R.A. Boyd's Blog, page 2

Just checking in

A friend of mine and I always check-in with each other. We met in high school and after we graduated, we didn't talk for almost ten years. We ran in to each other years later and it was like we were teenagers again. She is the only person I can sit on the phone with and talk to for more than an hour. She and I don't do it that often.

Then days go by and we won't talk at all: she's busy with work and her house and family, I'm busy with my munchkin and work and writing. Life happens. But, we call or send a text just to say, "Dude, I'm alive. Don't worry."

So, that's what this is. I'm working really hard to finish editing part two of Hunted by Angels, Finding Angels. An idea hit me and I did a rewrite. For those of you who downloaded HBA, there was a little blurb at the end of the book that said that the next part would be out yesterday.

I'm so ashamed. If all goes well with the cover of the book, it will be out within a week. It's gonna be great.

And for those of you who haven't checked out HBA, click on my link to the right and check me out.

Oh! Hello people in Asia and Europe who read my blog. I didn't know you cared!

Guess who's back!

Don’t call it a comeback! I’ve been here for years!!

Alright, so I’ve been MIA for the past ten days and you probably didn’t even know I was missing. Those two nozzles in Target could have Taken me. Only those of you who keep up with my blog will understand.

I’ve been happily procrastinating and Chasing Angels (the next part of Hunted by Angels) is due the end of this month. I’ve also been editing (staring at the computer screen) Bound, trying to get it ready so I can start querying agents. And my darling daughter has eased her way back into our bed. Whoa to me! (And my husband) She sleeps like a mad woman. She’s only 26 pounds and she has taken over the entire bed. My little Mushka (that’s what I call her) started waking up in the middle of the night and I took the lazy way out: I put her in the bed with us so I could go back to sleep. Mushka can walk and roll all over my husband’s head and he never even wakes up. I have the ‘Mother Gene’. I hear everything she does. Every breath. Every snore. Every time she lifts her head, I sense it. But this is neither here nor there.

Actually, it’s very here. I only got about two hours, and I’m being generous here, of sleep last night and I have to work today. And then I’ll go home, do tons of stuff and then try to write later on tonight. Write.

Writing.


It’s something that I love to do and it brings me peace. Why does it seem like it’s the last thing I actually get to do? Do you suffer from the ‘I want to be a successful published author but everything else seems to come first’ syndrome? Is it just me?

You do it too, don’t you? You sit and play that cursed Candy Crush, begging for lives and chocolate candy balls! You sit and mindlessly flip through channels, swearing up and down there’s nothing on television, but you sit there for an hour anyway trying to find something to watch? Hey, I’m with you. As much money as I pay for cable, there should be SOMETHING that I want to watch!! There should be a channel dedicated to me because… I’m getting away from myself. Writing. Write. Right.

Come on fellow writers! Let’s band together and encourage each other to write. To create. Down with the Bloody Big Head…I mean down with time consuming, meaningless stuff.
Let’s do this. I’ve got deadlines to meet and a child to get back into her crib.

Wish me luck!

Life Inspires

So I’m in Target a few months ago, standing in an isle looking for a conditioner for my daughter. It’s pretty late and the store is about to close and I notice two dudes checking me out at the end of the isle. Not only are they looking at me, they are whispering and pointing AND looking at me. I’m thinking, “Holy shitake, I’m about to be Taken!” and I do not have the ex-military, Liam Neeson-type dad on the phone to describe my would-be attackers to. I should do what any woman who has a muse sitting on her shoulder would do. I digress. You do know my muse is a violent biznatch who threatens me, right?

Anyway, two scenarios pop into my head:
1. Find the nearest security guard and start telling on my two potential assailants.

2. Follow my muse, Cheyenne’s advice. She tells me to mace them both in the mouth, watch out for the mace-mist that is most likely going to come back to haunt me and then kick their asses until they beg me to stop.

I hear the first guy say, and I’m paraphrasing here, “She looks pretty and clean.” Ummm… WTF! No one would take me in a brightly lit store, would they? I know I’m in Target, but crazy people do the darndest things. They both start to walk toward me, so option two looks like the only way to go. I slide my finger in the Mace-O-Matic trigger and get ready. Guy number one doesn’t notice but guy number two has already slowed down.

Am I a bad-ass or what!

A huge smile breaks across the first guys face and he asks, “Miss, are you married?”

