Sneak Peak Sunday: A Hero's Spark

Good afternoon!

My release of the third and final book in my Wicked Women series will soon be upon us so I wanted to make an announcement before "A Hero's Spark" actually hits the web.

I will be pulling all of my other work from other sites and offering it exclusively on Amazon.

This is a marketing strategy I'm trying based on a couple things I've noticed:  1) I haven't sold anything to a Nook reader in more than a year.  2)  Sony just closed it's e-reader store. 3)  Other authors I know have done this and been able to make Amazon Kindle Select work to their advantage.

The truth of the matter is, while I write to tell stories, I need people to actually read those stories, and right now having my books available everywhere doesn't seem to get reaching anyone.

If you are a Nook user, you can still purchase all my novels by clicking here.  If you want the Elsie books, you can purchase those by clicking here.  This change will happen very soon, possibly in the next couple days.

Meanwhile, "A Hero's Spark" is happening this week.  To get you excited for the release, I'm sharing a tiny bit with you today!  Enjoy!

“What is your deal?” Mira stopped playing and stared at him. “You are really off beat today and not in a good way.”

            “Yeah, well, I sound like you look.” Collier wanted to bite back the words immediately. It was clear Mira had lost more weight in spite of their nightly trips to Dave’s for burgers and cheese fries. While she’d always been thin, she’d always seemed vibrant, like some internal furnace burned hot. Today, Collier noticed, she shivered even though she was wrapped in a turtleneck, a sweatshirt, and a heavy cardigan sweater. There were dark rings under her eyes.

            “My one bad hair day is not going to ruin this chance for me. But, your weak excuse for talent will, so either use whatever drama you’ve got rolling in your head to finish this song, or push it out of the way.”

            Her argumentative tone irritated him. “You’d be the one who knows about drama. You create plenty for yourself.”

            She put her guitar in the case. “And now we’re done.”

            Collier shook his head, weeks of pent animosity bubbling to the surface. “Sure, go ahead. Run away like you always do. You pretend to be grown up, but then you run away any time anyone confronts you.”

            Mira closed the guitar case and hoisted it off the floor. The effort, Collier noted, was a mighty one, as if the guitar weighed more than she did. “I don’t have to listen to this from someone who’s never had to live in the real world.”

            “Like you know anything about me.”

            Mira’s laugh was short, and mocking. “Please. You weren’t in Rock Harbor ten days before everyone knew everything about you. And now here you are, playing the part of a struggling musician, cooking for Dave a couple nights a week, looking all artsy and sad.”

            “And what’s wrong with any of that?”

            “It’s crap. It’s not true.” She rested the case on the floor and leaned against the piano.

            “How would you figure that?”

            “Really? We’re going to do this now?” She gave him an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. You’ve got a sob story about how your world fell in on you,” her eyes flashed with fury, “and it’s all bull because reality is you have a rich uncle who is tight with Shara. Your life is a golden ticket and you’re too busy wallowing in some misery you made up to acknowledge what a freaking gift your life is compared to most people.”

            Collier slammed the piano cover closed and swung a leg over the bench to face her. “Oh, really? You’re one to talk. You grew up in the biggest house in town, and then you moved to a state senator’s house. Next I hear you’ll be riding your sister’s checkbook to the governor’s mansion. I’m pretending? You’re a twenty-eight-year old spoiled brat pretending you have so much to overcome when what you’ve managed to do every time someone challenges you to be better is beat them over the head with your silver spoon.”

            “You don’t get to judge me.” Mira’s eyes narrowed as she set her jaw. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

            “Oh, no, Princess, you started this, we’re going to finish it.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I have a rich uncle. He’s been nothing more than a Christmas card for the last ten years. The only reason I went to him this summer is because I was left flat broke a thousand miles from home and I needed a place to crash.” He took a breath and waited for her to respond. Mira’s face remained stony still but her eyes flared.

