Passions on Paper ~ by Gina Leigh Maxwell ~

Happy Release Day, Ruthie Knox!!!

2012-02-13T00:01:00.000-05:00

I cannot tell you how excited I am to promote the
debut release of one my all-time favorite people, Ruthie Knox.

I met Ruthie early last year in the Romance Junkies writing contest we had both entered. After reading her entry, I totally fan-girled her on my comment sheet (the first round was judged by romance readers and the other contestants) and gave her my email address in case she ever wanted to chat about writing.

Imagine my surprise when she actually emailed me as opposed to thinking I was a total nut job! (I totally fooled her. heh heh heh) I'm happy to say we became fast friends. I've done some beta reading for her (mostly I just gush about how great her stuff is) and she's taught me so much, like:

How to use "urtext" in a sentence
How to properly place a comma
How to cut 10K+ words from my manuscript.

In short, she's a genius.

But the real purpose of this post is not for me to go on and on about how totally orsum she is. It's to give you a taste of her contemporary romance, Ride with Me. This is the book that she entered the RJ contest with (and won 1st place, btw) which made me all ga-ga for her. Below you can read the first chapter and at the end you can click on one of the icons to purchase your very own copy for a mere $2.99.

That's less than a Happy Meal, and Ride with Me won't clog your arteries. Such a deal!

If you missed my interview with Tom, the hero from this book, you can check it out HERE. I absolutely love Tom. He's grouchy and supah-haht. LOL

Okay, without further ado, I give you Ride with Me, by the wonderful Ruthie Knox...

Scribd.Ride With Me Excerpt - by author Ruthie Knox

Happy Release Day, Ruthie!

(I totes love you!)

Wee-Bit Wednesday: Pussy Cat Edition

2012-02-08T10:26:00.002-05:00

Hi everyone! Sorry I've been a tad M.I.A. lately, but I've been busy moving across the country. I now reside in sunny San Antonio, Texas! So, I might a little discombobulated for a while (how long can I get away with using the move as an excuse for being flighty?) as I try to get us settled in and back to a routine.

I debated on whether to post a Wee-Bit today, but my Twitter friend, Serena Bell, encouraged me to share, so here it is. (You can catch the previous snippets of my WIPs here.) In this excerpt, Gabriel has driven Ava to her broken-down 1970 Barracuda on a stretch of desert road. She fell asleep on the ride over, and when they get there, Gabriel sees a gigantic cat lounging inside her car. Ruh-roh!

# # #

Uma Purrman: Ava's pet kitty

“Here kitty, kitty, kitty,” he called. “Be a good boy and get out of the car. It’d be a shame to ruin something as beautiful as that.” Adrenaline raced through his veins and his heart beat a rapid tattoo as the big cat leapt through the open window and landed soundlessly in the dirt.

“Gabe, what’s going on?”

Trying not to react to Ava’s sexy sleep-induced voice, he gave her a soft order. “Ava, don’t move. Stay right where you are.”

As expected, she didn’t listen to a damn thing he said, choosing to sit up in her seat instead. Great, that’s all he needed: a hysterical woman. He hoped she didn’t scream.

“Gabe,” she said in a careful tone, like she was trying to talk him down from a ledge. “Put the gun down. You’re going to make him mad.”

On cue, the cougar growled low in his throat and lowered its body several inches. Fuck. “No offense, but I’ve dealt with them before. Most of the time they’ll run off, but in case he decides I’m dinner, I think I’ll leave my gun right where it is.”

“No,” she said more forcefully, “you won’t. Put it down, or I step in front of it.”

He’d heard of animal activists doing some crazy shit, but putting yourself in the line of fire to protect something that would eat you as soon as look at you was insanity. He cut his eyes over to hers, trying to gauge just how serious she was. Damn. Real serious if the fire in those golden eyes told him anything.

“Gabriel!”

That got his attention. He swiveled his head to look her dead in the eye. “He was in your car. He probably ate your cat.”

Ava set her jaw and clenched her fists. “That is my cat, and if you kill him, it’s going to put a serious strain on this new friendship of ours, so put the damn gun down.”

Dumbfounded, Gabriel lowered the rifle to his side and swung a finger in the cat’s direction. “That is Uma Purrman? That gigantic man-eater is your pet?”

She climbed over the driver’s seat and hopped out of the truck smiling up at him. A few seconds ago, she’d been almost shaking with her frustration toward him, but lowering the gun as she’d asked had acted like a breeze blowing over footprints in the sand, erasing her anger as if it never existed. “Isn’t he gorgeous?”

“He’s a cougar.”

“Yes, also known as a mountain lion, mountain cat, catamount, panther, or puma,” she said with a look of pride before walking toward the two hundred pound beast. “C’mere, Uma, baby.”

Gabriel watched with mouth slightly agape as the woman dropped to her haunches to welcome the advancing cat in her arms. Uma the puma—and didn’t that just figure that’s what she’d named it—rubbed his face on hers as he purred his contentment at Ava’s return. But his keen eyes never left Gabriel’s, nor did Gabriel take his gaze off the cat. It was as though they were both wary of the other harming the female between them at any moment.

# # #

Thanks for stopping by, kids! I hope you'll come back soon. :)

Ciao, bellas!

Interview with a Hot Biker

2012-01-31T11:21:00.000-05:00

I am so excited to share my interview with the smokin' hot bicyclist extraordinaire, Tom Geiger. Tom is the hero in Ride with Me, an original romance by the incomparable Ruthie Knox, about a cross-country bike adventure that takes a detour into unexplored passion. As readers will discover, Ride with Me is NOT about the bike!

I hope you enjoy this sneak peek at Tom's amazing ~~abs~~ personality.

**Make sure you read all the way to the end to find out how you can win your very own copy of Ride with Me.**

GLM: Tom, thank you so much for taking the time tojoin us here at Passions on Paper. I know you're busy with your new bike tourbusiness up in Oregon, and I'm sure things are crazier than usual with all thepublicity your story is getting due to Ruthie's book coming out next month.

TG: Thanks, Gina. Yeah, it's beenintense. I never really expected the book to be that, ah, lewd. Probablywouldn't have agreed to it if Ruthie had told me what she had in mind. Ifigured she was just doing a piece for some bike magazine.

GLM: Believe me, we're all extremely glad for yourignorance. RIDE WITH ME is as hot as they come! I should know. I've read itseveral times already, and I'm sure those won't be the last. There's justsomething about all that hot tent sex...[fans face & clears throat] But I'mgetting ahead of myself. In the beginning, your relationship with Lexie didn'tstart out with much heat, did it?

TG: No, and that was my fault. Iwas pretty much a dick to her. She didn't talk to me for three days. [Tomsmiles.] Stubborn woman. She came around, though. I just had to apply someheat.

GLM: Speaking of heat, my favorite scene in thewhole book is the hot sauce contest, which Lexie instigates in an attemptto win the days-long silent treatment war. What was going through your headwhen you figured out what she was doing?

TG: At first I was just shocked.I'd been riding with the woman for three days, and this was the first sign I'dseen that she had a humorous bone in her body.

After that . . . well, she was something to watch. I've never seen anybody socompletely determined to win. I got a huge kick out of watching her strugglenot to show how bad some of those hot sauces were killing her. And I guess thatwas the first time I realized, "Christ, if that woman weren't alreadysomebody's wife, she could cause you some serious trouble." [Tom chucklesand rubs the back of his hand over his mouth.]

GLM: [mutters under breath...] I'd sure like to cause yousome serious trouble...

TG: What was that?

GLM: Hm? Oh, um, I was saying that you mentioned Lexiebeing someone's wife, but she was never actually married, was she? Tell us whyyou thought otherwise and how that affected you as the days went on in thetour.

TG: She told me she was married. That was myfault, too, actually. [Tom shakes his head] Man, I really got off on the wrongfoot with her that first morning in Seaside. I'm not even going to tell youwhat I said. It was that bad. Let's just agree that the lie had good justification-- for the first thousand miles or so.

How did it affect me? I'd love to tell you I kept my distance and kept my handsoff her. I sure as hell tried. For the most part, I succeeded, but after awhile I just had to get away from the woman. I found her somebody else to ridewith and took off like a shot.

GLM: Don't feel too bad, Tom. You ended up making thingsright, and your morals are one of the things that make you so attractive. Youknow, morals and...[rakes gaze over mega-hot body clad in cargo shorts andfaded black Nirvana t-shirt]...other stuff.

Okay, so let's get to know a little more about you. How do you unwind after ahard day on the trails?

TG: The usual stuff. You know, getcleaned up, drink a beer, read a book. Tinker with the bikes, if they needcleaning or adjusting. When Lexie and I are touring, one of us has to set upthe tents and cook dinner, and there's laundry to do, so there's not a ton ofdown time. But what we've got, we just spend hanging out. Talking, looking atthe stars. Sometimes we go to bed a little early. [Tom winks.]

GLM: Ohdearlord. [blushes at Tom's throaty chuckle] Uh,where was I...[looks at notes] Ah, okay. Tell us where your dream place to tourwith Lexie would be and one thing you'd love to experience while there.

TG: Oh, man. Good question. There's somany good places. I think Mongolia would be cool. I read this article once by awoman who flew to Siberia with her bike and rode all the way through Mongolia,China, and Vietnam. Mongolia sounds amazing -- lots of wide-open space, ridingthrough open country. No roads, even, so we're talking really remote. And inthe book, this woman stayed with a different Mongolian family in their yurtevery night. It's a hospitality culture, you know? So the Mongolian peopleconsidered it an honor, and they'd roll out the red carpet and share what theyhad. I think something like that would be incredible, just getting that deepinto a culture that was so different from ours.

[scratches his head]

Come to think of it, Lexie will probably nip that fantasy right in the bud.Let's say Italy instead. I bet I could talk her into Italy, easy. Tuscany inthe summertime would be pretty incredible.

GLM: As interesting as a trip through Mongolia sounds,I'd have to side with Lexie on your idea of biking through Tuscany in thesummertime. And if that trip should ever come to pass, I sincerely hope you'lllet Ruthie write about your adventures. She's certainly done your first sagajustice, as the rest of the world will soon find out! I have no doubt yourlittle start-up operation in Oregon will gain a surge in customers after therelease of Ride With Me. I hope Lexie's prepared for her man to have drooling,spandex-clad groupies biking after him.

[laughs at Tom's brief deer-in-the-headlights look]

Tom, it's been an absolute pleasure meeting you. Thank you so much for stoppingby. Lexie is one lucky lady.

TG: Thank you, Gina. It's been mypleasure.

Isn’t he just totally scrumptious?! *sigh* Yeah, Iknow. Believe me, I’ve had the pleasure of reading Ride with Me and it’s a MUST READ, people! If that interview withTom wasn’t enough for you, here’s the back cover blurb:

When Lexie Marshall places an ad for acycling companion, she hopes to find someone friendly and fun to cross theTransAmerica Trail with. Instead, she gets Tom Geiger — a lean, sexy lonerwhose bad attitude threatens to spoil the adventure she’s spent years planning.

Roped into the cycling equivalent of ablind date by his sister, Tom doesn’t want to ride with a chatty, go-by-the-mapkind of woman, and he certainly doesn’t want to want her. Too bad the sight ofLexie with a bike between her thighs really turns his crank.

Even Tom’s stubborn determination to keep Lexie at a distancecan’t stop a kiss from leading to endless nights of hotter-than-hot sex. Butwhen the wild ride ends, where will they go next?

Don’t miss this debut novel, folks! I guarantee you’ll join meon Team Ruthie as we follow her sure-to-be prolific career in the romance genre. So do yourselves a favor and CLICK HERE to pre-order your copy for its February 13th release!

And now for the GIVEAWAY! One lucky commenter will be randomly chosen to win a digital copy of Ride with Me. Winners will pick up their copy through Net Galley. All you have to do is answer this question:

If you could tour anywhere on bike, where it would it be and why?

Ruthie Knox figured out how towalk and read at the same time in the second grade, and she hasn’t looked upsince. She spent her formative years hiding romance novels in her bedroomcloset to avoid the merciless teasing of her brothers and imagining scenariosin which someone who looked remarkably like Daniel Day Lewis recognized herwell-hidden sex appeal and rescued her from middle-class Midwestern obscurity.After graduating from Grinnell College with an English and history doublemajor, she earned a Ph.D. in modern British history that she’s put toremarkably little use.

Thesedays, she writes contemporary romance in which witty, down-to- earth charactersfind each other irresistible in their pajamas, though she freely admits thishas yet to happen to her. Perhaps she needs more exciting pajamas. Ruthieabhors an epilogue and insists a decent romance requires at least three goodsex scenes.

Wee-Bit Wednesday: Eye Orgasm Edition

2012-01-18T09:12:00.000-05:00

Last week's Calendar Guy Edition showed us Ava's first impression on our surly mechanic, Gabriel. This next bit is after Ava agrees to sweep the shop floor in exchange for Gabriel's services (not those kinds of services, get your minds out of the gutter!). I hope you enjoy this brief look at Ava's personality. I have so much fun with her; she's an absolute blast to watch as she drive's Gabriel nuts. (P.S. This is perhaps a bit more than a "wee-bit," but I couldn't bring myself to cut off Ava's mini-interrogation. Sorry!)

# # #

Ava grabbed a seat on the cushioned stool in front of the tool chest near Gabriel and took advantage of his distracted state to study him. He must be out here alone, she thought. It had taken her probably an hour to sweep the entire shop and no one had come around that entire time to see if he was thirsty or hungry or just to say hey. Unless he did have someone, like a girlfriend or wife, who worked in a nearby town somewhere. She canted her head to the side and tried to picture what the girl might be like, but came up with nothing. He just didn’t seem the type to be open with anyone enough to be in a relationship. Of any kind. Standoffish was probably his middle name. She chuckled aloud at that one. Gabriel Standoffish…

“What’s your last name?” she yelled over the music. He didn’t even flinch in acknowledgement. Ava rolled her eyes and hopped off the stool. She loved Metallica—their collaboration with the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra on their S&M album was nothing short of genius—but listening to it at twenty decibels wasn’t conducive for conversation. And Ava was a conversationalist by nature.
Reaching the stereo on the back wall, she turned the dial sharply to the left, instantly taking the metal band down to the same volume level as elevator music before making her way back to her stool.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to touch a man’s stereo?” he grumbled as he worked to tighten a hose.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s impolite not to answer a lady when she asks you a question?”

At that, Gabriel turned only his head to give her a slow once-over before returning to his current task. “When I find a lady, I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

He meant it to sound rude, but Ava heard the slight tilt of a grin framing his words, so it didn’t have the affect he was going for. “I asked you what your last name is.”

“No last name.”

“Who are you, Cher? Of course you have a last name.”

“I meant I’m not telling you my last name, and I don’t want to know yours.”

Ava hopped off her stool again to place herself next to him, sensing he hated his personal space invaded. “Why not?”

Gabriel sighed and pulled his socket wrench out of the depths of the car so he could stand and meet her gaze. Which was exactly what she’d hoped he would do. It’d been too long since she’d seen his strong features and those amazing-as-all-get-out eyes. Seriously, those had to be contacts. No mortal being had eyes that color.

“The less we know about each other the better,” he said as he shoved his wrench in his back pocket and strode over to the icebox in the back. The muscles in his back and shoulders rippled underneath the thin cotton. The thought of feeling them move like that beneath her hands almost made her drool. He grabbed two beers, disposed of their tops and carried them back in one hand by the necks. With the other hand, he found the cigarette behind his ear and stuck it between his lips.

Ick. She hated the smell and taste of smoke. But whatevs. It’s not like she was going to be kissing the guy. Damn, that’s a shame. Ava ogled his full lips and nearly sighed, but kept her lust in-check enough to accept the beer he handed her and take several long pulls from the bottle.

Then she watched as Gabriel made drinking beer look like a spectator sport. He held the bottle casually with the fingertips of his right hand. His left hand was hooked lazily onto his front jeans pocket by his thumb and couldn’t even be bothered to remove the cigarette from his lips. His first two fingers holding the beer lifted and pinched the butt between them before he rotated the bottle, pressed its mouth to his lips and let ounce after ounce of the amber liquid drain into his throat. The bobbing of his Adam’s apple underneath streaks of grease and dirt was a total eye orgasm.

Several seconds passed before she was able to blink. Or think.

Authors Gone Wild! (wherein they act like boobs instead of flashing them)

2012-01-17T10:59:00.003-05:00

By now I'm sure most of you have seen at least a few examples of Authors Behaving Badly in regards to reviews they've found to be less than favorable. No? Well, here's the worst example I've seen. And if that isn't enough for you, simply Google "authors behaving badly" and you can spend days getting lost in the muckety-muck.

I haven't gotten too wrapped up in this whole blowup, but it seems like it's turned into an Interwebz Civil War...only without any civility whatsoever. Authors and Reviewers are choosing sides, sometimes pitting friend against friend, as everyone weighs in--rather heavily--on the subject of authors and reviewers mixing it up.

Everyone has the right to speak their piece. That's a given. In an ideal world, people would take others' feelings into consideration and refrain from being total jagdishes. Unfortunately, our precious world is far from ideal and there are a lot of assholes out there who couldn't give a damn about anyone's feelings. Such is life.

My author friend, Jessa Slade, wrote a post about this whole debacle and used a great analogy, comparing authors and reviewers to unwed parents. I like that analogy, especially since authors are wont to view their stories as their "precious babies."

So, following that line of thinking, I believe the parents in Jessa's analogy should stay far away from one another. You know, all that "and never the twain shall meet" kind of thing. Authors should view it as having a restraining order against them once someone has reviewed their book. At most, a polite nod from across the street to acknowledge the reviewer's presence would be appropriate. And that's even if the review is wonderful! Just like you don't want to hurt your image by bashing the reviewer if they found your book to be less than cookie-dough-wonderful, I think it would seem just as unprofessional to publicly gush your appreciation for a glowing review.

This recent 'splosion of shite is a perfect example of a few bad apples spoiling the whole bunch (here's a Goodreads shelf listing a whole bushel of those bad apples). But with the internet's permanency and lightning-quick ability to make anything viral in a matter of minutes, the spoilage spreads faster and farther than ever before.

The best we can do as authors is write a book to the best of our ability. But once we hand it off to the masses, we can't control how they'll receive it. Hopefully they'll love it, but not everyone will. It's an absolute and unequivocal certainty.

Authors, do yourself a favor, and stop the review-stalking madness. If you must say anything at all, please leave it at, "Thank you for your time," and then go write another book.

Ciao, bellas!

Wee-Bit Wednesday: Calendar Guy Edition

2012-01-11T15:40:00.000-05:00

Hooray for my first Wee-Bit Wednesday of 2012! Now that I'm working on the third book in the Prophecy of Souls trilogy, SOUL SEDUCTION, all of my WBWs for the next couple of months will be from this one. (BTW, yes, I realize I haven't written the second one yet, but #2 isn't being nearly as cooperative as #3 so I have to go with the flow.)

In the first WBW I did for SS (if you didn't see it, you can find it here) we're introduced to the hero, Gabriel, and his German shepherd, Czar, as they watch a woman walk toward them on the lonely stretch of desert road.

In this edition we switch to said woman's point of view as she gets her first good look at the handsome, if not a little surly, shop mechanic who's agreed to help her.

For those who love a good visual, Ava is modeled physically after the Latin pop-star, Shakira.

Playing our calendar boy in this clip is, Gabriel, also known in real life as model Marco Dapper. (Go HERE for more pics and stats of Gabriel...you can thank me later)

Aaaaaaaaand, ACTION!

# # #

He grabbed a gallon of antifreeze from his meager stock and repeated, “Name’s Gabriel. Not Gabe.”

Ava smirked at his back and decided to ignore his surly attitude. As he walked over to the counter in the back corner, she followed and took another moment to admire him. His black hair was a few months overdue for a cut, the ends brushing his eyebrows that arched perfectly over the most killer aqua eyes she’d ever seen. A white cigarette peeked from behind his right ear, but oddly enough, she couldn’t smell the stale stench of smoked tobacco, nor had she noticed any butts lying around. He had to be almost six-and-a-half feet tall with the body of a Navy SEAL in his prime. Wearing nothing but biker boots, faded jeans, a leather cuff on his right wrist, and a grease-smudged wife-beater, the man was calendar material from head to toe. All he needed was a bucket of soapy water to pour over his body, which her vivid imagination happily supplied.

“That’ll be thirty-five dollars.”

The mention of money killed her calendar fantasy and breathed new life into the reality of her situation. “I don’t mean to look a gift mechanic in the mouth, Gabe, but how in the hell do you get off selling a gallon of antifreeze for thirty-five bucks?”

“Antifreeze is fifteen. The ride to your truck is twenty.”

“What?” she cried. “That’s outrageous!”

He shrugged one large shoulder. “That’s business.”

# # #

Isn't he adorable, folks? Okay, well, "adorable" probably isn't the best word, but you know what I mean. Thanks for stopping by and make sure you tune in next Wednesday when Ava tries to con Gabriel and it backfires on her, big time. ;)

Ciao, bellas!

Top Ten Reasons I Suck at Blogging (Part Deux)

2012-01-09T11:00:00.002-05:00

I realized this morning that I should probably get a post up on the ol' blog. I mean, we're already over a week into 2012 and I don't have anything ringing in the new year or saying farewell to the old one. (Although, last month I already posted my predictions for what will happen to me in 2012, which should sort of count.)

Out of sheer laziness, I started checking out my archives, seeing if there's anything in there I could re-post and give new life to. In my quest, I came upon this post wherein I state all the reasons I suck at blogging (with only a little over half of them being actually true). It was then I realized, "Man, I still suck at blogging!" However, the reasons from my first list no longer apply.

So, in the spirit of being honest, I thought I'd rattle off a quick list of CURRENT reasons I suck at blogging, avec pictures. And those reasons are...*drumroll*

10. The last several months I've been spending an inordinate amount of time cutting, revising, rewriting, and tightening my first novel, DESIRES OF THE SOUL, in preparation for my agent query campaign. But the hard work paid off because as of last week, I'm finally done with it. It's now as good as I can get it until I'm lucky enough for an agent or editor to rip it to shreds--er, I mean, gently offer new suggestions--to make it even better.

9. I've been dedicating three hours every day to training my cats, Tigger and Hooch, to do circus-type tricks for a street act as a lucrative side business on the weekends. I saw a guy do it in the Florida Keys so I know it's possible, but they don't seem to be catching on as quickly as I'd hoped. I'm sure it'll be any day now, though.

8. At the end of January my family is moving from our current location in Pittsburgh, PA to San Antonio, TX and there are a lot of details to iron out in a cross-country move, including a week-long trip to San An for fun and house hunting. This is our second big move--the first being from our home state of WI to PA two and a half years ago. This should be our last move though and I'm so excited to finally be able to put down some roots! Sadly, I think romance novels may have skewed my image of the Deep South, because no matter how hard I looked, I couldn't find anyone who looked like this guy. More's the pity.

7. Poodle Painting is one of my new favorite hobbies. Obnoxious you say? Why, yes...yes, it is.

6. After hoping and wishing for over a year, I finally got a NOOK Color for Christmas (thanks hubby!) and proceeded to download and read an obscene amount of books and novellas, forsaking all other things such as writing, blogging, tweeting, and showering.

5. Wanting to do my part in the world to help understand new species, I traveled to Australia as a part of a group who studied the new species of Kangaroo, called the Lazy Kangy. Unlike typical Kangaroos, these adorable creatures are content lazing in the sun, striking Playboy-esque poses to attract their potential mates.

4. I wasted a good two weeks stalking my inbox waiting for an email telling me how I placed in the RCRW Golden Rose contest. I was so ecstatic when the email finally came and I learned I'd placed first in the Contemporary Series category and the agent judge requested a full from me. My first real contest was a complete success!

3. I was acting as a CP and Beta for a couple of good friends. I take that job very seriously and make sure to give them as much feedback as possible. It takes a long time, but what we both get out of the experience is worth it. Not to mention the gift of reciprocity when it's my turn who needs them.

2. I'm a HUGE Transformers fan, so when I spotted THE Bumblebee in the parking lot of the movie theater, I had to stop and schmooze with him. I acted like a total bumbling fool, but he was very sweet and grounded. He let me take this picture of him and we've been pen pals ever since. Come on, if you could be friends with an Autobot, wouldn't you?

And the number one reason I still suck at blogging is...

1. Honestly, I just don't think of it! I don't have near the audience I used to before I went off-grid for a while, so I no longer feel that sense of urgency to put up fresh content. I know, it's a crappy reason. But I just said I had ten of them, not that they were all good ones (or even real, for that matter).

So one of my goals this year is to post once a week. I think that's a reasonable expectation of myself. And because I have a different audience now than I did when I started, perhaps I'll revive an archived post once a month too. Oh, and because I'll be working on writing the sequels to DotS this year, I should have plenty of content to bring back Wee-Bit Wednesdays. Those don't take any time at all. Just a quick copy and paste of a snippet, and voila!

Feel free to berate me if I don't stick to the plan. I respond well to peer pressure. :)

Ciao, bellas!

My Golden Rose Achievment

2011-12-21T15:22:00.000-05:00

I WON! I won I won I won I won . I. WON!

(Does that word look weird to anyone else now? No? Alrighty, moving on then.)

*clears throat*

Hello, friends! If you haven't already guessed, I recently found out

I placed first in the Contemporary Series category
of the RCRW Golden Rose Contest

that I entered a few months back. It was the first real contest I'd ever entered so I'm absolutely ecstatic! On top of that, the literary agent who judged the final round has asked to see my full manuscript. Yay me!

It looks like this is a great omen for
how I predict my 2012 year to go.

The Power of Projection (or, Stuff I Want to Happen in 2012)

2011-12-17T18:35:00.000-05:00

The end of yet another year approaches, and so begins the timeless act of making promises to oneself for the new year. Things we will do better to improve our quality of life and of those around us.

This year I'm going to do something to improve my chances of having a spectacular 2012. I'm going to harness the power of projection by writing about the coming year as though it's already happened. I'm going to carve my goals, wishes, and things I wouldn't mind happening into The Cosmos (otherwise known as the interwebz where anything posted remains in the universe forever and the rules of "take backs" and "do-overs" do not exist), thereby practically ensuring my complete success.

So, without further ado, here is what happened to me in 2012...

Early in the year my dream agent contacted me and asked for a full based on a query I sent her with some sample chapters. After I sent off the full DESIRES OF THE SOUL manuscript, it only took a few days before she contacted me asking if we could speak on the phone.

I had a lovely conversation with her regarding my manuscript. She said it still needed some work, but that she felt passionately about the story and wanted to work with me to build my career. Before we hung up my dream agent offered me representation, to which I accepted enthusiastically (consequently getting me kicked out of the library for interrupting Story Time for Tots with my shouts of "YES YES YES!" while jumping around like a deranged kangaroo).

About this time I discovered a miracle pill that transforms all food into fat-burning, muscle-toning energy. As a result of taking that pill only once I quickly acquired the body I had at seventeen and haven't gained a pound since.

Once I signed the contract with my literary agent I spent the next couple of months working with her to polish and perfect my manuscript to get it into salable shape. As soon as it was ready, my agent sent DESIRES OF THE SOUL out to several NY publishers.

While we waited to hear back from the different editors I finished SOUL SEDUCTION and continued the first draft of SOUL OF A HUNTER, the last two books in the Prophecy of Souls trilogy. I also spent time plotting for the spin-off series, Hunters of the Dark Race (which has the acronym of HotDR and always makes me giggle).

I was completely blindsided and touched when I received word that my kids had secretly entered me in a contest: I came in first place for America's Mother of the Year!

In honor of my award, my family sent me to Napa Valley for a rejuvenating spa trip where I spent the entire week sipping wine, getting pampered, and writing to my heart's content without interruption.

Upon my return, my agent called me with the fantastic news that my manuscript was in a three-way bidding war with top NY publishers! I was beyond ecstatic and agent and I enjoyed a few minutes of telephonic squealing reminiscent of the days when you heard the hunky high school quarterback wanted to ask you to prom.

