When best-selling writer offers you tips, it's best to listen! .@laratemple1 @rararesources #blogpost #historical #novels #howto #wip #regency #romance #mills&boon

How to: the Anatomy of the Book from Hell

by

Lara Temple

I have just written the book from hell.

It didn’t start out that way. In fact, I’ve had the opening to that book for a while – a perfect beginning three chapters, just waiting for the rest of the story to be written. I was utterly in love with the hero, adored the heroine, and the chemistry between them sizzled. Everything was peachy.

Until I wrote the book.

I know writing is like riding a yoyo between heaven and hell and a ton of drudge work in between – I’m used to that. I even expect the occasional attacks of the “oh-my-God-I-suck-as-an-author-no-one-will-ever-want-to-read-my-books” (usually around the 30,000 and 60,000 words points).

But this was a whole different category of agony. I really wasn’t sure I could save this mess.

Sometimes the smartest thing to do is move on to other projects, let it stew in brain-juice, and take it out again later with clearer perspective. 

But that’s not always possible – what if that is a book you have under contract? What if it’s the next book in your series? Time, stewing, and writing other, more enjoyable projects can be luxuries you can’t afford. That was my case at the time.

So - how do you fix a broken book without breaking down yourself?

I’ve just been down this very rough road and frankly I could write a dissertation about what went wrong and what I did to get out of my personal Pit of Despair. But here I’ll touch on one ‘Do’ which is also a ‘Don’t’: Know your limits! 

My first mistake was to think I was superwoman. 

I have young kids and another, non-writing job, and though I love writing, I have limited time to do it. Usually I do one book at a time (though I always have various drafts at different stages, but only one main commitment). 

This time I made the mistake of accepting another book under contract just as I was picking up steam on this book (NewBook was due two months before OldBook). That’s not necessarily a mistake – it was a great opportunity to join a series with authors I love and NewBook did eventually write itself so easily I was deceived into thinking I was actually quite good at exponential multi-tasking. And so Superwoman was lulled into thinking she could do it all. 

But!

But once NewBook was done I picked up OldBook and looked at the calendar. Two months to deadline. One month to end of school term. Meanwhile, I’d become wholly committed to NewBook and lost touch with OldBook’s story, characters, and world. 

For a moment Cautiouswoman piped up: maybe you should renegotiate that deadline before you hit it? But Superwoman, like the captain on the Titanic, elbowed Cautiouswoman off the deck: ‘that tiny little ice-cube on the horizon? Not a problem! I’ll plough right through it!’

So I blazed ahead. I wrote the heck out of that story but still missed my deadline (my first time ever) which only added to my superwoman stress. So when my editor came back with a very valid critique I didn’t pause to breathe – I ripped that story up by the foundations, I hacked it to pieces and glued them together, adding on new, better, brighter. 

Needless to say, the end result wasn’t much better.

I won’t take you through the two hellish revision stages as Superwoman reigned supreme until I realized I was going at this the wrong way. 

When I did I took a mini break from banging my head against the wall. 

First, I admitted – I’d failed. Missed my deadline, ruined a perfectly good story, been stubborn and arrogant and made things worse.

Then, instead of cutting into that poor abused story once more, I went for a few long walks which I spend chatting with my characters – I tried to see the story from their perspective, not from the perspective of an author with a deadline-gun to her head. I asked them what wasn’t working for them and found three things that were stuck in the story’s throat. Unfortunately, two of those things were otherwise parts of the story that I loved. 

But this time instead of trying to save them while everything around me sank – I removed those beloved but unnecessary plot lines and suddenly the story could breathe. And so did my characters. They came together and took centre stage and…it worked. 

I am absolutely certain there will be other books from hell in my future. I think it is part of the creative process – to hit walls, to make (big) mistakes, to have flops. We are spinning worlds out of nothing more than electrical and chemical surges in our brains and that is as amazing as it gets. So of course things go wrong. 

But if there is one thing I’ve learned from this book that went from heaven to (several) hells and settled somewhere in the middle which is where books should be, it is – be kind (to yourself). That means knowing your limits, either beforehand or during a project. 

And when you recognize them, admit to them and ask for help – from your editor, your family, your friends, and from colleagues. I’m lousy at asking for help and recognizing approaching icebergs, but hopefully next time Superwoman will learn to partner with Cautiouswoman.

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  The Earl's Irresistible Challenge

Could this infamous rake finally have found his countess?
Part of The Sinful Sinclairs.

Buy NOW!

When Lucas, Lord Sinclair, receives a mysterious summons from a Miss Olivia Silverdale he’s skeptical about whether he can help her. But Olivia, although eccentric, is in earnest about her quest to restore her late godfather’s reputation. Lucas’s curiosity is piqued, and not just by Olivia’s intelligent eyes and lithe form. 