 Collier couldn’t stop himself. “Beyond that I’ve worked my whole life and lived on what I earn. Meanwhile, you could be really great, but prefer moping around, acting the part of the angry, misunderstood Goth chick. You’ve got talent, but you’d rather assault your audience because they aren’t cool enough to ‘get’ you. You pick up guys in some pathetic attempt to give yourself a bad girl image.”

“Shut up, Collier. I’m serious.”

Collier took her words and tone more as a challenge than a warning. “So, why not me, Mira, huh?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve seen you leave Dave’s with a guy now and again. You’re not all that selective. Why not me?” He stood and took a step toward her.

She tensed, a predator ready for the kill. “Maybe you’re not man enough for me.” Her faced glowed in conquest. “Maybe I’m not interested in standing in for that ghost you won’t let go.”

Collier took another step. He stood inches from her, close enough to feel her icy tension. “What would you know about my ghosts?” He forced his words out though his throat tightened.

“I know you’re freaking out because you have to go back to Nashville. You don’t want to because there’s some woman there who rejected you.” She returned his glare. “You want to talk about waste of talent? I might get a little wild, but at least I feel!” She made a fist and pounded a spot over her heart. “I feel. I react. That’s what humans do. You’re frozen. You’re frozen and you can’t function because of some bitch who doesn’t want you.”

“Shut your mouth!” Collier leaned in, his arms braced on either side of her. He leaned closer, desire crackled and sparked between them. “You don’t have any of the qualities she has.”

Mira tipped her head to whisper directly into his ear. “I must have something, though, Collier, because you’re here with me, not with her.”

For a heartbeat, Collier locked his gaze with hers, a toxic mix of rage and desire coursing through him. “You’ve got nothing but bad attitude and tattoos, and you wear them both like some kind of armor.” Collier grabbed her arm and shoved up the multiple sleeves. He stared at the exposed skin, stunned. Shooting a glance at her face, Collier saw the tears well up in her eyes, though her face remained frozen. “Mira, what the hell?”

            She yanked her arm away and jerked her sleeves down. “You have no idea what real problems are. You think you’re so wonderful because you survived a break up. And it wasn’t even a real break up it was a break up all in your head. How about if you just live your little romantic drama and leave real life to people who have real shit going on?”

            With that, she shoved past him and grabbed her guitar case. She stormed out of the studio, the door slamming behind her. Collier stared at the space she had just occupied, as if she were still standing there.

            Just how much weight had she lost? Collier couldn’t shut out the image of her arm, her skin almost translucent, her veins obvious, giving her tightly stretched skin a bluish quality. Her hands, always slender and delicate, had a glass-like quality to them. Her whole arm was thin enough to snap with little force.

            And then there were the scars.  Like blank measures on a sheet of music, thin red lines in varying degrees of healing circled her pale skin. It was clear to him she hadn’t eaten or slept well in a long time, and now, he was faced with the evidence she was also hurting herself.

            Anger faded to concern for a moment and he wondered if he should follow her. Then Mira’s words about his feelings for Izzy echoed and his anger returned. She can go wallow in her own problems all by herself.

            He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The anger left completely, leaving him weak and remorseful. He put on his coat and headed for the door.

It starts as a documentary, and then turns into a rant. Enjoy!

Good afternoon!

So I've been sick the last several days.  I've had the kind of sickness where you can't sleep, eating is difficult, and you don't feel like moving in any direction at all.  Therefore, I spent the better part of the last three days on the couch.  And, since I was on the couch, I played in my Netflix account, looking for something fun to stream.

(As a side note...that last sentence is something my MOTHER would not have ever said.  In fact, I would have never uttered those words all in a row five years ago.  Ah progress!)

I love documentaries, and you can stream all kinds of wonders on Netflix.  Generally I dig through anything World War II, but this weekend I found something a bit different:  Meet The Fokkens.   The Fokken sisters, Louise and Martine, are identical twins who have been working the red light district in Amsterdam for the past 50 years. 

Let's read that again:  Those two sisters in that picture right there have been prostitutes for the better part of the last five decades.  Now one of them...and I'll be honest, I couldn't keep them straight because through the entire documentary they wore exactly the same clothes.  One had a little dog and one didn't, and that was the only difference.  Anyway, one of them is retired.  She has arthritis and wasn't able to bend as much as her clients wanted her to.  So...there's that.

