Morning all, from the glorious island of Corfu. Yes, even here, wedding fever has struck. I did receive my invitation but, I decided not to go as there is a good movie on the box that day and I look stupid in hats.
so, on to the blog hop question of today Becoming an author, being a new author, and aspiring to be one is a confusing time. What is the most “difficult” hurdle you’ve encountered on your journey to fame and fortune.
Mmm - let me see. I think my biggest hurdle was sorting out all the paper work involved in setting up my Caymen islands bank account.
I mean, the assistent I hired to held me deal with the trials and trubulations of literary fame and fortune turned out to be useless. She ran off with the local pita shop man.
Of course, when I first put pen to paper, I never imagined it was so difficult to get published. The writing is the easy part - that is , if you have a pc and a working knowledge word and formatting etc. I didn't. It was something I had to teach myself.
I was also under the impression that agents and publishers alike would be falling over each other in the desperate race to snap up my first manuscript. I believed more was the name of the game.
My intitial effort stood at a grand total of 170,000 words of messy, pov and head hop mistakes. I loved it. It is the tale to which I have most conennection. Now, as I have grown as a writer {ha ha ha}, I have dug out this wondrous epic tale and slashed it down to 80k and fixed, I hope, all the glaring faults.
I digress, [as usual}. Back to my hurdles. I soon learned it is almost, if not more, difficult to find an agent than a publisher. Simple; I hired my rabbit, Maximus Rabbitus, to be mine. He is wonderful. Always loves everything I write and takes no cut of my amassed fortune. Initially, I was going to keep him on a private retainer but I believe he is now open to submissions. He is only looking at works from all herbivours but will consider unusual material from dogs and cats.
Okay, so I have my agent and, bless his little white paws, he has managed to land me contracts with MuseItHot Publishing.
The next hurdle in my journey to superstardom is the promotion - the bane of most authors. Newbies out there - you can't get out of it. It will take up of your time but it can be fun and I quite enjoy it. My problem is I also hold down a full time job during the summer months and this can oft frazzle my writing brain. Oh but please don't think I work because I need the money {remember Cayman islands}. It is purely for research purposes that I put up with four months of abuse from irate tourists who complain that they haven't a jacuzzi in their room even though they paid a grand total of 10 euros a night half-board.
Back to being a writer. I suppose I ought to stick to the question and answer what I believe to be my biggest hurdle. I suppose, I would have to say trying to educate people. It's a hard task convincing folk the that era of the ereader is upon us and that authors published with smaller presses are just as talented as those who have contracts with the big boys. And then, of course, up goes the cry - are you going to be rich? Why can't folk understand that we write because.... well....we can and we love it. Anything on top is just frosting. Nice frosting, yes, but it isn't what drives us. Yes, Mrs Harry Potter hit the big time, as did Mrs Twilight and Mr. Davinci Code but, as well as having talent and damn good stories {a must} they were in the right place at the right time. Publishing is a highly subjective field. I once wrote a blog thst likened it to dog showing.It went something like this....
Basically the pub game reminds me so much of dog showing.
She has gone mad, I hear you all say; too much Greek sun and retsina. What do I mean about dog showing? Let me explain, my children.
Back in the 80’s, I showed Afghan Hounds and rather successfully. We had 3 dogs in the ring but our high flyer was a silver blue brindle that did extremely well at championship level, making it to Crufts two years running. {well I have to brag} He was a beautiful specimen of Afghan, adhering to the breed standard. He became known on the circuit for having the perfect head.
In a championship level show, there can be as many as 50 dogs in each class - all equally of a very high standard. How does the judge pick a winner? At the end of the day, when faced with a sea of breed perfection, it all comes down to showmanship, presentation and the judges’ personal preference for a certain line. I soon learned this.
William was always groomed to perfection. Daily road work ensured he possessed Spartan muscle tone. I made sure his lead’s colour accentuated his coat colour. I made sure I wore dark trousers to show off his silver coat. I spent hours lead training him so that when he strode out the crowd gasped. I dtudied the judges past record and didn’t bother entering under a judge who I knew didn’t like my dog’s particular breed line.
Is submitting not the same? Its all about catching an agents or readers eye, I have read many extracts on the various promo loops and while some of the story lines are not to my taste, all have one thing in common. All these authors can write. It is a matter of finding that magical ingredient that will catch an editor’s eye. This is something, I believe, can be learned. I know it took me a while.
When I think of the initial query letters and synopsis I sent out, I cringe. But I learnt from my mistakes. I learnt about showmanship and now I have found 'judges' who appreciate my " pedigree".
