What makes you read a book twice? Do you ever??
I keep many of the books that I read. If I've enjoyed them, I don't want to let them go, though I have to admit I keep less and less these days but I suppose I keep them thinking that one day, I'd read them again. Generally I don't like to read things twice - I like a surprise- though with my memory I can get half way through sometimes before I realize I've read it a few months or years earlier. Oops. I even got stroppy with one poor author (only mentally) because I thought she'd pinched someone's idea and then I realized I'd read the damn book before.
But to deliberately choose to read a book twice - why would I do it?
Sometimes because I read it too fast to take in all the twists and turns. Maybe I'd read again because the book made me laugh - Jenny Crusie is the one for me.
Or I want a comfort read - Susan Elizabeth Phillips hits the spot. Re-reading thrillers or suspense stories seems of less interest. I might have loved them the first time around but if I already know the plot - I can't bring myself to read it again. Of course - according to my current husband - if I read them thoroughly in the first place, I wouldn't need to reread anything.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Another Great Review.
The DILF Anthology has done it again. Another great review for Cloaks, Daggers and Diapers. Go here to check it out.
http://coffeetimeromance.com/BookReviews/hotdadsthedilfanthology.html
http://coffeetimeromance.com/BookReviews/hotdadsthedilfanthology.html
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Clone Chapter 1 Part 2
I’m not sure how I made it across the border; through the one mile strip called no-man’s land. Everywhere the Earth was scorched and the ground littered with the remains of would be defectors. Bits and pieces of bone and flesh were strewn about. Hair flapped in the breeze like a banner, still attached to a scalp and stuck to a mummified mass that could only have been human once.
Rats and carrion birds ripped at fresh and not-so-fresh corpses. They hopped and scurried about, growing fat from the feast. The paid me little mind, their bellies too full to give a second glance. It was the one place between myself and freedom, but less frightening than where I’d been. Somehow, I navigated the hazards.
Now I huddled on a cot in a six by six cell, shivering from the cold. I hugged my arms to my body and rubbed. Darkness wrapped around me, but I could still see my breath. It danced in the inkiness like a ghost. I blew out again, watching the vapors twist and shift. For a while, it entertained me, but soon, I grew bored and restless. Had I escaped only to become prisoner again?
Before I could dwell longer on my situation, the door cracked open and light poured in. I sat up and dropped my feet to the floor. A woman walked through, followed by a tall man. I couldn’t see them well with the backlighting. I smiled.
They couldn’t do anything that hadn’t been done to me before. I’d escaped once. I could do it again. I braced myself for an attack, gripping the bunk so tight my hands went numb. I’d kill them. I’d found my free will and nobody would take that from me again.
“God, she looks just like her.” A man’s deep voice. He stepped forward and the lights came on. I threw my arm across my eyes to block the sharp stabbing pains.
“Do you think it’s the clone that killed the doctors and nurse over in Europia?” the woman asked.
“If it is, it’s our lucky day.” He walked up to the bars and wrapped his fingers around them, leaning in. “What do you say? Are you the clone they’re looking for?”
I stared into his eyes. A brave thing to look a human in the face. I didn’t care. I’d earned my freedom. I shifted my gaze to the floor, keeping my mouth shut. Would they kill me? Was it safe to talk?
“Are you the clone responsible?” His voice took on a demanding edge.
“Yes.” Rule number three was so ingrained I couldn’t stop. “I am.”
The man whistled under his breath. “Because of you, Europia is locking down. They’re afraid of a clone rebellion.” He chuckled. “Serves them right if you all turn on them.”
“I want to live,” I said.
“And you shall.” His words contained a tone of kindness. Something I’d only heard exchanged among the keepers, among families. I raised my gaze to his, wanting to get closer, wrap myself in his kind voice, revel in it, saturate my soul and feed the hunger for contact. He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and they jingled as he unlocked my cell. “Come with me.”
“Who are you?” His face was not what I expected. No hate, no anger or revulsion. Strong features that studied me, held my gaze without judgment. My heart jumped. He was different, this human.
“Dante. I’m a friend.”
Mind manipulation was a very real thing. A person could be twisted to become whoever they wanted you to be; given memories that were not their own. It was like a data download to the brain and often resulted in bouts of violence from the one who received the treatment. It had been the cause of murders and various other crimes and for that reason it was illegal on both sides of the planet.
I just learned to speak four languages fluently and received my doctorate in psychology.
I stared at my hands and they shook. I could tell you the rush of emotions is unlike anything you would expect, but living it is the only way to truly know.
Even now I battled the strange feelings. I knew what chocolate tasted like even though I’d never had it. Still, I could taste it in my mouth and my brain told me I had.
I studied Dante. He stood by the door to my new room. His arms were crossed and he hadn’t blinked in the last five minutes. Not once. The woman had left, but he remained, observing me in silence.
“Do you have any chocolate?” I needed to know. The demon memories in my head morphed larger, demanding it.
Dante reached into his pocket and pulled out a foil wrapped bar, holding it out.
Tremors rumbled through me. I eyed it. Waiting. Should I take it? I shifted my gaze to Dante who nodded.
I unfolded from where I sat and jumped up to snatch it from his hands and shred the wrapper. A sweet smell wafted up. My mouth watered. I ran it under my nose, inhaling, taking in the flavor I was certain it possessed. Sweet, earthy, I popped it in. It sat on my tongue melting. Yes. I laughed out and slid another piece between my lips.
I closed my eyes and let it dissolve, the sweet and bitter mingled in my mouth. A strange buzz came over me. My stomach fluttered and a tightening in my pelvis nearly took my breath. More emotions surged through me, sending my heart pounding frantically as it tried to keep up with them. I wasn’t sure of these strange feelings. I wasn’t prepared to open my eyes and find him still there.
Staring.
My heart skipped and another wave washed over me. His eyes were bottle green, like wet glass. Deep. Intelligent. The look they contained—my belly fluttered again.
Heat.
I exhaled slowly and felt my lower body clench and knot. More emotions. I bit the inside of my cheek and tasted blood. A sharp stabbing in my brain took my breath. Then just as quickly it was replaced with warmth.
I could barely draw a breath. I’d been denied feelings for so long, I couldn’t control them. I let my gaze slip back to Dante’s face. Right then—I felt–needful. I dropped the chocolate to the floor. He smiled and stepped into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.
“I…” Liquid heat pooled through my body, washing through me like lava. I could smell him, so intense the need. “I…” I grabbed his shirt and shoved him against the wall, ripping the front.
“Need.”
“Yes,” he said.
I didn’t know him, only his name, but I wanted him. I wanted him bad.
He bent his head to kiss me, his lips felt both soft and hard. I reached up and grasped his hair, clenching tight to hold him to me. Some from fear he’d break contact, most because of the hunger, the overwhelming high of… My heart cart wheeled.
“Please,” I broke from the kiss and whispered in his ear. I ground against him, rubbing like a cat in heat, needing to climb on him, in him, merge, meld and feed the need that pulsed through my body.
Closer. I hooked his belt loops and yanked him against my hips.
The taste of chocolate still teased my mouth. Combined with the taste of him… I groaned and reached for the front of his pants, driven past primal instinct.
Needing, wanting, taking.
Rats and carrion birds ripped at fresh and not-so-fresh corpses. They hopped and scurried about, growing fat from the feast. The paid me little mind, their bellies too full to give a second glance. It was the one place between myself and freedom, but less frightening than where I’d been. Somehow, I navigated the hazards.
Now I huddled on a cot in a six by six cell, shivering from the cold. I hugged my arms to my body and rubbed. Darkness wrapped around me, but I could still see my breath. It danced in the inkiness like a ghost. I blew out again, watching the vapors twist and shift. For a while, it entertained me, but soon, I grew bored and restless. Had I escaped only to become prisoner again?
Before I could dwell longer on my situation, the door cracked open and light poured in. I sat up and dropped my feet to the floor. A woman walked through, followed by a tall man. I couldn’t see them well with the backlighting. I smiled.
They couldn’t do anything that hadn’t been done to me before. I’d escaped once. I could do it again. I braced myself for an attack, gripping the bunk so tight my hands went numb. I’d kill them. I’d found my free will and nobody would take that from me again.
