R.S. McCoy's Blog, page 6

Philadelphia Writer's Workshop Conference - Thoughts from a First Timer

Yesterday, I attended a big writing conference in Philadelphia: The Writer's Workshop Conference. I drove almost two hours from my sleepy New Jersey town to attend sessions with experts, pitch an agent, and rub elbows with other like-minded and local authors. To say I was excited was an understatement.Conference:The conference was split into FIFTEEN sessions on various topics over five time blocks, so each author could choose the sessions best suited to them. Here are my thoughts on the ones I attended:1. Self-publishing vs. Traditional-publishing: This session, taught by the great Chuck Sambuchino, was a great intro for folks who have yet to really start on either path. He confirmed a lot of my frustrations with self-publishing (that many doors are closed for us) and gave a few warnings about traditional publishing (the glacial pace at which it moves). I missed a good chunk of this session for my pitch.2. Agents and Query Letters: This session, also taught by Chuck, was sadly overrun with repeated questions by green authors. Of course, everyone is here to learn, but folks seem to have failed to do *any* independent research and asked dozens of questions about the exact. same. thing. I kind of wanted to rip my hair out. I think there could have been really great information in this session, but we just didn't get to it because of the sheer number of questions.Lunch: I went to a restaurant that only serves macaroni and cheese. It was as amazing as it sounds.3. First Page Critique: This was the session I was most excited about, and for good reason. Authors submitted their first pages anonymously, and agents publicly read and critiqued them. And not kindly. Some were brutal, some were glowing, but all were educational. I made changes to my first page based on their feedback. Definitely worth it.4. Science Fiction and Fantasy: This session, by the esteemed Eric Smith, was a brief introduction into world-building and trends in SFF, then opened to audience questions. While there was nothing really wrong with this session, I wish it had more information and structure, rather than being a town hall event. I didn't leave with unanswered questions but I didn't leave with a lot of information either.5. Social Media and Blogging: This session, by the very cool Amy Sue Nathan, was another session that was sadly overrun by very green authors. Rather than discussing effective SEO strategies, newsletter marketing, website configuration, or anything else really valuable, we discussed how to create a Facebook page. No really. I get that there are non-tech savvy authors out there, but if my grandma can work a Facebook page, then you have no excuse. I ended up leaving this one early.Pitch:I paid $29 to get 10 minutes with an agent. Theoretically, the time is used to pitch a novel you'd like represented, but really it's your time to use as you see fit.Here's what I did:1. Pitched my book. I memorized a 90-sec pitch of my YA Fantasy Romance and spewed it first thing, making it sound as natural and conversational as possible.2. Answered questions. The agent asked about themes and what makes my book unique, and thankfully, I had prepared great answers for each!3. Asked questions. Since it's my time, I decided to address a few areas of concern:Prologue - Most agents don't want to read prologues, but my book has a short (450 words), strong, and relevant prologue that starts with the protagonist. I asked if I could include this in my query materials, and the answer was: YES!Self-publishing - Since self-publishing and traditional-publishing are so exceptionally different, I asked if I should include my self-publishing history when contacting agents, or if I should change my name and maintain innocence. She thought it was totally dependent upon an author's success in self-publishing success, and based on my history, I would probably be fine sharing it. Hooray!All in all, there were some great points about the day, and some not so great points. I liked pitching an agent and meeting fellow authors, but in the future, I'll look for conferences more geared toward current working authors rather than the new new new authors. I leaned a lot and can't wait for the next!What do you think? Was this conference a success?