After a few weeks I was given word by my lovely agent that DotS had found a home with [insert name of amazing publishing house here] in a six-figure, three-book deal!

To celebrate, I went back to the Napa Valley spa and took my literary agent and a handful of my best writing friends with me. After all, without their help, encouragement, and unconditional belief in me I wouldn't have had as successful of a year as I did.

Yes, the year 2012 was indeed a fruitful one, but it wasn't without hard work and determination. They say, "you get back what you put in," and I have every intention of giving everything I've got to being a great wife, wonderful mother, and successful writer. Then again, they also say, "you are what you eat," so I'm not entirely sure how literal I should take them.

I hope all of you are enjoying your holiday season and gearing up to have a fabulous 2012! I know I am. :)

Blasts From the Past (or, Books From My Youth)

2011-11-28T00:04:00.001-05:00

Last week my good friend and contemporary romance author, Ruthie Knox, rediscovered the first romance novel she'd ever read thanks to an interview promoting her debut novel, RIDE WITH ME (release date Feb 2012).

Via Twitter, Ruthie regaled us with snippets of the cheesy eighties dialogue and summarized the diabolically complex conflict (hero was vaguely a ladies' man in the past and the heroine has a flawless moral compass which keeps her life firmly on the correct and inexplicably boring path of goodness, hence the implied severe sarcasm with the adjective "complex"). From her tweets, Ruthie, our friend Cara McKenna, and I created a drinking game (every time heroine gets "warm, fuzzy feeling" DRINK) and made plans to send it to each other through the mail at major turning points in our lives, creating our very own Sisterhood of the Traveling Eighties Romance Novel. And although we won't follow through on either of those fun ideas, it was a riot of a tweet thread.

Ironically enough, when I went home for the Thanksgiving week, my mom pulled out a box of books from my youth. It was so fun to go through them all with my kids and reminisce about the plots and characters that started my love of reading (and eventually writing). I didn't find any of my romance novels in there--those would come a few years later I think--but I had a ton of Christopher Pike books, a good chunk of R.L. Stine books, and a smattering of random YA paperbacks, including a few Choose Your Own Adventures which I eagerly gave to my ten-year-old son hoping to convince him to hop on the "reading is fun bandwagon" his young Xbox brain is resisting so vehemently. ("Look! It's just like your video games where you get to choose what you're going to say and where you go next...except it's in your head! How awesome is that?" Seriously, why don't they make the CYOA books anymore? If we have to bring back the oh-so-wrong neon wardrobe of the eighties, why not those books? It only seems fair.) Also in that box? The only Stephen King book I've ever read, THE DARK HALF.

At any rate, my twelve-year-old daughter chose a small stack that interested her and I picked out a select few that I remember really loving (SIX MONTHS TO LIVE and I WANT TO LIVE by Lurlene McDaniel) and a couple that I didn't so much as remember but wanted to read again out of curiosity.

The first book I read was in the latter category, a YA called MOVING TOO FAST. It's a relatively small paperback which would probably be considered a novella by today's standards. Like Ruthie found with her book, this story had very minimal conflict. The plot went something like this:

Girl meets boy and has lust-at-first-sight moment but doesn't get his name or where he's from
Boy manages to track her down via letter sent to her school and asks her to meet him for dinner at specified time and place if she agrees
Girl meets boy in parking lot and without even learning his name first, they share a kiss
Girl actually knows she loves boy before their appetizer even arrives, despite learning he's a military cadet (she comes from a very hippie, anti-military, passifist family) and her high school's biggest rival
Couple alternates between arguing their different views/opinions and brushing them under the rug to make time for passionate and not-at-all-awkward kissing
Boy declares his love for her at the end of date, she reciprocates
Couple continue emotional whiplash of "I love you's" and "How can you be so narrow-minded?" for the next two weeks until finally their differences erupt in a huge argument for the Black Moment

Now, besides the ridiculousness of knowing they love each other on the first date without any real basis (cue appropriate title), the extreme differences between the two characters are a viable conflict, albeit a rather diluted one in comparison with what we use today.

There were small things that I didn't really love about the book. Like the fact that although it was written in third person, you never get the male main character's POV. You do, however, get POV turns with four or five other minor characters that seem to be setting up plots for future books. I'm not a fan of that. I hate being taken away from the main characters and cringe when I write a scene in a villain's POV for my own books, even knowing it's a necessary evil. I think the other things I felt nit-picky about were just signs of the times: cheesy actions and dialogue, overuse of character names in dialogue, that sort of thing. Not to mention horrendous wardrobes. *snort*

But, even with all of that, I'd still held out hope for the book...until I got to the so-called resolution.

After the big blowup between the main characters due to their immense differences on everything from the government and its military to the roles of men and women in the kitchen, they break up. And rightfully so, the reader feels. But the next day, the boy comes to her house, asking if they can try again and this time go slowly. They both agree to learn to like each other before they love each other this time around, and start it off by shaking on the new agreement.

The. End.

WHAT?!?!

What will going slowly solve? It wasn't the speed in which they met, or dated, or even fell in love that was the problem. The problem was their extreme outlooks on life and their inability to be more open-minded to the other's views. I could have been at least somewhat forgiving if they'd added, "and we do so solemnly swear to listen to each other's opinions and find a common ground." But none of that was even mentioned. Just the speed in which everything happened. It was very "deux ex machina" in an elemental way. Not once in the entire book had they ever resolved anything, or even attempted to do so, instead preferring to use the "agree to disagree" motto so they no longer had to fight.

I don't mean for this post to sound like I'm bashing the books of my youth. This is only one book, after all, and at the ripe old age of ten or eleven in the late eighties, I'm sure I didn't find it lacking in the least. I'm simply sharing my thoughts of it now, after reading it at the age of thirty-four, in the year 2011 (ooh, that sounds so space-agey compared to 1985, doesn't it?), and comparing it to what our books must contain in today's market to even be considered for publication.

YA and romance books alike must have three-dimensional characters. They all need inner conflicts like tragic pasts or damned futures and, in most cases, also need external conflicts to overcome like prejudice or an imminent apocolypse. Whether it's because we've evolved as readers or because our spoiled imaginations require more stimulation in the age of blockbuster movies and elaborate video games, our stories and characters require more depth than what is considered very normal in real life.

In reality, most of us are fairly "normal" and we have everyday problems in our relationships like the couple in MOVING TOO FAST where we disagree with our significant other on something political or the unfair ratio split of housework. But can you imagine what an agent or publisher would say if we pitched that as a story today? If we got any response at all, I wouldn't be surprised if it was "LOL," further illustrating another huge difference between today and twenty-five years ago.

I wonder what books will be like in another twenty-five years and whether authors will be expected to write even more complex characters and conflicts than we do now... Oy.

Meet My Characters: Gabriel

2011-11-11T04:27:00.001-05:00

Gabriel Russo*: hero of SOUL SEDUCTION

Age: 26, going on 46
Height: Tall enough (6' 6")
Weight: Enough to throw around (225)
Hair: Black, windblown & fingercombed, unshaven
Eyes: Girly blue (aquamarine)
Occupation: Mechanic/shop owner
Location: None of your business (Arizona desert)
Father: Dominic, vampire & Hunter for the Dark Race
Mother: Angelica, healer angel & pediatric oncologist
Sister: Jenni, empathic oracle & major pain in the ass

Gabriel is the only son of Dominic and Angelica, the couple who set the Prophecy of Souls in motion 26 years ago with Gabriel's birth. As the Chosen One of the prophecy, he's destined to prevent the mass destruction of mankind's souls. But ever since he was kidnapped at the age of eleven and watched people sacrifice their lives to save his, Gabriel repressed his natural powers and disappeared to the Arizona desert in his early twenties to avoid bringing the Devil's army to his family's door.

With only a stray dog as company, Gabriel pretends to be content fixing cars at his shop in Bum-Fuck Nowhere and ignoring the human population as much as possible.

That is until a wildcat of a woman shows up with her pet puma and refuses to be cowed by his surly attitude and blatant brush-offs. Until he discovers that Ava could be the catalyst to bring about the final battle he's been avoiding, and no amount of denial will save him from his destiny, or her love.

So, what do you think of my current main man? Hunky, right?!

*Pictures are of model/actor Marco Dapper and courtesy of Google Images

I Prefer My Books Nice-n-Steamy

2011-09-23T10:21:00.002-04:00

Now, that said, do I love the sex scenes? Hell, yes, I do!Done right, those scenes are absolutely smoking and full of emotion–yes, Isaid EMOTION. Sex scenes in a romance novel aren’t like reading the assemblyinstructions for furniture, for chrissakes! (Makingsure there was an ample amount of lubrication, he lined up Bolt A with Hole Band inserted it completely until the Nuts at the other end were flush againstthe opening…)

The characters not only go through a myriad of physicalsensations, but emotional ones as well: insecurity, fear, confidence, madness,frustration, elation, revelations, and so many more. And I’ve never read a sexscene that hasn’t altered—either for good or bad—the relationship in some way.

Let’s face it; a couple’s sexual relationship is a HUGEfactor in their lives. You can be the Cleavers outside of the bedroom, but ifyou’re not compatible in the bedroom,you’ll soon turn into the Clintons.And, unless you’ve taken a vow of lifelong abstinence, EVERYONE has sex. So whypretend like it doesn’t happen? Why gloss over what happens between a couplesexually? There are certainly plenty of romances that are of a lighter varietyand keep the heated moments “behind closed doors” so to speak. But I hate notknowing what happens in those moments. Was it hot and heavy? Slow and easy? Twominutes or two hours? Did one of them hold back or was it no holds barred?

I once read an interview with one of my all-time favoriteauthors, Gena Showalter. She told of an early experience she had at one of herbook signings, where a woman walked up to the counter and commented with a lookof disdain on her face that Gena’s books were those “trashy novels.” Gena’sgreat response was…

“What’s so trashy about love and monogamy?”

Indeed! Why are the books categorizedas ROMANCE considered by a large majority of the public to be “trashy”? For thatmatter, why is pornographic material considered to be so taboo? Go into anadult book store (which, for the record, I’m not sure why the word “book” is inthere, because I don’t believe I’ve ever actually seen any books in thosestores) and the wide variety of items is insane. You can get something asinnocently cheeky as penis- or boob-shaped pasta to things you didn’t even havethe imagination to conjure up as possibilities in the bedroom. But does thatmean that any of it is wrong and shameful? No. It means that there’s a varietyof things out there no matter what might float your boat. As long as it’sinvolving consenting adults there shouldn’t be anything considered wrong with it.

The same goes for what we write or read in our romancenovels. Whether the sex is missionary and sweet or upside-down and nasty, it’sa vital part of a relationship.

Look, I understand that “seeing” the sex in a romance bookisn’t everyone’s cup of tea. As one ofmy good writing friends from New Zealand, Serenity Woods, says, “horses forcourses,” which is the Kiwi saying for “to each their own.” Not everyone iscomfortable with reading the smexy scenes, and for those people, there arethankfully tons of romances that are of the much sweeter, “closed door” variety.

But, to me, taking the sex out of a romance novel would be liketaking half of the clues out of a mystery novel. Sure, at the end the mysteryis solved, but you have no idea of how it all came together.

I’ll leave you with this one last thought. I recentlyfinished acting as a CP for my dear friend, Ruthie Knox, for her latest book weaffectionately refer to as Vegas Book. In it, the characters are best friendsand madly in love with each other, but neither thinks the other feels anythingmore than friendship. In a crazy scenario they end up married for the term ofone month and they quickly give in to a friends-with-benefits relationship. Thesex they share is hot and needy and uninhibited, but always very physical as away of preventing a slow love-making that would cause them to risk theirhearts.

In the end, when the heroine has made up her mind that sheneeds to leave the man she secretly loves, she instigates a love-making like I’venever read before. The turmoil, emotion, passion, and heartache combined withtheir physical actions of how they touch one another, hold their gazes, kiss, everything…it was the most poeticallybeautiful scene—not sex scene, butscene in general—I’ve ever read. The heroine's heartache became mine as she expressed her love for him as well told him goodbye, all without words, as they made love for the first time.

If Ruthie had chosen to not show that scene, I wouldn’t haveunderstood what drove the characters’ next actions. Or, at the very least, Idefinitely wouldn’t have related to them as deeply as I did. And if we can't get our readers to relate to our characters on a bone-deep level and get them to root for the happy ending, then we've failed our readers and our characters.

And that, myfriends, is why...

I will always prefer my romance books nice-n-steamy.

Ciao, bellas!

Top 10 Things I Learned from Writing a Book: #8 Sometimes you must kill that which you love

2011-08-19T17:18:00.004-04:00

After I finished one of my drafts, I sent it off to my threebeta readers for some good ole crit-love. They all came back with a commontheme:

The first three chapters are great (*puffs chest out in pride*), but notnecessary for the story...(*dagger to the heart…*) Axe ‘em. (*…aaannd twist!*)

I did the whole, “Really? Huh. I’ll look it over and givethat some serious thought.”

But what I was screaming in my head was, “Are you effingkidding me?!?! Do you have any idea how much I love those chapters? How will people know what their relationshipwas like before he was turned into a vampire? How are they supposed to see howviciously he struggled against them to spare the woman he loves the same fate?Not to mention how his turning actually helped his subsequent brilliant escape.It’s just not possible. So put. Down. The crack pipe.”

As you can see, I wasn’t overly distraught by theirsuggestion, but definitely mildly concerned.

After all, anything we write isdone with nothing less than metaphorical blood, sweat, and tears—and possiblyliterally if you happen to get a paper cut while writing longhand in Augustwith a broken air conditioner immediately after slicing onions for yoursandwich—so the thought of cutting out anything from your manuscript ispositively gut-wrenching. And those were my beginning chapters. They'd been with me from the very start of this writing journey. I loved those chapters.

However, from their Objective Seats in the Non-Biased Sectionof the amphitheater, my betas could see that those scenes were just prolongingthe reader’s introduction to the true conflict of the story. The here and now,so to speak. And though it took me some time, I came to realize something veryimportant…

They were right.

After crying in my cornflakes and wiping my nose on mysleeve, I finally wrote a new beginning that started the story in thethick of things. At last, the beginning had punch, an edgy and dark intensitythat (hopefully) drew the reader in and posed all sorts of questions that would(hopefully) keep them turning the pages. I had successfully killed my darlings.

(Actually, it was more of a gentle extraction. Then I lovingly placed them onmy flash drive where I can take them out on occasion and reminisce about thegood times we shared and that one crazy night when…never mind.)

In the end, I added a revised and shortened version of myoriginal first chapter after receiving a helpful rejection by an agent wholoved everything about the first few chapters, but didn’t feel a strongconnection with the characters. By reattaching that first chapter, I think I’vegiven that connection back to the reader, without going overboard on backstory. It was definitely one of my favoritescenes between my main characters and I’m glad it’s back in.

Well, at least it’s in for now. Who knows what tomorrowholds. I might just have to kill it again. And if I do, it’ll probably be forthe best.

So, spill...did you ever have to slice and dice even though it made you want to cry and kick and scream and possibly embark on a Twinkie-binge until you exploded?

If All the World had a CP...

2011-08-04T07:43:00.002-04:00

I know, I know...I've slacked on my Top 10 list. I promise I'll get back to that soon, but a thought occurred to me the other day that I'd like to share. So here goes.

I currently have 4 acting CPs (Crit Partners) for my WIP, Soul Seduction. I will fully admit that I'm probably making things a tad harder than I should by having 4 because the more diverse feedback you receive, the more confusing it can be as to what actions to take with their suggested changes. However, there's no way I'd ever want to drop any of them because they all bring different talents to the table, and amazingly enough, their comments never conflict with one another. I'm so grateful to each of them for their insight and unconditional support.

But, the specific incident that brought me to this topic is my one CP, Ella. That's not really her name, by the way--it's Lea Ann (pronounced as Lee Ann)--but my fingers didn't like typing her full name, so I switched to LA, but saying those letters together sounded awkward, so then I changed the A to the short sound and when spoken (or thought), it becomes Ella. But I digress...as usual. (sorry!)

So Ella is reading my first novel, Desires of the Soul. I should also point out that she gets paid to edit fiction for publishing companies. But when I gave her DotS, I thought, "Go ahead and read it, honey, and tell me if there are any slow parts or parts you think I could cut to get my word count down." Because I have edited the CRAP out of that book, I figured she'd be more or less just reading for enjoyment with a comment here and there about repeated words or unnecessary sentences.

I certainly did NOT expect her to come back with comments like:

Why is she acting this way?
I don't understand his motivation.
Why is she letting him get away with that?
I feel like she's not reacting strongly enough here.

When I got the couple of chapters back that said all that, my first reaction was, "WHAT?!?!"

Then when I stopped hyperventilating and read my chapter with a fresh mind, I said, "Holy f&$%, she's right."

Here's the thing: I consider my strength as a CP to others my ability to recognize unnatural reactions in the story's characters. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I feel I'm very good at character/relationship development. So I was more than a little stunned to find out that I hadn't recognized it in my own writing!

My husband is fond of the saying, "Those who can't do, teach." But maybe that saying is incomplete. Maybe it should be something along the lines of, "Those who can't do, need a CP." Because here's what it comes down to: it's much easier to see someone else's mistakes than our own, whether it's with writing or professional football. How many times have we heard men yell at the coaches on the television because they called the wrong play. Or at the quarterback because that other dude "was wide open!"

So, if everyone in the world had an awesome CP who could show them where they're not quite hitting the mark and offer suggestions on how they might make it there, maybe everyone could do what they strive to be good at.

Okay, so maybe the CP theory can't really apply to everyone and everything. But wouldn't it be nice if it did? :)

All I know is, I'm so grateful to all of my CPs and Betas who don't let me settle for mediocrity in my writing. I might grumble and complain like a teenager made to redo her homework correctly this time, but in the back of my mind I'm so thankful for all of their tough love. Because it means they believe I can do better, and they believe in me. And I love them for it.

Until next time,

Ciao, bellas

Wee-Bit Wednesday: Desert Walker Edition

2011-07-27T05:51:00.000-04:00

One of my regular posts, uh, back when I posted regularly, was what I called Wee-Bit Wednesdays. This was my take on the Teaser Tuesdays that everyone in the blogosphere did at the time. Same premise, different day. [side note: now some people do WIP Wednesdays, like my phenomenally talented friend, Ruthie Knox - check her out too!]

Now that I once again have WIPs (two to be exact) I want to bring this back as an opportunity to show you guys what I'm working on and bring you along on my journey as I attempt my second and third books in the Prophecy of Souls trilogy.

(Also, I'm hoping to draw you into my web deep enough that you'll put on the velour sweat suits, drink the kool-aid and eventually purchase my books when they're published. But, you know, semantics.)

So, to kick off this awesome weekly (or bi-weekly, or bi-monthly...okay, really the only guarantee is that it will always be on a Wednesday...which Wednesdays will be a fun surprise, much like finding the center of a tootsie pop) here is a Wee-Bit from the final book of the trilogy, Soul Seduction.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gabriel took several long pulls of his cold beer, not even taking the time to enjoy the taste, just needing it to quench his thirst and give him the false sense of hydration. Looking out at the dusty highway and stretch of desert beyond, he wondered how his family was doing back in Chicago. How long had it been since he’d called? Six months? Nine? He reached down with one hand and absently scratched Czar’s head as he tried to remember. Well, however long it had been, it’d been a while ago. He should probably call. They didn’t have his number or his address. Their only regular proof of life was the unmarked package he had to ship them once a month. His mom was probably having fits and ranting about stress wrinkles, which was impossible, considering she’d stopped aging twenty-six years ago before he’d even been born.

Czar sat up quickly and looked down the endless stretch of desert highway.

"Customer coming, boy?" It wasn’t unusual for the dog to sense or hear the people who were forced to walk to his shop. In the middle of absolutely nowhere, his place was the only one for miles that could offer repairs if something should go wrong. He also had a gas pump he kept stocked for the occasional piss-poor cross-country planner, and if they needed it, a clean and sparse room to sleep for a night or two. He hated the intrusion on his privacy, hated dealing with touristy travelers, but it helped pay the bills and fund his restoration hobby, so he dealt with it as best he could.

As the figure started to take shape behind the wavy lines of heat rising from the asphalt, Gabriel drained the last of his beer and set it on the table. This was no ordinary cross-country tourist. For one, she was alone, and no male companion in his right mind would send her on ahead while he stayed behind. And for two, she didn’t have that panicky oh-my-God-what-am-I-going-to-do edge to her that most people had when they approached him in hopes he was the oasis they’d seen advertised on the roadside signs he’d made.

Nope. This girl was actually sauntering up the highway as though this type of thing happened to her all the time.

A straw-woven cowboy hat protected her from the harsh desert sun and prevented him from getting a good look at her face, but as his eyes trailed farther down, he could’ve cared less what her face looked like. The tails of her white sleeveless button-down top were tied in a knot under her breasts, baring a long and slender midriff that damn near gave the impression she was half-naked until the band of her low-rise jean shorts ruined it just as he was getting to the good part. Fortunately, the material was so minimal that the bottoms of her pockets peeked out from under the frayed hems, revealing mile-long tanned legs with cowboy boots eating up the road in graceful strides.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for stopping by, and I hope you have a fantastic Hump Day!

Ciao, bellas.

Rejections are No BFD

2011-07-22T18:59:00.000-04:00

Typically speaking, I don’t have a thick skin. Look at methe wrong way and I’ll instantly run through a gamut of offenses I might beguilty of to cause just such a glance. In all reality, the person might justhave a piece of dust in their eye and the twitchy-narrowing-eye-thingy wasn’t adisplay of loathing, but simply an attempt to eradicate the microscopic dustbunny.

While writing my first book, I often worried about theinevitability of rejection. Not only are writers rejected 9 out of 10 times[note: not a real statistic; I’m just guessing], but also more often than not,they’re form rejections, so we don’t even know the reason behind it. This isthe same as that “Wrong Look” I just mentioned. It tells us there’s a problemin the agent’s eyes (pun intended), but it doesn’t tell us what the problem is.

There are lots of posts and articles and probably carvingson bathroom stalls with advice on how to deal with rejection as a writer. Afterall, every writer–whether you’re Stephen King or the literary equivalent ofWilliam Hung–gets rejected.

And that, my friends, is the single mostimportant lesson I want you to remember.

It happens to EVERYONE!

According to my calculations, since starting my search foran agent, I’ve been rejected 16 times. I’ve had 3 rejections with personalfeedback as to why they said no (with notes to feel free to query with futureprojects), but the rest have been form rejections or the “no news means badnews” rule. Meaning, if you haven’t heard from them within a specific timeperiod, it means they’re passing.

But even with all of those rejections, I feel strangelyoptimistic. I don’t even bat an eye when I get a rejection in my inbox. Iexpect them to be a rejection before I even click on it, and when I scan forthat telltale word “unfortunately,” I give a mental shrug and file the emailaway.

That’s what happened today when I received a form letterfrom one of my agent top picks. I really would’ve loved to work with her, butfor whatever reason, she didn’t feel the same. Maybe she has too many things that are similar. Maybe shedoesn’t like my voice. Maybe she doesn’t think it’s marketable. Maybe one ofher loved ones was run over by a Maxwell House Coffee truck and just seeing mylast name on a regular basis would be too traumatic. (What?! Anything’spossible.)

So when I read her email I said to myself, “Hey, self, don’tsweat it. It’s no BFD.”

Because one of these days, I’m going to open my inbox andI’ll have agents requesting fulls. And eventually, one of those agents is goingto be so enthusiastic about my book, they’re going to ask to represent it (andhopefully the remaining two books in the trilogy). I don’t think I’m anywherenear great yet, but I think someday I could be. I also think my manuscript is apretty-darn-good book, and with the right agent’s help, could probably be apretty-darn-great book.

All I have to do is never give up. Never quit querying.Never quit learning. Never quit writing. And whether that perseverance pays offtomorrow or five years from now, eventually, I’ll be able to utter those threemagic words every writer dreams about…

I. Am. Published.

I encourage all of my writing friends to adopt this sameoutlook, and someday we can all try to one-up each other on who had the mostrejections before that one agent/editor/publisher realized just how genius wereally are.

Ciao, bellas!

Top 10 Things I Learned from Writing a Book: #9 Trim the fat & get to the good stuff

2011-07-12T22:33:00.004-04:00

So I’ve finished my first novel, Desires of the Soul, and it’s caused me to reflect on the things I’ve learned. Naturally, I want to share them with all of you. Maybe you’ve learned the same things; maybe you were lucky enough to already possess this wisdom. Either way, for the next couple of months, I’ll be posting a new lesson-learned every week (or so). I hope you’ll check back and weigh in with thoughts or lessons of your own. So without further ado, here is...

#9. Trim the fat & get to the good stuff

This is something I still have a hard time with. For those who have read my previous post I wish I was an under-achiever, you know that I’m not the writer who fleshes out the book and then fills it in with details later. I’m also not the writer who can be described as “succinct” in her writing.

Nope, I’m long-winded, an embellisher, a detailed digresser. The practice of “short and sweet”
completely escapes me.

But if we wax poetic about what our main character had for breakfast and how it was prepared, we’re slowing our pace down and getting away from what’s truly important in the scene. So unless those pancakes trigger a vital memory or are the cause of his food poisoning, skip it. Take it out. You don’t need it.

I’ll give you an example from my first chapter of how I trimmed the fat and changed an entire paragraph into one simple sentence…

Original version:
A car pulled to a stop in the middle of the street and the girl behind the wheel called for Angelica’s attention. As she and the girl made plans for a get-together in the near future, he noticed two frat boys, clad only in their boxers, sprinting across the lawn in their direction. They each carried a bucket of water balloons and used their free hands to pelt each other with the colored grenades. Obviously not concerned with civilian casualties, one of them ducked behind Dom’s much larger frame to use him as a human shield. The coward’s opponent launched an attack. Before Dom could warn her...

Revised version:
One of the idiots currently involved in a water balloon fight rushed past them as his opponent launched an attack. Before Dom could warn her...

My original version wasn’t necessary. The girl Angelica started talking to was only to get her distracted, she had no other purpose. The frat boys have no significance other than to act as a catalyst for what follows the balloon’s explosion. So why does the reader care what they’re wearing or how they’re toting the balloons? They don’t. All the reader needs to know is that there is a water balloon fight going on and one of the balloons explodes right behind her on the sidewalk.

So, if someone tells you to trim the fat or tighten a scene up, they’re probably suggesting you get rid of anything that’s not absolutely necessary for the reader to know. So axe ‘em and leave only those things that drive the story forward and keep the pace.

Until next time, happy trimming!

Ciao <3

*Backlist for this Top 10 list:
#10. Fiction writing is a whole different animal

Top 10 Things I Learned from Writing a Book: #10 Fiction writing is a whole different animal

2011-06-29T03:31:00.000-04:00

As it turns out, spinning witty tales of my life via email is completely different from writing exceptional fiction. Who knew? When I started out, I sure as hell didn’t.

Friends and family often commented on how much they enjoyed reading my tales, or how funny they were, or that I should be a writer. [Aside: In all honesty, the only time I'm funny and witty is when I'm writing. If you were to speak to me in person you'd think Paul Rudd used me as a character study for his role in I Love You, Man.] I loved their reactions—after all, why try to be entertaining if no one appreciates it—but I never took their off-handed career advice seriously. To me, it was just another way for them to say, “Hey, that was great!”

Much later, when I actually decided to start writing (instigated by events unrelated to the aforementioned comments), I had no idea there was so much to learn. For example, 9 times out of 10, the word “that” isn’t necessary. It’s just an extra word screwing up the flow of our sentence.

That’s another one: the flow of a sentence. Sometimes a sentence just sounds “off” until you add a word or take one away. Or maybe it’s even just a syllable off to get that particular cadence right.

And we all know the perils of telling vs. showing. Generally speaking, passive voice is to be avoided as much as possible (and yes, the irony of using passive voice in that sentence is not lost on me).