See? I am not loopy after all - well not much.
The point of this rant - writing is not for the faint hearted. Are you ready for the long, often demoralising road? Do you write because you love it. If you want instant fame, well...I'd give Simon Cowell a call.Not a bad idea; I shall write to him and ask him to setme up
Have fun.
Join in the blog hop here http://bit.ly/mCySEi
Viviane
Thursday, 28 April 2011
Monday, 25 April 2011
Monday Muser's Mad Question Time
So, I am a tad embarrassed. My guest for this week did not show. Rather than upset my question schedule, I am opening the question as a free for all. Anyone who wishes to post an answer to this week's wacky question, go for it. Prize for best answer will be a free download of my Dreamweek.
Here goes....
You have just landed the job of Simon Cowell's assistent. His new project is to form a boy band. Your goal - to find him five contenders to take a spot in the band. Easy? Here is the catch. You must choose from the world's most important leaders to find your five. Have fun
Viviane
Here goes....
You have just landed the job of Simon Cowell's assistent. His new project is to form a boy band. Your goal - to find him five contenders to take a spot in the band. Easy? Here is the catch. You must choose from the world's most important leaders to find your five. Have fun
Viviane
Saturday, 23 April 2011
SIX SENTENCE SUNDAY - A PRIVATE PLACE
Time again for Six Sentence Sunday. I was remiss last week but I plead being too immersed in my wip which, I am now proud to say, is no longer wip but complete. I have posted from this m.s before - usually an angst ridden six but I thought I would go with something more light hearted today....
He stood, leaning against his desk, legs crossed at the ankles, arms folded in the stance she knew so well. The navy suit was businessman efficient. He’d always looked good in dark colours. But some things never change. Rebecca bit back a nervous giggle. Mr. J was still crap at ties.
A Private Place is as yet unpubbed but I am hoping to find a home for it soon. This tale holds a very special place in my heart. Here is a blurb and short excerpt:
Blurb:
Rebecca Harding is intelligent, witty and sometimes downright annoying. She is also damaged. To the outside world, she presents an image of a young woman in control, confident and cynical but no one knows her torment. In her nightmare, she is alone.
But then, Max Jackson enters her life when it is teetering on the brink. Despite a rocky start to their relationship, he becomes her salvation.
Max is the only person who knows the truth. He understands her fears and wants to protect her fragile heart. In Rebecca, he recognizes a kindred spirit. He would give anything to take away her pain but he comes to realize Rebecca has read more into his concern. He would rather die than hurt her but life throws him a curve ball, leaving him no choice but to walk away.
Excerpt:
Chapter One
Max Jackson rested his head against the mullion window, watching the rain drum out its incessant beat. He wondered if he would ever get used to England’s capricious climate. A mundane deliberation. The weather was the least of his worries. What did he know about teaching? So, he wasn’t a total novice but an honors degree was no substitute for experience.
Tom, ever loyal, had faith in him – which was more than could be said for Max’s father. If he had, Max wouldn’t even be here, so no point heading down that long, sorry road, especially two days before the start of term and especially when he hadn’t even downed his first beer.
Raising the bottle to his lips, his gaze fixed on the photograph on top of the cast-iron fireplace. Kate’s cool beauty failed to invoke a gut-wrenching reaction. That spoke volumes. Max lobbed the empty bottle into the wastepaper basket. He wouldn’t think about Kate. What was done was done.
He supposed he ought to go shopping. His stomach couldn’t handle another greasy take-away. Beans on toast it was. If he hurried, he’d make the tiny corner shop there and back in time for the rugby match. Besides, a walk in the rain just might clear the dusty cobwebs from his head.
Grabbing a black brolly from the stand, Max smiled at his reflection in the hall mirror. So English gentleman.
* * * *
Max slammed his beans onto the shop counter feeling anything but gentlemanly. His free-with- two- gallons- of- petrol umbrella had taken one look at the vigorous wind and had flown away with it. Water ran in cold rivulets down his neck and under his collar. Oh to be back in Sydney.
“Good afternoon. Just this, please and –”
“Hi, Mary.”
A riot of dark hair breezed in front of him.
“Sorry…”
The young voice was breathless, arrogant and not in the least bit sorry.
