Waiting on the #WIP and why, as #writers, we need to have a little FAITH . . .

I opened up a document on my Kindle this past Friday night. I finished reading it Saturday morning. 

I attempted to turn the page on my Kindle, enraged when I couldn't. How could this author leave me wanting so, so much more? How could she do that to me???

I turned to my husband, my mouth open in awe and my eyes wide, and said, "I can't believe I wrote this." 

Yes, that jerk author who left me hanging? That was me. This is one of my old, forgotten WIPs. 

I finished the reread IN SHOCK. I couldn't believe that *I* had written this partial manuscript. I couldn't believe that *I* had THIS story inside of me all this time.

And I couldn't believe I'd set it aside! What was I thinking!?

I began working on this unfinished WIP again Saturday afternoon, after a year of neglect. Safely tucked away in a folder on the flash drive, this manuscript has been far from my mind. Gone, but not forgotten, but also not acknowledged. (Unless you count my CP Tamara's constant nagging to get back to this WIP. Clearly, this one will be dedicated to her and her unwavering support.) 

Since Saturday afternoon, with no writing at all on Sunday, this WIP has gone from 18K words to 32K words. 

I've almost DOUBLED this manuscript's length in a matter of days, and I continue to be amazed at the writing I'm putting down on the page. 

MY POINT, is not to brag about how awesome this WIP is (though it is! lol!) . . . my point is that SOMETIMES, things get set aside for a reason. Even important things that we care greatly for. As I work on this manuscript, falling in love with the story and the characters with every click of my keyboard, I realize that this is the time I was meant to write this story. Not a year ago. Not two years from today.

NOW.

Had I forced this story out a year ago, it may not be what its becoming right now, because I didn't have the passion for it that I do today. 

Do you have a manuscript you've neglected? Maybe you became sidetracked with another story idea, or maybe your road to publication swallowed up all your time . . . maybe life has been chaotic, and you're struggling with work or school, or parenthood . . . or juggling all of these things as many of us are. 

Hang in there. These things happen for a reason. We just have to have a little FAITH. 

COVER REVEAL! Brandice Snowden's DEMON'S VEIL (Release date: 7/15/13)

DEMON'S VEIL 

by Brandice Snowden 

Release Date:  July 15, 2013

Powerful veils hold Earth apart from realms mortals believe are merely tales of myth and legend. They are opening again, leaving humans vulnerable, and the monsters ready to strike.

Marie Leveau prefers to remain alone and anonymous, for she knows what goes bump in the night, and sacrificing others isn't part of her personality. But life isn’t always about getting what you want.

Contracted by The Organization, a shadow government agency, Marie is assigned a new Special Ops team, one she must introduce via Paranormal 101 to the very monsters they didn’t believe existed. Marie and her team are sent to Asia in search of an ancient relic, leading them into the jungle and tests of a fragile new bond. Despite the initial distrust, and an unholy battle with a demon-god, the team survives, their lives forever changed and woven into an unbreakable tapestry.

Returning home, the new friends sense the very people responsible for their safety are willing to sacrifice them all in the name of power. They learn of a prophecy, and The Paladin, the one person able to close the veils and keep the mortals safe.

With few clues, the team must unravel the prophecy and figure out how to close the veils. Or the monsters will use Earth as ground zero, innocents be damned.

Adult Urban Fantasy: Intended for readers 17 years of age and older.

Visit Brandice on Facebook and Twitter

Writer SHAMING (And why I believe that sometimes, you just have to SPEAK UP.)

Today, I'm veering off my familiar path. Skipping the usual writing journey post, straying from the cover reveal or book birthday shout-out.

Today, I'm going to speak up about something that is weighing heavily on my heart.

I want to call out my beautiful writing community, and though I may offend some, I hope to shed light on something I see a bit too often in our self-proclaimed supportive little world.

Writer shaming. 

Yes, its like slut shaming, but for writers. You know what I'm talking about. Shaming other writers online for their actions--if they differ from your own. Publicly shaming them for responding to reviews, or entering a contest you don't think they should have entered, or *allegedly* playing favorites with their friends in said contests, or self-publishing something too sexy for their usual YA crowd, as a way to make money instead taking that long, long road to Big 6 deal. The examples are endless, but you get the gist.

