Indie eBooks

Things I Learned While Writing My First Novel

2012-03-05T19:00:00.000+08:00

Guest Post - Shannon Sinclair

Since I embarked on the adventure of writing my first novel, I have learned many things. I wanted to write them down, so I could remember them when I start writing my second, and third novels! Here are my top ten:

1. Write first thing when you get up. FIRST THING. If I get started on housework, or my mom calls, or the cat meows, I’m a goner. As soon as my mind is going 1,000 mph in the direction of life, stepping into my fiction becomes nearly impossible. When I try, it takes an hour of writing before I find a flow. If I am at the laptop after my first cup of coffee, I can get right into it.

2. Never underestimate the power of a pen and a notebook. Inspiration strikes at the weirdest times! On the toilet, in the shower, at the grocery store, and especially in my car during my commute. Jotting epiphanies in a spiral bound notebook has lead to great paragraphs.

I think writing long hand, accesses a different part of your brain. It is sometimes easier to channel the muse through my left hand, than through my fingers on a keyboard.

3. Take naps. When I hit a block, it feels like a smashed my skull into a brick wall. I get an overwhelming urge to go completely unconscious. When I start feeling that sensation, I lay down for 30 minutes and take a nap. Giving myself permission to nap has been a breakthrough.

4. Create a Playlist for your novel. I have a playlist created just for this novel. It includes songs for the whole story, for specific scenes within the story, and for specific characters. When I am stuck, or uninspired, or in a funk, putting on a song creates a mood, reminds me of a character and puts me right into the story.

5. Eat. Pray. Write. Vocabulary, grammar, structure and plot need nourishment. My synapses do not fire when my stomach growls. I must eat!

I also like to set the mood for writing by lighting a candle or a stick of incense. I touch base with my little "writing" totems I have on my desk; a large rainbow onyx stone, a jade turtle and mother of pearl butterfly that belonged to my grandmothers, who both inspired me to read, and a couple of found objects that inspired Dream Walker in some way.

I say a prayer...asking to be open to hearing the muse. I feel I am in cooperation with the Universe in creating this tome, so it is vital to my process to say hello and then listen to that voice.

Then I write. Sometimes if I am frustrated about work or family issues, I get out a pen and vent on a sheet of paper. It gets the muck out. When I feel my story again, I write my story.

6. Don't Hate. I did not realize how much I could hate myself until I started writing a book. Oh, I get down on myself for looking old, or having a big butt, or for being too rude to someone, but these are nothing compared to the loathing and belittling my left brain has lashed upon my right brain about my writing. If you find yourself in a "You suck" diatribe toward yourself, stop. Be gentle with yourself.

Don't hate...just write. Don't judge the first crap you put on the page. It's like moving to a new house. You get all the boxes of your stuff open and everything is a horrible, disjointed mess. It’s the same with a book. At first the sequence may be off...it may sound flat and colorless. But when you go back through it a second time, clean, spruce and rearrange a bit, it starts to have flavor. Just think what it will be like when you do the second draft. It'll be AWESOME!

7. Find friends that will remind you that what you are doing is worthwhile and valid. Having good, supportive friends who are totally looking forward to reading my sucky, first FINISHED novel kept me writing.

Join a writer's group. I was really intimidated by this at first. The idea of sitting down with writers more experienced than I, then having them read and critique my chapters, scared the crap out of me. If it does you, too, feel the fear and do it anyway! The feedback, networking and support is invaluable!

8. Find some published authors and pick their brains! Other people have walked the writer's way, traveling from unknown hack to published author. I found myself a few of them, met them for coffee and chicken dinners, listened to their horror stories and followed their advice.

9. Establish a web presence. Uuuuugh! Right? Who wants to spend all their time facebooking, blogging and twittering? I know. I get it.

BUT! I have been amazed by how many contacts I have made in such a short time and the information I have found via social media. Especially from Twitter, which really surprised me. I was never a tweep before and now I am hooked.

10. Reading about other writers' processes does not help. Although I have wanted to pick up the phone and call Steven King, Margaret Atwood or Joyce Carol Oats and ask a million questions about how they do it and what their challenges are, I am sure I would find that what works for them ~ would not work for me.

They may not outline first and just start writing away...I found I had to do an outline first. They don't hold down full time jobs AND write...they just write. So they couldn’t tell me anything about fitting the craft into a 50+ hour work schedule. I had to bear that cross on my own and figure it out.

They may have hard, fast rules that didn’t fit my personality at all. So my rules, and processes were unique just to me. I got to discover those quirks as I write along.

In other words, everything I just said above, toss! In writing, you are going to create and break your own rules! Enjoy that process.

Conquest by Vik Rubenfeld

2012-01-29T19:00:00.000+08:00

Kindle Price:

$4.99

Available from:

Amazon Kindle

Author's websites: http://vikrubenfeld.com/

Conquest

Chapter One

The thing is, I never really liked our drummer. I never liked the guy. Our singer I could tolerate, even though he thought he was beyond human. I’d seen him on the way up, when nothing like that was ever in his head. Mostly what he thought then was how afraid he was that he was blowing it and he’d run out of money and become a street person, sleeping in doorways. He had an unnatural fear of that, as though some fortune teller had put it into him. It was like it haunted him, a vision of his own future. Then when we really hit it, something else ridiculous happened – he felt like he had won against some supernatural power, like he’d overcome his own destiny and become more than normal. It was just irritating, but I still liked the guy.

Our lead guitarist – what you see looking at us is not what you see if you’re inside looking out. Barry O. – the Fireman, if you know his nickname – to you guys he looked like he had it all under control, but I knew that every second he was just waiting for it all to fall apart. He was just convinced that this was going to last for, maybe, another ten seconds. This went on for years.

I played the bass. I guess it was only natural that I’d be the down-to-earth guy, since that’s what I did for our sound. My bass was just like the anchor that kept the kite from flying off into the sky and getting lost. I guess I tried to do that for our band too. And you know how that turned out.

But why get ahead of things? Everybody always wants to know how it all got started and what happened, and to hear about all the craziness and everything. So now that it’s all over and I’ve got time, I’m like, why not?

HOW IT ALL GOT STARTED

Actually it was kind of spooky. I’ll never forget the day because my girl friend just broke up with me that same morning. She just finally got fed up with me for being the way I am. She was excitable. She didn’t mind that I wasn’t excitable, but it was the way I wasn’t that finally she couldn’t take any more. I’m just sort of a, get up every day, get the job done, don’t get distracted by stuff, just keep moving forward kind of guy. I sort of feel like a tank on a battlefield. I just keep going. Stuff can be blowing up around me, so what, I don’t care, I’m still going ahead. Meanwhile she felt like I was a snail, just going along too slow, getting nowhere. Like I said, she was excitable. She started getting crazy about it, hysterical. Which didn’t even faze me because I’m like what I said, and that drove her even crazier, and so it was just that same morning that she just said she was breaking up. Which was kind of like, I mean, even to a tank, a bomb goes off right underneath of you and you’re going to feel it. So I was trashed and in no mood to go anywhere, much less to an audition.

I’d heard about this audition Barry was having out in some old barn or shack or something. I wasn’t going to go in the first place and now I definitely wasn’t planning on going. I’d met him once or twice and my impression was that he was a little frayed around the edges. A little flighty. Maybe not serious enough. Tanks don’t wait for guys like him, we run guys like him over. So the hell with it, was basically my approach to the subject.

I was in no mood to see anybody, and then my phone started to blow up. All these calls were coming in. I tried to remember, did we always get this many calls on a weekend? Did my girlfriend used to just answer the phone? It seemed like way more than usual. All these people asking me to go here or there or come out and have a drink or let’s go to this party or hear this band or whatever. Some of them already knew about the breakup and wanted to cheer me up, and some had no idea. Finally I had to go out just to get away from the phone calls. So it was getting late already and I just took off for the bar to play pool and have some beers.

So now I’m out and my cell phone starts blowing up and I just don’t answer it. I’m not in the mood, as you can easily imagine. I’m playing pool, having a beer, trying to not think about anything. The misery is sitting on me like a wrestler that’s got another wrestler pinned. I can’t do anything about it and I know I can’t do anything about it, so I’m trying to not think about it.

And then this guy walks right up to me out of nowhere and says, “Hey man, can you give me a lift to Barry’s audition?” I don’t even recognize this guy. I’m so stunned that I actually forget to blow him off. I actually let myself get into a conversation with him.

“Dude, I’m not going to Barry’s audition.”

“Aren’t you Reid Taylor?”

“Do I know you?”

“I’m Travis. I saw you sit in with Sammy Marshall at Harry’s a month ago.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just hanging out here tonight.”

“Everybody says you’re going.”

“Everybody? Who?”

The guy looked around vaguely. “I don’t know. People.”

“People? Who? Who said that? What was the name of the person who said that?”

“It wasn’t one person. It was at least two people.”

“Who?”

“That guy over there.”

He looks over at somebody and at that exact split second, before I can see who it is, the guy he’s looking at turns and walks out of the place.

“’Scuse me one second. I want to say hi,” I said, and went to see who it was.

So I head out of the bar and the guy is walking away towards his pickup, and I said, “Dude.” He stopped, looked around, I’d never seen him before, and I already don’t like him. I’d never seen the guy before, and I swear to God I already don’t like the guy.

“Yeah, what’s up Reid?”

“You know me?”

“No, some guys in there said you were going over to Barry’s. You want a lift?”

At this point I actually said, screw it, I might as well go. I mean, why not at this point? It was either go or hear about it all night evidently. It was turning out to be the path of least resistance. The easiest way to not have to think about going was to head over there. I could already see that if I didn’t I’d spend all day tomorrow answering people who wanted to know why I didn’t go.

“Yeah, sure, why not,” I said. I got my axe out of my trunk and got into his pickup and we took off.

The guy said his name was Clay Hicks.

So now I’m headed off on a mission to be in this band, when in fact I could care less. I felt like one of those embedded reporters who travel with the army.

The plus side was, I needed a laugh, and heading off to this thing without caring at all what anybody there was going to say about me was funny. They were going to be judging everybody and I was going to be not even beginning to care. I was way beyond caring already tonight about anything any of these guys were going to say to me.

And I had to admit it was a welcome distraction from this misery I couldn’t shake.

After a while Clay started driving too fast. Way past the speed limit. He’s taking curves at roller-coaster speeds. I’m looking at this guy, I’ve never seen him before, and I’m wondering, is he testing me? Is he waiting to see how I’m going to act? Or is he just trying to rattle me so I can’t audition? I watch the road. He’s not skidding much, he’s not driving outside the lane or anything. He seems to be able to handle the car at this speed. So I don’t say anything.

We’re driving way outside of town and the streetlights are getting farther and farther apart, and finally we pull up in this parking lot outside of some kind of big old run-down looking building. I grab my axe and get out of there because there’s no way I’m talking to this guy since I’d only tell him that no matter how proud he is of whatever he thinks he was doing, he’s just like one of those comets heading down through the night sky, that burns bright while it’s burning itself up. Let’s put it this way -- chances are that when he crashes his car, I won’t be in it.

The front of the building looks dusty. The door doesn’t feel solid when I open it. Inside it’s dark. There are tables all around – it’s some kind of closed restaurant. There’s people milling around on the far side of the room, and that’s where the lights are on. There’s a stage set up over there. I see Barry, long-haired, rattled-looking but cheerful, proud that this is his thing, he’s running it, everybody’s there to win his approval. People drive all the way here, they get here, and they’re into it, man, you can feel it. It’s electric. People want to be chosen.

I consider just hanging out back here in the dark and watching, but that’s too ridiculous. Besides, I need more distraction or I’m going to get swallowed whole by this wretchedness that feels like it’s eating me alive. So I head over to the edge of where everybody is and see a singer I know named Shawn.

“Hey, how you doin’?”

“Reid, all right man, how are you?”

“Pretty good.”

“I heard you and Sharon broke up.”

“Yeah.”

“You okay with it?”

