It's My Duty to Inform You That...It's NaNoWriMo Time!

I don't know how this fell to me, but I'm going to leave the humor aside for one week (and I know many of you are saying "what humor?") so I can remind faithful readers about the one time of year we all really enjoy...besides Thanksgiving, Christmas, Memorial Day, Labor Day, July 4th and Halloween -- namely NaNoWriMo. 

For those not familiar with this event, it stands for National Novel Writing Month and was started by Chris Baty back in 1999. The challenge is to write a coherent novel of at least 50,000 words in 30 days. It began yesterday (Nov. 1) and runs through 11:59 p.m. on Nov. 30.

By that date, you'll either be beaming with a new novel or still pissed at the results of the Grambling State-Southern Bayou Classic.

Anyway, there is no actual prize associated with being a winner. Writing 50,000 words in a month and making them fit into a novel is prize enough. You do get a little banner that you can paste to your writing.com account (if you have one).

And who knows? You may find your novel getting picked up by a publisher. Think it doesn't happen? Ask Sara Gruen and her novel Water for Elephants, which hit #1 on the New York Times bestseller list. For a list of NaNoWriMo participants whose novels got picked up for publication, check this out.

If you should decide to participate, here's how to get started:

1) Sign on to the Internet

2) Go to www.nanowrimo.org

3) Sign up

Note: If you're one of the 60,000-plus who did this last year or the year before, use your old sign-in name, please. Otherwise, they won't remember you. They have the means to help you if you've forgotten user name and password. Also, remember that the word count will appear on your WDC page.

[caption id="attachment_3767" align="alignright" width="251" caption="Want to be the next A.M. Homes? Join NaNoWriMo"][/caption]

And don't worry if you've never written a novel before. A friend of mine wrote something about vampires, vacations and Alaska and it got published. And the writer was from Jersey, no less. So, it's not that difficult.

Anyway, here are a few helpful hints for writing 50,000 words in one month:

A) Be loose. Set aside time to write. Say about an hour a day. It can be morning, noon, night or late night. Especially a time with no distraction like kids or snoring spouses (hey, husbands can snore, too). Most importantly, write every day because, if you don't, it's like missing a day of exercise. You'll suddenly miss more and more and it will be Nov. 30 before you know it.

B) Have some flexibility. You might find yourself wanting to change directions with your novel. It might start out as a memoir of how you met your husband and then change into how you met and married husband no. 5.

C) Set goals. Now, NaNoWriMo suggests writing at least 1,667 words a day, but that's mathematical. Write what you can. You'll have days when you don't feel like writing much of anything and then there will be days when your significant other can't pry you loose from the computer. Go with the flow and just write something.

D) Wait until the end to edit if you must. Trust me, I've fallen into this trap too many times in the past. Think of NaNoWriMo like the SATs. With tests, you answer all the questions and, if you have time left, you go back over them. With your novel, write until it's done. Then, if it's not quite 11:59 p.m. on the 30th, go back and browse through it. (one exception to this hint: please use Spellcheck and Grammarcheck).

Also, here are a couple of books, including one by Chris Baty himself, on how to write a novel in 30 days (both available on Amazon.com):

[caption id="attachment_3764" align="alignleft" width="150" caption="By Chris Baty"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_3765" align="alignright" width="150" caption="by Victoria Lynn Schmidt"][/caption]

Special note: The winner of the Halloween novel contest is Kris M. Kris, if you would please review my last blog and pick a title from the list, I will have that sent to you post-haste. Just leave a comment on this week's blog when you decide and then we'll go about exchanging info offline so I can order it.

Scary Fictional Creature

[caption id="attachment_3646" align="alignleft" width="247" caption=""It doesn't know we're here...""][/caption]

This was a most difficult topic to decide upon which character to write about. My first thought was to write about the fabled Sasquatch. Unfortunately, there was a sighting, so that canceled that notion. Then, because I was listening to “Synchronicity 2” by The Police, I decided to write about Nessie. You know the lyric, “…something crawls from the slime at the bottom of a dark Scottish Lake”. Sadly, a Twitter news alert came through that there was yet another sighting there, too. Delete, delete, delete.

[caption id="attachment_3648" align="alignright" width="300" caption="Nessie"][/caption]

Stymied yet again, I simply stared at the monitor while I awaited the muse. Eventually, she brought me something terrible, but incredibly useful. Glancing out the front window, I happened to notice perhaps the ugliest dog that I have ever seen, which sparked a memory. Here in the Americas we have this urban legend about wild reptilian dogs that attacks goats and other farm animals. They are called El Chupacabra. Just when I started getting all excited, juices flowing, fingers flying over the keyboard as if not really touching them, beautiful elegant prose singing across the monitor…the muse tapped me on the shoulder. She was pointing at the television and shaking her head from side to side, wearing a most disappointed frown. There, on a cable tabloid news show, a farmer in Texas was claiming that he had recently killed two of the creatures on his farm. It was then that I quoted the great John Hammond from Jurassic Park when he uttered arguably the most eloquent line ever heard on the screen, “Damn!”

(editor's note: the writer had planned to post a photo of the Chupacabras, but since every one was so freakin' ugly, he decided against it. You're welcome, by the way)

[caption id="attachment_3650" align="alignleft" width="229" caption="I miss the West Wing"][/caption]

I knew in the back of my mind, were I to fail to decide on something to write about, that I had a couple of go-to characters that I could use: honest politicians being one of them. However, I felt that there were some others; I simply needed to keep my nose to the grindstone until I figured out what they were. Eventually it came to me: the flying monkeys in the classic film, The Wizard of Oz. Those things scared the heck out of me when I was a kid. Even now (Anyone else hear Manilow singing just now? "Even now"?), should I start to reach for the DVD in order to put it inside the shopping cart, it is the first thought that comes to me. I don’t remember exactly just what is was about them, but I have yet to forget them, even after all of these years.

Have you had enough of my futile attempts at humor?

Alright then, perhaps a moment of seriousness is in order. There are but two fictional characters that stay with me. Linda Blair’s demon-possessed Regan MacNeil from The Exorcist and the creature from the film adaptation of H.P. Lovecraft’s The Unnamable.

Being the church-going fellow that I am, nothing gets any worse for me than the works of the devil. I have mentioned many times across the blogs this year, and should be firmly on record, as having scared myself with The Exorcist on every occasion. Other than reruns on television with edited versions of the film, I had never really seen it until about ten years ago when I bought my first DVD player and began snatching up special editions of DVDs as fast as humanly possible, and much to my wife’s chagrin. I have seen this film another two or three times since then and it never fails to ruin my sleep for a couple of days. One might ask why I continue to put myself in such positions. You can ask, but I don’t have a good answer for that. Dropped on my head as an infant?

While I'm at it, I have a chilling anecdote which I have shared before on the blog of Wicked Writer friend, Carole Gill. The first time that I watched the film, I did so over a couple of days. I had an hour or so between the time that I got off work and the time when my mother would bring my young children home from school. I was across the living room from the television, sitting on a couch. Beside me there on the right was a large table and upon it sat a large potted plant. On the second day when little Regan's transformation was complete, the DVD froze and that nasty demon-possessed girl stared at me. During this moment while I was waiting to see whether the film would resume or not, one of the plant's leaves slid down the wall, making the most audible of rubbing sounds. I turned toward the sound with a jump that I'll not soon forget and yelled at the plant, "Don't do that!" Here's what I was staring at:

[caption id="attachment_3651" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption=""Your momma knits socks that smell!""][/caption]

The other film that I mentioned is one of those that I came across by accident in a video store. (What’s that, you ask? A video store? A topic for another week, perhaps.) Anyway, I had read some Lovecraft during that time and thought that I would give it a go. There is nothing creepier than laying awake at night, waiting for sleep to come upon you and suddenly imagining a terrible apparition or monster coming at you while you are unable to get away. That is precisely what I recall about this film. The characters investigate this house that had a terrible legend and they could not get away. See for yourself just how horrible it was:

[caption id="attachment_3653" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="I've got a name for it!"][/caption]

Well, that's my list. What might be on your list? We have seen many films this week, some gruesome and some laughable due to the passage of time. Sometimes the scare is real and fresh. Sometimes the scare feels all-too real but is decades old. Tell us what scares you this or any other Halloween.

Contest: My friends, now that I've got you all creeped out, I'm hosting our latest contest. Once again I'm offering an e-book copy of my first novel, Dance on Fire. I guarantee that it is much scarier than flying monkees, but not nearly as frightening as a demon-possessed Regan MacNeil. I hope you'll ask for it and give it a chance.

TEN FOUR… (and a competition, again)

No, this is not an Association of Public-Safety Communications Officials-International announcement in the affirmative. It is an oblique reference to our schedule and this week’s topic – scary movies. (Well, I did to a light double-check as, being a Brit, I wondered whether I could get away with suggesting I got the wrong date… Four Ten would have got me off the subject entirely!)

