The end is in sight. My manuscript is in the hands of the editors and I am doing corrections. In a lot of ways this is the best part of writing. Someone else is reading it. Letting me know if something works or doesn’t.
This is also the time when I check that I have enough clues sprinkled through the story so the reader isn’t surprised by the surprise ending. I like this part. I go AHA! that’s exactly what I meant.
Another big surprise is that the publisher is changing the cover art. Hmm. Although I liked the first effort, the one they showed me today is really beautiful.
I wish I could show it to you today, but not until its accepted by the committee. Same with a tantalizing excerpt. I have several scenes in mind.
By Reservation Only will be a September release from The Wild Rose Press. I’ll give you more information as I get it.
Please follow, friend or like me. I love to hear from my readers.
It seems as if two kittens, two dogs, and (between my mother's feeders and mine) about twelve cups of homemade hummingbird nectar a day wasn't enough. For my mother's 92nd birthday, our handyman gave her a tiny toad or frog. I don't know the difference and, at the moment, I don't care. Mom was absolutely thrilled. One free and rather nondescript amphibian completely shaded the new TV my brother, sisters, and I pitched in to buy her for her bedroom. At her request, I might add, not that I'm salty about that.
Like any tech savvy lady, she headed her walker straight for the computer to research the little guy's needs. Terrarium. Check. Fine spray mister. Check. Small clay pot to make a little hidey hole. Mom decided her spare pots were too big. I managed to find a tiny one under my kitchen sink. Mom promptly took a hammer to it.
I guess I'm not getting it back.
Silly me, I'd envisioned her laying the pot on its side. At that Mom showed me some pictures she'd found on the internet. These showed the pot turned upside down with a rounded entrance cut into the side. I admit they were cute like little Hobbit houses. We turned to look at her handiwork. Her hammer blow had busted out a jagged triangular piece of clay. Hairline cracks suggested it wouldn't be prudent to hit it again. She was disappointed. But after studying it for a moment, I told her it made the habitat look like she had a badass toad living there.
The water dish was replaced six times before she settled on a lid possessing the perfect depth. Not too deep but just enough for him to sit in easily. The website further claimed the frog needed dirt from the area where it was found.
Fresh, loamy soil from the creek bank will have to do. The next requirement was living moss. Who wrote this stuff? And how do they know? Did amphibian pollsters go pond to pond?
It took me a bit but I found green moss growing under her outside water faucet.
Job well done...I'm ready to stamp the project finished.
Then she tells me, "the article said he'll only eat insects that are still alive. It has this graph and a toad his size needs about 3 bugs a day. Nothing with a hard shell so, I think, that lets out ladybugs and such. Oh, it also says that the back legs of crickets have to be removed. Something about them causing a blockage in his digestive system."
I suggest ordering live insects off the internet or buying some at a local pet store. She laughs like I've made the funniest joke.
"Why pay for bugs when we've 34 acres filled with them? It shouldn't be hard. You could try checking piles of animal poop to find flies."
I stare at her in disbelief but she seems completely serious. I also know if I don't do it, she'll be out there scrambling around, with her walker no less, That leaves me to hunt out perfect dietal tidbits with which to tempt, what sounds to me, a very picky amphibian.
Outside, armed with long tweezers and a plastic baggie, I begin my search. Unfortunately, the trillions of bugs that live here must have been listening at the window. It seems they've all dispersed and gone into hiding. Not a single bee is droning. The ants have taken it a step further by sticking Go away, nobody's home signs on their hills. Reluctantly, I check the piles of doo-doo my dogs have left conveniently around but not one fly is decorating them.
It seemed to take forever until I finally capture the only three bugs either too inattentive or lackadaisical to heed the alert. One fly type thing, another bug I don't recognize, and a grasshopper.
Believe me when I say it's hard to catch flying/jumping insects with tweezers. However, I refuse to touch them with bare hands. I'm sweating by the time I hand the baggie over into Mom's waiting hands.
I suspect my grin is more than a little hysterical as I tell her, "Here. I don't know if grasshopper legs have to be removed like a cricket's. Your call."
On that note, I head home. It's only a few steps as my place is right next door. The heat has made me slow as I'm about halfway there when it hits me. I'm going to have to go through this every stupid day until fall.
As much as I'm hating this internet site Mom has been reading with all the passion of a proselyte, it has given one piece of advice with which I heartily agree. Amphibians should be released back into the wild while the weather is still warm. This will give them some time to dig a hole for hibernation.
Here in southern Missouri, this means I'll be wearing a bug hunter cap along with all my other hats until the end of September or early October. Locally, the first really cold day hits Halloween. As a child, I was convinced this was Mother Nature's way of messing with trick-or-treaters.