I like Shawn, but why do people always have to ask the wrong question? He’s saying it like he’s my friend and being all sympathetic, but what if the answer is what it really is, namely that I’m anything but okay with it? He’s gonna make me talk about that? Expose myself like a fish flopping around on a boat deck waiting to be iced? Is that like a friend to do that, to bring that up, to try to make me say it? I don’t even give him the benefit of the doubt. I bet that somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows exactly what he’s doing. When you’re suffering, it almost takes a saint to be your friend.

There’s nothing I feel like answering. I’m not a good enough actor to say I’m fine and have anybody believe me. Or maybe I could, I’m not going to protect myself by lying, by hiding, by pretending to be something I’m not.

“No. I’m not okay with it. It sucks.”

“I’m sorry, dude.”

To me that looks like the fakest sympathy ever. So what. I don’t care. I don’t say anything back. I move on.

Barry spots me and comes over.

“Hey Reid! Good to see ya’. Thanks for coming over.”

“Glad to be here, man.”

“I didn’t know how to reach you, so I just told people to let you know about it.”

“Okay, cool. It worked.”

“Excellent.” He moves on to talk to somebody. It’s like I said, the guy’s a little flaky. He didn’t know how to reach me, so he just told people. But it worked, I gotta give him that.

“Hey, how’s it goin’?” A drummer I know has spotted me, a good guy, named Leon.

“Okay, man. How’re you?”

“I heard about Sharon, dude.”

“Yeah.”

“That sucks, man.” He says it like he’s talking about a coat that doesn’t fit. He’s not making that big a deal out of it. You can see he’s not acting like it’s the end of the world. Leon’s an okay guy.

“I appreciate that.”

“For sure. You think it’s really over?”

“Oh yeah.”

“You were with her, what, a couple of years?”

“Almost.”

“Well, if it’s not right, it’s not right, huh?”

“Yeah, man. Thanks.”

“For sure.”

Barry gets up on stage – the action’s starting, and Leon goes to find out when he’s up. These encounters are taking too much effort, so I go sit down on the outer edge of the group, in the shadows but not like I’m trying to avoid people. Barry’s warming up, playing some old blues.

Sitting down, there’s not enough distraction. I’m trying not to think about Sharon, but it’s too big to avoid. It’s like a yacht bearing down on a rowboat. You want to enjoy the beautiful day, but you see that yacht bearing down on you to cut you in half.

Then I realize I already got cut in half, when Sharon left. This misery is too big, I can’t fight it, I’m just going to have to go through it. I get ready for it, I look for how to like the grief, how to want it, how to make something good with it. Feeling it means something, it means finding out what you’ve lost, like a store owner taking inventory after a flood. It’s super painful but you have to do it so you can keep the store going.

For a minute I didn’t even notice what was going on. Then I started to hear the new stuff Barry was playing. He wasn’t playing blues anymore. This must be his own stuff. It’s pretty much just straight chord progressions, but these aren’t the same old tired boring patterns I’ve heard a million times. I’ve never heard these progressions before, and the chords he’s got sound great together.

I know what this means if it’s not a fluke, but I figure that’s gotta be all it is. There’s no way he’s got a lot of this stuff. But then he hits us with another one, and another one. This is the DNA of songs that haven’t been written yet. This is what I’ve been looking for. Sharon thought I wasn’t getting anywhere – she didn’t see that I was looking, waiting, for what it’s starting to look like just showed up here in this busted-up closed restaurant.

I want to stand up and charge the stage. It’s such an overwhelming mix of feelings – this wretchedness on top of this exaltation and excitement. I get the sense a person can hold an infinity of feeling. It starts to make me feel physically bigger than myself. It’s making me giddy. It’s making me dizzy.

I move really quietly over to some friend of Barry’s with a note pad and get my name on the list. Then I sit back and watch what goes on, carried along on these sensations like a loose rowboat – or a piece of a loose rowboat that got cut in half -- on top of huge ocean swells.

Bass players, drummers, singers come and go. Leon tries out and does great. The bass players are just playing right on top of the same notes Barry’s got, just a few octaves lower. It’s driving me crazy. I can’t stand it. I can’t wait to go up. Finally they call me. I walk up, plug in. Barry hits it. Leon’s on the drums.

This tremendous sense of power hit me. I was so full of passion over breaking up with my girl and now it was going into the notes I was playing and the counterpoint I was finding. It was like the whole day was fated to put me on fire for this. I blew that room away so hard that even my competitors just looked at each other and they all saw each other felt, I was the guy.

When you live a certain way, certain days come along and change the rest of your life. And when that happens it just kind of naturally shows you were right all along – waiting, believing, praying, hoping for that to happen. And that is quite an experience. The surprise that you were right about that stuff, that you were right you could do these things, that you could find what you needed in the world that was missing in yourself, and put that all together, and make the things happen that you thought you could, and where other people wonder how you got there and how you did it – it puts awe into you. Of course, that night, it was still just my belief, my hope, my faith, that that was what had happened. Nothing was proven yet.

Leon did not get chosen. It hurt his feelings, and I felt like my friend had been dropped into a deep deep well and I didn’t know how to get him out. And who did get picked – Clay Hicks. Clay had outperformed Leon on the night, no question. But how could I tell Barry that I had a bad feeling about Clay based on one crazy car ride? Barry didn’t know Clay, didn’t know Leon – none of us knew each other yet.

Interview with Vik Rubenfeld

2012-01-27T19:00:00.012+08:00

Vik Rubenfeld created the hit CBS TV series, "Early Edition," starring Kyle Chandler, about a man who receives tomorrow's newspaper today, and uses it to save people.

He is married and lives in Los Angeles.

INTERVIEW WITH VIK RUBENFELD

WHAT WILL READERS LIKE ABOUT YOUR BOOK?
I think it lets you experience what it feels like to be a rock star in a vivid, immersive, almost 3D way. People are telling me that they are thinking about it long after they have stopped reading it. It stays with you. The more you think about it, the more you see in what you've read. It's also exciting. There's a lot of suspense. There's the story of, is the band going to make it? There's the love story between Reid and Kristy, and the question of whether their relationship can survive all the things that happen to a hit band. There's everything that's happening with all the groupies. And there's this animosity between Reid, the bass player, and Clay, the drummer, that puts future of the band in danger.

WHY DID YOU SELF PUBLISH?
Just as I was completing the novel I was very fortunate to speak to indie author Barbara Morgenroth (http://robinoneillebooks.blogspot.com/). She clued me in to everything that was happening with the self-publishing revolution. She sent me the Joe Konrath/Barry Eisler eBook, "Be the Monkey," as well as links to Joe Konrath's blog, and to other sites as well.

Not long ago I would have needed to spend years trying to find a publisher. Then it would have taken another year and a half to get the book into book stores. This way I can get started immediately. It's amazing how quickly you can go from having a completed book, to seeing it being downloaded from the top websites.

WHAT IS YOUR WRITING PROCESS?
This is a big subject for me. So much of writing is, I think, done with your subconscious. I try to embrace that. I find that once I have a specific question about how the book should go, I can do almost anything else - surf the internet, watch TV, make phone calls, work on other stuff - and my subconscious will be working away, looking for answers.

I BELIEVE I NOTICED SOME RUN-ON SENTENCES AND CASES WHERE A WORD WAS REPEATED IN THE SAME PARAGRAPH. WAS THAT INTENTIONAL?
Absolutely. The story is told by Reid Taylor, the bass player for the band. Reid has spent his life around music, not writing. It would have sounded totally inauthentic to me if he had somehow told this story in perfectly crafted sentences. He pretty much is just using the first words that come to hand that say whatever it is that he's trying to communicate. I, on the other hand, had to work hard to achieve this style for his voice. I was inspired by "Catcher in the Rye," "Huckleberry Finn," etc. in using this approach.

WHAT INSPIRED YOU TO WRITE THIS PARTICULAR STORY?
I've always been drawn to the world of entertainment. That's part of how I came to create EARLY EDITION, the hit TV show with Kyle Chandler, about the guy who gets tomorrow's news today. It ran for four years in prime time on CBS and has been in 73 countries around the world. I've wanted to write something set in world of entertainment for a long time. I was particularly drawn to what happens when you are on stage. I acted in and directed plays in high school so I had some limited experience with that, and it meant a lot to me. I wanted to communicate what that felt like.

Then there's the "band of men on a mission" thing that appealed to me. Guys who form a band and try to make it a success are really on an epic journey, and this happens in real life all the time.

And then there were the groupies. For some reason I wanted to write a lot of pages about groupies. :)

And one more thing - having lived that entertainment biz thing of trying to do something that seems impossible, and then getting it to happen - getting EARLY EDITION on the air - I wanted to write about what that felt like. I just put it into the life of a rock star.

DID YOU LEARN ANYTHING IN THE TV BIZ THAT HELPED YOU IN THIS NOVEL?
I sure did. In TV you learn how to, as they call it, "break a story." That is, you learn how to tell a story so that it's suspenseful and makes you want to keep watching. By the time I started this novel I had learned a lot about it, and it's one of the things that, I think, makes this novel such a page-turner.

Guest Post - A Little Bit of Beauty by Vik Rubenfeld

2012-01-24T19:00:00.000+08:00

First, I'd like to thank Nadine for the chance to appear on her site and speak to you all.

On my author blog (http://vikrubenfeld.com) I like to look at samples of really famous works of art and talk about what's so cool about them. It's like a little bit of beauty for you each day.

Here's one. This one is super-famous.

That is pretty easy to get with. Feel every word of that with your whole heart. Does it fill you with emotion and meaning? That meaning is the meaning of Shakespeare’s emotion.

It's fun to try to restate it in information-only terms, like you would see in a journalistic report, or an academic paper. Let's try: Shakespeare is saying that in some way it’s as though she radiates light, turns night into day, etc. Yadda yadda yadda - it’s just not very meaningful when you restate it like that. The beauty of Shakespeare's words is a beauty of emotion, and can't be restated in information-only, intellectual terms.

Here's another one. It's from Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn. Huck Finn is escaping from his father, who has held him prisoner for several months. (Link)

Do you feel that? The stillness, the mystery that Huck is experiencing as he makes his escape? If you feel it, then you are witnessing emotional insight. That’s what a work of art provides.
You yourself may very possibly have felt something before, like what Huck is feeling in this passage.

Here's one last one for now. This is fun. It's one of the most famous paintings in the world. You’ve probably seen reproductions of it many times. But there’s something you may never have noticed about it before.

Renoir’s “Luncheon of the Boating Party”

No two people are looking directly at each other. Check it out. Renoir even put in a little joke about it. The only two looking right at each other are that chick and her dog.

If you wanted to just pull out the intellectual content by itself, you'd probably get something like, "Sometimes in groups people don’t look at each other but they feel very close." Very true, no doubt, but kind of boring.

Yet looking at the painting, you feel how tight they all are, how close they are to one another emotionally. You even feel something about how they make a group that’s alive and bigger than any individual there. If it fills you with a sense of the beauty of all this, you are feeling the beauty of Renoir's painting.

I hope you enjoyed these!