But first, this time... The Competition… which I find I am hosting again. Now, is this a new competition? Or is this week two of the competition in my last post? Questions, questions!

However, after my last post, I also wondered …dare I venture forth? Not one entry to win a copy of my book…  :(

Come on, guys, it’s not that bad! Honest. And just to show there are no hard feelings, the competition will remain open… and I will give away two copies, one each to the two best answers. So, come on, and give it a go!  Follow the link!The comp is at the bottom of my last post.

What next? Ah... The schedule! That’s what!"

Favourite scary movies? I wish it had been Four Ten! Or at least Four One – April 1^st would have suited me better.

 

[caption id="attachment_3588" align="alignright" width="150" caption="Abandon hope..."][/caption]

 

I do recall, as a child, watching black and white talkies from the Hammer House of Horrors and other studios. I think I even recall mentioning the Pit and the Pendulum in an earlier post (but having been born with a mild case of something like Alzheimer’s, my memory has always been hazy).

Other titles seemed to revolve around the actors Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee – which just goes to show, I must have watched a few such films in my youth. I cannot remember many actors’ names at all! But, try as I might, I cannot say I have remained a fan of the genre or, indeed, continued to watch any scary movies of any age. (The one exception being, I suppose, Sean of the Dead – and only because someone told me it was funny!)

What gets me is that I find – letting my imagination run away with me – that there is enough in real life that is a good base for “scary”…  “suspense”… “thrills”… or whatever.

 

[caption id="attachment_3589" align="alignleft" width="112" caption="Interesting... tee hee!"][/caption]

 

 

[caption id="attachment_3590" align="alignright" width="150" caption="More interesting... I have an idea!"][/caption]

 

I do, though, have a confession. The conflation between real life and scary movies happened early for me… at the age of (ahem, clears throat… and mumbles incomprehensible sound). After the Pit and the Pendulum, I had a brilliant idea. I tied my younger brother to a soapbox cart in the cellar of our house (when no one else was there). He lay prone, motionless (relatively speaking) under the wooden beams of the floor above. I then proceeded to construct a pendulum from an axe and rope… (and before you call in social services, I was well trained in knots – being a Sea Scout).

I set the axe swinging and…"

Well, my brother is still around – I hasten to add. And he doesn’t seem too afflicted by the experience! Furthermore, following his Close Protection training with the Military Police and more recent Canadian Special Forces Training, I am unlikely ever to attempt such a stunt again!

I suppose, since recreating such a famous scary movie scene in the bowels of my mother’s house, cinematography has never really offered the same sense of reality. But that is my excuse. Now I just find it more challenging to create suspense on a less-is-more basis.

And I guess my brother might be thinking...

…it’s a good job we didn’t have computer games to play with in those days.”

So, who else out here in reader/writer land thinks that there is enough “scary” to be found in "reality"?

How Texting Novels & Contests Can Get You Noticed

Thank you, CJ and the Wicked Writers team, for being one of my hosts for my Cherish the Romance Virtual Book Tour, which runs until October 10th and launches my romantic suspense, Lancelot's Lady. This promises to be the BIGGEST online book tour ever, with over 100 blog stops and prizes at every stop, including free ebooks to everyone who comments.

A couple of years ago, I came across Textnovel.com, which is where I met CJ Ellisson. The US based site resulted from the craze that had swept across Japan; students had been writing text novels for the past 6 years and texting them to their friends. Websites in Japan took up the challenge and began marketing them, which resulted in print publishing deals for many young writers and numerous bestselling novels. Textnovel is the English counterpart, the first website in North America to take on cell phone novels. Writers can submit chapters via their cell phone or computer. Readers can read (cell phone and PC) these works and comment and vote for their favorite stories.

In 2009, CJ and I entered the Dorchester Publishing "Next Best Celler" contest, hosted at Textnovel. My contemporary romantic suspense Lancelot's Lady made it to the semi-finals, the only entry by a Canadian writer to make it that far. The contest was exciting and challenging, and it allowed me to work on an older manuscript I'd put away, unfinished. What emerged in the end was far better than the original.

What made the contest even more meaningful for me was reading the comments that people left on my novel's pages. They loved the journey of Rhianna and Jonathan. Reading the tips and suggestions that Dorchester's editors left on other author's pages gave me more ideas on how to improve my manuscript and jacket copy.

When I didn't make the finals, many people may have thought I'd just curl up and lick my wounds. But not me. I was fired up, ready to go! Rhianna and Jonathan's journey had to be finished. I had to find a way to get it out to the public. An ebook! That was the answer.

Months later, I announced that Lancelot's Lady was slated for publishing in September. A new cover was designed. Advanced copies went out for review blurbs. When they came back, I was ecstatic. Reviewers love Lancelot's Lady. But more importantly, I can fulfill my promise to readers who followed this journey at Textnovel. They can now buy Lancelot's Lady and find out whether Rhianna and Jonathan can survive the secrets of their pasts, and readers will finally know what happens to the evil blackmailer, Winston Chambers. Sometimes a contest can lead to a work being published, either as the prize or as a result of the exposure and demand.

Writers, have you entered many writing contests? If so, what was the experience like? What about texting a novel; ever think of writing one on your cell phone? Have you joined Textnovel yet?

Leave a comment here, with email address, to be entered into the prize draws. You're guaranteed to receive at least 1 free ebook just for doing so. Plus you'll be entered to win a Kobo ereader. Winners will be announced after October 10th.

Thanks for dropping by this blog. Follow me from September 27 to October 10 on my Cherish the Romance Virtual Book Tour and win prizes.

Lancelot's Lady ~ A Bahamas holiday from dying billionaire JT Lance, a man with a dark secret, leads palliative nurse Rhianna McLeod to Jonathan, a man with his own troubled past, and Rhianna finds herself drawn to the handsome recluse, while unbeknownst to her, someone with a horrific plan is hunting her down.

Lancelot's Lady is available in ebook edition at KoboBooks, Amazon's Kindle Store, Smashwords and other ebook retailers. Help me celebrate by picking up a copy today and "Cherish the romance..."

You can learn more about Lancelot's Lady and Cherish D'Angelo (aka Cheryl Kaye Tardif) at http://www.cherishdangelo.com and http://www.cherylktardif.blogspot.com.

Contest: Get C.J.'s New Novel

Hey, gang. C.J. just published her novel Vampire Vacation on Kindle and Smashwords.

She is offering FREE signed and numbered copies of her print version (due in October) to the first 50 reviews of V V.

Go to C.J.'s website for more details.

www.cjellisson.com

Trust me, it's a very good read and you can be one of the first people to say "I knew her before she became..."

.

Stranger than fiction… can it be true?

OK, dear readers…. getting even with someone who’s riled me? Have I ever written a character to help me deal with my anger?

Well, let me tell you something… anger? A little strong, perhaps… catharsis might be more appropriate…  But imagine losing your job (not difficult to imagine these days). Would you want to get your own back on the guy giving you the push? Especially if you had been doing most of the work and he only seemed to be window dressing (at times, anyway)… Oh! And I forgot… it is your company!

[caption id="attachment_3491" align="alignright" width="275" caption="Stranger than fiction..."][/caption]

It’s true, I tell you! Imagine it… there I was, one sunny August Monday morning, stepping into my office as CEO of a public limited company – my company, the company I founded – ready to face another day struggling with a depressed economy and the increasing fallout of the sub-prime crisis, when my business partner says to me: “David, we want you off the board and out of the company. Period.” (Or words to that effect, at least!)

Well, what’s a guy to do? A guy who is burning to write a story? I write one, don’t I!

This is a work of fiction.
All characters and events in this publication, other than
those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to
real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All companies
and locations are either the product of the author's
imagination or, if real, used fictitiously.

Are there any recognizable characters in it? Well, that would be telling… but since the idea of this post is to enlighten you, dear reader, I can offer you one possible answer!

In UK employment law (and I am sure that it is not too different in the US), there is a thing called a “Compromise Agreement” and one of the things in that legal agreement is a requirement for me not to bring the name of the company or its directors or staff into disrepute. There are also laws on slander and libel! Of course I didn’t write about anybody in my old company! Of course… because there must have been a perfectly good reason why I had to leave! Must there not? It was my own decision. Was it not? Of course it was – the agreement said as much!

So the story I wrote is not about my company, my exit, my business partner or my colleagues! The only truth of the matter was that the hero leaves his company. It was so true, in fact, that one reviewer had to suspend disbelief:

“This story has more twists than a corkscrew and I reached a point where I simply had to keep reading to find out what would happen next. On more than one occasion I simply couldn't see how the situation could be retrieved. It's superbly, cleverly done. I had to suspend disbelieve over how easily Finn was initially ousted from Tiger Oil, but after that I was hooked.”

