Category Archives: Scary Things

Update, Cover Art & Sleazy Goodness

Mornin’.

It’s been awhile, I know. That whole real life thing keeps getting in the way. I’m still working valiantly to finish up with the cowboys – we’re in the home stretch! I’m only a chapter and an epilogue away from the finish line and then it’ll be ready for a good proofing and submission. That makes me very happy.

Oh, and it officially has a title:  Homegrown Hearts. Kinda cheesy? Definitely. But it fits because I’m writing light, fluffy contemporary romance with just a little bit of sultriness. It’s all good.

Also, as many of you may already know, one of my publishers shut down last month. That left me scrambling for homes for quite a bit of stuff – most of it the non-romance titles – and that has been mostly accomplished. Nicole at Mocha Memoirs Press was kind enough to give shelter to my poor books left out in the rain, and she’s really moving on them too!

Take a look at the shiny new pretties!

Huntress Cover

I’m so freaking in love with this cover it’s not even funny. The story shall make its debut at some point in the next week, and I’ll be sure to spam links everywhere.

This one is damn sexy if I do say so myself. Vanessa is definitely jonesing for some action, but it’s not the action she ends up getting at first. I can’t say much else or I’m going to ruin it all. If you want to know what happens, you have to buy a copy when it comes out.

[Insert sweet smile here.]

To go along with it, I’ve been playing on Spotify again. There’s a fabulously awesome playlist I’ve created called Hair Metal Hell eating away at my brain. I have this nutty idea for a rock star romance, and I’m working on the outline for it. It’s in the writing queue, immediately following book three in the Something in the Air series.

If you haven’t caught up on that one yet, I suggest you pick up both books and have a read. The third should be on the e-shelves by the end of the year.

But back to my rock stars…

There have been quite a few conversations recently about various 80’s rock stars and their hair, and it led me to this book about damaged people rebuilding their lives, surviving the hard life, and finding the love they don’t believe they deserve. It’s going to be rough, and it’s going to be deep. I suppose this is the point where I ask you all to wish me luck. I’m going to need it.

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Guest Blog: R.M. Kinore

Good morning, readers!  Back with me today for another taste of darkness is fellow Rebel Ink author, R.M. Kinore.  Please welcome her in and make her feel at home.

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Dark of Night Soul

I have always had a fascination for the anything of the different Genre…you know…Vampires, werewolves, angels, and demons. All the things go bump in the night make me shiver and get excited. I remember the first time I saw Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Though I knew Dracula was evil and killed people I was rooting for him, secretly, when he first saw Mina Harker, the wife of Jonathan Harker, the young attorney he had enslaved in Castle Dracula. This caused him to reminisce due to her resemblance to the love of his life…his wife. The memory of his wife he showed us was before he became vampire. I felt his pain when the invaders attacked and murdered his wife, thus causing him to become Vlad, the Impaler. Due to the evil destruction he bore down on his enemies the gods cursed him with not only immortality but never to look upon the sun or feel love again.

Immortal love appeared to be the theme in a many great works of fiction…whether it is horror, romance, historical, or other kinds. In Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein, the good doctor seemed into on recreating life but this came about because of seeing the loss of love. Indeed his obsession with caused him to lose sight of the true living, love and created a creature that had no body in his world…truly alone and isolated, never to feel the closeness of human companionship due to the hideousness of his countenance.

One of my favorite all-time shows, Buffy, the Vampire Slayer, dealt with the immortal love between Angel and Buffy. Angel, though significantly more handsome than the Frankenstein monster, shared a great deal with him. Angel lived in isolation from humanity in an attempt to pay retribution for all the evil he had done. He thought, when he first met Buffy, he needed only to put her on the path to stop the master…the father of all vampires. Once he had accomplished this he could not leave her, and the more time he spent with her the more he came to love her and her him. Though in love they were star-crossed lovers for sure…for poor Angel should he experience one moment of “True Happiness” he would turn once more into Angelis and bring destruction and pain upon Buffy and her friends.

