to build a world from scratch? Not even painters or Lego builders get to create their own government, religion, architecture and economy. Everything that makes up a culture. Basically the writer of fantasy can go crazy and come up with anything the human mind will accept as possible--and sometimes things that aren't. So thatâs why the writer also has to be careful and make sure these things link together sensibly. If your city is in a desert like in Grudging, then your economy isnât likely to be based on farming. Theyâd have to get their food from elsewhere and trade for it somehow.
And donât fall into the trap of piling up paragraphs of worldbuilding. That slows down the pace and will bore the reader. Try and include details in small bites, and only when the story demands it. The best worldbuilding serves two purposes: It makes for a full and rich world and shows something about your characterâs personality and actions. Worldbuilding becomes an extension of your character and who they are.
For example the beards in Grudging. Beards are a symbol of reaching the threshold of manhood culturally, but the size and shape of them also expresses each character's personality. A great way to show what your character is like without coming out and telling it.
Magic Munitions: Once again the writer of fantasy has so much freedom when creating a system of magic. The skyâs the limitâor is it, because many fantasy characters can fly. Unlike science fiction where problems are solved with gadgets and brainpower, in fantasy we pull the rabbit out of the hatâno explanation needed. Magic is just there, often you donât have to give a reason behind it, and thatâs fine. Nobody ever really said why Harry is a wizard, but there are other rules to remember about magical systems.
Use of magic should have a consequence. Maybe it makes your character exhausted or they get a bad rash. Perhaps the consequences are harder to see like in Grudging, such as they become dependent on magic or they begin to fear what it can do. But your characters and your story will be richer if magic has a darker side and isnât too easy.
Speaking of too easy. A character that can handle anything with magic and never makes a mistake is a boring character. If they are new to magic and everything comes naturally thatâs a total turnoff. The best magic systems have a learning curve, and no character should be perfect with it. Thatâs the way to get a believable and deep story.
Vats of Villains: Regular books may be satisfied with just one antagonist, but not in fantasy. In fantasy the henchmen have henchmen. We are talking layers of villains for your main characters to kick their way through. And the ultimate, bad-guy villain may stay out of the picture until books later in the series. Heck, in Lord of the Rings, you pretty much never see the guy. Instead youâve got Ring Wraiths and Orcs to focus on. That can work just as well, if not better if you have something on screen for the characters to fight and something more scary waiting in the wings.
Just be careful to make sure your antagonist actually does some evil doing. If you character is going to rid the world of evil, the reader needs to see what sort of oppression that means. A villain that is always talked about and never felt doesnât raise any emotion in a reader. The reader doesnât have reason to care. So have a villain and let him/her or others do bad things in her/his name. (Iâm a firm believer in equal gender, racial, and sexuality rights for villains as well as for heroes. Itâs about diversity.)
And donât forget the motivation here also. Thugs and brutes need a reason for their actions just as much as knights in shining armor. In Grudging, Ordoño hands over members of the city as sacrifices and they aren't above torture, but there is a cultural and political reason for it that comes out later in the book. The bigger the villain the deeper and more complex the motivation should be. Life isnât black and white, give your antagonist some grays and youâll do your story a favor.
So there you have it; five tips for making your fantasy all sparkly like a vampire. See if you can spot some in the next fantasy you read.
--------------------------------------------------------
A world of chivalry and witchcraftâ¦and the invaders who would destroy everything.
The North has invaded, bringing a cruel religion and no mercy. The ciudades-estados who have stood in their way have been razed to nothing, and now the horde is before the gates of Colina Hermosaâ¦demanding blood.
On a mission of desperation, a small group escapes the besieged city in search of the one thing that might stem the tide of Northerners: the witches of the southern swamps.
The Women of the Song.
But when tragedy strikes their negotiations, all that is left is a single untried knight and a witch who has never given voice to her power. And time is running out.
A lyrical tale of honor and magic, Grudging is the opening salvo in the Book of Saints trilogy.