Suspension of disbelief? Really! The only (possibly) true bit in the fiction, and… well, I won’t carp on about it.

But how did I handle characterization? How did I not get sucked into a potential legal minefield of libel and slander? Well, I made a conscious effort to select a board of directors who were most definitely not images of my acquaintance. (I had no money for a court case!) I found a real oil company, with a real board of directors and said: “Hey-ho, these are the guys for me!”

[caption id="attachment_3487" align="alignright" width="300" caption="Old Town, Nice... nice spot for people watching!"][/caption]

But isn’t it funny… have you ever sat in a café (the South of France is brilliant for this – sorry, name dropping again) and just watched the world go by? You see someone. They have a physical presence, characteristics, mannerisms… all good stuff for observation. And then you sit there and imagine them in conversation… imagine who their lover might be, who their partner is, what happened to them that morning, what is going to happen next… you project them into another reality – your reality. They are malleable… you can dress them (undress them!)… you can see things in their character that might (oops), accidentally of course, remind you of other people. (Now, isn’t that strange!) You could even murder them!

“Ooooooo,” I hear you say, “…did you say murder?”

“I did,” I say, smiling; a little sardonically, perhaps. “I am a thriller writer.”

“Did you really project the character of your business partner onto one of the characters in the story? And then murder him?” you say.

“Of course not…” I smile again, wink, in a knowing sort of way, and continue “…I sold him a copy of the book, of course! He loved it.”

“So, no revenge then?”

I consider your question thoughtfully for a moment longer than is perhaps strictly necessary. Rubbing my chin, I reply.

“Have you ever heard the saying, ‘revenge is a dish best served cold’?” says I. “There is a series in this!” I laugh. The sound of my laughter echoes, eerily, as though it is being channelled down some tightly narrowing but endless passage, bouncing ceaselessly, carelessly off the walls, until it disappears in the distance, a faint reminder of the past.




Oh… and the competition? How remiss of me, I nearly forgot!




[caption id="attachment_3490" align="alignleft" width="133" caption="Gloria..."][/caption]

Well, since I will post a real “printed” and signed copy of my book “River of Judgement” to the lucky winner, who may well be in the US, then I will make this one challenging… Go to Smashwords, download a free copy of my short story Gloria, read it and leave me an honest review there. Then post a response here on WickedWriters with an answer to this question: “Which character in Gloria is a character based on someone I have known?” There is only one right answer. No marks will be deducted for honesty in the review! In the event of more than one correct answer there will be a tie breaker. The tie breaker will be the most accurate (or amusing) answer to the question “Which renowned classic short story writer influenced the plot of Gloria?” All runners-up (anyone who actually enters) will receive a consolation prize. Bon chance, mes braves!

Outlines ... and a Contest!

[caption id="attachment_3384" align="alignleft" width="142" caption="Recomended for help with Outlining."][/caption]

Hello readers and fellow Wicked Writers. After last week’s beautiful stories honoring heroes and remembering lives lost on 9/11, it is apparently now time to get back into the business of writing. This week’s topic is:  Setting realistic writing goals and outlining.

I can hear everyone groaning like a bunch of teenagers in an English Comp 101 class. Let me start by saying that I could probably spend all week enthusiastically talking about goals and outlines. So be happy I only get one post.

I’m going to leave goal setting for someone else to talk about so I can discuss my newest obsession. Outlining.

It baffles me that a lot of writers refuse to outline. They say things like “It hinders my creativity.” Um, excuse me? What? I have to disagree. Outlining may not give you brilliant ideas, compelling characters, or an amazing plot arc, but it doesn’t take those things away either. On the contrary, a good outline is like a snap-shot of your novel, so you can easily see where those elements need to be developed.

I’ll admit, when I first started writing I thought it was just a matter of sitting down and typing a story. Outlining seemed like an extra step that would take up my time. I’ve come a long way since then.

I think the reason so many writers turn the other check to outlining is because they don’t know how to go about it, and thus, they are afraid of it. There’s no reason to be. We’re not talking about query letters here. No one is going to read or judge your outline. You can write it however you want. It’s your ideas, organized in a fashion that allows you to find them, use them, and build off them, again and again, at any stage in the writing process.

And yeah, whether we like or not, outlining is essential to success, reduces stress, mistakes, and prevents wasted time. How many of you ever spent an hour searching through post-its and scrap paper for that brilliant idea you scribbled down in the middle of the night? Hmm. Too bad you didn’t jot it down in your outline, right in the exact scene you intended.

Since no one is going to see your outline besides you, you do have the option of making it really simplistic. A list of plot points, for example. However, I favor a more detailed outline, with character sketches, setting sketches, research notes, a plot summery, and ideas for scenes all ready to go – typed up and handy. Trust me when I say it makes life easier.

Like I said, I didn’t always use outlines. There was a time when they seemed taunting to me too. If you still cringe at the idea of outlining, there is a book I recommend that will help you get started. It’s called First Draft in 30 Days by Karen S. Wiesner. Just don’t be fooled by the title. You won’t have a first draft in 30 days, but you will have a constructive, detailed, and organized outline that’s almost good enough to be your first draft. Even more awesome than that, Wiesner teaches you how to revise your outline so you don’t have to revise your first draft. When done correctly, all you should have to do is edit and proofread.

Ahh, yes, outlines are beautiful.

Now for the CONTEST! It’s my turn to host this week’s contest, and I’ve put a lot of thought into this. *Insert wicked laugh here* I’m going to use this opportunity to do some shameless self-promotion. Please real ALL rules and instruction below:

J.D. BROWN’S SCAVENGER HUNT !!!!!!!

I’m hosting a scavenger hunt that runs from Monday, September 13th, 2010 at 9:00am Central time to Monday, September 27^th, 2010 at 12:00am Central time.

How to enter and WIN:

1.    Subscribe to the Wicked Writers blog, then leave a comment below with your first and last name and “I SUBSCRIBED TO WICKED WRITERS FOR THE SCAVENGER HUNT” somewhere in your comment.
2.    Follow me on Twitter.com (http://twitter.com/authorjdbrown) , then send me a direct message on Twitter with your name and “I’M FOLLOWING YOU FOR THE SCAVENGER HUNT” in the message.

3.    Go to my personal blog and follow OR subscribe to my blog. Then leave a comment on my blog with your name and “I’M FOLLOWING YOUR BLOG FOR THE SCAVENGER HUNT” in your comment.

4.    Go to my website and sign the guest book (yes, you have to look for it). Include your name and “I’M SIGNING YOUR GUEST BOOK FOR THE SCAVENGER HUNT” in the message.

5.    When you’re done with the above items, send me an email at jdbrown.author@gmail.com and include your FIRST and LAST NAME and an EMAIL ADDRESS that I can reach you at. Make sure the subject of your email is “THE SCAVENGER HUNT_YOUR NAME”. For example – THE SCAVENGER HUNT_J.D.BROWN.

Rules:

1.    You must complete ALL five (5) of the above requirements. If you are missing one, you will be disqualified. I will email anyone who is missing an item, so long as I receive your email entry before the contest closes at 12:00 am central time on September 27^th, 2010. Anyone missing an item after midnight on September 27^th will not be notified and will be disqualified from the contest.

2.    You must remain a follower on Wicked Writers, my Twitter, and my blog until after I have announced the winner (which will be on September 27^th, 2010 at 9:00 central time).

You do not have to be active or continue to post comments other than the ones required for the contest and you are free to stop email subscriptions/unfollow me after I have announced the winner.

The PRIZES:

First place is a $25.00 Borders gift card!

Second place is a $10.00 Borders gift card!

Winners will be selected at random by my Pomeranians. Hopefully they won’t eat the prizes…

Happy hunting!

J.D. Brown

The Future of Books and a Contest

When I realized that our subject this week was the future of books and e-books in the next five years, it gave me pause. It wasn't as if I was completely clueless with regard to the task at hand; I have had the good fortune of having my debut novel published as an e-book. The issue for me was not the meat and potatoes of the dish, but rather the art of preparing the meal. I wrote the novel, but my wonderful publisher Gaynor was the one who handled all of the details.

The e-book: By this time, most people are aware of just exactly what this is. "What's in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet" (My thanks to Mr. Shakespeare). It's just a book. It won't bite you! Although, a good one will leave a mark. One can download an e-book to their computer, iPhone, e-reader, etc. Most of us not only have personal computers, Laptops and gadgets galore, but have multiples of each! 