“God, she looks just like her.” A man’s deep voice. He stepped forward and the lights came on. I threw my arm across my eyes to block the sharp stabbing pains.
“Do you think it’s the clone that killed the doctors and nurse over in Europia?” the woman asked.
“If it is, it’s our lucky day.” He walked up to the bars and wrapped his fingers around them, leaning in. “What do you say? Are you the clone they’re looking for?”
I stared into his eyes. A brave thing to look a human in the face. I didn’t care. I’d earned my freedom. I shifted my gaze to the floor, keeping my mouth shut. Would they kill me? Was it safe to talk?
“Are you the clone responsible?” His voice took on a demanding edge.
“Yes.” Rule number three was so ingrained I couldn’t stop. “I am.”
The man whistled under his breath. “Because of you, Europia is locking down. They’re afraid of a clone rebellion.” He chuckled. “Serves them right if you all turn on them.”
“I want to live,” I said.
“And you shall.” His words contained a tone of kindness. Something I’d only heard exchanged among the keepers, among families. I raised my gaze to his, wanting to get closer, wrap myself in his kind voice, revel in it, saturate my soul and feed the hunger for contact. He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and they jingled as he unlocked my cell. “Come with me.”
“Who are you?” His face was not what I expected. No hate, no anger or revulsion. Strong features that studied me, held my gaze without judgment. My heart jumped. He was different, this human.
“Dante. I’m a friend.”
Mind manipulation was a very real thing. A person could be twisted to become whoever they wanted you to be; given memories that were not their own. It was like a data download to the brain and often resulted in bouts of violence from the one who received the treatment. It had been the cause of murders and various other crimes and for that reason it was illegal on both sides of the planet.
I just learned to speak four languages fluently and received my doctorate in psychology.
I stared at my hands and they shook. I could tell you the rush of emotions is unlike anything you would expect, but living it is the only way to truly know.
Even now I battled the strange feelings. I knew what chocolate tasted like even though I’d never had it. Still, I could taste it in my mouth and my brain told me I had.
I studied Dante. He stood by the door to my new room. His arms were crossed and he hadn’t blinked in the last five minutes. Not once. The woman had left, but he remained, observing me in silence.
“Do you have any chocolate?” I needed to know. The demon memories in my head morphed larger, demanding it.
Dante reached into his pocket and pulled out a foil wrapped bar, holding it out.
Tremors rumbled through me. I eyed it. Waiting. Should I take it? I shifted my gaze to Dante who nodded.
I unfolded from where I sat and jumped up to snatch it from his hands and shred the wrapper. A sweet smell wafted up. My mouth watered. I ran it under my nose, inhaling, taking in the flavor I was certain it possessed. Sweet, earthy, I popped it in. It sat on my tongue melting. Yes. I laughed out and slid another piece between my lips.
I closed my eyes and let it dissolve, the sweet and bitter mingled in my mouth. A strange buzz came over me. My stomach fluttered and a tightening in my pelvis nearly took my breath. More emotions surged through me, sending my heart pounding frantically as it tried to keep up with them. I wasn’t sure of these strange feelings. I wasn’t prepared to open my eyes and find him still there.
Staring.
My heart skipped and another wave washed over me. His eyes were bottle green, like wet glass. Deep. Intelligent. The look they contained—my belly fluttered again.
Heat.
I exhaled slowly and felt my lower body clench and knot. More emotions. I bit the inside of my cheek and tasted blood. A sharp stabbing in my brain took my breath. Then just as quickly it was replaced with warmth.
I could barely draw a breath. I’d been denied feelings for so long, I couldn’t control them. I let my gaze slip back to Dante’s face. Right then—I felt–needful. I dropped the chocolate to the floor. He smiled and stepped into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.
“I…” Liquid heat pooled through my body, washing through me like lava. I could smell him, so intense the need. “I…” I grabbed his shirt and shoved him against the wall, ripping the front.
“Need.”
“Yes,” he said.
I didn’t know him, only his name, but I wanted him. I wanted him bad.
He bent his head to kiss me, his lips felt both soft and hard. I reached up and grasped his hair, clenching tight to hold him to me. Some from fear he’d break contact, most because of the hunger, the overwhelming high of… My heart cart wheeled.
“Please,” I broke from the kiss and whispered in his ear. I ground against him, rubbing like a cat in heat, needing to climb on him, in him, merge, meld and feed the need that pulsed through my body.
Closer. I hooked his belt loops and yanked him against my hips.
The taste of chocolate still teased my mouth. Combined with the taste of him… I groaned and reached for the front of his pants, driven past primal instinct.
Needing, wanting, taking.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
New Release from Barbara
Barbara's next novel, THE POWER OF LOVE, was released today by Ellora's Cave. Click on the image of the book cover to the right for a link to see the description and an excerpt (adults only website).
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Art
Friday, May 15, 2009
Dawn @ Savannah Chase's Blog
Dawn is the featured guest on Savannah Chase's blog today. You can read what she has to say about quickies...er, that is short stories...here.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Clone Chapter 1, Part 1
Chapter 1
The cold from the steel table numbed my flesh. A stiffness settled in, leaching through my bones, making them ache to the marrow. I shivered and turned my head, watching while they worked. Precise, efficient, all without pause. They’d taken from me before and my body testified of their treatment, displaying scars and healing wounds like a topographical map.
The clanking of metal instruments echoed in the sterile environment, driving home how alone I really was, not that I had allusions of anything but.
The windowless room, surrounded by concrete blocks and frozen white was nothing short of a morgue, except I wasn’t dead.
Not yet.
They’d strapped an oxygen mask over my face. The gas burned my eyes, nose and mouth. The plastic visor fogged, but not enough that I couldn’t see what they were about to do and it didn’t matter. I couldn’t stop them.
I didn’t dare say anything. They could and would hurt me for one word. I tugged on the straps, all limbs secured except one. Tubes ran into that leg. They were filled with blood and fluid, all to keep my organs fresh. The liquid felt like ice where it entered my body and my leg turned blue in that spot.
So this was it. My life was to end, to save her child?
I balled my up my fists and took a deep breath, trying to think of anything but my fate. My eyes teared up from the concentrated oxygen, but maybe they teared up some because I didn’t want to die. I wanted to scream that I was human. I wanted to cry, but what would I cry for? They wouldn’t hear me. They wouldn’t care. So I watched and let rebellion seed.
The nurse set a bottle of liquid down on a wheeled stand near my feet. I unclenched my fists and felt the blood rush back to my fingers, then twisted my wrists in the restraints again. My heart jumped and I wiggled my wrist some more. They—my keepers, had been careless. An inch, perhaps more. It was enough.
I glanced at the bottle of liquid again. The soft murmur of voices filled the small room as the medical staff discussed my procedure. They didn’t bother to whisper as they discussed how they’d carve me up.
My heart, they’d take that first. My other organs could be frozen in a cyro-cell for use later. I turned to stare at them. A doctor caught my gaze and ceased talking. He nudged another beside him and the man yanked the curtain closed around my bed. The conversation continued.
The voices stopped, the clanking of tools ceased and they drew the curtain open again. A nurse with pasty skin and lipstick so red it could’ve been blood, checked my vitals on a monitor next to the bed. She offered no smile or apology for what they were about to do, instead she turned her back to retrieve more instruments and snatched up the bottle, sticking needle in the top. She glanced over her shoulder, drew liquid into the syringe and placed it on the tray by my feet. Her eyes lifted to one of the surgeons and she reached for a tube attached to my body.
“Should I start the anesthesia?”
“No. We’ll remove it while she’s awake. Take no chances the heart will be damaged. The child is prepped and waiting upstairs. I’ll work quickly.” He picked up a large scalpel. It gleamed at me as if it anticipated the taste of my flesh. This was the part I hated, the first sharp sting of pain. This time there wouldn’t be a dull ache to follow, keeping me awake for nights. The thought that I wouldn’t feel it frightened me more than the pain.
The nurse eyed the syringe. “That’s inhumane.”
“Inhumane is making that child wait for her heart. She could die.”