A new challenge quickly presents itself: keeping Miss Silverdale at arm’s length!

About the author

Lara Temple writes strong, sexy Regency romances about complex individuals who give no quarter but do so with plenty of passion. After moving around the world for her career as a financial analyst and business consultant she returned to her childhood love of making up stories, and was surprised to discover that other people don’t mind reading them.

She lives with her husband and two children who are very good about her taking over the kitchen table for her writing (so she can look out over the garden and dream while Oscar the dog keeps her feet warm by sitting on them as she works).

The Earl’s Irresistible Challenge (out December 2018) is the first in her Sinful Sinclair series. In May 2019 Unlaced by the Highland Duke, part of a four book series with three other Harlequin Mills and Boon authors will be released.

Giveaway – Win 5 x e-copies of The Earl’s Irresistible Challenge (Open INT)

*Terms and Conditions –Worldwide entries welcome.  Please enter using the Rafflecopter box below.  The winner will be selected at random via Rafflecopter from all valid entries and will be notified by Twitter and/or email. If no response is received within 7 days then Rachel’s Random Resources reserves the right to select an alternative winner. Open to all entrants aged 18 or over.  Any personal data given as part of the competition entry is used for this purpose only and will not be shared with third parties, with the exception of the winners’ information. This will passed to the giveaway organiser and used only for fulfilment of the prize, after which time Rachel’s Random Resources will delete the data.  I am not responsible for despatch or delivery of the prize.

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Why do professional writers shy away from Twitter...

and other on-line communities? Unfortunately they won't be able to read this because they "don't do blogs", but Sara Sheridan is here to share her thoughts on the matter. 

My digital journey

by

Sara Sheridan

"Intelligent, accessible writing"

I’m an historical novelist – there are few jobs more retrospective. I dumped science at an early age. I expect that initially my interest and indeed patience for Twitter, blogs and html came from the fact I live with the Greatest Geek alive. So enormously scientific and complex is his day-to-day job that I still don’t really understand what he does. Suffice to say it’s something that enables 30 million users to simultaneously log onto a website without it crashing. Before I met the Greatest Geek I avoided technology and only adopted what my more savvy friends had road-tested and recommended. I was the last to get an email account in the late 1990s, the last to indulge in online shopping and I still sport a brick of a mobile phone rather than a flash Android or iPhone (this last because one of the prerequisites for my mobile phone is that I have to be able to fling it at a wall if I lose my temper). However, I’m a professional writer and I consider it part of my job to publicise my work and these days part of that job is done online.

I was reluctant. The Greatest Geek poured me a whisky and sat me down and said he’d help, but that this was my job and I’d have to do most of it myself (his time being taken up with the 30 million users). I started by building a website for my work on Google Sites and soon I was clicking the html button with aplomb and could understand enough to delete rogue lines or alter links. Then, on a trip to London I was introduced to someone in the digital marketing department at HarperCollins who told me I ought to try Twitter. My soul rebelled. This wasn’t my thing. No way. But I started - tentatively at first, and then surprisingly, I found I really enjoyed it. Writers don’t get to meet readers very often and when they do it’s only for a short time (after a book festival or library event, for example). On Twitter, people who had read my book followed me and I could see what else they were reading, why they’d liked what I’d written and by the by, more about them than I’d ever elicit from two minutes in a tent at a book festival, stuck at a signing desk. It was fascinating.

Next I started following and being followed by librarians and archivists, schoolteachers, events organisers, writers, bookshops, agents and publishers. A whole network was opening up. People were interested and fun and generous. I was offered a couple of event slots and the opportunity to write for a magazine. A famous writer to whom I got chatting gave me career advice. Then I decided I’d try blogging and wrote (non historical pieces) for other people’s blogs rather than starting one of my own. The response was wonderful – people got back in numbers and told me what they thought – not something that happens when you’re writing a story based in 1840s China or Arabia.

After that, I tried Facebook (which didn’t really suit me as it has a bias towards personal rather than professional data) but unperturbed I continued to blog occasionally, to tweet and also administer my own website. I joined Linkedin (to which events professionals seemed to respond) and bought a Kindle (which I love) Then people, or rather, festivals asked me to come to talk about it. And there, I think, was where I became an evangelist. I was in a book festival green room surrounded by luminaries when I first realised there was a huge split in the writing community. I asked if anyone else was on Twitter – in fact, you’d have thought I’d asked if anyone else had recently stabbed their kids in the heart. It just poured out. Writers who’d seemed retiring and quite reasonable started to hiss about intrusion of privacy and the importance of paper books and how un-green it was to sport a Kindle. What, I asked, innocently, less green than felling trees like billy-o, transporting them all over the place and then pulping 40% of them? Privacy? Is anyone asking you to blog or tweet or even facebook (if you must) your personal life? This is about reading and books – it’s an interesting way to meet people and share information.