The e-future: Imagine if you will that you have just finished reading a very good book. Are you ready to put it down? What if there was more content? Books often carry advertisements for past works by the author or for a forthcoming title, other times the book might include a sample of what's coming. What if the e-book was something called an enhanced e-book? Not only could it carry the usual, but so much more. Picture if you will the ordinary Facebook wall. Most of us have a Facebook account or at least have seen one. Can you see the video links and photos there? Instead of snippets of what the individual has been up to or what their friends have posted on their wall, I want you to envision the pages of a book. Are you reading The Lord of the Rings? Off to the right there is a series of photos. Are you reading Stephen King? Between paragraph one and two is a photo of Bangor, Maine. Better yet, how about a short video walk-thru of the town. Pat Conroy? Now you do not have to imagine what his south looks like, you could simply click the link. 

I know what you are going to say. It's the same argument against music video. Now that I have seen the stupid video, it has robbed my imaginative mind of being able to simply take the lyrics and create my own visual in my head. Okay, forget the photos and links. What if the start of the enhanced e-book contained a brief author's note, where a film began upon your choosing and the author herself thanked you, her faithful reader, for purchasing her work and gave the simplest of introductions. What if the end of the e-book contained an interview session where the author explained the muse for his story or offered other tidbits. Wouldn't that be something? Who knows exactly what the future might bring, but folks, it is coming. 

The Real topic: That was what I was hoping to write about this week. Unfortunately, thanks to all of the comments that I have seen recently from readers claiming that you can take their books from them when you pry them from their cold, dead fingers - we have to talk about something else. Has everybody seen Moonstruck? I hadn't until recently. I love romantic comedies, but must have had some sort of bias against this one for some crazy reason. In any event, I finally saw it, and liked it. So, with regard to the bias that many continue to cling to in terms of being unwilling to embrace e-books: I say, (borrowing Cher's famous line) "Snap out of it!" 

[caption id="attachment_3123" align="alignleft" width="160" caption="Cher and Nicholas Cage in Moonstruck"][/caption]

Forgive me, I'm not writing of those who have said that they cannot yet afford a Kindle or one of the other e-readers out there. It was easy for me. My wife has money! Just kidding. I'm speaking to those who get all nostalgic for paper, curling up in bed with their favorite book or simply their love of  bookstores. This is not the first time that this kind of thing has happened. We have gone through this before.  

This past spring the Blockbuster in my small town of 12,000 or so souls closed. It's a Real Estate now. When I was a teenager we went through periods where we had between two and five video rental stores. Then everyone decided that they should abandon the mom and pop places for the big sexy chain, thus forcing the mom and pops out of business. Now that we can order movies through cable, our computers, our Wii's, etc., we don't necessarily need Blockbuster anymore. And so it goes...  

Quick, somebody hand me a cassette. A what? Yeah, that's what I thought. I might still have a few cassettes lying around the house, probably stored in the garage. If so, they won't work now. Not that I have anything to play them on anymore! Not only that, I've long-since replaced those with CD. While we're on the subject, all of those CD's have been digitally transferred to my pc. They are available for me to listen to when I'm on my pc (like now - I'm listening to Asia), or my iPod (I'm pushing 7000 songs there) or my iPhone. My dad still has an old reel to reel. I haven't seen it in a while, but I'm certain that it is there since my parents don't believe in tossing anything out! Soon, we might not even need to store music. Our devices will simply access "the cloud" where our account is recognized and our purchased/stored music content simply streamed to our device. I don't know a lot about it just yet, but guess what: it's coming, too!  

Back to my wife. When the Kindle showed up magically at our doorstep a few months ago, she gave me that frown. "What did you do?" the frown asked. Yet, guess who uses it more than I do? And so will you. Trust me.  

The Contest: If you are still speaking to me after all of that, we have a contest for you. Wicked Writers is giving away a copy of my e-book, Dance on Fire. Ha! What else could it have been? The contest will run for two weeks. To be eligible, please leave a comment, along with your e-mail address in case you are declared the winner. We also would love it if you signed up for the e-mail delivery option, but will not make it mandatory. I would like to leave you with a note about my book. It is a horror/Christian crossover about vampires. It is a PG-13 story, so don't let the horror label scare you away. It is Christian, but contains some blood and guts and does not get too preachy. There's a bit of romance, too! See, it has everything. How could one possibly lose? Okay, don't answer that.

Just One Taste

I had hoped I'd be announcing the winners to our latest contest, but unfortunately we didn't get any entries. We're not taking it personally, because some of us would rather read than write and others would rather work on current projects than do a flash fiction piece. That's just life.

Here is the winning entry I submitted over a year ago to a flash-fiction horror contest with the writing prompt: Vampire. Some of you may have read it already, but others have not and I hope you enjoy it! Let's keep in mind I was writing for only six weeks when I wrote it, so don't expect any fireworks!

Just One Taste

She watched him from across the basement studio. His sleek young body, finely muscled and honed to perfection. Vivian longed to break the supple skin at his neck and sup sweetly of his life. The urges came more strongly now, ones she thought long buried and dead. The ones that told her to hunt and claim; to take her fill and damn the consequences.

To take another mate would open her up to the hurt and pain of their eventual loss, because in the end they all died. The memories crowded her mind as she stared with hunger at the flexible body positioned in advanced yoga poses. His dark good looks and powerful form reminded her of her first lost love.

The blood and screams from the death of Ian, killed by her maker because he had to have her, still haunted her after almost four centuries. Killed when he stood up to the unknown madness that had cornered them in their village, torn limb from limb and scattered like a broken doll, Ian's life was crushed before her horrified eyes.

Eyes that now gazed upon such sheer physical perfection that every cell in her body screamed for her to take him and mark him as her own. Is this the madness that overcame her maker that night? Or was it his spoiled perverted need to take and kill that later justified his taking of her happiness and innocence? Could she hold back the same urges with better luck?

Her canines elongated and she kept her mouth closed so the humans couldn't see. She smelled him over the others in the room, the fragrance teasing and tormenting all at once. The bouquet of his blood reminded her of home, of the dreams lost and the love that died there. Sweet, young, strong and red. It called to her, beckoned her closer; lulled her to trust.

Vivian moved down the crowded studio to stand near the object of her desire. She slid in to place next to him and contorted her body to match his. The peace he radiated outward lured her like a drug. To have him as her own meant she could have that feeling everyday. No, he deserves a better life then the one I can offer.

One taste, that's all she wanted. To break his skin with a gentle nick, to drink from him in deep pulls, and to hold him close while he shivered in the joy her bite would bring. In the end, it was his innocence and happiness that saved him. The longing inside screamed in frustration as the vampire chose to take the morally high road. He is fifteen! I will not do it!

After one last pose, one long look, one last deep breath of his scent, Vivian turned to leave the basement. She knew she could not stop with just one taste.

Second Place Short Story Winner: The Return

This entry comes to us from Tom Hall, who placed second in our first short story contest. He writes about my favorite topic - vampires! He's crafted a nice piece here and has created a unique world. I hope he someday expands this into a larger work so I can see what happens next. Enjoy!

The Return

By Tom Hall

Joseph always loved this part of the work—running free through the forests of Northern Europe.  Just to get out of those infernal catacombs they were forced to live in as part of the Masters’ guards was a blessing he seldom received. Or, in Joseph’s case, not a guard. He was one of their  assassins. That part of the job he hated. He often wondered what gave the Masters the right to dispense their own brand of justice so indiscriminately. He wondered why none of the other vampire covens had the guts to unite and overthrow them. And he wondered, not for the first time, if he was the only one who felt this way.

Of course, he guarded these thoughts very carefully. There were some vampires who could read minds, and if the Masters ever learned that he had such thoughts…well, his life would be over in an instant.

Joseph and his fellow assassin, William, were on their way back to France after having disposed of a problem in eastern Poland. Joseph had been half tempted to see if he could slip away from William, and head west to the States. But then he thought better of it. William was an excellent tracker, very loyal to the Masters, and a much better fighter than Joseph himself. So he quickly buried the idea of freedom he was secretly nursing.

They had reached the outskirts of a quaint village in southern Switzerland and were preparing to hunt, when he saw the girl. Or woman--Joseph really couldn’t quite tell which. She was walking along a street towards them. The girl seemed to have a strange, almost ageless quality about her. She was about five foot five, thin but healthy. Her light reddish hair and dark green eyes practically shimmered through the late dusk. She moved with a certain ethereal grace, almost as though she were floating. A slight glow seemed to radiate from her, illuminating the ground at her feet. So how come everyone around them, along the busy street, seemed not to notice her? Even without the glow, she was the most beautiful creature Joseph had laid eyes on. More so by far than any vampire he knew.

The closer Joseph looked, the stranger the scene became. Not one of the people she passed seemed to take any notice of her. Most kept on with their tasks. A few would pause, look around them in a slightly confused manner as she passed, and then go right back to whatever it was they had been doing. For her part, the girl seemed blissfully unaware that anything was amiss, a slight smile of contentment on her face as she weaved in and out amongst the villagers. Joseph stealthily moved closer to the girl, who paused to look in the window of one of the street shops. They stood only a few yards apart.