GRUDGING
November 17, 2015
Harper Voyager
Find it: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | iBooks | Goodreads
Crowds of characters: Unlike many other genres, fantasy is known for having an obscene number of characters. Fantasy and the other speculative fiction genres, like science fiction, are pretty much the only books to come with their own glossary of names in the back. The Wheel of Time series from Tor just released their own eight-hundred page glossary of characters, places, and terms. Thatâs some serious crowd. No one could keep all those characters straight.
So in fantasy expect lots of people from door guards to generals, scullery maids to kings. The tip for writers comes in remembering that each of these characters, even the ones who have no lines, should have their own motivation. The handmaiden to the princess needs to have a reason for her life and actions just as important to her as it is for the princess to escape her tower. In other words, donât forget to give motivation to all your characters, even if it be as simple of a guardâs feet hurting and he canât wait to get off his shift. It doesnât have to be stated, but the characterâs actions can make it apparent.
POV Party: Why have one main character to follow through the whole book when you can have threeâor five! Sure, there are plenty of fantasy stories that stay in first person with just one character, but there are just as many that tests the boundaries and uses multiple points of view from several main characters or even secondary charactersâused simply because they are expendable. (You know, the guys in the red shirts sent out there to die and show the situation is serious.)
In Grudging, I have four main character points of view, each with their own character arc. The important thing is to make them different enough from each other so that the reader doesnât feel theyâve seen this before. They need to have different goals, different character journeys, and even different personalities. We donât want to spend time with five characters who are just alike. I created an experience politician, an inexperience boy finding his way to manhood, a girl who wants to find her magic, and a priest testing his faith. All very different.
Each POV character should move the action of the plot and yet also have their own story to tell.
Wacky Worldbuilding: Where else but fantasy do you get to build a world from scratch? Not even painters or Lego builders get to create their own government, religion, architecture and economy. Everything that makes up a culture. Basically the writer of fantasy can go crazy and come up with anything the human mind will accept as possible--and sometimes things that aren't. So thatâs why the writer also has to be careful and make sure these things link together sensibly. If your city is in a desert like in Grudging, then your economy isnât likely to be based on farming. Theyâd have to get their food from elsewhere and trade for it somehow.
And donât fall into the trap of piling up paragraphs of worldbuilding. That slows down the pace and will bore the reader. Try and include details in small bites, and only when the story demands it. The best worldbuilding serves two purposes: It makes for a full and rich world and shows something about your characterâs personality and actions. Worldbuilding becomes an extension of your character and who they are.
For example the beards in Grudging. Beards are a symbol of reaching the threshold of manhood culturally, but the size and shape of them also expresses each character's personality. A great way to show what your character is like without coming out and telling it.
Magic Munitions: Once again the writer of fantasy has so much freedom when creating a system of magic. The skyâs the limitâor is it, because many fantasy characters can fly. Unlike science fiction where problems are solved with gadgets and brainpower, in fantasy we pull the rabbit out of the hatâno explanation needed. Magic is just there, often you donât have to give a reason behind it, and thatâs fine. Nobody ever really said why Harry is a wizard, but there are other rules to remember about magical systems.
Use of magic should have a consequence. Maybe it makes your character exhausted or they get a bad rash. Perhaps the consequences are harder to see like in Grudging, such as they become dependent on magic or they begin to fear what it can do. But your characters and your story will be richer if magic has a darker side and isnât too easy.
Speaking of too easy. A character that can handle anything with magic and never makes a mistake is a boring character. If they are new to magic and everything comes naturally thatâs a total turnoff. The best magic systems have a learning curve, and no character should be perfect with it. Thatâs the way to get a believable and deep story.
Vats of Villains: Regular books may be satisfied with just one antagonist, but not in fantasy. In fantasy the henchmen have henchmen. We are talking layers of villains for your main characters to kick their way through. And the ultimate, bad-guy villain may stay out of the picture until books later in the series. Heck, in Lord of the Rings, you pretty much never see the guy. Instead youâve got Ring Wraiths and Orcs to focus on. That can work just as well, if not better if you have something on screen for the characters to fight and something more scary waiting in the wings.