Dialogue is very difficult for a lot of people. You have to make your characters sound believable, true to who they are and conversational all at the same time. And if that wasn’t enough, you also have to add in little things in between—like Gary pouring coffee or Susie clicking her pen or Megan bouncing her baby on her hip—so you don’t have what’s referred to as “talking heads.”

Of course, these are just a few of the things I learned about writing good fiction. If I wrote down everything I’ve learned thus far, it would be another book. Hence, the reason dozens and dozens of books have been written on the topic.

Bottom line: I learned quickly that I had no idea how to write fiction properly until I immersed myself in the writing community and learned the Dos and Don’ts one article, blog post, book, or workshop at a time. Every week I learn just a little bit more and I hope I never stop.

What about you? When you started writing fiction, did you learn a little at a time through articles and workshops? Or were you already trained in the art via school or other technical training? Do tell!

Yes, But How Does He Smell?

2011-05-09T00:01:00.105-04:00

Hola! Notice anything different? Go ahead and take a second to think about it...no, it's not my hair...no, I haven't waxed my eyebrows (recently)... It's all the extras on the blog, sillies! Check out the "follow me" options on the right: twitter, facebook, email. Awesome, right? I know, so go ahead and click on them...yeah, right now...no, I'll wait. Did you also notice the additional couple of pages at the top? I now have my future projects listed (in case you were dying to know what my Muse has in store for me) and a very lengthy essay that answers all of your hard-hitting questions about moi! You. Are. Welcome! *lol*

Okay, enough of that nonsense.

Today's guest (I'll write my own post soon, I promise!) is my writing friend, Ruthie Knox. I met her through a mutally entered contest where, after reading her entry, I shamelessly wrote an entire essay in the comments section on how much I loved her writing and gave her my email address in hopes she'd contact me to talk shop.

Fortunately for me she wasn't put off by my mild stalker behavior and we've been corresponding ever since. I've read a couple of her finished manuscripts and, believe me when I tell you, she is an absolute genius when it comes to contemporary romance. Not only did she sign with her dream agent in under four days, but said agent is in the process of pitching her books in AS IS condition. (I know, right?!)

I asked Ruthie to share one of her writing tips with us and she definitely did not disappoint...

Yes, But How Does He Smell?

There’s this scene in When Harry Met Sally where Harry and Sally are strolling in Central Park and talking about fantasies. Sally confesses to Harry she’s had this recurring dream ever since she was twelve, but it’s too embarrassing to tell him about. Then she tells him.

“Okay, there’s this guy,” she admits.

“What’s he look like?” Harry wants to know.

“I don’t know, he’s just kind of faceless,” she says.

“Faceless guy. Okay, then what?”

“He rips off my clothes.”

“Then what happens?”

“That’s it.”

Harry is flabbergasted. “That’s it? A faceless guy rips off your clothes, and that’s the sex fantasy you’ve been having since you were twelve. Exactly the same.”

“Sometimes I vary it a little.”

“Which part?”

“What I’m wearing.”

*insert rimshot here*

I love this scene. I love it because Harry finds the dream fantasy so disappointing, and I love it because Sally doesn’t.

I love it because it perfectly captures the way real-life fantasies often consist of very little -- just one detail, one image or action that makes us go Unh, or Ooh, or whatever internal brain-noise you make when you see something or read something or think something that revs your engine.

And I love it because it also perfectly captures that when you have an audience, just describing the Unh moment will never cut it. The scene reminds me that as a writer of erotic romance, I not only have to provide the Unh moment, I also have to furnish the rest of the fantasy, or Harry will be disappointed.

The mechanics of writing sex scenes, or at least sexy ones, have been on my mind lately as I’ve been revising an 800-word sex scene from my second manuscript into a 2,700-word one. I tend to write short and then layer up later on. The dialogue comes first, and the actions, but when I’m deep in the first draft I have a hard time remembering to consider what the characters are thinking, and even more so what they are experiencing -- the sights, sounds, smells, tastes. My writing brain wants to skitter right over those details, because thinking them up, those just-so descriptions, is really hard work. And yet those are the details that so often matter in a novel. Those are the details that make the reader go Unh.

Take smell. In romance novels, smell is sexy. Women like the way men smell, and vice versa. So how do you write it? How does your hero smell?

He smells good.

Well, yeah. But nobody’s going to go Unh over that line.

He smells fantastic.

Keep trying.

Here’s where a lot of authors default to cologne, aftershave, or perfume:

She caught the scent of his cologne, and it made her pulse race.

The light scent of her perfume drove him wild.

Okay, fine, we’re getting somewhere, but not anywhere especially original or interesting. What does his cologne smell like? As a reader, I refuse to be titillated by such vague description, so as an author I try to do better.

Also, here’s where I confess that I can’t stand any artificial scents, so I find references to cologne and perfume and aftershave mildly repulsive. I’m constitutionally incapable of writing heroes and heroines who repulse me, so I have to seek alternative smells.

There are two directions to go from here: get more specific, or find an analogy/simile/synecdoche to do the work for you.

Getting more specific requires thought, but it can be worth the trouble. You can try pinpointing actual, recognizable scents from the fragrance panoply. Sandalwood (not my favorite, but very popular). Lemons. Mint. Pine. Wintergreen. Whatever floats your boat, really.

I think it works better, though, to look for smells that link to your character. What does your hero do? What is he like? Would it make a difference to how he smells? Karen Foley has a novel for Harlequin Blaze, Flyboy, in which the hero is an Air Force jet pilot. He comes home from work reeking of jet fuel, and the heroine practically passes out with lust. I loved that detail. It made me go Unh. It made me want to find a jet-fuel-smelling man and sniff him.

It also reminds me that smells don’t have to be exotic to be sexy. The smell of sawdust from fresh-cut lumber is one of my favorites. Find me a hero who smells like sawdust, piney and resinous, and I will melt for the guy. You can make him a handyman or a lumberyard foreman or a construction worker or whatever you want. Just make him smell good. (And give him a toolbelt while you’re at it.)

Also, you don’t always have to tell the truth. Ranchers probably smell like sweat and animals, dirt and manure. But if you want to get my attention, find me a rancher who smells like leather work gloves and rust. Sage crushed under a boot heel. Sun-warmed denim. Paint me a picture of the way he smells that tells me who he is, what he is, and why the heroine wants him.

Or give me somebody more ordinary. Give me an office guy in a suit who smells like coffee and clean cotton, like photocopier toner and the peppermints he keeps in a jar on his desk. Give me a painter who smells like linseed oil and turpentine. Now I’m paying attention.

You can even get fancy if you want to, take the reader on a little sense journey. I wrote this the other day:

He smelled like his soap, spicy and exotic, bringing to mind peppercorns and trade voyages and the mysteries of the East. But beneath that he smelled like a man, like himself, and she buried her nose in the crook of his neck and inhaled, wanting to taste him on the back of her tongue. Wanting to memorize this indelible marker of who he was.

I’m not claiming it’s poetry--it’s actually still a little sneaky and vague--but at least it’s not “He smelled great.” At least it’s not “He rips off my clothes.”

Of course, smell is just one sense. We’ve got a bunch of other ones. Guidelines for writing a good sexy scene often say you have to bring as many senses into the scene as possible, and it’s great advice. But I try to take it one step further and submit my descriptions to the Harry test. If Harry is disappointed, I figure my (future, theoretical) readers will be too.

Ruthie Knox figured out how to walk and read at the same time in the second grade, and she hasn’t looked up since. She spent her formative years hiding romance novels in her bedroom closet to avoid the merciless teasing of her brothers and imagining scenarios in which someone who looked remarkably like Daniel Day Lewis recognized her well-hidden sex appeal and rescued her from middle-class Midwestern obscurity. After graduating from Grinnell College with an English and history double major, she earned a Ph.D. in modern British history that she’s put to remarkably little use. These days, she writes contemporary romance in which witty, down-to-earth characters find each other irresistible in their pajamas, though she freely admits this has yet to happen to her. Perhaps she needs more exciting pajamas. Ruthie abhors an epilogue and insists a decent romance requires at least three good sex scenes. You can find her at http://www.ruthieknox.com.

Guest Piece: Date a Girl Who Reads

2011-05-01T16:46:00.000-04:00

Happy May, blogosphere! Today I'm going to share with you a truly remarkable creative writing piece that I believe will speak to all of us in the literary world.

In today's fast-paced and high-tech world of social media, it never ceases to amaze me how I find my next connection. I've met so many wonderful people through this blog, following people on twitter, entering writing contests, and even from commenting on articles of a newsletter.

My aunt in Indiana is responsible for introducing me to today's guest, 18 year-old, Adrian Hansford. They're FaceBook friends through a mutual love of horses. When Adrian wrote this creative writing piece - the first one she was genuinely happy with, as she put it - she sent it to my aunt to see what she thought. Knowing I would love it just as much as she did, my aunt sent it on to me.

The fact that Adrian wrote something like this at such a young age speaks volumes. If I had been writing as eloquently as this at her age, I would've been published ages ago. I knew immediately this is one of those pieces that needs to be shared on a viral scale. I hope you'll join me in celebrating this piece. Who knows, maybe it'll even help a few relationships. :)

So, without further ado (and with Adrian's permission), here is...

Date a Girl Who Reads

Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was ten.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. Do you see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellowed and fragile, smelling of adventure and romance, of thrill and sorrow.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s already too engrossed in her book to even smell the aroma of her French vanilla coffee to her right. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book and buy her another cup of coffee, chances are hers is already beyond cold.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Poe, Longfellow, Yeats, Dickinson. Provide her with novels from C.S. Lewis and J.K. Rowling. Even if it's crap, she'll devour it. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does, she has to give it a shot somehow.

Do not lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie, for behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world. But it will hurt her, especially if she has read much Nicholas Sparks.

Do not be afraid to fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. That the darkest hour is always right before dawn. Because girls who understand books, understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are to a true reader, a true lover of books.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype. She will find the beauty and romance in originality, because too often she reads of clichés.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. Your laugh, and hers, will become the theme song of your lives together. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes.

Adrian Hansford was born and raised in North-Central Indiana. She is an aspiring photographer, avid equestrian, and an amateur writer. To see a small portion of her photography visit her FB Fan Page, Last Trick Photography. For more information, to see more diversified photography by Last Trick Photography, or to set up a photo shoot, you can contact Adrian at pocoslasttrick@gmail.com.

Debunking the "Smut Book" Stereotype

2011-03-03T18:05:00.002-05:00

In my carefree college days, I was part of a group of girls affectionately known as The Smut Club. We devoured romance novels one after another, swapping them back and forth and swooning over the latest alpha-male’s romantic overtures, while sipping coffee shop mochas we could barely afford.

Little did I know that the popular term “Smut Book” I had bandied about in my younger years would make my older-self cringe with a tight smile to hold my tongue in a cage of clenched teeth.

On occasion, I’ve tried defending my beloved genre to those with the preconceived notion that all romance books are the female adaptation of Playboy for the literary inclined. More often than not, their response was a fair imitation of John Cleese’s character, Arthur Nudge, in Monty Python’s Flying Circus (“Oh, riiight! Nudge, nudge, wink, wink, say no more, say no more!”).

I have to say, I really resent that some people (even some of my friends and family members) have the misconception that people who write – or, for that matter, read – romance novels aren’t as intelligent, well-read, clever or talented as writers in other genres. It’s totally ridiculous and completely unfounded.

Romance novels have the same basic parts as every other novel: external conflicts (man vs. man, man vs. society, man vs. nature, etc.) and internal conflict (man vs. himself). The one ingredient romance novels have that set them apart from other genres is the importance of the relationship and love that builds between the main characters. It’s the foundation of the story and it’s that relationship journey that I crave and the main reason I’m so fond of (read: addicted to) the romance genre.

Notice, if you will, that I said relationship journey. Not SEX! (Although, I will freely admit that I thoroughly enjoy the knock-my-socks-off sex scenes too. Hey, there’s nothing wrong with wanting a little sex-icing on my relationship-cake!)

Through the author’s words, experiencing the characters’ ups and downs, their moments of struggle and moments of abandon – both individually and together – all while dealing with the external obstacles keeping them from their end goal is absolutely amazing. In these books, love conquers all, and isn’t that a wonderful notion? Obviously, we know there’s going to be a Happily Ever After, but how they get there is the real thrill. The journey is what makes that HEA so very worth it.

Referring to a romance novel as a “Smut Book” implies that the only thing between those covers is scene after scene of steamy exploits that put the Kama Sutra to shame. You’re deliberately discrediting the other hundreds of pages that aren’t sexual in nature.

In my book, Desires of the Soul, three “sex scenes” take up less than thirty pages of the double-spaced, 400+ manuscript pages. So what do you suppose makes up the rest of those pages? It certainly isn’t foreplay, people. (Even the best heroes aren’t that good!) No, those other pages are filled with exciting things like plot, sub-plot, character development, story arcs, world building, foreshadowing, conflict and more.

It’s not easy to create rules and consistencies for a made-up world, create characters with complex pasts and unique personalities, then give those characters goals, only to then throw obstacles in their path big enough to make the culmination of reaching those goals worth it.

Creating all of those aspects, and then tying them all together into a page-turning story that keeps the reader up late into the night, is the challenge that every writer faces no matter the genre.

So, to anyone who has made the innocent (or not so innocent for some) mistake of using terms like “trash novel” or “smut book,” please consider using the proper and respectful name of “romance novel.” To call it anything else is degrading to the talent, research, and ingenuity it took the author to write said book.

Remember, just because several of the scenes between a book’s covers are set between the sheets and worthy of a post-coital cigarette, doesn’t mean the book is any less amazing or relevant than the latest Stephen King or J.K. Rowling novel.

Until next time, happy reading!

I wish I was an under-achiever...

2010-08-22T14:49:00.001-04:00

Before I continue, let me state that my use of the term “under-achiever” in this particular post is not in its usual derogatory tone, but rather something I aspire to be as a writer in reference to the dreaded Word Count.

For example, if a novel in your genre is typically 90K words then you have achieved that goal when you reach approximately 90K words. If you finish your novel significantly less than that, then you have quite literally under-achieved. Right?

Contrarily, if you were to write…oh, say, a Paranormal Romance novel…and comes in at almost 135K WORDS, then you’ve by far surpassed the status of over-achieving and gone straight to, “Oh my God!”

That’s right, you guessed it. I went WAY over an acceptable first-novel-word-count. Now, I’ve looked at my scenes from every angle possible and tried to picture my story without them and just can’t bring myself to cut any of them except one. But as I was going through my MS this time I realized something about halfway through. Cutting scenes isn’t my problem. It’s cutting words.

I was always confused when I heard authors say, “I’m doing line edits now.” What the heck were line edits? Who, in their right mind, would go back and analyze every line in their book? I’ll tell you who. A writer who knows what the hell they’re doing, that’s who.

The first run-through of my MS on these latest edits (which were complete overhauls, I might add) I was taking out all of the unnecessary “that” uses and correcting paragraph breaks. Easy stuff like that. Because after all, I thought, I've done so much work on this thing, there's only going to be MINOR edits that need to be done now. It's basically a done deal.

But once I started getting closer to the middle I realized there was A LOT of text I could cut just by choosing different words. For instance, I could take a sentence like this:

“Your body can’t digest regular food now that you’re a vampire.”

And change it to this:

“Vampires can’t digest regular food.”

For my purposes, the second sentence works just as well as the first, but it knocked 6 words off of my count. That doesn’t sound like a lot, but they add up fast.

Another habit I have that adds to my superfluous word count is my love for description. But I go overboard. I add in so many adjectives and adverbs that it turns a perfectly succinct sentence into an entire paragraph. I wax poetic until the reader forgets what the hell it is I’m waxing about. (Okay, maybe I’m not that bad, but you get the picture.) But whether you call it babbling or embellishing, it all has the same result.

Too. Many. Words.

So, even though I had the first half of my MS marked up with red pen, I went back to beginning and started marking it up with purple. I looked at every sentence as an individual. If it wasn’t pertinent to the story, I cut it. If they were unnecessary descriptions, I cut it. If I could think of a different word – or set of words – that would say the same thing in less, I cut it.

At this point I’ve only fixed about a quarter of my edits in the computer version of my novel and I’ve already knocked off about 2K words. That’s not bad at all. My goal is to not have anything more than 130,499 words, so when I query I can say 130K (you’re supposed to round to the nearest 500), but I’m hoping I can get it into the upper 120s.

What have I learned from this experience? With my next novel I have a feeling I’ll be analyzing my sentence structure and word choices a lot earlier in the game to prevent such a gross over-achieving status. I don’t hold out any hopes for ever being an under-achiever with word counts. I’ll just never be that person that can throw down a skeleton and flesh it out after.

But maybe, with practice and time, I’ll eventually just be a regular ol’ achiever.

Ciao!

P.S. My earlier post boasting about my new website is now obsolete. I cancelled that account with VistaPrint. Loved the template, hated the price. I'm still on the prowl for the right hosting company for my website. I'll let you all know when I make my final decision. Sorry for the tease with the other one!

Occasional Update

2010-08-04T13:02:00.001-04:00

**Update: I canceled my trial website. I'll give you an updated link when I have a permanent one to give. Thank you!**

Hello to all of my blogging friends!!! I can't tell you how much I miss all of you. I miss all of our interactions and camaraderie super-duper mucho much. :)

I don't have much time to post much of anything except a quickie update, so here goes (if there are any of you out there that are still listening)....

I have a website! I'm not sure if it's a permanent thing yet since this is just a trial period, but I love how it looks for now. The problem is that it's through VistaPrint (yes, that annoying place that advertises the free business cards), which isn't known for their webhosting. I love the way the site looks (the template is pretty much perfect for me), but in order to get very fancy or do anything like email campaigns or anything extra...they charge you for every extra feature over the $10/month. That's freakin' expensive! I've tried very hard to research all of the web hosting companies out there and I'm very torn as to who to go with. I need cheap, easy and design-flexible...so if anyone has any opinions or information for me, please share! You can leave it in the comments or email me!

Anyway...here's the website! Visit and sign my guestbook!

As far as editing Desires of the Soul goes...it's going awesome. My betas, the JBs, have helped me SO immensely! Thanks a million girls! I'm still working on it and I'm about half-way through, but the ending is going to take some work. Unfortunately, I can't seem to get my word count down, so I think it'll still end up being somewhere around 133-134K words! Yikes. But I'm SO excited about the changes I've made already. I know it sounds biased, or even egotistical, but I can't help it...I LOVE THIS BOOK! I can't wait until the day comes where I can share it with all of you.

Well, I have to go. I hope you're all doing fabulous and please don't hesitate to contact me via email. I'll always have time to correspond through email!

Ciao for now...

FAN-tastic Friday: Shannon Whitney Messenger

2010-06-18T08:02:00.003-04:00

GLM: Hello, I’m Gina Leigh Maxwell and you’re listening to Passions on Paper on WPOP, the blogosphere’s hit station for paranormal romance and beyond.

The theme of today’s show is FAN-tastic Friday and I’m very excited to have one of my favorite fans with us in the studio today. She’s the Cat Girl from Southern Cal and a fellow triple-namer. She hates blogging and loves vlogging…please welcome Shannon Whitney Messenger to the show! *recorded track plays of applause and cheers*

Thanks so much for being here today, Shannon! It’s so great to have you with us.

SWM: Aw, thanks for having me Gina, it’s great to be here. Oh, but one tiny thing—I don’t actually love vlogging. It terrifies me. Like, a lot. And I love blogging. Reading comments from my followers is always one of the highlights of my day.

GLM: *exaggerated sigh* I’m so sorry, Shannon. I’m working with a new production assistant and he seems to have copied my notes wrong. *knocks on the glass of the studio* DL! Shannon hates vlogging. Not loves. Hates. *DL shrugs his shoulders and gives apologetic grin*

Okay, moving on, let’s start at the beginning. We actually have something in common, you and I. Although you studied art and film in college out in Hollywood, I studied musical theatre and dance in college in the hopes of one day making it to Hollywood. It wasn’t until halfway through my college career when I realized I was a terrible actress and abandoned that dream for another.

What was the deciding factor in changing from chasing the stars to writing about your own? And as a follow-up question, why don’t you have a studio filled with your artwork? The portrait sketches you feature on your blog are so amazing!

SWM: Oh boy, you start with the big guns right away, don’t you? :)

GLM: *DL flexes biceps proudly and waggles his eyebrows at Shannon* No, DL, she wasn’t referring to your guns. Sorry, Shannon. Go on.

SWM: Well…there were a lot of reasons why I left Hollywood, but I guess the major one was that I came to realize that I just didn’t love it enough. Hollywood has to be your LIFE if you want to be a success, and I wanted more than that. I didn’t want to spend 18 hours a day on set—and yes, the screenwriter is required to be on set most of the time. And I hated how all consuming the stress was. My poor boss—who was VP of Production for a television production company—used to leave himself voicemail messages at all hours of the night, because he’d wake up and realize there was something he needed to do and he needed a way to remember it. One of my first tasks every day was to try and decipher his half asleep mumblings. I didn’t want my life to become that way. I knew I couldn’t take the stress. So I walked away.

And aw, thank you for the compliment on my drawings. I actually did sell prints of my portraits for a while, but if there’s any business tougher to break into than publishing, it’s art. Plus I’d rather dedicate more time to writing.

GLM: Your super awesome blog, Ramblings of a Wannabe Scribe, is so much fun to read. Not only do you have great posts about all-things-writing, you have tons of other great things on there as well. Some of my favorite posts are what you like to call Shannon Shame. Can you give our listeners the history of how Shannon Shame came about and some examples?

SWM: Ah, Shannon Shame, how do I hate thee? You know, it actually happened very gradually. I started to notice that the posts my followers seemed to enjoy the most were the ones where I’d relate some horrible, humiliating experience I’d had. So I created the label as a way to keep track of those posts. Then my followers started pushing for it and it just sort of became a thing, like, ‘how can we make Shannon humiliate herself this time?’

For example, I made the mistake of posting about the time I went on a game show and lost—horribly. After reading it, my followers made me promise that I would post a clip of it on my blog when my book sells, as a way of balancing the Universe for the success I’ve found. It almost makes me hope my book doesn’t sell. I’ve already endured the horrible vlog they made me make after I signed with my agent, and the game show clip is going to be so much worse. I mean, I have bangs in it. BANGS!

GLM: *LOL* Holy funny shite! I’ve never heard someone so distraught over bangs before. Now I have one more reason as to why I can’t wait for your book to sell!

You recently had a guest post on the Guide to Literary Agents blog on how you acquired your agent, Laura Rennert of the Andrea Brown Literary Agency. Can you give us a brief synopsis of how it all went down and you ended up being the super agented author you now are?

SWM: Ooo—you said the “s” word. Don’t you know that word strikes fear into the heart of writers everywhere? It even sounds evil. Synopsisssssssss *shudders*

*DL yelps and hides under his desk.*

No, but seriously, it was a whirlwind process that I still have a hard time wrapping my head around. I met Laura at a conference and pretty much fell in love with her—even before I pitched my project and she requested a partial. She was just so sweet and approachable, which amazed me because she’s LAURA RENNERT—uber agent extraordinaire. I’d expected her to act more like she knew it.

But even though she’d been so awesome, I was still terrified to send her the pages she’d requested. I kept thinking there was no way someone like her would want to rep me (um…self confidence isn’t one of my strong-suits—just ask my CPs) and I wasn’t sure I could bear her rejection (given that I’d become such a Laura fangirl at the conference). So my friends had to kick my butt into gear on Twitter, with a #hitsend campaign that somehow got about forty people—including one of my favorite writers—pressuring me to send out my queries. Took about half an hour to convince me (and #hitsend came very close to trending) but I finally caved in and sent the emails.

Two weeks later I had an offer of rep from Laura in my inbox and even three months later I still have a hard time believing it.

GLM: That’s amazing! A couple of years ago who would’ve ever thought a sentence like, “And I owe it all to Twitter” would actually make sense! *recorded track plays of applause and cheers* Uh, DL, that wasn’t really needed right there, but thanks anyway.

Shannon, you write Middle Grade Fantasy. I know your current book is super hush-hush until it sells, so instead can you give us a description of the genre itself and some generic examples of what one might find in a Middle Grade Fantasy?

SWM: Well, it’s probably one of the most well known categories out there, thanks to a little series called Harry Potter—maybe you’ve heard of it? And there are a lot of different approaches to the genre, but my favorite are the books where you follow a kid who finds out about a secret world within our world, where magic and fairytales all come together. My project *hopefully* puts its own spin on that, but you’ll have to decide when you can finally read it.

GLM: I have to admit I’m really excited that my kids are at the perfect age for that genre. I can’t wait to buy your book and say, “Here’s a book you’ll love! It was written by Mommy’s friend.” :) My daughter already thinks she’s a celebrity because she made friends with a Pittsburgh Pirate pitcher who lives next to us.

As I mentioned in your introduction, you’re a fellow “triple-namer”. A lot of writers (including myself) struggled with their author names, or even whether or not to use a pen name. Did you consider using other names before settling on your full name? Was there a specific reason for going with a triple-decker?

SWM: LOL. Funny thing: I actually haven’t decided on my publishing name yet—which is why I’m a triple-decker. I’ve had a few people tell me that Shannon Messenger doesn’t have the right ‘ring’ to it (yeah, I know. I always try not to be insulted by that). I have no idea if a publisher will feel that way too, but if they do, I always figured I’d go with Shannon Whitney. So I use my middle name in my profile so everyone’s used to seeing it—just to cover my bases.

GLM: That was good thinking! When you sell your book (which, seriously, should be any day now) and you’re officially a published author, will you change the name of your blog since you’ll no longer be in the “wannabe” category?

SWM: Ha! I’ve wondered about that myself. When I started the blog I never thought I’d make it out of the ‘wannabe’ stage, so I didn’t really consider that I might run into problems someday. But honestly, I think I’ll always feel like a wannabe. Whenever I read other people’s writing it makes me want to throw rocks at my own (or delete my draft and flee to Mexico to start a new life as a maraca player.) So I think I’ll probably keep the name. It’ll remind me of my roots--that once upon a time I was just a rambling nobody telling the stories in my head and hoping that somebody would read them someday.

GLM: Wow, it’s no wonder you didn’t feel comfortable in Hollywood. You’re way too sweet and grounded for a dog-pit like that.

You and several other bloggers recently announced a breakthrough idea called WriteOnCon. For those who don’t yet know about it, tell us what that is exactly and how it’s going to work.

SWM: The seven of us are all about paying it forward—and we all had friends tell us they wished they could go to writer’s conferences, but simply couldn’t afford it. So we decided to create our own, a totally, 100% free writer’s conference, held online so everyone can attend.

GLM: *recorded track plays of applause and cheers* Thanks, DL! That was actually really appropriate. A totally free online conference – that’s such a phenomenal idea, Shannon! Do you think the founding group will branch out to hosting other genres as well? And if not, would you be terribly upset (like have you patented this idea and can I expect to hear from your attorney) if other genre-like-minded got together and did their own version? *strokes chin and looks off into space as the wheels begin to turn…then slaps self as a reminder that self is busy enough as it is!*

SWM: It sort of depends on the success of the first conference—though it’s looking like it’s going to be AWESOME. We have some amazing things happening, but we’re waiting to announce until it’s been finalized a bit more. *smiles mysteriously*

And sure, the more free online conferences, the better. Though I warn you, this project is not for the feint of heart. I knew it would be a lot of work, but WOW is it ever. We’ve all pretty much planned on not having lives until the conference is over—but that’s okay. Seeing everyone’s enthusiasm, and knowing that we’re creating something that will help so many writers is definitely worth the effort.

GLM: Let’s play a quick little game I like to call “Tomato-Tomahto”. Ready? Here we go.