10 Reasons Your Books Aren't Selling

Every author struggles to sell books. No matter who you are, what your write, you want to sell more. Authors who sell five books a week want to sell ten. Authors who sell ten books a week want to sell twenty. Authors who sell five thousand books a week want to sell ten thousand. We always want more more MORE!So what's keeping us from getting there? Let's have a look.1. You aren't reaching enough people.If you want to sell ten thousand books, you need to know AT LEAST ten thousand people. If you look at all your social media accounts, do your followers add up to ten thousand? If you are only reaching 900 people, there's no way you'll sell more than that at any given time, and a high likelihood you'll sell far less. You simply aren't getting your book in front of enough people.2. You aren't engaging the people you're reaching.Let's say you have 900 Twitter followers. How many of them are liking, retweeting, or responding to your tweets? Ten? Five? Just one? If that's the case, you aren't connecting well to your platform. Try the 5-3-2 method:Five posts your shared from someone else.Three posts you created about books but not about *your* booksTwo posts about you and your booksIf you're stuck in a book promotion rut, try branching out to other bookish things. Readers will be grateful for the change of pace and topic, and their increased interest will help them engage better.3. You aren't working with bloggers.Bloggers (generally) proudly display their readership. Two thousand. Five thousand. One hundred thousand. And they should! They worked hard to reach that many people.By contacting bloggers to read and promote your books, you are reaching all of their readers. That's hundreds of thousands of new readers who are seeing your book and deciding if they'd like to buy it. Give them something great, and you'll be sure to snag a big bucket of new readers.4. You aren't promoting your backlist in the backmatter.At the end of your books, you should include links to your other titles, particularly if they are the same genre or theme. If a reader made it all the way to the end of your book, chances are they liked it, and if you have multiple books in that genre, chances are they'll like those too. You are robbing yourself of sales if you don't let them know about your other works. It's a quick and easy way to make a big difference in your sales.5. You aren't working with other authors.Every author works hard to reach readers. By working with authors in your genre to review and cross-promote, you are reaching a group of people who enjoy reading books like yours. You can even ask other authors to write a blurb to include on your cover, description, and promotion materials."This book was an awesome journey into a magical world." ~ RS McCoy, Author of Blossom and the BeastYour books look more credible and you're reaching a new group of readers. Win-win!6. You aren't utilizing giveaways.Book markets are heavily saturated right now and likely will be for years to come. That means readers have way more books to read than they could ever read in a lifetime. How do you set yours apart?With so many free and discounted books out in the world, many readers won't take a chance on a full price book. By discounting books or giving them away at specified intervals, you give those readers a chance to get into your stories, and a good chunk of them will likely come back for more.Are there readers who only read free books? Yes. Are there readers who will never buy one of your books? Yes. Will you be giving those readers a book for free and never make a penny off them? Yes.But you're getting your book into the hands of LOTS of new readers. And sharing stories is what it's all about, right?7. You aren't utilizing established promotional newslettersGetting a company like BookBub to promote your book could net you THOUSANDS of sales or downloads in a single day. That could make your month. Hell, that could make your year!If you can't get into BookBub (admittedly, it is a hard nut to crack), try other, smaller, cheaper options like BargainBooksy, FreeBooksy, Bknights, BookBarbarian, BookGorilla, ENT, and dozens of others. They cost money, but you're likely to make back what you spent and then some.8. You aren't a part of your community.Want people to read your books, write reviews, and discuss your books with their friends and family? Then you better be doing it too. Buy books, read them, discuss them, and write reviews. Find other people who the same books you do and hold a meaningful conversation about what you liked or didn't like. Develop relationships with book lovers and give just as much as you want to receive. Be the example of the kind of reader you want to have.9. You aren't marketing your book well.Does your cover indicate genre, theme, and character? Does your description leave readers wanting to know more? Is your book listed in the appropriate categories?If you answered 'no' to any of these, then you aren't marketing your book well. Leave behind your personal preferences (I hate books with half-naked dudes on the front!) and appeal to your audience. Utilize establishments of your genre while still being unique and creative. It's a fine line to walk, but that's what it takes to connect to new readers.10. You aren't being consistent.Having long periods of promotion followed by long periods of silence doesn't work. If you're not promoting, connecting, engaging, and working to reach readers every day, then you can't be successful. This is a long uphill battle and the tortoise will always win. Set aside time every day to update your social media accounts and meet new people. Your career is 100% in your hands, so don't take your hands off the wheel!Publishing and selling books is a tough, complex business and it will take even the most educated and diligent authors years to get their ball rolling. Start small, start now, and work every day to making your platform just a little bit better.

The Dawn of an Age?

I'm so excited to announce the opening of the official RS McCoy Reader Group,The Real McCoys!I'd been thinking about making this move for a long time. I get so many emails, Facebook messages, Instagram comments, and all sorts of communications from readers and bloggers every day, that it seemed only prudent to get a place where all these folks could get together. And thus, The Real McCoys was born!You can sign up here:http://bit.ly/2brvNsW​What is The Real McCoys?A group of readers who enjoy my books and enjoy getting exclusive access to beta reads, ARC opportunities, teasers, preview chapters, and freebies.What do you do?1. Read and review books by RS McCoy2. Follow on social media & share posts3. Chat, laugh, and engage in shenanigansWhat don't you do?1. Drama2. Spam3. SpoilersIt's that easy! Come check it out. There are no obligations other than to have fun (and follow the rules)! We'd love to have you!