Recently, a now self-published writer friend of mine was publicly shamed for a blog post documenting her journey to self-publication, and the money she spent to get there. She was called out for acting as though she was better than everyone else, when all she was trying to do was inform her fellow writers.

Writer SHAMING. 

It has to stop, you guys. IT HAS TO. Because you know what? We're ALL in this together, and we're ALL in this for one reason: to get our books in front of readers.

Maybe you don't need to make money doing this. Maybe you do. Maybe you don't seek fame. Maybe you crave it. Whatever your side reason is for writing, the MAIN reason we all write--and its a reason we ALL share--is to send our stories out into the world. PERIOD.

Last night, while checking Twitter one last time before bed, I came across this tweet:

Editor [redacted]* is an author and promoted her author alter ego under her editor name. Ethical or no?

You know what caught my eye? One word: ETHICAL. 'Tis a very heavy word when used correctly, don't you think? And the point of this powerful word in this context was heard loud and clear.

Writer SHAMING.

So, seeing as I know [redacted]* a bit, and the word 'ethical' practically jumped off the page and into bed with me (not in a good way, obvs), I clicked the link.

I found a blog post where another writer had taken the time to "speak up" about how unethical she thought [redacted]* was. See, [redacted]* is an editor at a well-known publishing house. She is also an agented writer. She is still chasing her Big 6 dream, as many of us are.

In the meantime, she wrote and self-published a book under a pen name. No biggie, right? Writers do it ALL the time. So what's the problem?

Well, as her editor self, she promoted her pen name/book, without telling everyone that she was the pen named author

Are your eyes popping out of your head, yet?

Yeah, mine weren't either.

NOT AT ALL.

Wait, that's a lie. I was absolutely floored by this blog post, but not because of the author in question's actions. I was floored by the post itself, the comments therein, and the fact that writers still find it necessary to shame each other.

Here's my take on it. 

I am an editor for a small publishing house (many of you don't know this, but there you go). I am also a published author. I am also now an agented author, waiting for my Big 6 deal--a dream that may or may not come true, as you all know.

Recently, I made the decision that I want to self-publish something this year. My husband and I decided this would be the best thing for us, as I have yet to make any income off of my small press-published book, and the Big 6 deal is still just a dream until proven otherwise. Because I want to write outside my usual comfort area of YA Paranormal Romance, I decided I want to use a pen name. This is so that I can keep the two things separate: Jessa Russo, Author, will always be a romance-driven paranormal author, writing for teens (and the occasional teen at heart). I like books with supernatural boys and lots of kissing. My pen name, [redacted], will write steamy, sexy books for adults, and the two entities will never cross.

I am going to self-publish to make money. I'm not going to put un-edited work out into the world, or go at this half-ass. I'm not going to write something I wouldn't read or don't believe in. BUT, I am going to do it as a means to making income while I continue to follow my dreams. Because in case no one told you (no one told me) writing is not a full-time paying career--at least not at first. As a stay-at-home mom living on one income, we need the extra money. I want to make that money doing what I love, so I'm going to figure out a way to make that happen. Because, frankly, my family is more important than anything else in the world, negative opinions and naysayers included.

Now, for the 'ethical' part. The part that has me shaking as I type. 

Am I going to promote that self-published book? ABSOLUTELY.

Did you read that?

I said, ABSOLUTELY. 

Because I'd be an idiot not to. Will I rate it on Goodreads? Possibly. But possibly not. I haven't gotten there yet. But, I don't rate my own books anyway, so that's redundant.

EITHER WAY, do you know what I want from my writing community? SUPPORT. Plain and simple. We have enough negativity from this chosen path: friends and family who don't 'get it' or take us seriously (I had one friend apologize to me after my book was published because he'd never thought I was serious) to multitudes of FORM rejections from agents (man, those hurt), to nasty, devastating reviews from complete strangers that can often feel like a personal attack (I relate this to someone attacking your child. Yes, it hurts that badly. Or close to it, at least).