Merlin 444 by Rejean Giguere

2012-01-20T19:00:00.000+08:00

Kindle Price:

$2.99

Available from:

Amazon kindle

Author's websites:

www.rejeangiguere.com

Part 1 The Merlin
Chapter 1

1995

The old Budweiser clock in the garage said eight forty-five. Bobby finished tightening the lug nuts on the front tire of his baby, a red '77 Camaro. He doesn’t close up the garage until nine, it's Friday night, he's geared up for some drag racing.
About six months ago Bobby joined his mother in Duck Lake, a small town on highway eleven, between Saskatoon and Prince Albert. He knew they were both devastated after his dad died during flight training at Cold Lake Weapons Range. His mother wanted him to stay at his job in the city, where he’d been a mechanic for the past two years. When she decided to settle in her home town, he left it all to join her.
It was pure luck that the small gas station and garage next door to their house was bought out by an old guy who needed someone to run the place. Theirs being the only house near the gas station meant his mom and the old guy got to talking and next thing you knew, he was running the show.
It wasn’t a big show, just locals during the week and cottagers heading north on the weekends. There wasn’t much traffic coming through. Honestly he didn't care, when there weren't any customers to pump gas for, he worked in the garage which wasn't being used for anything yet. He heard the bell ring if a customer pulled up, otherwise he worked on his car. It gave him time to think.
His mother was right that coming to Duck Lake didn’t look like the best career move, but he needed to know she was okay before heading back to the city. He also needed to figure out some things for himself, decide where he was going, what he really wanted to do. Losing his father had kind of brought him to a standstill.
Bobby was lowering the car down off the hoist when he heard the bell outside. He started cleaning his hands off, and as usual, the impatient customer ran their car back and forth over the rubber hose a few times, the bell dinging constantly. Shaking his head he walked out to the pumps, pulling his ball cap down over his eyes to shield the against the late day sun.
The BMW was in show room condition, dark blue, almost black. This was obviously not a local. The country boys round here used mud covered pickup trucks and beat-up cars or souped-up hot-rods. On the passenger side the tinted window slid down letting the music pour out. The rap beat punched him in the chest as he leaned in towards the car.
The woman was shockingly gorgeous, and naked from the waist up. Pushing a few long strands of hair from her face, she said seriously, “Fill her up please.”
When Bobby’s eyes came up to hers, she started laughing. He started blushing at the same time he realised his mouth was hanging open. Glancing quickly at the guy in the driver’s seat, he saw that he was cracking up too.
“Yes Ma'am.” He moved around the back of the car, focusing on filling the gas tank, while a new round of laughter burst out of the car.
Women. They were one of the things he spent a lot of time thinking about. Jesus, they made him silly. He clammed up, got nervous and lost all sense of control around them.
Growing up in a military family, constantly moving, should have made him used to meeting people, but he was shy and reserved. At twenty years old he was spending too much time thinking about women instead of dating them. But then his chance of meeting someone here in Duck Lake was a million-to-one.
Actually, there was only one. Suzanne Ryan. At twenty-two she was a couple years older than him. The only other prospects around the area were kids just into high school and some divorced women, or separated cougars that have been in the station clearly on the hunt.
He slapped on the gas cap and walked up beside the driver. The guy forked out some twenty’s and said “Keep the change.” Bobby thanked him, his eyes on the guy's other hand sliding up and down the woman’s leg, squeezing her thigh just below her mini-skirt.
Again, Bobby’s eyes met hers, and she erupted into laughter.
As the car squealed out of the station, he was left standing in a cloud of dust and fumes with a five-dollar tip and one overwhelming thought.
Jesus was she hot.
Looking up and down the highway he said to himself, last call everybody. No one answered. Inside the station, he threw the big light switch, killing the floodlights and leaving the yard in darkness.
Pulling his Camaro out of the garage and locking up the station, Bobby wondered if he’d see Suzanne tonight.

Interview with Rejean Giguere

2012-01-16T19:00:00.000+08:00

Rejean Giguere enjoyed a successful business career in Toronto and Ottawa, exercising his creative side as a photographer, sculptor, and painter before the opportunity arose to take the time to sit down and write his first book. His youth spent growing up in Europe and Canada, added to his travel experiences over the years, help to shape his view of the world and give colour and character to his writing.

As the author of 2 novels and 3 books of short stories, Rejean sneaks away from his computer as often as he can to golf, fish, hike, rollerblade, mountain bike, ski, snowmobile and travel. Sunny afternoons will often find him roaring down the road in his vintage Corvette or catching the breeze on his V-Max motorcycle. His third novel will be available in early 2012.

Interview with Rejean Giguere

What will readers like about your book?

A guy's book, Merlin 444 is all about fast cars, fast planes and crazy mysteries. In this character-driven Action/Adventure novel, Bobby starts out as a typical young guy from any small town. Suddenly thrust into an unexpected situation, he has to deal with his own family crisis while resolving a 50 year old mystery. The story keeps up a blistering pace as the action comes hot and heavy, one thing after another.

Why did you self publish?

eBooks have changed the way the publishing industry works. A writer no longer has to face the daunting process of finding an agent and convincing a publisher to take their book. As a businessman I fully appreciate the ability to create, produce and control my own work from start to finish. I am in charge of the entire project and I can ensure that everything from the quality to the promotion meets the highest standards. However, this isn't to say that if a publishing house made me an offer that made sense I wouldn't consider it.

What is your writing process?

For me, a book is all about the character. When I begin a book, I start by working out the concept and the main character's role. Then I create an outline, chapter by chapter of what needs to happen. This allows me to decide what other characters need to be included. When I sit down to write a chapter I already know who is in it and roughly what is going to happen, and I know what things need to be included which will be brought back into the story in later chapters.

How long does it take to write your first draft?

It depends how you measure it. Days spent actually typing? Or do you include the time spent creating the concept, outlining the project and researching the material? Merlin took quite a bit of research time, while I learned about Spitfires and Mosquitos and made sure I had all my facts on The Battle of Britain, Battle of the Atlantic and Battle of the Pacific correct. Actual writing time also varies; I usually write around 2-3,000 words a day, but have had days where the story has taken on a life of it's own and I write 5,000 words or more. Then you start editing; that has it's own schedule.

Guest Post - The Creative Landscape by Rejean Giguere

2012-01-12T19:00:00.000+08:00

Over the years I had been told frequently that I described things better than a lot of people did. I never understood the significance of that statement. I assumed it was just me taking the time to be thorough in my explanations.

Then I had discussions with my brother on the subject of writing. He was an intellectual, a teacher, the kind of guy who read statistics books, medical and political journals for fun, and had his own ideas about writing. I think he was too rooted in fact to allow his creativity to stretch those truths, facts, and knowledge into fiction. He most assuredly could have written a non-fiction book about any number of subjects.

Finally I come to my editor. We haggle and work back and forth on issues as you would expect. When she says that I can’t have some lawyers sit in on a meeting of government officials who are deciding to award a contract, I ask why. She'll tell me it’s because lawyers don’t do that and aren’t allowed to sit in on those type of meetings in the real world, I say they do in my book.

Rules, regulations and the proper ways of doing things can hamper, restrict and hold back someone who doesn’t have those cares but has the ability to tell stories, or better yet allows themselves the freedom to create ideas and stories.
The other day I asked someone to tell me a story about a bouncing ball and they sort of stared back, saying, “I don’t know, ah…”
I responded, “The old man stood wavering on the side of the road, teetering off the edge of the side walk. He heard a sound and turned to see a bouncing ball coming his way. It was reaching ten or twelve feet in the air on each bounce and a number of kids were chasing it. Then the old man noticed the bounces were getting smaller as it approached. Finally the ball was hardly bouncing at all and stopped in front of the old man.”

I did another one, “A small boy started climbing the long flight of stairs that burdened him every day. Today he noticed a ball bouncing down the steps towards him. Great, he thought, a ball to play with. Then as the boy got a little farther up he realized the ball was bigger than he thought and he wondered how big it was. Then he realised he was too far up to go back down and that the bouncing ball was bigger than he was.”

Once I have an idea, like the Merlin engine in Merlin 444 or the Asylum for my latest book, I let my creative imagination go to work on building a story, playing with different hooks and angles. Eventually I have a rough outline of a story and can see the beginning, middle and end.

I do worry about the story making sense, and keeping the reader intrigued, involved, guessing or confused, depending on what the story calls for, but I don’t worry about rules whether or not this or that is really possible, because it doesn’t have to be.
Someone said, “But you’ve never been in an asylum. How do you know what goes on in there?”
I asked, “Don’t you have ideas and visions of what goes on somewhere in your head? I sure do.”
My creativity is always turned on. It is part of the creation of the initial story vision, and it is ever-active as I write, providing me with new twists and ideas as I go.

Don’t hold it back, let it run free.

Forged in Fire by Trish McCallan

2012-01-08T19:00:00.000+08:00

Kindle Price: $2.99

Available from:

Amazon Kindle,

B&N,

Smashwords

Authors Website: www.trishmccallan.com

Nominated For 2011’s Best Paranormal Romance

by The Romance Review!

Beth Brown doesn’t believe in premonitions until she dreams a sexy stranger is gunned down during the brutal hijacking of a commercial airliner. When events in her dream start coming true, she heads to the flight’s departure gate. To her shock, she recognizes the man she’d watched die the night before.

Lieutenant Commander Zane Winters comes from a bloodline of elite warriors with psychic abilities. When Zane and two of his platoon buddies arrive at Sea-Tac Airport, he has a vision of his teammates’ corpses. Then she arrives—a leggy blonde who sets off a different kind of alarm.

As Beth teams up with Zane, they discover the hijacking is the first step in a secret cartel’s deadly global agenda and that key personnel within the FBI are compromised. To survive the forces mobilizing against them, Beth will need to open herself to a psychic connection with the sexy SEAL who claims to be her soul mate.

"Forged In Fire is a smoking hot adventure with an irresistible alpha hero. Danger, action, suspense, and a steamy romance make a story that's impossible to put down!"

Patti O'Shea, National Bestselling Author of Through a Crimson Veil

Excerpt

Lieutenant Commander Zane Winters shifted uneasily against the grungy white wall across from gate C18’s ticket counter. He felt naked without his Glock. Exposed. An itchy, irritating prickle of vulnerability tightened his skin and cramped his muscles. Which was fucking ridiculous. They were on leave, for Christ’s sake, booked on a civilian flight. Yeah, he and Cosky and Rawls had to check their weapons with their luggage, but so what? They weren’t going wheels-up, facing deployment to some godforsaken foreign jungle or burning swath of sand.

“Did they have to pick Hawaii? We have the same blue sky and warm weather in Coronado. And without the tourists.”

Zane barely heard Cosky’s disgusted mutter through the drone of excited voices surrounding them. With a grunt, he massaged the back of his neck and surveyed the growing crowd. More passengers were arriving by the minute. Shit, there were already too many people to keep an eye on. Too many jackets and pockets and purses. Too many places to conceal a weapon.

A stacked brunette across the gate area caught his gaze and offered a sultry smile. Zane turned away.

“Jesus.” Rawls’ lazy grin was a slash of white in his sun-bronzed face. “You two need to get off base more often. You’re as hinky as a pair of hounds during tick season. Those are civilians y’all are glaring at, not a room full of tangos.” Bright blue eyes zeroed in on the brunette across the room. “What you need is some of that. Sun, sand and sex. All the fixin’s for a memorable vacation.”

Cosky shot his teammate a derisive glance. “When did you become so fond of sand and sun? Sure as hell not last month, judging by your nonstop bitching.”

Rawls flipped him the finger. “It’s that third “s”, Cos. Makes all the difference. You should try it sometime, but without that blow-up Barbie you keep stashed beneath your bunk.”

Shrill laughter erupted across the room. Zane tracked the sound, skimming an abandoned stroller and clusters of luggage. When the brunette tried to catch his eye again, he swore beneath his breath. Shifting against the wall, he gave her his back.

“See? This is why I like hanging with you, skipper,” Rawls drawled, a grin twitching the edges of his mouth. “You attract the little darlin’s over, and when you turn that cold shoulder on ‘em, they start buzzin’ round Cosky and me.”

“Leave me out of it,” Cosky said. “Unlike you, I don’t need to surf Zane’s wake for a hookup.”

“A hookup?” Rawls shook his head and smirked. “Is that any way to talk about your hand?” Bracing his elbows against the wall behind them, he tilted his head and studied Zane’s face. “Seriously, skipper, you should take her up on that offer. It’s not like—” He broke off to scan Zane’s face more intently. Suddenly he frowned. “You’re shittin’ me. That’s some prime real estate over there, and you don’t have any interest in her? None at all? That just ain’t… natural.”

Hell, Rawls was right. She was prime time. A real looker. Long, thick mahogany hair. A tight, curvy ass. Stacked across the chest. Enough flare through the hips to hold onto. She was the kind of woman who’d give wet dreams to any straight male between puberty and death.

Which must mean he was dead. Because he was way past puberty, yet he didn’t feel even a twitch of interest. No chills. No thrills. No goose bumps.

She could be his great-grandmother, for all the attraction he felt.

Every year the numbness dug a little deeper, spread a little further. He’d been warned about this particular side effect of the family gift—or curse, depending on who was talking. But knowing about it, and living with it, were completely different animals.