‘What do you tweet?’ one eminent writer sneered. ‘Do you tell the world whenever you’ve had a scone?’

‘Nope. Just when I’m off at a book festival or reading something interesting,’ I told him. ‘It’s a great way to meet readers and they’ve all been so nice.’

This buttered no parsnips. One or two people said they simply didn’t have time for ‘that kind of thing’. These are people who would have dropped everything to do a newspaper interview or appear on radio. People who complained that their readership was falling and their publishing contracts were not being renewed. Even people whose readership was in the 12-16 age group, who (as yet) didn’t have a website despite the fact that kids of that age are enormously active online. One woman texted her daughter every five minutes whilst saying she had no time to write an 140 character tweet (lady, it’s the same thing). It was simply odd. Other writers and book trade professionals who were taking part in the social media revolution were, like me, bemused. Then some weeks later, I was verbally attacked at a public event by a writer who was mortally offended that I’d suggested she give it a shot (at worst you might not like it, at best it could revolutionise the way you work, I’d said. She hadn’t taken it well.)

These days, to be honest, as a result of that experience, I never evangelise unbidden though I am increasingly being booked for festival and writers’ groups events to talk about my experiences online. I tend not to argue with writers who put up a barrage about how impossible it would be for them to have a website or start a twitter account or a facebook fanpage. It makes me sad that these are writers – professional communicators – who are shying away from a medium that is crying out for their skills and demonstrably is the best way to communicate with a wide readership.

Most of all this is an era where our digital rights are being defined and because so many writers consider it beneath them, many important issues are not being considered and decided by writers themselves but by the digital operations departments of major publishing houses, online booksellers and other corporate entities. I am not thinking only of digital copyright – Net Neutrality is probably the most vital issue for freedom of speech online and should be at the top of any writer’s agenda. Most don’t even know what that means (it’s that the fastest broadband speeds might be chargeable at a rate well beyond small scale bloggers or individuals). If net neutrality is abandoned, individual voices will download so slowly that they would be unheard. This has huge implications for writers, yet in the writing community net neutrality is largely unspoken. The net has provided a level playing field for criticism and comment – anyone and everyone is entitled to their opinion – and that is one of its greatest strengths. We’re all (quite rightly) demonstrating about library closures but I worry that at this critical time in our history that many people are thrusting their heads into the sand rather than opening their eyes to what is happening – both in terms of opportunity and possibility and the actual structure that will contain us as an online community if we allow it to do so.

I didn’t expect to love being online as much as I do. I’ve met some wonderful people and discovered that however arcane some of my interests that there are people out there who are interested too. It’s also been a lesson in what my readership do and don’t like and what does and doesn’t work in terms of promoting my work. And best of all I’ve made some friends.

Sara Sheridan was born in Edinburgh and started writing full time in 1998 and the novel Truth or Dare was published. Sara is an active member of the Society of Authors and a supporter of the Scottish Book Trust. She has also co-written two short films, Fish Supper and The Window Bed in 2000, and ghost written many novels. In 2009 she turned to historical fiction with The Secret Mandarin. Early this year  Secret of the Sands, described as a sweeping epic novel, was published, and her children's book, I'm Me! will be out March 201.

Contact Sara:
http://www.sarasheridan.com/
Twitter: @sarasheridan
Amazon for Secret of the Sands
And here for I'm Me! at Amazon

She was a slave. He was her master. Both of them long to be free! 1833 -- The British Navy are conducting a survey of the Arabian Peninsula where slavery is as rife as ever despite being abolition. Zena, a headstrong and determined young Abyssinian beauty has been torn from her remote village, subjected to a tortuous journey and is now being offered for sale in the market of Muscat. Lieutenant James Wellstead is determined that his time aboard HMS Palinurus will be the conduit to fame and fortune. However, all his plans are thrown into disarray when two of his fellow officers go missing while gathering intelligence in the desert. By an unexpected twist of fate -- Zena finds herself the property of Wellstead, now on a daring rescue mission into forbidding territory. Master and slave are drawn ever closer, but as danger faces them at every turn, they must endure heartache and uncertainty -- neither of them knowing what fortune awaits them as they make their hazardous way through the shifting sands. A rich and epic novel that will appeal to fans of The Pirate's Daughter and East of the Sun.