I say: Dark Cherry Mocha from Starbucks (favorite drink)
You say: Pepsi. I can’t drink coffee, so it’s my primary source of caffeine.
I say: Chocolate Devotion from Cold Stone Creamery (favorite treat)
You say: Cupcakes. Any flavor. Any time. Preferably with extra frosting.
I say: Gena Showalter (favorite published author)
You say: Rick Riordan
I say: The Sweetest Thing (favorite movie)
You say: Pirates of the Caribbean (um, hello, Johnny Depp AND Orlando Bloom?)
I say: Shannon Whitney Messenger (favorite unpublished author)
You say: Gina Leigh Maxwell. Obviously! :)

GLM: Fantastic! I haven’t had that much fun since I laughed at all of the Pittsburghers trying to drive in the snow!

Well, folks, I’m getting the “wrap it up” signal from DL – oh, wait…no, sorry, he’s just got himself tangled up in a roll of packaging tape. At any rate, it’s time for all of you who aren’t already one of the hundreds of Shannon followers to head on over to her blog and click that button. I guarantee you, you won’t regret adding her to your blog roll (if only for the frequent viewings of Shannon Shame *stage-wink*).

Thank you so much, Shannon, for joining us here at Passions on Paper. It was an honor having you with us and I hope you’ll come back to visit when you’re finally allowed to tell us all about your super-awesome book!

SWM: Definitely! And thank you so much for having me. I hope I haven’t lulled all your followers to sleep with my rambling answers.

GLM: You’re right. We need to work on your self-esteem, girl. Get with the program - you so totally rock!

Until the next episode of Passions on Paper where I’ll be featuring another lucky fan (and most likely another production assistant), this is Gina Leigh Maxwell saying, “May all your passions be paranormal ones. Good night, everyone.”

Romance in the Real World

2010-06-11T07:47:00.000-04:00

I know, I know – I said I wasn’t going to post anything today! But I just wanted to share something with you quick.

This new commercial for Zoosk, an online dating site, cracks me up every time! Aside from the fact that it’s funny all on its own, I get particularly giddy from it because what the couple is attempting in this scene is exactly what I pen as a Romance writer. Gorgeous woman, smoking hot guy with a body of a Greek god, over-abundance of candles and soft music. Ohhhhhh yeahhhhhhh……let the lovin’ begin……

But then you wake up in the real world…and you end up with this:

Have a great weekend everyone!

Wee-Bit Wednesday

2010-06-09T07:06:00.002-04:00

Welcome to the 5th installment of

Wee-Bit Wednesday!

Today is the beginning tidbit from Chapter 13. This is a dream (hence the use of italics to differentiate it from the rest of the chapter) that Angelica is having, which she discovers a little later is actually more of a telepathic communication than a dream. Jenni is one of her leukemia patients at the hospital, and the one she feels most bonded with by far.

As always, honest feedback is appreciated!

**************************************

Angelica walked through a summer field of lush green grass that brushed against the fabric at her knees. She looked down at her blue hospital scrubs and white doctor’s coat. That was strange, she thought. Why would she be dressed for work while taking a leisurely stroll through a field?

The tinkling laughter of a child danced faintly in the breeze past her ears. She turned in a slow circle, but tall blades of grass sprinkled with wildflowers swaying gently on their thin stalks were the only ones that greeted her.

Just then the sun’s rays seemed to intensify, distracting her easily from her search. She closed her eyes, lifted her face to the azure sky and drank in its warmth as it spilled onto her skin. The delicate scents of the utopian flora swept through her body, leaving her more relaxed with every breath she took. Angelica could not remember a time when she had been more at peace.

Again she heard the peels of delight like an echo in the sky. Then a tiny voice called from behind her.

“Hello, Dr. Hart!”

Angelica spun around to see her favorite patient skipping waist deep in the tall emerald blades, wearing a beautiful yellow sun dress. Her golden brown curls danced around her face, her form had filled out with a healthy dose of baby fat and her amber eyes twinkled with the cherubic mischief of a happy child.

“Jenni!” she gasped in disbelief. “What happened to you? What’s going on?”

Jenni giggled as she gave Angelica’s hips a fierce hug. “I knew you would come. He told me that you might not, but I knew you would. You always come when I need you. And now here you are!” she exclaimed in an innocent matter-of-fact manner.

Angelica knelt down in front of the little girl and lightly held her shoulders. “Where is here, Jenni? I don’t understand.”

She smiled a baby-toothed grin that pushed her chubby cheeks up higher onto her face. “This is where I come when I sleep. Isn’t it pretty? Look, Dr. Hart, I’m not sick here.”

“No, sweetie, you’re not. You’re absolutely beautiful,” she agreed with a beaming smile, lifting a hand to finger some of her curls. “Jenni, who told you that I might not come?”

“The nice man that’s been talking to me today. I think he’s like your friend. I like him a lot, but he doesn’t talk to me very much. Not like you, Dr. Hart. You come talk to me even when you don’t have to. And I like that very, very much.”

Water rippled over the child’s eyes and spilled onto her cheeks, framing the smile that refused to diminish in this place of tranquility for Jenni.

Angelica swiftly pulled her into a loving embrace. This child had touched her in more ways than she would ever know. She didn’t understand why Jenni was meant to suffer so much in her short little life and sometimes it infuriated Angelica’s Mortal half, even as her Angelic half accepted He had a reason for everything.

“I’ll always be here for you, Jenni. I swear it to you.”

Jenni pulled away slightly to look into Angelica’s eyes. With a small smile that threatened to falter she pleaded softly, “Then wake up, Dr. Hart. I need you. Wake up…”

*****************************

And there you have it. That segues into Dominic gently waking her up with the same verbal encouragement. She wakes up slightly discombobulated and then feels at a loss on how to act in the “awkward morning after” situation, not to mention she’s appalled that he’s there before she can correct her morning breath and shove a comb through her hair. It’s a super cute scene between them. One I really enjoyed writing. :)

Just as a small update about my WIP, I'm currently revising Chapter 14 out of 30. That's almost the half way point!!! I had hoped to be done with my revisions by the end of July, but it looks like I might be on track to finish sooner than that. I hope, I hope, I hope! I'm SO eager to get this puppy in the hands of my Betas.

Anyhoo – I know I may be letting you all down with this next announcement, but I’ve become a victim of my own success, so to speak. My FAN-tastic Fridays have gotten pretty popular and somehow I’ve managed to entertain all of you while promoting some of the greatest people in my blogosphere. Unfortunately, in an attempt to keep them fresh and individually tailored for each of my guests, they take a significant amount of time to put together.

I know I promised you an interview with the amazing and fabu, Shannon Whitney Messenger, but I’m pushing it back a week. She’ll be here next Friday, June 18th – I swear! And then, moving forward, I’ll be doing my FAN-tastic Fridays every other week to ensure each of my guests gets my utmost attention.

I can’t tell you how much I love that you all stop by my little ol' blog. And reading your comments make my day more than you can imagine. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Have a great rest of the week!

FAN-tastic Friday: Elana Johnson, Super-Author

2010-06-04T07:11:00.002-04:00

More quick-witted than a comedian on speed…busier than a bee in a field of poppies…smarter than the average bear in the literary forest it’s…it’s…

SUPER-AUTHOR, ELANA JOHNSON!

*Elana flies into the studio, cape flapping behind her, and lands gracefully despite her skin-tight super-suit*

GL: Wow! I can’t tell you how excited I am that you’ve taken time out of your busy novice-aiding schedule to be with us today at Passions on Paper. I am a HUGE fan. Love the suit, by the way.

EJ: Well, I look my best in capes.

GL: I can’t disagree with that. Considering where you are now, it’s hard to believe you never set out to be a writer. Instead, you discovered your authorial love and talent through chronicling your life’s story. How did you make the transition from personal memoir to fiction and what made you desire publication?

EJ: The transition was pretty easy. I was basically an emotional mess, and writing helped get those things out. And when I was done, the angst in my real life had translated into a teenage girl (and what creature is more angsty than that? Uh…no one).

As for the quest for publication, let’s just say that I’m like a pitbull. Once I get a grip on something, I don’t let go—ever. So publication came naturally after finishing a novel.

GL: Well, that vice-like super jaw of yours definitely paid off in the end. How long did you query before you signed with your Super-Agent, Michelle Andelman?

EJ: 8 (very long) months.

GL: I’m sure that period of time wasn’t the most fun for you, but the rest of us get to benefit from it. You have an ebook called From the Query to the Call available on your Query Ninja blog, which has garnered excellent reviews as an inexpensive and invaluable tool for writers – not to mention each purchase comes with a FREE QUERY CRITIQUE from the one and only Query Ninja…YOU! When did you decide to moonlight as a ninja and how did that book come about?

EJ: Well, if you have to moonlight as something, a ninja is the way to go. When I decided to query my first novel for the second time, I needed a new query. And that’s when my quest for “the perfect query” began. About six months later, I started writing for the QueryTracker blog, and I shared what I’d learned about query letters. And that snowballed into the whole ebook, which discusses how to write a query letter, how to research agents, how to submit to them (electronically and snail mail), how to handle The Call, all of it. The ebook is based on my own experience and the experience of authors who’ve been through it all.

GL: What is the most common mistake you see when new writers create their queries?

EJ: Including too much information and forgetting to state the consequence.

GL: Hmm…too much information? I haven’t started writing any queries yet, but I’m pretty sure I won’t have a hard time with that particular issue. As you can tell, I’m not long-winded in the least. (Crap crap crap!!!)

Simon & Schuster is publishing your debut novel Control Issues in the summer of 2011! What did you do when you heard the news?

EJ: Well, I was still on the phone with my agent when my husband came home (he knew she was calling that day) and I wrote on one of my beloved sticky notes “Simon Pulse offered!” and held it up to him. Chaos ensued, silently, until we went to dinner that night. Guess what I ordered with my pot roast? A side of bacon. Yum.

GL: Mmmm, bacon – the food with which you gain all of your Super Strength, I’m told. If I had to guess, I’d say bran muffins would probably be your equivalent to kryptonite. I know they’re mine! Now that I’m on the whole yummy food kick, can you give us a tasty blurb about Control Issues and your super delicious main character, Jag Barque?

EJ: Control Issues is set in a world where Thinkers control the population and Rules aren’t meant to be broken. But one fifteen-year-old girl decides to shatter them all.

And to get a taste of Jag you can read his character interview from my blog. It starts with me being flustered and ends with him using mind control to stop me from talking any more!

GL: That interview totally rocked! (Mental Note: bribe Super Villain to extract Jag Barque from Elana’s mind and keep him as mine…ALL MINE! Muuuaahahahahaaa!...)

*notices the weird look Elana’s giving me, clears throat*

Control Issues sounds amazing (and so does Jag) and I can’t wait to (read about Jag) snag a copy next summer (so Jag can live in MY head)!

Along with your Super-Author blog and the Query Ninja blog, you also contribute to The League of Extraordinary Writers, What Writers Read, the Query Tracker Blog AND maintain Facebook, MySpace and Twitter accounts! All of that is ON TOP of writing, critiquing queries and keeping up appearances with your alter ego as a regular human with a regular life. (Did I leave anything out, like saving stranded kittens in trees?) How on EARTH do you do it?!? Give us the rundown of a typical day in the super life of Elana Johnson, Super-Author.

EJ: Ha! Well, here’s my 24-hour schedule. We’ll start with sleep, since I enjoy sleeping more than anything.

11 PM – 7:00 (okay, 7:30) AM: sleep
7:30 – 8:30: get ready for work, kids for school
8:30 – 9:00: travel to work
9:00 – 2:15: work. Sometimes this means actual typing instruction. This is where I read most of my blogs. I hardly do any blog reading at home, so if it doesn’t get done at work, it doesn’t get done.
3:00: home with kidlet. Reading hour.
4:00: Boy kidlet home from school. I write/read/make dinner/get on forums, facebook, twitter, etc.
5:00 – 9:00: Family time. TV. Some more writing-related activities, usually answering emails or writing blog posts or doing a quick query crit. That kind of stuff.
9:00: Kids in bed, husband asleep on the couch – me, writing. Or chatting. Or whatever.
11:00: Bed.

That’s a weekday. Saturday – Monday, I don’t work, and that’s when I write all my blog posts, keep up with housecleaning, and get my Super-Suit repaired.

And I only saved that kitten that one time…

GL: That’s an unbelievable schedule! Mine is just like that…with the exception of the organization and the times and the fact that yours apparently works. Otherwise, totally identical. *sheepish grin*

Last, but not least, if you could choose any pre-published Paranormal Romance author to be your sidekick-in-training – based purely on writing talent and blogging charisma (and whether or not you want to leave this interview with a new nemesis) – who would it be?

EJ: Well, duh, Gina. You have the coolest cape on the planet. And I’ve heard rumor of some sweet shock spit, so yeah. The choice is pretty easy – you!

GL: Woo Hoo! My grandma will be so happy to hear you like the cape she crocheted for me! And I do have some pretty wicked shock spit. It puts a damper on kissing my husband, but comes in really handy when smiting one’s enemies.

Thanks so much for being here today, Elana. Your drive and success are beacons of hope against the gloomy clouds of doubt for all of us here in Pre-Published Metropolis.

EJ: Well, Batman has a cape too, so it’s pretty cool to be a beacon—right? Right.

GL: That’s all the time we have for today, but I’d like to remind everyone of where our blogosphere Super-Author can be found:

• Her Super-Hideout where you can find “all things Elana” http://www.elanajohnson.com/

• A forum where she mingles with her followers http://www.elanajohnson.blogspot.com/

• Her Ninja School of Queries where she helps karate chop your query into top ninja shape http://www.queryninja.blogspot.com/

• The location which she helps track the queries http://www.querytracker.blogspot.com/

• Her Super-Space www.myspace.com/elanajohnson

• The book her face is on www.facebook.com/elanajohnson

• The place from which she perches and tweets to the masses www.twitter.com/ElanaJ

• Where she posts her literary treasures http://www.what-writers-read.blogspot.com/

• The Super-Headquarters of the literary faction she belongs to, The League of Extraordinary Writers http://www.leaguewriters.blogspot.com/

If you haven’t already, head on over to her sites and click as many follow buttons as you can find! And if you’re new to Passions on Paper, make sure you click MY Follow button over in the sidebar! (don’t make me beg people, just click on the button already, okay?)

Tune in next week – same PoP time, same PoP channel – for another episode of FAN-tastic Friday when I interview the lovely, agented Shannon Whitney Messenger!

We’ll return to your regularly scheduled blog-hopping after your brief messages in the comments section...

It's My Birthday & I'll Cry If I Want To

2010-06-01T07:07:00.000-04:00

That's right, Blogosphere, you heard right...
against my better judgement, I'm informing you it's my birthday today.

Happy 33rd Birthday to me!

I don't normally advertise it, but I sprang up out of bed this morning (okay, more like my alarm would NOT shut up and I dragged my sorry butt out of bed from annoyance) and thought, "What the heck? I'll shout it to the world before anyone else has the opportunity. That way I'M in control! Muuaahahahahaaaa." Well, maybe that's not exactly what I thought, but we'll go with it for now.

So for my birthday ~~demands~~ wish I'd like to hear birthday stories from all of you!

What's your favorite or funniest or worst or craziest birthday story?

FAN-tastic Friday: Tiana Smith

2010-05-28T07:21:00.000-04:00

GL: Hello, I’m Gina Leigh Maxwell and you’re listening to Passions on Paper on WPOP, the blogosphere’s hit station for paranormal romance and beyond.

The theme of today’s show is FAN-tastic Friday and we have a very special guest in the studio with us. She’s the first girl from Montana who’s managed to steer clear of ever getting on horseback, she loves the outdoors, hates bugs and knows how to build a mean fire (probably in hopes of repelling the bugs!). It’s aspiring author and renowned blogger, Tiana Smith! Welcome to the show, Tiana, it’s so great to have you with us.

TS: Thank you Gina. I’m so excited to be here today. I even wore my sparkly shirt. What? You can’t see it? Well, I’ll look fabulous anyway.

GL: Like most of us, you’re an aspiring author. When did you decide to write with intention of publication?

TS: After I graduated from college, I figured I should probably do something with my life. I’ve always wanted to write (well, not always, but since second grade), but it wasn’t until graduating that I thought I might have a chance at publication. After all, I had read a lot of … less than worthy … stuff from my peers, and I just needed the kick in the pants.

GL: I know you originally started out writing in the YA genre, but recently changed to writing Children’s Books. What prompted the switch?

TS: I really love children’s books and even read them for fun on my own time. No, I don’t have any kids, and yes, I know that’s a little weird. I promise I’m not a crazy person. I started out with YA because I wanted to fit in with all the cool kids, but had to be true to myself. Hey, that sounds like it would be a great theme for a book… ;)

GL: Ooh, can I be one of the cool kids in the book? I’ve always wanted to be one of those. Do you ever think you’ll go back to your YA book?

TS: Maybe I’ll name one of the dragons in my book after you. They’re pretty cool, I must say. Eventually I might go back to writing YA, but it would take a very large candy bar to entice me.

GL: Note to self: Stock up on king-size candy bars for bribing purposes with Tiana. Okay, so what fabulous book are you currently working on?

TS: I’m writing a chapter book called “Dragon Secrets”. I would tell you what it’s about, but then it wouldn’t be a secret anymore. ;)

GL: Well, I can certainly resp –

TS: Ok, ok, since you are SO PERSISTANT, I guess I can spill a few details. It’s a children’s book about a land of animals that all get along, except for the dragons of course. One very naïve horse vows to figure out what secret they are hiding, but she may have to give up more than she bargained for, like her frequent bathing schedule. Oh, and she ends up with a buzz cut in the end.

GL: Boy, if I had a dollar for every time a night on the town ended up like that… *ahem* I mean, that sounds like an awesome story. I have an 8 year old son who LOVES reading about dragons. Throw in a horse with a buzz cut and he’d be hooked for sure!

Alright, let’s have some fun. Give us three fun Tiana facts that we don’t already know.

TS: 1. I’m probably the least athletic person you’ve ever “met.” I was playing racquetball with my husband, and I swear I almost hit myself with the racket. It was like something straight out of Twilight.

2. When I take those “what political party are you?” tests, for some reason they keep telling me I’m tied between the green party and a communist. I’ll let you interpret that how you will.

3. I’m a geek. I mean, I like playing around with HTML in my free time and I work for SEO.com (search engine optimization, that’s what gets your site to rank high in Google.) So, I’m constantly on a computer, and as a result, my skin is very pasty. I should probably get out more often.

GL: Wow…*laughs nervously*…an awkward computer geek of the communist party – your husband’s a lucky guy. Aaaaaand moving right along…

You recently decided to cut back on a lot of your social media outlets due to the major Time-Suck we all know them to be. What made you decide to keep your blog and what do you love most about blogging?

TS: I like my blog because it is my own little space. I can control it. (I may or may not be somewhat of a control freak. I’m just sayin’). With my blog, if I don’t want to post something, then I don’t have to. I don’t feel the kind of pressure that I do with Twitter or Facebook. Another reason why I kept my blog is because I feel like I can create genuine connections with awesome people (you are of course, on the awesome people list).

GL: Aww. Thank goodness no one can see me blushing. Crap, I just said that out loud. I completely agree with you. The connections I’ve made through blogging are amazing. And you’re at the top of my awesome list, too!

Alright, we’re just about out of time, but I really want to ask you: What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever heard or read?

TS: “The way you write a novel is one word at a time.” I have no idea who said it, so, yeah … :)

GL: Well, at least the phrase stuck with you! And I really like that. Sometimes we can feel really overwhelmed when we look at the project as a whole, so it’s great advice. I don’t mean to put you on the spot, but of all the blog interviews you’ve participated in, which would you say was your favorite?

TS: Yours of course! (Would it burst your bubble if I told you that I’ve never done a blog interview before this? Nah, best not mention that…)

GL: (I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that last part.) Oh, I’m so glad! And I can safely say you are definitely in the TOP *looks back to see how many FAN-tastic Fridays this makes* FOUR guests I’ve ever interviewed!

Well, folks, I’m getting the “wrap it up” signal from my (pretend) producer. But before we head out of here I want to remind you to head on over to Tiana’s blog at www dot Tiana Smith dot com. As she mentioned before, she’s an HTML geek and it shows in her blog. She has a beautiful site and posts really great topics, so make sure you click on her “Follow” button!

Thank you so much, Tiana, for joining us here at Passions on Paper. It was a lot of fun getting to know you better.

TS: Thanks Gina, it was a pleasure.

GL: Don’t forget to tune in next week when I welcome published author and all-around Superwoman, Elana Johnson! This is Gina Leigh Maxwell saying, “May all your passions be paranormal ones."

Good night, everyone.

Terrible Twos-day: Word Count vs. Words That Count

2010-05-25T08:02:00.000-04:00

It’s in the progress posts on our blogs. It’s in little widgets in our sidebars. It’s what we obsess over. It’s our Literary Odometer.

It’s our WORD COUNT.

As writers we measure our progress by this term. It’s universally understood in the writing community as the success – or lack thereof – of our daily, weekly, or cumulative progress on our current Works In Progress (WIPs).

It seems that the majority of writers have a specific goal in mind. Whether it’s 250 words a day or 2500 words a day, it’s a way of keeping oneself motivated and on-point with an estimated date of completion for a rough draft.

But at what point does that ever-present, ever-looming Word Count goal become counter-productive?

If we get wrapped up in how many words we can “put on paper” as opposed to the QUALITY of those words, we’ll officially be hurting ourselves when it comes time for revisions. I can write 2000 words in one day and feel like I accomplished a whole helluva lot, but when I go back to revise that section, if the words weren’t quality to begin with, I bet I’m going to be spending a lot more time trying to fix them than if I would’ve just taken a little more time to make sure they were somewhat decent to begin with.

I’m not saying that our rough drafts will be all but flawless and revisions will be a piece of cake with this method – the day that happens will be the day I turn down dark chocolate (NEVER). But what I am saying, is that maybe we should find a happy medium.

If I sit down to work on my WIP and I only have a few hundred more words than when I started I shouldn’t have to feel that “OMG, I suck” sense of failure. I should be able to look at those few hundred words and say, “That was a really good addition to that section – nice job, Maxwell.”

So I propose that we change our concerns of a generic Word Count, to a positive mindset of putting down Words That Count.

What do you think?

Do we have too much emphasis on our Word Count? Do you feel that sometimes a high Word Count compromises the quality? Or do you feel that a strict Word Count goal is the only thing that keeps you moving forward at a steady pace?

(This post has a word count of 424 by the way. *wink*

FAN-tastic Friday: Nicole Ducleroir

2010-05-21T07:13:00.000-04:00

Aaaaaaaand welcome back to EV-erybody's FAV-orite game showwwww...

*audience chimes in*

Who's. That. FAN!!!!!

That's right, Ladies and Gentlemen, this IS everybody's favorite game show where I ask our lucky contestant questions about her life, her blog and her writing and she tries to answer them ~~correctly~~ honestly. Today we have the loveley creator of One Significant Moment at a Time. So, please help me give a warm Passions on Paper welcome to Nicole Ducleroir! *audience screams and claps as Nicole enters the stage and takes a seat*

GL: Hi Nicole! I’m so glad you’ve taken the time to join us at Passions on Paper. I’d like to start this ~~interview~~ game a little differently and open up with some ice-breaker questions.

Give us 3 things your followers already know about you (so that us Newbies can catch up) and 3 things your followers don’t already know about you...Ready?...Go!

ND: Hi Gina! Thanks so much for inviting me today. I’m thrilled to be here! Let’s see, three things I’ve already shared on my blog…Well, (1) I was a Peace Corps volunteer in central Africa, which is a frequent theme for my short fiction. (2) I grew up the oldest child of five girls (imagine the drama!), and all our names begin with “N.” And (3) another creative outlet I’m passionate about is quilt-making. Three things followers don’t know about me are: (1) I always pass out when my blood is drawn; (2) I can see people’s auras; and (3) I once trained for and competed in a fitness competition, tying with my sister for third place. The ironic part was we decided ahead of time not to tell anyone, including the other competitors and judges, that we were related. A utopian day for sibling rivalry!

GL: Oh, wow – FIVE girls? I can only imagine the fights over the bathroom in the mornings! I followed the link from your blog and read a couple of your short stories. I thought they were excellent! You have a wonderful talent for describing people’s actions and making them come to life. Have you always been a writer or is this something you discovered recently?

ND: I’ve been writing my whole life. My journals document each chapter of my existence. In middle school I won essay contests. In high school I was the student penning dark poetry that got passed around every day. And, I chose a college major that required endless term papers. But I didn’t become a writer until November 2007. That was when I began writing for an audience, when I first delved into the craft with the intention of producing publishable work. For me, that’s the true distinction between the hobbyist I was and an author I am today.

GL: Imagine you’re in a room full of non-writers… *pauses for the collective “eesh” from the audience* - I know, they can be tough – what would you say to them when they told you they “just didn’t get why you would expend so much energy on writing.”

ND: I’d answer their question with a quilting anecdote: the first time I challenged myself to make an entire quilt, I chose a monster project: queen-size quilt top comprised of 224 five-inch-square blocks. Each block required that I sew together twenty-one (or a total of 4,704) tiny triangular or square patches. That first night, my baffled husband watched me lay out yard after yard of fabric and slice it up with a rotary cutter. Hubby only interrupted me once to ask, “So, you mean you’re going to cut all this fabric up into itty-bitty pieces, and then you’re going to sew them back together again? Why would you devote so much time, patience, and energy when you could simply go to the store and buy a quilt already made?” I shrugged and said, “Because I like the process.” Writing a novel is the same. You break the project down into stages, and each stage becomes a fascinating study of that aspect of the craft. The finished project is the goal, but the journey is what’s most important to me. Incidentally, it took me two years to finish that first quilt. Hopefully, my first novel won’t take as long!

GL: Two years for one quilt? Holy Schmoley! I now dub thee Goddess of Perseverance. What are you currently working on? Can you give us a brief synopsis to tantalize our brain-buds?

ND: *laughs* I learned the art of perseverance through years of fighting my sisters for bathroom time! The premise for my WiP came to me a couple years ago. That day, I answered a telemarketer’s phone call. When I declined his pitch, he called me a “bitch” and hung up on me. I was furious! I considered phoning the company and complaining. But before I did, my writer’s brain started churning: What if I complained and that led to the guy getting fired? What if the guy was severely depressed, or maniacal? What if losing his job was that guy’s “final straw,” the turning point in his sanity? What if I became that guy’s poster child for a society that’s cruel, his scapegoat for everything that has ever gone wrong in his life? What if there was a way he could find me? What if he came looking…? By then, all my angry energy was rechanneled, and thoughts of placing a complaint were forgotten as I feverishly jotted character and plot notes. Overcome (working title) was born.

GL: That is one of the greatest thought processes I’ve ever heard of (probably because it sounds just like a lot of mine)! I love how you went from wanting to react to thoughts of the affects that one reaction could have had on that man. I think it’s a good idea that we keep in mind everything we do causes a ripple in the water. I think your book sounds brilliant and I can’t wait to read it.

Okay, next question. Finish this sentence: I want to be a published author because…

ND: …I love the idea of something I wrote surviving long after I pass from this life, so that my great-great grandchildren and beyond can read it. Of course, technically I don’t have to be published for that to happen…so I’d have to say bragging rights a sense of accomplishment is important too!

GL: What lesson do you hope your children learn from their mother being a writer?

ND: In life, it’s easy to say you’re going to do something. Actually achieving that goal takes hard work and dedication. Writers understand the challenge in staying self-motivated. I want to show by my example how success comes to those who are passionate and who stay focused and driven. My children will benefit from learning that lesson, regardless of the fields they pursue.

GL: Beautifully said, Nicole. You’ve given me another reason why I can’t give up either. Your blog is called One Significant Moment at a Time and has tons of great posts relevant to writing and your life. What’s your favorite thing about blogging?

ND: I was so clueless when I began my blog! Honestly, I watched Julie and Julia and thought it would be cool to document my transition from short story writer to novelist. I had no idea my blog represented a door to an incredible community waiting beyond it. My favorite thing about blogging is connecting with so many talented voices, sharing our creativity ups and downs, and offering the same support that I feel daily from my blogging BFFs.

