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Branson Ducks, Zombies, & King Kong

What a crazy day we’ve had in Branson! First, we slept in. Ah, love vacation! I did keep my iPhone handy, though, in case an EDJ call came through, but things must have gone smoothly today. *crossing fingers* Papa from Mexico (my dad) called and said he was going to be able to come down for awhile, so we just lounged around the hotel room until he arrived.

I did something I’ve never done on vacation before: I worked out. *dies* It’s a good thing, too, because I didn’t eat the best today.

After Papa arrived, we headed to the Branson Ducks.  The kids had a blast, but I was sorely disappointed.  For $120 the six of us spent about 10 minutes on the water and the rest of the time either in Branson traffic or driving up and down quarry trails.  I rode the ducks as a kid, and I swear we got to ride all over the lake IN THE WATER, along the dam and everything, but all we did today was make a big splash when the duck hit the water, and then drive around a little island. 

Plus, they gave us all those annoying quackers.  Forget waterboarding and ripping fingernails off — just trap parents in a vehicle with three kids blowing those duck calls at the top of their lungs.

Then we went to The Fish House over by Bass Pro at the Landing.  Another disappointment.  (See my last note about how I hate to eat in Branson.)  The service was lousy and they were not busy at all (we got there around 4 PM).  The food was okay but nothing to write home about, and the waitress spilled tea all over my lap and didn’t even say a word in apology.  The view was pretty awesome — the restaurant hangs out over Taneycomo Lake.

We had to make a quick trip to Wal-Mart because someone forgot to bring underwear (That Man).

Then off we went to the Hollywood Wax Museum where a huge statue of King Kong climbing a fake Empire State Building wars against the Titanic museum on the opposite side of 76.  We took a hilarious picture of all us clutched in King Kong’s paw, and yes, this time we were suckers and bought two copies for the low low price of $16.  *rolls eyes* 

Part of this attraction is a zombie ride called Castle of Chaos.  We weren’t going to do it — fearing the monsters were too little.  But the guy at the door told us the age requirement was only 5 years old, and it was like a movie.  Note to self:  never believe the guy trying to make money by selling tickets.

We LOVED LOVED LOVED the zombie ride.  We, as in the grown ups.  I cackled and shot zombies and squealed when a bat got in my hair (they rig the seats so that it’s “five dimensional”, e.g. things touch your head and the seat moves).  Of course I had to shoot with my left hand, because I had Middle Monster clutched in my right arm.  She kept her 3-D glasses on and only got near tears once, but she really didn’t like it much.  Littlest Monster started bawling as soon as the lights went out.  That Man said she kept hiding her face and shooting anyway.  Once, she shot her seat because it started moving.  Princess Monster sat with Papa and took her glasses off.  The big chicken.

The third part of this attraction is a Mirror Maze, which sounds kind of dumb, but I swear it freaked me out more than the zombies.  I had to walk with one hand out in front of me to keep from smashing my nose on the glass.  Once I reached the exit, I stayed put, while everyone else lingered looking for all five of the hidden characters.  They never did find the prince, but the monsters LOVED that maze.  They’d to that again in a heartbeat.

We topped the night off with ice cream at Coldstone, and then Papa headed home.  The monsters are swimming now and I’m protecting the netbook with a towel because we’ve got a bunch of rowdy spashers tonight.  *glares*

Sis, you have GOT to get down here and ride the zombie Castle of Chaos.  You will love it!!

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Winner, Vicki, and Victor

The winner of the St. Patrick’s Day giveaway is:  Sheila of Bookjourney!  Sheila, please send me an e-mail at joelysueburkhart AT gmail DOT com with your snail mail address and I’ll send the book your way.

Now for the Vicki snippet.

This snippet was a long-awaited one, for me at least.  I couldn’t WAIT to get Victor on page, but once I got here, I ended up unsure if I pulled it off.  This scene is mostly dialogue back and forth, so in revision, I’ll probably have to bulk up emotions, non-verbals, etc. but it was still fun.  Longer than usual, but there really wasn’t a great place to stop.

Vicki wasn’t one to beat around the bush once she’d made up her mind. “I need your help.”

“So I see.” Victor sat down behind his desk. “Where’d you meet Jesse?”

“It’s a long story.”

Victor kicked back in his chair and propped his ridiculously ostentatious cowboy boots on his desk. “I’m all ears.”

She filled him on Jesse’s background, how she knew him, and the snowstorm that had brought him into her house. “Honestly, I had no intentions of letting him stay with me for more than the night. I wasn’t thinking about taking him in permanently, not at all. It just…happened. I couldn’t leave him on the streets, and now that he’s safe, I can’t stand the thought of letting him go back.”

“Wait a minute. You just said permanently. Are you thinking about keeping him?”

“You make him sound like a pet,” she grumbled. “All I meant to do was get him a job, help him get on his feet, and then go on my merry way.”

“And now?”

“He’s only been at my house two nights, and I can’t…” She dropped her gaze to her hands. Her knuckles were white, her fingers turning red from the fierce grip she kept on her emotions.