“Bloody pervert dog.” She threw down some coins and grabbed a Mars Bar from the chocolate stand. “Vicky left the front door open again and Wally made a break for it and I know he’s heading for Mrs. Blair’s poodle. The only way I can entice him home is with one of these.” She waved the chocolate bar precariously close to Max’s nose. “Stupid old bat. Why doesn’t she get her done? She really ought to pay me stud fees. I –”
“Excuse me but I do believe I was before you.” Patience on rice paper thin, Max attacked her with his best Aussie tough guy glint.
It didn’t have much effect. Eyes, the colour of velvet chocolate homed in and speared him with a look of such disdain that he squirmed. By the expression on her haughty face, he knew he’d been judged and definitely found wanting. Obviously deciding he’d taken up enough of her time, she turned back to the awaiting Mary.
“Thanks.” She picked up her change. Grabbing her Mars Bars, she spun on her Converse heels. “Bloody Colonials”
Max stared after her, speechless. “What.....” he turned to the smiling Mary. “….was that?”
Enjoy and a Happy Easter to all
Viviane
For more great six's, go to http://sixsunday.blogspot.com/
He stood, leaning against his desk, legs crossed at the ankles, arms folded in the stance she knew so well. The navy suit was businessman efficient. He’d always looked good in dark colours. But some things never change. Rebecca bit back a nervous giggle. Mr. J was still crap at ties.
A Private Place is as yet unpubbed but I am hoping to find a home for it soon. This tale holds a very special place in my heart. Here is a blurb and short excerpt:
Blurb:
Rebecca Harding is intelligent, witty and sometimes downright annoying. She is also damaged. To the outside world, she presents an image of a young woman in control, confident and cynical but no one knows her torment. In her nightmare, she is alone.
But then, Max Jackson enters her life when it is teetering on the brink. Despite a rocky start to their relationship, he becomes her salvation.
Max is the only person who knows the truth. He understands her fears and wants to protect her fragile heart. In Rebecca, he recognizes a kindred spirit. He would give anything to take away her pain but he comes to realize Rebecca has read more into his concern. He would rather die than hurt her but life throws him a curve ball, leaving him no choice but to walk away.
Excerpt:
Chapter One
Max Jackson rested his head against the mullion window, watching the rain drum out its incessant beat. He wondered if he would ever get used to England’s capricious climate. A mundane deliberation. The weather was the least of his worries. What did he know about teaching? So, he wasn’t a total novice but an honors degree was no substitute for experience.
Tom, ever loyal, had faith in him – which was more than could be said for Max’s father. If he had, Max wouldn’t even be here, so no point heading down that long, sorry road, especially two days before the start of term and especially when he hadn’t even downed his first beer.
Raising the bottle to his lips, his gaze fixed on the photograph on top of the cast-iron fireplace. Kate’s cool beauty failed to invoke a gut-wrenching reaction. That spoke volumes. Max lobbed the empty bottle into the wastepaper basket. He wouldn’t think about Kate. What was done was done.
He supposed he ought to go shopping. His stomach couldn’t handle another greasy take-away. Beans on toast it was. If he hurried, he’d make the tiny corner shop there and back in time for the rugby match. Besides, a walk in the rain just might clear the dusty cobwebs from his head.
Grabbing a black brolly from the stand, Max smiled at his reflection in the hall mirror. So English gentleman.
* * * *
Max slammed his beans onto the shop counter feeling anything but gentlemanly. His free-with- two- gallons- of- petrol umbrella had taken one look at the vigorous wind and had flown away with it. Water ran in cold rivulets down his neck and under his collar. Oh to be back in Sydney.
“Good afternoon. Just this, please and –”
“Hi, Mary.”
A riot of dark hair breezed in front of him.
“Sorry…”
The young voice was breathless, arrogant and not in the least bit sorry.
“Bloody pervert dog.” She threw down some coins and grabbed a Mars Bar from the chocolate stand. “Vicky left the front door open again and Wally made a break for it and I know he’s heading for Mrs. Blair’s poodle. The only way I can entice him home is with one of these.” She waved the chocolate bar precariously close to Max’s nose. “Stupid old bat. Why doesn’t she get her done? She really ought to pay me stud fees. I –”
“Excuse me but I do believe I was before you.” Patience on rice paper thin, Max attacked her with his best Aussie tough guy glint.
It didn’t have much effect. Eyes, the colour of velvet chocolate homed in and speared him with a look of such disdain that he squirmed. By the expression on her haughty face, he knew he’d been judged and definitely found wanting. Obviously deciding he’d taken up enough of her time, she turned back to the awaiting Mary.
“Thanks.” She picked up her change. Grabbing her Mars Bars, she spun on her Converse heels. “Bloody Colonials”
Max stared after her, speechless. “What.....” he turned to the smiling Mary. “….was that?”