All of a sudden, he was hit with the most delightful smell he’d ever encountered before. Indeed, if asked before that moment, he would have doubted that anything could have smelled as wonderfully intoxicating as the aroma which now assailed his senses. Vampire though he was, he actually felt light-headed from the heady fragrance! And somehow, he knew—he didn’t know how, but he just knew—this glorious scent was coming from the girl. He licked his lips as the aroma nearly made him drool just by being so near to it.

Then two things happened in rapid succession. The first was that the girl had moved away from him while he had been lost in her scent, and turned a corner down a dark street. The other was that William had joined him, and as the girl disappeared from sight, William looked back at him and smiled. “I saw her first, brother!” Before Joseph knew what had happened, he was flat on the ground while he saw a blur of William follow the girl.

Joseph sprang to his feet, eyes narrowed and teeth bared in rage. The girl was his! Her blood was his! How dare William try and take this girl away from him! And running that fast with humans so near was dangerous as well. Joseph ran as fast as he could at a normal human speed, afraid with each step that he would be too late. William was an efficient hunter, and a nasty, cruel, and vindictive person.

Sure enough, as he turned the corner, he saw the girl cowering in a corner by a collection of rusty garbage cans. Joseph could hear her poor heart beating rapidly as she gazed, terror stricken, at William, who stood over her, leering down at her face. Joseph cringed at the sight. The girl deserved better than to die in an alley, her beautiful body found drained and lifeless beside a pile of trash! But he couldn’t risk a fight with William, not here. There were too many potential witnesses. And he figured he’d probably lose anyway. Meanwhile, the smell of the girl’s blood grew stronger, as though seeping through her pores along with her fear.

A strange, inexplicable desire to protect this helpless girl flooded through Joseph. He had never felt the like of it before. She looked so fragile cowering there! And he realized for the first time in his long life that he didn’t care what would happen. He was going to stop William from killing her. If she was going to die, it would not be in a dingy alley. No, it would be in a nice place, a beautiful garden, full of flowers and flowing water. An image of a valley he had never seen came to his mind then…flowers, a bright blue sky, rolling green hills, waves crashing on the shore. The girl walked there, blissful, happy, serene. And at that moment, Joseph made a decision. He would find that place and take her back. He would resist the urge for her blood. If he could, if only he could. But first, he had to stop William.

Joseph crouched and prepared to spring at his once-ally. The girl had shut her eyes and turned her head away, as though resigned to what was about to happen. William lifted her wrist to his face. He closed his eyes and sniffed along her arm. Joseph started to spring at him…

… then abruptly, checked himself. For just as William bit down on her arm, the girl’s head spun around. Gone was the resigned look. Now the girl’s eyes glowed softly. Her mouth was twisted in a grin that made Joseph reel back, cringing in horror—it looked like she actually wanted William to bite her!

“Yes, my sweet,” she purred in the sweetest voice Joseph could recall hearing. “Drink deeply.” William’s eyes snapped open in surprise at her voice, as he continued drinking her blood. After a few gulps, William suddenly broke contact and fell over backward in an attempt to get away.

“What are you?” William shrieked, eyes wide with terror, his hands grabbing at his neck. The girl stood, grinning down at him. William started choking and gagging, his eyes bulging out of his face. The girl continued watching him and started to laugh.

“What am I?” She repeated softly. “Oh, vain, arrogant vampires! Did you really think that nature, the Universe, God would allow you to exist—immortal, strong, fast, cunning--and not also create a force to keep you in check? A more powerful force than even your kind?” She belted out a harsh laugh that reminded him of metal scraping against metal. ”You see where your ignorance has led you? To eternal death!”

As she spoke those words, William’s shrieking rose even higher, and he suddenly burst into flame. In moments, he was nothing but a pile of ash. The girl, or whatever it was, chuckled and kicked at the pile, scattering it to the wind.

She then turned and looked at Joseph. He gulped, terrified, and fell over backwards in his haste to get away from her. To think that just moments before, he had actually thought this girl needed him to protect and save her. She had called William arrogant, but Joseph now saw that he was, too. She glided over to him, and Joseph cringed away from her. She pursed her lips and slowly shook her head as she stared down at him.

“So—this is the vaunted and feared Royal Guard of the great Masters, is it?” He heard the contempt in her voice and wondered where it came from. Joseph noticed that her voice had a lilting tone to it, an accent Joseph knew he had heard before but couldn’t place at the moment. ”Well, tis indeed good for you that none of our French or Spanish friends have woken! You wouldn’t last a day!”

Though her words confused him, Joseph had to know what she was. But all he could do was repeat William’s last words and hope they wouldn’t be his own last words as well.

“Wh-what are you?”

She smiled slightly. “A…scout, I suppose ya could call me. Yes, as good a word as any, I suppose. Y’see, we’ve decided that we have too long been absent from the affairs of the world. The humans, it seems, have for the most part forgotten about us, and this both delights and annoys us. So, we’ve emerged from under our mountains to find the world very different than before. The long centuries have taken their toll. There are humans who remember us, but precious few indeed.

“Then we learned that vampires had multiplied drastically in our absence. We made contact with those among our children who had walked among the humans during the centuries in which we had dwelt upon the earth, and they confirmed this for us. Some of our children had been combating the evil ones of you. But we also heard from them that there are good vampires that exist in this world too.”

The girl paused. She looked up at the stars that now filled the sky. “So beautiful,” she murmured.

Joseph stared at her in awe. What kind of a woman was this who faced down an attack by a vampire, effortlessly killed it, and was now distracted by the night sky? He watched her. She was glowing brighter now than when he had first seen her on the street. Her scent still filled his head, driving nearly all rational thoughts from his mind. Joseph’s heart was lost, he knew it, though he didn’t know how it could have happened.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured. She turned to look down at him again. “The most gorgeous woman I have ever seen in my entire existence.”

Her thin lips curved upward and the smile on her face broadened. “That little speech has saved yer life, lad,” she said. Then he finally recognized her accent.

“You’re from Ireland?” Joseph asked.

She looked back up at the sky, sighed, and nodded. “Certain sure,” she murmured. “Only we have reemerged. Our Norse brethren are stirring as well.” She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “Ah, the air—tis so fresh! So much better than those dank caverns.” She turned back to Joseph again. “Ah, get up, lad—I’ll not hurt ye! I want you to go back and tell yer masters that they’d best watch their steps from now on. Tis all well and good for ye tae drink human blood, but some o’ the humans are under our protection. And if they are harmed…” She paused and her eyes blazed with fury. “Then God help ye! Our wrath is a terrible thing to behold!” She turned and began to glide away from him back down the street the way she’d come.

Joseph couldn’t bear it. “Wait!” he called, hurrying after her. She paused and turned back to him, waiting for him to catch up to her. He took her hand and got down on his knees. “Please! Don’t leave me! I don’t think I can live without you!” He felt like a complete fool. Until a few minutes ago, he had prided himself on being strong where females were concerned. But all that had gone in the instant since he’d seen her. “Please take me with you! I can’t stand this life! I have wanted to get away from the Masters for so long! Can’t I come with you?”

She gazed sadly at him, and put her hand on his cheek. “Our kind doesn’t mix,” she said. “You are vampire, I am not.”

“What are you then?” Joseph whispered.

The girl sighed again. “Other,” she replied. “Older, wiser, less compulsive. Our two kinds are repulsed by one another.”

“But you don’t repulse me,” he said softly. He looked into her eyes, and could tell in his heart that she wasn’t repulsed at all. Somehow, she knew what he was thinking. “You’re right,” she whispered. “But it still can’t be.” She turned again and continued walking. “Now go and tell your Masters all you have seen here, and that we have returned once again to the world. And tell them to tread lightly so as not to arouse our anger.”

Joseph ran after her again, and touched her on the shoulder. I am pathetic, he thought. She turned back with a sigh. “Wait, please! Who am I supposed to say has returned?  I don’t know what to tell the Masters.”

She smiled a grim smile. “Trust me; they’ll know who we are.”

“Please, at least tell me your name,” he begged.

“Maureen,” she said, her smile turning bright. “What’s yours?”

“J-Joseph,” he stuttered, and her smile grew.

They stood in the dark street a moment, staring at each other. Then placing her hands on either side of his face, she pressed her lips to his gently. Time seemed to stop for Joseph, as he felt her love in that tiny demonstration. He had never believed in love at first sight, or the concept of soulmates. Not, at least, before that night.

She pulled away from him finally. Then, touching his face one last time, she whispered, “Don’t be afraid--I’ll see you again, Joseph.” And with that, she disappeared—she didn’t walk away, mind you, she was just not there anymore--the street was completely deserted, except for one sad, lonely vampire.