I turn to face him, finger still on the trigger, and tell him that yes, I am very married.

Fist guy: “I knew it! The clean pretty ones always are.”
Second guy: “She also has mace in her hand.”
First guy’s voice now goes up a few octaves: “Are you going to mace me?”
Me: “I don’t know yet.”
Second guy: “He’s trying to find me a wife.”
Me: “Umm, leering and whispering about a ‘clean and pretty’ woman is not the way to do it.”
First guy: “I didn’t mean to scare you. You just look like a nice person and I’m trying to find my boy a date.”
Me: “You almost found you both in the Emergency Room, but thanks for the, err, compliment.”
First guy: “Have a goodnight, Miss. Your husband is a lucky man.”
Second guy, whispering to first guy: “He should be a scared man, too.”

So, why did I share this extremely true story? And seriously, it is true. Because ideas can come from anywhere. I’ve been thinking about what happened that night and I finally came up with a short story. Yes, it has a supernatural spin, but most of my stories do.
Life is inspiring. You just have to look at it and let your muse play with it. If you ever experience the infamous ‘writers-block’, just start writing. Write about what you did today. What you would have done in the same situation if you were a fairy, or a Valkyrie, or a vampire! Or just a regular human who lives life just the way you do.

But either way, I'm a badd-ass that was going to kick some ass!

I'm on a boat!

Well, actually I’m not on a boat. I'm just sitting in Starbucks eating some great Sweet Bread, picturing Lonely Island featuring T-Pain's video I'm On A Boat. It's hilarious. But that is so not the point. Focus people.

Back to the point at hand: I’m on a boat! At least it feels like I’m on a boat when I’m driving my new car. I just bought a Dodge Caliber and it’s a stick shift. I’ve never had a manual vehicle but it’s a great car and the price was great. While checking out dealership inventory online, I ran across this car. I thought it was an automatic, called and said, “Hey! I’m coming in right now to see this car. Can I? Can I? Can I?” My husband walked up and asked me when did I learn to drive a stick shift. He tried to teach me a few years ago and I sucked at it. I got the gist of it but I was no expert. But his vehicle was a pick-up truck and as I’ve discovered over the past few days, was much harder to drive than my non pick-up Caliber. Needless to say, I got the extended warranty just in case I burned the clutch or any other thing I could possible do to the car. My husband convinced me it was a great car and that I would use less gas and blah, blah, blah. My husband had me sold on it.

I wanted something with more room for our growing family and this was it. When I’m driving, and especially when I’m parking, I feel like I am actually driving a boat. Have I ever driven a boat before? No. Do they call it driving a boat or do you maneuver it? Who knows? Do sailors know? Why am I talking in questions?

This kind of falls in line with my writing shtick this week. I wasn’t looking for a manual vehicle. I just wanted a spacious car that I could drive for the next few years. Four years to be exact. Well, maybe six years. I’ll be paying for it for the next four years so I’d like to drive it payment free for at least two years. Anyway, I didn’t get the car that I thought I was going to get. And sometimes when you write, you have to learn to roll with the punches. My critique group members suggested that I added something to my novel, Bound. They all agreed that someone should pretty much die. It breaks my heart but these people are readers and us writers should listen to our readers. Part of me wants to add a character just so they can die. I love the people in my novel and would hate to part with any of them. But the vote is in and someone is getting kicked off the island.

Maybe The Lonely Island and T-Pain will be there with an actual boat to save them...

Perfection

There are very few things in this world that are perfect. But many people strive for perfection. I don’t . Nobody is perfect and anyone who tells you they are is lying to themselves and trying to make you believe the lie.

Many of you may not agree with me on this, but God is perfect. He is perfection. Sorry to say my friends, but you are not perfect and nothing we ever do will be perfect. Let me tell you a story:

My husband and I have known each other for seventeen years. He is my buddy. When we began to plan our wedding, I just knew I wanted to do as little as possible. An away wedding was my answer and it was perfect. But alas, his grandparents couldn’t travel so we decided to get married here in his family church.

Cut to wedding day: I was the first person to have my make-up done by the make-up artist. She said it was unusual that the bride was first. My response, “Those chicks are running around like their heads are cut off and I’m just chilling, waiting for the day to be over so I can take a nice, long nap. Not too much make-up.” Things are perfect.