WHY then, can we not support each other? Why then, can we not be the arms to help each other rise when we fall? Why are we always attacking one another within the industry?

This author raved about her own book. Some people found that deceitful. Some people think she used her status as "industry professional" to her advantage.

AND?

Get over it! You do you and I'll do me! RIGHT!?

Instead of shaming [redacted]* I'm going to go ahead and SPEAK UP about what this was.

BRILLIANT MARKETING.

GOOD FOR YOU, [redacted]*!!

You have at least ONE person in your corner. 



*I have *obviously* chosen to remove the name of the author in question. Judge that however you will, but bottom line is, I'm not here to publicly shame anyone or direct you to the public shaming incident. You'll see I also removed the name of the original tweeter AND the blog poster. Because, calling them out is not my point. I'm calling the ACTIONS out as a whole, and hoping to make a difference. Be the change you wish to see, right? 

#PitchMAS in JULY!

Hey there, readers!! 

Remember the amazing pitch event Tamara and I hosted in December? Well, we've decided to have a mini event in July! 

Thus, PitchMAS in July was born! Woohoo!

Check out the details HERE. (And while you're there, sign up to follow the blog so you don't miss any PitchMAS info!) 

And, as always, you can find info by following the hashtag #PitchMAS! 

#QUEENKIYA Kiya: Hope of the Pharaoh by Katie Hamstead @KatieTeller1

KIYA: HOPE OF THE PHARAOH
By Katie Hamstead

I am thrilled to have Katie Hamstead on my blog, as she tours around telling the world about her amazing NA Historical Fiction, KIYA: HOPE OF THE PHARAOH! 

(A little back-story for you, I'm the lucky Acquisitions Editor who found Katie! WOOT!) 

When Naomi’s sisters are snatched up to be taken to be wives of the erratic Pharaoh, Akhenaten, she knows they won’t survive the palace, so she offers herself in their place. The fearsome Commander Horemheb sees her courage, and knows she is exactly what he is looking for…

The Great Queen Nefertiti despises Naomi instantly, and strips her of her Hebrew lineage, including her name, which is changed to Kiya. Kiya allies herself with Horemheb, who pushes her to greatness and encourages her to make the Pharaoh fall in love with her. When Akhenaten declares Kiya will be the mother of his heir, Nefertiti, furious with jealousy, schemes to destroy Kiya.

Kiya must play the deadly game carefully. She is in a silent battle of wills, and a struggle for who will one day inherit the crown. If she does bear an heir, she knows she will need to fight to protect him, as well as herself, from Nefertiti who is out for blood.

For this tour stop, I'm interviewing Mordad--a very supportive side character in KIYA: Hope of the Pharaoh.  

I've asked Katie to please first tell you guys a little bit about Mordad, and who she is to the story/to Naomi.

Katie: Mordad is one of the wives of the Pharaoh along with Naomi/Kiya. She is a Persian princess, and becomes Kiya’s best friend.

Jessa: Did you draw from any of the supporting women in your own life to create this character?

Katie: She’s a bit like my younger sister; fiery, a little inappropriate, and places a great deal of faith in Kiya.

    Jessa: Welcome to my blog, Mordad! Thank you so much for agreeing to be interviewed. 

 I’m really excited to share Naomi/Kiya’s story with my readers today, and you play such a huge role in her life once she’s inside the palace. What I don’t know much about, is what life was like for you before Naomi/Kiya came to live with you. Please share a little about your journey, before befriending Naomi/Kiya.

Mordad: I was born in Persia, the first daughter to the second wife of the king. My father offered me to Pharaoh Akhenaten as a treaty marriage when I was thirteen, as he saw I was his most beautiful daughter and knew I would please the great Pharaoh.

When I was first brought to Egypt, the city of Amarna was still being built, so I resided in Thebes for a short time. I liked Thebes, even if the Pharaoh frightened me, and Nefertiti seemed positively terrifying. I kept a low profile then as I was so young and struggled with the language.