“Yes, doctor.” She grabbed a sponge soaked with iodine, scrubbed my chest and spread a clear film over my torso, wrapping me like a butcher’s meat package.
Condensation ran down the inside of my mask, clearing a path for my vision. I stared at the cart near my feet. Sadistic objects, all for killing, all for taking my life to give it to another. I shivered as the doctor studied my chest, certainly contemplating the best approach.
They’d no right. I couldn’t bear to watch, my eyes flitted to the cart again. There it sat, a simple glass container. I couldn’t read, so I didn’t know what it was. The words were foreign marks, patterns, and designs. If I should fight, now was the time. I shouldn’t go peacefully, but fight for my last breath, break the codes and disobey every law. Death would not come quietly, but with rage. For once in my life, I was determined to feel something other than fear.
My jaw clenched and I ground my teeth. I didn’t care what was in the bottle. My impending demise freed courage and strength I didn’t know I possessed. I focused all my will and thrashed out with my leg, kicking the bottle off the stand.
The nurse spun around, her eyes widened. A silent no formed on her lips. The scene ticked by in slow motion and seemed curious to watch. She dived for the bottle, missing it by inches. It shattered on the floor. Bits of glass and liquid bounced up, catching the light and glittering like fragmented jewels. Gas swirled around, reacting to the open air. A cloud rolled across the floor, spreading to blanket the tile surface. She slapped her hands over her face, dragging her fingers across her scarlet lips while she screamed, clawed, and smeared the scarlet all over her face.
Then silence. The sound of her screams and the air in her lungs had been stolen. I craned my neck to look. She’d gone motionless. Her eyes were popped wide, staring at the ceiling and broken vessels painted them as red as her lips. Dead perhaps?
I cared not.
A hissing sound filled the room as the gas rose. Bodies dropped to the floor. My would-be killers, thrashed, screamed and gasped like beached eels. One doctor turned to me, his mouth opened and closed as he tried to draw air. His arm extended and his fingers stretched. A plea for help covered his face. I shook my head as the light in his eyes faded.
His arm fell at the same time his chest stopped. A fitting end for a man who thought to harvest my organ’s while I lay awake.
A drop of condensation plopped down on my nose and tickled the surface as it raced for the tip. Giggles bubbled past my lips. I wiggled my hand out of the loose cuff with some difficulty, scraping on the strap and leaving some of my flesh behind. In a matter of moments, I unbuckled the other cuff and sat up to undo my ankle.
Looking down, I saw the tubes, attached like leeches to my leg. I grabbed the strands of loose spaghetti, closed my eyes and yanked.
Sharp stings, pain, all welcome feelings. Every sensation, every moment seemed a gift. I watched the blood trickle from the holes. From the ends of the tubes dangled silver needles, several inches long. All beautiful. My fingers opened and I watched the tubes roll out of my hand and fall to the floor with a wet plop.
The nurse appeared to be about my size, maybe a bit bigger. I stripped the clothes from her corpse and slipped into the unfamiliar garments, pulling her lab coat on after. They cloth was soft on my skin. A luxury I’d never experienced.
I looked up at a disc shaped mirror attached to the wall, and barely recognized myself. For all intents and purposes, I looked like them, a white-coated reaper.
Except for my chip.
I cocked my head to the side and saw it pulsing and cupped my hand over my cheek. Blue light blinked through my flesh, illuminating my tendons, vessels and outlining the bones. It would be hard to hide. Perhaps the coat was too obvious? I glanced around for my clothes and found them discarded in the rubbish. With deep regret, I changed. To escape I would leave wearing what I came with.
As a clone.
Invisible.
I made a choice that day. Giddiness spread over me as I realized I truly was free. The shock belt had been removed for surgery and with it, any control anyone had over me. I could make decisions, govern my life and I had a will of my own. So I made another choice.
I ran.
The cold from the steel table numbed my flesh. A stiffness settled in, leaching through my bones, making them ache to the marrow. I shivered and turned my head, watching while they worked. Precise, efficient, all without pause. They’d taken from me before and my body testified of their treatment, displaying scars and healing wounds like a topographical map.
The clanking of metal instruments echoed in the sterile environment, driving home how alone I really was, not that I had allusions of anything but.
The windowless room, surrounded by concrete blocks and frozen white was nothing short of a morgue, except I wasn’t dead.
Not yet.
They’d strapped an oxygen mask over my face. The gas burned my eyes, nose and mouth. The plastic visor fogged, but not enough that I couldn’t see what they were about to do and it didn’t matter. I couldn’t stop them.
I didn’t dare say anything. They could and would hurt me for one word. I tugged on the straps, all limbs secured except one. Tubes ran into that leg. They were filled with blood and fluid, all to keep my organs fresh. The liquid felt like ice where it entered my body and my leg turned blue in that spot.
So this was it. My life was to end, to save her child?
I balled my up my fists and took a deep breath, trying to think of anything but my fate. My eyes teared up from the concentrated oxygen, but maybe they teared up some because I didn’t want to die. I wanted to scream that I was human. I wanted to cry, but what would I cry for? They wouldn’t hear me. They wouldn’t care. So I watched and let rebellion seed.
The nurse set a bottle of liquid down on a wheeled stand near my feet. I unclenched my fists and felt the blood rush back to my fingers, then twisted my wrists in the restraints again. My heart jumped and I wiggled my wrist some more. They—my keepers, had been careless. An inch, perhaps more. It was enough.
I glanced at the bottle of liquid again. The soft murmur of voices filled the small room as the medical staff discussed my procedure. They didn’t bother to whisper as they discussed how they’d carve me up.
My heart, they’d take that first. My other organs could be frozen in a cyro-cell for use later. I turned to stare at them. A doctor caught my gaze and ceased talking. He nudged another beside him and the man yanked the curtain closed around my bed. The conversation continued.
The voices stopped, the clanking of tools ceased and they drew the curtain open again. A nurse with pasty skin and lipstick so red it could’ve been blood, checked my vitals on a monitor next to the bed. She offered no smile or apology for what they were about to do, instead she turned her back to retrieve more instruments and snatched up the bottle, sticking needle in the top. She glanced over her shoulder, drew liquid into the syringe and placed it on the tray by my feet. Her eyes lifted to one of the surgeons and she reached for a tube attached to my body.
“Should I start the anesthesia?”
“No. We’ll remove it while she’s awake. Take no chances the heart will be damaged. The child is prepped and waiting upstairs. I’ll work quickly.” He picked up a large scalpel. It gleamed at me as if it anticipated the taste of my flesh. This was the part I hated, the first sharp sting of pain. This time there wouldn’t be a dull ache to follow, keeping me awake for nights. The thought that I wouldn’t feel it frightened me more than the pain.
The nurse eyed the syringe. “That’s inhumane.”
“Inhumane is making that child wait for her heart. She could die.”
“Yes, doctor.” She grabbed a sponge soaked with iodine, scrubbed my chest and spread a clear film over my torso, wrapping me like a butcher’s meat package.
Condensation ran down the inside of my mask, clearing a path for my vision. I stared at the cart near my feet. Sadistic objects, all for killing, all for taking my life to give it to another. I shivered as the doctor studied my chest, certainly contemplating the best approach.
They’d no right. I couldn’t bear to watch, my eyes flitted to the cart again. There it sat, a simple glass container. I couldn’t read, so I didn’t know what it was. The words were foreign marks, patterns, and designs. If I should fight, now was the time. I shouldn’t go peacefully, but fight for my last breath, break the codes and disobey every law. Death would not come quietly, but with rage. For once in my life, I was determined to feel something other than fear.
My jaw clenched and I ground my teeth. I didn’t care what was in the bottle. My impending demise freed courage and strength I didn’t know I possessed. I focused all my will and thrashed out with my leg, kicking the bottle off the stand.
The nurse spun around, her eyes widened. A silent no formed on her lips. The scene ticked by in slow motion and seemed curious to watch. She dived for the bottle, missing it by inches. It shattered on the floor. Bits of glass and liquid bounced up, catching the light and glittering like fragmented jewels. Gas swirled around, reacting to the open air. A cloud rolled across the floor, spreading to blanket the tile surface. She slapped her hands over her face, dragging her fingers across her scarlet lips while she screamed, clawed, and smeared the scarlet all over her face.