I'm not a princess, a pirate or a witch! I'M ME! Grown ups. Lovely Aunt Sara can pretend all she wants but Imogen doesn't want to be a princess, a pirate or a witch. Not today. She wants to go to the park with her aunt and play with a ball, swing higher than a tree and eat ice-cream. And why not? This book is perfect for children who know their own minds \-and grown-ups who think they don't.

A History Lesson from the 1500s

Here's a history lesson I'd like to share with you. I'm not sure who the author of this is, or even if it's true! But it's interesting all the same.

The next time you are washing your hands and complain because the water temperature isn't just how you like it, think about how things used to be. Here are some facts about the 1500s:

They used to use urine to tan animal skins, so families used to all pee in a pot and then once a day it was taken and sold to the tannery.- if you had to do this to survive you were "Piss Poor". But worse than that were the really poor folk who couldn't even afford to buy a pot. They "didn't have a pot to piss in" and were the lowest of the low.

Most people got married in June because they took their yearly bath in May, and they still smelled pretty good by June. However, since they were starting to smell, brides carried a bouquet of flowers to hide the body odour - hence the custom today of carrying a bouquet when getting married.

Baths consisted of a big tub filled with hot water. The man of the house had the privilege of the nice clean water, then all the other sons and men, then the women and finally the children and last of all the babies. By then the water was so dirty you could actually lose someone in it. Hence the saying, "Don't throw the baby out with the Bath water!"

Houses had thatched roofs,-thick straw-piled high, with no wood underneath. It was the only place for animals to get warm, so all the cats and other small animals (mice, bugs) lived in the roof. When it rained it became slippery and sometimes the animals would slip and fall off the roof. Hence the saying "It's raining cats and dogs." There was nothing to stop things from falling into the house. This posed a real problem in the bedroom where bugs and other droppings could mess up your nice clean bed. Hence, a bed with big posts and a sheet hung over the top afforded some protection. That's how canopy beds came into existence.

The floor was dirt. Only the wealthy had something other than dirt - hence the saying "Dirt poor." The wealthy had slate floors that would get slippery in the winter when wet, so they spread thresh (straw) on floor to help keep their footing. As the winter wore on, they added more thresh until, when you opened the door, it would all start slipping outside. A piece of wood was placed in the entrance-way. Hence: a threshold.

In those old days, they cooked in the kitchen with a big kettle that always hung over the fire. Every day they lit the fire and added things to the pot. They ate mostly vegetables and did not get much meat. They would eat the stew for dinner, leaving leftovers in the pot to get cold overnight and then start over the next day. Sometimes stew had food in it that had been there for quite a while. Hence the rhyme: Peas porridge hot, peas porridge cold, peas porridge in the pot nine days old. Ugh!

Sometimes they could obtain pork, which made them feel quite special. When visitors came over, they would hang up their bacon to show off. It was a sign of wealth that a man could, "bring home the bacon." They would cut off a little to share with guests and would all sit around and chew the fat.

Those with money had plates made of pewter. Food with high acid content caused some of the lead to leach onto the food, causing lead poisoning death. This happened most often with tomatoes, so for the next 400 years or so, tomatoes were considered poisonous.

Bread was divided according to status. Workers got the burnt bottom of the loaf, the family got the middle, and guests got the top, or the upper crust.

Lead cups were used to drink ale or whisky. The combination would sometimes knock the imbibers out for a couple of days. Someone walking along the road would take them for dead and prepare them for burial. They were laid out on the kitchen table for a couple of days and the family would gather around and eat and drink and wait and see if they would wake up. Hence the custom of holding a wake.

England is old and small and the local folks started running out of places to bury people. So they would dig up coffins and would take the bones to a bone-house, and reuse the grave. When reopening these coffins, 1 out of 25 coffins were found to have scratch marks on the inside – they realized they had been burying people alive. So they would tie a string on the wrist of the corpse, lead it through the coffin and up through the ground and tie it to a bell. Someone would have to sit out in the graveyard all night (the graveyard shift.) to listen for the bell; thus, someone could be, saved by the bell or was considered a dead ringer.

Lily of the Nile

By

Stephanie Dray

With her parents dead, the daughter of Cleopatra and Mark Antony is left at the mercy of her Roman captors. Heir to one empire and prisoner of another, it falls to Princess Selene to save her brothers and reclaim what is rightfully hers…

In the aftermath of Alexandria’s tragic fall, Princess Selene is taken from Egypt, the only home she’s ever known. Along with her two surviving brothers, she’s put on display as a war trophy in Rome. Selene’s captors mock her royalty and drag her through the streets in chains, but on the brink of death, the children are spared as a favor to the emperor’s sister, who takes them to live as hostages in the so-called lamentable embassy of royal orphans…

Now trapped in a Roman court of intrigue that reviles her heritage and suspects her faith, Selene can’t hide the hieroglyphics that carve themselves into her flesh. Nor can she stop the emperor from using her for his own political ends. But faced with a new and ruthless Caesar who is obsessed with having a Cleopatra of his very own, Selene is determined honor her mother’s lost legacy. The magic of Egypt and Isis remain within her. But can she succeed where her mother failed? And what will it cost her in a political game where the only rule is win or die?