GL: Ditto to that, girl! Okay, I think we have time for one last question, Nicole. In your opinion, who will be one of the next big names in Paranormal Romance?

ND: Phew! All these questions have been tough to answer, requiring thoughtful reflection on my part. Finally, a query quite simple to answer: My money’s on Gina Leigh Maxwell being the next breakthrough Paranormal Romance author!

GL: From your lips to agents’ ears, Nicole! You’re so kind (and truthful) to say so. Well, I can’t thank you enough for your time. You’ve been an absolute joy to have and I look forward to reading Overcome in the future.

If you enjoyed this interview and would like to be featured someday yourself, don’t forget to click on the FOLLOW button over there on the right.

Or even if you’re just happy it’s FRIDAY, you should click on the FOLLOW button over there on the right. *gigantic cheesy grin*

Well, that's all the time we have for today folks. If you're not already following Nicole, now is the time to head on over to One Significant Moment at a Time and click that Follow button! Thanks for joining us and I hope you'll tune in next week on Terrible Twos-day when I pit WORD COUNT vs. WORDS THAT COUNT.

Have a great weekend everyone!

*cue seventies game show theme music*

Wee-Bit Wednesday: Silly Commercial

2010-05-19T06:45:00.001-04:00

This week for Wee-Bit Wednesday I’m going to share a little something different with you. It’s not from my WIP, but rather a funny little ditty I came up with that was inspired by a post from my blogging buddy, Michelle Stephens. Last week she wrote a post called Rejection Means You’re a Real Writer. In her post Michelle talks about how she’d received a form rejection letter and instead of letting it get her down, she cracked open a Diet Cherry Pepsi (to which she adequately adds pictures to the post for proof), reveled in its refreshing zero calorie cherry fizz, and proceeded to sit back down to continue writing. Because as Michelle says, “Really, there’s just no other option but to keep writing.”

Michelle’s post avec pics got my crazy mind going. I’d like to hear a Diet Cherry Pepsi commercial just like the old hysterical Bud Light radio commercials. You know, the one where the cheesy 80s guy sings, “Real American He-e-e-roooo-o.” We could dedicate it to the “pre-published writer who received a first rejection letter”! So, the following is my ~~rip-off~~ tribute to those Budweiser Commercials, a ~~trademark lawsuit waiting to happen~~ campaign suggestion for Diet Cherry Pepsi, and a toast to my fellow writers. *ahem*

(Oh, please read the following in a very deep and over-dramatized male voice and the italicized bracketed words should be sung in a hybrid voice of Bruce Springsteen and Jon Bon Jovi.)

Diet Cherry Pepsi presents…Real Writers of Genius…

[Real Writers of Ge-e-eniuuu-us]

Today we salute you, Amateur Writer Who Received Their First Rejection Letter.

[Mis-ter Amateur-Writer-Who-Received-His-First-Rejec-tion Leh-eh-tter!]

Ignoring your day job, your night job and even your family, you hide behind your laptop with squinty eyes and furrowed brow, typing furiously until the pads of your fingers become permanently flat.

[Creepy hands of an al-i-en]

At long last it’s ready. The work of genius that came from your brain and out of your deformed fingers is finally ready to be sent out into the world where it will be revered as one of the greatest works of its time. Or of its genre. Or of its sub-genre. Or maybe just of your city.

[Gotta be better than some-thing]

Then one day you open your mail to find your S.A.S.E. and inside is a form letter with a coffee stain in one corner and a stamped signature in the other, because they couldn’t even be bothered with signing their own name. The rejection is cold and impersonal, yet you rejoice.

[This is SU-per duper awe-some!]

Why? Because this form rejection letter doesn’t just say that someone out there thought your material wasn’t fit to grace the mutilated end product of a once-proud tree…it also says, “You, sir, have arrived.”

[I’m coming in for a lan-ding]

Yes, you are now considered a REAL writer. You grabbed your fear by the proverbial cojones and put your baby out there, knowing she might be sliced into ribbons. And when she was, you smiled in self-absorbed satisfaction, sat down, and began writing some more.

[Not ever gonna sto-op]

So crack open an ice cold Diet Cherry Pepsi, Real Writer. You may have been rejected by the world, but you’ll always be number one, in your head.

[Mis-ter Amateur-Writer-Who-Received-His-First-Rejec-tion Leh-eh-eh-eh-tterrrrrr!]

Thank you. *bows stage left* Thank you. *bows stage right* Thank you. *bows center stage*

FAN-tastic Friday: DL Hammons

2010-05-14T00:01:00.023-04:00

That's right, Ladies and Gentlemen. It's time for another episode of FAN-tastic Friday where yours truly asks a member of my followers all the hard-hitting questions you want to know (and even some you don't).

Today's guest is witty, charming and more fun than watching your life-long nemesis get off a rollercoaster and puke all over the guy she's crushing on. Please help all of us here (just me) at Passions on Paper welcome DL Hammons of Cruising Altitude! *loud cheers and obnoxious whistling from crowd*

GL: Thanks so much for being here, DL. First I'd like to congratulate you on reaching 300 followers on your blog! That's amazing. I'm expecting to reach that particular milestone in a few days myself. *looks over at sidebar, decides to ignore the damn elephant in the room & presses on* For those who aren’t yet followers of Cruising Altitude (for which I’m positive they will be rectifying soon after this interview) can you tell us why you chose that unique title for your blog?

DL: You really think it’s unique? Cool! Anyway, about two years ago I was writing my first novel (which currently is collecting dust on a shelf) and my MC for that story just so happened to be a semi-popular blogger (yes…its fiction!). The blog plays a significant part of the story and thus needed a snappy title. The MC in the book was at a point in his life where he had risen above the turbulence of raising a family and survived climbing the corporate ladder, settling into his twilight years. Cruising Altitude became a perfect metaphor for where the MC was with his life, so it became the name of the blog in the book. At the time, I was using a combination of Facebook and Myspace to blog with, so a couple months after I finished the book I decided to create a proper blog. I debated many, many, many different titles utilizing author/writing themes, but in the end, I decided to transition Cruising Altitude from fiction, to fact. I’m really happy I did to!

GL: I think it’s perfect! And I hope you dust off that old novel someday, too.

DL: I plan to!

GL: Great! You’re a mystery writer. Is that primarily what you read when not penning your novel like the mad man you are?

DL: Primarily, yes, but not exclusively. Mysteries have always been my first love. It began with the Encyclopedia Brown series, moved quickly to The Hardy Boys, then onto more mature offerings such as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Edgar Allen Poe, Ross MacDonald, PD James, Rex Stout and Agatha Christie. However, my reading taste covers the entire literary spectrum as I’ve found that good writing transcends genre.

GL: Well said, my friend. What is the thing that fascinates you most about writing? Alternately, what’s the most frustrating?

DL: Hmmmmm…good question. I would have to say the opportunity to manipulate a reader’s emotion. That is what a good book does to me. I want to make my readers smile, laugh, cry, hold their breath, spike their blood-pressure, and ultimately lament the turning of that final page. To do that I’ve realized that as a writer I must make two things happen. First, they have to care for (or hate) the characters as much as I do. That means creating realistic, multi-dimensional players who come alive on the page. Second, crafting a compelling story around those characters that challenges the reader’s intellect.

The most frustrating? Definitely the technical aspect of writing. Dangling participles, split infinitives, comma splices, these are my stumbling blocks. Every time I write I curse my inattention in school all those years ago!

GL: *Starts to panic* What in the heck is a “split infinitive”?!? And there are participles that dangle? Do we want them to dangle? Crap! *note to self - write personals ad: Fun, female writer seeking editor for new best friend & confidante…*

Sorry, I just needed a moment there. Where was I? Oh - Without giving away any of your high-concept ideas, can you tell us a little about your Work-In-Progress?

DL: Glad to. *scanning room for any agent-types* I’ve always been drawn to stories with ordinary people thrust into extra-ordinary circumstances, so at its core that’s what my book is about. My MC is a middle-age HR manager whose leads a comfortable life in the southeast, but he’s also part of a tight-knit group of old college buddies who jokingly call themselves ‘The Knights Who Say Ni’. When one of the Knights (who works for a private detective agency) is savagely beaten and left in a coma, the group rallies together to help find the assailant. Joining forces with the female owner of the detective agency, the rag-tag group follow clues from an old case to the doorstep of the nation’s capitol and find themselves smack in the middle of a plot to carry out the deadliest bio-terrorism attack in US history. It’s a story about testing the limits of friendship and undying loyalty. I call it, FALLEN KNIGHT.

GL: Shut UP! The Knights Who Say Ni? Monty Python and the Holy Grail is only one of my favorite movies ever!! “You must cut down the tallest Redwood in the forest wiiiiiiith…a herring!” *LOL* Okay, I have to stop there – I could quote that movie for hours.

Seriously though, your book sounds great. I’m a pretty hard core Romance reader, but that plot sounds awesome! I also love the title you’ve chosen. It’s perfect.

DL: I’m kind of partial to it myself.

GL: You have a knack for putting writing advice into fresh and vivid analogies – like Black Ice and Riding a Scooter – that really help put things into perspective for other writers. Are you lying awake at night trying to think of these, or are you just that clever?

DL: LOL. The only thing that keeps me up at night is figuring out how to close that plot hole I left in the eighth chapter. :) For a good part of my professional life I’ve been an instructor/trainer, and it’s taught me how to figure out better ways to communicate difficult concepts. Part of being a responsible blogger is finding a way to give back to this wonderful community and fortunately I’ve been able to do that with a couple of these analogies. I’m no expert…at least not until I land an agent and get published…then every word turns to gold…right?! I have a backpack full of writing books just like everybody else, but sometimes a unique perspective from an obscure source can resonate with just as much clarity. If you have an idea or a different take on things, put it out there for other bloggers to see. If only just one finds it useful, then it has served a purpose.

GL: Lastly, despite being a Mystery Dude, if you could act as a Beta Reader for one Para-Rom author, who would it be?

DL: Hmmmmmm….tough choice. I’ve heard good things about Christine Feehan and J.R. Ward. Ewwww…what about Keri Arthur! Then there’s always Sherrilyn Kenyon. Decisions…decisions??

[*Big puppy dog eyes filling up with tears, chin quivering*]

Okay…okay…enough teasing. Of course I’d love to read the next best author (which would be you) before she becomes an icon. :)

GL: Really? I'm so flattered! That's a huge compliment that I totally wasn't expecting. *bats eyelashes innocently*

Well, I'm afraid that's all the time we have for today. Thanks so much, DL, for Cruising by Passions on Paper. (I'm so clever...I used the word "cruising" because of your blog title. How am I not published yet? Oh, right. I haven't submitted anything yet.)

Tune in next week when I'll be sharing a funny jingle I wrote for us wacky writers that's modeled after those goofy old Bud Light radio commercials, Real Men of Genius and Real American Hero! (If you don't know what I'm talking about, make sure you check them out on You Tube beforehand, so you get the full effect.)

Also, next week's guest on FAN-tastic Friday will be Nicole Ducleroir of One Significant Moment at a Time. Until then, I hope your weekend is filled with rainbows and pony rides!

FAN-tastic Friday: J. Leigh Bailey

2010-05-07T00:17:00.002-04:00

Hello, and welcome to FAN-tastic Friday!! This is going to a weekly post on ~~Thursdays~~ Fridays where I interview one of the wonderful Passions On Paper followers! This is a great opportunity to get to know other like-minded writers and bloggers without the gargantuan amounts of time it would take to click through every follower to see if they’d be a good match for you to follow. It’s kind of like speed dating. Only without the speed part because you only get one person per week. Or the dating part. I’m not Chuck Woolery people.

So please help me welcome today’s ~~victim~~ ~~guinea pig~~ awesome guest, J. Leigh Bailey! Thanks so much for joining us, J. Leigh. It’s great to start this post-tradition with one of my Three Musketeers. Okay, let’s get down to business.

GL: When did you decide to write with intention of publication and what keeps you motivated?

JL: I’ve sort of always had the “itch” but it was kind of vague. It was a “maybe someday if I get some time or win the lottery” kind of thinking. I’m a very practical person from a very practical family, and writing just seemed, well, impractical.

It was really a little over a year ago that I’d had enough of the wishy-washy thoughts of a writing career. I finally gave myself permission to just do it. And that permission was key for me. Luckily about that time I had this niggling idea about shape-shifting dragons that just kept getting bigger and bigger, better and better, so I jumped in.

I’m actually motivated (and not a little intimidated) by the number of other aspiring authors that I’ve met on-line and by a critique partner that constantly requests new chapters. The blogging community really is amazing. The sharing of ideas, thoughts, expertise and experiences has been huge in maintaining the motivation and the desire to keep on learning and keep on producing.

GL: I totally agree! So, what do you like to read when you’re not writing furiously or visiting my blog obsessively? (What? Don’t give me that look – everyone visits my blog obsessively…*sighs* Okay, fine, maybe not. But they will someday.)

JL: I’m a voracious reader. I seriously average a book a day. I got an Amazon Kindle a few weeks ago and I’ve already downloaded over 45 books (and I’ve already read 43 of them!). My debit card hates me, but man, I’m loving it. I read romance in all its many forms—contemporary, historical, suspense, you name it, I’ll read it. Right now I’m on a Paranormal kick, and have been for about three years, so anything having to do with fangs, fur, faeries (and of course, romance) is great for me. There are also a whole bunch of authors who are on my auto-buy list that I pick up the minute their books hit the shelves. The top five favorites are Nora Roberts (a.k.a. J.D. Robb), Jayne Ann Krentz (a.k.a. Amanda Quick and Jayne Castle), Elizabeth Lowell, Christine Feehan and Sherrilyn Kenyon (a.k.a. Kinley MacGregor). It’s also not unheard of for me to pick up a selection of fantasy, mystery, and urban fantasy/horror. Lately I’ve been consuming a vast array of Young Adult Romance and Young Adult Paranormal Romance since that’s what I’m aspiring to write.

GL: Whoa! Next time I visit the Windy City I’d love to steal your collection. No, I said see your collection. I’d like to see it. (Steal it.) What? No, you’re hearing things. Back to the questions. *clears throat* Being as though you have such an eclectic taste in books, what drew you to writing Paranormal YA?

JL: I’m too afraid to write a sex scene.

Okay, that’s not totally true. The honest answer is I’m not entirely sure why I write YA. It’s strange—everything I’ve ever tried to write, going back to the half-finished novel I wrote in study hall my senior year of high school has been geared towards YA and included paranormal elements (magic, aliens, fantastical creatures). Beyond a random thought here and there it’s never really occurred to me to write anything else. Which I’ll admit is a little odd—I didn’t read much YA when I was at the target age (I started reading adult romances when I was 11 and never looked back). I’ve read more YA in the last two years than I did between the ages of 12 and 22.

GL: Can you tell us a little about your Work-In-Progress? What’s it about?

JL: The easy answer is that it’s about teenagers who turn into dragons who fall in love. The more detailed answer is (this is my brief back-cover-esque synopsis):

Lacey Bradley wanted nothing more than to be a normal teenager. Unfortunately, a mysterious illness has always kept her a step apart from her peers. When she and her parents move to a small town in Northern Minnesota, she's prepared for the close scrutiny she receives. What she's not prepared for is her almost miraculous recovery and increasing strength and stamina. Nor is she prepared for the Drakes--a family surrounded by a mystery of their own. And they seem to know more about Lacey than she does herself.

Scarred by a childhood trauma, Duncan Drake does his best to stay calm and reserved. He knows from experience the tragic consequences of a loss of control for someone of his nature. There's something about the new girl, however, that shakes his resolve. Like he and his family, Lacey is Drakon--a human who, due to the right combination of genetics and magic, can shape shift into a dragon. The only thing is, no female Drakon have been born in over 200 years, and the fact that Lacey exists at all could lead to a war that would destroy both the human and Drakon worlds.

There are essentially two themes that I’m trying to convey: the first is about accepting and embracing all sides of oneself—one will never be truly powerful or successful until they accept who (and what) they truly are, and the second is about cooperation and teamwork—anything can be accomplished, any monster can be defeated, if people work together to get it done. And, I guess there’s the third that all romances have, which is something along the lines of “love conquers all.”

GL: Wow, J. Leigh, that sounds FAN-tastic! Get it? It’s a play on words because today’s post is called…uh, never mind. Your blog, Stories of the Drakon, has a ton of awesome information for writers on your blog. What’s the best piece of advice or lesson-learned that you can share with us?

JL: For me, the absolute best piece of advice (the most helpful for me in particular) I’ve gotten was at a recent Romance Writers of America conference, and was given by author Cherry Adair. It’s called WTFITPOTS, which translates to “What the F*** Is the Point of This Scene.” Every scene or chapter should have a purpose or goal, whether it’s to introduce a main character’s back-story, drop a clue about a bigger mystery, move the plot forward, or make the character relatable and likable, etc. Unfortunately, I tend to be a very wordy writer (bet you couldn’t tell!) and I want to include EVERYTHING in a chapter or scene. And it often takes me a long time to get to the point. Now, before I write any scene, I sort of make a list of bullet points on what exactly I want to come out of this scene—I don’t outline; I’m not nearly that organized—then, when I’ve finished the scene, I can make sure that all of my bullets are included and anything extra I’ll look at and decide whether it’s necessary or just extra fluff that I added. It’s actually helped a lot. (Sorry for swearing....)

GL: Oh, you YA writers. There’s nothing wrong with a good string of colorful swear words (or steamy hot sex scenes with an alpha warrior). Besides, it’s not considered swearing if you replace letters with asterisks, but your apology was cute. I digress. Okay, last, but not certainly not least, I think everyone here would like to know who your favorite pre-published Paranormal Romance author is.

JL: Me! [points finger at J. Leigh and then drags it across throat] No, I meant to say Gina Leigh Maxwell, of course! (It’s the middle name, I always get us confused.) ;)

GL: Oh my gosh, I'm so touched! You're a total sweetie. And our middle name is pretty awesome. Thanks so much, J. Leigh, I hope you had as much fun with this as I did.

You can learn more about J. Leigh’s book and her progress on her blog, along with tons of posts with helpful information she learns via books, college courses (she shares her assignments and the teacher’s feedback, which is like taking the class yourself only without the stress or bill!), and writers’ conferences. She’s a veritable font of information with very to-the-point posts that don’t tend to suck a lot of your time. (Don’t you just hate long-winded bloggers who don’t know when to shut up? Wait. Fark.)

So do yourself a favor – follow this link, click on the Follow button, and add her to your blog roll. Satisfaction guaranteed or your money back! Well, you know what I mean.

Have a great weekend everyone! Until next week…you stay classy blogosphere!

(Aaaaand, we’re clear! Good job everyone.)

Wee-Bit Wednesday

2010-05-05T00:01:00.003-04:00

Happy Wee-Bit Wednesday, everyone!

Today’s excerpt is significantly shorter than last week’s. It also requires a bit of a scene set up to explain a few things.

Angelica is on a date at a charity event with her ex-boyfriend, Rick, who is trying his best to win her back. Inebriated and unsure, Angelica calls on Corryn, her British Guardian Angel, for advice. Normally a very “together” doctor, this scene is completely out-of-character for Angelica which made it a lot of fun to write.

During dinner they talked about what they’d been doing since they last spoke, although Angelica conveniently left out anything to do with her Destiny. The conversation flowed (as did the champagne) and they laughed with each other over crazy patient stories. After their plates had been cleared, and another bottle of champagne had been emptied, Angelica excused herself to the ladies’ room.

She managed to navigate her way through the tables without incident, despite feeling extremely lightheaded from the alcohol. Once she was through the door and standing in front of the wall to wall mirrors behind the long counter of sinks she quickly called for backup. “Corryn!” she whispered loudly. Her Guardian shimmered in at the sink next to her just as a lady in a too-tight fuchsia dress was exiting a stall behind her. Fuchsia automatically moved around the Angel and used the sink on the other side.

“Oh thank goodness you’re here,” Angelica said with great relief.

Fuchsia turned to look at her with a puzzled look. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“No, sorry, I wasn’t talking to you,” she answered Fuchsia. Then to Corryn, “Okay, I need your advice.”

Corryn asked, “What about?”

Fuchsia repeated, “You need my advice?”

Angelica looked at Fuchsia in the mirror and said a little flustered, “No, I’m not talking to you.” Fuchsia gave her a look of irritation as she finished drying her hands and proceeded to take out an entire makeup line from her huge Louis Vuitton.

Corryn suggested, “Maybe you should use your cell phone to talk to me.”

“What?”

Fuchsia stopped mid-lipstick application to give a terse, “I didn’t say anything.”

“Take out your cell phone,” Corryn explained slowly, “and pretend like you’re talking to me on the phone before they call the local psych ward.”

When Corryn’s idea finally sunk in Angelica retrieved her cell from her clutch, pretended to dial and wait for an answer, then said, “This will be so much easier in a few days when I can talk to you inside my head.”

Corryn hopped up onto the counter and rolled her eyes at Fuchsia’s hurried attempts at putting everything back in her bag with sidelong glances at the crazy blonde girl. “Fantastic. I suppose I’ll have to do some creative explaining when I ask your father to bust you out of the loony bin. Or I could just tell him his daughter drank more than a glass of alcohol for the first time in her life and acted like a crazy person in the loo.”

“I know,” Angelica whined. She sagged against the tiled wall and leaned her head back. “I don’t know how that happened. I was just so nervous and I felt completely out of my comfort zone so I figured I’d have a glass to help myself relax. But every time I looked at my glass it was full and I wasn’t paying attention to him refilling it all the time.” She took a deep breath and let her hand holding the phone fall away from her ear when Fuchsia finally fled the bathroom.

“Well, I certainly noticed his on-point bartending skills. I’m not sure if he’s aware how much of a lightweight you are. Either that, or he’s very aware and he has a hidden agenda.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. What do you think? Do you think he’s really telling the truth? That he’s done with gambling and…that he loves me?” she asked with naïve uncertainty.

Corryn looked at her charge and sighed, “I don’t know, love. He seems sincere enough, but unfortunately I’m built for fighting and protecting, not lie detecting. What does your heart tell you?”

Angelica dropped her gaze to the floor. “I don’t know that I can trust my heart right now.”

Her Guardian slid off the counter to stand in front of her. “Then maybe you should just take things as they come. Eventually you’ll learn to trust it again.” Corryn used her fingers under Angelica’s chin to lock their twin pairs of sea green eyes. “It’s a good heart, Angelica. Believe me; I know it as well as I know my own.”

“Thanks, Corryn.” A goofy smile spread across Angelica’s face provoking Corryn to hitch a wary eyebrow in her direction.

“What?” Corryn asked while she pulled back a little like she needed a better angle.

“I just love you so darn much. Is it normal that I can’t feel my lips?”

“Bloody wonderful. You’re completely sloshed. Come on, you’d better get back out to your date before he comes in here looking for you.”

“I’m not sloshed,” she argued as Corryn ushered her towards the door. “I’m just a little buzzed. And I really do love you.”

“Hush now. We can discuss your affections for me later. Go and finish your date.”

“Yes, ma’am, Miss Pushy-Pants.”

Wee-Bit (and a bit more) Wednesday

2010-04-21T04:12:00.000-04:00

Hello, and welcome to the second installment of Wee-Bit Wednesday, where I parrot the ever-popular Teaser Tuesday posts on a different day with a different title. :)

This week I thought I’d spare all of the people who aren’t crazy about mushy romance scenes and give you a scene from Chapter Two. I’ll apologize in advance for the length (it’s a bit more than wee), but this was really the only good way of starting and ending the excerpt in order to avoid confusion and give it a nice hook at the end (even though that’s not the end of the scene in the book).

This excerpt is (almost) directly after Chapter One, which I’ve posted on my blog many times to show you how I work through my drafts and create my revisions. If you’re interested in reading what happens before this excerpt, you can read the entire Chapter One here. Now I’ll shut up and let my Wee-Bit do the talking. (As always, honest crits are welcome…specific crits are appreciated!)

**Warning: The following excerpt uses strong language.**

A wave of icy water slapped Dom to full awareness.

He sputtered and choked on the water that managed to invade his airway. Despite his efforts to get to his feet, a strong force held each of his limbs down. He blinked over and over, trying to bring his surroundings into focus through the cold rivulets that streamed from his hair and into his eyes.

A single torch bathed him in a circle of light, taunting him with the harsh reality of his grim situation. He lay on a metal table with his wrists and ankles locked down in iron shackles. Cool, damp air met his wet skin and raised his flesh in a fair imitation of brail. The thick, musty odor of dirt walls assaulted his nostrils and lay heavy in his lungs. An archway was carved into the packed earth across from him as the only means for entry into the room. The stacked wine barrels in one corner provided a weak argument that he was in a storage cellar and not some surreal cave-like dungeon.

Breathing fast and heavy, adrenaline coursing through his veins, Dom met the eyes of his captor. All at once the memory of his walk home slammed to the forefront of his mind. He hadn’t been slipped a Mickey after all. Just knocked out like he’d pissed off Mike fucking Tyson.

The man – Griffin, he recalled – stood holding the bucket that had no doubt been carrying the frigid water only moments ago. Wincing with the pain in his head from the man’s mean right hook, Dom struggled against his bonds. He desperately wanted to beat that fake-fanged smirk right off of him. “What’s the matter, asshole? Afraid to fight me like a man?”

Griffin answered with a patronizing laugh. “On the contrary, Dominic. I can’t wait to fight you once we’re on equal ground. I’m sure you’ll make an excellent punching bag.”

“You son of a –”

“That’s enough.”

Dom looked past Griffin to where the new voice, ringing hollow and cold, emanated from the doorway. Griffin’s cocky attitude fell dead away, like a child being scolded by his father. He bowed his head in reverence and stepped away from the table, allowing the other man to step into the fiery spotlight.

He looked older than Griffin, maybe in his forties, but still possessed the same huge frame as the younger man. His long hair was jet black with occasional interruptions by streaks of silver. It draped over his body like a dark tunic that covered the top half of his crimson robes. His pallid skin was bloodless, devoid of any sign of life. But it was the man’s eyes that made the hair on the back of Dom’s neck stand on end. His pupils were lost in rings of matching obsidian and the reflection of the orange flames danced in the black depths of the soulless pools.

Dom’s breath caught in his throat. The man reeked of malice; his very presence exuded an evil energy that suffocated Dom like an invisible pillow against his face. He concentrated on dragging air into his lungs as he studied his newest captor and obvious leader of whatever deranged group was holding him.

“Let. Me. Go,” Dom managed between clenched teeth.

His newfound enemy smiled that same fangy smile. “Over your dead body, I’m afraid.”

Dom felt his control snap. “What the fuck is going on!”

“Where are my manners? Apologies. I am Lysander, Lord of the Diabolus Umbra. You are a guest in my humble lair,” he gestured with his palms upraised, arms opening to the sides, like he was showing off a luxurious home. “Welcome.”

“Guest? Guests usually receive invitations in the mail, with the option of declining. They aren’t kidnapped and held in a cellar. If I’m a guest then let me off this goddamn table,” he said, jerking on the iron bracelets.

“I am sorry for the restraints, but I can assure you they are only temporary. Once the change has been completed, you will not only be freed, but you will have the honor of being my second in command with much power.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dom ground out through a clenched jaw. “If this is some kind of twisted sacrificial ritual for you guys, I suggest you get a fucking goat!” He again tried pulling free, this time using one prolonged contraction of every muscle he possessed. He growled against the tremendous strain, his veins rising in webs under the stretched skin of his biceps and forearms. With his muscles burning and his strength depleted, Dom let his body go limp and his head fall back to the table with detested resignation.

“I will explain more fully when you have an open mind, however, I am willing to enlighten you with the abridged version.” The older man tented his fingers in front of him and lifted his empty gaze to the ceiling. He began to move with contrasting grace, practically gliding around the table as he spoke. “I am a very powerful Being. Your kind would call me a vampire. I have need of you to join my clan in order to get close to the one Being I need as my queen.”