Just be careful to make sure your antagonist actually does some evil doing. If you character is going to rid the world of evil, the reader needs to see what sort of oppression that means. A villain that is always talked about and never felt doesnât raise any emotion in a reader. The reader doesnât have reason to care. So have a villain and let him/her or others do bad things in her/his name. (Iâm a firm believer in equal gender, racial, and sexuality rights for villains as well as for heroes. Itâs about diversity.)
And donât forget the motivation here also. Thugs and brutes need a reason for their actions just as much as knights in shining armor. In Grudging, Ordoño hands over members of the city as sacrifices and they aren't above torture, but there is a cultural and political reason for it that comes out later in the book. The bigger the villain the deeper and more complex the motivation should be. Life isnât black and white, give your antagonist some grays and youâll do your story a favor.
So there you have it; five tips for making your fantasy all sparkly like a vampire. See if you can spot some in the next fantasy you read.
--------------------------------------------------------
A world of chivalry and witchcraftâ¦and the invaders who would destroy everything.The North has invaded, bringing a cruel religion and no mercy. The ciudades-estados who have stood in their way have been razed to nothing, and now the horde is before the gates of Colina Hermosaâ¦demanding blood.
On a mission of desperation, a small group escapes the besieged city in search of the one thing that might stem the tide of Northerners: the witches of the southern swamps.
The Women of the Song.
But when tragedy strikes their negotiations, all that is left is a single untried knight and a witch who has never given voice to her power. And time is running out.
A lyrical tale of honor and magic, Grudging is the opening salvo in the Book of Saints trilogy.
GRUDGING
November 17, 2015
Harper Voyager
Find it: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | iBooks | Goodreads
December 5, 2015
Petition to Amazon about Reviews
A friend pointed out this petition on Change.com aimed at Amazon over the randomness and vagueness of their review removals. I'm not sure it will do any good whatsoever, but signing made me feel a little better.
Find it here.
So far no more of my reviews of vanished. Grudging is up to six. It should have been closer to ten. It's so hard to get reviews that any number disappearing is like a blow. I wrote about how discouraged I felt here. But I appreciate all the support I've gotten, and knowing this has happened to many more authors makes me feel less alone. Hang in there everyone!
Find it here.
So far no more of my reviews of vanished. Grudging is up to six. It should have been closer to ten. It's so hard to get reviews that any number disappearing is like a blow. I wrote about how discouraged I felt here. But I appreciate all the support I've gotten, and knowing this has happened to many more authors makes me feel less alone. Hang in there everyone!
December 4, 2015
Cover Reveal for FACSIMILE
She's one classy lady and she's helped me out many times. I'm so happy to be part of the cover reveal for Facsimile and Vicki Weavil.
Title: FACSIMILE
Genre: YA Science Fiction
Publisher: Month9Books
Publication Date: March 8, 2016
Format: Paperback and E-book.
Preorder on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Facsimile-Vicki...
Goodreads Listing: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18...
ABOUT THE BOOK:
For a ticket to Earth, seventeen-year-old Anna-Maria âAnnâ Solano is willing to jettison her birth planet, best friend, and the boy who loves her. Especially since all sheâs required to do is escort Dace Keeling, a young naturalist, through the wilderness of the partially terraformed planet Eco. Annâs determination to escape the limitations of her small, frontier colony never falters, until Daceâs expeditions uncover three secrets. One offers riches, one shatters Annâs perceptions of herself, and one reveals that the humans stranded on Eco are not its only inhabitants.
Annâs willing to sacrifice friendship and love for a new life on Earth. But when an entire species is placed in jeopardy by her actions, she must make a choice â fulfill the dream thatâs always sustained her, or save the planet sheâs never considered home.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Raised in the shadow of the Blue Ridge Mountains, Vicki L. Weavil turned her early obsession with reading into a career as a librarian. After obtaining a B.A. in Theatre from the University of Virginia, she continued her education by receiving a Masters in Library Science and a M.A. in Liberal Studies. She is currently the Library Director for a performing and visual arts university. She is the author of the YA Fantasy, CROWN OF ICE, published by Month9Books in 2014.
An avid reader who appreciates good writing in all genres, Vicki has been known to read seven books in as many days. When not writing or reading, she likes to spend her time watching films, listening to music, gardening, or traveling. Vicki is a member of SCWBI and is represented by Fran Black of Literary Counsel, NY, NY.