Cut to the church: My bridesmaids have gone in to the church before me as the singer sings India Ari’s ‘I am Ready for Love.’ I’m in the huge SUV we rented, waiting for the wedding planner (my husband’s aunt) to give me the cue to get out of said vehicle. “Umm, mom, my foot is caught on this puffy dress.” My mother grabs part of the huge dress and auntie tells her she’s got it.

“Umm, auntie, my foot is still caught.” It’s okay, she says. You’re just nervous, she tells me. “Umm, nope, not nervous. Just caught.”

“Just step down!”

So, I step down. And then I begin to fall. Into the gutter. In my puffy, white, beautiful wedding dress. On my hands and knees. In the gutter.

“Jesus Christ,” I yell, “I said I was caught!”

I can hear people all around gasp, “The bride has fallen! The bride has fallen!”

I jump up quickly like I just did a freakin’ magic trick and by the grace of God, there is not one stain on me. Remember, I fell into the gutter in downtown Baltimore.

Grace of God here people.

But cool. I get up, get poofed out again and take my mother’s hand. She’s the one who walked me down the isle. As soon as we step foot into the church, the singer sings the last note and we walk down the church isle in complete silence.

I’m cool with this. I just fell in my WEDDING DRESS! Nothing can be worse than that!

Cut to alter: the unity candles won’t stand up and my niece almost passes out.

Cut to the walk from the church: my niece threatens to spit on my dress because it’s a Greek tradition. I threaten to punch in the face as hard as I possibly could. She argues she wants us to have a long, happy marriage and that she needs to spit on my dress. I tell her she’s cruising for a bruising.

Cut to the reception: the DJ manages to mispronounce our names. My name is Roslyn. My husband’s name is Albert. Seriously?

Cut to sometime during the reception: my three month old god-daughter throws up my dress. MY WEDDING DRESS.


Cut to the end of the wedding: my husband and I go home and sleep like we’ve been drugged.

True story.

Why did I tell you this? I don’t know. Thought you should know.

Jenn Roseton and the Hot and Sexy Series!

Hello All!!

Today, during the first annual All Author's Blog Blitz, I have the Jenn Roseton as a guest blogger and her Hot and Sexy Series!

The Hot and Sexy series is a two-part erotic romance series featuring Jared and Christy.



In Hot and Sexy 1: Seductive Persuasion, Christy has gone to an isolated cabin in the woods for a few days. Jared has proposed that she move in with him, but since she's only been dating him for a few months, she's not sure if she's ready for such a large commitment. Can Jared persuade her (make that seduce her!) that moving in with him is the right thing for both of them?




Here's an excerpt:

“She tried to pull away from him, but his arm tightened around her. “Where do you think you’re going?” he whispered huskily. “I haven’t finished persuading you yet.”

“Jared--”

He kissed her hungrily. “Don’t talk. And don’t think. Just feel.”

“But I need--”

“I know what you need.” He pinned her underneath him, holding her in place with his lower body as he ripped open the buttons of his shirt and yanked it off.

Christy found herself admiring his hard, muscular chest while wondering whether she should try to stop him. “Jared...” She reached out.

He caught her hand in his and kissed her palm. “Let me make love to you, Christy.” ”

Hot and Sexy 1: Seductive Persuasion is available from:

Amazon - Hot and Sexy 1: Seductive Persuasion
if it's not free on Amazon, then please download it for free from:


Smashwords -Hot and Sexy 1: Seductive Persuasion
Kobo -Hot and Sexy 1: Seductive Persuasion
Barnes and Noble - Hot and Sexy 1: Seductive Persuasion

In the sequel, Hot and Sexy 2: Bridal Jitters, Jared and Christy are now engaged. However, Christy is stressed out from wedding planning and plans to go back to the cabin to spend a couple of days alone so she can clear her head. When Jared finds her packing her bag, Jared finds he needs to use his own special brand of seductive persuasion once more to calm Christy’s wedding jitters before the big day. But will a ghost from Jared’s past come back to haunt him before he can claim Christy as his bride?


At the moment, Hot and Sexy 2: Bridal Jitters is only available through Amazon for 99c:

Hot and Sexy 2: Bridal Jitters



Jenn Roseton loves writing erotic romance and eating gourmet chocolate. You can connect with her at www.JennRoseton.com

You can go RA Boyd to see the book covers and links.

Does Cheyenne need one of her buddies to come visit you?!