The other one is STILL WORKING.  She sits in her little window and men come up to her and then she...well, she does what she does.  (And yes, there are some graphic moments of video and yes they are disturbing and no, you should not watch this with your children or your parents in the same city.)  And she says she has to keep doing it because her state pension isn't so good.

There's a state pension for prostitutes in Amsterdam?  They really are open over there, aren't they?

The retired one paints.  What does she paint?  Lovely water colors of rivers?

So, she paints pictures of genitalia.  Sometimes people are attached to them and sometimes not.  So...there's that.

Now the documentary is almost two hours long.  That's a lot of time to watch these two geriatric ladies have tea, walk that dippy little dog, and then one strips down to her underthings to spank old men while the other fills giant canvases with huge lady and man bits.

Okay, I'm an American and here these things are still shocking.  And maybe they should be.

Or maybe not.

There's a lot to be shocked about in this world.  War, genocide, rape, crimes committed against children, the cost of gas in the US when we are the #1 oil producing country in the world. (Another sentence I never thought I'd ever utter.)  Is it really shocking or disturbing, what these two ladies do?  Or is this just one of those pieces of real life where you look at it and you say, "Isn't that something?"

It's the same with writing.  I've read a lot of books and I'll read many more.  There isn't a genre I won't read, and if it's done well, I'll enjoy it.  I don't live in those books.  I don't live in that world.  Books give me an opportunity to look into another world for a bit and say, "Isn't that something?"

I read a very long article, and I forget the source, it was one of those things passed down on Face Book, that was basically chiding Amazon for making books so cheap.  Suddenly, the article was saying, books aren't special now that everyone can afford them.

That's not a quote, but it's darn close.

I'm sorry, what?

Are we back in the Dark Ages where the only people allowed to have books are the clergy?  (That didn't turn out so well, did it?)  We needed Gutenberg and his printing press to bring books, most famously the Bible, but books in general, to the masses.  Books are to be read.  They are to be read by EVERYONE.

Martha Merrill's Books...you can get all of mine there!

The article went on about Amazon's practices and what not...and no, I don't love seeing book stores closing.  But you know what?  Book stores, the big ones, are closing because people want to read and they don't want to have to pay a ton of money to read.  Did we learn NOTHING from "You've Got Mail?"  Ironic, I think, that the very pro Barnes and Noble author of the article was grousing about book prices on Amazon while B & N and others like it spent years pushing the indie book sellers out the door. Now the indie book sellers are hanging on and the internet is selling more books by more authors for way less money.  And indie authors, like me, are getting their books into indie book stores like Martha Merrill's in Waukesha.

If people cannot afford print books...and with print costs rises almost as fast as gas, they can't...they will not read books.  New stories, not only by indie authors, but by big names, will not sell.  Stephen King was, many years ago, on the cusp of the e-book generation.  J. A. Konrath is a prophet for e-book publishing.  The goal of any author is to get the story in people's hands.  Above all, we want to be read!  We don't just want to be read by people who can afford a $34 hardcover book.  We want to be read by EVERYONE.  

Don't have a Kindle or a Nook or an e-reader?  Don't need one!  Want to read tons of indie books  for $2.99 or less?  (many are free!)  Check out websites like Smashwords.com.  There you can download a book to your computer and read it there.  Not the most comfortable way to read it, but once you've paid for it, you can print it out and poof!  You have the file on your computer and you can still read it in the tub!  All for less than the cost of a cup of coffee at a gas station.

Is everything out there awesome and great and life affirming?  Much like Netflix documentaries, NO.  Some of those books are not great.  Everything is a crap shoot, whether you're going to a movie, buying a CD, or reading a book.  You might like it.  You might not.  At least, with online publishing, you're rarely out more than $2.99.  The upside is you can get in on the ground floor of an author learning his or her craft.  Isn't is super cool when we can say, "Well, I've been reading that author since her first book came out, and I've always known she was awesome."