Then silence. The sound of her screams and the air in her lungs had been stolen. I craned my neck to look. She’d gone motionless. Her eyes were popped wide, staring at the ceiling and broken vessels painted them as red as her lips. Dead perhaps?
I cared not.
A hissing sound filled the room as the gas rose. Bodies dropped to the floor. My would-be killers, thrashed, screamed and gasped like beached eels. One doctor turned to me, his mouth opened and closed as he tried to draw air. His arm extended and his fingers stretched. A plea for help covered his face. I shook my head as the light in his eyes faded.
His arm fell at the same time his chest stopped. A fitting end for a man who thought to harvest my organ’s while I lay awake.
A drop of condensation plopped down on my nose and tickled the surface as it raced for the tip. Giggles bubbled past my lips. I wiggled my hand out of the loose cuff with some difficulty, scraping on the strap and leaving some of my flesh behind. In a matter of moments, I unbuckled the other cuff and sat up to undo my ankle.
Looking down, I saw the tubes, attached like leeches to my leg. I grabbed the strands of loose spaghetti, closed my eyes and yanked.
Sharp stings, pain, all welcome feelings. Every sensation, every moment seemed a gift. I watched the blood trickle from the holes. From the ends of the tubes dangled silver needles, several inches long. All beautiful. My fingers opened and I watched the tubes roll out of my hand and fall to the floor with a wet plop.
The nurse appeared to be about my size, maybe a bit bigger. I stripped the clothes from her corpse and slipped into the unfamiliar garments, pulling her lab coat on after. They cloth was soft on my skin. A luxury I’d never experienced.
I looked up at a disc shaped mirror attached to the wall, and barely recognized myself. For all intents and purposes, I looked like them, a white-coated reaper.
Except for my chip.
I cocked my head to the side and saw it pulsing and cupped my hand over my cheek. Blue light blinked through my flesh, illuminating my tendons, vessels and outlining the bones. It would be hard to hide. Perhaps the coat was too obvious? I glanced around for my clothes and found them discarded in the rubbish. With deep regret, I changed. To escape I would leave wearing what I came with.
As a clone.
Invisible.
I made a choice that day. Giddiness spread over me as I realized I truly was free. The shock belt had been removed for surgery and with it, any control anyone had over me. I could make decisions, govern my life and I had a will of my own. So I made another choice.
I ran.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
My First Reviews.
I just learned Coffee Time did a review of my story Why'd it Have to be Shorts?, in the Men in Shorts Anthology and was thrilled to learn overall we got a four cup rating. Why'd it Have to be Shorts will also, in the near future, be published as a stand-alone short at Ravenous Romance. You can down load these babies to your cell phone for a little lunch time read and they won't break the bank.
Here's the link to the review:
http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/BookReviews/Meninshorts.html
I also received a wonderful review from Sarah, over on her blog The Love Struck Novice for my short Cloaks, Daggers and Diapers, in the Hot Dads/DILF Anthology.
Here's the link to the review on Sarah's blog:
http://thelovestrucknovice.blogspot.com/2009/04/ummm-ill-take-piece-of-that.html
Thanks to both for the fantastic reviews.
Dawn
Here's the link to the review:
http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/BookReviews/Meninshorts.html
I also received a wonderful review from Sarah, over on her blog The Love Struck Novice for my short Cloaks, Daggers and Diapers, in the Hot Dads/DILF Anthology.
Here's the link to the review on Sarah's blog:
http://thelovestrucknovice.blogspot.com/2009/04/ummm-ill-take-piece-of-that.html
Thanks to both for the fantastic reviews.
Dawn
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Clone
Okay, I've a freebie novella. It's futuristic fable of the evils of mankind and what happens when man plays God. A tragedy that offers both love and loss. I'll be posting a little at a time.
Enjoy.
Enjoy.
Prologue
God created life, scientists—clones, society—monsters. I’m not going to tell you I believe in God, but I will tell you this, I had a soul. I wasn’t an empty shell. I hated, I cried. There were things that drove me, things that made me—human.
God created life, scientists—clones, society—monsters. I’m not going to tell you I believe in God, but I will tell you this, I had a soul. I wasn’t an empty shell. I hated, I cried. There were things that drove me, things that made me—human.
Our society said that we haven’t a soul. Clones were created in a Petri dish. Because we haven’t souls, we haven’t rights.
I’ve never had belongings. I wore the standard uniform of a clone as all the others of my kind. Coarse, woven brown pants and a shirt, nothing that stood out, nothing that made me unique or an individual. No identity to call my own from the moment of my creation. I’ve no friends, no family. I can’t read or write. Society didn’t waste education on my kind. We were a product of science.
Drones.
Slaves.
Nameless.
I’d been placed in confinement when not working and forbidden to talk to anyone.
Speak only when spoken to—rule number three. No clone shall make eye contact or touch a human. That was rule number two. Many rules governed our behavior and were beaten into our conscious from childhood.
Rule number one—Clones are the property of their human keeper. They’re bred for the purpose of health and welfare. No clone should assume they’re human.
Drones.
Slaves.
Nameless.
I’d been placed in confinement when not working and forbidden to talk to anyone.
Speak only when spoken to—rule number three. No clone shall make eye contact or touch a human. That was rule number two. Many rules governed our behavior and were beaten into our conscious from childhood.
Rule number one—Clones are the property of their human keeper. They’re bred for the purpose of health and welfare. No clone should assume they’re human.
I’m number 121232 and I’m human.
In the year 2027, a great war erupted upon the face of the planet. Weapons of mass destruction were employed and two-thirds of the world’s population met with destruction.
Radioactive fallout resulted in a nuclear winter, leaving the residents of Earth with a condition called the fever. If you survived it, you ended up sterile or unable to carry a child to term.
Desperate to avoid extinction, the human race turned to cloning. It was something that started with a sheep named Dolly, many years ago, then a mammoth dug out of the Arctic tundra. Before long the most brilliant minds of the world turned to Homo Sapiens.
Clones were fresh bodies, not damaged from the fallout, and could reproduce offspring, who in turn, could create more children. These children became known as breeders.
Once able to reproduce on their own, the children turned on the clones that saved them from annihilation.
Parenticide.
We were considered unnatural and soulless—rounded up and micro tagged. The government of Europia gathered us like cattle. Many ended up in work camps and concentration centers, where their organs were harvested to help the sick from the Great War. Though, most of the clones were destroyed during the harvest, a few survived and crossed the borders to find asylum.
In the United Regions, clones were accepted and treated as humans. The U.R was a safe haven for all those who found themselves a minority in Europia. The handicapped, mentally ill, gays and lesbians—all who'd been tagged and monitored before the Great War, sought refuge there.
Realizing that the market for human organs was a profitable business, the Europian government once again began to produce clones. They served not only that purpose, but also that of slaves. Europians could create as many as they could afford to maintain.
Supply and demand, the industry boomed.
Since society perceived it unethical to treat humans in such a fashion, the Europian government created a code of laws called the Clone Codex, which stated that a clone was indeed not human, nor was it with a soul.
This legislation first came into being with the human abortion laws, where embryos were said not to have a soul, so that abortion was not murder. Since clones started life in a lab, they fell under the same definition and legal loophole.
As the years passed, clones continued to be created and the planet became divided on the treatment of our species. In Europia we were treated as livestock, worked as slaves and were put down when we took ill. Society raised their children to believe we weren't human, but a product to be used as they saw fit.
My keeper was high up in politics. Her husband was President of Europia. I'd often heard the humans whisper that even though he carries the title, she's the true governing force behind our country. My keeper controlled the world, or our half of it.
Though I looked just like her, shared the same DNA, sounded like her…I knew her not.
All my life I had wanted what she had—children, a family, and a place in society. But people took one look at the glowing blue chip pulsing in my cheek, and I was shoved aside like garbage. I'd never have what she had.
Since society perceived it unethical to treat humans in such a fashion, the Europian government created a code of laws called the Clone Codex, which stated that a clone was indeed not human, nor was it with a soul.
