Writing the Future

I’ll get to the point.

I had a crazy, sort of heated discussion with my sister while we were talking about dating artists and why I’m being realistic when I say, I won’t be published.

NO ONE frown.

I don’t mean you’re unrealistic if you want to be a published author. It happens, guys. Look at libraries and deal announcements.

What I’m saying is I don’t think I’m traditional pub material.

Maybe my insecurities, whatever. Not gonna kill me.

My question is do you believe I’m right? Is it right to be realistic (cautious, feet on the ground) to believe you might not be a popular/bestselling artist?

Cover Reveal! Death and Mr. Right

I get to do the cover reveal for Kendra L. Saunders dark comedy Death and Mr. Right (October 2013.)

Right up my alley. Here’s something about the author:

Kendra L. Saunders is the author of the magic realism novel Inanimate Objects and the dark comedy Death and Mr. Right. She has been published in Snakeskin Magazine, Premier Bride Magazine and has conducted interviews for Steampunk Magazine, The New England Horror Writers and ipmnation.com. She reports regularly for Pure Textuality and writes helpful writing articles for NerdCaliber’s Pages of Note.

In her spare time Kendra likes to daydream about (foreign) boys with dark hair, drink too much tea, read fashion magazines, listen to records on vinyl, plan her dream trip to England and attempt to travel back in time to the Jazz Age. Find her online at http://www.kendralsaunders.com, on twitter at @kendrybird, or on tumblr at http://www.inanimateobjects.tumblr.com

*Shiny, right? Here’s the blurb for Mr. Right:

It is March 32nd, the day that doesn’t exist, and Death, the agent of nightmares, has been demoted and exiled to live among mortals for the rest of his unnaturally long life. Everyone knows They don’t look lightly on important items getting lost or an agent falling in love.

Can the diva-like Death navigate the modern world, recover what was stolen from him (the names of the damned… ooops!) and get his job back? Or will he fall in love with Lola, the pretty thief who got him into trouble in the first place?

*Doesn’t that sound great?

#Poison Blog Tour: First Christmas Tree

I already wrote an initial post on #Poison but this is the official blog tour firsts post. Couldn’t decide on good first but I chose one of my favorites! 😀

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It was my first time being eighteen. And my last, I think.

I was alone for the first time. Well, sort of. I lived in the apartment over the garage of my old house. I had a job, a car, and most of my days alone.

For an introvert, it was basically heaven.

Even during the holidays.

My first Christmas was coming up and with it, the opportunity to buy my very own ornaments, things that I’d use for a long, long time, like my mother had used her mix-and-match ornaments. I thought about it on a daily basis after Thanksgiving.

I had wanted to get a gorgeous, full fake tree but sticker shock and dissatisfaction held me back. (300 plus for a fake tree? A skinny, short fake tree?)

And besides. It was my first Christmas. Shouldn’t it be special? What was more special than a smelly, real tree drying up next to my computer?

I squealed and wished and hoped. It just never seemed like the right time until I was driving my betas to Wal-Mart. Who knows why? We’d escaped a family dinner or something and we were alone in my car. (Never a good idea.)

I was after Eclipse, the third movie in the Twilight Saga, but I saw the bound Christmas trees lined up against the garden section of the store. I faltered. These Wal-Mart trees were twenty dollars, the same kind of dough needed for the movie.

The tree and I locked eyes from across the store. Its branches and greenness drew me in. I was light near a black hole.

With an evil giggle, I scurried forward, leaving my betas to push our cart after me.

There was no way I would end my adventure with just a DVD (of a movie I had yet to see *sniff*.)

I hugged up the tree, getting poked by the green leaves, assaulted with perfumey smell of pine. Mm. Christmas.

I lifted the tree into the cart. It was almost weightless but it was longer than me so I stumbled a little. We rolled our kill into the garden center to pay for our junk. We’d really gone to Wal-Mart for Eclipse but candy was candy was candy. So we got candy because who argues with that logic?

After swiping all of the candy over the scanner, and beeping in my tree, the clerk looked at me.

A deep, soul-piercing stare over his glasses. His eyes were dead and foggy so I couldn’t return the favor. He asks, as if he already knows the answer. “Do you need help out?”

He assumed I couldn’t handle this shiz. Challenge accepted. I tipped my chin up and said, “Nah. We got this.”