“You can’t what, sis?”

Her cheeks burned. “You’re my brother, V. The last thing I want to do is tell you all the things running around in my mind every single time I look at him. You’ll probably beat him up or something.”

“Nah,” he drawled. “That’s Conn’s department, not mine. Mama might horsewhip him though.”

Vicki jerked her head up and glared at him. “Nobody’s going to lay a finger on him, do you hear me?”

“Protective, aren’t we?” He gave her a sardonic, knowing smirk that made her grind her teeth. “What do you want me to do, sis? Give him a job? It’s done.”

She blew out her breath in a loud huff. He knew damned well what was eating her, and he was going to enjoy every minute of it. He was playing games with her, just like he’d done when they were kids. Part of the fun would always be making her ask. “I thought that’s all I wanted you to do, but things changed. Now that he’s in my house, I want him.” When her brother’s eyebrow shot up higher, she quickly added, “to stay. I want him to be safe.”

“And you want him.” She opened her mouth to deny it, but he put his feet down and leaned forward, all teasing gone. “You came to me for help because I’m a Master, not because I’m your brother.”

Miserably, she nodded. Tears burned her eyes. “It’s so complicated, V. I didn’t know it would be this hard. Once I saw him, I couldn’t leave him, and now…I don’t want him to leave. Elias is wavering between pissed and somewhat understanding. I’m afraid I’m going to lose him, but I want to take care of Jesse, and I’m afraid I’ll end up taking advantage of the situation. I’m scared.”

Victor came around before his desk, sat on the edge, and took her hands. “I suspected for a long time, sis, but I didn’t know for sure. Is Jesse the first man that made you feel this way?”

Nodding, she whispered. “He’s been abused and he’s had a terribly hard life. He came to me for help, and I don’t want to make it worse for him, but I can’t stop touching him. The last thing I want to do is screw him up even more.”

“Don’t make the mistake of thinking Jesse is submissive because of his life on the streets. I’m not a sadist because I was tortured or because Mama and Daddy had a private version of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre at the ranch. That’s a load of crap and it always pisses me off when people assume we must have been abused or ‘ruined.’ I was born this way. You were born this way. Jesse is a born, natural submissive, and he proved himself to be a survivor. He can certainly survive you. In fact, he’d like nothing better than to survive whatever you can do to him.”

“Who’ll protect him from me?”

“You will,” Victor said softly, giving her an encouraging squeeze. “You’ve already protected him by seeking help. I’ve been waiting all these years, afraid to push you, afraid to ask too many questions, but I knew when it was time, you’d know where to go.”

“Did you have this talk with Conn?”

“Sure did. And he had this talk with me when I first met Shiloh.” He hesitated, his eyes narrowing on her face. “I had this talk with Mama, too. You really ought to be talking to her and not me.”

But Vicki was already shaking her head. “Are you insane? I can’t get Mama to agree with me that the sky is blue. What am I going to do, call her and say, ‘Oh, Mama, by the way, I took in a homeless man who keeps begging me to take him any way I want.’”

“Sure.”

The thought made her stomach churn. “Never in a million years. I’d rather talk to you. And why not Mal?”

His producer and friend, Malindra Kannes, had created several risque shows for VCONN, and as a result, was known as the Mistress of Dallas.

Victor nodded. “Mal would be glad to help you, especially if you think you might be into punishment.”

Pulling her hands back, Vicki covered her eyes and tried to calm the fire blazing across her cheeks. “I have no idea. I don’t know why it’s happening. Why now and not years ago?”

“Because you found him. All his life, he’s been searching for the place where he’d belong, exactly as he is. He wants to belong to you.”

“You could tell that just from meeting him?”

Victor ticked the signs off one by one. “He couldn’t meet my gaze until you took his hand.”

“He was nervous–”

“He stepped as close to you as he dared,” Victor continued, ignoring her interruption, “silently begging for your protection and sending a sign to me that he was taken. You told him to wait for you, and he sat where indicated without a single hesitation, eyes only for you, his body tuned to you. I bet that when you touch him, however innocently, he sinks immediately into submissive invitation. Eyes down, shoulders and body relaxed, eager and willing to do whatever you tell him, and I mean anything.”

“How did you know?” Her voice sounded hoarse to her ears. “Is it that obvious?”

He laughed softly. “Yes, to me, to anyone who knows how to read the signals. What does Elias have to say about this?”

“He’s tolerant, but also jealous. I don’t know how we’re going to work things out. We’d sort of broke up, but he’s back in my life now that Jesse is with me. I called him to run a background check the first night, and he went ballistic.”

“I imagine so. Look, sis, I’m the last person who’ll ever judge you. If you want to keep both of them, you’ll figure out a way. You said yourself that bringing Jesse home brought Elias back. Maybe it’s meant to be.”

Mentally, she had to pick her jaw up off the floor. “I never thought you’d tell me to just… just… I mean…It’s two men, V. Two. I can’t get my own mind around the logistics. Elias and I talked every once in a while about marriage, but he’s a cop. You know how dangerous his job is and the shitty hours he puts in. He’s already been through one divorce. I know he loves me, and I love him, but I don’t know that we could actually get married and not kill each other, even if the drug dealers don’t shoot him down on the street.”