Enjoy and a Happy Easter to all
Viviane
For more great six's, go to http://sixsunday.blogspot.com/
Monday, 18 April 2011
Monday Muser's Mad Question Time - Marsha Moore
Kalimera from a warm, sunny Corfu,
It is Easter weak - a huge event in the Greek Orthodox calender and Corfu is the place to be. The island is world famous for its spectacular celebrations and throughout the week, I will be posting pics and snippets of information. But on to todays Mad Muser question.
In the Hot seat, we have Marsha Moore, Muse It's very own 'mermaid' so who better than to answer my fun question...
Walt Disney comes back from the dead and is disgusted with the movies being produced in his name. He appoints you the task of revamping…yes, you guess it….The little Mermaid and making it a real-life movie as opposed to animated. What present day movie stars would you use to play a} Ariel b} Prince Eric and {have fun with this one} c}Ursela the sea witch.
Over to you Marsha...
This is an appropriate question since I’m certainly the Muse mermaid expert, having written Tears on a Tranquil Lake, a love triangle/adventure among a mermaid, a merman, and a pirate captain.
My taste in movies, actors, and actresses tends to be rather quirky. While Ariel is a sweet character, I’d likely select an actress capable of some spunk, wittiness, and dimension alongside her caring gentleness. My first choice would be Drew Barrymore. My second choice would be Renee Zellweger.
For Prince Eric it’s an easy choice--Johnny Depp. He’s one actor who can be convincing, charming, and funny in a fantasy setting and plenty sexy at the same time. I write fantasy romance and through five books, I have yet to not find a role for that man’s intriguing personality. The upcoming Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides has mermaids! Yeah! Cannot wait!
For Usela, another no brainer—Helena Bonham Carter. Who else could be crazy, wacky, devilish enough? And to hold her own with Mr. Depp? And to feel totally comfortable in a wild tentacled costume?
Mmm...interesting choices, Marsha. Thank you for your'professional' input.
What to know more about Miss Moore? Read on...
Marsha A. Moore is a romantic and a writer of fantasy romance. She loves being creative and enjoying the creativity of others in all art forms. Her other artistic pursuits include watercolor painting and drawing. She moved from Toledo to Tampa in 2008 and is happily transforming into a Floridian. Crazy about cycling, she usually passes the 1,000 mile mark yearly. She is learning kayaking and loving it. She’s also a yoga enthusiast and never has enough days spent at the beach, usually scribbling away at new stories with toes wiggling in the sand.
Tears on a Tranquil Lake:
What a surprise for a young woman, to find herself suddenly transformed into a mermaid.
Ciel’s first thought – track down the merman who changed her and make him reverse his magic.
Unable to find him, survival in her new world becomes paramount. She eagerly accepts help from a dashing pirate captain who takes a fancy to her, lavishing her with finery. When her merman does show up, he competes for her affection. One look into his eyes makes her life more complex -- he is her soul mate.
Which man will she choose – pirate captain or merman? Which life – human or mermaid? Caribbean adventures and dangers chase Ciel as she searches for decisions and the key to her happiness.
Warning: This book contains Haitian vodou, sultry wenches, foul-mouthed scalliwag pirates, overindulgence of fine Caribbean rum, and amorous encounters on deserted beaches.
ISBN: 978-1-926931-29-6
Hooked? Read a short excerpt...
Excerpt from Chapter 1, Tears on a Tranquil Lake, fantasy romance
The ‘gator wanted to drown me….make me an easier meal. A chill passed through my body and I shivered. Feverish heat built up inside me, spreading from my head and torso down my limbs. Eventually the wild drumbeat of my heart obliterated everything. I panicked and tried to move, but lacked control of my muscles. Immobile and helpless, I could only listen. The throbbing pulse dimmed as the lake’s waters claimed my life. I submitted…mind blank to all except the faint thump. For an immeasurably long time I heard its rhythm fading away. Seconds or dozens of minutes, I didn't know; altered perception foiled my judgment. Then, a touch against my face—shattering my delirium.Fear engulfed my barely conscious mind. What was it? Death seemed welcome compared to experiencing an alligator attack upon my body.
Something soft caressed my lips, not at all like hard reptilian scales. My sense of touch heightened. Encouraged by returning consciousness, I struggled against the darkness. My eyes searched, yet still failed to see.