Website/blog: http://vickilempweavil.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/VickiLWeavil
Facebook Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/VickiLempWea...
Goodreads Author Page: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show...
Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/vickilweavil/
Title: FACSIMILE
Genre: YA Science Fiction
Publisher: Month9Books
Publication Date: March 8, 2016
Format: Paperback and E-book.
Preorder on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Facsimile-Vicki...
Goodreads Listing: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18...
ABOUT THE BOOK:
For a ticket to Earth, seventeen-year-old Anna-Maria âAnnâ Solano is willing to jettison her birth planet, best friend, and the boy who loves her. Especially since all sheâs required to do is escort Dace Keeling, a young naturalist, through the wilderness of the partially terraformed planet Eco. Annâs determination to escape the limitations of her small, frontier colony never falters, until Daceâs expeditions uncover three secrets. One offers riches, one shatters Annâs perceptions of herself, and one reveals that the humans stranded on Eco are not its only inhabitants.
Annâs willing to sacrifice friendship and love for a new life on Earth. But when an entire species is placed in jeopardy by her actions, she must make a choice â fulfill the dream thatâs always sustained her, or save the planet sheâs never considered home.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Raised in the shadow of the Blue Ridge Mountains, Vicki L. Weavil turned her early obsession with reading into a career as a librarian. After obtaining a B.A. in Theatre from the University of Virginia, she continued her education by receiving a Masters in Library Science and a M.A. in Liberal Studies. She is currently the Library Director for a performing and visual arts university. She is the author of the YA Fantasy, CROWN OF ICE, published by Month9Books in 2014. An avid reader who appreciates good writing in all genres, Vicki has been known to read seven books in as many days. When not writing or reading, she likes to spend her time watching films, listening to music, gardening, or traveling. Vicki is a member of SCWBI and is represented by Fran Black of Literary Counsel, NY, NY.
Website/blog: http://vickilempweavil.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/VickiLWeavil
Facebook Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/VickiLempWea...
Goodreads Author Page: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show...
Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/vickilweavil/
December 3, 2015
Cover Reveal for GOLDENFIRE
Today is the official cover reveal for Goldenfire, the second book in the Darkhaven series. It will be released by Harper Voyager on 14 January, but if you want to read it sooner, you can enter the giveaway below for your chance to win an advance ebook copy!
I'm always happy to support another HV writer!
In Darkhaven, peace doesnât last long.
Ayla Nightshade has ruled Darkhaven for three years. With the help of Tomas Caraway, her Captain of the Helm, she has overcome her father's legacy to find new confidence in herself and her unusual shapeshifting abilities.
Yet three years ago, a discovery was made that could have profound consequences for the Nightshade line: a weapon exists that can harm even the powerful creatures they turn into. And now, that knowledge has fallen into the wrong hands.
An assassin is coming for Ayla, and will stop at nothing to see her dead.
Preorder Goldenfire:
HarperCollins
Amazon
Barnes & Noble
Google play
iBooks
Catch up with Darkhaven:
HarperCollins
Amazon
Barnes & Noble
Google play
iBooks
Kobo
Enter the giveaway:
a Rafflecopter giveaway
December 1, 2015
Discouraged By Amazon's Cull of Reviews
Some of you might have seen me mention on twitter that Amazon took down all the reviews for Grudging. There weren't that many, but it still hurts. Apparently, this was done because the people who left the reviews follow me on social media or maybe because they are also writers and more suspect. I didn't give the reviewers copies of the book. I didn't trade a review for a review with them. Heaven forbid, I didn't pay them. I've never met them in person. They aren't family members.
It seems that followers of an author on social media can't leave reviews because they might benefit financially in some way. It's unlikely that I'll benefit financially in any way other than to take my family out for ice cream. Grudging is digital first. It's not going up in bookstores. The publisher hasn't done any marketing to get it noticed. I don't expect to make more than a pittance from sales. How could I manage to benefit other people?