(I seriously say that in real life.)

His strawberry-blond eyebrows lift. He didn’t say anything else on that but ripped the receipt from the machine and said, “Have a nice day.”

Being Colorado, or any state in winter, the day was already gone. The sky was black, black, black. The snow outside, though, reflected what light there was so it wasn’t so horribly dark on Earth.

The kids and I navigated on the nearly invisible ice, braved the cars drifting in through the parking lot. The holidays had arrived. People frantically skittered around, carting loaded wire baskets full of presents.

We trotted down the dark aisle, the cart rattled and the tree bounced. Then, my beta spoke up. “Elie, how are we getting the tree in the car?”

My car was a small, two-door Camry ‘96. Two door. It sat by the cart return.

We stopped and stared. The younger beta cracked up. Yeah, I had done it again.

But older beta said, “Oh.”

Oh.” I said. “The trunk!” I scurried forward, helping secure the cart against the back bummer of my car. I jammed the key into the trunk. I only had this car for maybe three months. It was my first car to celebrate my new license. (Lies. I just needed a way to get to work.)

It took me a few twists and turns until I got the trunk to pop.

I pushed the thing up, calculated the size of my trunk versus the tree. The trunk seemed deep enough but not wide enough. Not even if I put the tree diagonally.

It didn’t stop me from trying. I settled the tree diagonally but the tip bent and threatened to snap. Not gonna work.

I pulled my tree out before I broke something.

The children shut the trunk and the three of us stared at the inside of my car. Yeah, the front was probably long and wide enough for the tree but we wouldn’t be driving right.

My eyes skimmed up to the top of the car and another brilliant* idea struck me.

“Sun roof.” I nodded to myself.

“Oh my god.” The eldest beta muttered.

I scooted along to the driver side, opened the door, popped the driver seat forward and stared at the vacuumed back. Uh-huh.

I looked back at my kids.

The boy grinned at me and climbed into the back seat.

My girl climbed into the passenger seat. We opened the sun roof, stuffed the tree (sort of beating the boy by accident) into the car and pushed the tip out the roof.

It was tightly bound so that it didn’t block all of the back.

I prayed anyway as I backed out of my space. We’d take the streets for sure but then there was the danger of children, a Christmas tree, and a mad eighteen-year-old catching the eye of an officer.

My ideas are never as awesome as I think they are.

We navigated through the back streets around the shopping center. We lived half an hour away. It might as well have been two. My body tensed and I paid special attention to the speed limit and lights.

But the great thing about the area north of Denver is that it’s so quiet. Especially on a December night after dinner. The streets stretched abandoned under the orange glow of streetlights.

People we met at street lights didn’t stare or anything. I wasn’t the first maniac to do this, huzzah!

We wove our way through the streets, crossed Interstate 25 and found our even more desolate neighborhood in record time. No one was outside at the house so we were clear. Between the three of us, we wrestled the tree out of the car, unleashing pine needles for a later time.

We pushed and pulled the tree up a nearly vertical staircase. Besides almost falling down the stairs and possibly dying, we called ourselves awesome and broke out our snacks.

Baby Bottle Pops and Rolo chocolates in hand, we rested around the tree until I secured it to the stand and released it from the plastic ties. It sprung open, a dress through a doorway. Full, happy, slapping my computer across the desk.

It might have been devoid of the ornaments but it was still beautiful and fluffy.

*Key

Brilliant—bad

End result(ish):