“I will never say a word against Elias or Jesse or both. However, I will admit that I was worried about you each time I saw you and Elias together. You’re both so hard and fierce, so Dominant, whether you play any sort of games in the bedroom or not. You’re too much alike, and neither one of you will back down from the challenge. I suppose that’s why you two broke up?”

She nodded, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. “You don’t think I’ll ever be able to work out a long-term relationship with him?”

“I never said that. In fact, you may have the answer sitting outside in my waiting room, if you can get Elias to accept him. First, though, you need to take care of Jesse. In his mind, he’s already given himself to you. It’s up to you to protect him, even from Elias and especially from yourself.”

“That’s what scares me to death.” She blew out a shaky breath. “I don’t want him to feel like he has to get a job and leave, but I don’t want him to feel beholden to me, either. I don’t want him to stay and put up with me and Elias’s shit because we helped him.”

“I can recommend a therapist who specializes in complicated BDSM relationships. You should both see her, immediately, before you get involved in an intimate relationship. Elias, too, and if he’s serious about you, committed to working out a life with you, then he will go.”

Vicki nodded. “Definitely. I’ll do whatever I need to do to make sure I don’t mess this up. Elias…” She shrugged. “I don’t know. When I feel better myself, I’ll have a talk with him and we’ll go from there.”

Smiling, her brother leaned down and hugged her. “You’re quite a woman, Beulah Virginia Connagher.”

“Geez, why’d you have to go and call me that? Here I thought you were going to help me!”

Victor laughed. “You can always call me, Vicki. You can call Conn, too, although his advice usually involves a poetry quotation. I hope you paid more attention in English than I did.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t use any football metaphors.”

“Ah, I’ve been remiss. Let’s see, Jesse is on your team. You have to call the plays and lead the team. The entire team depends on you to tell them what to do, but Jesse will run anywhere on the field, just because you told him to go. Your whole season is on the line, and if you call the wrong play, somebody might get hurt. Jesse will run for you until he drops, and if you can get the ball to him, he’ll sacrifice his own body to the defenders in order to catch it. He’d rather die than let you down.”

She groaned. “Is Elias on the field, too?”

“Of course. He’s the linebacker trying to sack you.”

“I’ve been tackled once—even though we were playing flag football—and it sure wasn’t pretty. I don’t think I like this game, V.”

“Yeah, I remember when that punk slammed you to the ground, even though the ball wasn’t anywhere near you. What happened to him on the next play, sis?”

“You and Conn both smoked his ass.”

Victor smiled and goose bumps raced down her arms. She suddenly wondered if that’s the smile Elias and Jesse saw on her face. “If you ever need help tackling Elias, call me. I’ll leave Jesse up to you.”

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E-Book Promo

A friend asked me about what promo I’ve done online, so I thought, yay, a blog topic!

These are only my observations.  Other people are going to be better at different things and have entirely different experiences.   Plus there are so many factors involved, like the size of your backlist, your comfort zone with things like Twitter and Facebook, whether you have print books involved, etc.

My number one rule:  never spam anybody.  That means:

  • I never keep the e-mails from my giveaways.  I’ve had a few people e-mail me and ask if I had a newsletter, and since I don’t, I promised to let them know when I had new releases.  Otherwise, I don’t keep contacting people, never without their permission!
  • I never bomb people on Facebook with “become my fan!” or “Join my group!”  Honestly, I really don’t use Facebook much (other than connecting my blog to Twitter and Facebook).  My oldest monster likes to play FarmTown sometimes, and both she and my husband “manage” the account for me.  I’ve given them instructions to ignore causes, pages, fan groups, etc.  Sometimes I do pop over to say hello to high school friends, and I do try to respond to people who comment on my status.

My second rule:  only do things I enjoy.  Big chats intimidate me, so I usually only participate when I know several or most of the participants.  I participate on very few reader yahoo groups, mostly because I don’t know which ones to visit.  I don’t like to come onto a new list and say “Hello, buy my books!”  Argh, I hate that!

I love to write.  I hate to sell myself.  So if anything, I’m not as aggressive as I maybe should be, but I’d rather my work speak for itself.

At the heart of my promotion efforts (for both e-book and print) is this blog.  I’ve been blogging in some form since 2004, although the early years were lost when I moved my domain off yahell.  I’ve made some great internet friends through blogging, and I love keeping in touch with them.  I do sometimes begin to run out of interesting things to blog about, but I try to be myself all the time, to be honest, and not make it all about “buy my books” because yeah, I already said I hate that, right? 

I’m an amiable personality, so I avoid conflict, especially on my blog, so I don’t blog about politics or the latest blogwar.  I have small children, so I try to protect them as much as possible online by never using their names or giving away key information.  I’m probably the most easy-going person around, so I don’t rant.  Gee, why are you people still reading?  I’m starting to sound really boring.