I cared about them…I hated, feared and adored them. I wanted them to be exterminated and yet wanted them to find and have their true love, too. I wanted to be Buffy and slay the evil and at the same time, I wanted to be the victim…to have them love me…desire me…fear me…enslave me.

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Want to know more about R.M.?  Check her out here:

Twitter | Her Blog

Pick up a copy of Once Upon a Twisted Tale to check out both R.M. and a load of other lovely RIP authors!

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Thanks for stopping by, R.M.!  As always, it has been my pleasure to have you in my sandbox!

Trick or Treat Part Two and Halloween Giveaway Goodness!

So, the masses have spoken – there’s a lynch mob out for my head because I kinda left everyone hanging with my Tuesday Tale yesterday.  Sorry, everyone, but I had to.  It’s much more fun for me that way. Besides, what’s Halloween without a few tricks?

What you’ll find today is the second part of this story, which is not at all romantic – let me just tell you guys that right now.  It’s not a romance. It’s going to be bloody and scary.  And even I’m not sure how it’s going to end yet.  So… be prepared.

Also… I’m giving stuff away!  Check out my Halloween Giveaway page for more information.  The contest has officially been extended through 10:00 PM, October 31st.

And back to that story:

Trick or Treat – Part One

Trick or Treat
Part Two

“Babe, I’m home!”  Robert called through the front door, still puzzled by the fact that it stood wide open well after midnight.  The lights in every other house on their street were already out, the kids long-since put to bed after their adventures.  It was now November first.  The time for celebrating was over.

He glanced around the living room, still in perfect order save the two candy wrappers lying on the coffee table – evidence that Kelly had been in the candy.  Nothing else was out of place except the damn door.  And his wife still hadn’t answered him.

Pushing the door closed, Robert turned the deadbolt and started down the hall, calling after Kelly again.  Still no answer.  His son lay in his bed, face turned toward the wall, sleeping soundly.  With the baby still here, she couldn’t have gone far.  Pulling the door toward him to block some of the light from the hallway, Robert turned around and opened each door in succession – the bathroom, the office, and finally their bedroom.

Maybe she’s just outside, he thought, battling the panic rising in his chest.  He took off down the hall again, jerking the front door open and screaming her name into the darkness.

No answer.

Her car sat in the driveway.  Her keys hung on the rack next to the door.  He coat was in the closet.  Even her shoes still sat on the welcome mat by the door.  She never went outside without shoes.  That small detail told Robert one thing with absolute certainty.

His wife was not in their home.

He fumbled twice pulling his phone from his pocket, and immediately punched the emergency number.

“911…what’s your emergency?”

“My wife… oh, my God, my wife is gone!”

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Kelly came to in pain.  Every part of her body ached, from the roots of her hair all the way to her toenails, which from her dangling position scraped painfully against the ground with the gentle sway of her body in the breeze.  The very, very cold breeze.

Her first instinct was to panic – to suck in a deep breath and scream at the top of her lungs while struggling against whatever held her just out of the floor’s reach.  But rather than let her fear and her emotions get the best of her, she drew in a breath  through her nose – shallow from the way her shoulders bent back at a violent angle and constricted her lungs – and began to take stock of her situation.

Something heavy covered her head.  It felt like burlap against her skin.  Whatever it was, it wasn’t breathable material, and it smelled of old sweat.  Thin dots of light filtered between the fibers, but keeping her eyes open hurt as the material scraped against her eyelashes.

That same cold breeze blew against her skin – someone had removed her shirt, but her pants were still there – she couldn’t feel the wind on her legs.  The cool air came in bursts – someone had obviously turned a fan on her.  With each gust, her nipples tightened further, drawing up into painful little knots on her chest.

Her shoulders ached.  Her arms had been pulled behind her with some sort of heavy rope, her elbows close to touching, which threatened to pull her shoulders out of their sockets, and something ran beneath her elbows, holding her from the floor.  Her hands, she assumed were bound, but she could no longer feel her fingers.