8 Ways to Help an Indie Author

"Oh, I didn't realize it even mattered!"It's one of the most common sentiments I hear from readers and bloggers. Whether in regards to writing reviews or posting to social media, folks just don't know how much impact they have on the careers of their favorite authors.Much like the right to vote, each person has a voice, and using that voice paves the way for great change. Sadly, some astronomical percentage of people choose not to exercise their right to vote. The same is true for readers and authors. Readers hold the power in their hands but often don't know how much their voice matters.So, let's say you found a new favorite author. They're not a bestseller. You couldn't name a single person who's read one of their books. Now what?1. Leave a ReviewEvery book distribution site (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iBooks, etc) has a mechanism for readers to leave their feedback on books. Bloggers like to write these long, drawn-out reviews that read like essays for English lit, but in reality, a sentence or two is great!Here's some tips to writing reviews:A. Be honest! Other readers are counting on you to let them know what the book was like. Don't let them down.B. Be considerate! People reading your reviews likely have not read the book, so make sure not to include spoilers. It really ruins the effect for many readers.C. Share your reviews! Readers can leave reviews on multiple sites, from distribution sites like Amazon and Barnes & Noble to shelf sites like Goodreads and Library Thing.Reviews are by far the most important way readers can impact the authors they love. Book promotion sites like Book Barbarian and BookBub use the number of reviews and the overall rating to determine which books they will promote. Amazon uses reviews and ratings as part of their algorithms for best-seller and high-ranked.As a reader, if you do nothing else on this list, leave a review!2. Tell your friends in real lifeWord of mouth is one of the most powerful mechanisms for a book's success. A good friend recommending a book has WAY more weight than a stranger online, an ad, a promotion, or anything else.If you have a friend or family-member who likes similar books or genres, be sure to let them know when you've found a new favorite. They'll find a new author and the author will get a new reader. Everyone wins!Last Christmas, a reader contacted me to let me know she bought ten paperbacks and was gifting them to her friends as holiday presents. She literally put my book into the hands of ten people she thought would enjoy it. I was so amazed and honored to have such a reader!3. Tell your friends on social mediaIf you're like me, you have 5-10 real life friends and hundreds of online 'friends'. On the interwebs, I hoard high school acquaintances, former coworkers, estranged relatives, and all manner of folks I don't see daily. Sharing your favorite books and authors on social media will have a much wider impact than in person (though that impact won't be as powerful).As a bonus, most authors are active on social media. Following your favorite authors will make you privy to release date, giveaways, bonus features, and all kinds of fun extras. Just this week I gave a $25 Amazon Gift Card to a reader for sharing the cover reveal for my upcoming release,The Lethal Agent.The new cover was shared nearly 1,000 times and a reader received a gift card. A win-win!4. Recommend on GoodreadsGoodreads is one of those sites that can make or break a new author. Readers from all distribution sites gather to discuss and recommend books. I've gotten some of my favorite reads from the Goodreads community.For books you love, consider hitting the RECOMMEND IT button in the top right corner of the book's description. You'll choose the friends you want to tell about the book. Those friends will be notified of your recommendation and be able to read the description and reviews. It's an easy way to spread the word.5. Follow on BookBubBookBub is one of the best (if not THE best) book promotion service. They have a large and loyal readership. Each day, they notify their following of major deals and free books. If they promote an author, you have the option to follow that author on BookBub. You'll receive special notifications on any upcoming deals for your favorite authors.BookBub also uses those followers to determine which books to promote. For a new author, BookBub can make or break a career. Following your favorite authors contributes to their being selected for a feature in their newsletter, and potentially earning thousands of new readers.6. Go to live eventsNo matter where you live (okay, for the most part...) there are local book events throughout the year. You can find author signings on Facebook or Eventbrite, or even just a Google search. You'll see which authors will be attending.See an author you love on that list? Then go see them! We authors love when loyal readers come out to see us in person. We'll sign your books and bags and babies and anything else. You'll get to listen to us speak on panels and take pictures to show your friends.Author signings are like the rock concerts of the book world. You don't want to miss out!7. Ask for books at Barnes & NobleEbook sales are a huge portion of today's book market, but the fact is, people still like real books. Having a book on a real, wooden (er, faux wood) shelf is so much more powerful than seeing a screen on your laptop.So the next time you're at your usual local haunt, ask the folks at the counter for books by your favorite author. If enough folks ask and the books are accessible, you can help bring indie books to major book retailers.8. Gift a copy to a libraryThe same theory applies to libraries. As a kid, I lived at the local library, and I credit it with my love of all things book-related. While technically you could ask the library to order a favorite book in the same way as a book store, I much prefer to donate books. Libraries do so many good things for our communities. Sharing copies of your favorite reads puts those books into the hands of new readers.It makes a difference!Readers have the power to transform small self-pubbed titles into international best-sellers (just ask Andy Weir). Leaving reviews, making recommendations, and posting online has an insane an undeniable effect on the success of books. Please don't make the mistake of thinking you don't have an impact. You do! You really, really do!

Retelling a Beloved Classic

As most of you know, my upcoming releaseBlossom and the Beastis a paranormal romance retelling ofBeauty and the Beast. Like every young woman who loves books,Beauty and the Beastis my favorite fairytale ever. Like. EVER.Helloooo, there's a book-loving girl misunderstood by her whole town who meets a dark, mysterious, brooding beast and forms a bond with him over animals and books. What's not to like?The idea to write retellings came to me long ago. My good friend Joshua asked me to write a retelling for his anthologyTwice Upon a Time. I knew I wanted to write a steampunk story, but I struggled to choose betweenCinderella,Beauty and the Beast, andSnow White. In the end, I selectedCinderellaand wrote one of my favorite shorts,Ashes of East End.In the year and a half since then, the retelling ideas refused to die. I knew I had to doBeauty and the Beast. I just had to. If I didn't write it, it would haunt me until I gave in.So I bit the bullet, and wroteBlossom and the Beast.But I was petrified the entire time. I wrote my heart out. I did my research. I planned and wrote and planned some more. I know I wrote the best version of this story that I have in me.As a true fanatic, I couldn't write Blossom's story without including some major elements from both the original play and the Disney animated film that is part of my childhood gospel. Here's a taste:A withering flowerA hidden libraryA brooding beastA girl who runsAn eternal loveAnd some elements of my own design:Tiger, bears, and badgersThe Alder MotherThe Four Branches of the RealmTransformation and totemsVolcanoesI'm so terrified Blossom won't live up to the incredible original. Did I create a cheap imitation? Or an authentic piece of art? All in all, I guess I'll never really know. I put together the very best story I could, and I'm beyond satisfied with that.Now, it's up to readers to determine if Blossom measures up!Pre-orderBlossom and the Beast: http://amzn.to/1qTW8Cu