Joseph returned to Paris, afraid that he was also returning to his death. For the Masters would demand a full report and demand to see Joseph’s thoughts. And when they found that Joseph was in love with the enemy, well, that would be it for him. But Maureen had promised they would meet again, and that gave him the courage to return to his old life.

Only one of the Masters was enthroned in the audience chamber when Joseph arrived to make his report. He inwardly breathed a sigh of relief before narrating everything that had happened. Well, perhaps not everything. He left out the whole part about being in love with her. No need to die tonight.

As Joseph spoke, he could see the Master’s face growing angrier by the second. And even, Joseph realized, a bit frightened. When he was at last dismissed, he hurried to his room. Sitting down on a chair, he put his head in his hands and tried to think about what had happened. But all he could remember was her face. And the only word he could think was her name. Maureen. Smiling to himself, he said it aloud, just to hear it, thinking about how it just rolled off his tongue.

The Master, meanwhile, had retired to his chamber. But his thoughts were much less pleasant than Joseph’s were. He paced for a long time, mulling it all over. He wished the other Masters would return in short order so they could discuss this unfortunate turn of events. If he had been human, he would have broken out in a cold sweat over the news Joseph had brought back.

He sat and stared into the distance, trying to formulate a plan. Any plan to stave off the sudden reappearance of this threat. How many humans were under their protection, he wondered. He shuddered over the warning that the girl had made, about their wrath descending on them. He had seen what their wrath could do! And the words that returned to his mind over and over that night were also very different that Joseph’s, making him shudder even as he said them.

“The Fey.” He muttered. “The Fey have returned!”

Winner of First Wicked Short Story Contest!

Those of you who've been stopping by for a while may recognize the name of the writer on this one - Harley Palmer. She's been an active poster and contributor on the blog and I was thrilled to see her enter our humble contest. Greg and I both know Harley from her writings over at writing.com, and Greg has had the pleasure of working with her to help improve his own work in her popular writing academy as well.

The story is about 3,000 words long and without further ado, I'll leave you to enjoy it...

My Nightmare

By Harley Palmer

Time came crashing to a halt, and before I realized what was happening, my world went black.

When my eyes opened, I recognized the familiar sight. A dingy hotel room that smelled of stale cigarettes and booze. I focused on the only other person in the room – him.

I screamed and sat up. I wasn't in the hotel room. I was in my own bed, in my own apartment. It was a hellish nightmare I'd had every night for the past three years. I flopped back onto the pillows and took a few deep breaths.

The light colors helped me to relax a little from the nightmare. I carefully planned the setting when I got the place. My bedside lamp was always on to drive away the shadows. Happy colors, no darkness, and sparkling clean.

The shrill ringing of the phone made me jump.

"What?" I snapped into the phone.

"Is that the way to greet an old friend?"

I bolted up in the bed. It was him. The fear from my teenage years returned full force. I had thought that hell was over. I forced myself to suck in air, reminding myself to breathe.

"Sorry, David, I didn't know it was you. How are you doing?" I had to sound cheerful. I couldn’t let him know that I didn’t want to hear his voice, that he made my skin crawl. It would make everything worse if I did.

"I'm simply wonderful. How is my favorite girl?"

I rubbed my arm as I felt goose bumps rise on my skin "I'm wonderful too," I said. I stayed quiet after that for I didn't want to say anything to anger the man on the other end. That was the rule he'd made. Let him ask the questions and I'll give the answers.

"I need your special services this weekend."

I closed my eyes and hung my head. I should have known better than to get my hopes up. The nightmare had never ended like I hoped. It had only been on pause.

"David, I…"

"You're not trying to back out on our little deal, are you? I don't think you really want that to happen, do you?"

I sighed. "No, David. Where do I need to be?"

"Good girl. Be at the Ritz hotel at eight p.m. on Friday. Be prepared to not return home until Sunday night."

"Okay. Will there be others there or just you this time?" I asked, hoping for an answer.

The only reply was a 'click' as David hung up the phone.

I threw the phone across the room as if it burned me. A whimper escaped my throat as I wiped my sweaty palms on the sheets. A tear tried to fall from my eye but I wouldn’t let it. Refusing to show any emotion, even alone, I nearly sprinted to the shower. I scrubbed as hard as I could to remove the sickening feeling that seemed to ooze from my pores. It only helped a little.

Twenty minutes later, I hopped into my car and headed for D's Place. As usual for this time of day, my best friend Lilly sat at "our table." She was talking to the waiter as the wind blew his apron about his legs.

"Hey, Lilly," I said sitting down across from her.

"Dude, what's wrong with you? You look terrible."

"Thanks," I said sarcastically.

The waiter took my order, and then disappeared back inside. I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, trying to calm my nerves. Lilly followed my actions and lit a cigarette after moving her thick black hair away from her face.

The small café was a popular spot with the teenagers. I wasn’t sure why I liked going there but I guess it was my attempt to live a normal life. Regular people socialized and left their houses. All I ever wanted to do was hide.

"He called again," I whispered as if someone nearby would know what I was talking about.

"Oh no! What are you going to do?"

"What he says. We made a deal.” I sighed.

"Look, you're my best friend. You can't keep doing this. You need to report him to the authorities," Lilly said with concern in her voice.

I sighed again and shook my head. My hair waved in front of my face and the feeling of having hair was something I still was getting used to. There was a time that I had no hair at all. It was not from cancer or some kind of illness – no. I was the girl who got kidnapped my sophomore year of high school – at least that's what the news reports had said.

I pinched the bridge of my nose to stop the memory from surfacing as the waiter sat my coffee in front of me. I mumbled a thanks and he moved on.

"How about if I call the cops and make an anonymous report?"  Lilly suggested.

I smiled weakly but shook my head. "I appreciate the offer. But it won't do any good. He’s evaded the cops before."

Lilly chewed on her bottom lip, a sure sign she was deep in thought. It touched my heart that she cared so much about me. She had always been a good friend.

"Lilly, I don't want you do to anything. I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you." I said placing my hand over hers.

"You're the one I’m worried about," she said with a small smile. “You can’t get into the witness protection program?”

“No. I tried. They won’t even arrest him much less have a trial. Anything I say doesn’t matter, so it doesn’t warrant putting me into the program. There is no physical proof.”

We changed the subject and went shopping the rest of the afternoon. I knew she was trying to keep my mind off of my current hell. It worked, until I was back at home that evening – alone in my apartment.

I made myself a TV dinner and settled on the couch to watch the evening news. I woke up a few hours later with the half eaten dinner in my lap and a static filled TV screen. Sighing, I switched off the tube and crawled into bed – but sleep eluded me. I tossed and turned all night.

At four a.m. I gave up and sat in front of my computer. I logged online to sign into my regular chat room, hoping to see 'Archangel.' He was there and I sighed in relief.

Archangel: What you doing up so late, love? Couldn’t sleep?

BlackSoul: Yes.

Archangel: I tell you what, I'm tired. I've been awake since 5 am yesterday morning. I want to take a vacation and come spend some time with you.

BlackSoul: That's sweet…

Archangel: Anything interesting going on there?

I didn't type anything at first. I couldn't. Although I had told him before about my past, I couldn't bring myself to tell him now. Even the anonymity of the computer gave me no comfort that night.

BlackSoul: Nothing interesting really. I had lunch with L today…well yesterday.

Archangel: How is she doing?

BlackSoul: She's fine…..

Archangel: Is something bothering you babe?

BlackSoul: No why?

Archangel: We've been chatting for a few years now. I know when something is bothering you.

BlackSoul: Really, I'm fine. Just tired. I think I might try to go back to sleep.

Archangel: Okay, if you're sure you're all right. Want me to call you tomorrow?

BlackSoul: No. I'm fine really.

We wrapped up the conversation with cheesy online "kisses" and I switched off the computer. However, I didn't go back to bed. Instead I paced in my room before trying to find something on the television to occupy my mind.

By ten a.m. I showered and left the house. I had no destination in mind; I just couldn't stand to be in my apartment anymore. As I drove downtown memories of my childhood surfaced. It was a nice safe town to raise children – at least for the other children. Not for me. This town was hell.

My drive led me to the retirement home where my mother lived. Sitting in the car, I stared up at the large, four story building. I could see my Mother's window and a tear escaped my eyes.

She was the other part of the deal. She dated him for a short time but it had become obvious that he was a horrible person. The first time she came home with bruises on her face, she told us she had an accident at work.

Things got worse, as they often do. She began staying out all night and crying at random points of the day. We feared she was going to fall asleep and not wake up from the amount of pills she was taking.

David took me right out of my bed. Mom was in a drugged sleep and couldn’t hear me call to her. I was missing for three weeks. That’s when I made the deal. To save her.

I never told her that I knew about David nor did I tell her how she was able to get out of her dealings with him. I assumed she counted her blessings and was living the rest of her days in peace. At least, that's what I hoped.