This legislation first came into being with the human abortion laws, where embryos were said not to have a soul, so that abortion was not murder. Since clones started life in a lab, they fell under the same definition and legal loophole.
As the years passed, clones continued to be created and the planet became divided on the treatment of our species. In Europia we were treated as livestock, worked as slaves and were put down when we took ill. Society raised their children to believe we weren't human, but a product to be used as they saw fit.
My keeper was high up in politics. Her husband was President of Europia. I'd often heard the humans whisper that even though he carries the title, she's the true governing force behind our country. My keeper controlled the world, or our half of it.
Though I looked just like her, shared the same DNA, sounded like her…I knew her not.
All my life I had wanted what she had—children, a family, and a place in society. But people took one look at the glowing blue chip pulsing in my cheek, and I was shoved aside like garbage. I'd never have what she had.
A life.
A family.
Acceptance.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Book Review: The Trouble With Demons
THE TROUBLE WITH DEMONS (ARC)
By Lisa Shearin
Ace Books
Release date: April 28, 2009
(Available for pre-order)
OPENING NOTES FROM THE REVIEWER: I think I may have let out a little squeeee (no witnesses, thank goodness) when I opened a package from Penguin Group this week and discovered—you guessed it—an ARC of THE TROUBLE WITH DEMONS inside. I lost no time jumping into the first chapter and being swept up in Raines’ continuing saga. If you’ve read my reviews before, you know I try to avoid spoilers. Knowing what’s going to happen takes the surprise and spontaneity out of the journey. And this novel has surprises, spontaneity and twists aplenty. I found THE TROUBLE WITH DEMONS slightly darker than the first two books in the series, MAGIC LOST, TROUBLE FOUND and ARMED & MAGICAL but no less unpredictable. The heroine has established a pension for doing the unexpected in the earlier books, and she certainly didn’t disappoint in this new tale of magic and mayhem.
Raine—no stranger to trouble, she—continues her penchant for getting into the most dangerous, impossible situations. There’s plenty of action, conflict, supernatural entities, epic battles, but woven into and through the adventure is Raine’s intensifying bond with, and heart-wrenching struggle over, both men who have infiltrated her life, Mychael and Tam. More on that later. On to the elements…
COVER ART: This is my favorite covers of the series, so far. The font has lost its little sparkly twinkles which makes it a bit less busy, and the use of vivid color and mythic backdrop suggests the novel’s tone. The depiction of Raine with knives drawn and “armed for ogre,” seems to capture the spitfire nature of the character I call Calamity Raine. I would still love to get a glimpse of her leading men on a future cover. Or are they best left to my imagination?
INITIAL IMPRESSION: Raine wastes no time finding trouble. By page five she’s embroiled in an attack by powerful demons who have some utterly creepy battle tactics, and who only Raine can see…and things plummet downhill from there. Yup. Calamity Raine is back.
MAIN CHARACTERS: Raine Benares is a seeker, a finder of lost things, and a sorceress of moderate powers. She’s also a street-smart, quick-witted, armed-to-the-teeth member of a family of infamous rogues and criminals. In MLTF, she found something she wasn’t looking for and has been trying to get rid of it ever since. The Saghred, an ancient, soul-munching stone of power, has claimed her as a bond servant—a plight that both disgusts her and at times gives her incredible abilities, but always at a price. Mychael Eiliesor, a fellow elf, Conclave Guardian, paladin and powerful spellsinger came into her life to help her shake off her disturbing attachment, and his job often puts him at odds with her instincts, but she knows not everything Mychael does for her is strictly in the line of duty. Tam, hot goblin, nightclub owner, recovering (or is he?) dark mage with a questionable past also finds himself entangled in Raine’s plight, though an entanglement of a different sort is more what he has in mind. When Raine accepts Tam’s help in one particularly grim and desperate scene, they find there are consequences for their collaboration. Serious consequences. As Raine’s dilemma continues, the love triangle manifests itself in a profound way and ultimately represents the forces of Good, Evil…and Raine.
SUPPORTING CHARACTERS: Oh my, where do I start? Phaelan, Raine’s infamous pirate cousin holds his own with the most menacing threats despite his lack of magical ability. Phaelan is devious, conniving, swaggering and steadfastly loyal. Phaelan’s dad, Raine’s uncle, Commodore Ryn Benares also steals a scene or two. Piaras, Raine’s young friend and adopted “kid brother” is a spellsinger university student of incredible talent. So much talent that it often threatens his life. Talon Tandu, friend and fellow student of Piaras, is a young, seductive, half-blood goblin/elf—and Tam’s son. Sora Niabi, professor of demonology, is very good at her job and a peer Raine can relate to. Vegard, the Guardian assigned to protect Raine, or just keep up with her—good luck with that, V—becomes an unwilling sidekick to many of her escapades. Archmagus Justinius Valerian, most powerful mage on Mid next to Mychael, is still recovering from an attack that occurred in book two. Or is he? Raine’s father, Eamaliel Anguis, also has a presence, though from inside the rock, and has a surprise in store. There are many more characters and it’s important to remember the names and roles of each, as they often make encore appearances.
VILLAIN: There are, once again, many who might qualify as “villain material,” and most either want to possess the Saghred/Raine talent team, or want the stone and/or Raine contained, controlled and destroyed, in no particular order. Sarad Nukpana is back in all his evil glory, as is Rudra Muralin, power-goblin of the past. Sundry demons, my favorite of which is yellow and pops out of the…well, on second thought, see for yourself. The demon horde has a formidable leader who’s in control of the invasion, and thinks Mychael would be quite delicious. Even some of the “good guys” are bad guys, and Carnades Silvanus, in particular, is always plotting and manipulating facts to suit his plans.
OTHER CHARACTERS: There is a large and well-drawn contingent of minor characters, including loyal Guardians, dark mage bodyguards, corrupt officials, seedy minions, and supernatural creatures of darkness. They have a habit of springing at Raine at any time and from any direction. Definitely keeps a reader on their toes.
WORLD BUILDING: The imaginative world continues on the Isle of Mid, home to the Guardian citadel, a university for learning the magic arts, the Quad, government buildings, tunnels, streets, alleys, abandoned edifices, passageways and a bustling seafront. In this fantasy world, the threat of a lawsuit is sometimes as imposing as the threat of violence.
CONFLICT: Raine wants one thing—to rid herself of the Saghred stone. Well, maybe she wants three things, Mychael and Tam also being at the top of her list, though she has good reasons for distancing herself from both despite the fact the Saghred wants to collect them as a packaged set.
ROMANCE: Raine and Mychael and Tam, oh my! How’s a girl to decide between the powerful White Knight of Mid who is sworn to protect her but shouldn’t even associate with her—not that he can stay away—or one of the darkest of dark mages who is doing everything he can to change his spots for Raine. Although this novel can’t be classified as a romance, I feel the romantic conflicts between the main characters is one of the most powerful aspects of this series. The characters are so compelling that I, as a reader, can’t make up my mind who I like better for Raine’s suitor any more than Raine can. That makes for some wonderful prolonged romantic intrigue that has carried through the first three novels, only gets more entangled in the third, and doesn’t look to be resolved anytime soon.
MOST QUOTABLE QUOTE(S): Sooo many fantastic quotes in this one, but some are so pivotal to the plot that I don’t want to spoil all the fun, so here are just a few non-spoiler extracts:
Phaelan’s philosophy: “Live fast, die young, and leave behind a damned fine-dressed corpse.”
Raine’s family: “I’m a Benares. Our standards of proper behavior are a little different than everyone else’s.”
Raine’s lament: “I scare me.”
MAGIC QUOTIENT: One of Raine’s thoughts pretty much sums it up: “…an apocalyptic, magical kaboom waiting to happen.”
EVIL AUTHORS GUILD STAMP OF APPROVAL: The Evil Authors Guild exists to encourage writers to inflict appropriate amounts of terror, angst and emotional torture into their characters’ lives, and to leave them twisting in the wind at every opportunity. As you may have guessed from the comments above, this one gets one big, fat, red Approved.