Her toenails continued to scrape against the hard floor – what she assumed was concrete.  Warmth against her toes told her that her feet were probably bleeding.  There was no telling how long she’d been hanging here.  Or why.  Or who had done it.  She couldn’t really remember anything except the mask.

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“I’m sorry, son, but we can’t list it as a missing persons case until twelve hours after her disappearance.”

Robert had never, ever wanted to punch someone the way he did this man.  He knew the detective was only doing his job and they couldn’t go on the gut feelings of civilians… but damn it, this was his wife they were talking about!  Kelly never left the baby, even to go to the store – she loved him, and she took him everywhere!

“I understand, but the circumstances…”

“The circumstances are unusual, yes, but I cannot bend the rules for one family.”  The detective tucked his notepad into his shirt pocket.  “I’m sorry about this, I truly am.  When we reach the twelve-hour mark, I will file the paperwork and we’ll see what happens.”  With an apologetic nod, the uniformed man stepped out the door and pulled t closed behind him.  Unable to support himself any longer, Robert collapsed to the floor, his face buried in his hands as panic-stricken tears began to fall.

Tuesday Tales: Trick or Treat

And a creepy Tuesday to you all!  This week’s prompt was a little different, so I’m going to give you something a little different.  Breaking away from the romantic norm, we’re going with something a little darker and more daring for All Hallow’s Eve, which is just around the corner.

What you have here is the first part of what will undoubtedly be something very twisted.  It’s a very rough draft.  Enjoy!

Oh, and as always, for more wonderful tales on this fine Tuesday, please check out the Tuesday Tales Blog!

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“Trick or treat!”

A piece of candy landed in the bottom of the empty bucket, starting the night off in a good way for Kelly and her toddler son, who wore a bright orange pumpkin-suit.

“Trick or treat!”

Another piece of candy hit the bottom of the bucket, its wrapper rattling against the one already in there.

“Trick or treat!”

A third piece of candy bounced off of the other two.

For well over an hour, Kelly walked the little boy up and down the street, aptly named Candy Lane, collecting sugary treats and tiny little “trick” toys.  With the child’s bucket full and his eyelids growing heavy from the excitement, she lifted him into her arms and started home.

Once the sleepy child was tucked safely into bed, she went into the living room of her tiny house and picked up the big, plastic bowl of candy sitting on her own coffee table, then switched on her porch light, signaling that she was ready to join the festivities from the other side.  As she sat at the door, child after child, each one in his or her own festive costume, scrambled up to her door, holding out a bag or bucket and repeating the same mantra, “trick or treat!”

It was late when the stream of children tapered off.  Kelly, worn out from the excitement, pushed her front door closed and turned off the porch light.  With only a few bits of candy left in the bowl, she laid it back on the coffee table and started down the hall to check on her son.  Her husband would be home soon – his second-shift job always prevented him from sharing in her fun.

As she reached for the door to look in on the sleeping child, a heavy fist rapped three times on her front door.  She paused, considering it, then stepped into the room anyway.  Her little boy slept soundly, a soft smile on his cherubic face.  Only two, she knew she’d kept him out too late, but it was Halloween, after all, and the first one he would remember.

She’d already forgotten about the latest caller as she crossed the hall to her bathroom.  When she started to push the door closed and prepare for a shower, the fist pounded on the door again. Apparently this new visitor wasn’t going to go away easily.  Kelly stepped back into the hall, pausing just at the doorway to the living room.

“No more candy!” she called out, but the pounding started again.  With a frustrated growl, Kelly stormed across the room and jerked open the door.  “I said there’s…” her sentence died in her throat as she looked up into a gruesome mask floating nearly a foot above her head.  A low, deep chuckle issued from behind the mask, and a pair of gloved hands rose from the dark-clad sides.

“Trick or treat,” the muffled voice said, and snatched Kelly out of her front door, leaving it wide open with her son still sleeping in the back of the house.