Soon, I understood the feeling of lips pressing upon mine. Their burning heat made me panic. I tried to jerk back, but had no muscle control, no way to resist. They forced my lips apart, and a fiery tongue thrust inside my mouth.
In short time my limbs tingled with renewed sensation. Attempting to thrash my arms, I found them both secured.The mysterious tongue persisted, searing my own.
Strangely, the warmth moved across my entire body and I calmed, mesmerized by this unusual kiss. In some curious manner it restored my consciousness. Peacefulness spread over me, and I accepted this connection as my life force. Our kiss grew pleasurable and I slipped my tongue along the other. Waves of passion rippled through my body and I desired whatever being touched me. Wanting to know more, I opened my eyes. Light pained my limited vision.
A hazy image flashed in front of me.
I pulled back, ending the kiss and viewed a sweep of dark hair turning away, moving up toward the surface.
Marsha's links..
http://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2/index.php?page=shop.product_details&flypage=flypage-ask.tpl&product_id=124&category_id=2&option=com_virtuemart&Itemid=1&vmcchk=1&Itemid=1
http://www.marshaamoore.com/
http://www.marshaamoore.blogspot.com/
http://twitter.com/MarshaAMoore
http://www.facebook.com/marshaamooreauthorpage
So, folks, there you have it; an insight into Marsha's world. Who would you choose to play Areil? Please leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of Tranquil and tune in next Monday when Killarney Sheffield will be here to battle with whatever task my devious mind can come up with.
Viv
Thursday, 14 April 2011
AUTHOR BLOG HOP-WHAT SOFTWARE HELPS ME WRITE
Morning all from Corfu,
Sorry I could not join you last week but, what with the 'visit', I had to do some spring cleaning.
Well, it’s Thursday blog hop time again, that wonderful day when we all get to answer a question in our blogs and then share. This week’s question is – what soft ware do you use when writing?
Being none too pc savvy, I had to think for a minute. Soft ware? That would be my comfy pyjamas. Being a bit of a cheat, I clicked on to blogs all ready posted and came away thinking, hell, I cannot compete with that. Okay, so I am not that ditsy. I do know all about word and windows media blah blah but I thought it would be fun to give you my tongue in cheek take on my most precious soft ware so here is my list of what soft ware is essential for my creative juices to flow.
First off - An essential that all authors, pubbed or aspiring need; a comfy 'soft' chair After all, this is where I spend most of my time parked so it makes sense. Which brings me on to the nest soft essential. A nice, soft arse to hold up all that creative genius.
Comfy clothes are essential in this job.I spend all the winter dressed in a variety of my son's cast-off heavy metal t.shirts and pyjama bottoms. Lovely soft material
Now I am dressed, time for a crispy soft croissant and coffee
Before I begin, its time for my morning meeting with my agent. He is one of the softest agents I know
Okay, so now I am set to rattle off a couple of masterpieces before it is time for a lovely soft piece of cake and a cup of tea
Time for a bit of soft music from the lovely Darren{ you can't get any smoother or softer than him}
Which brings me on the highlight of my day. A beautiful soft pita all washed down bu a soft golden glass of mythos beer.
Of course by the now, I am exhausted from negotiating my way around all the soft ware I need to sustain me through my writing so time to fall into bed and dream up my next plot, staring the man with some of the sexiest eyes and softest lips on the planet.
Well, folks. I hope this answered the blog question. I have to say, I am a great fan of software.
See ya,
Viv
Sorry I could not join you last week but, what with the 'visit', I had to do some spring cleaning.
Well, it’s Thursday blog hop time again, that wonderful day when we all get to answer a question in our blogs and then share. This week’s question is – what soft ware do you use when writing?
Being none too pc savvy, I had to think for a minute. Soft ware? That would be my comfy pyjamas. Being a bit of a cheat, I clicked on to blogs all ready posted and came away thinking, hell, I cannot compete with that. Okay, so I am not that ditsy. I do know all about word and windows media blah blah but I thought it would be fun to give you my tongue in cheek take on my most precious soft ware so here is my list of what soft ware is essential for my creative juices to flow.
First off - An essential that all authors, pubbed or aspiring need; a comfy 'soft' chair After all, this is where I spend most of my time parked so it makes sense. Which brings me on to the nest soft essential. A nice, soft arse to hold up all that creative genius.