I worked extremely hard to get the word out for Grudging's release. It was all I did for over two weeks and was very stressful to boot. I used social media and the contacts I've struggled for years to create. We are told to make friends because not only is it good to have friends, it will help your writing career. I did interviews. I arranged a book release tour, which I didn't pay for--all reviews from it should be allowed (but one of those was taken down also). I emailed dozens and dozens of book bloggers, telling them about Grudging and how they can get a review copy from the publisher, not from me. I followed in the footsteps and advice of other writers whose books have come out and did the same sort of marketing.
But in the big picture, because of the lack of marketing from the publisher, the only people likely to know about my book are the people who know me from social media--thus rendering all possible reviews ineligible and tainted to Amazon.
To say I'm discouraged is an understatement. It's hard to feel penalized because you have social media contacts.
It's a proven fact that reviews help sell a book. They make people more confident to buy a book. Having more than X (supposedly 10 or maybe 50) number of reviews means Amazon will help promote you by putting your book in their advertising. I worked my tail off trying to find book bloggers who might be interesting in reading Grudging. (Post to come.) I didn't ask for anything other than honesty in their review. (If they don't like it, I hope they say so and why.) In return, many of those very nice people followed me on twitter. I don't think any of the reviews given to me by them will be allowed to stay.
At this point, I feel like throwing in the towel.
I know it's not personal. It just happens that I have a lot of friends from social media, and they are writers. It's a good thing that Amazon weeds out fake or paid reviews. They want things to be fair. I agree that it should be. Unfortunately, that doesn't make me feel much better. Doing promotion for myself instead of my contests makes me uncomfortable to begin with. It's hard to talk about your books all the time. Reviews do that for an author so we don't have to.
I don't know what to say. I don't have a solution. But if you wanted or planned to post an honest review of your thoughts of Grudging to also please copy that review to Goodreads in case the other gets erased. Maybe those will get seen. I want to thank everyone who has supported me and your generosity. It means a lot.
Thanks to everyone that has gotten a copy of Grudging and who plan to review--or already have. You don't know how helpful that is to a writer.
Obviously writers do this because they love it, not because of the money. But it's hard when someone enjoys your story and their opinions are not allowed to be seen.
I certainly don't regret any friends I've made from social media. I'd rather have you than all the reviews in the world! But it would be nice to have both. :-)
It seems that followers of an author on social media can't leave reviews because they might benefit financially in some way. It's unlikely that I'll benefit financially in any way other than to take my family out for ice cream. Grudging is digital first. It's not going up in bookstores. The publisher hasn't done any marketing to get it noticed. I don't expect to make more than a pittance from sales. How could I manage to benefit other people?
I worked extremely hard to get the word out for Grudging's release. It was all I did for over two weeks and was very stressful to boot. I used social media and the contacts I've struggled for years to create. We are told to make friends because not only is it good to have friends, it will help your writing career. I did interviews. I arranged a book release tour, which I didn't pay for--all reviews from it should be allowed (but one of those was taken down also). I emailed dozens and dozens of book bloggers, telling them about Grudging and how they can get a review copy from the publisher, not from me. I followed in the footsteps and advice of other writers whose books have come out and did the same sort of marketing.
But in the big picture, because of the lack of marketing from the publisher, the only people likely to know about my book are the people who know me from social media--thus rendering all possible reviews ineligible and tainted to Amazon.
To say I'm discouraged is an understatement. It's hard to feel penalized because you have social media contacts.
It's a proven fact that reviews help sell a book. They make people more confident to buy a book. Having more than X (supposedly 10 or maybe 50) number of reviews means Amazon will help promote you by putting your book in their advertising. I worked my tail off trying to find book bloggers who might be interesting in reading Grudging. (Post to come.) I didn't ask for anything other than honesty in their review. (If they don't like it, I hope they say so and why.) In return, many of those very nice people followed me on twitter. I don't think any of the reviews given to me by them will be allowed to stay.
At this point, I feel like throwing in the towel.
I know it's not personal. It just happens that I have a lot of friends from social media, and they are writers. It's a good thing that Amazon weeds out fake or paid reviews. They want things to be fair. I agree that it should be. Unfortunately, that doesn't make me feel much better. Doing promotion for myself instead of my contests makes me uncomfortable to begin with. It's hard to talk about your books all the time. Reviews do that for an author so we don't have to.