“Let’s hope that woman of yours shows up ASAP. Much more of this drought and you won’t remember what to do with her.” With a flash of white teeth, Rawls reached over to punch Zane’s shoulder.

The moment Rawls’ fist made contact, every muscle in Zane’s body clenched. He froze, his breath locked in his throat. His vision blurred.

Click.

It was a subtle sound. A switch flipping inside his head. An image flashed through his mind. Quick. Brutal. Ugly.

Rawls sprawled across a bank of narrow seats. His blue t-shirt splotched with black. Blood dripping from limp fingers. A fixed stare glazing his blue eyes.

The vision vanished.

“Son of a bitch.” Sheer disgust vibrated in Cosky’s gritty voice. “We’re on stand-down. This is a civilian flight. Regardless of that all-too-familiar look on your face, we cannot be in any goddamn danger.”

But he didn’t dislodge the hand Zane clamped around his bicep.

This time Zane was expecting the vision. He tensed anyway, his body contracting into one giant charley horse.

Click.

He strained to capture as many details as possible as the new vision flashed through his mind.

Gray eyes locked and empty, already filming with the unmistakable haze of death. Black hair saturated with blood. Hands clenched. He was splayed across a narrow aisle, dark blue upholstered seats rising on either side of his head.

When the image vanished, he released Cosky’s arm and wrestled air back into his lungs.

“Tell me this is a joke,” Cosky demanded.

Zane shook his head and gripped the back of his neck with both hands.

“What did you see?” Rawls finally asked.

Zane drew a shallow breath. “You dead. Cosky dead.”

Interview with Trish McCallan

2012-01-04T19:00:00.000+08:00

Trish McCallan has been writing for as long as she can remember.

In grade school she wrote children’s stories, illustrated them with crayons and bound the sheets together with pencil-punched holes and red yarn. She used to sell these masterpieces at her lemonade stand for a nickel a book. Surprisingly, people actually bought them. Like, all of them. Every night she’d write a new batch for her basket.

As she got older her interest shifted to boys and horses. The focus of her literary masterpieces followed this shift. Her first full length novel was written in seventh grade and featured a girl, a horse and a boy. At the end of the book the teenage heroine rode off into the sunset . . . with the horse.

These days she sticks to romantic suspense with hot alpha heroes and roller-coaster plots. Since she is a fan of all things bizarre, paranormal elements always find a way into her fiction. Her current release, Forged in Fire, was the result of a Black Dagger Brotherhood reading binge, a cold, a bottle of NyQuil and a vivid dream.

Interview with Trish McCallan

What will readers like about your book?

Forged in Fire is a rollercoaster of a romantic suspense with sexy Navy SEALs. If you like military heroes who read like military heroes, a love story with plenty of steam and a plot that will surprise you, you’ll love Forged in Fire!

Why did you self publish?

I hypothesized what the publishing industry was likely to look like two years in the future, which is when the book would have debuted if I had sold it right then, and I believed I’d have a better chance of getting the book noticed and finding an audience if I published it myself. I wanted complete control of the process from cover to price.

What is your writing process?

I fast draft the first draft, and then go back and revise scene by consecutive scene until the scene on the paper matches the image I’ve held in my mind. Then I send the chapters to CPs, and revise again off their feedback. After the book is finished, I let it sit a month, read and revise again, then send it to Beta readers. One last revision off Beta reader feedback and then it goes into production.

How long does it take you to write your first draft?

I took me two months to fast draft the first draft when I worked full time. I’m not sure how long it will take now. I quit my day job for full time writing. This will allow me to put in a lot more hours and should ramp up my production.

What inspired you to write this particular story?

I dreamed the opening sequence, and the story and characters just wouldn’t leave me alone.

Guest Post - Self Publishing Forged in Fire by Trish McCallan

2012-01-01T19:00:00.002+08:00

Two months ago I launched my debut romantic suspense Forged in Fire.

As a new author with no fan base, and no name recognition I thought it would take Forged several months to connect with readers. Instead, readers across the globe have embraced the book and I’m feeling incredibly blessed.

As I type this, Forged in Fire is #20 in bestselling romantic suspense within the Kindle Store. This is a huge thrill to me since it’s outselling all the new releases of my traditionally published idols. (At least in the Kindle Store!) Forged also has 86 reviews on Amazon, 69 rankings and reviews on Goodreads, 9 on Barnes & Noble, 3 on iBook and numerous reviews posted on blogs across the internet.

In appreciation of my readers’ tremendous support, I will be holding a drawing for a Kindle Fire, or Barnes and Noble Color Tablet. (Winner’s preference) This giveaway will include a $25.00 gift certificate so the winner can download some new reading material to their new e-reader. The winner will be chosen on December 19th, by random draw.

To enter this drawing all you need to do is send me a review of a self-published book. Ranking does not matter. The book reviewed does NOT have to be mine. Any self-published book, with any ranking will enter you in the drawing. The more reviews you send in, the more chances you have in the drawing.

The only reviews that will not be eligible for this drawing are reviews on self-published works that were previously published through a different publisher. This drawing is for reviews on work that has not been previously published.

This contest is open to readers outside the United States as well, although in some cases a gift certificate of equal value may need to be substituted.

If you have any questions, please leave a comment and I will address it.

Please send all emails with reviews attached to trishmccallangiveaway@gmail.com

Good luck to everyone!

The Seven Isaacs by Michael Mustizer

2011-12-31T19:00:00.000+08:00

Kindle Price: $0.99

Available from: Kindle, Nook, iBooks, Amazon Paperback

Authors Website: www.michaelmustizer.com

Eight and his six siblings are by-products of an underground, illegal human cloning experiment. Born and raised in a laboratory under constant scrutiny, observation and experimentation. They have rarely, if ever seen the blue skies of the world outside.

One day, the alarm sounds and the man they call Father ushers them toward safe passage, as the laboratory is seized and shut down by a government task force. The seven aptly named and numbered children are forced into a world unknown and unseen by their senses to experience the vivid realities that we consider day to day living. While struggling with the rising emotions of anger, greed, love, loss and religion, they quickly learn of their delicate place in this world along with the frailty of their bodies and minds as they cope with medical side-effects and “abilities” of their condition as only Father could explain.

Oh, and lest we forget, the task force that is set upon their capture and if necessary, extermination of this inhuman and abnormal breed of humanity.

The story dissects the journey of the seven children as they discover the modern world for the first time, for better and for worse, while fighting for their lives against a military that is hunting them and the secrets in their past that haunt them. While bordering on science fiction, modern reality and medical discovery, the story unfolds and gently touches on the philosophical effects that human cloning can have on the minds of children when faced with the harsh realities of their differences in this world.

Excerpt:

From Chapter Four:

His hand instinctively tightened on the pistol. It gave him comfort. It gave him strength. It gave him the upper hand. He held it up and out as he walked backward toward the door of the bomb shelter.

Robots? We are not robots! Four stepped up for the first time since the red light started flashing. Stop calling us robots! We are not robots!

Father told you not to call us robots.

Stop being so mean. Why are you so angry?

Seven stepped closer to Six. Brother, please. Stop. We know that Father gave you free will. But right now, we need you. We need to stick together. They need you to be strong and be helpful. The only way any of this is going to work is if we all do what Father asked of us.

You have no concept of the word mother, yet you are going to blindly seek one out? We have no mothers. Don’t you understand that? We aren’t like them. We are different. We were not made the same way. We are different. Why should I stay? I will be just as safe on my own as I would be with you robots.

Hey! Stop it! We are not robots!

Eight reached out and put his hand on the pistol.

You know what this pistol is?

What?

Free will.

We all have free will.

No. You are all robots. You do as your master set forth. I. I am not like that. I am free will.

Brother. We’re in this together. We each have our own special problems, our own special needs and we need to stick together if this is going to work. We are a team. We live together. Apart we die. Who is going to administer your vaccination every day?

I am not an idiot. I can give myself a shot every few hours. It's not like I haven't been doing this all of my life. I’m not going to forget. It’s a matter of survival, brother.

Brother was used as an insult. As a curse. Such a biting tone escaped his lips. The word lingered in the air and reverberated around the rusted iron shelter. His emphasis on the word "brother" was, and always had been, intentionally hurtful. They had all grown used to it. Six had been like that his entire life.

You don’t know what it’s like. Out there. Up there. I do. Finding this "mother" is not going to be the solution to all your problems. To us, it’s just a word. Not like it is up there.

As a small child, Six had broken away from the pack. Early on, he had realized that he was different from all of the others. The others from the world above. The children that lived in the blue skies and the fresh air. Six had known. He had witnessed it.

Interview with Michael Mustizer

2011-12-28T19:00:00.010+08:00

An award-winning independent filmmaker. For the last ten years, Michael has been writing and producing independent feature films and short films that have played in theaters and festivals around the world.

His feature, The Coldest Winter has won awards for Best Action Feature from Hollywood Digital Fesival and Best Independent Feature from the Fargo Fantastic Film Festival. His earlier work Two Days with Juliet won it's lead actress Laura Yuhasz a Best Actress award in Philadelphia.

Michael is also a musician and has worked with a number of indie bands over the last twenty years as a lead singer and songwriter. His current band, Cooper's Kennel has singles available on iTunes and are currently recording a full length album. The Seven Isaacs is his first novel.

What will readers like about your book?

The book is a fast read. It is action packed and full of heavy cliffhangers that carry you from one chapter to the next. That being said, the real draw to the book is the humanity of the characters. The reader develops a very tight bond to the children who are the center of focus throughout the story and with that bond comes consequences. The children begin as blank slates with a preconceived notion of what the real world is and are thrust into a deep and introspective, and sometimes harsh view, of what their world is and what they have been sheltered from.

Why did you self publish?

I shopped my book around for quite a few months and as the rejections continued to come in from publishers and agents across the industry, I decided that it was going to be far easier and much more fulfilling to take care of it myself. I have used a similar tactic with my films in the past and seeing those residual checks come in over time is nice. It's like Christmas in the mailbox.

What is your writing process?

I have been writing for many years. I have written and produced a number of independent feature films. The biggest bad habit that I developed was that of writing at work. My various jobs have often afforded me time to put my words down on paper. Sometimes handwritten, sometimes typed. For my first novel, the process was no different. This time, the iPad was my muse and gave me the freedom to spew my creativity while on the go. I would tap into that vein in the cosmos that feeds us our words at any given moment and with the iPad, I was able to transcribe those thoughts instantly. I wrote A LOT at my day job.

How long does it take you to write your first draft?

The first draft... well let's see I suppose overall it took me four years to write. In fits and starts. The original idea hit me in 2007, maybe 2008 and I spilled a few handwritten pages down on a yellow notepad. These were pages for a screenplay. A few days, maybe weeks later I pounded out the first three chapters over the course of a day or so. Then, I think I tapped out. I had used up those creative juices. A year later I picked it up and wrote another easy two chapters. The sixth chapter was the one that almost killed it. Writer's block. Divorce. Resistance. A new life. Call it what you will. It almost took me out. It wasn't until I had the iPad in hand that the ideas began to flow fluidly. I chopped away at the remaining chapters over the course of two weeks. At some point the ending hit me full force and then it was all a race to get there. I talk about it pretty in depth at my blog.

What inspired you to write this particular story?

I don't really know what exactly set me on my course with this novel. I had an idea for seven human cloning children set out into the world after their lab had been shut down. I wanted a story that I couldn't put on screen. I knew these children were going to face death, and some not come back from it. I wanted something that was too hard for a regular audience to swallow. Thankfully, that's not what I ended up with. Somewhere along the way, I wrote the most human experience I could ever write and is probably more suitable for the screen than anything I have ever written. Bring it on Hollywood!

Ministry of Morgasm by Richard Buzzell

2011-12-25T19:00:00.005+08:00

Kindle Price: $0.99
Available from: Amazon Kindle
Authors Website: zombiestop.wordpress.com

Ministry of Morgasm deals with the role of pleasure in the lives of contemporary women. Against the backdrop of divorce trauma two sisters trying to save each other explore a human potential group that makes some dubious claims.