FINAL WORD: It’s rare when a sequel can carry on the inspiration and freshness of the original novel as ARMED & MAGICAL did. It’s rarer still when the third novel in the series can take the reader into uncharted territory in terms of romantic stakes, danger and spontaneity. THE TROUBLE WITH DEMONS goes there. The characters get a bit of a breather at the conclusion to reflect, rethink and possibly reload. The story is left with a wonderfully-developed suggestion of impending doom and a sharp, edgy hint that history is about to repeat itself. This air of suspense will no doubt leave readers clamoring for the next book in the series. THE TROUBLE WITH DEMONS delivers in spades…and rapiers, spears, daggers, and loads of “kaboom.”
By Lisa Shearin
Ace Books
Release date: April 28, 2009
(Available for pre-order)
OPENING NOTES FROM THE REVIEWER: I think I may have let out a little squeeee (no witnesses, thank goodness) when I opened a package from Penguin Group this week and discovered—you guessed it—an ARC of THE TROUBLE WITH DEMONS inside. I lost no time jumping into the first chapter and being swept up in Raines’ continuing saga. If you’ve read my reviews before, you know I try to avoid spoilers. Knowing what’s going to happen takes the surprise and spontaneity out of the journey. And this novel has surprises, spontaneity and twists aplenty. I found THE TROUBLE WITH DEMONS slightly darker than the first two books in the series, MAGIC LOST, TROUBLE FOUND and ARMED & MAGICAL but no less unpredictable. The heroine has established a pension for doing the unexpected in the earlier books, and she certainly didn’t disappoint in this new tale of magic and mayhem.
Raine—no stranger to trouble, she—continues her penchant for getting into the most dangerous, impossible situations. There’s plenty of action, conflict, supernatural entities, epic battles, but woven into and through the adventure is Raine’s intensifying bond with, and heart-wrenching struggle over, both men who have infiltrated her life, Mychael and Tam. More on that later. On to the elements…
COVER ART: This is my favorite covers of the series, so far. The font has lost its little sparkly twinkles which makes it a bit less busy, and the use of vivid color and mythic backdrop suggests the novel’s tone. The depiction of Raine with knives drawn and “armed for ogre,” seems to capture the spitfire nature of the character I call Calamity Raine. I would still love to get a glimpse of her leading men on a future cover. Or are they best left to my imagination?INITIAL IMPRESSION: Raine wastes no time finding trouble. By page five she’s embroiled in an attack by powerful demons who have some utterly creepy battle tactics, and who only Raine can see…and things plummet downhill from there. Yup. Calamity Raine is back.
MAIN CHARACTERS: Raine Benares is a seeker, a finder of lost things, and a sorceress of moderate powers. She’s also a street-smart, quick-witted, armed-to-the-teeth member of a family of infamous rogues and criminals. In MLTF, she found something she wasn’t looking for and has been trying to get rid of it ever since. The Saghred, an ancient, soul-munching stone of power, has claimed her as a bond servant—a plight that both disgusts her and at times gives her incredible abilities, but always at a price. Mychael Eiliesor, a fellow elf, Conclave Guardian, paladin and powerful spellsinger came into her life to help her shake off her disturbing attachment, and his job often puts him at odds with her instincts, but she knows not everything Mychael does for her is strictly in the line of duty. Tam, hot goblin, nightclub owner, recovering (or is he?) dark mage with a questionable past also finds himself entangled in Raine’s plight, though an entanglement of a different sort is more what he has in mind. When Raine accepts Tam’s help in one particularly grim and desperate scene, they find there are consequences for their collaboration. Serious consequences. As Raine’s dilemma continues, the love triangle manifests itself in a profound way and ultimately represents the forces of Good, Evil…and Raine.
SUPPORTING CHARACTERS: Oh my, where do I start? Phaelan, Raine’s infamous pirate cousin holds his own with the most menacing threats despite his lack of magical ability. Phaelan is devious, conniving, swaggering and steadfastly loyal. Phaelan’s dad, Raine’s uncle, Commodore Ryn Benares also steals a scene or two. Piaras, Raine’s young friend and adopted “kid brother” is a spellsinger university student of incredible talent. So much talent that it often threatens his life. Talon Tandu, friend and fellow student of Piaras, is a young, seductive, half-blood goblin/elf—and Tam’s son. Sora Niabi, professor of demonology, is very good at her job and a peer Raine can relate to. Vegard, the Guardian assigned to protect Raine, or just keep up with her—good luck with that, V—becomes an unwilling sidekick to many of her escapades. Archmagus Justinius Valerian, most powerful mage on Mid next to Mychael, is still recovering from an attack that occurred in book two. Or is he? Raine’s father, Eamaliel Anguis, also has a presence, though from inside the rock, and has a surprise in store. There are many more characters and it’s important to remember the names and roles of each, as they often make encore appearances.
VILLAIN: There are, once again, many who might qualify as “villain material,” and most either want to possess the Saghred/Raine talent team, or want the stone and/or Raine contained, controlled and destroyed, in no particular order. Sarad Nukpana is back in all his evil glory, as is Rudra Muralin, power-goblin of the past. Sundry demons, my favorite of which is yellow and pops out of the…well, on second thought, see for yourself. The demon horde has a formidable leader who’s in control of the invasion, and thinks Mychael would be quite delicious. Even some of the “good guys” are bad guys, and Carnades Silvanus, in particular, is always plotting and manipulating facts to suit his plans.
OTHER CHARACTERS: There is a large and well-drawn contingent of minor characters, including loyal Guardians, dark mage bodyguards, corrupt officials, seedy minions, and supernatural creatures of darkness. They have a habit of springing at Raine at any time and from any direction. Definitely keeps a reader on their toes.
WORLD BUILDING: The imaginative world continues on the Isle of Mid, home to the Guardian citadel, a university for learning the magic arts, the Quad, government buildings, tunnels, streets, alleys, abandoned edifices, passageways and a bustling seafront. In this fantasy world, the threat of a lawsuit is sometimes as imposing as the threat of violence.
CONFLICT: Raine wants one thing—to rid herself of the Saghred stone. Well, maybe she wants three things, Mychael and Tam also being at the top of her list, though she has good reasons for distancing herself from both despite the fact the Saghred wants to collect them as a packaged set.
ROMANCE: Raine and Mychael and Tam, oh my! How’s a girl to decide between the powerful White Knight of Mid who is sworn to protect her but shouldn’t even associate with her—not that he can stay away—or one of the darkest of dark mages who is doing everything he can to change his spots for Raine. Although this novel can’t be classified as a romance, I feel the romantic conflicts between the main characters is one of the most powerful aspects of this series. The characters are so compelling that I, as a reader, can’t make up my mind who I like better for Raine’s suitor any more than Raine can. That makes for some wonderful prolonged romantic intrigue that has carried through the first three novels, only gets more entangled in the third, and doesn’t look to be resolved anytime soon.
MOST QUOTABLE QUOTE(S): Sooo many fantastic quotes in this one, but some are so pivotal to the plot that I don’t want to spoil all the fun, so here are just a few non-spoiler extracts:
Phaelan’s philosophy: “Live fast, die young, and leave behind a damned fine-dressed corpse.”
Raine’s family: “I’m a Benares. Our standards of proper behavior are a little different than everyone else’s.”
Raine’s lament: “I scare me.”
MAGIC QUOTIENT: One of Raine’s thoughts pretty much sums it up: “…an apocalyptic, magical kaboom waiting to happen.”
EVIL AUTHORS GUILD STAMP OF APPROVAL: The Evil Authors Guild exists to encourage writers to inflict appropriate amounts of terror, angst and emotional torture into their characters’ lives, and to leave them twisting in the wind at every opportunity. As you may have guessed from the comments above, this one gets one big, fat, red Approved.
FINAL WORD: It’s rare when a sequel can carry on the inspiration and freshness of the original novel as ARMED & MAGICAL did. It’s rarer still when the third novel in the series can take the reader into uncharted territory in terms of romantic stakes, danger and spontaneity. THE TROUBLE WITH DEMONS goes there. The characters get a bit of a breather at the conclusion to reflect, rethink and possibly reload. The story is left with a wonderfully-developed suggestion of impending doom and a sharp, edgy hint that history is about to repeat itself. This air of suspense will no doubt leave readers clamoring for the next book in the series. THE TROUBLE WITH DEMONS delivers in spades…and rapiers, spears, daggers, and loads of “kaboom.”