Friends, there are links on this page to every single one of my books and right now, not a one of them is going to cost you more than $1.99.  I believe every one has the right to read a book and every story, no matter how disturbing I might find it, has every right to be read.

Now, go forth and buy my books...and then go read a bunch and then go forth and WRITE!

If a negative review gives birth to something awesome...is it really negative?

Good evening!

I'm so super excited!

You all know how I love, love, LOVE new cover art, right?  Well, a few months back I got a semi negative review about "Dream in Color," my first novel, and my beloved baby.

"Dream" has sort of been through a number of peeks and valleys.  I sold it originally to Wild Rose Press, who gave me the awesome cover are there to the left.

However, after completing my contract with Wild Rose, I wanted to take back my rights, which was fine, but Wild Rose got to keep the cover art.  I was bummed, but excited about trying my hand at cover art.  So I created the cover you see there to your right.  I was quite proud of it and thought it captured the spirit of the book.

Nay, nay said the readers.  No, one reader complained, the people on the cover were far younger than the characters in the book.  True, but I thought they seemed a bit older than the original cover...still apparently the person writing that review was bent out of shape because she got a free download and then was forced to read a book about middle aged people, when she thought she was getting a YA.  Hey, sister, read the back of the book blurb next time.  Never buy a book just for the cover.

Anyway, I was able to brush that one off, sort of, but then I got a review where the writer was grieved that the male on the cover did not have long enough hair to suit main character Jesse Alexander, the rock star.

Really?  You gave me a 3 star review because the guy on the cover had short hair?

Well I pondered that for a while and, after a few months of working on other book covers, I honed my skills a bit and realized that I should take another stab at this cover.  And ladies and gents, I'm excited to give you the big reveal right now:

TAH DAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Click here to buy the book on Amazon!

 

I think this is the winner.  Not that book sales are based on covers, I'd like to think the reading public is smarter than that.  BUT, I think this cover catches the spirit of the book, and the length of Jesse's hair.  Which, as I've found out, is the key ingredient to this book.

 

So I guess I have to thank that reviewer.  They may have thought they were skewering me with some sort of whit, but in reality they just made me a better cover artist.  I mean, look at that guy...that guy is HOT!

 

Now, Amazon seems to be cranky about getting this cover out this evening, but within the next 24-36 hours, this cover art will be available on all formats on Amazon.  Of course, if you have a device that's not a Kindle, you can download the book with the new cover pretty much right away by clicking HERE!

 

Sneak peek Saturday (ON FRIDAY!) Lies in Chance

Hey all!
 
I haven't done a sneak peek day for a while, so I thought I'd share a tidbit from Lies in Chance.  I know we're not supposed to have favorite children, but as an author, I think this is my favorite book.  It's certainly the one I put the most work into! 
 
Enjoy!  And remember, you can get this book and any of my others, in print or digital form by clicking here!

Shara Brandt opened her eyes and stared at the gray clouds drifting overhead. More curious than concerned, she tried to blink away the gloom and change it to the ruffled pink canopy bed she’d awakened in every morning since she was ten. Not only did the clouds not disappear when she blinked, but Shara was suddenly very aware of the fact that her eyelids were covered with something sticky and, as she touched them gingerly and looked her fingers, red.

Am I bleeding?

The cobwebs brushed away from her mind and three facts because abundantly obvious. First, she had a cut, no, several, criss-crossing her face. Second, there was a spot at the back of her head and one just above her right eye that were very, very tender. Finally, she was sitting in cold, wet mud at the edge of a creek and ice water rushed over her feet, her bare feet.

Why am I outside? Where is Grandmother? Where is Richard?

Where am I?

She tried to move, tried to get to her feet, but a sudden wave of dizziness washed over her. Closing her eyes to stave off the whirling white that threatened to spin her into unconsciousness, Shara took a deep breath and tried to remember the last several hours.

I was in a car.

I was in the trunk of a car.

No, that’s ridiculous.