How do you get in the mood to write? Do you just sit down? Listen to music? Read a book? I’ve been reading articles on how to get inspired. Can you really make it happen if your muse isn’t cooperating? I gotta tell you, it kind of just hits me and then I start searching for little pieces of paper to write down ideas or try to find my cell phone so I can text the idea to myself. From a bystander, it must be a weird process. A few years ago my husband and I were at a friend’s house for dinner and it just hit me. Later on I was chastised for looking like a ‘weirdo’, scribbling on to tiny gum wrappers. That spontaneous idea spawned a 45 page short story. It’s still sitting on my computer waiting to be developed.
Do you do weird things to write?

When I finished my first novel, Loyalties, I know it was by the grace of God (and that’s any piece of writing I finish). I would pray before I wrote. Each and every time I sat down to write, I said a small prayer of, “Thank you, Lord, for the great ideas you’ve given me. Please help me to convey these ideas so people will love and follow them.”

But here is the problem: I’m a procrastinator. I have tons of ideas on little pieces of paper and small paragraphs that will spawn books on my computer. But nothing is going to happen to them unless I get off my butt and do something. That’s what I’m doing now! Want to know what is my little motivator? My inspiration? No, it’s not the crossbow wielding Cheyenne.
But here is the problem: I’m a procrastinator. I have tons of ideas on little pieces of paper and small paragraphs that will spawn books on my computer. But nothing is going to happen to them unless I get off my butt and do something. That’s what I’m doing now! Want to know what is my little motivator? My inspiration? No, it's not my very own personal, and yes violent, muse, Cheyenne.

It’s my daughter. Yes, it sounds cliché and you may be gagging on your fingers right now, but it’s the truth. Writing for me has always been fun and wanting to make money with my writing has always been my dream. I won’t let it be a dream anymore. I’m making it a reality. Yes, it’s a slow process but it’s happening. My mother went back to school in her forties and graduated from college the same year I graduated from high school. She was tired of working a full-time job and a part-time job to take care of my sister and me. She always wanted to be a teacher. So one day she said, “Self, I’m going back to school. I’ve wanted to be a teacher since I was a child and by George, I’m going to do it.” She did it. My mother is the kind of woman who says she wants something, and then she does it. I’m proud of her. Everyone is. She is a blessing to everyone she meets. Looking at her, I know I can do it.

I see it now. I visualize it: my name on books in Barnes and Noble; millions of fans anticipating my next release; being #1 on Kindle and Nook lists. Being on the New York Times Best Sellers List for weeks, months even.

What inspires you? Is it that need to get the hell away from your current job before your brain explodes? Is it a little person or a parent? Or is it you?

You’re good enough. I am, too.

Oh, I do so hope you love my books. Because I’d love for you to take the journey with me.

I apologize if my blog entries sound presumptuous or self-serving. If you read my blog, you are taking this expedition with me.

Be proud of me. Celebrate me. Recommend me to your friends, complete strangers even. Because I’m doing this.

It’s happening.

And if you need help with inspiration, I’ll have Cheyenne get one of her crossbow, hatchet baring buddies to stop by your place…

Overload

Seriously, my brain is on fire. Forgive me if this blog entry is all over the place but again: Brain. On. Fire.

As a writer, I am giving it my all to be successfully published and not just, “Look mom, I wrote a book! See, look at my computer.” I’m trying my hand at self-publishing. Yes, I would love to be a self-publish success story but I’m also going to go the traditional route. I’m going to start querying agents. The thought is frightening and I commend my fellow author and buddy Faye McCray. She’s in the querying process and now she’s waiting to hear from agents. Her book is awesome and I know it’s going to get picked up.

I’m editing, promoting, writing, mommying (to an awesome daughter), wifing (to a supportive husband), working, cooking, cleaning… You get me. I’m on websites every day, all day, figuring out how to attract more readers and blog followers. Sometimes it doesn’t seem worth it.

But it is! I know it is. I have so many stories to tell, so many worlds to introduce you to, so many villains to have you hate, so many bonds that I want you to be a part of. And you will be. With self-publishing, I’m showing my agent-to-be that I can promote myself; that even without them, I was awesome at getting people to read stories by R.A. Boyd.

I’m silently stalking, I mean checking out, agents right now. They already love me. They just don’t know it yet. But they will. Oh, yes. They will.
So… what about you? Are you feeling the pressure? Are you trying to be patient and not pull your hair and teeth out? Just hold on. We’ll get there.