Comfy clothes are essential in this job.I spend all the winter dressed in a variety of my son's cast-off heavy metal t.shirts and pyjama bottoms. Lovely soft material
Now I am dressed, time for a crispy soft croissant and coffee
Before I begin, its time for my morning meeting with my agent. He is one of the softest agents I know
Okay, so now I am set to rattle off a couple of masterpieces before it is time for a lovely soft piece of cake and a cup of tea
Time for a bit of soft music from the lovely Darren{ you can't get any smoother or softer than him}
Which brings me on the highlight of my day. A beautiful soft pita all washed down bu a soft golden glass of mythos beer.
Of course by the now, I am exhausted from negotiating my way around all the soft ware I need to sustain me through my writing so time to fall into bed and dream up my next plot, staring the man with some of the sexiest eyes and softest lips on the planet.
Well, folks. I hope this answered the blog question. I have to say, I am a great fan of software.
See ya,
Viv
Monday, 11 April 2011
Monday Muser's Mad Question Time - Roseanne Dowell
And a very glorious Corfu Monday it is too. So, without further ado, I would like to welcome this week's Monday Muser's victim, the wonderful and extremely talented Ms. Roseanne Dowell. When I presented her with her question, I think the poor lady nearly passed out but she has written a beautiful answer for us all. My question was....
If you had three wishes what would you wish for? Haha - not so easy. These wishes must be entirely selfish. No world peace blah blah. This is all about you.
I turn you over to Roseanne...
Three selfish wishes. Wow, that's a tough one. Probably the first wish would be: for me and my husband's health. For no diabetes and blood pressure problems and no emphysema for hubby. It would be great to take a walk and not have to stop and rest until he can breathe. I'd love to be able to do some of the things I used to do, like hiking. Of course that includes being the weight I was 10 years ago. It's much easier to do things when your thin.
My second wish is for all my children and grandchildren to live long, happy, healthy lives and for me to see my grandchildren married and settled down. My parents got to see this with their grandchildren and they were so proud.
The third wish was originally going to be for a lot of money so my children and grandchildren didn't have to struggle. But I thought about it and my husband and I had to struggle all our lives just to make ends meet. I think that struggle helped make me who I am today. What kind of person would I be if everything had been handed to me. So instead instead of a lot of money, I'd like enough to be a little more than comfortable. I'd like to not watch how we spend every penny. It would be fun to be able to buy something for someone, and not have to give something else up. And oh, how I'd love to buy Christmas gifts. Fun things, things my children and grandchildren couldn't buy for themselves. And of course, I'd help make it easier for them. No reason they have to stuggle all the time, especially in this economy.
So those are my three wishes.
Lovely thoughts, Roseanne and thank you for stopping by. Roseanne is out of the very talented MuseItUp and MuseItHot stable of wonderful writers. Here is a little bit about her..
Roseanne Dowell is an avid reader and writes various types of romance - paranormal, contemporary, and mystery. She has several books published as well as over 40 articles and short stories published in magazines such as Good Old Days, Nostalgia, and Ohio Writer and several online publications. Besides teaching writing courses for Long Story School of Writing www.lsswritingschool.com ,she also taught two writing courses for the Encore Program at Cuyahoga Community College.
Roseanne lives in Northeast Ohio and where she enjoys life as a wife, mother, grandmother and great grandmother, Besides writing, Roseanne enjoys embroidery and quilting, especially combining the two.
For a taste of just how wonderful a writer Roseanne is, here is a blurb and excerpt from her current release...
Blurb: Stranger on the Shore
It’s not every day you find a body washed up on your shore, but that’s exactly what happened to author, Jordan Blake, during an early Lake Effect snowstorm. So much for her quiet existence.
While she’s on her deck securing chair cushions and chairs, something along the rocky shoreline caught her eye. A body? Hard to tell from where she stood.
Not being one to ignore someone in need, she rushed across the yard. It was a body all right–a male’s body. Thank God he was alive, but unfortunately unconscious. After much pulling, rolling and pushing, Jordan manages to get him into her house. Finally inside, undressed and into something dry, she finds herself strangely attracted to the man.
More than a storm rages inside and out.
Excerpt from Strange on the Shore
“Darn, it’s getting cold.” Jordan shivered and zipped her sweat shirt. She hated storms, hated thunder and lightning most of all. Grabbing at some papers that flew across the deck as the wind picked up, a movement caught the corner of her eye. Something washed up on the shore. Something big. A body?
Jordan jumped off the deck and raced toward the craggy shoreline. Dark clouds hovered across the lake. Cold water splashed against her as waves crashed against the rocks like angry arms hurling water at an invisible enemy. The crash of thunder echoed across the lake. Ducking her head as lightening streaked across the sky and the air crackled with electricity, she thought she must be nuts. Probably just a bunch of old clothes washed up. Still, she had to see for herself.