But I do appreciate all of you who read my feed or take the time to comment.  I do try to respond to commenters as often as possible, but I do get behind.  *hangs head in shame*  I always respond to e-mail.  I always respond to mentions on Twitter unless TweetDeck just flips out and doesn’t notify me.

Using this blog as a foundation, the other things I have found success with:

  • Giveaways.  I love books and I choose to support my favorite authors like Larissa Ione and Lynn Viehl by giving their books away.  Sure, I give away my own sometimes too.  I’ve given away e-books and print, mine and others, and sometimes just gift certificates.  I made a personal choice to always keep mailings open to the planet, and since I’ve made some great Twitter buddies in Germany and the Netherlands, I’m glad to always include overseas contestants!  When the promo funds are running low and I can’t swing the postage costs, then a simple gift certificate to any online retailer is always a nice prize.
  • Free reads.  Lynn Viehl inspired me to give away short stories, and I’ve been doing it since 2007 or so.  I use Scribd and also have pdf downloads on the Free Reads page (note to self: still need to get epub formatted).  I have no idea how many have been downloaded over the years–I’ve had to reload some of the older ones on Scribd and my blog analytics aren’t the greatest –but from what I can tell, thousands of downloads have been made, which is stunning.  I’ve also given freebies to Samhellion and All Romance E-Books.  Talk about free promo–those stories are still there, didn’t cost me a dime, and I’m sure they’re continuing to help readers find me. 

Those are the two biggest things.  I happily do guest blogs and interviews when asked, but I don’t aggressively go out searching for them (I did say I hate selling myself, right??)  I’ve met some incredible book people on Twitter, which I use more than Facebook.

I’ve purchased small ad spots on a few review sites and did get a few clicks, but there’s no way to tell how much those affect sales.  It does help with name recognition, but personally, I’d rather give away a book or two than spend $20 for a tiny corner on a site already crammed with ads.

If money is tight, you can always give away an old story.  Have one sitting on your harddrive that didn’t work out for an anthology?  Run it through a quick edit pass, reformat it (I like to use larger font,  1 1/2 spacing), and let Word save it as pdf for you.  Make sure you include a backlist page detailing all your current releases, your website link, and a brief bio.  If you have the Photoshop skilz, create a cover for it — I think they do attract more notice on Scribd when the stories have attractive cover art.  Alas, my Photoshop ability is laughable.

On Monday, I’ll blog about some of the things I’m doing for print promo, but I’m a newbie in this arena.

Do you have any online promo recommendations that have worked for you, or that you’d love to see authors do more of?  Please let us know!

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Revision Xibalba

While I’ve been blogging mostly about Vicki and “dream writing” this week, the real “work” I’ve been doing is Revision Xibalba.  I got the revision letter from my new editor at Carina Press last week and a deadline of 2/28, so I’m rocking and rolling through her notes.  Vicki is actually my cookie at the end of the day for a job well done.  Er, hopefully well done.

So I guess it’s only fair that I talk about revision process too, right?  Holly Lisle has made the “one-pass revision” her bread and butter.  I can’t think off-hand of any other author who has blogged about their revision process (if you know of any useful resources, shout them out).  So here’s a bit about what I’ve been doing this week.

Of course, the HOW depends on WHAT the changes actually are.  I’m not working on the line-edit phase yet, correcting typos, answering the copy-editor’s notes about eye-color change or questioning the word choice with a suggestion.  No, this is high-level revision, and quite honestly, pretty tough.  I can’t just point to one little spot, make the change, and be done.  Several scenes have to be touched, and tiny changes here affect changes deeper in the story.  I have to keep things consistent and tight, while still addressing the issues.

First:  read the revision letter, all the way through.  Then put it away for a day or two and just think about it.  Let all the comments soak in.  Rumminate.  See what makes sense, organize any questions or comments on paper.  I did so, and by Sunday, I had a plan of attack in my mind.

It’s deceptive to see a little bullet or short paragraph like “make sure you continue the heroine’s wry sense of humor all the way through–it sort of disappears near the end.”  (Not a direct quote – just a paraphrase.)  My first thought was oh.  Didn’t I do that?  I thought I did.  Hmmm.  I should read a few passages in the last third or so and see. 

Second.  Read the manuscript (at least sections).  Look for trends and patterns the editor has pointed out.

Oh.  Yeah.  I started to see patterns where I had the wry humor coming from the wrong character.  Or I could expand Jaid’s dialogue or introspection just a bit and make it bigger. 

Third:  Fix.  Maybe not as easy as it sounds.

Fix Phase 1.  Doubt.  I wasn’t really trying to make Jaid funny at all.  I had this sudden surge of distress and doubt.  OMG, how can I make this funny?  Wry humor, what is that?  I did it on accident!  I swear!

Fix Phase 2:  I read the beginning of the book and jotted a few examples of where I thought Jaid had been slightly funny or self-depreciating.  I had several examples.  Again, I started to see patterns, lines of subtle humor that had been laid down at the beginning and never mentioned again.  Dropped threads, missed opportunities. 