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UPDATE:

Since I’ve been smacked for stopping there,
anyone who wants to read more
CAN FIND IT HERE!

21st Century Vampires, or, How Twilight Killed the Horror Genre

Remember when we were kids, how every little sound was creepy, and how in horror movies and books, the bad guy really was a bad guy?  Remember the weighted anticipation of seeing the big, scary monster for the first time?  Remember the promise of nightmares and Mom’s threat of “if you watch that, you better not come crying to me in the middle of the night because you’ll deserve it”?

I do.  And oh, how I miss all of it.

Keeping that in mind, I find myself increasingly disturbed by the transition of classic monsters into romantic heroes.  Before I go any further, yes, I am guilty of romanticizing the monster.  Yes, I am guilty of believing in happy-ever-after for a damned soul.

But damn it, I don’t agree with how we got here!

At least my vampire drinks blood and kills people.

Many of you, I know, read horror stories.  You like the creep factor, and you revel in the blood and guts, just like me.  Those of you that enjoy the genre have probably noticed its disappearance from bookstore shelves.  The two major booksellers – Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million, have both integrated horror into other areas, such as moving Stephen King and Anne Rice to General Fiction while taking the paranormal and supernatural and shoving it between the stacks to pad the Sci-Fi/Fantasy rows.

This is the point when I would normally point the finger at the Twilight vampires and blame them entirely for the state of affairs in the horror genre, but I can’t do that.  I have to back up a bit.

Let’s start in 1976.

A book was published that year that many of you will know all too well.  It’s called Interview With the Vampire. That book marked the start of the emo-vampire movement.  As much as I love Anne Rice’s vampire world (I have the complete set of first editions), I have to point the first finger at Louis de Pointe du Lac.  Talk about a whiny little bastard… all he does for several hundred pages is bitch about his lot in life.  Or rather, unlife.

At least Louis, Lestat, and the whole gang burst into flame in the sun and ate people.

However, as the series went along, the vampires became more sympathetic creatures – monsters we as a society could relate to.  Monsters that still, for the most part, suffered from that human condition known as conscience.

After reading that, I was given a copy of Michael Romkey’s I, Vampire, released in 1990. At 15 years old, I absolutely loved this book.  I loved the way he twisted reality to turn popular historical figures in to vampires.  But at the same time, David Parker is a little on the shallow, obnoxious side, and if I were to read the same book now, I would blame this character’s melodramatic, romantic predisposition for a large part of the lapse in real vampire culture.  At least David gets to eat people, even if he is another mopey motherfucker.

Over the next ten years, countless vampire books are released.  Some good, some not so much.  But I don’t have time to get into the extensive list of ups and downs.

In 2001, Charlaine Harris wrote the first of the Sookie Stackhouse books.  And I loved the series. I thought it was going to redeem vampirism…

At first.

I loved how her vampires, while mainstream creatures, were still monsters.  They were perfect predators – attractive and deadly.  I love the lack of conscience with good intentions.

Then came the point where it was painfully obvious that she stopped writing them for herself and started writing for the market.  The vampires became more palatable.  THe other supernatural creatures were less like beasts and more like domestic house-pets.  The books developed Highlander Syndrome (remember how by the end of the Highlander series, EVERYBODY WAS A FREAKING IMMORTAL???).  I’ve read all but the last one, and I just lost interest.  I’m sorry, but making Eric ashamed of his past just did me in.  Who cares what happened to him when he was younger?  It’s part of him.  Don’t freaking hide it.

At least he still gets to eat people.

Now, let’s skip ahead 4 years.

A book with a pretty, yet innocuous cover hits the shelves.  Inside is the beginning of a fad that will span what has become six years and has essentially buried vampires in the mire of romance and sap.

And yeah, I read all four books in the series.  In about a week.  So don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about, okay?  I’ve thought a lot about it, and am entitled to my opinion, as follows.