Cover Reveal: Blossom and the Beast

I've been wanting to write fairy tale reimaginings for a while now. As in, years and years. I first got to try my hand at fairy tales when my friend and editor Joshua Allen Mercier asked me to contribute to his anthology of retellings and reimaginings. I was stoked to put together a gaslamp version of Cinderella titledAshes of East End.Since then, the ideas have only grown. I'm happy to say I finally finished my first novel-length fairy tale reimagining.Blossom and the Beastis my paranormal romance version ofBeauty and the Beast(my favorite fairy tale!)Check out the blurb:Blossom Frane is only weeks away from her transformation. On her eighteenth birthday, she’ll find out her future branch of society and her totem, the animal form she’ll be able to take at will for the rest of her life. Like her brothers, she’s expected to be a brown bear of the religious branch known as Terra.In the Alderwood forests, Blossom’s bear blood is a valuable asset. Any day now, a rival clan leader will step forward and offer her father a hefty bounty in exchange for her hand in marriage. Blossom can do nothing more than sit back and wait to be traded to the highest bidder.Determined to spend her last weeks exploring the Alderwood, Blossom sneaks away and manages to find Kaide Landel, a rising political star of the Pyro branch. Known for his violence and disregard for the religious teachings of the Terra branch, he’s all wrong for the bear clan’s prized daughter. But when the politician uses his wealth and influence to secure her hand, Blossom has no choice but to leave her family and marry him—if she lives that long.And the fantastic covers!I'm really excited about this one! Blossom was a ton of fun to write and Kaide found is way into my heart, too.I can't wait to share it with you!Pre-order on Amazon: http://amzn.to/1qTW8CuAdd on Goodreads: http://bit.ly/1RjZVhW

The Lightning Luminary Release Giveaway

To celebrate the release ofThe Lightning Luminaryon April 26th, I'm holding a giveaway! Check out the rafflecopter to see all the ways to enter to win a signed paperback!