Hello, she’s the Un-Indiana Jones.  I made a big deal about this a couple of times in the first half of the manuscript.  Yet when she’s actually racing through the jungle, chased by demons, and nearly drowning in a dark cave, I never once had her go hmmm, maybe grading and lecturing isn’t so bad.

Fix Phase 3. Go through manuscript and watch for slight moments of humor.  Make sure it’s centralized with Jaid.  Amplify if it makes sense.  Watch for moments of high action followed by a quiet moment.  See if it makes sense to drop in a comment.  Mention “Un-Indiana Jones” at least one or more times in the high action events of the climax to bring it all together.

Yay, one bullet done!  How many more do I have to make? *groans*

Actually, I’m almost done.  The humor one was one of the hardest to fix (other than the name change), because I had that moment of panic.  Last night, I had to fix the reunion with Jaid’s father.  I’d totally gone off the deep end in the last revision (to make it romance) and the sap was just oozing all over everywhere.  Ugh.  I think I made it more realistic, and even opened myself up for all sorts of good stuff in the next book.

Final:  Once I make all the changes, I’ll create a new copy of the manuscript just for me.  I’ll accept all the changes, delete any comments, and read it one more time.  I actually prefer to use Google Mail’s “read as html” option for this phase (which is why I remove the comments).  Seeing it outside a Word doc just gives me more clean space to see how it’s really going to read.

This gives me the chance to look for formatting problems (sometimes it’s hard to see paragraph breaks when Track Changes are on), as well as check the flow and make sure I didn’t break anything. 

So by the time this revision pass is all over, I bet I’ll have read the manuscript AGAIN at least five more times.  I’ll read it at least one more time for the copy-edit phase, and we may have more than one revision pass before we get there.

So yeah, “one-pass revision” just doesn’t work for me.

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Transitions and Sequence

Another downside to “dream writing” is the transition from scene to scene (or night to night).  e.g. I’m dreaming the big scenes, not the passage of insignificant moments that explain how the characters got from one event to another.  I don’t have a good sense of time.  I have to connect those dots eventually and move seamlessly from one scene to another, which isn’t always a quick fix.

Last night, my mind kept jumping ahead to a scene with Victor.  (Gee, I have no idea why.  haha)  I know this scene takes place in the first half of the book, but where, exactly?  Is it Act I, or the midpoint of Act II?  I don’t know.  I have a feeling it might be sooner than later, especially since I don’t know what happens in between.

And here’s where writing without an outline gets frustrating.  I have no idea how long the story will be, because I don’t know the details of Act III so I have no way of gauging how far down the road I am.  I’ve been writing careful chapter and scene breaks, but that may have to change because I don’t know what to fill the gaps with yet. 

It’s sort of like excavation, and there are major parts of the skeleton still buried.  I can only see the tips of bone protruding, and I’m going to have to spend some time digging them out.  The trick is balancing my compelling urge to write down the bone sticking out part–it’s so clear in my mind right now, but I’m afraid I’ll lose the clarity.  Like waking up from a vivid dream and feeling it fade away no matter how hard you grasp at the wisps.

But now that I’ve talked about it and aired some of the issues, I think I have an answer to my question about that scene with Victor.  I’m pretty sure it’s the “crossing the threshold” scene for Vicki to end Act I.  Either she’ll accept the journey or she won’t.  (Who am I kidding, you know she’ll accept the journey–but I need to cover her doubt.)  So now I have the goal to write toward for the end of Act I.

Hope some more bones start sticking up soon.

Of course, the other problem I’m battling is time constraints and other commitments.  My first priority this week is The Bloodgate Codex.  First round of revisions are due back by 2/28 and they are not tiny little fixes, but changes that affect multiple scenes (trickle-down effect).  I didn’t work on it yesterday because I needed to let my mind adjust to Xbalanque = Balam = Ruin in my mind.  The dust has settled, and I’ll be tackling a second bullet today.

Vicki will be my reward tonight.  But maybe I should jot a few notes about Victor before I forget…

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Approaching Vicki

Lying in bed yesterday, awake but still near to that hazy dream state, I worked through everything I knew about Vicki, Conn and Victor’s sister.  I’m pleased to announce that her heroes showed up.  I even have them cast in my mind now.

The big hole remains Vicki.  So here’s a few things I know about her and this book.

The first challenge I set for myself was to come up with a believable, modern-day story where the characters ended up happy in a long-term menage relationship.  All three of them.  I didn’t want this to be a one-night fantasy, a casual fling, or any other standard menage set up.  This part took forever to fall into place.  In my mind, I played through several different set ups, until I finally settled on this one.  The right one.  I think.  *winks*

Next, one of the heroes is inspired by someone else.  Someone I think got the short end of the stick.  He never got the care he deserved, allowed to evolve and become the kind of person he could have been.  I’m not going to say publically who or where this person came from, but if you guess and contact me privately, I may admit it.  Maybe.  Jesse (looks a bit like Casey James) is NOT this other person–he’s inspired by him.