MRS. LIEUTENANT: A Sharon Gold Novel

BY

 Phyllis Zimbler Miller

They had their whole lives to look forward to if only their husbands could survive Vietnam. In the spring of 1970 - right after the Kent State National Guard shootings and President Nixon's two-month incursion into Cambodia - four newly married young women come together at Ft. Knox, Kentucky, when their husbands go on active duty as officers in the U.S. Army. Different as these four women are, they have one thing in common: Their overwhelming fear that, right after these nine weeks of training, their husbands could be shipped out to Vietnam - and they could become war widows. Sharon is a Northern Jewish anti-war protester who fell in love with an ROTC cadet; Kim is a Southern Baptist whose husband is intensely jealous; Donna is a Puerto Rican who grew up in an enlisted man's family; and Wendy is a Southern black whose parents have sheltered her from the brutal reality of racism in America. Read MRS. LIEUTENANT to discover what happens as these women overcome their prejudices, reveal their darkest secrets, and are initiated into their new lives as army officers' wives during the turbulent Vietnam War period.

Is Mrs Lieutenant your debut novel?

“Mrs. Lieutenant” is the only published novel I’ve written. I self-published it at the time that it was named an Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award semi-finalist. (Many years ago I wrote a series of mystery novels that my agent couldn’t sell.) And I have just self-published “Four Comedy Screenplays” – two of which I wrote with my husband Mitchell R. Miller and two I wrote myself. I self-published in April of 2008 (see http://www.mrslieutenant.com/ ) and I wish I knew then what I know now about social media. This is why I often write book marketing posts -- to help other authors.

Can you tell us a little about Mrs Lieutenant?

The novel is based on the experiences I had as a new Mrs. Lieutenant at Ft. Knox, Kentucky, in the spring of 1970 during the Vietnam War. I’ve mashed together people from that time and other times to create the fictional characters.

Mrs Lieutenant is a fictional story based on a real event – the Vietnam war – yet you proclaim to be anti-war so why write about a war that happened forty years ago?

I am not anti-war; my fictional character Sharon Gold starts out as an anti-war protester. And although she is the novel’s character most like me, I am an active online supporter of our U.S. troops today.

I wrote the novel to preserve a very specific slice of women’s social history at the beginning of the women’s liberation movement in the U.S.

How does it compare with other novels in its genre?

I tried to make my novel very realistic in order to give readers a better understanding of military life. And I told the story from the point of view of four young women in order to avoid a single perspective.

Margaret Tanner, Australian Historical Romance

Frontier Wife

by

Margaret Tanner 

Only in the new world can a highborn young Englishwoman and a tough frontier man, ignite the passion that will fulfil their hopes and dreams in ways they never imagined possible.

Tommy Lindsay arrives in colonial Australia to claim the rundown farm she and her brothers have inherited.

Hidden behind her fragile English rose beauty, beats the heart of a courageous young woman. She will need all this strength to survive the unforgiving heat, and the dangers lurking around every corner. Lost in the bush, capture by a feral mountain family, raging bushfires are nothing, compared to the danger she faces if she gives her heart to Adam Munro.

Adam Munro, a rugged frontier man, has no room in his heart to love a woman. All he ever wanted was a presentable wife who would provide him with heirs. He didn’t need passion in his life, not until he met the beautiful English rose living next door to him.

About the author:
Margaret Tanner is an award winning multi-published Australian author. She loves delving into the pages of history as she carries out research for her historical romance novels, and prides herself on being historically correct. No book is too old or tattered for her to trawl through, no museum too dusty. Many of her novels have been inspired by true events, with one being written around the hardships and triumphs of her pioneering ancestors in frontier Australia. She once spent a couple of hours in an old goal cell so she could feel the chilling cold and fear.

Things you probably don't know about Margaret Tanner:

• Her favourite historical period is the 1st World War, and she has visited the battlefields of Gallipoli, France and Belgium, a truly poignant experience.
• Margaret is a member of the Romance Writers of Australia, the Melbourne Romance Writers Group (MRWG) and EPIC.
• She won the 2007 Author of the Year at AussieAuthors.com. She also won it for a 2nd time in 2010.  
• Margaret has two publishers. Whiskey Creek Press and The Wild Rose Press.  
• Margaret is married and has three grown up sons, and a gorgeous little granddaughter.
• Outside of her family and friends, writing is her passion.