Make it happen!

If you’re a writer, let me ask you a question: have you ever had to sneak and write? Writing for us writers is supposed to come naturally, right? Of course! That’s what we do. But those of you who have children may understand where I’m coming from.

My awesome daughter is going through a phase where she doesn’t want to sleep at night. She wants to take long naps in the late afternoon and then rage when you wake her up. It’s amazing that a 16 month old, 22 lb person can cause me to sneak around my own house like a freakin' ninja!

Amazing!

She finally managed to fall asleep about six minutes ago and her I am, downstairs in the family room quietly clicking the keys of the computer. I’m almost afraid that her bionic ears will hear me and she’ll say to herself, “Self, that mommy-lady is awake and by gosh I should be, too!” Have any of you ever felt that way?

So now you’re probably asking yourself, “Me, why isn’t Boyd asleep?” Well You, I haven’t written anything in a few days and I just felt the need to put this out there. So, here it is.

Just if you’re wondering, HBA did wonderfully! I’m in awe of how many units were downloaded. So, so happy am I. I’m pretty sure all of those people who downloaded HBA didn’t follow this here blog before it was released, but I hope they are now.

So fellow writer and readers, get it done when you have the chance. If you have a little person or persons scoping you out while you try to read and write in the wee hours of the night, do it quietly. Do it quickly. Do it sneakily. Just do it.

Not in My Kitchen

Right after my last post about my beloved New Orleans they had a terrible act of violence during their Mother’s Day Parade. My prayers and well wishes go out to those who were hurt and their family members. New Orleans has a special place in my heart and I go there as often as I can.

When I think about The Big Easy, a few things come to mind: The French Quarter, The New Orleans School of Cooking, The Famous Back Door, and… GUMBO. I make a mean pot of that spicy, yummy goodness. What does this have to do with writing, since my blog is about me being a writer? Gimme a minute. It’s coming.

So, back to me and my mean pot of Gumbo. I made a pot this past weekend the way I always do: I finely chop the trinity, slice the andouille, cook the chicken. I make sure everything is prepared and ready to go so when I need it, it’s all there waiting for me. My husband, wonderful man that he is, comes in to the kitchen while I’m waiting for the roux (browed gravy) to get to the right shake of dark brown. “Baby,” he says as he walks up behind me, “you should be using a cast iron skillet.”

In my sweetest voice I tell him, “I’ve got this, dear husband.”

“But baby, you’re going to burn it.”

My voice is a bit more firm. “Go see what baby girl is doing. I’ve got this.” I do most of the cooking in the house and I’m the only one in this house who makes Gumbo, Jambalaya, Peach Bread Pudding… You get me.

He walks away, circles the kitchen table, and comes back to look over my shoulder into the pot of browning gravy. “But baby, it’s going to taste like a burned pot.”

“Has it ever tasted like a burned pot?”

“No,” he says, noncooking man that he is. “But you’re going to do it this time.”

Now I’m a bit upset. “Seriously, dude? Leave me alone. The only reason you’re concerned about it now is because you’re watching me cook it. If you don’t like it, don’t eat it.”

After I tell him to scram, he walks away mumbling under his breath as I add the trinity to stop the roux from browning. Needless to say, he’s eaten most of the Gumbo.



I’m going to link this to my writing. People, family members mostly, come to me quite often and tell me I should write about their lives because they are awesome. Though I don’t doubt the awesomeness of these people, and it always happens to be an uncle, I’m going to pass on telling their story, unless they give me some good material. Yes, you had a bar fight. Yes, you saved three humpback whales with your bare teeth. Yes, you worked as an actuary and you have stories up the you-know-what. But I’m going to pass. If you were attacked by a werewolf and a fairy last week, by all means, let me know. I’ll put that stuff on paper! I’m sorry but you running a marathon in jeans in 120 degree weather by no fault of your own does not a good book make. Please don’t tell me that you getting into a fight with your brother and falling down the stairs is better than a story about a vampire. An angel. A sin eater!

Erika Badu said it best, “I’m an artist, and I’m sensitive about my sh*t.” Don’t tell me how to make Gumbo. Not in my kitchen, darnit!



Don’t tell me to write about your life. Tell me about it. We can eat cookies and drink tea while you talk.

I’ll listen. I promise.

And by the by, you can download the first 45 pages of Hunted by Angels for free on Kindle May 15-16th.