Vicki has an existing friendship with Elias Reyes (played by Esai Morales), a police lieutenant working on a narcotics federal task force in Dallas.  They used to be on opposite sides of the court room, since Vicki was a defense attorney.  The money was nice, obviously, but she got burned out by the violence.  She found herself getting people off she knew were guilty, instead of truly helping people who were innocent and needed good representation.  Elias’s strong attraction and his dedication to justice, combined with burnout and a few really bad cases, led her to make a significant life change.

She quit practicing law to pursue a dream.  She opened up her own fashion line in Dallas.  [For the beta readers, that’s why Shiloh wears one of Vicki’s dresses to the final event.]  She’s doing this with her own money, but part of her feels like a failure.  She spent all these years going to college, working her way up to partner, gaining a prestigious career…only to quit.  She wonders what Daddy would say about it if he were still alive, and she hasn’t dared go home to see Mama.

She’s never had a comfortable relationship with Mama.  As the baby of the family, she was a daddy’s girl.  Her older brothers always took care of her.  She’s more like oil and water with Mama, who never sugar coats anything.  Don’t get me wrong–Vicki is not timid or afraid of Mama.  In fact, they’ve had so many rows, she decided it’s just easier to stay away. Despite their heated discussions, Vicki has a strong sense of family and would be miserable without them, so she stays in Dallas instead of heading for NY or LA, even if that means she won’t be as successful.

In looks, Vicki probably has dark hair and eyes to match Victor (Adrian Paul) or blue eyes like Conn (Clive Owen), but she could have taken more after Daddy (Sam Elliott) than Mama (Vivien Leigh).  After watching Constantine last night with my Beloved Sis, I’m thinking Vicki might be played by Rachel Weisz, but I’m open to other ideas.

P.S. Her real name isn’t Vicki.  It’s Beulah (Miss Belle) Virginia (Mama).  It’s sort of a family joke that she was cursed from the beginning with these names.  She chose to use Vicki (after her paternal grandmother, Victoria, where Victor got his name) instead.

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Passion Unleashed by Larissa Ione

What a tormented, incredible hero and yet a fun, sexy book!

Larissa is one of the few authors (for me) that can add campy humor and make me laugh out loud instead of rolling my eyes.  I mean, come on, UGH makes me snicker every single time!  I love it!   

The humor helps balance the smoldering intensity of the sex and the bloody action of the plot.  Anyone who’s read the first two books in the Demonica series knows that Wraith is going to burn the page up, and boy does he ever.  

But what I most admire about Larissa’s writing is how she builds these impossible romances.

Wraith is dying unless he steals Serena’s charm.

Serena will die if she doesn’t have the charm.

Although he’s half incubus, Wraith is violently opposed to touching a human woman.  Serena is not only human but also a virgin, and must stay that way, or she’ll lose the charm (see above).

Although he’s half vampire, Wraith despises all vampires because of the torture he received at their hands.  So of course, he must use his vampire skills not only to win the huge external conflict of the story but to also keep Serena alive.

Seriously, you have to wonder how she’s going to pull this romance off, even though we know they’ll end up together in the end.  Oh, and by the way, there’s this really bad guy who’s trying to kill them all and the whole world at the same time.

My only complaint — at myself, let me assure you — is that I can’t remember all the plot details from the first two books.  In my older age (combined with my brain being stuffed with my own storylines), I just can’t always remember who the characters are who show up again, and there is quite a bit of cross over.  However, Larissa beautifully explains who people are for the befuddled with poor memories like me.  Not an infodump or a huge backstory that slows the plot down — just a nicely dropped few lines about where we’ve seen this bad guy before.

And of course, a few lovely scenes with Lore to make me slobber for his book, Ecstacy Unveiled.

Well done, Larissa!

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Rules, Boundaries, and Limitations

The title sounds familiar to anyone who watches Cesar Milan, the Dog Whisperer.  Dog problems are usually their OWNER’S problems first, and it’s amazing how many annoying and dangerous dog issues he can solve simply by applying a little discipline.

My post yesterday about a twisted version of Black Beauty probably gave you the hint that I’ve been thinking a lot about boundaries — harnesses and stables — this past month.  People have said that I’m disciplined, but all it really takes is a quick glance at my book list to see that it couldn’t be further from the truth. 

My interests are varied and wide.  I’ve written everything  from romance to horror and science fiction, with a bunch of flavors of fantasy mixed in.  I’ve even written a Civil War story!  I adore a challenge, and each time I see a new submission call, it can be dangerous.  I get an idea.  Sometimes it’s a burning hole in my mind until I write it. 

Even if it doesn’t go with anything else I’ve written.

My sixth year anniversary has come and gone, and I think it’s time I toughened up on myself.  I need to focus.  The freedom of writing whatever I wanted on a whim was fine for awhile, but if I want to take my writing to the next level, I need some discipline.

Rules, boundaries, and limitations.

I was talking with a sooper-duper writing friend yesterday and we talked about my unreasonable fear of limiting myself to one genre.  Or even one MIX of genres — not this mishmash of everything.  Deep down, I have a very great fear that if I enforce rules on myself, the writing will just shrivel up and die.  That I’ll lose the part of my writing that makes it special and unique (at least to me).  I’ve been in bad places before where I seriously doubted that I’d ever finish another book again, and I do NOT want to EVER go there again.