During this time I met Smenkhkare. He developed an interest in me, so I had to hide myself whenever he was around. I was grateful when we moved to Amarna as he didn’t come with us and instead moved between Memphis and Abydos.

I had my first baby, little Hepsati when I was fourteen. She was so beautiful and I suddenly knew what love felt like. Hepsati became the light of my life, my reason for living when all I wanted to do was run back to Persia, especially when I received word that my mother had passed.

I hated my life most of the time, but I did become friends with Abi, one of the other wives, not long after I gave birth to Hepsati. Then not long before I lost my second child, my son, Gerlind was brought in and needed people to teach her the language, so Abi and I took her in.

Then Kiya came. I loved her right away, and my life took a turn for the better.

Jessa:  In reading Kiya’s story, we learn that Nefertiti is a very difficult woman to get along with. Was she always this way? Was there ever a time that the two of you were close?

Mordad: She definitely grew more difficult as her age set in. When she was still young and baring children regularly, she was so beautiful, and knew our husband’s favor for her was far above the rest of us. I think she felt safe then. But when she had six daughters and no sons, then ceased to conceive, she felt the pressure of her position. She started to talk about Queens inheriting the throne, which after Hatshepsut several generations ago, was not received well by the courts.

Akhenaten knew he needed a son too, and cast his eyes on his other wives for them to give him the heir he required.

I’d say Nefertiti felt her grasp slipping, especially as her beauty started to diminish with her age, especially compared to us younger wives. That was when she went from simply intimidating, to mean and spiteful.

Jessa: Kiya’s life would be much easier without Nefertiti in it, but since that isn’t likely to happen, do you have any plans to help Naomi along the way? Anything up your sleeve?

Mordad: I don’t know. I’m an in the moment kind of person. Kiya is the one who plans things, with that rotten Horemheb. Oh that man infuriates me! But, forgetting him, I will help her however I can and will stand by her to the end. If anyone can defy Nefertiti, it’s her. Already I see our husband’s attention turning to her and away from Nefertiti, and I will encourage that by singing her praises to our husband.

Jessa: Seeing what a great support you’ve been to Naomi as she’s taken on her role as Queen Kiya, I wonder if there are any people who have supported you in such a way?

Mordad: Abi and Gerlind have been my friends for some time. Although, hidden away among the harem we don’t get to see or get out much. I must say tough, things did get easier when Abi and I met. She is about a year older than me, but we have been wives for the same length of time. But she is clever and strong. Her father raised her to be a warrior queen after all, so she helped me learn how to defend myself and keep my head up.

The only friend I’ve made outside of the harem is Mehaleb, whom I believe Kiya calls Malachi. He is the only escort guard who never tried to touch me in some perverted way. He is kind, and easy to talk to, and even taught me some fighting moves for the times Smenkhkare comes to visit.

Katie's Links:

Blog - http://kjhstories.blogspot.com/

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/pages/Katie-Hamsteads-Stories/247238178656484

Goodreads - http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/16163811-kiya

Twitter - @katieteller1

KIYA'S Purchase links:

Amazon - http://www.amazon.com/KIYA-Hope-Pharaoh-ebook/dp/B00CL19O4E/ref=dp_kinw_strp_1

B&N - http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1115222092?ean=9781620072479

Kobo - http://www.kobobooks.com/ebook/KIYA-Hope-of-the-Pharaoh/book-UEJu3ZkRU0mQbeZ2dn-1bA/page1.html?s=hbNCyCarDkyw9AyXhJFcbQ&r=1

COVER REVEAL! Malicious Mischief (Mischief and Mayhem, #1) by Marianne Harden

Malicious Mischief (Mischief and Mayhem, #1)

 by Marianne Harden

Giveaway Rafflecopter Code

Marianne is giving away a $25 gift card to the book retailer of the winner’s choice. The Rafflecopter code is below:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Excerpt

~When the chips are down, the buffalo is empty~

Am I a flake? Sort of. But I’m trying to change. My grandfather has property tax issues, and what troubles Granddad, troubles me. Good thing I’ve held down a steady job for months. A major big deal. Not the getting a job part—I’ve had lots—but the held down aspect. Somehow, I always end up unemployed, but not today.