The scent of a new car fluttered in her memory, comforting only in that it was something familiar. She’d grown up around new cars. She always equated the smell with her grandmother. It was not a pleasant smell.

Okay, I was in a car.

She opened her eyes, but the unfamiliar creek and trees yielded no answers. Closing her eyes again she tried to picture her grandmother’s office at the car dealership, the last place she remembered clearly.

I was at her desk, looking at magazines. At bridal magazines.

She eased one eye open and glanced at her left hand. No ring. There were plenty of red welts and a bright red spot on her knuckle just above where the ring should have been. That ring was too small. Richard was supposed to get it sized over the weekend, but he forgot. I must have taken it off.

She stared at her knuckles, as if expecting the bruised, torn skin to tell her where her engagement ring was. I didn’t take it off very gently, did I?

Come on Shara, think! You were in Grandmother’s office. You were waiting for Richard. You were working on plans for the wedding. And then someone came in.

An involuntary shudder of dread shook her. She hugged her knees and tried to focus.

Then Richard came in with Grandmother.

Richard…Grandmother…

There was a horrible flash of memory, and Shara opened her eyes, looking for the source of the screams that shattered the quiet morning air. She bit her lip, realizing she was the one screaming.

It’s all a dream. It’s got to be. It’s all a dream. None of this is real.

She curled herself more tightly against the cold mud, waiting to wake from the nightmare.

**

Bryan Jacobs looked forward to mornings with a relish that made his students nervous. The thirty-two-year-old fifth grade teacher loved the early morning quiet in the halls of Rock Harbor Community School, the stillness of the teachers’ lounge. He could not bring himself to tell anyone, not even his best friends, not Drew, not Joanna, and certainly not Molly, why. Not even they could understand how mornings reminded him of Jenny more than any other time of the day.

Bryan settled into his favorite leather armchair, and reached for the remote control. A news junkie who watched CNN religiously, Bryan once a week ignored the national news and focused on the local news for his Current Events class. Local news for Rock Harbor students meant Green Bay news, focusing on the Packers, or the grittier big city reports from Milwaukee. While Milwaukee was four hour and a cultural lifetime away from the rural confines of Rock Harbor, Bryan found that the students in his class felt in touch with any news that originated within the boundaries of their home state.

“Mornin’.”

Bryan did not need to look up. The only other person awake and not milking cows at this hour was the principal of RHCS, Drew Shepaski, a quiet man who spent most of his life in the shadow of his perpetually verbal, and currently pregnant wife, Joanna. “How’s Jo?” Bryan turned down the volume on the TV.

Drew switched on the coffee maker. “She sees a doctor today. A Green Bay channel? Did the cable go out again?” Drew tapped his coffee mug on the counter; a nervous habit picked up from every other teacher in the building who survived long night meetings by drinking a gallon of the bitter brew spewed out in the teacher’s lounge.

“Current events class.”

“Oh. So what’s the big story?”

Bryan shrugged. “Nothing earth shattering. We have Packer news, of course. Sunday’s win makes the whole season seem rosy again, what’s new? I was actually about the change it to a Milwaukee station. You want four or twelve?”

“Doesn’t four have that blonde traffic woman?”

Bryan grinned. “Yes.”

Drew filled his coffee mug and stared at the dark brew. “Better go with twelve, then. Jo’s got enough paranoia about how she looks right now. Word gets out I’m watching the blonde traffic woman on four, I won’t be allowed in the house.”

“Twelve it is.” Bryan grinned as he changed the channel. “Here we go.”

“Breaking news from the northern suburbs this morning. Prominent local businesswoman, Lydia Brandt, was found shot to death in the Shorewood Lexus dealership she owned early this morning. The cleaning crew found her body at about two…”

“It’s always those poor cleaning people who walk in on stuff like that, isn’t it?” Drew commented over the female newscaster’s voice as he sat at the table.

“Seems that way, doesn’t it.”

“Police confirm that Mrs. Brandt was killed by a gunshot wound to the face.”

“Oh that’s messy.” Bryan jotted a note on his note pad and looked back up at the screen.