While I have to say that Stephenie Meyer had some good ideas when it came to ways to mask classic vampire mythology, she failed to realize a vital point of the mythos:

Vampires are killers.  The overabundance of conscience murders the image.  Bloodlust and damnation do not romantic characters make.  Vampires are naturally attractive because they are deadly.  Her vampires are not dangerous.  Plus there’s the whole stunted-at-turning concept, which really bugs the hell out of me.  After a hundred years, boyfriend should have matured at least a little bit.

AND VAMPIRES DO NOT FUCKING SPARKLE.

Do you hear me?  I’ll say it again, just in case…

VAMPIRES DO NOT FUCKING SPARKLE.

I respect her attempt at rewriting the mythology.  I also respect the following she has gained and the ease with which she captured the attention of the entire world.  But again, she pulled a Charlaine Harris and had her entire cast come down with Highlander Syndrome.  And these books started a trend in young adult (and adult, for that matter) fiction that saddens me to no end.

At least PC and Kristin Cast completely altered the mythology instead of just bastardizing it.

To all the Twi-hards, I say this:  Go out RIGHT NOW…IMMEDIATELY… and buy two books:  Dracula, by Bram Stoker, and Salem’s Lot, by Stephen King.  Read them both.  Understand that your sparkly, little disco-ball boyfriend is not a real vampire.

I started writing a story awhile back in which my main character is a vampire.  And he’s not a good guy.  He kills people.  He revels in blood.  And he isn’t interested in bedding the chick he’s getting ready to bite.  And after writing this, I have realized something…

This book probably won’t sell.  And it probably won’t sell because my monster is exactly that: A monster.  A heartless, soulless beast intent on destroying whatever he has to in order to eat.  And even if I do sell it, where will it end up?

It’s too “genre” to sit with Stephen King (not that I would EVER fancy myself worthy enough to have my book in his books’ presence), and if it’s relegated to the Sci-Fi/Fantasy shelves it’ll be lost under the stacks of Charlaine Harris and Laurell K. Hamilton books.  It will be passed over by the so-called “Vampire Enthusiasts” who would rather have the happy-ever-after with the monster.  It will be ignored in favor of a less gory reality in which the heroine can cozy up with the fanger and not worry about whether or not she’ll have a carotid artery in the morning.

Am I bitter?  Yeah, a little.  But I don’t have any clue what would give that away…

(insert snarky facial expression here)

It isn’t just vampires, either.  Werewolves and shape shifters as a whole have become mainstream good guys…misunderstood monsters.  So what does that leave us horror writers with?

Zombies.

Seriously?  How do you romanticize that?  I mean, come on… shit falls off!  There’s nothing attractive about grave rot.  Forget the zombies, people. I’ll stick with my blood sucking vampires.

At least I don’t have to worry about catching anything.  And if he kills me, then I guess I really won’t have to worry about it anymore, will I?

Rejection, Edits, and Critics…Oh, my!

It seems that yesterday’s post spawned some very good questions, and rather than force everyone go slog through the conversation in teeny-tiny letters, I thought I’d get a little more in-depth on some of the answers I gave yesterday.  First off, it floored and humbled me that someone would actually ask for my advice.  I freely admit that I have no clue what I’m doing, but to have such wonderful questions asked of me was quite touching.

You guys know who you are. 🙂

Moving on:  I think the best approach to this post is going to be to discuss things in order of appearance in a writer’s life.

1. Rejection

A good friend of mine, Lucy Blue, told me after my very first rejection that it was part of a writer’s life, and ultimately didn’t mean squat in the big picture.  And you know what?  She was so very right.

The first rejection I got hurt like hell.  It scared me.  It made me throw an absolute temper tantrum that nearly made my husband toss me out on my head.  I threw my pen down and swore I’d never write anything ever again, because I sucked and I wasn’t good enough, and I would never, ever, ever make it.