Surely, no one in their right mind would be in the water this time of year? There had been storm warnings on the radio all morning. No one would be stupid enough to ignore the forecast. Would they? Heavy rain and strong winds then turning to snow, with a drastic drop in temperature, and blizzard-like conditions weren’t anything to ignore. Jordan winced as lightning flashed again, back-lighting the dark clouds. Darn it, she wanted to be inside cuddling by the fire not out here in a storm. For two cents, she’d turn around and go back. But something drew her forward.
A man’s body against the rocks.
Oh, Lord, please don’t let him be dead. She had planned for a quiet weekend, writing. A weekend with a corpse wasn’t on her list of quiet. But she couldn’t leave him out here either.
Jordan came closer and stooped down next to him. Lifting his head out of the water, above the crashing waves, she felt for a pulse. Thank God, he’s alive. Now how to get him out of here? She grabbed his arm, rolled him over and tried to pull him from the fury of the lake. Wave after wave pounced on him, their foamy peaks trying to reclaim him. Lord, if she ever needed help, now was the time. Struggling to roll him to higher ground, she lost her breath. His long, muscular frame outweighed her slender five foot two body and felt like dead weight.
“You’re going to have to help me.” Jordan grunted and gasped for breath when the full force of icy waves pulled her down and washed over both of them.
No response.
“Damn it. I can’t do this alone.”
Still no response.
Great, how was she going to pull him to safety? “I hate to do this, but I see no alternative.” Jordan took a deep breath and pushed him over, rolling him like a barrel and trying to avoid cutting him on the sharp rocks. It wasn’t easy, but at least he moved.
“Come on!” Jordan tried to encourage some life from his limp body. Once he was far enough away from the waves, she stared at him for a moment, before leaning down to give him mouth to mouth. His long straight nose, eyes set wide with bushy eyebrows and the grin on his lips, even in his unconscious state, sent a ripple of excitement through her body.
Not a handsome man, but something about him caused heat deep inside her. Shrugging off the urge to run her fingers through his curly black hair, she began mouth to mouth. When her mouth touched his lips, opened them slightly, something familiar tugged on her heart. She hadn’t touched a man's lips in, what, three years. This wasn’t exactly the way she imagined touching them again. Not that she ever imagined it. Never even thought about it. She’d had enough of men to last her a lifetime.
Roseanne's links
http://museituppublishing.com/musepub/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=104&Itemid=82
http://roseanne-dowell.tripod.com/
http://roseannedowellauthor.blogspot.com/
Tune in next week when the Muse's own 'Mermaid', Marsha Moore, slips into the hot seat.
Saturday, 9 April 2011
SIX SENTENCE SUNDAY -BROKEN DREAMS
It's Six Sentence Sunday time again and, once again, I am posting a six from my reworking of an old m.s. I have been tossing titles around in my head for this one. It is rather an angsty tale so I want to come up with the right one. Meanwhile, I leave you with my six, literally just hot off the press and another raw excerpt....
A silent laugh dragged at her throat. How ironic. After all she’d suffered, all she’d triumphed over, here she was, destroyed by a broken heart. Her hand closed around her father’s sleeping pills.Her hands shook as she tipped two of the white tablets into her hand.Swallowing them without water, she crept back to her room and locking out the world, she prayed for a deep, dreamless sleep.
Check out more wonderful sixes at this link
http://sixsunday.blogspot.com/
Excerpt:
The surreal scene that met his eyes made dread crawl over his skin like a dose of shingles. Alerted by screams, a crowd had gathered, cheering and laughing in that cruel manner adopted the world over by blood-lust hungry teenagers. Yelling at them to move out of his way, he pushed through. Brendan Hanna lay on the ground, curled up in a foetal position, blood-streaked hands holding his head in an attempt to ward off Rebecca’s brutal attack. He cried; he actually cried in fear and Max didn’t blame him.
Screaming at him with Exorcist-style obscenities, Rebecca kicked out at him again and again, her hair in disarray, her features contorted with pure rage and hate.
“Rebecca!” His command didn’t penetrate the frenzied assault. “Rebecca, stop.” She left him no choice. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he lifted her off the ground and dragged her away. Turning in his arms, she lashed out at him, her eyes wide and crazed, screaming and screaming. Her torment broke his heart in two. “Rebecca.”
No response.