“Also seriously wounded was Mrs. Brandt’s sales manager, forty year old Richard Bennett. Mr. Bennett spoke to our reporter, Blair Dailey, from his hospital bed at Froedert Medical Center this morning.”

“Ya know, I’ll probably get in a ton of trouble for saying this, but there are days I almost wish Rock Harbor had some kind of interesting news going on, just so Blair Dailey could come up here and interview the locals.” Drew stirred three sugar cubes into his coffee, his gaze never leaving the TV screen.

“You’re worried Jo will find out you’re watching the traffic girl on four and you’re sitting here wishing from some kind of drama in this town just so you can meet—ho-ly hell!” Bryan leaped from his seat and turned up the volume to maximum.

“What?” Drew stared at the man’s face on the screen. “You know that guy?”

“That’s the guy…the guy from the loft.” Bryan nearly gagged on the words.

“That’s Jenny’s guy?” Drew threw a glance at Bryan. “Sorry. I mean, that’s the guy…from the loft? Someone shot him?”

“I’ll bet it was some poor slob who just happened to have an attractive wife.” Bryan backed up from the television and stared at the face. He tried to ignore the twisted sense of satisfaction that washed over him as he studied the man who stole Jenny from him three years ago. Sucks to be you…

“Yes, Blair, I am blessed to be alive. Losing Lydia like that…” Richard Bennett stared right into the camera lens, a tear glistening in the corners of his blue eyes.

“Were you able to get a look at the assailant?” Blair Dailey, roving reporter, stuck the microphone back to him.

“No. It all happened so fast. And now…Shara is missing. And if anyone has Shara, please bring her back…to the people that love her.”

“Oh shut up you…you lying…sack of…bastard.” Bryan’s voice was a deep, heavy growl as he glared at the face on the screen. So smooth, even from a hospital bed. Ass.

Blair Dailey, obviously now outside the hospital, continued her report. “Mr. Bennett refers to Miss Shara Brandt, Lydia Brandt’s twenty-three- year old grand-daughter, who is also Mr. Bennett’s fiancé. Miss Brandt is wanted for questioning in the murder of Lydia Brandt, but she is currently missing. Police are asking for your help in locating this woman.” Here a picture, what looked to be a high school senior portrait, of a thin, pale girl flashed on the screen. The face didn’t register with Bryan, who was still stuck on the fact that Richard was engaged…and not to Jenny. “Son of a bitch.”

“Hey, Bryan? Take a deep breath and remember we’re at school.” Drew said in a low voice as he looked over his shoulder at the door. “We don’t need the rest of the staff thinking you’ve had a relapse, right?”

“Yeah, okay.” Bryan turned off the television. “Pity they didn’t get him in the face…One less wife stealing bastard on the planet wouldn’t be a bad thing.” His steps to the coffee maker were measured, almost painful. He noted the worried expression on Drew’s face. “Sorry. I wasn’t planning on airing out old wounds this morning.” He gave Drew what he hoped was a reassuring grin.

“I’m thinking maybe you should stick with the Packer news.”

“You’re no fun.” But you’re probably right.

“I know. The fine families of Rock Harbor Community School appreciate that fact,” Drew replied with a grin. “Not to mention the even finer folks of Rock Harbor Community Church, you know the group that pretty much signs your checks?”

“Daddy! Come quick!” Six-year-old Nathan Shepaski burst into the lounge. The dark haired boy was a younger, louder version of his father.

Drew, unflappable, reminded his son of the rules. “Nate, you’re not supposed to come in here. And what do you call me when we are at school?”

Nate swallowed hard, trying to catch his breath. “When we’re at school, I’m supposed to call you Mr. Shepaski. But Daddy-”

“Nate.”

“Mr. Shepaski, Mrs. Hunter says to come quick. There’s a girl, just walked out of the creek like a ghost or somthin’.”

Both men followed the boy out the door without another word.



Side note, if you don't like Amazon, friends, you can get Lies in Chance, and all my books by clicking here! (It'll take you to Smashwords, where you can download my books to pretty much any reading device, including your computer!)