By that time, I figure I'll be maniacally singing Ugly Bug Ball while fancy dancing with the fleas. It's either that or I'll turn into one of them like Kafka's Gregor in Metamorphosis. Hmm, between those two options I think I'll stick to my party pants.
The phone's ringing as I shut the door behind me.
"Robin," Mom exclaims excitedly, "I've been reading some more and the males have a bluish tint to their necks while a female's neck is the same color as the rest of its body."
She pauses with all the drama of an expecting mother's baby reveal. Pink confetti seems to spill through the airwaves along with her voice,"You have a little sister! Oh, and next time? You better remove any legs. They're too hard for me to pull off." Touche, Mom, I hang up. She's managed to insult me and turn me into a butcher for her pet - all in the same breath.
It's all summer magic at the farm.
Check out what I've written and what I'm working on at my website remullins.com
As usual, I didn't prepare a blog post ahead of time,
procrastinator that I am. So, I thought I'd share a few things that are on my
mind.
1) Giveaways - I believe it was
on our loop where there was a discussion about what to give away to readers?
Someone mentioned that they'd given away a gift card and the recipient thanked
them and told them they were buying Nora's books. Yes, that's a risk when you
give a gift card. But then, if you give away your book, then those who are
'entering to win' have no reason to buy it. Sure, we have other books, but
still, the act of giving away a book doesn't seem to be a great promo tool. I
like to give away items that are representative of my book, such as, in
Haunting at Spook Light Inn, a spinel pendant was part of the story. I found a
reasonably priced pendant on Amazon that was similar to the one in the story
and I did a few giveaways with small goodie bags that included the pendant. Did
it help my sales? Who knows? But, it was a fun attention-getter. The thing is,
if your book doesn't appeal to people, they aren't going to read it, buy it,
and like it, regardless of what you give away. As most of you know, I have a
Kindle Rafflecopter giveaway I do each month, where authors pitch in $6 each
and they can submit a task they want entrants to do. It helps increase your
followers, likes, etc, although, of course, that still doesn't mean entrants
will buy your book. However, it does give you a bit of exposure and, if they
like what they see, they'll stick around and maybe buy your books. No
guarantees, but there are no guarantees in life anyway, right?
2) Anyone who knows me or is a
FB friend, etc, knows how much I love Elvis Presley. Thursday was the 41st
anniversary of his death. Also, December 3, 1968 is the 50th anniversary of his
'68 Comeback Special, which was an iconic, critically acclaimed show and was
touted as being his best performance ever. At the time the show was produced,
Elvis hadn't been in front of a live audience since he left for the army in
1958. When he returned in 1960, he began making movies and was not touring. He
was so nervous about being in front of an audience again, but you certainly couldn’t
tell it. The show is/was shown in movie theaters all over the country on
August 16 and August 20th. My sister and I went to see it Thursday, and wow...I
never get tired of it, even though I saw it IN 1968 when it was released and I
was seven years old, and I've watched it countless times since. The theater,
one of three in the OKC area showing it, was packed with people of all ages. I ran into one of my writer friends there. We both want to go again Monday. :) It's phenomenal that, 41 years after his death, he still has such a following.
Like him or not, it can't be denied that he was one of a kind. Here's a clip
from the show:
A pic I took of the screen, just because. :)
3) I ran across this blog post
again, having read it a while back, and I thought I'd share. There are some
fantastic tips, especially for someone like me who constantly lets other things
come before my writing.
Lastly, I'd like to once again
thank the Roses for your kind thoughts and the beautiful card when my mother
passed. She was a special person and I was so blessed to have her for a mother.
Friday evening, I saw one of my friends for the first time since Mom passed and
she told me she was sorry, and that, from what everyone was saying about Mom,
I'm a lot like her, I have her caring spirit and desire to help others, so I
will always carry her with me. I cried, of course, but her words also gave me a
warm, peaceful feeling. It’s not exactly accurate, I can’t begin to compare
to the person my mother was, but it was a lovely sentiment.
I think all authors go through different stages in their careers--ups and downs, hanging in limbo, bouts of self-doubt, wondering what to do next... I've probably been luckier than most because I was given the opportunity to see my books on actual bookstore shelves. Getting a 3 book, mass market contract was a dream come true. But I knew there was a risk involved. If they didn't sell well enough, I'd be cut loose. Well, people, that's what happened this week. I was not offered a contract for my new series.
All is not horrible, however. My editor said the quality of my writing has not diminished as it does with some prolific writers. He thought my series concept was a good one. They didn't reject me because they didn't like my book. More pluses--the second book in the series, LOST INNOCENCE, had far more pre-orders than the first due to the fact that it was picked up by Walmart. The first book, BURIED TRUTH, was only in Barnes & Noble and a few other oddball places. Still, I apparently earned back my advance on BT and am in the black after 6 months. I should double my sales on the second book if they don't get a ton of returns from stores that stocked it. It's too early to know how the third book, HIDDEN SECRETS, will fare in getting placed in stores. I'm hoping for the best.