Any hope of reasoning with the man just flew right out the proverbial window. He was obviously Lord of the Loonies. A delusional man who thought himself Dracula on the hunt for his very own vampire bride. The pure insanity of his situation caused a small amount of amusement to overshadow his fear. “Let me see if I can get this straight,” he began to clarify. “You’re a vampire, and you need to make me a vampire, because I’m the only one who can get you the woman you want as your queen.” A chuckle escaped from Dom and echoed through the dank space. “Ever consider E-Harmony? I hear they do a bang-up job of finding you the perfect mate. And the upside is there’s no felony involved.”

The corners of his captor’s mouth lifted and his lips parted, once again displaying the freak-show fangs he was wearing. “Ah, you have a sense of humor. I find that quite refreshing. I am sure it is a trait my queen-to-be admires in you, as well.”

“Okay, look, pal. I’m not convinced you’re anything more than a lunatic with a God complex, but for the sake of argument I’ll play along with your insane little theory.” Maybe he shouldn’t be taunting the man, but he couldn’t help himself. The whole situation was just too much and this guy was a complete whack-job. “Let’s just assume for the moment that what you say is true. Who is this chick you want as your queen that I’m the only one who can bring her to you? I’m pretty sure that Big, Tall and Ugly over there would be able to get whoever it is for you just fine. Or he could tell Johnny, to tell Steve, to tell Becky that you like her. Here’s a tip: if she starts doodling your name inside hearts all over her notebook, you know she’s hooked.”

He heard Griffin growling in the shadows. By the sound of it, Dom didn’t think he was endearing himself to the man. Like he cared.

Lysander completed his orbit around the table and resumed the study of his captive through narrowed eyes. Black, horizontal slits pinned Dom in place, much like his metal restraints. “You have a very sharp tongue for someone who is in such a precarious situation. There is a time and place for that humor of yours. That is something you will learn quickly.”

Dom heard the underlying threat in the man’s voice. It was the type of thing he’d heard on a daily basis growing up. A switch flipped in his mind and he responded in an equally threatening tone. “Actually, I’ve learned that if you’re going to get a fucking beating one way or the other, you might as well speak your mind. And no matter what kind of beating I get, I always make sure to return the favor.”

A wicked smile formed on the man’s pliable mask of a face. “Very well, I will tell you. Not because you ask, understand, but because I shall enjoy your reaction. The girl that is fated to be my queen does not yet know of her Destiny. According to my sources, she must come to my bed willingly to set the proper wheels in motion. I feel that with you at my side, that would be an absolute certainty.”

Dom gave him a humorless laugh. “Sorry to disappoint you, but no female likes me that much. I’ve had my share of intimate escapades, but girls typically start to despise me once they realize my non-committal attitude isn’t about to change. You’ve obviously got the wrong guy.”

Lysander studied his claw-like nails as though he were bored. “You are quite mistaken, dear boy. I know for a fact that the female I need would quite willingly follow you anywhere. After all,” he threw Dom a malicious sneer, “Angelica trusts you with her life.”

Dom’s eyes widened, his nostrils flared. Terror filled his veins with ice, immobilizing his body even as his heart threatened to send him into cardiac arrest. “I’ll fucking die before I let you go anywhere near her,” he said in a low voice.

“Exactly.”

Terrible Twos-day: Beta vs. VHS - Part II

2010-04-14T08:13:00.001-04:00

Yesterday I discussed the first of two schools of thought when it comes to editing our WIPs: the School of Betas. The school where the teachers gently hold your creation in their hands, helpfully mark it up with red pen, and hand it back saying, “Again. This time with feeling.”

But, not every writer agrees with the use of Betas. *pause for collective audience gasp* It’s true! I’ve read their advice online exclaiming, “Don’t show your work to anyone under any circumstance!”

This group of writers vehemently oppose the Beta way of life. Instead, they are strict believers in the Vamp and Hide System, or VHS. (Yes, I made that up, so I wouldn’t start throwing that term around expecting people to know what the fark you’re talking about, unless you have a penchant for people looking at you like you have two heads.) They vamp and revamp their work all on their own and hold it so close to their chest that their skin begins to grow around the edges of the pages, fusing creator with creation in a grotesque display of paranoia. (Ew, that was gross. Sorry.)

The thought process that drives a VHS user is simple: no matter who your Betas are, once they have their grubby little paws on your unpublished - extremely vulnerable – manuscript, there’s nothing stopping the Beta from stealing your ideas, your words, your babies. Instead, the VHS-ers trust in their own abilities to write and edit the perfect story until the time comes for them to boldly submit their work with only a single set of eyes ever gracing its pages.

Wow. That’s intense, right? Now, please don’t misunderstand. I’m not saying that the VHS-er is wrong or convoluted in their way of thinking. In fact, I still haven’t decided which school I’ll be attending when I’ve reached that glorious false-sense-of-manuscript-perfection.

My inner (and quite possibly over-trusting) literary soul cries out for the use of Betas. I need to know what others think. Did the story work as well for them as it did for me? Is there anything I’ve failed to explain properly? Did I over explain in some areas? Are there plot holes I’ve blinded myself to? And, damn it, I want to know if it’s genuinely good!

But my soulmate (who is always wisely cynical) says I shouldn’t be bandying my ideas about a circle of people I barely know, like a lukewarm version of Hot Potato where the players get to hold it as long as they want and take a hunk off here or a slice off there. I shouldn’t trust anyone not to sell my baby on the black market or run away with it into the night, cackling at their good fortune and my naïve trusting ways.

Maybe there are ways to use Betas and not have to worry about the security of your ideas. What about using people who are knowledgeable in the craft of writing, but who aren't pursuing novel writing careers? Or using Betas who are in a different genre than you.

Or maybe there's really no reason to worry at all and the people we meet on the wonderful world of blogging are just as I am: out to connect with other writers and sincere in my wishes that they succeed just as I hope to.

So, which school do you attend? Beta or VHS?

Terrible Twos-day: Beta vs. VHS

2010-04-13T00:01:00.001-04:00

I originally said that Terrible Twos-day would be an informative post on two things that knowledgeable professionals say writers should never do. I’m not abandoning that theme entirely, but rather twisting it into a discussion on two schools of thought that continue to plague me when it comes to my book: Do I use Betas or the VHS?

When I was a wee lass in Small Town, Wisconsin, my family stepped into the future and became proud owners of the latest and greatest technology: the VCR. (The very first videos we rented were The Muppets Take Manhattan and WHAM!’s Greatest Hits Videos. Don’t judge me!) When you rented videos, you had the option of renting a Beta version or VHS version of your desired movie. The type of VCR you owned determined which version you rented for your viewing pleasure. To this day I have no idea what a Beta version of a VCR looks like, or what the difference between the two are (nor do I particularly care).

Nowadays, when I hear the term Beta, it’s linked to a new-and-improved version of software or hardware or Tupperware that hasn’t had all the bugs, kinks and wrinkles worked out yet. Therefore, they label it “Incredible Thing You Must Have version 18.0 Beta.” This tells us they want us to take it for a spin and let them know what we think is great, and not so great, about their latest and greatest Thingamabobber.

So how does that apply to our writing?

It doesn’t.

It has to do with our editing. The people that read your finished manuscript are called your “Beta Readers,” or more affectionately, “Betas.” Here’s an example scenario of why some (most?) writers use Betas:

Writer: YES! Finally, my manuscript is complete! I’ve poured over every last word, every tiny comma, and there’s nothing I could possibly change, add, delete or embellish to make this better. Here, my lucky little Betas, read and bask in the literary glory that is my polished book.

Beta #1: Ooh, this was really good, but I think it would be even better if you changed this, this, aaaaaaand this.

Beta #2: Yes, and don’t forget to make this part a little clearer and this part a little stronger.

Beta #3: Right. Oh, and also, I don’t think this is necessary to move the story forward…or this…oooooooor this.

Writer: Well, button my britches, you’re all absolutely right! I’m so glad I had fresh sets of eyes to point out my story’s weaknesses that I couldn’t see for myself. Now my book will be even better. Thank you, Betas!

In summary, Betas can read and analyze our work more objectively than we can. We are the mothers, painstakingly dressing and primping our children for their big debut to the world. We look at them with blinded pride and say to anyone who will listen, “Look at what I have created. She is beautiful beyond compare and I have dressed her in the finest clothes and styled her hair in a unique and wonderful way.” Then the photographers – or Beta Readers – show up for the photo shoot and says, “Sacre bleu! Zees will not do! Ze clothes are so last season and her hair ees like she stuck her fingair een ze light socket. Tsk tsk tsk. Non, non, non. Come. I will fix and zen she will shine like ze Eiffel Tower, non? OUI!”

(I’m not sure why the Beta Readers were French in that scenario, but you get the picture.)

But if we’re going to use Betas, who do we chose? How do we know they’re qualified to take on such a task in the first place?

I could tell you all day long how knowledgeable I am in the world of fiction writing and my role as a Crit Partner or Beta Reader would be invaluable to you. But I’d be lying. I’m not qualified in the least! All I can tell you is what I liked or didn’t like as a reader. I’m not worth a damn as an editor, unless we’re talking spelling errors. I can catch those with my eyes closed. But when it comes to technical writing? Sentence structure? Nope, don’t ask me, ‘cause I have no idea.

And, maybe I’m completely off the mark here, but I feel like 99% of the people I’ve met through the wonderful world of blogging are in the same position I’m in. Finding their writing voice and struggling to finish their current books or projects. We’re not published. We don’t have years of success under our belts. We’re newbies, novices, hopefuls, students. From reading snippets and teasers, I’ve discovered so many people whom I truly think are talented writers with bright futures ahead of them. But others seem to like my snippets as well, but again, I’d like to reiterate that I am not qualified to be a Beta, so raw talent doesn’t necessarily mean I have the tools to refine my work or anyone else’s.

I know a lot of you have Betas already. What were your reasons for choosing those people? Are they personal friends of yours? Are they internet friends whose work you admire? Give me your thoughts on the School of Betas.

**Because this post ended up being so obnoxiously long, I’m breaking it up into two days. Part two will air tomorrow morning, where I’ll discuss the VHS option of editing your work. (the following is said in a ridiculous New York accent---->) Frankly, the whole thing is making me a little verklempt, so I’m giving you a topic to talk amongst yourselves: Tupperware. It’s neither Tupper, nor ware. Discuss. (One million points and all of my love to the person(s) who can tell me what that’s from!)**

Tootles!

Wee-Bit Wednesday

2010-04-07T00:01:00.003-04:00

As promised, here is a ~~small~~ wee-bit of an excerpt (okay it was smaller – about 500 words – when I started, but once I finished revising and editing it ended up 895 words) from Chapter 9 of my As-of-Yet-Untitled Paranormal Romance. Although I’m hoping you enjoy it and gets you super psyched about my book (after all, that’s the whole point of giving you a wee-bit, isn’t it?) I would still appreciate any constructive critiques if you have any. Fluff is great, but please only give me honest fluff, so I can grow as a writer. ;)

“This is my fault. I knew better, but I was selfish. I let myself need you too much. I’m so sorry, Dominic.”

Angelica felt an arm slide under her knees and one around her back before she was lifted into his lap. The blanket fell away from her shoulders as he pulled her hands away from her eyes, allowing the wetness to trail down her cheeks. Dominic cupped her face and used the roughened pads of his thumbs to wipe them away. Thoughts of regret consumed her mind, yet his tender touch and the intimacy of his stare had her body responding in a manner that contradicted those thoughts.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but none of this is your fault. Look at me,” he said when she’d lowered her eyes. She obeyed, unable to deny him even the smallest request. “I accepted what I am a long time ago. Hell, I’ve even been grateful at times. If I was still Mortal I never would’ve been able to protect you last night. As long as I can use my strength and powers to keep you safe, I’ll never regret what I am.”

Angelica desperately wanted to believe him, but her guilt held fast, refusing to subside even a little. Keeping Dominic as her close friend all those years had placed him in danger. She had knowingly made him a walking target to those who wanted to destroy her. He had no idea that because of who – or what – she was, he’d been forced into a state of half-life for all eternity. And it scared her to death to think he might hate her once he learned the truth.

On a shaky sigh she closed her eyes, one of which overflowed with the sorrow that filled her heart, releasing a single tear from beneath the fan of lashes. It slid over her skin, her shame evident in the trail of moisture it left in its wake. Soft, cool lips pressed lightly to her cheek and took with them the droplet in mid-descent. When he spoke, his breath caressed her cheek like a faint winter breeze, causing shivers that had nothing to do with temperature to ripple down her spine. “God, I can feel your sadness, angel.” His voice was low and gruff, like he struggled to force sound through gravel. “Tell me how to fix it. I’ll do anything.”

Reluctantly she opened her eyes and stared intently into the steel-blue depths of his. “What if I were to tell you that I could have prevented all of this…if I’d just kept my distance from you?”

“Sweetheart, that’s ridiculous,” he said gently.

Her eyes searched his, silently begging him for an answer. There was nothing ridiculous about her claim and she needed to know where she stood. He pushed a long breath out through his nose with a slight flare of his nostrils – a familiar sign he was acceding to something she wanted against his better judgment.

“I’d say I don’t give a damn what it prevented. I wouldn’t give up any of our time together. I swear. Not for any reason, no matter my consequences,” he answered with a harsh tone.

The conviction of his answer soaked into the speck of hope she’d been holding in her heart until it expanded so much her chest hurt. Tears, originally borne of fear and sadness, but now tangible drops of relief and happiness, flowed unchecked down her face.

Dominic’s features softened with a look of resignation. “How can you doubt how much you mean to me? How much you’ve always meant to me?”

His gaze slipped from her eyes and settled heavily on her lips. “God, woman, is there any emotion that doesn’t look good on you?” he said in a gruff voice.

She drew her brows together and opened her mouth to ask him what he meant by that, but he didn’t give her the chance.

“Even when you cry you’re beautiful. Your eyes look like submerged jewels behind the tears you try to keep from falling. The apples of your cheeks turn the prettiest shade of pink. And your lips...” His thumb lifted from her cheek and trailed lightly over the fullness of her lower lip. “They get all swollen and pouty. And eventually, when you get nervous or unsure about something - like now - you suck one corner between your teeth, which is enough to bring any man to his knees.”

Angelica immediately released her lip on a gasp of surprise. No one had ever said anything so innocent, and at the same time so provocative, to her before in her life. The butterflies returned to flutter wildly in her stomach and her heart beat a rhythm, hard and fast, against her breast.

As his gaze traveled back up her face, black lashes lifted to reveal silvery-blue orbs that held a raw, molten desire. His eyes penetrated her soul and rendered her mindless, her every thought forced into submission by the overwhelming power of her physical urges. Urges she’d denied herself almost her entire life.

Very, very slowly, he closed the short distance between them. When his lips were only a breath away from her own he held still, poised at the threshold of no return, giving her plenty of time to back out now and run the other way.

She didn’t.

Now keep in mind, that when I look at this later today, I'll be changing things AGAIN. It seems to be a never-ending process of progression. But anyhoo - what do you like about it? What didn't you like about it? Do you have a favorite line? Lay it on me!

Melodramatic Monday

2010-04-05T07:45:00.003-04:00

Holy FARKING Canoli, what have I gotten myself into?!?!

As I said in my Friday post, I master-minded this new blogging schedule where I'll be posting 2-3 times a week with alternating days, each day with its own theme. Now that I've had some time to think about it, I don't think I could've put more pressure on myself if I had ASKED SUPERMAN TO PRETTY-PLEASE-WITH-A-CHERRY-ON-TOP PLACE A FREIGHT TRAIN SQUARELY ON MY SHOULDERS!!!

Then to top it off, everyone that commented basically said the same thing, "You're crazier than a senile Hollywood stunt man with Alzheimer's, Maxwell!!" (And when you think about it, that truly would be a crazy situation. I mean, the poor guy would probably forget why he'd just been set on fire or thrown off of a building.) Okay, so I may be paraphrasing just a skosh, but you get the gist. I thought a lot more of you followed blogging schedules and I was just following your good examples. APPARENTLY I WAS SUFFERING FROM MASSIVE BOUTS OF BLOGOSPHERE DELUSIONS.

However, before I huddle in the darkened corner, rocking back and forth while hugging myself to find my "happy place," I'm going to give this a shot. After many failed weeks, I may just cry "UNCLE," "MERCY," or "FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY PLEASE MAKE IT STOP," but for now, we'll just have to see if I can make this happen.

Have a SUPERTY-DUPERTY LOVE-A-LICIOUS MELODRAMATIC MONDAY everyone!!!! And don't forget to tune in for WEE-BIT WEDNESDAY where I'll share a snippet from my book. If you have any requests on content, let me know (scary, thrilling, action, romantic, funny, whatevs). :)

Introducing the new and improved Passions On Paper look (& other changes in the program)

2010-04-02T13:24:00.001-04:00

Lookee, lookee! I changed my blog to reflect a more passionate image. Did it work? Do the gi-normous roses in the background incite your deepest desires?......No?.......But, it's kinda pretty, right? Well, that's what we're sticking with for a while anyway. Who knows what it'll look like in six months. ;)

I've decided to try keeping a regular blogging schedule, so all of you can know what to expect and make sure you tune in on your favorite days. You know, for those of you (and I know there's not many, but I don't want to rule anyone out) that don't wake up every morning totally jonesing for a Passions On Paper fix.

So I've created a theme for each weekday that will inspire my blogs for that particular day. I reserve the right to change these themes at any point, which will most likely be due to realizing these ideas were bunk to begin with. *tee hee* At any rate, these are my ideas so far:

MELODRAMATIC MONDAY

I'm not exactly sure what that will mean. I might rewrite a certain passage in a melodramatic way just for fun, or maybe I'll rant melodramatically about something random in my crazy brain. Or maybe I'll make it an opposite day and not be melodramatic at all. You just never know what I'll come up with.

TERRIBLE TWOS-DAY

This is the day that I'm going to try and find two things that a writer should never do. Whether it has to do with querying, submitting, writing, what have you. It's going to be a day of educational warnings. Please don't think that I'll be writing this post with any sort of personal knowledge. I'll be doing research to hear what the experts say. Or maybe I'll ask the experts (if I can get them to acknowledge me) what they're #1 tip NOT to do would be. Either way, we'll be learning together.

WEE-BIT WEDNESDAY

I recently discovered that a lot of bloggers do a Teaser Tuesday, where they post a small section out of anywhere in their WIP (work in progress) to get readers interested and buzzing. I thought this was a great idea, however, I've decided to tweak the idea just a bit. Afterall, if tons of people are teasing everyone on Tuesday, then it comes down to choosing your favorites to read because you won't have time to get to all of them. So I'm going to do it on Wednesdays and I used the Wee-Bit to aptly describe that I'm giving you only a small amount and to provide my much-loved alliteration for my title.

THREE AGENT THURSDAY

I like this title because it sounds like FREE agent, which is an actual term, and of course, it keeps in line with my "TH" need for THursday. I LOVE IT! Okay, so on this day I'm going to highlight three literary agents. I'm going to cover different genres, since not everyone is a romance ~~addict~~ writer like moi (though I personally don't know why anyone would want to read or write anything but). Again, I'll be learning right along with the rest of you on this one. As of right now, I have one dream agent, but in the event she turns me down I have to be prepared with others to submit to (after I pick up the pieces of my shattered heart and broken dreams and cry like a little girl for at least a year).

And last, but not least...

FREE-FOR-ALL FRIDAY

This will be a "holy cow, what in the world is she going to post today" day. The sky's the limit. Maybe I'll have a fellow blogger or author interview. Maybe I'll turn it into a FAN-TASTIC FRIDAY where I feature one of my beloved fans (aka followers)! Maybe it'll end up being a FORGOT TO BLOG FRIDAY. Even I have no idea what I'll do.

So there you have it, ladies and gents. My new (soon to be attempted) blogging schedule. But before you go all Passions On Paper overdose on me, I'd like to inform you that I'll be alternating the weeks on these. For example, the first week I'll be doing the Mondays and Wednesdays and the next week I'll be doing Tuesdays and Thursdays. Fridays are a wild card. You never know when I'm going to throw one of those in there.

Okay, so what do you think? Do you like the proposed schedule? If you have any ideas that are better than mine (which is highly likely, since you're all blogging super geniuses), let me know!

You want me to build a WHAT?!?!

2010-03-29T00:01:00.035-04:00

A platform. HUH?! *rolls eyes, releases frustrated sigh* A platform! An Author Platform, to be more exact.

What is a platform, you ask? Well, okay, maybe you didn’t ask. I mean, chances are you probably already know. I, however, only recently learned a few weeks ago what it was, so I’m going to pretend that you don’t know to soothe my own ego. Cuz that’s what I do. ;) *clears throat* Okay, so here we go. Pretend you’re learning something.

Joanna Penn of The Creative Penn describes it as, “…how you are currently reaching an audience of book-buying people, or how you plan to do so. It is your influence, your ability to sell to your market. It is your multi-faceted book marketing machine!”

“Oh!” you say. “So an Author Platform is all the stuff your publisher does, right?” Wrong. This is all the stuff that WE need to do if we want to get our writing out into the world. Whether you have a publisher or not, whether you have an agent or not, there is nobody in this world that will do for your writing what YOU can do for it. And thanks to the wonderful world of modern technology, most of the tools we can use to accomplish this platform, are practically free. All it costs us is a little (okay, probably a lot) of our time and some good ol’ fashioned metaphorical elbow grease.

Now, I could stand up here on my soapbox and preach to you, using all of my well-versed knowledge about author platforms and how to go about creating them, but I have two problems with that, which are as follows:

1. I’ve tried standing on soapboxes before and really, I don’t get it. I mean, have you ever tried it? Soapboxes are tiny. And they only raise you up, like, an inch total. What's the point of that? All of you in the back won't even be able to see me. If I was going to preach for any reason, I’d rather stand on something like a platform. Not an author platform, though. Cuz that’s just silly. And...

2. I’m obviously not an expert on the subject, as I pointed out in my Top Ten Reasons I Suck at Blogging post. Although I’ve been making a huge effort to change this fact, I’ve still got a long way to go with the whole platform concept. Right now I’d say that, with my blog, I’ve started mixing the concrete that’s going to hold the posts of my platform firmly in the ground. But I have yet to go to Home Depot and purchase my lumber, so I'm far from experienced in the matter.

So, in light of those extremely revealing problems, I’m going to give you the articles that I’ve read on the topic and let THEM teach you about author platforms. But once you read their posts, discover their staggering levels of sheer genius and become avid followers, please don’t forget to visit my humble blog once in a while. You know, for nostalgic reasons and crap like that. Or if you just feel like slumming it some days.

Okay, here they are:

Lindsey Edwards, writer of paranormal, fantasy and historical romance describes a platform as "all the ways in which you can gain visibility among readers" in her article Author Platform and the Debut of Your Book. She has really great suggestions in an easy-to-scan bulleted format on ways you can improve your platform for both non-fiction and fiction writers.

Author of thrillers, Joe Moore of The Kill Zone blog wrote a great post called Building a Writer's Platform, where he also gives some great ideas with a little more in-depth detail on what to do.

Jane Friedman added a post on the Writer Unboxed blog called Audience Development: Critical to Every Writer's Future. This is a great article where she tackles some of the myths us newbies have in our heads like "our craft being the most important thing" and our need to only "focus on our writing." She explains why those types of thoughts can be problematic for writers and gives great information on how the relationship between publisher-author-audience works.

And for any of you lucky ducklings who already have a publisher, Barry Eisler, who is also a writer of thrillers, gives fantastic examples of the lengths that he went to in order to convince his publisher to invest more time and money into his books in his post Recruiting a Publisher.

But, I have to admit, my absolute favorite post I read on this topic was written by Chuck Wendig of the Terribleminds blog, entitled Writer's Don't Do That. He delves into all of the excuses that we, as writers, desperately grasp to our chests in strangling choke-holds while huddling in our darkened corners of solitude. These excuses allow us blame outside forces when our efforts at success fall at our feet like the wrinkled latex of a deflated balloon. In his post, Chuck wields his Crowbar of Literary Knowledge. He wedges it between our chests and arms to pry our coddled comfort zones away from our bodies before crushing them under the heel of his benevolent boots for our own damn good.

If you enjoy a no-nonsense, straight shooter, tells-ya-how-it-is-even-if-it-hurts kind of writer, then definitely check out Chuck. (ooh, that was fun and unintentional alliteration) He's an amazing writer and doesn’t believe in sugar-coating things to spare your feelings, but rather uses his own form of tough love where he slaps you out of your hysteria and then applies a balm to soothe the sting becuz he loves you (though he denies it, he’s really just a big softy at heart).

However, I must warn you that his blogsite is not for the faint of heart. Sprinkled between all of the great information are crass metaphors and lots of swearing. And though you wouldn’t know it from my writing on this blog, I actually swear like a truck driver in real life, so I find him freaking hee-larious! His posts are lengthy (don't you just hate mile-long posts? Wait a minute…*looks up at writing and sighs*…crap), but so well-written and entertaining that I promise you won’t even notice. And as I said, he’s extremely knowledgeable about the writing profession and his posts are chock-full of informational goodies. It’s a win-win in my book.

So what about all of you? Did you already know all of this? Am I preachin’ to the choir or have you come away with interesting and previously unknown tidbits? Have you read any great articles on author platforms that you’d like to share? Give it up in the comments section. Let me hear ya!

Blog Award Love!!

2010-03-27T16:40:00.002-04:00

And the winner is...ME! *stands up, hands over mouth, looks around in complete shock, heads to the stage, accepts award with a shaky, but firm grip.*

Oh my gosh! I didn't even prepare a speech. This is such a surprise...I just never expected...

Um, okay, well first, I'd like to thank the Academy of Cruising Altitude and DL Hammons for giving me this award. Without you and your unwavering support, I may never have had the courage to continue blogging, much less embraced the idea of doing so prolificly (is that a word?).

Next, I'd like to thank all of my followers who have commented on my crazy posts, making me giggle in delight that they took the time out of their busy schedules to listen to my errant ramblings and say something back. I can't tell you how much it brightens my day and pushes me to do better with each new post.

And last, but not least, I'd like to let my silent followers, whom I haven't yet had the pleasure of commenting back and forth, know that I appreciate the fact they thought enough of my blog to click on that little "Follow" button and show the blogosphere they have no shame in linking their profile pictures to my site. I hope that one day I post something that inspires you to comment, giving me the opportunity to finally meet you.

And now what you've all been waiting for...the passing of the Award Torch. I'm giving this award to five blogs that I both love, and have a hard time keeping up with due to their incredible dedication for daily posts, of which I hope I will accomplish at some point in my life. I encourage you to visit and follow.

Shannon Whitney Messenger of Ramblings of a Wannabe Scribe: Okay, I admit I'm a newbie follower of Shannon's, but once I found her, I eagerly gobbled up as many past posts as I could. She's witty and uses lots of great pictures that add to the hilarity of her posts. I'm really glad I found her blog.
Megan Rebekah of Megan Rebekah Blogs and Writes: First, she gets points just for having the coolest spelling of her second (middle?) name. I love it. Second, holy cow, folks, look out! Megan is one of those crazy every-dayers in the blogging world and I'm super grateful she is. Her posts make me laugh out loud, which can be unfortunate since I'm usually reading it at work. It makes me looks like a lunatic who finally went over the edge.
Summer of ...and This Time, Concentrate: Summer is a great blogger and recently finished writing her novel Eternal Spring. To celebrate she's hosting an awesome contest. Aside from that she has awesome posts that show her fun personality. If you haven't already, check her out.
Nicole Hadaway of All Things Smart and Scary: Nicole is a very talented, already published, author who blogs religiously on a wide variety of topics. She's incredibly knowledgeable about vampire lore and tons of other things. She runs with the big dogs and often features their work on her Writer Wednesday posts. She's no joke, people. Her blog writing style is fun and playful wrapped around information galore. I'm honored to call her "friend."
Jamie Burch (formerly known as Chasing the Moon) of Dancing Down Serendipity Street: Jamie is one of the SWEETEST people I've come to know and gives just as much inspiration as she claims to get from everyone else. She's currently reworking her blogging image, but soon will be up and running, inspiring creativity in blog followers everywhere.