Excerpt:

I’m plotting an intervention but one with a difference. This one will take place before the tragic descent into self-destructiveness unfolds. It will be a pre-emptive intervention. Also it will be a covert one. Krista, the target of the intervention, will not be aware that it’s happening. I think it will be easier this way because it’ll be harder for her to resist when she doesn’t know what’s going on.

Krista and I have been invited to a “sharing event” and it’s not a joke, at least not to those involved. It’s going to be a meeting of a small number of people to listen to a presentation on the topic of morgasm. I wouldn’t even consider going except that Krista’s going and she needs someone there to watch out for her. We owe the good fortune of our invitation to Krista’s friend Anita, who seems to want to suck us into her latest obsession.

Anita’s currently a devotee of the renowned therapist and author whom I cannot resist referring to as Dr. Morgasm. Krista has insisted that I stop using that moniker as she feels it’s pejorative. At first I argued that it’s just descriptive and carries with it no disrespect, but I gave up that argument for fear of discrediting myself. So to make up for being forced to use the woman’s proper name while in Krista’s company, I’m using the name Dr. Morgasm behind her back every chance I get.

Dr. M. wrote the book “A Girl’s Guide To Wow,” which explains her concept of morgasm. I refuse to read it but I’ve read enough about it. I prefer to call it “A Girl’s Guide To Smut,” although I do so only when Krista’s not around. She has the book on loan from Anita but she’s read only a few chapters of it.

At first I had no idea as to how much of a movement morgasm has become. It didn’t take long for me to figure out that it’s become a personal ministry in Anita’s life. That doesn’t surprise me. What surprises me is how many other people have fallen for it. It’s gone beyond the book to the point where there’s an entire organization built around it.

I’ve been doing quite a bit of research online and I’ve encountered numerous references to the morgasmists as “sponge-crushers” although this is not a term they officially sanction. Most of my time has been spent on the morgasm website trying to figure out what it’s all about. They’re not very straightforward about it. I get the impression that they’re trying to hide something. I’m not sure what. Maybe the fact that there’s not much substance there or maybe the fact that they’re a dangerous crotch-based cult. I don’t know that. I’m just speculating. They are clear about their belief that women are capable of far more pleasure than they’re normally experiencing, and that by fulfilling their pleasure potential they can re-define their entire relationship with their intimate partner. Heady claims for a conjugal relations site. There’s frequent mention of the need to address the “pleasure deficit.” This deficit is blamed for most of the problems that could possibly occur in any romantic relationship.

Another prominent feature on the website is the pleasure perspective paradox of female sexuality. It gets trotted out fairly frequently as a form of evidence in support of the theories of morgasm. The morgasmists reason that a limited enthusiasm for sex on the part of women makes no sense from a pleasure perspective. If women are achieving their morgasmic potential they’ll be experiencing much more pleasure than their male partners. Supposedly the pleasure differential between men and women is so great that male pleasure would barely even register on a female pleasure scale. Yet men continue to show more eagerness for sex than most women do. This makes sense within a reproductive model of sexuality in which men are trying to lure women into serving as incubators for their spawn. Within the morgasmic model female enthusiasm should equal or exceed that of males.

One thing that they do make quite clear throughout the site is that they don’t care for being referred to as sluts. If anything they feel they should be called anti-sluts because they advocate making access to sex more difficult. They contend that they’re far from being a male fantasy of lust-crazed women driven toward wantonness by their uncontrollable desire. Dr. Morgasm laments the fact that anyone who discusses optimizing the female pleasure experience will be subject to accusations of promoting licentiousness.

I find it quite interesting that they claim to be the next stage in the evolution of human sexuality. To me it seems like a step backward in the evolutionary process. It would have us acting less like humans and more like monkeys, or teenagers.

Interview with Richard Buzzell

2011-12-22T19:00:00.000+08:00

Richard Buzzell enjoys discovering and highlighting the drama that exists in everyday life. Ministry of Morgasm is his first foray into the genre he likes to refer to as “sophisticated pulp.” His previous work, the Wall Street “gang of spielers” novel ZombieStop Parade has been favorably reviewed by the likes of Midwest Book Review, Hartford Books Examiner, San Francisco Book Review, The U.S. Review of Books, Bookpleasures, and The New Podler Review, among others.

Q: Why did you choose to become a writer?

A: I tend to have a wandering mind and a lust for drama, and producing entertainment is one of the few things either of those traits is good for.

Q: What was the hardest part about writing this story?

A: Portraying the female characters was obviously a challenge for me. I’m sure I couldn’t have done it without years of experience at convincing women to open up to me about their personal lives. There are a lot of interesting stories out there for anyone willing to listen.

Q: What do you like most about this story?

A: I like the way the conflict is subtle and sophisticated and yet still provides dramatic impact.

Q: What do you think that readers will like most about this story?

A: I’m not sure. I’m hoping that some readers will appreciate the daring subject matter. I’m certainly hoping that some readers will enjoy the sense of fun in the story. I expect there’ll be a wide range of responses and not all of them positive. I’m okay with that. The story is intentionally provocative so I’d be disappointed if there aren’t at least some critical reactions. This is one of the advantages of being an indie author – I have the freedom to take the kind of chances that a publisher wouldn’t approve of.

Q: How would you describe your writing style?

A: I like to describe it as a “fast fiction” format that respects the desire of busy readers to get to the point. It derives more from oral storytelling than from literary conventions. I try to get every line to have a “speakable” quality to it. A lot of filler gets removed this way and that allows the story to move along fairly quickly.

Q: What inspired you to write this story?

A: There wasn’t any specific point of inspiration. I just started writing to see where it would go and it all came flowing out. The story surprised me as it developed. That’s a fun way to write.

Q: This story is quite different from your previous work. How do you choose what you want to write about?

A: I start with an engaging character and then I need an intriguing topic and then I need to be able to deal with it in a manner that is both innovative and entertaining. This is how I get interested in writing a story and that interest is what motivates me. Mostly I’m trying to write something that hasn’t already been done by a horde of other writers

Q: Do you think you’ll ever become a mass-market bestseller?

A: I can’t see that happening simply because I don’t produce that type of writing. I’d be satisfied to be able to reach a small audience that appreciates my distinctive style of work.

Q: Do you think that this story would be a good choice for a book club discussion?

A: I can’t imagine how it could not generate some of the liveliest discussions that most book clubs have ever had.

Todays Guest Post by Author Richard Buzzell

2011-12-19T19:00:00.000+08:00

Why Sports Are Better Than Literature

Sports are better than literature as a career choice because sports will give you a fighting chance. Both of these fields of endeavor require some level of talent, so they’re the same in that respect. Both of them require an extensive investment in the process of developing the necessary skill to succeed at a high level. No difference there. Both of them provide an attractive level of reward for those who rise to the top. Both of them allow you to become a drunken sot after you’re washed up and nobody cares about you anymore. So what’s the big difference?

Competition. In sports you have to compete against those who are your approximate age-mates. In literature you have to compete against every writer who’s ever lived. In sports you don’t have to compete against old people. In literature you have to compete against dead people, and some of them make for formidable opponents.

This critical difference goes a long way toward explaining why sports are so devoted to developing new talent while literature seems to be the opposite. All sports have an elaborate system for identifying and cultivating new talent from a very young age. There are endless opportunities to showcase one’s abilities and move up to higher levels. Aspiring writers have to get by with much less support.

If a new writer does manage to persevere in spite of societal indifference they will inevitably encounter the obstacle of the publishing industry. Here the reality of the marketing profile will become evident and it goes something like this: famous people only need apply. Faced with the prohibitive costs of marketing new writers, the publishing industry has turned to celebrities to shoulder the marketing burden.

The most egregious example of the celebrity author has to be “Snooki” the semi-literate star of MTV’s reality show Jersey Shore. She was welcomed with open arms by a major publisher and did a tour of television talk shows in support of her literary offering. Unfortunately she’s not alone. The fact is that media exposure has become the primary qualification for getting into the wordsmithing business.

Aspiring writers need to recognize this new reality and devote themselves to enhancing their public profiles. My suggestion is to get arrested for stalking a celebrity bimbo. Try camping outside of Lilo’s house and when the paparazzi start snapping photos of her, run in front of the cameras, douse yourself with gasoline, and set yourself on fire. This will certainly get you in the news and then you’ll be on your way to publishing success. Of course this isn’t the only option. You could find a cure for cancer, resolve the climate-change problem, or bail out the euro, but the celebrity bimbo route is probably the most realistic one.

Jack Kerouac’s first amateurish attempt at a novel has recently been released, demonstrating once again that famous writers don’t even need a pulse to be more attractive to publishers than new writers are.

So for any aspiring authors out there wondering how to best improve your writing skills I say, don’t worry about it. Your words won’t have any effect on your success. Start thinking about outlandish but not offensive stunts that you can pull to get yourself some media attention. That’s how to endear yourself to your future readers.

A Delightful Arrangement by Cecilia Gray

2011-12-16T19:00:00.000+08:00

Kindle Price: $0.99

Available From:
Amazon Kindle
Barnes and Noble
Google Books
Smashwords

Website
http://ceciliagray.com

Phillip has a duty to marry Francesca. He has always protected his former neighbor and childhood companion, and now that she is of marriageable age, he will give her what she needs most - a real home where she is welcome and wanted.

Unfortunately for him....she is done with being dutiful.

After years of being an obedient daughter to a hateful father, Francesca jumps into her first Season. Francesca is ready to dance every dance, flirt with every bachelor and snatch what she wants most - a man she loves who will make her swoon.

Unfortunately for her...he now sees making her swoon as his duty, too.

And Phillip takes his duties very seriously.

Excerpt

“Of course we’re to be married.” Phillip didn’t even favor her with a glance up from the leather-bound book that lay across his thighs, as he casually crossed his legs atop the oak desk in his father’s study.

“Phillip, have you lost your mind?” Francesca lashed out to push his legs off the desk and onto the Persian rug, where they landed with a thud. She estimated she had twenty minutes to confront him before a member of the March household surreptitiously entered to give their discussion a modicum of respect. She was so often treated as his blood sibling that she herself forgot the impropriety they were allowed.

Phillip grabbed the book, which teetered precariously on his knees, and threw it on the desk. “What is the matter?”

She planted her hands on her hips. “You cannot be serious. You? Married? To me?”

Phillip smiled, his blue eyes twinkling under black, sooty lashes. “I am serious, Franny. I’m twenty-four years of age and have an earldom to consider. It’s the sensible thing to do. For both of us.”

Here he was, acting as if it were natural that they marry. Both families were in agreement. Perhaps something about her turn of mind was wrong. Perhaps her wits were addled. It wasn’t a very encouraging thought.

“I honestly don’t see a sensible thing about the arrangement.” Francesca flung herself into the chaise across from Phillip, unceremoniously crossed her arms and legs in an unladylike fashion, and scowled. “What exactly are you getting out of this ridiculous betrothal?”

Phillip leaned back in his chair. “You, of course.”

As the words rolled off his tongue, a shiver tickled the back of her neck. It was the oddest feeling, but decidedly pleasant. She couldn’t help the arch of her back, the tip of her head as the shiver made its way down her spine. She barely managed to whisper, “What nonsense.”

“Not at all. I need someone whose wits aren’t addled to bear an heir, and I want a wife I can tolerate for decently long periods of time. Experience has shown I can tolerate you for months on end.”

Ah, and then that pleasant sensation was replaced by a drop in the pit of her stomach as though she’d eaten rotten fruit. “I’m flattered, to be sure.” Francesca did not bother to roll her eyes. Phillip was adept at catching her sarcasm.

“Franny, be reasonable. We could have a delightful arrangement. We know each other as well as we know ourselves. We’re friends. Everything can be just as it is.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, you know. Our relationship will be reasonable.” He gave her a wicked smile. “You won’t fly into a fit over my card games, or the nights I spend at the club, or the hunting weekends with my friends.”

“Now, just a moment!” Francesca shot up in her chair. “This is unacceptable. Everyone is having fun except for me. Chastity is enjoying her third Season as we speak. You’ve spent countless years in London. Even after our marriage, you’ll be having all the fun. I’m certain I shan’t be allowed any late-night card games or time at the club or…or…hunting!”