Monday, April 6, 2009
The DILF Anthology is out.
The hot Dad's Anthology is out. Stop by Ravenous Romance.
It's book of the day.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Interview with me!!
I've been interviewed by Margaret West - link below.
http://margaret-west.com/blog/?page_id=83
Autographs later!
http://margaret-west.com/blog/?page_id=83
Autographs later!
Monday, March 30, 2009
Speakeasy is out.
Hi, all.
My name is Dawn, I write under the name of D. L. Jackson. I’m a RR writer and thrilled to be able to share space with such a talented and fantastic group. I have three shorts in the anthologies, Men in Shorts, Sex and Shoes and the new Hot Dads or DILF Anthology. I also have a fourth short published as a stand-alone, Speakeasy. Which I’d love to tell you about.
My name is Dawn, I write under the name of D. L. Jackson. I’m a RR writer and thrilled to be able to share space with such a talented and fantastic group. I have three shorts in the anthologies, Men in Shorts, Sex and Shoes and the new Hot Dads or DILF Anthology. I also have a fourth short published as a stand-alone, Speakeasy. Which I’d love to tell you about.
Here’s a brief blurb:
You hauling anything illegal, Miss?
The roaring 20’s, guys and dolls, gangsters and prohibition. Leah is an outlaw, smuggling liquor to the speakeasies in New Orleans in a time when getting caught meant you might not see the outside of a cell again. In a chance encounter with Max on Christmas Eve, she learns there’s a bigger adrenaline high than transporting booze across state lines. Getting Max to chase her. Better yet—getting caught.
I’ve often been asked where I come up for the inspiration for the stories I write. Honestly? Life. When writing Speakeasy, the inspiration came from two sources. The first is this elderly woman who comes into the bank every week where I work. She has a walker and usually a cookie or muffin wrapped in a napkin, tucked away in her pocket to share with the teller who waits on her. We’ll call her Mary. Mary is in her nineties, a hunched back from weak bones, pale skin, almost translucent with age. Her once clear blue eyes are now hazed over with cataracts and her hair is pure white. I never realized how beautiful Mary was, until a gentleman stepped up to my window one day as she was leaving. “There goes the most beautiful doll in the world.”
He smiled as if he held a great secret. In fact he did.
“You should have seen her in her glory days. She used to sit on the piano and sing. There wasn’t a man in town that wasn’t in love with her. She’d walk down the street and they’d all stop to stare.” It got me to thinking…
I pulled out an old photo of my grandparents, when they were young. They were standing beside an old car, my grandfather’s foot on the running board, a rose in my grandmother’s mouth. Just like Bonnie and Clyde, wanting to look wild and reckless. My grandparents recently celebrated their 75th anniversary. I asked my grandfather. “What was grandma like in her youth?”
“The first time I saw her, I couldn’t speak. She was all I saw and the clocks stopped ticking.” Poetic for an old cowboy in his nineties. Who were the passionate hearts of generations past? Who were those women that sat on the pianos, worked as nurses when the profession was a questionable choice for a single woman, the cowgirls that inspired the cowboy’s songs and poetry. Who were the women who made the clocks stop ticking? What were their stories?
Have you ever asked your grandmother, your mother the tales of her youth? You might be surprised at the passionate tales they have and sometimes questionable things they did. Were they the beauties that set the county’s hearts aflame or the quiet girl who stole your grandfather’s every thought with one look?
Here’s to the woman who weren’t afraid to love and take chances. Here’s to Mary, Opal and Marjory. May your stories live on in your posterity and in our hearts. May I do them justice when I tell them.
Now go on, dig out those old photos. I know you want to.
Dawn
Friday, March 27, 2009
Anna in the Middle - out today!!
The blurb
Anna is in the middle of a mess. She's being stalked by a manipulative guy who's about to marry her sister and has everyone convinced Anna is jealous. Her luck changes when she meets tall, blond and gorgeous Jax. But after a scorching night of sex, Anna discovers something that makes her think he's married.
Jax is in the middle of a dilemma. He's torn between the man he loves and a woman he's just met. Tracking her down means risking what he already has—but he wants them both. Jax is desperate to find her, but will she understand what he has to tell her?
Will is in the middle of heartache. He knows Jax loves him, though he's never said it. He also knows Jax has found a woman. Torn between being a good friend and Jax's lover, Will's not sure their relationship will survive. The only way to find out is to locate Anna for Jax. But when Will finds her, he discovers the reason Jax has fallen so hard.
available now from Ellora's Cave
http://www.ellorascave.com/productpage.asp?ISBN=9781419920837
Anna is in the middle of a mess. She's being stalked by a manipulative guy who's about to marry her sister and has everyone convinced Anna is jealous. Her luck changes when she meets tall, blond and gorgeous Jax. But after a scorching night of sex, Anna discovers something that makes her think he's married.
Jax is in the middle of a dilemma. He's torn between the man he loves and a woman he's just met. Tracking her down means risking what he already has—but he wants them both. Jax is desperate to find her, but will she understand what he has to tell her?
Will is in the middle of heartache. He knows Jax loves him, though he's never said it. He also knows Jax has found a woman. Torn between being a good friend and Jax's lover, Will's not sure their relationship will survive. The only way to find out is to locate Anna for Jax. But when Will finds her, he discovers the reason Jax has fallen so hard.
available now from Ellora's Cave
http://www.ellorascave.com/productpage.asp?ISBN=9781419920837
Enigma of the Industry: Arlene
I wish I can verbalize reality as well as I can make believe, but seeing as I can't, I went ahead and stole the following from Nathan Bransfords blog.
Ten Commandments for the Happy Writer
Writers aren't generally known as the happiest lot. As a recent Guardian survey of some top writers shows, even the best ones don't particularly enjoy it all that much. And in case you think this is a new development, an 1842 letter from Edgar Allen Poe to his publisher recently surfaced in which he was found apologizing for drinking so much and begging for money.
But believe it or not, writing and happiness can, in fact, go together. For our Thursday entry in Positivity Week, here are ten ways for a writer to stay positive:
1. Enjoy the present. Writers are dreamers, and dreamers tend to daydream about the future while concocting wildly optimistic scenarios that involve bestsellordom, riches, and interviews with Ryan Seacrest. In doing so they forget to enjoy the present. I call this the "if only" game. You know how it goes: if only I could find an agent, then I'll be happy. When you have an agent, then it becomes: if only I could get published, then I'll be happy. And so on. The only way to stay sane in the business is to enjoy every step as you're actually experiencing it. Happiness is not around the bend. It's found in the present. Because writing is pretty great — otherwise why are you doing it?
2. Maintain your integrity. With frustration comes temptation. It's tempting to try and beat the system, whether that's by having someone else write your query, lying to the people you work with, or, you know, concocting the occasional fake memoir. This may even work in the short term, but unless you are Satan incarnate (and I hope you're not) it will steadily chip away at your happiness and confidence, and your heart will shrivel and blacken into something they show kids in health class to scare them away from smoking. Don't do it.
3. Recognize the forces that are outside of your control. While it's tempting to think that it's all your fault if your book doesn't sell, or your agent's fault or the industry's fault or the fault of a public that just doesn't recognize your genius, a lot of times it's just luck not going your way. Chance is BIG in this business. Huge. Gambling has nothing on the incredibly delicate and complex calculus that results in a book taking off. Bow before the whims of fate, because chance is more powerful than you and your agent combined.
4. Don't neglect your friends and family. No book is worth losing a friend, losing a spouse, losing crucial time with your children. Hear me? NO book is worth it. Not one. Not a bestseller, not a passion project, nothing. Friends and family first. THEN writing. Writing is not an excuse to neglect your friends and family. Unless you don't like them very much.
5. Don't Quit Your Day Job. Quitting a job you need to pay the bills in order to write a novel is like selling your house and putting the proceeds into a lottery ticket. You don't have to quit your job to write. There is time in the day. You may have to sacrifice your relaxation time or sleep time or reality television habit, but there is time. You just have to do it.