I dried my eyes and made my way up to her small apartment on the third floor. She gave me a squeeze when she opened the door. She hugged me tightly and led me to the couch. I tried to convince her that I was doing okay, but she saw through the lie.

"You're not thinking about Stacy are you?" she whispered with tears in her eyes.

"I do sometimes," I admitted with a sigh.

Stacy was my older sister and the stronger one of us three girls. My Mother would tell people the car accident that killed her was a tragic accident but I knew better. I knew the truth of what happened because I was there. I watched, helpless, as David threw my drugged, unconscious sister into the car, put the car in drive, and let gravity pull the car to the bottom of a lake. He told me if I defied his commands again or went to the cops, the deal was off and he was coming after my Mother and my other sister, Renee.

So I did whatever David asked me to do to save my family. Our Dad had died when I was six and there was only Mom to protect us. Fate it seemed had its own plans, for I ended up being the protector.

"She's in a better place now," my mother said with a sad smile.

If she only knew how right she was. I changed the subject and spent the rest of the afternoon there. The distraction helped and with the lack of sleep the night before, I was able to fall asleep quickly that night.

I awoke at six a.m. on Friday morning – which is very, very early for me. I stared at the ceiling in my room, willing it to be any day but Friday. As the clock neared seven, I dragged myself out of bed.

Thirteen hours was all I had left.

I wanted to cry but couldn't find the tears. I had worked so hard to put all those painful memories behind me, to put my life together and move on. I had actually started to live a little. Now the ghosts of my past were coming back to return me to hell.

As I had made myself do for years, I got ready for the day as if nothing else was going on. I packed a very small bag with the things I needed for the nightmarish weekend. I tried to imagine I was packing for an actual vacation. It helped a little – at least I was able to pack the bag at all.

Then I had nothing to do, but wait. Lilly was at work and Renee was still out of town. I thought to pay a visit to my Mom again but decided against it. It would only serve to make me feel worse.

My tension and nervousness grew as the clock ticked on slowly. I scrubbed every surface in my apartment, vacuumed twice, and reorganized the dresser and both closets. When it was finally seven p.m., I bolted from the house with an urgency to get the weekend behind me.

I arrived at the Ritz hotel at seven-forty-five. I was very timid walking into the all too familiar lobby. David sat on a bench, waiting for me. From years of experience, I masked my fear and tension with a smile. I shut down and I became someone else. Someone David made with his cruelty. Now my name was "Jade."

"Hello David." Jade smiled sweetly.

David slowly looked me up and down. He quirked his eyebrow. Jade immediately took off the coat to reveal the cut-off shorts and the practically transparent tank top. I wanted to scream, to stop her from doing this to us, but Jade was David’s pet. I could only watch.

"Jade. How wonderful to see you. Have a seat," he said, patting the cushioned bench.

Jade sat down without hesitation. I would have hesitated and said no, but Jade was in control now. Jade did whatever David told her too without question – and always with a smile.

David slipped a room key-card into her hand. Jade kissed him on the cheek as she was supposed to do, and strolled over to the elevators.

Once in the elevators, I tried to push my way through Jade's unemotional exterior. I couldn’t let this happen. Not again. Jade won the fight by the time we reached the penthouse level.

The elevator doors slid open and another door was revealed behind it. She slid the key-card into the slot on the door, and stepped into the penthouse.

We were alone but could hear laughter coming from the bedroom. Jade knew what to do and waited for someone to come get her. She stood to the left of the door leaning against the wall with her bag still in her hands.

A big man came from the bedroom five minutes later and looked us over. Any other time I might have thought this man was attractive. He had thick brown hair held back in a tail at the base of his neck. He stood well over six feet. Wearing only sweat pants, I could see his rippled muscles in his arms and torso.

"My name is Jade," the other-me said as seductively as she could. She twirled her hair around her finger and batted her eyelashes at the man.

"Wait there. Don't move," he said gruffly. He pulled a cell phone from his pant’s pocket and punched in a number. He had a slight southern twang when he spoke. It sounded so familiar but I couldn't place why. Oddly, it gave me a bit of comfort.

He moved into the bedroom but we could hear him yelling. He came back and told me to sit down on the couch. Jade obeyed. He sat down on the other end.

"Jade, I was just talking to David. He'll be here in a few minutes," he said gently.

I was terrified. The fear that I had done something to displease the man consumed me. Jade’s face didn’t show any emotion. She looked down at her lap while I worried with what we had done wrong.

"Look at me," he said. Jade locked eyes with him and didn't look away. "Have you ever met me before?" he asked.

"No. But your voice does sound familiar to me," I said. "I just don't know why."

"I only know you as BlackSoul. And you only know me as Archangel," he whispered with a smile.

I leaned back so far I should've flipped over the arm of the couch. I couldn't believe it. Jade disappeared and I started to tremble. I felt so betrayed. Archangel, the only man I thought I could trust had paid money to "have" me for the weekend. I wanted to die.

"Listen, Jade. We don't have much time. I'm an undercover cop. When David comes up here, I'm going to arrest him," he said.

"Excuse me?" I squeaked.

He reached into his pocket and handed me his badge. "I'm here to help you," he said softly.

I wanted to cry and laugh. I had the urge to run from the room but was frozen on the spot. Where was Jade when I actually needed and wanted her strength?

"I don't understand," I finally said.

"Jade, when you told me about what David had done and why you made the deal with him – it angered me. As a cop, I'm supposed to help people. I devoted my career to tracking this guy down. He's going to go to jail for a very long time for what he did to you and your family."

I couldn't believe my ears. I had to be dreaming. This sounded too good to be true. I simply stared at him in awe.

"It'll be over soon, I promise," he said.

The elevator dinged and David walked into the room a few seconds later.

"What did she do?" he demanded, glaring at me.

"It's not what she did, it's what you did," he said. The whistle Archangel made hurt my ears.

What happened next was a blur. Uniformed cops came running from the bedroom – I counted at least three. They tackled David and put him into handcuffs. He was shouting something but I couldn't hear what. They pulled him into the elevator and just like that, it was over. I couldn’t believe it. I tried to grasp what had just happened but my brain wouldn’t wrap around the idea. David was gone. Arrested.

Archangel came over to me.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

I nodded slowly but really wasn’t sure how I felt. Any moment I was going to wake up and find this a dream. I knew it. But it wasn’t a dream. Archangel really was standing in front of me and David really had been arrested. I focused on Archangel, trying to cement myself into reality.

"My name is Michael," he said, holding out his hand.

"Just like the angel," was the only response I could think of as I timidly shook his hand. "My name is Victoria."

"Pleasure to finally, officially meet you." He smiled warmly.

Michael had saved me from the fires of Hell. As I breathed in the night air, I felt more alive in that moment than in any other moment of my life.

I smiled at him with the first, but not last, real smile of my adult life. My Angel continues to make me smile to this day.

Celebrating Life and Saying Goodbye

This is a week filled with goodbyes and fresh beginnings. Last week, we said goodbye to fellow co-blogger, W.J. Howard, who has been a tremendous member of this team. She'll be sorely missed, and we hope to see her back often. We wish her the best with finishing The Courier and I, for one, am looking forward to reading it.

Next, we celebrate our short story contest winners - first place goes to Harley Palmer for her entry, My Nightmare, and our runner-up is Tom Hall with The Return.  Honorable mention goes to Tracey James and her story My Five Angels. Thanks so much for entering, and we hope to see you all, and more, back for our short story challenge later this month. Harley's story will be posted on Wednesday, and Tom's will be posted this Sunday--please stop by and give them a read and comment to show your support!

Our topic this week is open, meaning we can blog about anything we wish. Normally, I would keep the following thoughts and emotions on my personal blog, but I don't have the mental fortitude yet to brush a recent tragedy behind and blog about writing.

As you read this, I'm attending a full-honors 21-gun military funeral in New Jersey for my nephew, Eric Monson. I debated internally for days about speaking at his services, and at one point my husband had even broached the topic because we had so much to share about Eric. I think my answer surprised him. Most times I don't mind attention, but when it is a day to honor the passing of someone I love, I would never want to switch the focus to have people trying to console me if I were to break down in tears at the podium.

Today is a day to celebrate Eric, say goodbye, and to remember him, which is what I intend to do here.

One of my earliest memories of Eric is when he's about six or seven. My husband Pete lived in a gorgeous, but run-down rental in Montville with three other guys. His sister and her family came by over the holidays for a gathering. Eric and his older brothers always did something the boys called "couch diving" when they arrived. They picked up all the couch cushions to look for coins and bills that may have slipped through. Laugh all you will, but four guys in their mid-twenties tend to pass out drunk on the couch fairly often, so their labors usually proved quite fruitful.