Torc of Moonlight by Linda Acaster, plus her thoughts on POD and ebooks.

Torc of Moonlight by Linda Acaster

Cross-Genres Embracing New Technology

Linda Acaster is a three-times mainstream published novelist and writer of over 70 short stories covering an array of genres published in the UK, USA and Europe. Her latest novel, Torc of Moonlight, she indie authored as a POD paperback, and has subsequently published two of her rights-reverted backlist novels as ebooks. I asked for her thoughts of the process of becoming a POD and an ebook author:

Torc of Moonlight is a contemporary thriller with supernatural overtones, what my past agent and various publishers’ editors described as a cross-genre novel. No matter how they applauded the writing, it wasn’t going to find a UK publisher because it didn’t fall neatly into one of the industry’s pigeonholes. Such is life for the UK writer. Writers in the USA don’t have this problem. Cross-genres are embraced by a plethora of publishers, large and small, with the best novels coming across to the UK under licence and given the sort of publicity budget and self space that leaves Brit writers breathless.

But new technology is starting to level the playing field. Print On Demand paperbacks have been around for a while, but like all new technology its costs were high. In 2008 the first of the lo-cost POD publishers started up, and in 2009 Legend Press opened a POD arm, New Generation Publishing. Torc of Moonlight was sitting in a drawer, so I submitted it.

Lo-cost POD publishers work by leaving typesetting and editing to the author. They claw back their investment when a novel sells, much the same way as does a mainstream publisher, and the royalties paid to authors are similar. ‘Typesetting’ is simply a case of following instructions. Editing is a whole different matter and why self-published fiction, either as POD or ebooks, is still fighting suspicion.

I’m lucky in having a lot of experience in this field, and in being a member of a local authors’ support group which pulls no punches. However, there’s little excuse for any writer being slap-dash – it’s all down to a careful eye during proofreading. But if your writing skills are in the early-medium stages of development it could save a lot of heartache later to pay for an analysis now. No editor can make a silk purse from a sow’s ear, so handing over a full script for ‘editing’ can be an expensive flop. Sending the first 50 pages for a critique, rather than an edit, will show up flaws, and armed with that knowledge a novelist is in a better position to make future decisions. Websites such as Authonomy.com offer something similar via peer evaluation, but your writing might be at the mercy of a peer at the same stage as yourself. As a first step, though, what is there to lose?

The Hunted of 2060

by

Ami Blackwelder

America 2060

Three Lovers. Two Species. One Way to Survive

Set in Alaska in 2060, when April enters her Sophomore year at University, she thought Robert might be the love of her life, but as she discovers, she is hiding something inside her, something the rest of the world believes to have died out. She struggles with who she was and who she is becoming as she learns of a family she never knew existed and of enemies she will have to outrun, outfight or outwit to survive. As April embraces her new identity, will she have to leave the life she loves behind?

Tell us about The Hunted of 2060
Summary: Set in Alaska in 2060, when April enters her sophomore year at University, she thought Robert might be the love of her life, but as she discovers, she is hiding something inside her, something the rest of the world believes to have died out. She struggles with who she was and who she is becoming as she learns of a family she never knew existed and of enemies she will have to outrun, outfight or outwit to survive. As April embraces her new identity, will she have to leave the life she loves behind?


With underlining themes of how prejudice breaks human connections and animal/wildlife conservation, this novel which has received rave reviews will leave the reader flipping through the pages of April’s story.)


How long did it take to write the book?
I began writing it in March of 2010 and began professional editing in June 2010. About 3 months to write and 1 month to edit.

And what inspired you?
While in Thailand teaching Kindergarten I had a vision of a woman who could transform into an animal and thought what a fun idea.


Talk about the writing process. Did you have a writing routine? Did you do any research, and if so, what did that involve?
I write novels from passion. If I love the idea, I will write the story! A few main characters come quickly to mind as they develop throughout the writing process. Other characters usually easily emerge later...the beginning and ending are usually clear, but sometimes the ending is blurred until I approach it. The bulk of the story forms when I take the journey with my characters and allow them to make it their own story. Writers can't force a story for characters. I usually have to research a bit when writing paranormal and when writing historical I research constantly. When writing my novel The Day the Flowers Died set in 1930 Munich, I used YouTube for videos of that time period for music, sound, place and to set me in the right frame of mind.


What do you hope your readers come away with after reading your book?
A sense of appreciation for the wildlife and forests on earth and a better idea of how prejudice can lead to cruel and unnecessary consequences. I hope my readers are entertained while learning. All of my novels have something to teach, but are also very entertaining.