Exclusive Preview of The Lightning Luminary

Today, a special treat for you! I'm stoked to share the first two chapters of The Lightning Luminary with you!The Lightning Luminary is a multiple POV urban paranormal romance. Each chapter is told in the perspective of a different character. These first two are about Talia and Mason. I hope you enjoy!~The Lightning Luminary~TaliaTalia arrived at the Financial Offices of Lawrence Jenkins still wondering why she’d been summoned a full two months early.That wasn’t like him.Jenkins had been her liaison as long as she’d been Talia Stanley, the twenty-two year old daughter of a wealthy petroleum businessman.Before that, she’d been Abigail Hawthorne, a businesswoman in Charleston. The earlier ones, Priscilla Betancourt, Evangeline West, Helene Brauer. They ran together like watercolors. Each had their own meaning, their own purpose, but at the end, she couldn’t keep them from mixing. Too much time had passed. She’d been too many people.Talia Stanley had been one of her longest identities. At least sixty years, maybe seventy.And in all that time, Lawrence Jenkins had never asked her to his office. Other than their annual conference to discuss her affairs, they had no reason to meet.Still, she considered him one of her oldest friends. He knew almost nothing about her, but no living person had known her longer.The elevator released her to the wide open foyer on the top floor. Jenkins Financial was embossed in a delicate silver script across the doorway.Talia approached the secretary’s desk. A petite woman with a short blonde bob and translucent white top looked up as she entered the high rise office. The secretary looked her up and down, from the toes of her brown leather boots to the ombré color in her hair.Talia’s appearance was mid-twenties. Her skin was wrinkle free and her hair was still smooth and waved with youth. All too often, strangers thought little of her, assumed her harmless appearance matched her capabilities. This woman narrowed her eyes and prepared to say something rude. Then, as if snapped from a dream, she said, “Oh, good morning, Ms. Stanley.”The woman bolted up from her seat and escorted Talia down the corridor with crimson carpet and painted seascapes hanging on the walls. “Mr. Jenkins asked that I take you directly to his office.”The woman fidgeted with her fingers as they walked to the end of the hall. Talia couldn’t decide if she was nervous to be around Talia or Jenkins. When they reached the back corner office, the woman turned the brass knob and held the door open for Talia. “Mr. Jenkins, Ms. Stanley for you.”Talia held back a gasp when she stepped into the office and caught sight of the man. Where once he’d been a youthful, ambitious man early in his corporate career, there was almost nothing left of that man now. He had lost at least thirty pounds since last she’d seen him, but he sat in his luxurious office chair as if he weighed a ton. The light grey pinstripe suit no longer fit him. Instead, it hung off his shoulders like a boy in his father’s clothes. His chocolate skin looked dull and his head was bald but for a few wiry, wisping grey hairs.When had he gotten so old?Jenkins offered her a tired smile. “Good morning, Ms. Stanley.” He waved off his secretary who closed the door and scurried down the hall.Talia slid into one of the two seats, both fan-back armchairs in a champagne colored fabric with specks of charcoal grey. They’d been in his office for at least a decade though they looked brand new. The desk, too was the same, a mahogany behemoth as big as a mattress and devoid of anything but a sleek metal phone.She set her scarlet handbag in her lap and waited for Jenkins to begin.“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve asked you here.” He leaned back and clasped his hands in his lap. “I know and understand your wishes, but the fact of it is, I’ve decided to retire.”Talia let out a silent sigh of relief. He could continue to handle her accounts from home. “I’m happy for you. You’ve earned it.” She didn’t mention how her own accounts had contributed to his considerable wealth.Jenkins shook his head. “I don’t think you understand. I’m not working anymore. Not for you or anyone else.”The reality crashed into her like a hammer on glass, shattering the world around her. Talia blinked and tried to catch her breath. She wasn’t ready for this. “But, that’s not our arrangement,” she stammered.She needed more time.Jenkins nodded. He winced as if it pained him. “I know, Ms. Stanley. You require a minimum of five years notice.”“There you have it. Five years, then.” It was all settled.“I tried to tell you. For ten years, I’ve been telling you. I’m getting old. I want to see my grandchildren. My great-grandchildren.”Talia tightened her grip on her handbag. “You can do all that while you continue managing my accounts. I get five years, as agreed.”Jenkins pursed his lips and sighed as if she were a petulant child. “I will do everything I can to help you transition to another agent, but as of today, I’m done. I have cancer, Ms. Stanley.”No.It was the same, life after life, year after year. Talia had never known the pull of time, had never felt her life draw to a close.But she knew time was a thief. It snuck up and stole from her. Countless people gone, lifetimes passed by while she remained. In the years of their arrangement, Talia’s money had grown to endless wealth. For the first time in a very long time, she’d been able to stay in one place, been one person for consecutive decades.Now it was all over.Talia didn’t know if she was ready to start over. Not again. She didn’t think she had it in her.The imminent loss of Lawrence Jenkins only made it that much worse.She choked back her emotion and said, “I’m very sorry to hear that.”Jenkins seemed calmed by her reaction, as if he expected her to lash out in some way. He settled against the back of his chair and sat with hands clasped for several moments. Then, as if he’d struggled to keep it in, Jenkins blurted out, “You know, Ms. Stanley, I said I wouldn’t ask questions or interfere, but I would like to tell you that you have had a great impact on my life, and for that, I am grateful.” He pulled a small white envelope from the inner pocket of his suit jacket and slid it across the desk. “For when you get home.”Then, Jenkins reached to the phone and pressed a button. A young, upstart man pushed into the office not ten seconds later. In his black slacks and pressed white shirt rolled to the elbow, he looked like he was born in a corporate office. “Yes, Mr. Jenkins?” He tossed his head to the side to rearrange the walnut locks that threatened to dip into his eyes.