Phillip bellowed with laughter, and Francesca noted for the first time his clean, white teeth made for a beautiful smile. She hadn’t seen his face in recent months, much less his smile, and although she’d seen other smiles from gentlemen at the local parsonage, those smiles were not so white, not so charming.

What was wrong with her? What was so charming about teeth, for goodness’ sake?

“Franny, darling, that’s why you should marry me. I’m willing to tolerate much more from you than another man would. Within reason.”

Francesca narrowed her eyes. “What is within reason?”

Phillip leaned back in his chair and lifted his legs to rest again on top of the desk. “I don’t see how the occasional card game would hurt. As long as you didn’t lose too heavily. And as for nights away with your friends—of course! All mature, sensible couples have nights away.”

“Not all of them,” she said quietly.

“Oh, Franny, I didn’t mean…” He reached for her helplessly.

She waved him off and settled deeper into her chaise. With a simple look of affection, she forgave him the insensitive remark. He might not have meant infidelity, but it always brought to mind the accusations the duke had hurled at her poor mother.

“I would never treat you with anything but respect and honor,” he said as he retook his seat. “As I always have. Franny, think of it. What is it that you want from a marriage? Or a husband?”

“Escape,” she said.

The atmosphere in the room grew heavy and his blue eyes turned stormy and hooded. “Has he—?”

“No,” she said quickly. “There has not been any true need for escape. Since Mother died we’ve hardly had reason to interact until this announcement. I just…I must…You know how I must.”

“I do know. Better than anyone. So why not escape with me?”

Was that a plea in his voice, which had just hitched up a notch? Phillip couldn’t really want to marry her, could he?

“Because.” Francesca pulled at her bottom lip thoughtfully. She had never fully given voice to this innermost desire before. “I want a Season.” I want the opportunity denied my mother—the opportunity to fall in love. “I want the beautiful gowns. I want to dance all night at glamorous balls. I want to flirt with devastatingly handsome men.”

“You’re engaging in that very activity right now, my dear.”

She threw a cushion at his head, which he easily ducked. “It’s not the same. I just don’t see you in that way.” She gave a helpless shrug. “I’m sorry.”

“In what way? As a husband?”

Francesca nodded. “You’re just…you’re Phillip. I can’t imagine swooning when you walk through a door.”

“I assure you,” Phillip said with a wounded look, “that many a woman has swooned when I deign to grace a doorway.”

“I’m sure you don’t need me to salvage your pride. But I’ve just…I’ve always wanted to swoon.” She winced at the longing in her tone. “At least once.”

With a sigh, Phillip stood, prowled around the desk, and firmly pulled her from the chaise to stand before him. There was something so deliberate and determined in his actions that she felt wary, as though she were the prey to his predator, frozen in his sights.

“All right, my Franny. I’ll make a bargain with you. If it’s swooning you want, then swooning you shall get.” He took her small hands in his firm grip and brought them to his lips. His breath fanned over her skin like a warm, soft breeze, a caress from sun and summer air that made her languid.

Something must have been wrong with the room, because they had stood in this intimate position a hundred times before without her feeling so warm…so like her heart was slowing in her chest.

Interview with Cecilia Gray

2011-12-13T19:00:00.000+08:00

Cecilia Gray lives in the San Francisco Bay Area where she reads, writes, and breaks for food.

What will readers like about your book?

It’s a sweet, simple story about two best friends who fall in love. What’s not to like?

Why did you self publish?

My stories tend to be short and sweet, and standard romance novels are 80,000-100,000 words. It made sense to self-publish given the length. Plus, I’m really impatient! Waiting 18 months for a Publisher to bring my work to market would have me clawing my eyes out.

What is your writing process?

I’m really inspired by the stories around me. I’ll see a relationship in real life or on television – one where happily ever after hasn’t worked out, and I’m struck by the need to make it work out in fiction. Oh all right, I suppose that’s a not-so-subtle way of saying I’m engaged in a lot of self-fulfilled fantasizing.

How long does it take you to write your first draft?

Two to three months for the first draft. I’ll usually take a month for editorial revisions, and another two weeks for copyedits.

What inspired you to write this particular story?

I love that moment in movies where two best friends, who the audience knows should be together, also realize they should be together. It’s a really sweet transition from friendship to something more, and I wanted to explore it!

Guest Post by Author Cecilia Gray

2011-12-10T19:00:00.000+08:00

Best Writing Advice

Most writers in my acquaintance have always wanted to be writers. They were children scribbling crayon onto paper or dragging their fingers through sand. Being a writer was simple when you were a child: you told a story.

Then you grew up.

You began to compile a writer’s tool kit. Learned about character arc. You learned about goal, motivation and conflict. You learned about tension and reversals in plot. You learned about scene structure. You learned about dialogue and making it sound natural. You learned about using setting and senses to bolster all else. You learned about theme and subtext. Yes, you learned a lot of schmancy things.

These are all good things. These are all great things.

But the learning doesn’t stop there. Soon, you begin learning about the marketplace. About gatekeepers like agents and editors. About social networking and promotional opportunities. Even about this blog – here – this very blog that I am writing for this very specific promotional opportunity. I learned this. You learn about trends and vampires and werewolves and dystopia. Maybe, just maybe, you even learn that the marketplace doesn’t want your story. Not how it is.

Somewhere along the way, you learn to think like a business person.

This is also a good thing. Sometimes, this is a great thing.

I’m guilty of being bogged down in minutiae and detail. I have thought to myself: what’s the craziest thing that could happen right here to make the reader sit up and gasp? What clever way can I insert the thematic tone of forgiveness into this arc and can I somehow make this weeping willow tree a physical touchstone of that theme????

When I find myself going down that rabbit hole, I have pull my way out by holding on to a simple, timeless piece of advice: tell an honest story.

It’s deceptively simple. We forget we’re natural storytellers. Look at a cave drawing if you don’t believe me. Consider the epic oral tradition of storytelling in our ancestry. For all that drags the human race apart we can agree on this one basic unifying factor: we are all storytellers.

We tell stories every day. And we want to be told a good story, too.

Every time I meet up with my friends and I ask how their day has been. Every time I turn on the television. Every time I open a book. I am looking for a story? Why – because I want to connect with it, with people, with the world around me.

To connect with the story, a reader needs to find it honest.

No, I don’t mean non-fiction.

I mean honest.

If you consider the most speculative, successful story franchise – Star Wars – and you wipe away the storm troopers and the Force and the Evil Empire and the Death Star and hyperdrive

space travel or whatever else goes on in there, you have the battle for independence against a physically, but not morally, superior force, you have courage and friendship, and you have a boy searching for the truth of his identity.

These are all honest things.

Whenever my friends and I disagree over whether a story/movie/book was good, I find I can boil the reasoning down to our interpretation of honest.

Take this year’s blockbuster, The Help by Kathryn Sockett. This book and its movie remains a top of love-hate debate amongst my group of friends. The ones who hate it feel the language isn’t authentic and neither are the feelings between the women and the ones who love it feel the exact opposite. (Which camp I inhabit will remain a mystery…or not so much a mystery if you spend five minutes on my Goodreads account.)

Writing an honest story takes care of everything.

In an honest story, a character will say what they must. (Dialogue class, check.)

In an honest story, a character will do what they must. (Plot class, check.)

In an honest story, natural themes will emerge. (Pretentious class, check.)

In an honest story, you will write the story you want, and in doing so you will find your most natural audience. Best of all, writing an honest story will make you happy about your writing.

So there it is – the best advice I’ve received, the best advice I have. Honestly.

The Look of Love by Bella Andre

2011-12-07T19:00:00.000+08:00

Kindle Price: $4.99

Available from Amazon Kindle, Barnes and Noble, iTunes, Smashwords

Authors Website: http://bellaandre.com

Meet the Sullivans in this fun new contemporary romance series! With THE LOOK OF LOVE, bestselling author Bella Andre introduces you to Chase, the first Sullivan bad boy, who's about to unexpectedly find love just around the bend in the road...

Chloe Peterson is having a bad night...a really bad night. The large bruise on her cheek can attest to that. And when her car skids off the side of a wet country road straight into a ditch, she's convinced even the gorgeous guy who rescues her in the middle of the rain storm must be too good to be true. Or is he?

As a successful photographer who frequently travels around the world, Chase Sullivan has his pick of beautiful women...and whenever he's home in San Francisco, one of his seven siblings is usually up for causing a little fun trouble. Chase thinks his life is great just as it is-until the night he finds Chloe and her totaled car on the side of the road in Napa Valley. Not only has he never met anyone so lovely, both inside and out, but he quickly realizes she has much bigger problems than her damaged car. Soon, he is willing to move mountains to love-and protect-her, but will she let him?

Chloe vows never to make the mistake of trusting a man again...only, with every loving look Chase gives her-and every sinfully sweet caress-as the attraction between them sparks and sizzles, she can't help but wonder if she's met the only exception. And although Chase didn't realize his life was going to change forever in an instant, amazingly, he isn't the least bit interested in fighting that change. Instead, he's gearing up for a different fight altogether…for Chloe's heart.

Excerpt

Chase almost missed the flickering light off on the right side of the two-lane country road. In the past thirty minutes, he hadn’t passed one car, because on a night like this, most sane Californians—who didn’t know the first thing about driving safely in inclement weather—stayed home.

Knowing better than to slam on the brakes—he wouldn’t be able to help whomever was stranded on the side of the road if he ended up stuck in the muddy ditch right next to them—Chase slowed down enough to see that there was definitely a vehicle stuck in the ditch.

He turned his brights on to see better in the pouring rain and realized there was a person walking along the edge of the road about a hundred yards up ahead. Obviously hearing his car approach, she turned to face him and he could see her long wet hair whipping around her shoulders in his headlights.

Wondering why she wasn’t just sitting in her car, dry and warm, calling Triple A and waiting for them to come save her, he pulled over to the edge of his lane and got out to try and help her. She was shivering as she watched him approach.

“Are you hurt?”

The woman standing on the side of the road covered her cheek with one hand, but shook her head. “No.”

He had to move closer to hear her over the sound of the water hitting the pavement in what were rapidly becoming hailstones. Even though he’d turned his headlights off, as his eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, he was able to get a better look at her face.

Something inside of Chase’s chest clenched tight.

Despite the fact that “looking like a drowned rat” wasn’t too far off the descriptive mark, her beauty stunned him.

In an instant, his photographer’s eye cataloged her features. Her mouth was a little too big, her eyes a little too wide-set on her face. She wasn’t even close to model thin, but given the way her T-shirt and jeans stuck to her skin, he could see that she wore her lush curves well. In the dark he couldn’t judge the exact color of her hair, but it looked like silk, perfectly smooth and straight where it lay over her breasts.

It wasn’t until Chase heard her say, “My car is definitely hurt, though,” that he realized he had completely lost the thread of what he’d come out here to do.

Knowing he’d been drinking her in like he was dying of thirst, he worked to recover his balance. It didn’t take a mechanic to see that her hatchback was borderline totaled. Even if the front bumper wasn’t half smashed to pieces by the white farm fence she’d slid into, her bald tires weren’t going to get any traction on the mud. Not tonight, anyway.

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Get in my car. We can wait there for a tow truck.” He was vaguely aware of his words coming out like an order, but the hail was starting to sting, damn it. Both of them needed to get out of the rain before they froze.

But the woman didn’t move. Instead, she gave him a look that said he was a complete and utter nut-job.

“I’m not getting into your car.”

Realizing just how frightening it must be for a lone woman to end up stuck and alone in the middle of a dark road, Chase took a step back from her and held his hands up. “I swear on my father’s grave, I’m not going to hurt you. It’s okay to get into my car.” When she didn’t immediately say no again, he pressed his advantage with, “I just want to help you.” And he did. More than it made sense to want to help a stranger. “Please,” he said. “Let me help you.”

She stared at him for a long moment, hail hammering between them, around them, onto them. Chase found himself holding his breath, waiting for her decision. It shouldn’t matter to him what she decided.

But, for some strange reason, it did.

* * *

Chloe Peterson had never felt so wet, so miserable…or so desperate. She’d been beating the speed limit for the past couple of hours, before the storm had kicked into overdrive. She’d slowed down considerably on the super-slick pavement, but her tires were old and bald, and before she knew it, her car was skidding off the road.