So there you have it. Thanks again, DL, for my award and I hope that the Fab Five I gave it to will gain many new followers, as that is what they deserve. Have a great weekend everyone!

Romance vs. Reality

2010-03-24T19:17:00.003-04:00

Alright, Ladies and Gents, I want to know what you think about a topic that was recently brought to my attention.

The other night I asked my husband if he would read the beginning of my book and give me an objective opinion.

*Before I go any further, let me point out that my darling hubby is extremely forthcoming with all of his opinions - whether it's something as miniscule as my fun-patterned knee socks that I love (and he hates) or something much bigger like his political views - and also has a dislike for anything unrealistic. He's very alpha male, but his romantic side is only coaxed to the surface with (a lot of) alcohol. Oh, in case you're a newbie to my blog, I should probably emphasize that I write...

Paranormal Romance!!!

Yeah, I don't know what I was thinking either. ;) j/k*

So he gets through about two pages and can't bring himself to keep reading, due to the unrealistic nature of the content. WHAT?!?! Unrealistic? I haven't even gotten to anything paranormal yet. It's at a college graduation party for cryin' out loud, I think to myself. What could possibly be unrealistic about it?

If you haven't read my First Chapter yet (how come?! It's only posted on here like a bazillion times in a bazillion different versions. What else do you have to do?) the premise is to establish the relationship between my hero, Dominic, and my heroine, Angelica. They've known each other since they were five and have been best friends, but Dominic has always had a secret crush on her. He hides it pretty well and Angelica is too naive to ever notice. In the opening scene, Dominic is inebriated and has a hard time controlling his more amorous and lusty thoughts about her. During one of the times that his mind goes off on a sexual tangent of all the things he wants to do to her, it mentions "the part of him that was now pressed against his zipper," which (for all of you Angelicas out there) is of course referring to the erection in his jeans.

So, my husband says that he has never known any man that has ever gotten hard just from thinking about a girl in such a public setting, much less when he's plastered, and even less when it's a girl he's known for almost two decades because he would've learned to control that years ago. AND he says that there's no way that Angelica wouldn't know he had the hots for her, therefore she would feel uncomfortable around him as opposed to the oblivious comfort she feels. Now, because I'm not a guy, I can't argue his points because I truly don't know what the norm is for men who are in the middle of a bender with lusty thoughts of their life-long best friend. So here's a snippet of our conversation that followed, and then I'll get to my point...

Me: Well, that's why we like the romance books because who doesn't want a man who'll get hard just at the thought of her?

Him: Seriously? In real life you'd like to have some guy, or one of your friends, get hard just from being around you?

Me: (my initial knee jerk reaction) Of course! That's hot.

*Husband giving me that look that causes me to pause and really try to picture what he's saying*

Me: Actually that might be more creepy and awkward than hot.

Him: Which is exactly my point. It's super fake.

Now, for those of us that are avid romance readers (holla!) we all know that this is completely normal and we would be extremely remiss if we didn't mention how the sight of the heroine affected our heros on such a physical level. It gives us the tingles, the shivers, the butterflies, what have you. In our alternative universes it's not only an acceptable reaction to a man's lady interest, but it's a necessary reaction. I mean, what fun would it be to read "Dominic's eyes traveled over her body and appreciated her beauty, but thanks to years of training himself against his baser reactions, it no longer affected him." Oh, HELL no! Closing the book and moving on to another one. Thank you and goodnight.

So my questions are these:

Girls: Would you feel totally comfortable - even flattered - if you knew someone (friend, co-worker, acquaintance, random stranger at the grocery store) got an erection just at the mere sight of you?
Guys: Do you think it's more common than my husband seems to think for a guy to have that kind of reaction to a girl?
Girls: Why, if in real life we wouldn't like that type of attention, do we crave it in our books? Is is simply because we can suspend our disbelief enough to allow ourselves to be immersed in a world where alpha male attentions run rampant and fierce and the men are so damn desirable that who the fark doesn't want that kind of flattery? (btw, fark is my new favorite made-up swear word. it's fun to say. try it. i'm going for a global trend here, people.)

Okay, let's hear it kids! What are your thoughts on this whole schlameel?

Top Ten Reasons I Suck at Blogging

2010-03-22T13:59:00.002-04:00

I can't help but wonder...Did I do something wrong? Say the wrong thing? Bore you to death?

Something had to have happened. I feel like I've lost you. You don't visit me anymore. You don't write. And when we talk, your eyes glaze over like a Krispy Kreme doughnut. Heck, you're probably thinking about Krispy Kreme doughnuts while I'm talking. (You're certainly thinking about them now, aren't you? Mmmmm. Warm, sticky, ooey-gooey goodness.)

I realize, however, that it takes two to tango. It's true. I tried it by myself once, but I nearly cracked my skull when I failed to hold myself during the dip. So I take full responsibility for my role in this crumbling relationship. I neglected you for quite some time. I know this. And I'm sorry. A regular blogger, I am not.

But, since I've never once accepted fault for anything without some darn good defensive statements that contradict my self-accountability (just ask my husband), here are...

The Top Ten Reasons I Suck at Blogging

10. I've been doing a lot of research about writing - both regarding the skills needed and business aspects of the craft.

9. My dog ate my internet modem.

8. I forgot which of my usernames and passwords I used for my blog, then forgot which of my three email accounts the hint would've been sent to, then realized I'd set all three accounts to automatically delete anything sent to my junk mail because spam makes me crazy.

7. I couldn't come up with anything clever or interesting to say.

6. My blogsite was tagged by the FBI as having possible criminal coded activity and an investigation was launched, during which time I was not allowed to post anything new.

5. I purchased a couple of books from Half Priced Books and subsequently ignored the world around me until I finished them.

4. Instead of chilling and writing a blog when I come home from my part time job at night (which is around midnight, but I can't just fall into bed - I need chill time first), I watch Spartacus: Blood and Sand and drool over Andy Whitfield in all his half-naked gladiator glory. For reals. Google him. He's yummy.

3. My cat didn't understand the difference and ate my computer mouse.

2. I've been having an affair with Mr. Chuck Wendig. Okay, not really him per se, but rather his blog Terribleminds. As with everything else, when I find something I likey, I get a little obsessed...ey. Whatever. Go check him out. I dig him. Er, his writing. (Warning: only those who favor loads of Truck Driver Vernacular and enjoy witty, yet twisted, metaphors on topics such as writing and mystical beards need apply)

And the Number One Reason I Suck at Blogging is........

1. Look, I have a full time job, part time job, a husband, 2 kids and 2 cats, all of which demand most of my time. The meager amount that remains in the day is divided (though not equally, by far) between the rewrites of my novel and this blog. Cut me some slack....Please.

So there you have it, folks. All the reasons (okay, only a handful of those are actually true. i'll let you decide which is which) I suck at blogging. That being said, I fully intend to get better at this shindig. I'm going to try for at least one good post a week, hopefully more. But I'm warning you, if your eyes don't start clearing up and you keep looking through me without a word...I might just give up on this wonderful thing we have.

The Creative Process...Revealed

2010-03-19T01:06:00.001-04:00

**I'd like to apologize in advance for the sub-par quality of this post. It's really late and I think my brain is broken.**

So as you all know (or you may not if you haven't read my earlier posts, in which case, shame on you) this blog was started as a journal of sorts to share my experiences while writing my first novel. Since I've never attempted anything like this before, I naively thought that once I finished the manuscript, I would only have minor edits to do and I'd be done. Voila! Publisher ready. Give me the contract and show me where to sign!

Um. No. That is SO not how it works. Turns out, my first draft sucked! Thankfully, I learned that it's pretty much supposed to suck. Yup, it's normal, in fact. But I was so proud of my rough drafts, that I posted them immediately on the blog. "Yea me! Look what I did!"

Well, Hindsight is not only 20/20, it's also a bee-yahtch. Because I'm a perfectionist, I probably wouldn't have posted anything until I knew it was an actual final draft, or darn close to it, had I been more knowledgeable about this whole processs. However, since the entire premise of this blog is to take you along on this journey, it's only fair that I share the bad, along with the good. So I suppose my ignorance allowed me to stay true to my original mission.

Since the first posting of my Chapter 1, I've thought I had made my "final revisions" several times. And yet, I'm still making changes. I'm not sure if the changes are better or just different. Heck, they might even be worse. I have no idea. I'm too close to the project to be objective with myself anymore.

So, at the risk of being redundant and self-indulgent, I'm going to post my lastest version. For those of you who are truly interested in the creative process, you can compare the different versions and see how I changed things, made sentences stronger, added things, cut things, yadda, yadda, yadda.

Here are the links:
Chapter 1 - December 1
Chapter 1 - January 13
Chapter 1 - January 28

And now here is March 16...(click the link below)

Six years ago ~ Evanston, IL

Dom Russo stood on the sidewalk outside the last graduation party he planned to attend, if only to spare his liver from a severe case of cirrhosis. Like everyone else, he’d been celebrating his long-awaited freedom from higher learning in the rituals of old: a series of benders, with very little recovery time in between. The last couple of weeks had been a long, crazy ride of party after party. But now his body threatened to place him in a self-induced coma unless he procured a dark room for some serious hibernation time, preferably with an I.V. drip of Lemon-Lime Gatorade.

The scenes around him looked like an educational video on the consequences of binge drinking. Several graduates were passed out in the grass like inebriated lawn ornaments, clothing in disarray, hands still clutching bottles of beer or red plastic cups. In front of the porch, a girl heaved up the contents of her stomach into a cluster of bushes, while her friend held her hair back with one hand and gagged behind the other. Party-goers everywhere slurred their speech, laughed like hyenas and fell victim to gravity’s unrelenting pull on their impaired equilibriums.

Lucky for him, Dom’s tolerance for alcohol was much higher than that of his classmates. Even when he was completely tanked he was able to walk and talk the same as any sober man. It was a quality envied by all of his friends and always came in handy when he didn’t want to make a drunken ass out of himself. Like now.

Standing in front of him was his lifelong friend and, unbeknownst to her, the object of his late-night fantasies, Angelica Rose Hart. As she chatted with an acquaintance, Dom stood to the side, nursed his beer and let his eyes and thoughts roam without censor.

Silken blonde hair caressed her bare shoulders as the breeze fingered through the long strands. Her deep aquamarine eyes twinkled when she spoke and gave animation to her words. She laughed, drawing his gaze to full, glossy lips that quickened his pulse and heated his blood. He ached to answer their call, to meld them with his own and part them with his tongue.

The smoldering images provoked a sharp mental slap from his subconscious. It acted like a deluge of icy cold water being dumped onto his brain while it was enjoying a nice, hot shower. Unfortunately, it didn’t have the same effect on the part of him that was now pressed against his zipper. Damn, it was a lot easier to control his thoughts when he was sober.

Dom knew he would never be with Angelica as anything more than her best friend. The mental abuse (a.k.a. Reality Check) was a consequence he was used to - even welcomed in a bittersweet way - whenever his mind began to blur the line between reality and wishful thinking. When it came to women, he was known for his charm and confidence, and he used it like bait to reel in one after the other. But Angelica was different. She was like the elusive mermaid, pure and perfect in her underwater world. Even if she decided to slum it with him on shore, he knew it would only be a matter of time before the comfort of the sea called her back, and he would lose her forever.

Christ, Russo. The alcohol’s turning you into a chick. Take your balls out of your purse.

At last Angelica said goodbye to her friend, turned back to him and began to gather her hair into a ponytail. Although he usually portrayed sobriety with ease, her full breasts straining against the thin fabric of her pink sundress transfixed his gaze and threatened to expose him as just another ogling fool. He bit back a growl of self-aimed frustration, dragged his eyes away and busied himself with several long pulls of his beer, wishing it was something a lot stronger.

When her hair was completely anchored she sighed and whispered a reverent “thank you” toward the heavens.

Amusement lifted the corners of his mouth into a wry smile. “Who is it this time?” Angelica had a quirky habit of being thankful for inventors of modern conveniences. He’d always thought it strange, but endearing all the same.

“The inventor of elastic hair ties,” she said. “You have no idea how nice it is to snap one of those babies off my wrist and throw my hair up whenever I need to. You know,” she said while fingering the locks of hair that sometimes fell over his forehead, “I think I have an extra one in the car if you want to use it for all this stuff hanging in your face.”

Dom chuckled and playfully slapped her hand away. “Get outta here.”

“You shouldn’t hide those beautiful blue-grey eyes of yours, you know,” she teased in mock concern. “After all, how’s a girl supposed to catch your eye if she can’t see them?”

His bottle of Budweiser froze halfway up to his lips and he cocked an eyebrow in her direction. Partly because she was teasing him about his relationship status, but mostly because she just described his eyes as beautiful. Did she think any of his other features were beautiful? Another mental slap. Dammit, Russo, knock it off. “I think you should stick to being a doctor and leave the role of Makeover and Matchmaker Extraordinaire for someone else. Either that, or look for new clientele, ‘cause I’m definitely not in the market.”

Her infectious laugh coaxed his smile to return and soothed the sting left by Reality’s double-shot of abuse. He rolled his eyes at her mirth, lifted the bottle the rest of the way and took another long swig.

Shouts of playful threats coming from behind the house were a welcome distraction. Two frat boys, clad only in their boxers, sprinted across the lawn in their direction. They each carried a bucket of water balloons and used their free hands to pelt each other with the pastel grenades. Obviously not concerned with civilian casualties, one of them ducked behind Dom’s larger frame to use him as a human shield. The coward’s opponent launched an attack, but fell short of his target. Overly-stretched latex exploded on the concrete in front of Angelica and Dom, peppering them with liquid shrapnel. Angelica squealed in shock and turned her body into Dom’s, her hands and face tucked against his chest. Reflexively, he wrapped his arms around her until the battle moved further down the street.

Dom stepped back from her as they laughed and took stock of their “wounds.” He used his thumb to wipe away water droplets that had splashed onto her delicate cheekbones, then helped to free the damp wisps of bangs that had become ensnared in her long, inky lashes. With any other girl, the affectionate gestures they often shared – hugs, chaste kisses on the cheek, walking arm in arm, playful wrestling – would be taken as flirting or an advance. But with Angelica’s affectionate personality, combined with almost two decades of friendship, the slightly intimate gestures were considered natural between them. And he wasn’t above taking advantage of that little fact.

“Oh, Dom, sweetie!” Dom let out a sigh of aggravation. He didn’t have to look to know who the phony, sugar-laden voice belonged to. It was the president of the Kappa Phi Lambda Sorority, and one of his earlier dalliances in the year, Brit Bana. Turning his head he stood his ground as Brit bore down on him, closely followed by a handful of her sorority minions, each more superficial than the last.

“Hiya, handsome,” she said with a million-watt smile that failed to move him. Her loyal ego-strokers giggled behind her in a wordless variation of her greeting.

“Brit,” he acknowledged politely. “Ladies.”

“I haven’t seen you around lately. I’ve missed that gorgeous mug of yours.” She draped herself onto him like a second shirt. Or straight jacket. “Daddy has a new job coming up for Calvin Klein. Have you given any more thought to my offer?”

Brit’s father was a freelance professional photographer. It was a well-known fact he gave his daughter commission on every good looking college guy she brought in for photo shoots. It was a lot cheaper to pay frat boys with minimum wage, pizza and beer than it was to hire professional models for beaucoup bucks.

“’Fraid not, Brit,” he said as he pried her arms from around his neck. A quick glance in Angelica’s direction showed him she was too amused with his current problem to be of any assistance. Wonderful.

“Come on,” she whined through her smile. “It’s just a couple of pictures. And all you have to do is be your devilishly-handsome self. Dark hair, olive skin and chiseled features…” she made a noise like she’d just tasted Heaven. “You’re image is classic Calvin Klein, Dom. And there’s nothing wrong with showing off that luscious body of yours. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” She ran a suggestive finger down his chest. His muscles visibly tensed from the unwelcome attention, but when her eyes lit up he could tell she thought it was for a different reason entirely. He caught her hand and held it away from him just before she reached his waistband.

“I appreciate it, but flattery won’t get you anywhere. I told you before it’s not my thing. You’ll have to go find some other college boy to be your father’s picture monkey.”

“Okay, fine,” she sighed with great exaggeration. “Then let’s head back to your place and I’ll let you take all the pictures you want…of me.” A throaty laugh laced with pure seduction bubbled from her lips as she attempted to press her body against his. Again.

He stopped her with a hand to her waist. The girl was in serious need of a pass for the clue bus. “You’re drunk, Brit. Go home and sleep it off. Alone.”

Dom expected her to pout and whine, but she surprised him when her brown eyes shot him with a cool indifference. “Whatever, Russo. It’s your loss. Come on, girls, let’s go.”

Brit spun on her heel and wobbled a bit before stalking away from him, her posse close on her heels spouting off words of encouragement and crude comments about his character. Dom scrubbed a hand over his face and felt the beginning scratches of his beard coming through.

Angelica laughed as her amusement switched to all-out delight. “It’s nice to see the Russo Reputation is alive and well.”

She was of course referring to his relationship habits – or lack thereof. He never engaged in anything more than short-lived, casual trysts. Just because he was in love with a girl who harbored nothing but platonic feelings for him, didn’t mean he wasn’t a guy with an itch that needed to be scratched once in while. After all, he wasn’t exactly a monk. “Hey,” he started in his defense, “You know I’m always up-front with them about not wanting a relationship. So they can hardly hold that against me.” He glanced in the direction Brit had huffed off to, grimaced and added, “Though they usually do anyway.”

Dom finished off the last of his beer and threw the bottle into a nearby trash barrel. He winced as the echoing crash of glass striking the metal drum rattled his brain before fading into a low thrum of vibrations behind his eyes.

Angelica tried to anchor her long bangs behind her ear. Her brows knitted together and her teeth worried the corner of her lower lip. “Are you sure you don’t want me to give you a ride home?” she asked. “It’s late and with as much alcohol as I saw you consume today, I would have to think that your already shaky sense of direction has to be more than a little compromised. You could end up wandering around all night in your condition.”

Dom gave her an incredulous look and tried to appear emotionally wounded. “What? My sense of direction has never been shaky. I’m hurt that you would even suggest such a thing. When have I ever been lost?”

Without hesitation, she held up her hands and started ticking off examples. “Well, let’s see. There was that time in high school when you were driving our group to that new restaurant in Chicago before the Homecoming dance and we almost ended up in Indiana. Oh, how about the time a few years ago when we went on that camping trip up to Devil’s Lake and it took us an extra day to get there because –”

“All right, all right,” he conceded, palms facing her in surrender. “You’ve made your point. There have been a couple of times in the past where my impeccable sense of direction has failed me. But to be fair, if it weren’t for your OCD tendencies, it wouldn’t have bothered you so much.”

“Oh, come on. Preferring that my plans and schedules are followed doesn’t make me obsessive compulsive,” she argued.

“Preferring? Is that what you call your little bouts of hysteria when plans change?” He laughed when her cheeks colored to match her dress. “One of these days you’re gonna have to learn how to roll with the punches, you know.”

“So you keep reminding me,” she said wryly. “Come on, get in. I’ll take you home.”

“Nah, that’s okay.” Being alone with her was a bad idea. The high blood-alcohol level made his tongue loose and his inhibitions damn near non-existent. “I need the fresh air before I crash and become oblivious to the world for the next few days.”

Angelica cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes, probably trying to decide if she should force the issue. Her scrutiny was beginning to make him feel self-conscious. He most likely looked like hell. His jeans and white tee shirt bore an array of colorful stains, courtesy of sloppy drunks and their sloshing cups. He probably looked like a walking abstract painting.

“Okay, if you insist,” she said, finally giving in. “Call me when you get home, though, okay? I don’t want to lose any sleep thinking I’m responsible for you lying in a gutter somewhere. I mean it, Dominic.”

For some reason, Angelica had never used the shortened version of his name. She was the only one he allowed to get away it, too. Hell, who was he kidding? He’d let her get away with just about anything. Thank God she didn’t have a manipulative bone in her body.

“No problem. I think I can manage that.”

She reached up and put her arms around his neck for a hug goodbye. The sweet smell of cherry blossoms wafted around him, prompting a barrage of memories his mind associated with her signature scent. Dom wrapped his arms around her, but was careful not to hold her too close. To do that would make it more of an intimate embrace. He breathed a silent sigh of contentment. My angel.

He’d used her goody-goody reputation as an excuse to give her the nickname when they were kids, but as they grew older it had metamorphosed into a term of endearment, albeit a casual one. Given her name it was a predictable and obvious choice, but Dom used it because that's what she was to him. An angel. His angel. So many things in his life had been dark and evil, but she’d always had the ability to save him from all of it, whether she knew it or not.

She ended their hug and flashed him her killer smile. With all the alcohol coursing through his veins, he had a hard time controlling the image of her bouncing on the clouds, sporting a shiny halo and a pair of wings. Wipe that dumb-ass look off your face, Russo, or she’ll think you’re too smashed to walk home.

“Goodbye, angel.”

She screwed up her face like he’d just said something distasteful.

“Goodbye? What happened to your usual ‘see ya later?’ You make it sound like we’re never going to see each other again.” Actually, he wasn’t sure what had prompted the change in his usual farewell. “If you miss Sunday brunch at my parents’ house my mom’ll have your head. Now, get your butt home and call me when you get there. Be careful, okay?”

Women. How do they survive on a daily basis with as much as they worry? Dom had learned it was always better to placate them to avoid unnecessary nagging. With a finger marking an X over his heart he said, “I’ll call as soon as I’m home. I swear. And don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream of missing Isabella’s famous waffles. Or messing with your schedule.”

His smart-ass remark got him a punch in the arm. “Ow.” He dutifully rubbed his bicep and pretended like it hurt, though he couldn’t hide his smirk.

“How’s that for rolling with the punches?” She seemed satisfied with herself as she walked around her Volkswagen Beetle to climb in behind the wheel before he could retaliate. The pink-metallic Bug purred to life and pulled away from the curb. It shrank in size, blinking in and out of the pools of street lights, until it finally blinked out of sight. Taking a deep breath and letting it back out slowly to try and clear his head, he turned in the direction of his small apartment and began his walk home.

With nothing to distract his thoughts from Angelica, Dom forced his brain to focus on other things. For starters, he needed to get ready for the police academy he was joining in a week. He was anxious to finally start his training and become a cop. It had been a pain in the ass going to college for police science when it wasn’t necessary to join the academy, but Dom wanted every edge he could get. He didn’t have the personal connections a lot of the new recruits had that gave them political advantages. He’d always known that whatever he did in life would have to be earned through hard work and a never-say-die attitude. That was exactly what he planned on using to work his way up quickly through the ranks. He had no desire to be a beat cop his entire career, sitting in a squad car and waiting for speeders to pass by. He wanted to be a detective and fry much bigger fish. Particularly, the kind of asshole fish he had been forced to live with growing up.

He had heard about foster parents that were caring and nurturing. The kind that fostered children to give them opportunities and loving families they wouldn’t otherwise have. Unfortunately, Dom had never actually met any. He’d been given over to people that were in it for the extra paychecks every month. People that were neglectful and abusive, more than not. They’d been reported to the authorities on several occasions, but to say the system was flawed was a gross understatement. In the end there had never been any serious repercussions.

The only thing that had saved him from drowning in that morally depraved life had been Angelica and her parents. They had invited him over often for play dates, and his could-give-a-shit foster parents had only been too eager to get rid of their burden as much as possible.

Dr. and Mrs. Hart always did whatever they could for him without crossing the line into condescension or pity. Somehow they understood that his pride was all he had in the world and they were always careful to leave his intact.

Growing up around the Harts, Dom was shown what life could be like. What a real family should be. He couldn’t deny that he wanted to have his own family like that someday, but Dom knew it wasn’t likely. Even though he knew he could never be like the people (and he used that term loosely) that raised him (he used that term very loosely), the niggling thought that he had been permanently tainted by them scared him to death. What if he couldn’t be the type of husband or father that he wanted to be? What if, no matter how hard he tried, the slime from his upbringing was a permanent fixture on his soul and it ended up destroying those he loved? Even if that wasn’t a factor, he had to consider that his DNA was probably corrupted as well. He didn’t know anything about his biological parents, but they had to be real gems for the state to take him away as an infant. In the argument of “Nature versus Nurture,” he was screwed either way.

Those were the true reasons Dom never came clean with Angelica about his feelings for her. Although he believed he had the power to change his path in life, to be a better man than the ones he grew up with, he couldn’t take the risk of hurting her if the evil traits he merely repressed came oozing through the bandage like a festering wound.

No, there would be someone infinitely better suited for her, he was certain of that. Someone who had grown up as she had and would know how to give her that same type of life and love. There was only one problem with that scenario. He hadn’t figured out how he was going to prevent himself from choking the lucky bastard to death.

Dom came to an abrupt stop. A man had suddenly appeared in front of him on the deserted sidewalk. Not like he stepped out from behind the bushes and made his presence known. No. It was more like “now you see him, now you don’t”…only the other way around. Now he blocked Dom’s path with a wide stance and arms held out slightly from his sides.

At 6-feet, 3-inches Dom was taller than most, but this guy looked to be even a few inches taller. Despite the hot weather, he wore faded jeans and a long brown duster, but apparently thought to compensate for the extra material by not bothering with a shirt. Dom half expected to find spurs attached to the worn cowboy boots to complete the outlaw motif. Sandy blonde hair hung past his broad shoulders, which were coincidentally attached to the frame of a Mack truck.

Dom didn’t like the guy’s attitude or the cocky smirk on his ugly, bearded face, which incidentally wasn’t all that ugly. He actually looked like he’d stepped off the cover of a western romance novel, but a strong male ego refused to let Dom admit that on anything more than a deeply subconscious level.

“Dominic. It’s nice to finally meet you face to face,” the man greeted him in a smooth voice. “My name is Griffin. I’ll be your escort this evening.”

Griffin? Dom racked his brain, trying to remember if he’d ever heard anything about anyone named Griffin or how the guy might know his name. Dammit, why’d I have so much to drink at those parties?

The man’s mysterious presence pricked Dom’s survival instincts and his adrenaline kicked into high gear. He usually tried to be the bigger man and walk away from fights, but he was always secretly disappointed when the other party didn’t press the issue. In his opinion, there was nothing more honest than a bare-knuckle brawl. The pain reminded a man he was alive and how he finished let him know where he stood in the pack.

Taking a wide stance, Dom clenched his fists at his sides to prepare for an attack. “If you think you can mug me you’d better think again, pal. I won’t go down easily.”

The arrogant male laughed quietly and gave Dom a wide smile, baring a row of glistening white teeth. The light from the street lamp above glinted off of two longer fangs, highlighting their sharp tips as though the light itself was trying to flash him a warning.

He’d heard about those Goth Vamp-wannabe clubs, but never had the displeasure of meeting one of their deranged members. Great. A mentally unstable mugger. Just what he needed right now.

“I’m not here for something as trivial as your wallet, human. And I predict you’ll go down very easily.”

A split second later the guy was right in front of him, swinging a right hook towards his face. Dom barely had time to process what happened when his world was swallowed by a swift black void.

Tanking and Taglines and Titles - OH MY!

2010-03-09T21:54:00.000-05:00

** Author Note: Hey there, everyone. I'm sorry I've been MIA lately. I'll try to make up for it in the coming weeks here. Don't give up on me yet! Oh, and you’ll want to make sure you read this one all the way to end. Trust me. **

Tanking

Well, first thing’s first. In regard to the ABNC (see previous post), I totally tanked the first round. But don’t cry for me, Argentina. I’m not surprised and I’m certainly not upset. The truth of the matter is, it was a last-minute decision, mainly just for (pardon my French) shits-n-giggles. As I mentioned before, I had very little time to whip up my entry, and even less knowledge on how to write the (evil, sucky, brain-draining) pitch, which is what the first round was based solely upon. Next year (unless of course I’m published and on a very prestigious book tour - lol) I’ll be all the wiser and give myself ample time to properly enter a finished piece. I wish all the best (and plenty of sedatives to calm their nerves over the coming weeks) to the entrants that made it through to the second round. Congratulations. You are better pitch writers than I.