“Please come in, Michael.” He motioned to the other fan-back chair. “Ms. Stanley, this is Michael Higby. He is one of our youngest and one of our best. I could think of no one more suitable to inherit your accounts. Michael, this is Miss Talia Stanley.”Michael’s dark eyes glimmered as he neared and extended a hand. An affable smile crawled across his cheeks. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. Stanley. I have some exciting ideas about how to move forward with your finances.” His skin was warm and pleasant as she shook his hand.Talia liked him immediately.That wasn’t like her at all. Afraid of her own reaction, Talia snapped back her hand.Michael didn’t seem to notice. “If you would follow me back to my office, we have a few things to go over.”Talia nodded. She didn’t like it, but what choice did she have? Before she left, she walked around the massive desk and knelt beside Jenkins. On her boots, she wobbled enough that she had to hold herself up with a hand against the desk front. “You’ve been very kind to me all these years. If there is anything I can do for you, please be sure to let me know.” Talia clasped his hand in hers and pressed her lips to his skin as worn as old paper.Then she stood and walked out the door. She would never see Lawrence Jenkins again. As much as she liked him, he wasn’t the first to be lost and undoubtedly would not be the last. He was another crumpling leaf fallen from her tree. Talia wondered how many more leaves she had left to lose.Michael Higby either didn’t notice her sorrow or talked to cover it up. On and on he went, though she didn’t pay attention until they arrived at his office. “Mr. Jenkins has done an amazing job with your accounts. The growth percentages are absolutely incredible.”Talia nodded as reality sank into her once more. “Yes, he was very talented.”He motioned to a black metal chair positioned across from this matching desk. “You can have a seat if you like, but I won’t keep you long.”Behind her, he closed the glass door. A silence filled the room. Talia could hear her own pulse in her ears, though she didn’t know why it would be racing. It wasn’t as if she were in danger here. In fact, she hadn’t been in danger in at least three or four centuries.That didn’t calm the pounding in her hands as she gripped her handbag tighter.Michael leaned his hip on the edge of his desk and crossed his arms. His casual posture oozed a relaxation she couldn’t make herself feel. “I just wanted to tell you that I understand your requirements. I will only contact you once a year, on March the first. I will not maintain any records of your accounts or identity electronically. Your files will be completely on paper and held in my personal safe. I will always maintain complete confidentiality, even within this office. I will never ask any questions.”“Thank you, Mr. Higby.” She nodded and tried to quiet the feeling something wasn’t right. Everything was fine. This was a change she hadn’t expected, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t handle it.She could still run.Did she have it in her to run again? Who was she running from? Were any of them still left?And then, like the drop of a hammer, Michael uttered the words she’d dreaded for centuries. “My price is slightly different than Jenkins’s.”Talia scowled at him. “And why would that be?”“Because I know certain things.” He paused for a brief moment before leaning toward her and whispering, “Callidora.”As was her practice, she kept her features neutral, refusing to admit to anything, but if he had somehow learned her name, there was little she could do to deny it. He had her accounts. He knew she’d lived in New York for more than sixty years and yet she looked in her mid-twenties. No amount of modern surgical procedures could account for such a discrepancy.Talia was found. Somehow. She didn’t even want to know how.“What do you want?” She shot him eyes like daggers knowing he probably didn’t care.“Ten million dollars. That’s not too high a price for my silence, is it?”His smirk made her want to retch but nonetheless, she didn’t have a choice. She could kill him outright in this office, suck his last breath from his lungs and explain it all away as some terrible accident. No one would believe what she could do.But she would still have to worry. Still have to run, unknowing who or what might be looking for her, though of course it would always lead back to Hadrian.She had but one option. So Talia agreed. “Done.” Talia stood to leave, but offered him one last remark.“If I should find out you betrayed me, I will kill you. Not quietly, not in your sleep. From a thousand miles away, I will make sure you suffer a pain-filled death. You have my word.”Talia’s threats were enough to break his mask of confidence for a few short seconds before he regained his crooked smile. “Then we have ourselves a deal, Ms. Stanley.”Michael walked her to the office doors and pressed the elevator button for her. He pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to her. “If you ever need anything, please don’t hesitate to contact me.” To anyone else, he sounded like a warm financial planner seeing off one of his many wealthy clients.Talia was tempted to roll up the card in her hand and throw it on the floor in front of him, just to spite him, but she didn’t. Someday, she might need him. Michael Higby wasn’t the worst of her enemies. He could be bought and paid for, and Talia had no attachment to money. If she thought it would mean living her life in peace, she would give him every last cent.But she knew, sooner or later, Michael would come back to her for more money. And again, she’d pay him. Again and again, as long as it took before he decided he would sell her secrets anyway.Talia had no choice but to leave New York. To start over and find somewhere else to hide. To find a new narrow network of trusted humans. The mere thought of it made her blood boil with anger and her fingers tingle with energy eager to be expelled. Talia would have to release some of it before it got the better of her.With one hand on the cool metal wall of the elevator box, Talia released just enough energy to override the control panel. The elevator plummeted to the ground floor, missing each and every level despite how the other two passengers pounded on the buttons. She crossed the lobby, her high-heeled boots stomping on the large marble tiles.Outside, the chill stung her face, but it didn’t quell the fire.Static sparks jumped between her fingertips.Talia stomped toward the subway train. It would be the fastest way home. She couldn’t wait. If she didn’t expel it soon, it would explode out of her. It would expose her. It would ruin everything.MasonThe nineteenth of January. Mason couldn’t help but think about his mother.His arms pulled through the water. His feet kicked and propelled him forward. He turned his head enough to take in one last desperate gasp. His muscles burned with lack of oxygen as he asked them to do more than they could.In his chest, starved lungs burned and begged him to surface, to draw in a breath before it was too late. He needed air, but he was so close.Then, his fingers felt the cool smoothness of ceramic.The pool’s edge.Mason grasped the ledge and pulled himself up onto his elbows. Ragged, heated breaths flew into his lungs. His chest heaved in the water.He was getting old.No, he was only twenty-two.Then again, that was pretty old for a Rathbone.