But if I want to go to the next level, I need to focus.  I need some limitations.  I need to face this fear.  Plus I’ve been receiving feedback on various stories, and it’s made me rethink what I’ve written and what I want to continue writing.

Conn and Victor both helped, but they weren’t quite enough.  See, one of my weaknesses as a writer is throwing stuff into a story that amuses ME, not necessarily the general reader.  It amused me to have Miss Belle solve a minor murder mystery in Dear Sir.  Her kooky antics with Colonel Healy put a smile on my face.  However, a few readers commented that the paranormal aspects were annoying.  I could have told Conn and Rae’s story without a ghost.

Focus.

The Witch once told me that I need to think about romance as a coloring book, and I need to learn how to color within the lines.  Meanwhile, I’ve been taking a marker and scribbling huge swatches of color all over the page, totally ignoring the lines in deliberate defiance.

So that’s an exercise I’m going to work on after Victor’s revisions are completed.  While I worldbuild the SFR world of Deathright and get back on track with it, I’m going to take a little time and write a simple, wonderful romance.  Only two crucial characters.  No paranormal, no fantasy, no violence, no horror, no mythology, not even erotic elements to detract from the relationship.

Just two people focused on each other and falling in love. 

If I can’t do it, then I need to rethink the SFR because the R means romance, and if I can’t get a simple, straightforward romance right, then what I want to do ultimately in Deathright won’t happen.

If you hear some squealing and stamping and crashing, it’s my horse totem throwing a fit in its stall.  Gregar is laughing so hard he fell off said horse and is rolling around on the ground.  Thank Vulkar he’s wearing something beneath his memsha this time.

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A Horse Called Beauty

Once upon a time, a foal was born on the farm, so pretty that the farmer called her Beauty.  Beauty grew up with green meadows and sparkling streams with the azure sky over head perfectly clear and sunny.  She was never afraid; in fact, she had no idea what FEAR was.   She could run and kick up her heels all day and it was the best fun she’d ever hoped to have.

Even when the farmer introduced a halter, bit, and saddle, it was still all good fun.  Now she could go places!  She could see the world outside the secluded meadow.  Besides, she loved the farmer, and if he told her this was the right and proper way to go outside, then she believed him.

She did not know that she was to be sold.

At first, she didn’t understand why the farmer left her in the middle of the bustling town.  The noises hurt her ears and she shied and whinnied for him to come back, but he never once turned his head at her desperate clamor.

People came to look at her.  They pried open her mouth.  They jerked at her ears and sniffed with disdain at the size of her haunches.  “Too pretty for work,” one person said, and another, “Too plain for my carriage.”

There are many, many pretty horses, you see, and Beauty was quite ashamed to be left standing in the once-crowded market place with a droopy-eared mule and a broken-down hack.  She was relieved when a man laid a kind hand on her neck. 

“Don’t you worry, Beauty,” he said, stroking her gently.  “I’ll train you to harness.  I’ll teach you how to work.  Then they’ll be beating down the stable door to acquire you.  You’ll see.”

He led Beauty into a dark barn and put her in a stall with walls so high she couldn’t see over the tops.  Gone were the days of grazing in the meadow and running with her mother and the other young foals.  Now, she learned to work.  The man buckled and pinched and prodded her into a heavy leather harness.  It chaffed and rubbed her raw, but she accepted it.  After all, this is how things were done, and if she wanted to be taken away from this dreadful market and be loved, then this is what she must learn.

The work itself was not hard.  At first.  The man taught her to pull her weight, and then even more, loading the wagon down with goods.  She tried to keep her head high and her tail cocked with a jaunty air, but soon it was all she could do to pull that weight.  Her head came down so she could lean into the harness.  Her hooves slipped on the cobblestones, hard and cruel after the sweet green grass of the meadow.  Her rear hoof cracked, and she began to limp.  Just a little.  But now, even though she was pretty and knew how to work, no one would take her home from the market.

“Lame,” said a man, shaking his head, and another, “Poor broken-down dear.”

Broken down?  No, Beauty, shook her head and snorted.  She would show them.  She would pull more crates and barrels than ever.  She would master the steepest, most brutal hill in town.  She threw herself against the harness, straining and sweating, laboring up that hill with a mountain of cargo behind her.  Impatient, the man lashed her sides with the whip.  She strained for him, trying to please him, trying to show how much she could do, and she felt something tear inside her chest.

She slipped, slamming her knees against the cobblestones.  Wet and shaking, she could not rise.  Something had broken inside her.  Beauty knew a cold, suffocating fear, then, that she might never get up.  She might never run in a green meadow with love and joy bubbling up in her heart ever again. 

“What a failure,” the man said bitterly.  In disgust, he struck her one last time with that whip, and then he threw down the leather reins.  “If anyone wants her, she’s yours.”