Taglines

Taglines, also called signature lines, I believe, are things most of you are probably familiar with. They’re the witty one-liners of the web savvy and the promotional punch lines of every author. In just a few words it says, “This is what I’m about. Get interested.”

So, for me, this has to be something creative that says, “I write paranormal romance novels and you want to read them.” Only, it should probably be a little more eloquent than that. I told one of my non-writing friends about this and she gave me the following suggestions:

Gina Leigh Maxwell…barely in touch with reality.
Gina Leigh Maxwell...she's out there, but in a good way.

Although these are good suggestions in their own right (yeah, I laughed my butt off, too), I’ve decided not to use them since they ~~attack my mental health~~ only concentrate on the paranormal aspect of my writing. I’ve had a few ideas float through the fog of my brain, too, such as:

Paranormal in nature and primal in desire
Writing for the paranormally inclined and the romantically obsessed
Passions for the paranormal at heart
Romance for the paranormal at heart
Paranormal at heart, Passionate by nature
Passions of a paranormal nature

But I’m not sure how I feel about them. *sigh* Okay, moving on…

Titles

If I began the above with “first thing’s first” do I begin the next portion with “second thing’s second”? It’s kind of a silly introduction, when you think about it. You wouldn’t put “first thing’s last” or “third thing’s first” would you? Whoops. My tangent alarm is going off. Anyhoo, I've decided to change the title of my blog. Don’t worry, the URL will stay the same, so there shouldn’t be any complications with links, back links, forward links, sausage links or wild lynx. *listening to the collective sigh from readers* I know – what a relief, right?

When I originally began this journey, I wasn't sure where it would lead me or how far I would decide to go, hence the undecided nature of my current title, To Write or Not To Write: My Journey into the Literary World. I also didn't realize, being completely ignorant to the inner-workings of the blogging world, that my title would be listed on other blogs and profiles of the (wonderful and super fantastic!) people that follow me, hence the ungodly length of my current title. :)

However, that title no longer aptly describes my journey. Am I still telling you the “story of my attempts to publish my very first novel” as the tagline to my blog announces so boldly? Yes, of course. The content of my blog isn’t changing necessarily. I’ll still be posting my ever-changing beginning chapters and any other thoughts that cross my mind, invaluable lessons I’ve learned or experiences I’d like to share, relating to the literary world. And if I really feel like letting my hair down and getting crazy, I may even branch out to hosting guest bloggers and contests in the future!

My point in all of this babbling is, I feel I'm ready to make a change. So, out with the old "Am I crazy for even considering trying to write books for a living," and in with the new "I'm going to be a published author even if it kills me and it isn't until my untimely demise that people recognize me as the truly brilliant writer I am." (or will be someday) So, this begs the question…

What should my new and improved blog title be?

The answer? I have no clue. As I mentioned before in reference to the title of my book, I suck at choosing titles. Then again, I suck at anything that has to do with summarizing or just plain “getting to the point.” (See “first thing’s first” section regarding sucky pitch) Case in point: “Random Musings of a Paranormal Romance Writer” just flitted through my head. That’s more laughable than it is likeable, not to mention it doesn’t help with my “ungodly length” issue.

What are your ideas for my new blog title?

Let’s have a contest! (Holy shite, my hair is down!)

I will give away a brand-spankin’ new gift card to Barnes & Noble to the one who suggests the blog title I fall in love with. Why a gift card, you ask? Because I haven't quite figured out how to get free copies of books to use as giveaways yet, so I'll send you a $10 gift card so you can purchase the romance novel of your choice. (If any of you have any advice on how score freebies for contests, let me know.) Give me as many ideas as you want. We’ll let the contest run until March 15th to give you time to mull it over and give me lots of fan-tabulous suggestions! Just leave them in the comments section to this post. And make sure you’re not signed in as “Anonymous” or you won’t be able to win the prize. Although I have many talents, being psychic is not one of them.

Ready? Set…wait for iiiiiiiiiiit…GO!

Butterfly Tattoo by Deidre Knight

2010-03-01T18:07:00.000-05:00

Hey everyone, here's a quick post to tell you about a great book you should check out, called Butterfly Tattoo by Deidre Knight. Ms. Knight is not only an extremely successful author, but she's also the founder of The Knight Agency and the literary agent to none other than my long-time ~~girl-crush~~ favorite Para-Rom author, Gena Showalter. Here's the back cover blurb:

Just when the darkness seems permanent, fate flips a switch.

Michael Warner has been drifting in a numb haze since his lover was killed by a drunk driver. As the anniversary of the wreck approaches, Michael’s grief grows more suffocating. Yet he must find a way through the maze of pain and secrets to live for their troubled young daughter who struggles with guilt that she survived the crash.
Out of the darkness comes a voice, a lifeline he never expected to find—Rebecca O’Neill, a development executive in the studio where Michael works as an electrician.

Rebecca, a former sitcom celebrity left scarred from a crazed fan’s attack, has retreated from the limelight and from life in general, certain no man can ever get past her disfigurement. The instant sparks between her and Michael, who arrives to help her during a power outage, come as a complete surprise—and so does her uncanny bond with his daughter.

For the first time, all three feel compelled to examine their inner and outer scars in the light of love. But trust is hard to come by, especially when you’re not sure what to believe when you look in the mirror. The scars? Or the truth?

So what are you waiting for?!?! Click on the link in the beginning of this post, or click on the widget in the sidebar, and BUY IT!!!

Updates and Blog Award

2010-02-11T12:48:00.001-05:00

I'm very honored to have received a Superior Scribbler Award from Chasing the Moon over at Dancing Down Serendipity Street. Moon is a fellow writer (who is extremely talented), a loyal fan of my book (and main character), and definitely a kindred spirit of mine. So thanks again, Moon! I can't express enough how glad I am we found each other in the vast expanse that is the blogosphere. :) Much moon love, girlfriend.

I'd also like to bring you up to speed on my recent activities. Last week I made a last-minute decision to enter Amazon's Breakthrough Novel Contest (ABNC) as a type of experiment. Since I'm currently in the rewriting stages, my book is not nearly ready to be reviewed with a fine-tooth comb, or even a wide-toothed pick, but I figured I had nothing to lose. The contest is free to enter (most of them are not), and I'm curious to see how far I can get with an unfinished product.

So, for those of you who are not familiar with ABNC, here are the stages and rules for this year's contest. There are two categories: Young Adult Fiction and General Fiction. They were accepting up to 5000 entries in each category. Since the General Fiction category closed several hours before the due date, there is definitely a full 5000 entrants in that category. The YA category did not close before its time, therefore there are less than 5000. But whether there's 2149 or 4993 entries is unknown.

The first round is based off of a 300-word Pitch. I had no idea what a pitch was, but I found a discussion thread on the contest website of other contestants posting their pitches and getting feedback on them, so I got the basic gist of it from there. A pitch is supposed to hook the reader, then give a couple of short paragraphs about your main characters, their goals and the obstacles they'll face, then finish with announcing the target audience for the book and why you think the book will appeal to that particular audience. All of that in 300 words or less!!!

Now, for those of you who have ever received an email from me, you know that it is physically impossible for me to pen any thought in less than 2-3 lengthy paragraphs. Yes, I am admitting to being (gasp) a wordy writer. In fact, I recently heard a nasty rumor that publishers look for a romance novel to be somewhere around 75,000 words. To which I eloquently replied, "Holy $@%*!!!" Why, do you ask? Because as it sits right now, my novel is over 133,000 WORDS! Do you know how much cutting I'll have to do? Forget the hedge trimmers. I'll need a high-powered chainsaw and possibly a wrecking ball! Now, that might not be for all romances, and I'm seriously hoping that was just for that one particular publishing wing (Harlequin's Nocturne section, which describes my novel perfectly, with the exception of the word count). Sorry, I kind of went on a tangent there.

Anyway, in the first stage of the contest, all of the pitches are reviewed and pared down to a meager 1000 entries (or less, if they feel there isn't 1000 pitches that are good enough to keep). I'm fully prepared to not pass the pitch stage. I had less than a day to aptly describe my gi-normous novel in an itty-bitty pitch that evoked extreme interest with talented writing.Yeah. Right.

The second round is based on an excerpt from the beginning of your book, between 3000 and 5000 words. Two judges read the excerpts and make comments on what they did/didn't like. Of those 1000 (or less) excerpts read, only 250 will make it to the 3rd round, which is having your entire manuscript read. The excerpt that I posted is 4997 words (you didn't think I was going to give them the minimum, did you?) and takes them all the way until Lysander tells Dom that it's Angelica he plans on taking. Even though I couldn't fit the entire chapter 2 into the excerpt, I did make sure it ended with a good hook. The only problem was that it was still 200 words over the max. So I went through the entire piece and deleted a sentence here and a sentence there - ones that weren't necessary to move the story along and probably wouldn't be missed unless you compared it side-by-side with the full MS - to get it under the required limit.

My hope was to somehow miraculously make it past the pitch round, and let my excerpt shine. I"m very proud of my first two chapters after having reworked them with my CP, MP (see previous post about CPs). I really want to at least make it successfully past the excerpt round. Then I would feel good about the work I've done on those first chapters. Since the rest of my MS has yet to be worked on, I wouldn't expect to make it as a finalist. In fact, I'd be flabbergasted if I did, and would then begin to question the legitimacy of the entire contest, knowing there's no way my first draft is good enough to be a finalist.

However, I was slightly disheartened when I realized that we couldn't upload our excerpts, but instead had to copy and paste into a text-only format. The problem with this is, anything in italics (such as words I wish to be emphasized in conversation or Dom's inner-thoughts) will now look like all the rest of the text. This will not only make things read flat (in my opinion), but also cause confusion when Dom has thoughts to himself, as they will be lumped in with the rest of the paragraphs, making it difficult to set apart. So, now I don't have much hope for my excerpt either, even if I miraculously pass the pitch round.

Either way, I'm glad I entered. It's going to be a learning experience, no matter what the outcome is. And since it was a last minute decision, I don't feel pressured to pass the first test, so to speak. I'm sure if I had more time and had the help of my writing friends, I would've been able to come up with a better pitch. We find out on the 24th if we've made it to the second round, so good news or bad, I'll let you know what happened.

Thanks for tuning in and listening to my incessant ramblings. That is, if there's even anyone out there. My followers tend to be more on the quiet side, so I'm never sure if anyone reads these or not. Oh well. I'm off to work on more rewrites. Perhaps I'll post my latest chapter two in a few days, if anyone's interested. :)

Meet Dominic...

2010-01-28T18:08:00.002-05:00

Dominic (Dom) Anthony Russo

(Model Pic: no-idea-who-he-is-but-he’s-so-yummy-i-can’t-stand-it)

Birthday: September 5th, 1980

Age: 29 (22 mortal years, 6.5 vampire years)

Hair: Black, Shaggy

Eyes: Steel-Blue

Height: 6’ 3”

Dominic (preferably called Dom) was placed into the Illinois State foster care system as an infant. He knows nothing of his biological parents. The foster homes he was placed in were less than loving. He grew up with people who wanted the extra paycheck every month and gave two shits about his well-being.

In kindergarten he met a little girl, Angelica, whom he befriended (and also fell in love with) on the playground. He spent a lot of time at her house growing up and any knowledge he had of loving families was gained through observing her home life and being treated like the son her parents never had. Afraid of destroying their friendship, Dom never revealed his true feelings to Angelica. Instead, he learns to be content with what he can have with her.

At a young age Dom decided he wanted to be a police officer. As a result of his upbringing, it was his mission to put away all of the lowlifes who practice neglect and abuse. He worked hard in school and gained a scholarship to Northwestern University where he majored in Police Science with an unofficial minor in one-night stands. ;) Angelica also attended Northwestern for pre-med and they remained inseparable friends throughout their college careers.

While walking home one night Dom was kidnapped by Griffin, a member of the Diabolus Umbra (soulless vampires). He was turned that night, but managed to escape during his change. He was found by another vampire (not of the soulless variety), Damien, who became Dom’s mentor and teacher. Eventually Dom was invited to become a Hunter like Damien and now – over six years since being turned – he spends his nights hunting and killing the Umbra who terrorize the people of Chicago. When he’s not hunting, he hides in the shadows to keep a close watch on Angelica (who believes him to be dead) to make sure no harm ever comes to her, while secretly longing to be by her side…in more ways than one.

[super big sigh of longing]

So, what do you think of our Hero?

Chapter One: And now for something completely different...

2010-01-28T09:34:00.004-05:00

For those of you interested in the long and grueling writing process, you can compare my earlier "Final" draft of Chapter One to this version. Notice the differences in the "showing vs. telling" and what I chose to do to correct those problems. Instead of telling you what Dom looked like, I now show you through conversation with other characters, etc., etc. I'd love to hear your thoughts about the changes. I'm pretty proud of this version...but that's not to say that it's yet at it's best. (I hope to God it is soon, though!)

June 2003 ~ Evanston, IL

Dom Russo had the ability to drink any one of his college buddies under the table and still act sober as hell. A talent that came in handy when he didn’t want to make a drunken ass out of himself. Like now.

He was standing on the sidewalk outside the last Northwestern graduation party he planned to attend, if only to spare his liver from developing a severe case of cirrhosis. Although it was much quieter out here, the muffled sounds of bass pounding from the stereo and the drunken shouts from the Frat house were an incessant din invading his mind.

Standing in front of him was his lifelong friend and, unbeknownst to her, star of most of his late-night fantasies, Angelica Rose Hart. They had gone to school together their entire lives and he’d loved her from the very beginning.

As she chatted with a friend Dom drank his beer and watched the breeze finger through her long, silken blonde hair. Subconsciously she brushed aside her long bangs to keep them from hiding her eyes; eyes shaped like almonds and the deep color of the Caribbean waters. She laughed at something her friend said, drawing his gaze to the source of that infectious sound. Her full, glossy lips beckoned, begging to be kissed. He ached to answer their call. To meld them with his own and claim them as his.

Angelica had kissed Dom more times than he could count. But they’d all been on his cheek. Unfortunately for him, he had always been stuck in the dreaded “friend zone” with her. When it came to any other woman Dom had all the confidence in the world. But when it came to Angelica, he never had the balls to let her know how he truly felt.

Finally she said goodbye to her other friend, turned back to him and worked at gathering her hair into a ponytail. Although he had the ability to come off as sober, it was still hard as hell trying to remember he shouldn’t be staring at her full breasts straining against the thin fabric of her pink sundress. With great effort he raised his eyes up to meet hers before she could notice.

“Thank you,” she whispered to herself with a sigh of appreciation when she finished.

“Who is it this time?” he asked in amusement. Angelica had a quirky habit of being thankful for inventors of modern conveniences. A little silly, sure. But super cute.

“The inventor of elastic hair ties,” she answered. “You have no idea how nice it is to snap off one of those babies from my wrist and just throw my hair up whenever I need to. You know,” she said while fingering his shaggy hair that sometimes fell over his forehead, “I think I have an extra one in the car if you want to use it for all this stuff hanging in your face.”

Dom chuckled and playfully slapped her hand away. “Get outta here.”

“You shouldn’t hide those beautiful blue-grey eyes of yours, you know,” she teased in mock concern. “After all, how’s a girl supposed to catch your eye if she can’t see them?”

His bottle of Budweiser froze halfway up to his lips. Partly because she was insinuating he cared what other girls thought, but mostly because she just described his eyes as beautiful. Did she think any of his other features were beautiful? “I think you should stick to being a doctor and leave the role of matchmaker for someone else.”

She laughed, making him shake his head and smile all over again. He lifted the bottle the rest of the way and took a long swig.

Shouts of playful threats drew his eye to a couple of mostly-naked frat boys running across the lawn. They each carried a bucket of water balloons in one hand and used the other to launch their liquid ammo at each other. One of them rocketed a balloon at his buddy who was now only a couple of feet away and not caring who was caught in the crosshairs of their war. When the overly-stretched latex exploded against its target, Angelica and Dom got sprayed with watery shrapnel. Angelica squealed in shock and automatically turned her body into Dom’s, her hands pressing against his chest. A reaction he was more than happy to oblige. A second later they were both laughing and taking stock of each other’s water “wounds.”

Angelica’s affectionate personality usually led people to assume they were a couple. It also let him get away with slightly more intimate gestures. Like using his thumb to wipe away water droplets that had splashed onto her delicate cheekbones or helping to free the damp wisps of bangs that had become ensnared in her long, inky lashes. She never thought twice about them and he wasn’t above taking advantage of that little fact.

“Oh, Dom, sweetie!” a female called from behind him. Dom didn’t have to turn around to know who the phony, sugary-sweet voice belonged to. It was the president of the Kappa Phi Lambda Sorority, and one of his earlier dalliances in the year, Brit Bana. Turning his head he let out a sigh as Brit bore down on him, closely followed by a handful of her sorority minions.

“Hiya, handsome,” she said with a million-watt smile that failed to move him.

“Brit. Ladies,” he acknowledged politely.

“I haven’t seen you around lately. I’ve missed that gorgeous mug of yours.” She draped herself onto him like a second shirt. “Daddy has a new job coming up for Calvin Klein. Have you given any more thought to my offer?”

Brit’s father was a freelance professional photographer. It was a known fact he gave his daughter commission on every good looking college guy she brought in for photo shoots. It was a lot cheaper to pay frat boys with pizza and beer than it was to hire professional models.

“’Fraid not, Brit,” he said as he pulled her arms from around his neck. A quick glance in Angelica’s direction showed him she was too amused with his current problem to offer any help.

“Come on,” she whined through her smile. “It’s just a couple of pictures. And all you have to do is be your devilishly-handsome self. You were born to be a model, Dom. All that flawless olive skin, jet-black hair, and chiseled features. There’s nothing wrong with showing off that luscious body of yours,” she gushed. “It’ll be painless, I promise.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Brit. I told you before it’s not my thing. You’ll have to go find some other college boy to be your father’s picture monkey.”

“Okay, fine,” she sighed with great exaggeration. “Then let’s head back to your place and I’ll let you take all the pictures you want…of me.” She laughed seductively and attempted to press herself against his chest. He stopped her with a hand to her waist that gently pushed her back.

“You’re drunk, Brit. Go home, okay?”

Dom expected her to pout and whine, but she surprised him when her brown eyes shot him with a cool indifference. “Whatever. It’s your loss. Come on, girls, let’s go.”

Brit spun on her heel and wobbled a bit before stalking away from him, her posse close on her heels spouting off words of encouragement and crude comments about his character.

He wiped a hand over his face and raked his fingers through his hair. Angelica laughed as her amusement switched to all-out delight. “It’s nice to see the Russo Reputation is alive and well.”

She was of course referring to his relationship habits – or lack thereof. He never engaged in anything more than casual trysts with any of the girls he got involved with (after all he wasn’t exactly a monk). “Hey,” he started in his defense, “I’m always up-front with them about not wanting a relationship. So they can hardly hold that against me.” Glancing in the direction Brit had huffed off to he grimaced and added, “Though they usually do anyway.”

He finished off the last of his beer and threw the bottle into a nearby trash barrel. Angelica gave him one of her concerned looks as she tried to anchor her long bangs behind her ear. “Are you sure you don’t want me to give you a ride home?” she asked. “It’s late and with as much alcohol as I saw you consume today I would have to think that your already shaky sense of direction has to be more than a little compromised. You could end up wandering around all night.”

Dom gave her an incredulous look and tried to appear emotionally wounded. “What? My sense of direction has never been shaky. I’m hurt that you would even suggest such a thing. When have I ever been lost?”

Without hesitation she held up her hands and started ticking off examples. “Well, let’s see. There was that time in high school when you were driving our group to that new restaurant in Chicago before the Homecoming dance and we almost ended up in Indiana. Oh, how about the time a few years ago when we went on that camping trip up to Devil’s Lake and it took us an extra day to get there because –”

“All right, all right,” he conceded with a smile. “You’ve made your point. There have been a couple of times in the past where my impeccable sense of direction has failed me. But I’m okay tonight. Besides, I need the fresh air before I crash and become oblivious to the world for the next few days or so.”

Angelica cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes at him, probably trying to decide if she should force the issue. Her scrutiny was beginning to make him feel slightly self-conscious. He most likely looked like hell. Dom knew his once-clean white tee shirt and blue jeans bore a plethora of colorful stains from an array of different alcohols, courtesy of several sloppy drunks. He probably looked like a walking abstract painting, but he couldn’t muster up the energy to care.

“Okay, if you insist,” she said, finally giving in. “Call me when you get home, though, okay? I don’t want to lose any sleep thinking I’m responsible for you lying in a gutter somewhere. I mean it, Dominic.”

She was the only one he allowed to get away with using his full name. Hell, he’d let her get away with just about anything.

“No problem. I think I can manage that.”

She reached up and put her arms around his neck for a hug goodbye. The sweet smell of cherry blossoms wafted around him, prompting a barrage of memories his mind associated with her signature scent. Dom wrapped his arms around her, but was careful not to hold her too close. To do that would make it more of an intimate embrace, rather than their usual platonic hugs. He exhaled a silent sigh of contentment. My angel.

He had used her goody-goody personality as his excuse to give her the nickname back when they were kids. It started out as something to tease her with whenever she balked at even bending the tiniest of rules, but as they grew older it metamorphosed into a term of endearment, albeit a casual one.

Given her name it was a predictable and obvious choice, but in truth Dom used it because that's what she was to him. An angel. His angel. So many things in his life had been dark and evil, but she’d always had the ability to save him from all of it, whether she knew it or not.

She ended their hug and flashed him her killer smile. With all the alcohol coursing through his veins he had a hard time controlling the image of her bouncing on the clouds, sporting a shiny halo and a pair of wings. Wipe that dumb-ass look off your face, Russo, or she’ll think you’re too smashed to walk home.

At last he managed, “Goodbye, angel.”

She screwed up her face like he’d just said something distasteful.

“Goodbye? What happened to your usual ‘see ya later?’ You make it sound like we’re never going to see each other again.” In truth, he wasn’t sure what had prompted the change in his usual farewell. “If you miss Sunday brunch at my parents’ house my mom will have your head,” she warned. She gave a tired sigh and finished with, “Okay, you lush. Get your butt home and call me when you get there. Be careful, okay?”

Women. How do they survive on a daily basis with as much as they worry? Dom had learned it was always better to placate them to avoid unnecessary nagging. With a finger marking an X over his heart he said, “I’ll call as soon as I’m home. I swear. And I would never dream of missing Isabella’s famous waffles.”

She seemed satisfied with his solemn oath and turned to get into her metallic-pink Volkswagen Beetle. She gave him a final wave and smile before pulling away from the curb. He watched the Bug blink in and out of the pools of street lights until it finally blinked out of sight.

Dom knew she’d be fine since Angelica never drank. He almost wished she did. Then maybe he could see her do something stupid, something that he could consider a character flaw and maybe – just maybe – he wouldn’t be so wrapped up in her. Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t find a damn thing wrong with the girl.

Taking a deep breath and letting it back out slowly to try and clear his head, he turned in the direction of his small apartment. Now that Angelica was out of sight his surroundings came back into focus. He had to dodge the random idiots who couldn’t hold their liquor as they stumbled around the campus sidewalks, doing and saying things they wouldn’t remember in the morning, but would probably come back to bite them in the ass one way or another. Amateurs.

It was a typical hot and humid June night, but a nice breeze coming off of Lake Michigan made the air somewhat comfortable. After about ten minutes of walking Dom was finally out of the party areas and the streets were once again nice and quiet.

With nothing to distract his thoughts from Angelica he forced his brain to focus on other things. For starters, he needed to get ready for the police academy he was joining in a week. He was anxious to start training so he could jump into his career as a cop. It had been a pain in the ass going to college for police science when it wasn’t necessary in order to join the academy, but Dom wanted every edge he could get. He had no desire to be a beat cop in Chicago for his entire career. He wanted to work up through the ranks quickly to become a detective and fry bigger fish. Particularly, the kind of asshole fish he had been forced to live with growing up.

He had heard about the kind of foster parents that were caring and nurturing. The kind that fostered children to give them opportunities and families they wouldn’t otherwise have. Unfortunately, Dom had never met any. He had been given over to the kinds that were in it for the extra paychecks every month. The kinds that were neglectful and abusive more than not.

The only thing that had saved him from drowning in that morally depraved life had been Angelica and her parents. Since meeting in kindergarten her parents had invited him over often for play dates, and his could-give-a-shit foster parents had only been too eager to get rid of their burden as much as possible.

Dr. and Mrs. Hart were intelligent people who were aware of Dom’s situation and always did whatever they could for him without crossing the line into condescension or pity. Somehow they understood that his pride was all he had in the world and they were always careful to leave his intact.

Growing up around the Harts, Dom was shown what life could be like. What a real family should be. He couldn’t deny that he wanted to have his own family like that someday, but Dom knew it wasn’t likely. Even though he knew he could never be like the people (and he used that term loosely) that raised him (he used that term very loosely), the niggling thought that he had been permanently tainted by them scared him to death. What if he couldn’t be the type of husband or father that he wanted to be? What if, no matter how hard he tried, the slime from his upbringing was a permanent fixture on his soul and it ended up destroying those he loved? Even if that wasn’t a factor, he had to consider that his DNA was probably corrupted as well. He didn’t know anything about his biological parents, but they had to be real gems for the state to take him away as an infant.

For those reasons alone Dom never allowed himself to think he deserved Angelica. Although he believed he had the power to change his path in life to be a better man than the ones he grew up with, he would never take the chance of poisoning her with traits he may have repressed. There would be someone infinitely better suited for her, he was certain of that. Someone who had grown up as she had and would know how to give her that same type of life and love.

Either the alcohol had seriously dulled his senses or he’d been incredibly lost in his thoughts because Dom hadn’t heard the man approach that suddenly stood in front of him, blocking his path. He stopped abruptly and studied the unwelcome interruption.

The large man, who looked to be in his mid-twenties, easily stood about six and a half feet tall. Despite the hot weather he wore a long brown duster over his white button-down shirt that was neatly tucked into a pair of jeans. His sandy blonde hair hung long past his broad shoulders, which were coincidentally attached to the frame of a Mack truck.

He looked like a football player, but Dom didn’t recall him being on the Northwestern team. Not that he paid close attention to college football, but it’s hard to go to a Big 10 school and not be at least somewhat aware of the players.

Dom immediately didn’t like the guy’s stance and the cocky smirk on his ugly, bearded face. Actually, he was GQ-cover model material, but a strong male ego refused to let Dom admit that on anything more than a deeply subconscious level.

Something about the man’s presence pricked Dom’s survival instincts. His adrenaline kicked in. He usually tried to be the bigger man and walk away from fights, but he was always secretly disappointed when the other party didn’t press the issue. This could be fun, he decided.

“Dominic. It’s nice to finally meet you face to face. My name is Griffin and I’ll be your escort this evening.”

Griffin? Dom racked his brain, trying to remember if he’d ever heard anything about anyone named Griffin or how the guy might know his name. Dammit, why’d I have so much to drink at those parties?

“If you think you can mug me you’d better think again, pal. I won’t go down easily.” Taking a wide stance Dom clenched his fists to prepare for an attack.

The arrogant male laughed quietly and then gave Dom a wide smile, showing a row of brilliantly white teeth. The light from the street lamp above glinted off of two longer fangs, highlighting their sharp tips as though the light itself was trying to flash him a warning.

He’d heard about those Goth Vamp wannabe clubs, but he’d never actually seen a card-carrying member before. Great. A mentally unstable mugger. Just what he needed right now.

“I’m not here for something as trivial as your wallet, human. And I predict you’ll go down very easily.”

A split second later the guy was right in front of him, swinging a right hook towards his face. Dom barely had time to process what was happening when the world quickly went black.