And then when I finished with the screaming fit, I looked at the story again, and realized that the reason it was rejected was because it did need a hell of a lot of work.  It still does, as a matter of fact, because I’m still working on it.  When I’m done fixing it, I’ll resubmit, but until then I’m going to take that advice to heart.

My second rejection was from a pretty big name in the Romance world.  My story wasn’t right for them, but after a few fixes, Rebel Ink handed me a contract in two hours.  I think that was some sort of record.  (BTW, E…if you’re reading, there are three more stories in that series!)

The last rejection I got was from the same house as the first rejection.  I turned around the very next day and sold it to Sugar & Spice.  That contract turn-around was less than 12 hours.

Each one stings.  It hurts.  A LOT.  Yes, you have another person dangling your fate before your eyes.  Yes, that person has the ability to crush you with the flick of her wrist.  Yes, she is passing judgment on the manuscript that you have poured your heart and soul into.   Yes, it sucks complete ass.

But the point I’m trying to make here is that just because your story isn’t right for one house doesn’t mean another won’t love it.  I know I said this in the discussion on the last post, but submission editors are absolutely overwhelmed right now, and as one of the many adding to their respective workloads, I respect their decisions to drop the floor out from under me.  A rejection is not a “do not ever write again” note.  It’s simply an “I’m sorry, but your work isn’t right for us, thanks” or a “we’re overhelmed and can’t handle anything else right now, sorry” note.

There are levels of rejection, too.

An outright form rejection means that your work isn’t a fit at all for them.  Sorry, but send it somewhere else.

A “revise and resubmit” note means they have faith in your work, but you need to fix what they tell you to fix.

A note from a sub-editor telling you that you’re being handed off to another editor is a good sign.  It means they like you, but aren’t sure they can handle you at the moment.

And then there’s that glorious note that you open and find yourself surrounded by white light with an angelic chorus in the background:  The Acceptance Letter.  See the next section.

 

2. Edits

I’m going to tell you right now…I’m a huge baby when it comes to edits.  I’m terrified of them, because I’m always on the lookout for that “OMG…don’t EVER write again” note from my editor.  Yeah, yeah…I know it’s not likely to happen, but it’s still a huge fear.

My last round of edits wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be.  My editor, Rory, is a wonderful woman who really knows her stuff and has endless patience.  How she didn’t absolutely choke me, I don’t know.  Probably because she’s half a country away.

The best advice I have for any new writer is this:  YOUR EDITOR IS YOUR FRIEND.  Yes, she’s going to be brutal, but that’s her job.  She is meant to point out every flaw, typo, and shortcoming your work has.  She is meant to tweak it and polish it and poke at it until it can stand up on its own and gain attention.  DON’T YELL AT YOUR EDITOR.  THANK HER.

Yeah, Edits suck.  It means you have to change things that you think are perfect. Well, let me be the first to pop that pretty little bubble and tell you that THEY AREN’T.  If an editor flags it, it’s for a good reason.

There were quite a few times during my She-Wolf edits that I wanted to throw the computer across the room, and where I absolutely, 100% believed that she was wrong.  Of the dozen or so of those instances, I could only justify keeping one thing that she wanted to change, and that was because it was a dialect-based offense.  I explained my position, she said okay, and we moved on.  There were a few changes that I still disagree with… but when I got stuck, I asked for her advice and she gave it to me.  Ultimately I ended up rewriting a few paragraphs because I just didn’t like the redundancy of the suggestions, but in the end, it came out much better than it was at the start.  All in all, I would absolutely love to work with her again.

Editors, in all honesty, make us better writers.  They point out the things we don’t want to see, show us where we can improve, and work to make us as good as we can possibly be.  I don’t like being told that what I did wasn’t perfect, but I’m willing to accept the suggestions of someone who knows more about what I’m doing than I do.

And in all honesty, if you can survive edits, you can survive anything.

3. Critics

After getting past the editor, you get your book on the shelves (or e-shelves).  Congratulations.  Have a bottle of wine.  You deserve it.