Any other links or info you'd like to share?
http://paranormalromancereades.blogspot.com/
http://paranormalromance.ning.com/
http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000483080700 these are three great sites to gather information about The Hunted of 2060 as well as learn more about me and other paranormal authors.



 

Excerpt from The Hunted of 2060

At my apartment I thought I was safe from it, from myself, but my arms began to itch. I scratched. The tingling returned. I knew what to expect — sharp, intense pain. Unbearable. I threw myself onto my oversized bed propped up on steel bars and held myself. My hands clasped my shoulder bones. My head pushed into the pillows. My teeth gritted into the sheets. My fingers raked my skin as if I were an addict in need of another fix. My body shook with convulsions. My eyes shut. Instinctual, not of volition. It will pass.

A sound bellowed from my lips, a sound I’d never heard before tonight. I curled up like a baby in need of her mother and let the aching pass. It always passes. It always takes too long. Every minute felt like forever. I need him. I need him to help me get through this. When the violence inside my body soothed, I called him on my phone. He will come. He always comes.

The knock at my door drew me from my bed and to him in one fluid motion. He stood at my doorway with an orange tulip in his hands, my favorite. But I didn’t even have time to thank him for his thoughtfulness. My pain needed his comfort. My mind needed his words. My body needed his touch. He hurried through my door to the foot of the bed. He sat in his dark blue jeans, still wearing his crimson sweater. Too desperate for games, I just told him the truth.

‘I need you.’ The words flowed so easily. He drew close to me and I rested my weary head on his chest. The chill from his skin cooled my warm temperature.

‘What happened?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Tell me where you hurt. Let me help you.’ The fine lines breaking in his forehead revealed his fear for me.

‘Everywhere,’ I grimaced.

‘Tell me what to do.’ The longing in his words mirrored the longing in his heart. He wanted more from me than I could give him right now.

‘Nothing,’ I said shortly, looked up into his pleading blue eyes and then gave him just an inch of what I knew he wanted. ‘Just be here.’

He smiled and didn’t question me more about it. Robert had seen me hurt before, twice, and learned not to ask me questions. They brought out the agitation in me. With his lips closed, his gentle hands took care of me. I abhorred hospitals. He held me in his embrace. His heart beat fast, too fast. I heard it too well, better than I should.

Never mind. He’s here with me now. Everything will be fine.

I rested on his chest, wrapped up in his arms, his large toned arms. He fell asleep, peaceful. I never sleep so still. Every sound, every motion usually kept me awake. But with him near me, I slept soundly.

* * *

I covered my eyes in the bright daylight at first. We strolled out of my apartment and down the block over the chipped sidewalks. The sky cars in various metallic colors flew past us like birds overhead. Their revving sounded like whistles blowing. The black apartment walls stayed in the shadows of the day and the windows glowed in fluorescent lights laced around their borders.

The electrical newspapers beamed in and out against the shop walls and displayed current events. America clones President Strossey in an attempt to derail assassination attempts. The news faded out while the next page faded in. A trip to Mars is scheduled for next weekend: September 14th, 2060. NASA says the highly anticipated Anti-Matter Propulsion is ready to use for distant travel. On the next slide of news, another space-related event emerged onto the screen. The RAM Jet Fusion Engine will reach the Space Walker today to transport food and water to the Moon Station. Go Green, Go Hydrogen!

The gray clouds rolled in like a tumultuous sea about to storm. The thunder crackled and a few rain pellets began to fall. Robert took out his compact umbrella stashed inside of his front jean pocket. He wrapped his hand around the miniature, rectangular tool and hit the silver button with his forefinger. The shape of the umbrella unfolded around us and clicked into place. People on the busy streets brushed past us in dark raincoats and silver radiated umbrellas. The silver color lit up against the lightning. I wrapped my arm around Robert’s and fastened my other hand over my waist.

‘Are you…’ He stopped his sentence. I knew what he wanted to ask, …alright today? He knew I didn’t enjoy those questions. He cleared his throat, ‘…hungry?’ I smiled at him and shifted my eyes to the chipped sidewalk like a coy animal.

‘Sure, I could eat something.’ In truth, I was famished. I hadn’t eaten dinner last night even though I’d been feeling more hungry than usual.

‘Where would you like to eat? We have the whole day to ourselves.’ His strong blue eyes shone lighter than the sky. ‘Thank God for Saturdays,’ he smirked with a scar over his wrinkled chin from playing hockey. We ambled to the end of the sidewalk. A sky car slowed down, dropping out of the sky in front of us. Its wheels, in mechanical precision, lowered out of its body and hit the aluminum street. The car’s angular tip and short rounded frame propelled down the road and disappeared after turning a corner.