Today, I am Rylie Tabitha Keyes, chauffeur to the seniors at Fountain of Youth Retirement Home (FoY.)

It was dawn Sunday as I eased my employer’s van from one freeway onto another. After that, I concentrated on the wet asphalt up ahead. I didn’t want to think about my job history or our financial woes. Instead I focused on the summery sunrise over the Cascade Mountains due east. I stared at it a moment, charmed by its contrast to the more typical Bellevue, Washington gloom brooding overhead.

I should’ve been asleep, but I needed to toss trash from a fundraiser rolling around in the back of the van. Leland Rosenberg, my boss at Fountain of Youth Retirement Home, had asked me to dump the bags at his second business, Rosenberg Laboratory, as FoY’s Dumpsters were full from a recent bathroom remodel. His mood had been edgy, kind of insistent I dispose of them last night. I confess, before I could carry out this task, a minor traffic accident and an all-important overnight obligation had waylaid me. I didn’t bother to sigh over how blunders always seemed to pepper my work performance. Some things were fated to be. After all, I slogged at my job for money not joy. It isn't that I don't like working at FoY, it just isn’t my dream gig. You see, I yearned to be a private detective, a Veronica Mars 2.0. Problem is, my grandfather is against the idea. Dead set against it.

So with the stench from the trash bags mounting, I steered FoY’s van onto the off-ramp and headed toward Rosenberg Laboratory just off the freeway exit. My mind was filled with thoughts of a steamy shower, maybe a few hours of shut-eye before punching the clock at nine. I stared forward, squinted. And iced over. Up ahead. Wrong-way traveling. A panel truck advanced, peeling rubber.

Faster.

Closer.

Zeroed in to hit me.

I whipped the van off the road, the red, white, and blue panel truck whizzing past. I slammed on the brakes, fighting to control the wheel. I wrestled with it, panicked, my mind flashing on one fortunate thing: no seniors were in the van.

Tons of hazards burst before my eyes. I struggled to absorb them. A mangled guardrail zigzagged up ahead; its many gaps from other out-of-control vehicles big as life. Worse was the wall of giant Douglas-firs growing beyond, lower trunks scarred, limbs low and swaying.

I was going to careen through the railing.

I was going to hit the trees.

I was going to die.

Book Summary

Career chameleon, Rylie Keyes, must keep her current job. If not, the tax assessor will evict her ailing grandfather and auction off their ancestral home. When a senior she shuttles for a Bellevue, Washington retirement home winds up dead in her minibus, sticky with a half-eaten s'more, head clad in a cellophane bag, and a pocketed complaint letter accusing her of driving by Braille, her goal to keep her job hits a road bump.

The deceased was thought to be a penniless Nazi concentration camp survivor with a silly grudge against Rylie. However, the victim has enemies who will stop at nothing to keep their part in the murder a secret.

Forced to dust off the PI training she's kept hidden from her ex-detective grandfather, Rylie must align with a circus-bike-wheeling Samoan to solve the murder, all while juggling the attentions of two very hot police officers.

Book Links

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/16129273-malicious-mischief

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Malicious-Mischief-Mystery-Entangled-ebook/dp/B00BMKKOGM/

Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/malicious-mischief-marianne-harden/1113749209

About Marianne Harden

Marianne Harden loves a good laugh. So much so, she cannot stop humor from spilling into her books. Over the years she has backpacked through the wilds of Australia, explored the exotics of Asia, soaked up the sun in the Caribbean, and delighted in the historic riches of Europe. Her goals in life are simple: do more good than harm and someday master the do-not-mess-with-me look. She divides her time between Switzerland and Washington State where she lives with her husband and two children.

Find Marianne Harden

Website: www.marianneharden.com

Twitter: www.twitter.com/MarianneHarden

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/AuthorMarianneHarden

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6572367.Marianne_Harden

DESTINY GIFT is on SALE! Only $0.99!