I don't know what to say. I don't have a solution. But if you wanted or planned to post an honest review of your thoughts of Grudging to also please copy that review to Goodreads in case the other gets erased. Maybe those will get seen. I want to thank everyone who has supported me and your generosity. It means a lot.
Thanks to everyone that has gotten a copy of Grudging and who plan to review--or already have. You don't know how helpful that is to a writer.
Obviously writers do this because they love it, not because of the money. But it's hard when someone enjoys your story and their opinions are not allowed to be seen.
I certainly don't regret any friends I've made from social media. I'd rather have you than all the reviews in the world! But it would be nice to have both. :-)
Discouraged
Some of you might have seen me mention on twitter that Amazon took down all the reviews for Grudging. There weren't that many, but it still hurts. Apparently, this was done because the people who left the reviews follow me on social media or maybe because they are also writers and more suspect. I didn't give the reviewers copies of the book. I didn't trade a review for a review with them. Heaven forbid, I didn't pay them. I've never met them in person. They aren't family members.
It seems that followers of an author on social media can't leave reviews because they might benefit financially in some way. It's unlikely that I'll benefit financially in any way other than to take my family out for ice cream. Grudging is digital first. It's not going up in bookstores. The publisher hasn't done any marketing to get it noticed. I don't expect to make more than a pittance from sales. How could I manage to benefit other people?
I worked extremely hard to get the word out for Grudging's release. It was all I did for over two weeks and was very stressful to boot. I used social media and the contacts I've struggled for years to create. We are told to make friends because not only is it good to have friends, it will help your writing career. I did interviews. I arranged a book release tour, which I didn't pay for--all reviews from it should be allowed (but one of those was taken down also). I emailed dozens and dozens of book bloggers, telling them about Grudging and how they can get a review copy from the publisher, not from me. I followed in the footsteps and advice of other writers whose books have come out and did the same sort of marketing.
But in the big picture, because of the lack of marketing from the publisher, the only people likely to know about my book are the people who know me from social media--thus rendering all possible reviews ineligible and tainted to Amazon.
To say I'm discouraged is an understatement. It's hard to feel penalized because you have social media contacts.
It's a proven fact that reviews help sell a book. They make people more confident to buy a book. Having more than X (supposedly 10 or maybe 50) number of reviews means Amazon will help promote you by putting your book in their advertising. I worked my tail off trying to find book bloggers who might be interesting in reading Grudging. (Post to come.) I didn't ask for anything other than honesty in their review. (If they don't like it, I hope they say so and why.) In return, many of those very nice people followed me on twitter. I don't think any of the reviews given to me by them will be allowed to stay.
At this point, I feel like throwing in the towel.
I know it's not personal. It just happens that I have a lot of friends from social media, and they are writers. It's a good thing that Amazon weeds out fake or paid reviews. They want things to be fair. I agree that it should be. Unfortunately, that doesn't make me feel much better. Doing promotion for myself instead of my contests makes me uncomfortable to begin with. It's hard to talk about your books all the time. Reviews do that for an author so we don't have to.
I don't know what to say. I don't have a solution. But if you wanted or planned to post an honest review of your thoughts of Grudging to also please copy that review to Goodreads in case the other gets erased. Maybe those will get seen. I want to thank everyone who has supported me and your generosity. It means a lot.
Thanks to everyone that has gotten a copy of Grudging and who plan to review--or already have. You don't know how helpful that is to a writer.
Obviously writers do this because they love it, not because of the money. But it's hard when someone enjoys your story and their opinions are not allowed to be seen.
I certainly don't regret any friends I've made from social media. I'd rather have you than all the reviews in the world! But it would be nice to have both. :-)
It seems that followers of an author on social media can't leave reviews because they might benefit financially in some way. It's unlikely that I'll benefit financially in any way other than to take my family out for ice cream. Grudging is digital first. It's not going up in bookstores. The publisher hasn't done any marketing to get it noticed. I don't expect to make more than a pittance from sales. How could I manage to benefit other people?