‘We could eat at Uro’s Deli,’,I suggested. ‘I’m craving a roast beef sub.’

‘Uro’s it is.’

The silver, black and white checkered walls of the deli stood out between two buildings. The low brick building to the left reminded everyone of designs long gone. The spiraling crisp white tower to the right reached into the clouds. Music somewhere between disco and techno permeated Uro’s (a name based on the monetary exchange of America since 2025) and the sounds seeped out the deli door and onto the city as we approached.

Robert pointed to the spiraling tower with his forefinger. ‘I would’ve positioned the base more to the left and the tip more to the right, placing the spiral off center.’

‘Crooked?’ I arched a brow. He loved architecture, he studied architecture, but his ideas could be grandeur.

‘Interesting,’ he corrected. I grinned. Robert tripped over cement on the other side of the street.

‘Damn sidewalks. Do you know when they’re going to rebuild them?’ he asked, agitated. I don’t have answers. I can only think of my own pain. I can think of nothing else.

‘No.’ I walked ahead toward the door.

‘They’d better reconstruct them with nano-ceramic soon before someone gets seriously hurt.’ He followed. The entire city began to look like one large piece of nano-material, a substance that wouldn’t bend or break in chaotic weather or over extended periods of time.

Robert sat across from me in the oversized black booth with his concentrated expression. We punched our orders into the Electric Order Form, an efficient device, much like the internet fifty years ago. Square, about the size of a book, it fit into the table on each side near the end. It eliminated the need of waiters.

Robert fiddled with his projection watch. He looked like a budding professor playing with the technology in his hands. Despite his strong body and model-like appearance, he maintained a 3.5 GPA and tutored some of his buddies on the hockey team. He hit the silver button on his watch and the hologram of our Biology textbook appeared over the table. He clicked the arrow button and it turned page after page until he stopped at page ten.

I brushed my onyx hair away from my face. ‘You want to show me something?’ I placed my elbows on the table and nestled my head in my left hand. My palm cupped my chin and my hazel eyes shot up at him.

‘I forgot to mention, Mr. Crougar said this was going to be on the quiz Monday.’

Monday? I can’t even think about tomorrow. I have to take this one day at a time…whatever ‘this’ is.

I nodded like I cared about a quiz, like I wasn’t thinking about something else over every word he read. He hit the arrow button again and the page turned. As he finished highlighting the important parts, the Intelligent Service Robot, dressed in the deli uniform of silver, black and white checkered shirt and pants, carried our orders on its metallic arms. Its back squeaked as it bent over to place our plates before us.

‘Do you ever miss it?’ I said in almost a whisper to Robert.

‘Miss what?’

‘Actual people serving food?’ The ISRs were manufactured and found in every business by 2050 and in most homes by 2055. They brought a great relief to the extra workloads carried by most people, but they also took away many jobs. People were angry at first, until new employment opportunities for the manufacturing and upkeep of the ISRs became available.

‘Sometimes.’ Robert winked and began to eat his chili sandwich, one of his favorites at the deli. The smell of roast beef spun my head in a dizzy frenzy and I began to feel the aches in my bones again.

All I can think about is the meat.

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Ami Rebecca Blackwelder is a forbidden romance writer in the paranormal and historical romance genre. Her unique experiences from travels in Asia for eight years allows her an original perspective and a plethora of ideas to entertain readers. She graduated from UCF with a BA in English and published her first work after winning the best Fiction of 1997 at UCF and subsequently achieving the semi-finals in Laurel Hemingway Short Story contest of that same year.

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While religious and social differences weigh heavily on their families in an increasingly tense Germany, the lovers remain unadulterated in spite of the prejudices. After overcoming family issues and social pressures, the two must sustain under a growing violent governmental regime. When the Nazi party heightens in popularity and the partys ideas influence law, they must face the harsh reality of life and death.

Rain

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Rain is a highly advanced genetically engineered woman designed by the future corrupt government of 2100. She has dreams who remind her of who she really is and decides to go rogue and take the government down.

 

 

The Gate of Lake Forest

Within the small town of Green Mountain Falls, Colorado, there exists a quiet forest where a world undiscovered awaits. When soccer player, Michael Cole, of high school Green Mountain Falls sees the new girl Evelyn walk into his senior English class, he is forever changed.

His passion for her draws him deep into her heart and deep into her mystical world. Will their forbidden love be able to sustain them as their separate worlds collide, and Evelyn and Michael journey into magical adventurous and perilous realms where dangerous creatures are determined to defeat them?

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