Just be prepared, because for every dozen or so people that love you, there will be at least one that hates you.   Most critics are pretty professional.  I mean seriously, if you don’t like my work that’s perfectly okay.  It’s your opinion, and I respect that.

However.

Once in awhile, you will come across one that is childish and catty and mean for no reason.  Case in point –  I found a review of Marked by accident on some chick’s blog.  She absolutely tore the book apart…and what’s more, she went on to comment about how I was the worst writer she’d ever read and she hoped that no publisher would ever be stupid enough to give me another contract because I was writing drivel.

And that was making what she said nice.

So I did what I do best… I threw a fit.  On my blog.  And vented all sorts of frustrations.  By the next morning,  said blog post had vanished, which leads me to believe that one of the 12 hits it got that night was her.  I still can’t find it, but I think I got my point across… I made some very biting comments about how if you’re going to review someone’s work, you don’t have to be unnecessarily cruel.  There are ways of saying you don’t like something without being a heartless bitch about it.

A week or so later, I got a royalty statement, a payment, and a personal note from my publisher in which she told me that she has people asking for more of my work.  She gave me a huge boost when she suggested I join several networking spots and really promote, because she thinks I could be something.

My advice on dealing with critics:  You’re published.  Chances are, they aren’t.  If you ever have doubts about yourself, just look at your royalty statement.  If you’re selling copies, one opinion is a drop in the bucket that you needn’t concern yourself with at all.

Catching Up

Busy, busy, busy… Siobhan hasn’t stopped moving in days now!

Well, except for yesterday, when she was nearly dead to the world.  The being pregnant thing is not so much fun for her these days.

Ahem.

Morning, y’all.  It’s been awhile since I’ve been around here, and I have a lot to tell you.  So here goes, and let’s hope I don’t miss anything.

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The After Dark Online Adult Community has been so kind as to accept a silly little thing from me, entitled Bathroom Stories.  It’s told from a little bit different point of view than most people are used to, but I am honored to be part of the project.  They are accepting Safe Sex stories in preparation for National AIDS Awareness Month.  If anyone feels so inclined, please take a look and join in.

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The lovely Jean Joachim has posted this week’s Tuesday Tales.  There are some fantastic little stories up there from some wonderful authors.  Everyone should go read them right now.  I don’t have anything up this week, but I’m definitely going to try to jump in next week.

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In addition to feeling totally rotten yesterday, I received a rejection letter from Harlequin.  *sigh*  I know they’re extremely busy, but I would like to know what I’m doing wrong there.  I’m not going to complain though… at least their form letter is a nice one.  I’ve seen some that aren’t very nice.

That just means that She-Wolf is up for grabs again.  I’ve got two options on my plate right this minute, and I’m trying to decide where I want to send it first.  Three options, actually.

On top of that, my phone died, and I kinda left Lexxx hanging on her first day back to work… And I feel so bad about that.  On Thursday, I’ll take the whip with me and allow her to take her revenge.

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Backing up a little farther… Sunday night I was sitting at my desk when my phone started blinking.  There was an email, saying I’d received a payment from one of my publishers.  I honestly thought it was wrong… so as I pulled up my email to tell her I thought I’d received someone else’s payment by mistake, another email popped up… “Here’s your statement…congrats on this month’s sales!”

Needless to say, I just about fell out of the chair.  A first story – a short at that – has done extremely well.  I was also told that there are people asking for more of my stuff.  *gawp*  That… wow.  It was such a huge ego boost.  (Of course, the rejection letter the very next day put me firmly back on the ground.)

~+~

All in all, it wasn’t too bad a week.  I do wish I had more time to write, because my head is about to explode from all of the new ideas.  I’ve got two Halloween things in mind at the moment, the steampunk horror novel, and a full cast of characters, all of whom desperately want my undivided attention.  The lists and prioritizing don’t help… these people don’t seem to understand that they can’t all talk at once and still be heard.  *sigh*  I think they make drugs for this… don’t they?