DESTINY GIFT

Genre: NA paranormal romance

Word Count: 73,000

Release date: April 1st, 2013

Thirty years in the future, a sinister New York City exists in permanent darkness.

A student at the secured NYU, nineteen-year-old Nadine has visions of Victor Gianni, an imaginary guy she has real feelings for. Afraid of being truly insane, she explains the visions away as simple daydreams, but she can no longer deny them when she bumps into Victor in real life. But this Victor doesn’t know her, and turns her away. After the encounter, Nadine’s visions change to those of eerie fates, gods she’s never heard of, demons with sharp claws they are not too timid to use … and instructions.

To discover if she’s losing her mind, Nadine follows the vague directions—with the real, rude and reluctant Victor—leading to a man who knows it all: Nadine can restore an ancient creed by unveiling the clues on her visions, and bring sunlight and peace to the world again. But that’s only if the demons and the other evil forces behind the darkness don’t stop her first.

Amazon | Barnes&Nobles | Kobo | Smashwords |  Apple | Createspace | Goodreads | Pinterest Board

About the Author:

While Juliana Haygert dreams of being Wonder Woman, Buffy, or a blood elf shadow priest, she settles for the less exciting—but equally gratifying—life of a wife, mother, and author. Thousands of miles away from her former home in Brazil, she now resides in Connecticut and spends her days writing about kick-ass heroines and the heroes who drive them crazy.

Website | Blog | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads | NA Alley

DESTINY GIFT Excerpt:

I heard a heavy sigh and turned toward it. It was Victor. He was leaving the elevator down the hall and coming toward his grandma’s room. He had seen me and didn’t seem happy about it.

He wore faded jeans, a T-shirt, and a thin jacket. Too casual. I shook my head. The fact that my dream Victor and this real Victor were exactly the same physically, while their clothing styles and posture were the opposite of each other still boggled my mind.

He came to a stop before me. “You again.” There was disdain in his tone. I cringed.

“How are you?” I managed to ask and immediately felt silly. I had planted myself here in this hallway for over an hour waiting for him, and when he finally arrived, I didn’t know what to say. Though I really did want to know how he was. The last time I had seen him in the flesh, he’d been jerking on the floor of the hospital’s garage, in pain. “What was that … ah … before …?” I trailed off, hoping he would understand what I was referring to.

He shrugged, his sea-green eyes still staring at me with suspicion. “I don’t know. By the way, how do you know my name?”

I twirled a lock of my hair around my index finger as I considered my answer. I wanted to answer him. I wanted to be honest, but he would never believe me.

As if my answer would pop out of the walls, I scanned the hallway.

At the end of the corridor, a nurse left a room and entered another.

“The nurse,” I almost shouted, hoping he wouldn’t notice my sudden lie. I avoided his inquisitive eyes. “I heard a nurse calling you earlier that day.”

His deadpan expression hid his thoughts and didn’t let me know if he was buying it or not.

“What did you do to me last night?” he asked, crossing his arms. God, I hated how his voice and his posture were so guarded and mistrustful. I wasn’t used to it.

“What do you mean?”

“When you touched me, the shock and the pain went away. How did you do that?”

“I don’t know.” This time I wasn’t lying. I really didn’t know. He frowned, clearly still suspicious. “Seriously, I have no idea.”

His shoulders stiffened. “What are you doing here? What do you want?”

My eyes widened as I retreated a few steps, trying to avoid his toxic tone.

Yes, he looked like my Victor—the same voice, the same hair, the same face, the same mouth that had offered me smiles that had rendered me breathless many, many times. I wanted to touch him, to embrace him, to tell him everything was going to be okay. Maybe if I touched him, he would remember me and he would want to touch me too.

I came closer to him, looking deeply into those wary green eyes, my fingers itching to stroke his skin, to feel it smoldering under my caress. But I didn’t. He was like my Victor, but he wasn’t my Victor. The Victor from my visions would never speak to me like this. He would never snap at me. No, no. My Victor loved my company, loved to hear me sing, loved to embrace me and inhale my scent.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice croaking under the heavy pressure inside my chest.

Then, I walked away.