Another man picked up her reins and coaxed her to her feet.  She followed him, head down and weary, for what else was she to do?  The drudgery continued.  Beauty worked for each owner, but she no longer loved them.  She couldn’t.  The once great heart within her was broken.  She came to hate the harness and the cramped stalls.  The hay was moldy and stank of rot and manure.  She couldn’t even turn around!  She couldn’t run, or see the stars, or feel the breeze ruffling her mane.  

With every exhausted beat of her heart, she yearned.  She yearned to be free.

Work, work, work, day in and day out, more loads because she couldn’t haul as much as the magnificent Belgians and Clydesdales.  Sometimes she passed the pretty carriage horses on the street, tails and heads high, but instead of envying them, now she sneered with a show of yellowed, mean teeth.  

What do you think of that bearing rein that holds your heads so high?  What do you think of waiting in the rain and snow outside the grand mansion for hours and hours, shivering and miserable?  At least I’m working!

But she couldn’t help but snap at the man who came to throw the harness on her.  She tried to kick the stableboy in the head.  She pounded her hooves against the tight walls and screamed out her rage.  If I am ever freeI shall run for the green pastures and never ever come back!

Then one night her prayers were answered, for the man came on unsteady feet, wavering back and forth down the aisle to check the angry, trapped horses one last time.  He tripped over a rake and fell, slinging the lantern against the wall.  It exploded with hungry, crackling flames.  Fire engulfed the stable, and he ran from stall to stall, slinging open the barred doors and waving his arms at the frightened horses.

Some of them were frozen with terror, but not Beauty.  She bolted for the door and ran as fast and hard as her sore hooves would take her.  She heard the screaming, dying horses behind her and the shouts from the firemen, but she ran on without looking back, just as her once beloved farmer had abandoned her to a lingering death in the city.

She ran.  Through cramped streets, leaping over crates, knocking people out of her way.  When she found the green meadows, she was tempted to stop and rest, but she remembered how the farmer had come and taken her away, so she kept running despite the foam flecking on her shoulders.  She ran to the mountains, the most barren and forlorn place she could imagine.

But she was free.  Here there were no people to throw a harness over her back.  No miserable little cell of a stable.  No one to sell her away from everything she loved. 

So what if she did have to move constantly, always looking for food.  What was a little hunger for a free creature?  Her ribs might show in stark relief beneath her ragged hide that had once been sleek and shiny with health, but she’d rather be hungry than suffer the harness again.  She’d rather her hooves crack and ache from the sharp rocks of the mountain than the hard punishing flagstones of the city.  And so what if she were lonely?  At least there was no man with a whip to beat her into submission.

Sometimes when she was especially hungry or the night was bitterly cold, she would stand on the cliff and look down at the valley below.  Sheltered by a line of sentinel pines, a snug litle cabin and stable were tucked up against the side of the mountain.  A man lived there; she often saw him shading his eyes, staring up at her if she lingered too long.

He had horses too, and sometimes she whinnied to them, tempting them to break down their stalls and come race the mountain with her in freedom.  Silly horses, though, they wouldn’t leave their stalls.

Their warm, safe stalls. 

In howling blizzard winds, Beauty was tempted enough to creep closer to the stable.  A chestnut nickered through the stout log walls.  “The man made us a warm mash tonight and I have a lovely blanket.  Let yourself be caught, wild thing, and eat your fill.  Our work is easy, there’s plenty of food, and the master is kind and wise.”

Beauty could smell sweet hay and rich grains inside.  Warm lights glowed from the cabin window.  She’d never heard the man speak harshly to his horses or lift a hand against them in anger.  Once she’d even see the barn door wide open and the chestnut loose and free, but the mare didn’t gallop for the hills, despite Beauty’s frantic call.

Warmth, food, shelter from the snow.  It would be ridiculously easy to allow the man to throw a rope over her neck and lead her inside.  Inside to stalls and harnesses and chains and whips.  She snorted and backed away.  

Snow stung her eyes and chilled her legs up past her hocks.  There would be no food to be found.  She’d already nibbled the tips of the trees as high as she could reach, and pawed a small patch of ice and snow away to find the dead grass beneath.  Free she may be, but she couldn’t help but remind herself that it had been a great many years since she’d felt lush green grass beneath her hooves and the joy she remembered in the meadow. 

How much longer can I survive free…flitting here and there in search of food?   Do I refuse the safety of the stable out of spite?  Was working beneath the harness always drudgery?  Would carrying a man with a light, sure hand and good seat be such a travesty?

Where is my place?  Where can I be safe and happy?  Where can I work and yet love, too?

Beauty clamped her tail tight and shivered.  Maybe if she survived this blizzard, she could make a decision.  Tomorrow.

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Post a Story For Haiti: Free Read

I was going to save this story for next month since it involves Valentine’s Day, but then I saw the Post a Story for Haiti project sponsored by Crossed Genres, and I knew I had to participate.  Ta ke a look at all the free stories and art dedicated to help the people of Haiti, and if you can, please donate to help them.

My contribution is a short steampunk horror story:  My Clockwork Heart.  Eventually, I’ll put it into a pdf on the Free Reads page.

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