The bad news is that my digital sales were not good. Paperback store sales were a whole lot better, so apparently I didn't have the visibility I needed in the online market. Also, contemporary romance (including romantic suspense) is not selling as well as it used to. Regency romance is hot. Erotica is dead. We've seen these cycles before. The big names in romance are still selling books, but romance sales in general are down. Publishers are adjusting their lists accordingly and tightening their lines. If sales for LI and HS drastically exceed expectations, Kensington will reconsider my proposal sometime after the first of the year, but I'm not holding my breath.
So, I've had the good news and the bad. I am not, however, doubting the quality of my writing. Publishing is a business, and the strength of a book is only one component to sales. Marketing matters. Reading trends play a huge role. Now I need to decide what I want to do next. My editor thinks I could easily acquire an agent, but I'm not sure I want one. Without one, it's hard to get in front of the big publishers. And if I do get in front of them, there are no guarantees. My track record is not the best, but at least I have one. I don't want to go the small press route again. There are positives to self-publishing, but marketing yourself is an uphill battle. I may have to mull this over for a while.
I'm not despondent. I was kind of expecting this. I hope I don't sound too whiny because I really hate that. I just wanted to let everyone who has supported me know that I'll be following a new path in the future, wherever that may lead. And in the meantime, I still have one more mass market book releasing in late November. I hope people will buy it and enjoy it. I'm looking forward to seeing it on shelves when I'm Christmas shopping!
For info on all my books, check out my WEBSITE. Happy reading!
As a writer, I'm often asked where do I find my ideas? How do I get started?
I start with two words: What if. I find this works with everything I write, whether it's a short story, a novella, or a novel.
Take my Mad Max series as a starter. In Max 1, Unintended Consequences, the what if question was: what would happen if a mother decided she no longer want to take care of her children? When Max's daughter emerges from a coma after a terrible car accident, she is diagnosed with having a traumatic brain injury. Her entire personality changes, and not for the better. This leads Max to have to decide what role she will play in raising her two grandchildren.
Max 2, Uncharted Territory, raises the bar with what would happen if the family were suddenly thrust into an alien environment? That environment is post-Katrina Mississippi, a food desert, a land washed clean by the tidal surge, a land where locals were suspicious of any outsider. Max has to figure out how to keep a growing, extended family clothed and fed, all the while keeping her eyes open for new perils.
And in Max 3, Unsafe Haven, the what if question is what would happen if you took your grandson to a hospital to set a broken leg and all hell broke loose? How would Max cope with fears of losing both her grandson and her boyfriend at the same time?
You see where I'm going with this. The right what if question sets the stage for everything to come. So when I began working on my latest, Out Of the Desert, my what if question was personal, very close to home. When I was twelve, my favorite cousin died. He was a year older. I've always wondered what he might have become, as any parent who has lost a child wonders. My cousin wouldn't leave me alone.
He emerged in a short story named "Toad," which I was lucky enough to have accepted in the VWC Centennial Anthology. Toad was a dreamer. My cousin was a dreamer. Therein lay one comparison. I thought the short story would be the end of writing about Toad. Now, 80K words into the second major rewrite, I'm drawing to a close on the story of what might have happened. Toad grows up. He experiences love and loss, success and sorrow. He wonders if Thomas Wolfe was wrong. Could he go home again? And that, dear friends, is the impetus for the novel in stories. What if he did go home again? What would Toad the man find? Would he find Toad the Dreamer alive inside him after four decades?
I'm not one for spoilers. I'll have to see how the ending plays out. But, what if I hadn't listened to my cousin's voice? What if I hadn't cared enough to imagine a life beyond age thirteen?
What are your what if triumphs?
###
Betsy Ashton is the author of the Mad Max mystery series, Unintended Consequences, Uncharted Territory, and Unsafe Haven. She also wrote a dark psychological suspense novel, Eyes Without A Face, about a female serial killer, who unpacks her life and career in first person.
I've heard of Flash Fiction, but had no idea what it is.
According to definitions, flash fiction is a fictional work
of extreme brevity. So, very short, short stories. It could include poetry
and narrative. I learned all that after
signing up to write such a piece. One thousand words max. The prompt: a change
of heart. Did I know what I’d gotten into? Nope. But I did it anyway.
In December, here on The Roses of Prose blog, we write
holiday stories for your enjoyment. When I wrote my first one five years ago, I
hadn’t written a short story since high school. I write long stories.
Full-length novels, 100,000 words long (about 400 pages). I accepted The Roses' challenge in 2013 and every year since. I've had a blast.
The first story, “Christmas in Space,” turned into a
novella, Mission to New Earth. The
following year’s story is the reward for anyone signing up for my New Release Alert (newsletter). The next two years, the
stories dovetailed nice—one beginning where the previous one ended. I turned
those into a novel, Romance Rekindled.