I worked extremely hard to get the word out for Grudging's release. It was all I did for over two weeks and was very stressful to boot. I used social media and the contacts I've struggled for years to create. We are told to make friends because not only is it good to have friends, it will help your writing career. I did interviews. I arranged a book release tour, which I didn't pay for--all reviews from it should be allowed (but one of those was taken down also). I emailed dozens and dozens of book bloggers, telling them about Grudging and how they can get a review copy from the publisher, not from me. I followed in the footsteps and advice of other writers whose books have come out and did the same sort of marketing.
But in the big picture, because of the lack of marketing from the publisher, the only people likely to know about my book are the people who know me from social media--thus rendering all possible reviews ineligible and tainted to Amazon.
To say I'm discouraged is an understatement. It's hard to feel penalized because you have social media contacts.
It's a proven fact that reviews help sell a book. They make people more confident to buy a book. Having more than X (supposedly 10 or maybe 50) number of reviews means Amazon will help promote you by putting your book in their advertising. I worked my tail off trying to find book bloggers who might be interesting in reading Grudging. (Post to come.) I didn't ask for anything other than honesty in their review. (If they don't like it, I hope they say so and why.) In return, many of those very nice people followed me on twitter. I don't think any of the reviews given to me by them will be allowed to stay.
At this point, I feel like throwing in the towel.
I know it's not personal. It just happens that I have a lot of friends from social media, and they are writers. It's a good thing that Amazon weeds out fake or paid reviews. They want things to be fair. I agree that it should be. Unfortunately, that doesn't make me feel much better. Doing promotion for myself instead of my contests makes me uncomfortable to begin with. It's hard to talk about your books all the time. Reviews do that for an author so we don't have to.
I don't know what to say. I don't have a solution. But if you wanted or planned to post an honest review of your thoughts of Grudging to also please copy that review to Goodreads in case the other gets erased. Maybe those will get seen. I want to thank everyone who has supported me and your generosity. It means a lot.
Thanks to everyone that has gotten a copy of Grudging and who plan to review--or already have. You don't know how helpful that is to a writer.
Obviously writers do this because they love it, not because of the money. But it's hard when someone enjoys your story and their opinions are not allowed to be seen.
I certainly don't regret any friends I've made from social media. I'd rather have you than all the reviews in the world! But it would be nice to have both. :-)
November 28, 2015
Scavenger Hunt Starts Now
Here we go! Your opportunity to follow the trail of clues and become one of my slush readers for Sun versus Snow in January. You'll get to see the behind the scenes action of a big contest, read slush, and be the one to shout out vague, taunting hints on twitter.
Some of the clues in the scavenger hunt will be quite easy and some are harder. Each leads to another piece of the riddle.
Most clues will lead to a person and a part of their social media to see the next clue. In addition to following the clues, you'll need to ask each person on twitter for their "code" word. Follow them so they can DM you the secret code. When you have all eight code words and reach the end of the trail, unscramble the code words to form a sentence. First one to give me the correct sentence will be my slush reader. The two runners up will receive a paperback version of Grudging when it becomes available December 22nd.
In the event that the trail goes cold and everyone is stumped, I will give out hints on twitter.
The scavenger hunt will last from Saturday until Tuesday. Many clues won't become available until their appointed day, giving latecomers a chance to catch up.
Here's the first clue:
My baby is fresh into the world. Head to the place where book lists are kept and find what I have to say about my newborn.
Some of the clues in the scavenger hunt will be quite easy and some are harder. Each leads to another piece of the riddle.
Most clues will lead to a person and a part of their social media to see the next clue. In addition to following the clues, you'll need to ask each person on twitter for their "code" word. Follow them so they can DM you the secret code. When you have all eight code words and reach the end of the trail, unscramble the code words to form a sentence. First one to give me the correct sentence will be my slush reader. The two runners up will receive a paperback version of Grudging when it becomes available December 22nd.
In the event that the trail goes cold and everyone is stumped, I will give out hints on twitter.
The scavenger hunt will last from Saturday until Tuesday. Many clues won't become available until their appointed day, giving latecomers a chance to catch up.
Here's the first clue:
My baby is fresh into the world. Head to the place where book lists are kept and find what I have to say about my newborn.