Straight into a muddy ditch.

It might have been easier—smarter, too—to sit in her car and wait out the storm. But she’d been too keyed up to stay still. She’d needed to keep moving, otherwise the thoughts knocking around in her head were going to catch up with her, so she’d slung her backpack over her shoulders and stepped out into the rain, just as it turned into out-and-out hail.

The hard little pellets hurt her skin, but she’d been glad for the cold, for the sting. Because it gave her something else to focus on, something besides what had happened just hours ago.

She hadn’t been sure exactly where she was—or what she was headed for–but she’d hoped she was walking in the direction of town.

All night long the roads had been strangely empty, but she’d barely starting walking away from her car when she’d realized headlights were coming up behind her.

Fear had knocked into her again as the car pulled over to the side and she’d had to stop to brace herself to withstand it. She was all alone on a dark, wet, country road. She didn’t have her cell phone, and even if she had, she doubted there was enough reception out here in the storm for it to get a signal.

And then a man–a large man–had gotten out of his car and started walking toward her, telling her to get into his car.

No way.

He’d tried to convince her that she was safe with him. He’d said all the right things, but she’d had too much experience with people like that, who easily said one thing, then did another.

“I don’t know you,” she told him. He could be an axe murderer. She had feet. She’d walk and find a place to dry off later.

She could see the frustration on his face, knew he was about to try and reason with her again, when suddenly, the sound of skidding tires came at them. Before she knew what was happening, he was pulling her into his arms. She didn’t have time to think of fighting him, didn’t even consider it when she realized a fast-moving motorcycle was practically on top of them.

She closed her eyes, bracing for impact, when the man effortlessly lifted her and jumped into the ditch, holding her tightly against him.

She opened her eyes just in time to watch the motorcycle’s back tires skid and then finally catch hold just in the place she’d been standing. Her heart, which had all but stopped, started racing again as she watched it speed away.

“Are you okay?”

Chloe looked up at the man who had shielded her from harm with his own body, and for the first time since he’d stepped out of his car, she was hit hard with the realization of just how attractive he was.

No, she silently admitted to herself. Attractive was a paltry word for a man like this. Even in the darkness, she could see that he put other men to shame. As big as she’d first thought, even in the cold rain, he was utterly gorgeous.

And her body was reacting with surprising heat.

Interview with Bella Andre

2011-12-04T19:00:00.001+08:00

Bella Andre has always been a writer. Songs came first, and then non-fiction books, but as soon as she started writing her first romance novel, she knew she'd found her perfect career. Known for "sensual, empowered stories enveloped in heady romance" (Publisher's Weekly) about sizzling alpha heroes and the strong women they'll love forever, many of her 20+ titles have appeared on Top 50 bestseller lists, including THE LOOK OF LOVE, FROM THIS MOMENT ON, GAME FOR LOVE, ECSTASY, CANDY STORE and LOVE ME.

Her books have been Cosmopolitan Magazine Red Hot Reads twice (GAME FOR ANYTHING and WILD HEAT) and have been translated into German, Thai, French, Italian, Spanish, Japanese and Ukrainian. WILD HEAT won the Award of Excellence in 2011. The Washington Post has called her, "One of the top digital writers in America” and she has been featured on NPR, The Wall Street Journal and Forbes. If not behind her computer, you can find her reading her favorite authors, hiking, knitting, or laughing. Married with two children, Bella splits her time between the Northern California wine country and a 100 year old log cabin in the Adirondacks.

What will readers like about your book?

The Look of Love is the first book in my Sullivan family series, contemporary romances that feature six sexy heroes and their two twin sisters falling deeply in love. Each Sullivan love story is emotional, fun, and full of sparks.

Why did you self publish?

I was between publishers at the time and a friend of my suggested putting something up on kindle. I did and was thrilled by the response from readers. I’ve released six self-published titles in the past year and a half (From This Moment On, The Look of Love, Game For Love, Candy Store, Love Me, Ecstasy), with the next Sullivan book (Can’t Help Falling In Love) coming out soon.

What is your writing process?

I do quite a bit of brainstorming about my characters first. What they love. What they fear. What their past relationships have been like. What their families are like. I love to pair up a seemingly mismatched hero and heroine – like the serious businessman and the pop star in FROM THIS MOMENT ON (Sullivans #2). At that point, I sit down on my couch with my MacBook Air on my lap and start typing.

How long does it take you to write your first draft?

Two to four months, after which I spent 6-8 weeks in edits, copyedits and proofs before publication.
What inspired you to write this particular story?
I really wanted to write about a big, close-knit family like the Sullivans. I really love the dynamics of large families – the closeness, the knock-down-drag-out fights, and most of all, the love.

5 Lessons Learned During a Year of Self-Publishing

2011-12-01T19:00:00.001+08:00

Today's Gust post is by Bella Andre, self published author of

The Sullivans Romance series.

1. It’s thrilling to be able to give readers the books they want. After Take Me was published by Pocket Books, I received e-mails from readers asking for the sequel for five years. Love Me was my first (non-backlist) self-published e-book. I took the time to write a note to every single person who had contacted me over the years asking for that sequel to let them know the book was finally available – and the notes back from my fans were incredibly sweet and heartwarming. It was thrilling to watch Love Me be so well received by my readers. Another example is my current series about the Sullivan family: I wanted to write about a close-knit family of eight siblings who, one by one, find their true love, but it would have been very difficult to sell that series to a publisher without a "bigger" hook. I couldn’t be happier to watch my first two Sullivan books -- The Look of Love and From This Moment On burn up the best-seller lists! Both books have spent nearly two months in the Barnes & Noble Top 100, the Apple Top 100 Romance list, and the Amazon Top 100 Romance list. They have both been on the Apple best-seller list in the U.K. and Australia, as well. I will be releasing the 3rd Sullivan book – CAN’T HELP FALLING IN LOVE – soon.

2. Readers rule! My fans have been incredibly supportive about my adventures in self-publishing. I adore them. When we're chatting on Facebook, Twitter, or e-mail, I've noticed that they don't seem to care whether my books are N.Y. published or self-published.

3. Self-publishing is a heck of a lot of work. Every time I put out a new book I'm convinced it's going to be easier and more streamlined, but somehow it's always a huge job, especially as more and more e-retailers around the world come online (yay!). I spend months plotting and writing and rewriting the book, then send the book out to several beta readers. After even more rewrites, I hire several additional editors and proofreaders for each self-published book. But the work isn't done yet! I've still got to make the cover, write a catchy book description, coordinate distribution, and let my fans know the book is out. Phew! No wonder I sleep a whole lot less now than I did last year...

4. A new (fun) surprise waits around every corner. Several times a week I have an “a ha” moment about the book I’m working on, or a title, or a book description, or a cover, etc. Plus, on any given day, there might be queries from a foreign publisher interested in licensing the rights to my self-published books in their language or someone telling me they'd like to put together a story or blog about my e-book success. In fact, I've been just invited to Copenhagen to speak at the Scandinavian Publishing Executives conference in November about the rise of e-books and the future of digital publishing. You can probably tell that I’m having an absolute blast with my writing and my career!

5. Enjoy the grand experiment! At the end of the day, the real bonus of self-publishing is the ability for both authors and readers to try new things. So if you have a new idea or platform – if you want to try something completely different from what you’re doing now – I say go for it! Even if you think no one will be interested, the truth is that until you put your book out there, you'll never know.

Blood of the Dragon by Samantha Warren

2011-11-30T19:00:00.002+08:00

Kindle Price:
$4.99
Available from:
Amazon US Kindle
B&N

Smashwords

Author's websites:
www.mariytasmusings.com

Conquered and enslaved, the dragons of Layr live in fear. Their allies are banished, declared outlaws and forced out of human society. Lana, daughter of dragon keepers, is discontented with her mundane existence at the hatchery and the sometimes violent treatment of the dragons in her care. The birth of a rare dragon, descendant of the long-defeated dragon king, will force her to step outside herself and become the hatchling's protector. With the help of her best friend Bolgor, Bellithana the Gypsy, and a Hidden named Prigol, the group seeks to bring an end to the tyranny that has reigned for more than three centuries. Can Lana and her friends bring freedom to the oppressed land? Or will the wicked Princess Slyvania destroy not only Lana's hard won maturity, but the lives of both her and her new friends as well?

Bio: Samantha is an avid reader and indie author. She has published several epic and urban fantasy novels and is currently working on the sequel to Blood of the Dragon. When not reading or writing, she milks cows to pay for her sock fetish.

Excerpt

The dirt and sand along the riverbank glistened darkly in the fading light. The water held a sickly red tinge as the battle waned. Victims of the slaughter lay strewn across the blood-soaked field. Screams of pain and fear echoed through the darkening sky. An enormous red beast struggled feebly, his left wing crushed beneath his massive weight. Aron, leader of the human army, strode haughtily up to the creature and propped a plated boot on its neck.

"Sigurd, king of the dragons." The words shot from the man's mouth like venom. "How does it feel to know you have failed? All your worthless struggles, your pathetic attempts at retaining your freedom; all for naught. You're pathetic."

At that, Aron spat in the fallen king's face. Sigurd paid no attention to the man. His one remaining eye was focused on a scene across the field. He lowed hauntingly as he watched his beloved Silene being shackled, forever imprisoned by the wretched conquerors. His trusted friend and captain, Roland, lay torn at her side. Sigurd knew the man would not have allowed such an atrocity to happen had he a breath left. As it was, Silene took out half a dozen of Aron's soldiers before she was subdued, spewing their remains across her captors.

The fallen king tore his gaze from his mate and surveyed the carnage. They had fought valiantly, man and beast alike, side by side. Now they lay dying together on the field of defeat. Aron had the greater force; Sigurd knew that more than a year ago. But he would not give up. He would not surrender his people to slavery at the hands of such a tyrant. He built his army, recruiting any dragon or human who would come to his aide. He even appealed to the Hidden. But it wasn't enough.

The promise of power and wealth drew both men and dragons to Aron's side. The self-proclaimed King of All amassed an army larger than had ever been seen in Layr. Many of Sigurd's own soldiers betrayed him and joined Aron. The memory caused the King of Dragons great sadness, but he could not muster the strength to even shake his head. The betrayal of his most trusted brother, Apoph, had stung the deepest.

Interview with Samantha Warren

What will readers like about your book?

Blood of the Dragon offers a new take on the versatile creature that is the dragon. They are sentient beings whose intelligence often surpasses that of humans. Their compassion and concern for others led to their enslavement, and they must prove that their compassion is not a weakness.

Why did you self publish?

I write books I want others to enjoy. They can't enjoy those books while they languish in the query/editing process for over a year. Self-publishing also offers the ability to price books much lower than traditional publishers can, which is a major benefit for the reader.

What is your writing process?

I like to write either curled up on my futon or in my hammock. I typically write in 30-minute increments and I keep a document showing how many words I need to write per week to reach my goal. I usually only focus on one book at a time, unlike many authors who can keep two or three going.

How long does it take you to write your first draft?

For full-length novels, it takes me approximately four months. Novellas can be finished in a month or so.

What inspired you to write this particular story?

For years, I had the phrase "Chelandra, Dragon Queen" written on a piece of paper in my purse. I decided to use it for NaNo 2010. While Chelandra (Lana) didn't end up being a queen, she did remain the main character in the story.

Ursula Bauer's A Haunting Affair

2011-11-28T19:00:00.001+08:00

Kindle Price: $2.99

Available from: Amazon, Barnes & Nobles, Smashwords,

Authors Website: www.UrsulaBauer.com

Ex-cop Sam Tyler made a deathbed promise to uncover the truth behind the murder of his friend’s wife at a remote Adirondack lodge. Emma Bishop, a psychic with a shady past, went legit when she hit eighteen. The action at Holloway Lodge is a dangerous game she needs to play to build on her formidable reputation. As old secrets and fresh bodies turn up…life and love are put to the ultimate test.