Another fun day was when Pete and I took Eric to the Liberty Science Center for his ninth or tenth birthday.  We took him to breakfast first and it became apparent early on that Eric was uncomfortable with our undivided attention. I distinctly remember Eric asking, "why are you both looking at me?" Pete and I laughed about it later, but at the time Eric was pretty stubborn, "Quit staring at me!"

When we brought him to the gift shop later at the science center, we told him to pick whatever he wanted for his birthday gift. There was some pretty cool stuff in there and yet Eric still had a love of stuffed animals and chose a long-armed, velcro-handed monkey as his gift and hung it around his neck in a hug. I'll never forget how we kept trying to encourage him to get rockets or glow-in-the-dark planets or something... but he wanted that monkey.

Pete and I have always done extensive work on all the homes we owned. In the early years of our marriage, we flipped a home every two years or so. At our second house, we wanted to build some rock-retaining walls out back and hired all three nephews to pull rocks off the hill and weed. Justin complained but did it, albeit slowly. Asa worked his butt off, being the hardest worker of the three, and Eric was out there for maybe thirty minutes or so and came back in declaring, "I don't do manual labor."

Now, if you knew Eric in his later years, you'd know exactly how damn funny that is. He and Asa visited us quite a bit here in Virginia over the past six years. And true to form with all our other homes, we've worked a lot on this one. Eric and Asa helped to build the pergola over the hot tub, then stain the structure and a bunch of lattice that they hated doing at the time. They replaced boards in our deck and installed new railings as well.

Eric built a fire-pit table we still have and even accidently cut through our cable wire while digging in the backyard.  Those boys were never scared of hard work when they came to see us in their later teen years, and our home is filled with memories of those visits.

How does one say goodbye to a person so young? Honestly, I'm not really sure. Everyone grieves differently, everyone handles death differently—it's a personal thing. Today, I will be joined by dozens, maybe hundreds, who struggle to say goodbye to Eric. None of us will be the same because of his passing.

He was a special young man, full of promise and full of life. He served our country in Iraq and was so well-loved, most of his platoon is making the trip from Texas to Jersey for the services. He struggled with his own personal demons in his teen years, and came out a better person for it. Eric had the creativity and intelligence to go far in life and a depth to his soul that was a beauty to behold.

I'll cherish every moment big and small, and I'm grateful to have had Eric in my life. Eric and I discussed his werewolf character and he sounded excited to see the story unfold. He was proud of his aunt and made me feel like writing a book truly was something special. Parts of him will live on in my series, and I hope you all will enjoy Eric and the adventures I plan for him. And I can guarantee his will be one character that never dies within the pages I write.

Keeping ‘Em Short

An interesting thing happened on the way to this post. I’ve read voraciously my whole life, but I’ve never been much of a fan of the short story form. I don’t know what I was picking up before I started writing fiction but I typically found short story plots underdeveloped, with endings either too abrupt or too open ended for my taste (maybe both).

Recently, I’ve been working on an attitude adjustment. Conventional wisdom suggests that for first-time novelists looking to attract agent or publisher attention, literary credentials such as publishing short stories in magazines and anthologies can help move our queries up in the slush pile.

I do have an idea for a short story that happens to takes place here in Virginia, and while I’m noodling on it, I’ve actively started reading short stories again to better learn the form. Not surprisingly, I’ve had better luck getting into mystery short stories.

Laura Lippman is a new favorite, and her range often surprises me. Her stories can get pretty dark, which catches me off guard for another reason: have you seen the wholesome mugshot of her, with that broad, sunny grin, on the backs of her books? Could she really be writing some of those scary stories?

I’ve also been reading a lot of fellow authors from the Mid-Atlantic area, in particular, a series of anthologies by the Sisters in Crime Chesapeake Chapter, which I recently joined. I’ve greatly enjoyed what I’ve read from their first three collections. Their fourth anthology is out and the big launch party is this weekend (I hope to attend). And guess what? They’re calling for contributions to the fifth one. Only one requirement: the story has to be set in the Mid-Atlantic. Hm, maybe I should stop noodling and start writing?

Maybe you should too? Check out our own upcoming contest:

The Wicked team will be holding a unique contest this month. We’re asking our readers to try their own hand at writing short stories. Entrants submit a non-erotica short story under 3,000 words to wickedwriterz@yahoo.com by April 20th, 2010. First prize is to have your entry critiqued by three members on the team, the story will be posted here on the site, and you’ll be invited to guest blog with us in May! Second prize is a critique by two team members and to also have the story posted here on the site. Third prize will be one critique and an honorable mention.

Does Size Matter?

This week's topic is short stories and we've got author Kerri Nelson (who also writes a YA line under K.G. Summers) here this week as a guest blogger to share her thoughts on the subject. I met this multi-published author this past fall when we were in a not one, but two, contests together. Kerri recently received a contract with a New York publisher from participating in one contest and her future looks brighter by the day. She manages not only her own blog, one designed to give author's sales a boost, but has a side business designing book trailers as well.




So, basically the question is… does size matter?  At least when we are talking about the novel versus the novella, I believe the answer is a resounding “YES”!

What is a novella?

According to Wikipedia, a novella is shorter than a novel but longer than a novelette.  HUH?

In my experience, a novella is typically anywhere from 10,000 words to 40,000 words as a general rule.  Yet, in Young Adult fiction, a 40,000-word manuscript is considered a full length novel in that genre.  Then, a short while back, I pitched a 65,000-word historical manuscript to an agent and she referred to it as a “novella”.  Again, I say “HUH?”

As it turns out, the idea of what makes up a novella is a wide and varied concept in the world of publishing.  I’ve written quite a few novellas and they range in word count from 8,000 words to 25,000 words.

Besides the length, the main difference between my novellas and my novels is the complexity of the plot and the lack of multiple subplots in a novella.

Should you write one?

I, personally, find them incredibly fun to write.  In fact, I’ve already agreed to make several of mine into a continuing series of novellas.  I enjoy writing them because they represent a highly achievable short term goal.  The proverbial light at the end of the tunnel doesn’t seem so far away when you start out knowing that this will be a short story.

Plus, they are in high demand with quite a few e-book publishers.  If you’re new to writing and/or seeking a quicker path to publication—I highly recommend pursuing completion of a novella.

Who wants to read these things anyway?

As a reader, I find that sometimes a simple and satisfying plot is all I need to quench my thirst for a good book.  Let’s face it… with our hectic lives these days… we don’t always have time to read a full-length book.  I find that I can fly through a novella either on my computer or on my e-book reader in record time.

I equate it to having an in between meal snack.  It is a satisfying treat that can hold you over until you can get your next full novel fix!

Who wants to win a copy of one of mine?

Want to try a taste of a short story that I’ve penned for Whispers Publishing?  Today, I’m giving away a copy of my book entitled “The Saucy Celt”.  It is a contemporary romance short set in the majestic Green Isle of Ireland.

I’ll give away a free copy of this novella to one participant today.  All you have to do is leave a question or comment for me here at the blog today AND promise to write me and tell me your honest opinion of the book after you’ve read it!

Thanks to W W and the mega talented, C.J. Ellisson, for hosting my appearance here today.

Thanks for joining us, Kerri. I look forward to watching your progress this coming year and your release of Courting Demons with Dorchester Publishing in 2011!

More about Kerri:

Kerri Nelson has always been passionate about reading books but when she wrote her first poem in the second grade, she discovered her love of writing.  At the age of sixteen, she became a columnist for her local newspaper as the high school correspondent for the weekly "Panther Tales" column.  She won the Outstanding Young Journalist of the Year Award for her efforts.

After an education and career in the legal field, Kerri began to pen romantic suspense novels with a legal or law enforcement theme.  She is a true southern belle and comes complete with her dashing southern gentleman husband and three adorable children.  When she’s not reading or writing, you’ll find her baking homemade goodies for her family, feeding her addiction to blogging online or designing custom made book trailers.  Kerri is an active member of Romance Writers of America as well as numerous Chapters including Gothic Romance Writers,  Futuristic Fantasy & Paranormal, and Celtic Hearts Romance Writers.

Kerri is a multi-published author of romance in every genre from romantic suspense and paranormal to young adult and inspirational novels.  In 2009, Kerri wrote and sold twelve books to multiple publishers using her Book Factory method.  Her latest paranormal romantic suspense “Courting Demons” will release from Dorchester Publishing in 2011.

For the latest news and updates from Kerri, follow her on Twitter here:  http://twitter.com/kerribookwriter




The Wicked team will be holding a unique contest this month. We're asking our readers to try their own hand at short stories.  Entrants submit a non-erotica short story under 3,000 words to wickedwriterz@yahoo.com by April 20th, 2010. First prize is to have your entry critiqued by three members on the team, the story will be posted here on the site, and you'll be invited to guest blog with us in May! Second prize is a critique by two team members and to also have the story posted here on the site. Third prize will be one critique and an honorable mention.

Write on, everyone!