6. Keep up with publishing industry news. It may seem counterintuitive to follow the news of a business in which layoffs currently constitute the bulk of headlines. But it behooves you to keep yourself informed. You'll be happier (and more successful) if you know what you're doing.
7. Reach out to fellow writers. No one knows how hard it is to write other than other people who have tried to do it themselves. Their company is golden. If you're reading this it means you have an Internet connection. Reach out and touch a writer. And plus, the Internet allows you to reach out to writers without smelling anyone's coffee breath.
8. Park your jealousy at the door. Writing can turn ordinary people into raving lunatics when they start to believe that another author's success is undeserved. Do not begrudge other writers their success. They've earned it. Even if they suck.
9. Be thankful for what you have. If you have the time to write you're doing pretty well. There are millions of starving people around the world, and they're not writing because they're starving. If you're writing: you're doing just fine. Appreciate it.
10. Keep writing. Didn't find an agent? Keep writing. Book didn't sell? Keep writing. Book sold? Keep writing. OMG an asteroid is going to crash into Earth and enshroud the planet in ten feet of ash? Keep writing. People will need something to read in the resulting permanent winter.
Ten Commandments for the Happy Writer
Writers aren't generally known as the happiest lot. As a recent Guardian survey of some top writers shows, even the best ones don't particularly enjoy it all that much. And in case you think this is a new development, an 1842 letter from Edgar Allen Poe to his publisher recently surfaced in which he was found apologizing for drinking so much and begging for money.
But believe it or not, writing and happiness can, in fact, go together. For our Thursday entry in Positivity Week, here are ten ways for a writer to stay positive:
1. Enjoy the present. Writers are dreamers, and dreamers tend to daydream about the future while concocting wildly optimistic scenarios that involve bestsellordom, riches, and interviews with Ryan Seacrest. In doing so they forget to enjoy the present. I call this the "if only" game. You know how it goes: if only I could find an agent, then I'll be happy. When you have an agent, then it becomes: if only I could get published, then I'll be happy. And so on. The only way to stay sane in the business is to enjoy every step as you're actually experiencing it. Happiness is not around the bend. It's found in the present. Because writing is pretty great — otherwise why are you doing it?
2. Maintain your integrity. With frustration comes temptation. It's tempting to try and beat the system, whether that's by having someone else write your query, lying to the people you work with, or, you know, concocting the occasional fake memoir. This may even work in the short term, but unless you are Satan incarnate (and I hope you're not) it will steadily chip away at your happiness and confidence, and your heart will shrivel and blacken into something they show kids in health class to scare them away from smoking. Don't do it.
3. Recognize the forces that are outside of your control. While it's tempting to think that it's all your fault if your book doesn't sell, or your agent's fault or the industry's fault or the fault of a public that just doesn't recognize your genius, a lot of times it's just luck not going your way. Chance is BIG in this business. Huge. Gambling has nothing on the incredibly delicate and complex calculus that results in a book taking off. Bow before the whims of fate, because chance is more powerful than you and your agent combined.
4. Don't neglect your friends and family. No book is worth losing a friend, losing a spouse, losing crucial time with your children. Hear me? NO book is worth it. Not one. Not a bestseller, not a passion project, nothing. Friends and family first. THEN writing. Writing is not an excuse to neglect your friends and family. Unless you don't like them very much.
5. Don't Quit Your Day Job. Quitting a job you need to pay the bills in order to write a novel is like selling your house and putting the proceeds into a lottery ticket. You don't have to quit your job to write. There is time in the day. You may have to sacrifice your relaxation time or sleep time or reality television habit, but there is time. You just have to do it.
6. Keep up with publishing industry news. It may seem counterintuitive to follow the news of a business in which layoffs currently constitute the bulk of headlines. But it behooves you to keep yourself informed. You'll be happier (and more successful) if you know what you're doing.
7. Reach out to fellow writers. No one knows how hard it is to write other than other people who have tried to do it themselves. Their company is golden. If you're reading this it means you have an Internet connection. Reach out and touch a writer. And plus, the Internet allows you to reach out to writers without smelling anyone's coffee breath.
8. Park your jealousy at the door. Writing can turn ordinary people into raving lunatics when they start to believe that another author's success is undeserved. Do not begrudge other writers their success. They've earned it. Even if they suck.
9. Be thankful for what you have. If you have the time to write you're doing pretty well. There are millions of starving people around the world, and they're not writing because they're starving. If you're writing: you're doing just fine. Appreciate it.
10. Keep writing. Didn't find an agent? Keep writing. Book didn't sell? Keep writing. Book sold? Keep writing. OMG an asteroid is going to crash into Earth and enshroud the planet in ten feet of ash? Keep writing. People will need something to read in the resulting permanent winter.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Enigma of the Industry: Arlene
Frustration....writing at work and getting interrupted every two minutes.
Frustration...something up with Microsoft word and it's taking too long between clicks to load unless I reboot every couple hours.
Frustration....my problems with writing stem from writing a tome, 3 book series, without learning how to write first so rewrites are sooooo boring.
The editor at Tor publishing would not have misunderstood me if he hadn't been exhausted and I hadn't stalked and approached him without the ten minute time slot which I would have had if I'd booked before he filled up.
If I wasn't such a timid dreb, the social skills of a wall flower, I'd have slept the night before and could have engaged the thought in my head, 'new age is hippy-angel religious stuff, right?' But my photon is evil out of my mouth, and he'd have laughed and listened further.
So, my words of wisdom are: It's not always the agent-publisher, but the writer who thinks they have something, and they do, but they can't or won't or don't take the time to get it out of their head correctly.
And, conferences are alot of fun, but sign up for the entire thing in case you do want a chance to talk with someone further and never listen to an older sister who think it's a matter of image. Dress presentable, but comfortable. You're selling yourself, not a polished version that isn't really you and sneakers make your brain work better than borrowed heels.
This is an ego thing--Your Baby--and if the real world doesn't fall all over it, or you can't present it right, there's a zillion others out there willing to do the work, so you either write something else to open a door, or keep trying with rewrites and other publishers/agents until finally you draw the longer straw and someone in the business strikes a spark with you.
An update on me in this moment in time? I'm in family counseling with the series, but leaning toward divorce. I'm pushing a teenager stand-alone out the door and, yippee, I'm trying to get pregnant with something I don't have a clue what it'll turn out to be and I'm boggled down with crits maintaining a lovely symbiotic relationship with people who understand.
Frustration...something up with Microsoft word and it's taking too long between clicks to load unless I reboot every couple hours.
Frustration....my problems with writing stem from writing a tome, 3 book series, without learning how to write first so rewrites are sooooo boring.
The editor at Tor publishing would not have misunderstood me if he hadn't been exhausted and I hadn't stalked and approached him without the ten minute time slot which I would have had if I'd booked before he filled up.
If I wasn't such a timid dreb, the social skills of a wall flower, I'd have slept the night before and could have engaged the thought in my head, 'new age is hippy-angel religious stuff, right?' But my photon is evil out of my mouth, and he'd have laughed and listened further.
So, my words of wisdom are: It's not always the agent-publisher, but the writer who thinks they have something, and they do, but they can't or won't or don't take the time to get it out of their head correctly.
And, conferences are alot of fun, but sign up for the entire thing in case you do want a chance to talk with someone further and never listen to an older sister who think it's a matter of image. Dress presentable, but comfortable. You're selling yourself, not a polished version that isn't really you and sneakers make your brain work better than borrowed heels.
This is an ego thing--Your Baby--and if the real world doesn't fall all over it, or you can't present it right, there's a zillion others out there willing to do the work, so you either write something else to open a door, or keep trying with rewrites and other publishers/agents until finally you draw the longer straw and someone in the business strikes a spark with you.
An update on me in this moment in time? I'm in family counseling with the series, but leaning toward divorce. I'm pushing a teenager stand-alone out the door and, yippee, I'm trying to get pregnant with something I don't have a clue what it'll turn out to be and I'm boggled down with crits maintaining a lovely symbiotic relationship with people who understand.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)