 

 
~~~
 

Sixteen-year-old Kyra, a highly-skilled potions master, is the only one who knows her kingdom is on the verge of destruction—which means she’s the only one who can save it. Faced with no other choice, Kyra decides to do what she does best: poison the kingdom’s future ruler, who also happens to be her former best friend.
But, for the first time ever, her poisoned dart…misses.
Now a fugitive instead of a hero, Kyra is caught in a game of hide-and-seek with the king’s army and her potioner ex-boyfriend, Hal. At least she’s not alone. She’s armed with her vital potions, a too-cute pig, and Fred, the charming adventurer she can’t stop thinking about. Kyra is determined to get herself a second chance (at murder), but will she be able to find and defeat the princess before Hal and the army find her?
Kyra is not your typical murderer, and she’s certainly no damsel-in-distress—she’s the lovable and quick-witted hero of this romantic novel that has all the right ingredients to make teen girls swoon.

 



About Bridget Zinn
 
Bridget grew up in Wisconsin. She went to the county fair where she met the love of her life, Barrett Dowell. They got married right before she went in for exploratory surgery which revealed she had colon cancer. They christened that summer the “summer of love” and the two celebrated with several more weddings. Bridget continued to read and write until the day she died. Her last tweet was “Sunshine and a brand new book. Perfect.”
Bridget wanted to make people laugh and hoped readers would enjoy spending time with the characters she created. As a librarian/writer she loved books with strong young women with aspirations. She also felt teens needed more humorous reads. She really wanted to write a book with pockets of warmth and happiness and hoped that her readers’ copies would show the watermarks of many bath time reads.
 
Here’s official website: www.bridgetzinn.com

~~Much love to those who spread this around. Make sure to use the hashtag #Poison whenever you can.
 
XOXOXO
 
 
 

#Poison: Close to My Heart

(Why wouldn’t I bring the celebration here? 😉 Sorry, guys.)

All day I’ve been trying to get the latest on Poison by the late Bridget Zinn.

This story and day is very close to my heart. No, I wasn’t one of the lucky people who met Bridget, but that doesn’t change my attachment.

In 2006, I started writing every day all day. I had my very own laptop, a computer just for me. I had all the time in the world to do whatever. So I went back to writing stories and I was hooked.

Around that time, my aunt, my mother’s best friend and baby sister, was fluttering like a butterfly over the sticky paper of cancer.

But in 2009, she was caught.

I can’t begin to tell you how vibrant and full of life she was. And I won’t start. The tribute would swallow this post and she deserves her own.

Fastforward to 2013. I’m kicking up story ideas, looking at years’ old rejections on my email, feeling suffocated by the fact that yet again, I’ve failed to salvage a book I loved.

No, not salvage. I destroyed it trying to fix it.

As I thought of every moment I was wrong, a thought rumbled through me. What if I never get published?

What if I never write something I wholly love?

Does that really happen to real people? Did Disney fairytales and afterschool specials lie to me? Do people die never seeing their dreams come true?

I thought hard work got results.

I felt and I knew that if I didn’t succeed, I’d be remembered for that. Worst, the people around me would have been right. I wasted my time for NOTHING.

I said nothing. Not to my closest writer/non writer friends. Not to nonjudgmental strangers.

No one.

I went through Twitter several nights in a row, celebrating and tearing up at #writergoodnews.

That’s how I ran into the call for help promoting. “Eh,” I thought. “I should look into it.”

I clicked on the call for a blog tour and…well, I cried like a baby. This happy, gorgeous-smiled woman, young as my aunt, had been caught by sticky paper too.

And she’d accomplished what every writer dreams about but she didn’t get to see it? How unfair.

Don’t say life isn’t fair. It’s ridiculous.

I was swallowed by all the feels. Woo. Still swallowed by all the feels.

I signed up to help, spread the word, and kept on my toes.

I wish I hadn’t known about Bridget (mostly because that maybe would mean she was alive and celebrating with us,) but I know and I care.

There are worse tragedies in life. Like leaving behind three kids or stopping at the beginning of a promising, joyful life.

So bear with me, guys. 😉

Also, check out my post the 15th (Friday!) about my First (rated PG, thank you.)

Much love,
E

Cover Reveal: Holiday Magick!

What’s really going on during the holidays?

HOLIDAY MAGICK, an anthology from Spencer Hill Press, offers a twist.

Check out the blurb:

People don’t usually question holiday traditions or their origins, but maybe they should. Over centuries, explanations of how and why holidays exist may have been lost or changed.

Some holiday histories might only be known by a few individuals. Ancient magic spells could have influenced how we celebrate today. Fairies, zombies, or demons may have shaped our holidays.

Consider the following…

Why do people give red roses and cards on Valentine’s Day?

Is there more to the story of Purim than is traditionally told?

Why do people wear green on St. Patrick’s Day?

What happens to spirits that are captured during the Japanese Doll Festival?

Where does Santa get his helpers?

You may think you know the truth, but you can’t be too sure.

~

Um, holy cow! You guys know my love of little stories, things that just might be creepy and true and this looks like my next great love!

What do you guys think?

Creepy cover, no?

ISBN: 9781937053499
Available May 2013 from Spencer Hill Press