“Looking a little rough there, Mace.” Quinn sat on the ledge in the next lane over in nothing but the tight trunks they both wore to their daily swim practice. Trickles of water ran from his dark hair down his chiseled, Native American features.Quinn’s breaths were quick, too, but there was no sign of struggle. While Mason had pushed hard—maybe too hard—to finish his laps, Quinn smiled with the ease of it.“That was—a little rough.” There was no denying it. His uneven breaths were all the evidence needed. He would have to work a little harder to get back into his peak shape. Or take a step back from swimming.“So you’re buying tonight. Where we headed?” Quinn rubbed his palms together in anticipation for his well-earned round of drinks. For as long as he’d lived in Manhattan, Mason and Quinn had gone to the Y to shred some laps before work, frequently betting his bar tab. Mason was a natural born swimmer, a fish.He should have known better than to bet today. He was really off kilter.Then he remembered the date. Mason shook his head. “Rain check.”“No way. Your turn. You lost.”“Dinner—with Samantha.”Quinn pressed his lips together and nodded. “Sorry, man. I forgot. It’s already the nineteenth? Damn. Feels like New Year’s was yesterday. What happened with that girl?”Mason pulled himself onto the ledge and wiped some of the water from his face. “What girl?”“The one from Lance’s party. Red head. She had some silver thing in her hair. Megan or something.”Mason shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t want to admit he’d forgotten about her, that he had trouble telling one old hook-up from another.“Kicked her out?” Quinn laughed.“Yeah. I don’t like them staying the night. No thanks.”“How are you ever going to get a good girl if you kick them out?”“I don’t need a good girl.”“Just a girl for the night?” Quinn socked him in the shoulder.Mason teetered and laughed. “That’s the idea.”“Shit, it’s already eight. I gotta head to work. Tell Sam I said hi. And for god’s sake, ask that girl on a proper date.” Quinn clapped him on the back and jogged to the locker room.Mason sat on the pool edge and sulked. The nineteenth of January. His mother’s day, the day that fucking cancer left her sick and frail, vomiting and pale before it stole her from his life. The last person he had left.It wasn’t fair. He would never think it was fair.By the time he scraped himself from the tile and trudged to the locker room, there was no sign of Quinn. Mason threw himself in for a cool shower, toweled off, and slid into the sleek suit required at work. Charcoal grey slacks and jacket, crisp white shirt, royal blue tie. The works.On his phone, a text from Samantha: Still on for dinner, asshat?Mason chuckled. Hell yeah. Stanley’s at 9. Hooker.Then, it was time for reality. Mason pulled on his khaki trench and checked his reflection in the locker room mirror. His suit was on point, his blonde hair was slicked back. Swimming offered him broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Mason looked like he had his shit together.Too bad he didn’t feel that way. He slung his bag over his shoulder and started the trek to work.Outside, the harsh winter wind sucked at his suit. It was warmer than most mornings, a few degrees over freezing, but the wind cut through him like a blade. He held his coat shut as he navigated the busy streets.From the Y, he had six long blocks in the frigid air, two trains, and another two blocks to his office at Newcastle Pub. Snow clung to the edges of buildings and sat piled at the curbs. A plume of breath trailed after him as he hurried between lamp posts and homeless guys curled against trashcans.Mason passed dozens of people, maybe hundreds, but as always, he was alone. Men clutched their briefcases. Women clacked along in heels that were all wrong for the cold. Each and every one held their phones like a lifeline.What was it with this city? People acted like it was a crime to say ‘good morning’ or something. It would never makes sense to him. Then again, he was a backwoods country boy from Pennsylvania. He was the foreigner here.Maybe it wasn’t them. Maybe it was him.Maybe the date was messing with him. January nineteenth. Three years gone. Maybe Quinn was right. Maybe it was time to get serious about Samantha.He would see her for dinner tonight, as he did every year on the anniversary of his mom’s death. It would be the perfect opportunity to start things up again. If that’s what he wanted.Mason could feel his still-wet hair start to freeze up as he walked into the subway terminal. The surfaces were so embedded with century old dirt, he kept his hands in his pockets, afraid to catch some life-threatening illness.The F train platform was full of people but empty of trains. Too-yellow lights cast the space in a squat, spoiled glow. From the tunnel, he could hear the hum of other trains further down, whirring along the tracks.To Mason, it was Antarctica. Cold as fuck. Filled with penguins, dressed in the same suit, waddling around, always the same, day in and day out. At least the penguins had an egg. He had nothing. Nothing important, anyway.Propped against an old subway pillar, a kid played the violin. He was sixteen, maybe seventeen. His hair was braided in rows that dripped down over his shoulders and his hands worked the bow like he’d been playing for centuries. He wore an oversized hoodie and baggy pants, like all the punk kids on the streets. Poor kid probably had everything he owned in that ratty old duffel bag he sat on.In the eternity between trains, Mason let the music lull him. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the kid, the way his hands moved, the way his fingers knew right where to press. His mother had always loved that sort of thing. A true fan of the orchestra, she would tell everyone.The date was making him sentimental.Still, he watched, mesmerized. The kid played with his eyes closed, he shoulders swaying with the motion of the bow and the rhythm of the song.Mason didn’t realize he’d drifted away from reality until a woman crossed in front of him. She dropped a hundred dollar bill into the kid’s violin case.But that was hardly what made him notice her.She had chocolate brown hair that cascaded down her shoulders, wavy without curls. Her hands were elegant and had warm olive skin. When she turned around, she was a stunning beauty. Wide almond eyes, full pink lips. The kind of girl who wouldn’t give him the time of day.Mason could only watch as she adjusted her designer bag on her arm and moved off to the side. Elegant sweater the color of cream. Tight-fitted black pants tucked into her knee-high leather boots.Confident as he was, Mason didn’t even try. Why bother? Sure, he had a swimmer’s physique, a steady job as a book cover designer with a prominent publishing house, a decent apartment he shared with a roommate. But women like her would never have interest in him.Mason focused on the music until it was drowned out by train wheels. The silver body of the F train shot out from the tunnel and screeched to a stop, right on schedule. Flimsy metal doors released an exodus of New Yorkers onto the platform. A woman in a fur lined coat. A man in a fedora. A guy in some sort of industrial coveralls. On and on they came.As soon as the coast was clear, Mason stepped onto the train. To his right, the woman with the handbag found a spot by the rail.Not a moment later, the doors slammed shut and the train took off. Through the windows, Mason watched as dozens of angry people stood on the platform and watched the train go by. They had every reason to be pissed. They’d been robbed of thirty vital seconds to board. It would be another fifteen minutes for the next train.Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad day after all.He shared the subway car with the violin kid, his instrument cased and stowed between his legs. A woman who could have been alive in the time of Jesus. A man read an actual, authentic newspaper like it was the nineties. Then, the woman with the handbag. Her hand was wrapped around the handrail and her arm hung at the angle perfected by Beverly Hills housewives.Damn she was gorgeous.When the woman looked over at him, he noticed the pissed off tension in her jaw. He’d been caught staring. Mason looked away as if that would change it.Oh well, only two stops until he changed trains.But the train didn’t stop. It flew past the 96th street station as if it had never been there. Again, Mason watched perplexed commuters stare at the train that passed them by.A pinch of pain appeared behind his eyes. White spots hovered on the edge of his vision. Too much movement. Mason moved his gaze from the windows to his fellow passengers.The violin kid looked up at him with interest.“How long have you been playing?” Mason motioned to the instrument.The kid shrugged. “A couple years.”“That’s pretty impressive. Do you have a tutor or anything?”He pulled his lips into a sly smile and shook his head. “Nah. Just gotta feel it.”Mason looked up in time to see his stop sail past. The pain intensified as he watched the people stare, their faces a blur as the train sped along.“How old are you?”“Sixteen. How old are you?” The kid shot him a pointed look.Mason smiled despite the pain in his head, growing larger with each passing minute. “Uh, twenty-two.” He winced against the pressure behind his right eye.“You don’t look so hot, old man.” He half-smiled at his own barb.Mason shook his head in denial. “I’m fine. Just missed my stop. What’s your name?”“Elijah Walker, the third.”Mason smiled and held out his hand. They shook hands as he said, “Mason Rathbone, the first. Nice to meet you. You always play subway platforms?”Elijah scoffed. “Hell no. Outside concert halls and sports arenas mostly. I’m playing at the City Center on Friday. They got a show. Some kind of piper.”“The Pied Piper?”“Yeah, I guess.”Mason chuckled and watched the third station go by. The pain in his head sharpened, like someone inserting a sliver of glass into his eye. He couldn’t keep his discomfort from his face.“You look like the Hudson.”“What?”“Like a steaming river of shit.”Mason tried to laugh. It was actually pretty funny. But he could think of only the pain. Was he having some sort of breakdown? Maybe a stroke?Or maybe he had cancer like his mom. Those things ran in families, right?He swallowed back the pain and pretended it was stress. Mason had every reason to be stressed. He’d outlived his entire family. He had dinner with Samantha tonight. That could be enough to make his brain explode, couldn’t it?If only he could get off the damn train. He needed his feet back on solid ground. Some sort of adult-onset motion sickness, maybe.But of course, he had no such luck. The train sailed past yet another crowded station.Mason sank to his knees. He squeezed his head between his hands and tried to keep from screaming.He pressed his palms to his temples, afraid his brain might be physically leaking out of his head.Then it happened. A pop. Inside his head, something let loose. Like a pin pulled from a grenade, searing pain filled every cavity in his skull, seeped into every seam.Mason knew he was going to die.Somewhere in the distance, metal screeched. The train lurched and threw Mason to the floor. The impact registered, but barely, a whisper of pain in the hurricane of screaming in his mind. Only when he saw his own blood pool before him did he relax.This was it.He was dying.In a matter of seconds, the black smothered him. Everything was gone. Everything except that prick of pain behind his right eye.To be continued!The Lightning Luminary released on April 26, 2016Pre-order The Lightning Luminary:http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01CLM110MThe Lightning Luminary on Goodreads:http://bit.ly/1OKnP7YFollow RS McCoy on Facebook:https://www.facebook.com/AuthorRSMcCoyVisit RS McCoy’s Website:http://rsmccoyauthor.comSign-up for RS McCoy’s Weekly Newsletter:http://eepurl.com/YItp1

The Lightning Luminary Cover Reveal

This week I am stoked to show off the gorgeous cover for my next release.The Lightning Luminarywill be released on April 26th with this amazing cover art! A huge kudos to the guys over at Kit Foster Design for another brilliant piece!Throughout March and April I'll be releasing exclusive preview chapters, teasers, insights, and a whole host of bonuses through my newsletter. Every month, I'll be giving away signed paperbacks and Amazon gift cards. This week, Mandy S. won the very first signed copy ofThe Lightning Luminarythrough the newsletter giveaway. Sign up here to stay up to date on all things Luminary and enter to win all the giveaways:http://eepurl.com/YItp1Stay tuned for more info aboutThe Lightning Luminaryand all my spring releases!