Bio:
Ursula Bauer writes paranormal romantic suspense, from furs and fangs to ghosts and psychics, and fancies herself a modern day adventuress always on the lookout for a little bit of trouble. Her books have been noted by reviewers for fast paced action, intrigue, and no shortage of romance. When not writing, she can be found reading through her ever growing TBR list, watching off label movies, battling the woodchucks in the never ending land war, and causing the occasional bit of trouble. In addition to being an avid romance reader, she's a dedicated geek, a movie buff, a crazed cook and gardener, and suffers from a long time addiction to the Star Wars saga.

Excerpt

A shadow detached itself from the gloom on the porch and her heart leapt into her throat.
“Spooky, isn’t it?” The shadow had a man’s voice. A nice one at that. Deep and resonant, the kind of voice that could talk a woman into all kinds of crazy things.
She found her own voice and answered the darkness. “It’s the scene of a brutal, unsolved murder. Spooky is part of the package.”
“Some people say it was suicide.” The shadow stepped closer to an anemic swath of light, revealing a long body, wide shoulders, and a strong profile, but not much more in terms of detail. What was there, however, was promising.
“People say a lot of things about Jennifer Vaughn’s death. Murder at the hands of an obsessive stalker. Death at the hands of her jealous husband. Robbery gone wrong. I’ve even heard the Lakeside Ghost is responsible,” she countered.
“Eric said you’re always on top of your facts. Looks like he was correct. As to the theories, knowing the Vaughns and their history, any one is a good possibility.”
“That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? To help you figure it out once and for all?” She advanced as they talked, eager to get a better look. She couldn’t resist a good mystery, or a good man, two top runners on her fatal flaw list. She cleared the last shadows, and looked up the stairs at his silhouette. “I’m Emma Bishop.”
“Sam Tyler. I was wondering when you’d show.” He took the steps with an easy grace at odds with his brawny frame.
“The last storm slowed me down. I had to pull off into a diner parking lot on the outskirts of town for almost an hour until it finally let up enough to drive. Cell reception’s pretty sketchy. I tried calling a few times from the road but had no signal.”
“Meyerville’s a town that likes its mountains pure. They’re against too many cell towers. Dead spots all over town and the surrounding hills. Welcome to the outback.”
Sam reached for her suitcase and she let him take it, enjoying the chivalry as much as the wave of heat radiating from his solid body. The view held up pretty nice, too. He was old school man, ruggedly handsome with black, close cropped hair and cool gray eyes. The polar opposite of the overly groomed metrosexuals who were the steady fare in the circles she frequented.
He also wore ‘cop’ they way those men wore the latest fragrance from Dolce and Gabbana. She knew from Eric’s email that the ‘ex’ in Sam’s ex-cop status was permanent, but some, they had it in the blood, the way the Vaughns had nothing but trouble. Taking away the badge didn’t take away the inner cop. Guys like Sam were the original white knights. Stick them back in the times of old and they’d be first in line to slay the dragon of the day.

Interview with Ursula Bauer

What will readers like about your book?
It’s a modern take on the gothic romance, updated for today’s sensibilities but keeping in line with the classic kind of spooky they were famous for. The romance is sweet, and focuses on emotional tension, vs. outright sex, to develop the romantic story. The mystery has plenty of suspects to keep you guessing. The pace is fast, and it promises a quick, entertaining read.

Why did you self publish?
It seemed like a good adventure, and allowed me to be on own schedule which suited my lifestyle a little better when I was working on the book.

What is your writing process?
Get the book done, no matter what it takes. I guess that sounds extreme, but I don’t know how else to describe it. When it’s done I often can’t remember how exactly it put itself together. I do a fair amount of pre-work, on character, plot, and support research, as well as outline, but method varies widely.

How long does it take you to write your first draft?
If I’m focused, have everything done ahead of time, 2 months (first two books). This book happened over a period of time because I wasn’t writing to a deadline.

What inspired you to write this particular story?
I saw a picture of the Vanderbilt’s Adirondack great camp, and things started sparking in my mind. When darkness and cold settle into those remote mountain getaways, it’s easy to picture all kinds of mayhem taking place.

Guarding the Healer by Gabriel Beyers

2011-11-27T19:00:00.025+08:00

Kindle Price: $3.99

Available from: Amazon Kindle , Barnes & Noble , and Smashwords

Authors Website: http://www.gabrielbeyers.blogspot.com/

When Silas Walker is endowed with the power to heal, he soon discovers that no gift comes without a price.

A man possessed by an ancient evil is taunting the healer with photos of victims brutally murdered and marked with the crude image of an angel . . . and for Silas the slain are growing more familiar.

After he is given an ominous warning and an unbearable ultimatum, Silas sets out to draw his enemy away from those he loves, and discover the true purpose of his gift, which leads him inexplicably to a troubled young drifter named Tommy.

The Stalker is close on the healer's trail, bringing with him an army of demons. Silas's only hope rests in the hands of a guardian angel he doesn't even know exists.

The Guardian is doing all within his power to save the healer, but he is certain Silas is heading into a trap. Time is running out. War is at hand.

But there is no turning back.

For even an angel can't alter a man's destiny.

Bio: Gabriel Beyers lives in Bloomington, IN with his wife, two children, and two lovable yet destructive dogs.

You can find his stories haunting such publications as Midnight Times, The Edge of Propinquity, Cat Tales 2, and a few others. He has worked many years in construction and it is still in his blood. He is always looking for a new project around the house. Someday, when he can find the time and money, he'll start tinkering with marine aquariums again.

Gabriel's novel, Guarding the Healer, is his first adventure as an "indie" author. While most of his work tends to have an element of the strange to it, it isn't fair to describe everything he writes as simply Horror. A nice blend of genres tends to make a better novel.

Excerpt

The train house had been abandoned for years, but was no less inhabited than a corpse infested with grave worms. Nothing protruded from the plain rectangular building except a small covered porch with limestone columns supporting the tattered eve. Tall slender windows, with ancient glass full of runs, circled both the top and bottom floors. The paint had at one time been a bright yellow, but most of it had peeled away to reveal the rotted wood siding underneath. The columns were hidden in a thick mat of poison oak that vomited its web up over the roof. The dirt road leading to it and the railroad tracks before it were both long unused; the forest had reclaimed the ground, threatening to swallow the train house, as it had the few orphaned houses that were now little more than piles of debris. What had once been the center of travel in Belmount, Indiana now stood dark and silent like a fallen soldier, forgotten by the world.

Nassarius waited for the three young men to emerge from the trees.

Eli Morris, Bill Carter, and Frank Burlin.

They were close now. He could feel them coming. The leaves crumpled and the small brush cracked. He caught their scent in the air; heard their hearts pound in arguing rhythms. Then they emerged, creeping from the forest as clandestine as mice trying to avoid the owl, and scampered onto the porch of the derelict train station. There were two more already inside – a feral beast named . . . Rick Babeneau, and a tiny, frightened child named . . .Sierra Wettel.

Nassarius made to follow the young men, but stopped. Something else was coming.

Out of the trees came several dark shapes, moving with the stealthy pace of hunting lions, and when Nassarius saw them, he understood why he had been called to this place.

The dark creatures were fashioned as men, except for the enormous wings protruding from their hips. They were as black as obsidian glass, with no features – eyes, ears, mouths – other than their basic shape. The grass didn’t crinkle beneath them, the leaves didn’t sway at their passing, neither did they create a breeze by their movements. The light of neither the moon nor even the sun gave them a shadow, for that was their nature.

The Fallen. Demons. Shadow Angels.

Interview with Gabriel Beyers

What will readers like about your book?

Guarding the Healer is a nice blend of horror and suspense combined with Christian mythology. The main character isn't just in physical danger, but also must fight through emotional and psychological dangers as well.

Why did you self publish?

I spent a great deal of time learning how to travel the traditional path. I got some serious looks from agents, but they passed because it wasn't what they were looking for. I grew more and more frustrated by the breakdown of the whole system, and the obstinate stance publishers were taking to the problems. With self publishing I could take my book to the readers -- instead of the gatekeepers -- and let them say if it was good or not.

What is your writing process?

Before my two kids came along I would try to write 2,000 words a day. Now that I'm a father, I just try to write when and where I can.

How long does it take you to write your first draft?

Typically between three and six months.

What inspired you to write this particular story?

One day I got to wondering what guardian angels would think about the people they protect. What would they say about us? How would they feel about the job entrusted to them? What if the angel had to guard someone very special; someone with an important task to accomplish. That's where Guarding the Healer came from.

Diary of a Part Time Ghost by Vered Ehsani

2011-11-26T19:00:00.009+08:00

Kindle price: $2.99

Available from: Amazon Kindle

Author's website: www.veredehsani.com

In the first book of the ‘Ghosts & Shadows’ series, fifteen-year old Ash wants nothing more than to be a normal kid and avoid trouble. Then his birthday gift transforms him into a ghost and zaps him back in time to the beginning of the American Revolution. If he thought that was bad, it’s about to get a whole lot worse. Ash must rescue his ancestor from one danger after another, including an implacable enemy who controls the very shadows. What starts out as a brief experiment in time travel rapidly changes into a race for his very survival, and Ash is running out of time. Despite his efforts to stay out of trouble, Ash finds plenty of it. As he moves through one shadow-plagued adventure after another, Ash gradually discovers that true power lives in the most unexpected place: himself.

Bio: South African by birth, I have lived in Kenya the past 11 years with my husband and two children. In between writing and breathing, I also work at the United Nations Environment Programme.

Excerpt:

This is the part when things go from so-so to way-out not good.

I stared across the room toward the darkened eating area; the light above the sink cast a shadow of the kitchen table unto the wall. Sitting around the table’s shadow were four humanoid shadows. And guess who their faceless heads were staring at? Could it get any worse than that? Oh yeah, you bet it did.

They were watching me. They had no eyes but I knew they were watching me. I glanced down; my shadow lay on the ground as it should, connected to me and not moving about independently. Good shadow.

I looked up in time to see the four not-so-good shadowy images of my parents and two youngest sisters stand up from the flat table. I pressed my back against the counter by the sink and felt cold water seep through my T-shirt. The shadows began to lazily stretch up the wall, toward the ceiling.

“What do you want?” I whispered, but my throat was so constricted that my voice came out as a squeak.

The four forms darkened, and their fingers elongated, drifting along the ceiling toward me. Barely able to breath, I eyed the light switch panel located beside the doorway leading to the rest of the house, and began to inch toward it. That seemed a smart thing to do. One of the shadows thought so too. It flowed along the walls and completely covered the panel and surrounding wall. To turn on all the kitchen lights, I would have to stand right in front of the waiting darkness and touch it, and even then I wasn’t sure if the lights would chase away the creatures, whatever they were.

I stopped moving and tried not to look toward the only other avenue of escape: the door leading to the outside of the house. Above me, the writhing black mass of fingers had reached the edge of the ceiling and began to creep down the wall toward the sink and me. The whole kitchen seemed darker, colder.

Interview with Vered Ehsani

What will readers like about your book?

Ash, the main character. He’s real. He’s not smooth, confident or particularly brave. He’s just trying to be a normal kid and he would prefer if the world would just leave him alone. He also has a slightly sarcastic sense of humour and talks to himself. There’re also enough spooky scenes and adventure to keep the blood moving.

Why did you self publish?

I was fed up waiting around for someone else to decide to publish my story! And I really wanted to see all my work finally out in the world.

What is your writing process?

I tend to get my ideas for characters, scenes and even the whole story at odd moments – while I’m jogging, working at my day job, trying to fall asleep etc. Sometimes, I will see a scene unfolding while I’m daydreaming. Other times, characters will start a conversation in my head. Yes, I know that sounds a little on the weird side of normal. Then I start sketching things out on scraps of paper, and when I get time, I type the ideas out and start writing.

How long does it take you to write your first draft?

Well, it’s hard to say, because I’m also working and so I don’t get a large chunk of time to write it all. So the first draft took about a year, spread out and in between working and kids’ stuff.

What inspired you to write this particular story?

For a while, I had been thinking about writing a story for teen readers that would be a fun adventure with a character who wants to do the right thing but isn’t always sure he wants the hassle that comes with that. Ash, the main character, and the basic structure of this book popped into my mind while on a trip to Vancouver with my family.