I just can’t leave an idea alone. 😊
So when Insecure
Writers Support Group (an online group that posts on the first Wednesday of
the month) joined up with Write…Edit…Publish
(both are blog hops) I thought why not? Write a 1,000-word story that indicated
a change of heart. I’d never written anything that short and what could I say about
anticipating something then changing my mind (or the character’s mind)?
Hawaiian Island credit: Wikipedia
Have you ever wanted something so intensely, but when you
got it you didn’t like it or it wasn't what you'd thought it would be? Or you looked so forward to a vacation that turned
into a bust? Well, that I could identify with. When I was in my 20's and single, I taught with
a girlfriend who visited Hawaii every summer. She’d even lived there for two
years. We made plans to visit the islands. But when I got there, she said she’d
done everything and wanted to spend more time with her boyfriend. I was, more
or less, on my own.Lest you think she was totally uncaring, her friends offered to take me anywhere I wanted to go on Oahu. But I’m sure you know how hard it is to ask people to drive you places. (In hindsight, I should’ve rented a car.) So, I took a bus trip on Kaui, rented a car on Maui, and
she met me on the Big Island (where she’d never been).
Now here’s the thing: I’d never gone on a vacation by myself
before. I’d never even flown by myself. To say that touring the islands on my
own was not how I thought that trip would go. But, you know, I learned a lot. I
talked to strangers. I visited sites I wanted to see. And I learned I could do
it. Was I scared being alone? You betcha. Am I glad I did it? You betcha.
Remember Vonnie's post a couple of days ago, when she wrote about her adventures in Europe. I
could identify with traveling alone.
I used that experience for my piece of flash fiction.
Embellished it somewhat. LOL Wish I’d had that handsome “surfer dude” escort me around
the islands. Yesterday was the day to post. You can find my flash fiction
titled (oh so ingeniously) “Hawaii” on my blog.
Can you guess what I’m going to do next? Yep. Expand it into
a long short story or even a novella. Why waste a perfectly good idea?
Diane Burton combines her love of mystery, adventure, science fiction, and romance into writing romantic fiction. She blogs here on the 16th and 30th of each month. She shares snippets from her stories every weekend on her blog. Her latest release is NUMBERS NEVER LIE, a romantic suspense, available at Amazon, free on Kindle Unlimited.
This summer has been a patchwork affair for me. Since Undercover Nanny released Memorial Day weekend, I haven't written a single new word. I have, however, flown to Chicago twice to help my daughter house-hunt and then work on her new place once she bought it. I stayed for a week, toting, scrubbing, buying, etc. before flying home. OG, bless him, stayed for a second week. He replaced all the outlets and switches, installed a new kitchen faucet and garbage disposal, rehabbed a gigantic pair of old bookcases, and painted, painted, painted. AND we're going back in a couple of months to try to finish everything he didn't manage to accomplish on the last visit. He may never be the same, but by golly, his baby is going to live in a palace! I have spent a little time mulling over the first book in my next series, and made a few preliminary decisions, but most of my spare time has been devoted to re-editing and formatting my first three books in preparation for re-launching them. I first started writing Harvest of Dreams and A Man Like That in the early 'nineties, when Western historical and prairie romance were going strong. The popularity of those genres has waned, but these stories remained close to my heart. The books had long since stopped selling with the original small press, but with what I've learned in five years as an indie author, I hoped I could bring them to a new set of readers. As I worked my way through the re-edits, I was thrilled to discover I love the characters and stories just as much as when I first wrote them. I'm delighted to announce I re-released the first book, Harvest of Dreams, last Friday! As of Monday afternoon, I'd had two sales and four KU downloads with complete reads. That's more people reading this book than during the entire past couple of years, so I'm happy. This book is more serious, more emotional, more romantic, and sexier than anything I've written recently, but I hope it will strike a chord with readers who are looking for that type of read. Here's the blurb:
Alone on her
farm in the middle of a blizzard, young widow Lisa McAllister labors to give
birth to her first child. Help arrives
in the strong hands of a stranger wearing a six-gun. Lisa has no reason to trust this man who
makes a living by violence, even if he is on the right side of the law. Men and their guns have already claimed the
lives of her father, brother, and husband, and she’s determined to protect her
son at any cost.
Jared Tanner, a security agent for the stagecoach, has
been on his own since he was twelve.
Against his better judgment, his feelings of protectiveness toward Lisa
and her baby turn to something deeper, and he is tempted by the possibility of
a family of his own. Can their tender new love survive when an act of ultimate
violence threatens to tear them apart? I'm half-way through the re-edits of A Man Like That, so if I keep my nose to the grindstone, I might be able to get it out there by the weekend. Wish me luck! Alison www.alisonhenderson.com