“Rebecca, stop!” In his arms, she grew less stiff. “It’s okay.” He lowered his tone to a bare whisper so only she could hear him. “It’s me. I’ve got you, sweetheart. It’s over. Rebecca, look at me.” Tentatively, he relaxed his tight grip. “Look at me.” Hands on her face, he tilted her face up, forcing her to focus and look into his eyes. “Forget about everything else. I just want you to concentrate on me. That’s it. Take a deep breath.” He coaxed her down from the near-hyperventilation, thumb stroking her chin.”
“Oh my, God, what the hell happened, here.” Tom materialised at his side whilst Fiona rushed to Brendon’s aid. The boy remained in a ball, whimpering like a frightened child. “Get back, you morbid bunch of idiots. Show’s over. Will, help me get him to my car. We can get him to a hospital quicker. God, what a bloody mess. What the hell did she do to him?”
Max didn’t know and he didn’t care; he focused all his attention on the near-catatonic girl in his arms. Whatever punishment she’d inflicted on Brendon, intuition told him the boy deserved it. “Here.” He pulled his keys from his pocket. “Go and wait in my car.” Rebecca didn’t move. She swayed against him and for one terrifying moment he thought he was losing her. “Rebecca, Go! For once in your life do as you’re bloody told.” His feigned anger jolted her out of her trance. For a split second, she looked at him as if she hated him but she took the keys and, head held high, she walked to his car.
“What’s going on, Max?” Will looked dazed, as they all did. “I’ve never seen anything like it. She was....like an animal.”
Enjoy.
http://corfu-author.tripod.com
http://museithotpublishing.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=68&Itemid=82
A silent laugh dragged at her throat. How ironic. After all she’d suffered, all she’d triumphed over, here she was, destroyed by a broken heart. Her hand closed around her father’s sleeping pills.Her hands shook as she tipped two of the white tablets into her hand.Swallowing them without water, she crept back to her room and locking out the world, she prayed for a deep, dreamless sleep.
Check out more wonderful sixes at this link
http://sixsunday.blogspot.com/
Excerpt:
The surreal scene that met his eyes made dread crawl over his skin like a dose of shingles. Alerted by screams, a crowd had gathered, cheering and laughing in that cruel manner adopted the world over by blood-lust hungry teenagers. Yelling at them to move out of his way, he pushed through. Brendan Hanna lay on the ground, curled up in a foetal position, blood-streaked hands holding his head in an attempt to ward off Rebecca’s brutal attack. He cried; he actually cried in fear and Max didn’t blame him.
Screaming at him with Exorcist-style obscenities, Rebecca kicked out at him again and again, her hair in disarray, her features contorted with pure rage and hate.
“Rebecca!” His command didn’t penetrate the frenzied assault. “Rebecca, stop.” She left him no choice. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he lifted her off the ground and dragged her away. Turning in his arms, she lashed out at him, her eyes wide and crazed, screaming and screaming. Her torment broke his heart in two. “Rebecca.”
No response.
“Rebecca, stop!” In his arms, she grew less stiff. “It’s okay.” He lowered his tone to a bare whisper so only she could hear him. “It’s me. I’ve got you, sweetheart. It’s over. Rebecca, look at me.” Tentatively, he relaxed his tight grip. “Look at me.” Hands on her face, he tilted her face up, forcing her to focus and look into his eyes. “Forget about everything else. I just want you to concentrate on me. That’s it. Take a deep breath.” He coaxed her down from the near-hyperventilation, thumb stroking her chin.”
“Oh my, God, what the hell happened, here.” Tom materialised at his side whilst Fiona rushed to Brendon’s aid. The boy remained in a ball, whimpering like a frightened child. “Get back, you morbid bunch of idiots. Show’s over. Will, help me get him to my car. We can get him to a hospital quicker. God, what a bloody mess. What the hell did she do to him?”
Max didn’t know and he didn’t care; he focused all his attention on the near-catatonic girl in his arms. Whatever punishment she’d inflicted on Brendon, intuition told him the boy deserved it. “Here.” He pulled his keys from his pocket. “Go and wait in my car.” Rebecca didn’t move. She swayed against him and for one terrifying moment he thought he was losing her. “Rebecca, Go! For once in your life do as you’re bloody told.” His feigned anger jolted her out of her trance. For a split second, she looked at him as if she hated him but she took the keys and, head held high, she walked to his car.
“What’s going on, Max?” Will looked dazed, as they all did. “I’ve never seen anything like it. She was....like an animal.”
Enjoy.
http://corfu-author.tripod.com
http://museithotpublishing.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=68&Itemid=82
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