Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Watch for this in Spring 2012!

Wow! It has been forever since I posted. I am the worlds worst blogger. I'm sure most of you don't mind, but if you did want to get a quick update on me....

It's amazing what a year or two can do. I still feel funny writing this here since the contract is "in the works" but since it's showed up on publishers marketplace, I guess I can brag :-) I have a contract! Two books (both paranormal romances) through Sourcebooks :-) It's the same manuscript that finaled in many and won in a couple contests under the working title The Lost Paladin. I don't know what the new title will be (guess I might have to post another update on my blog!) but hey, those are just one of the many the details to come.

Phew. There. My News. On Cloud Nine here. Come join me!

Friday, October 2, 2009

Shameless Self Promotion...

So, I've entered yet another contest... this one, however, isn't a bank account breaker :D It's hosted by Stella Cameron on her Web Site and is called the Scarlet Boa. The coveted prize? A Boa, of course... and a read by a Mira editor.

Now for the shameless pimping part...

The finalists are chosen via outside voting... there are over a hundred entries... though the entries are short, that is a LOT of entries. I figure, I need to get some peeps there to vote for ME, of course...

So! Go here: click on the entries. I'm number 29... let me say it again.. 29.. Read the entry and if you have something nice to say :) go back to the front page and click on the voting button and VOTE FOR ME :D

Okay... I'm done being shameless


Thursday, July 23, 2009

Pimping Pod Casts!

Check this out!; The Foundation for the Ethical Treatment of the Innocently Damned, Undead and Supernatural... If you like Pod Casting, this is the SITE for you! And James Durham is the bomb ;)

Thursday, June 25, 2009

Promotional Pimping...

Once a week or so, I'm going to try and post up the top three to five books, blogs, excerpts and/or reviews I've come across in my travels. This weeks winners are:

4. If you're into Pilate's and Romance, this is the blog post for you. I don't know about you guy's, but I can't wait to see what she actually wrote in that manuscript of hers!

3. Toni Andrew's gets major points for an eye-catching website and crisp, fiesty prose in her blurbs. If the rest of her writing is this good, she's going to become a fav :D

2. If you haven't read it yet, get thee out there and read Jackie Kessler's "Hell's Belles" I just finished it up and LOVED it. I'm off to read her and Caitlin Kittredge's "Black and White" and then spend money I don't have on the rest of her books.

1. Bonnie Vanak Harlequin Noctorne Author's recent blog post. Gotta admire a woman like this:

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Thirty... Deleted Prologue Sequence.

This prologue got a mixed bag of reviews from crit group and the contest circuit. Seems you either love it or hate it. I was trying for a dark tone but with a slightly omniscient POV. It seemed cruel to strive for Deep POV when we all know what was going to happen to the soldier at the end of the prologue... Tell me what you think!

July 29th, 2104: 2120 EST

Death marked the night. Like a black cloud promising rain, it was there, waiting. A degree away from release, it permeated the chill darkness.

The soldier was not ignorant of the forecast in the air. Hidden in the shadows of one of the great pines, he searched the forest surrounding the isolated cabin for that which hunted him. If asked to pinpoint exactly what had put him on edge, he couldn’t have explained. He was the perfect soldier: Stronger, faster… lethal. His senses were honed before birth to a heightened awareness far beyond the average man. His skill level was unparalleled by any but his brothers. All of Viadal’s boys were trained from birth for this very thing. They had been trained for death—just not their own.

But Death haunted him this night. No sight, smell, taste, or sound gave any indication of its presence, yet he could feel it down to his very bones. Like an oil slick spreading on water, the premonition of doom oozed over every pore of his skin, to be inhaled with every breath he took.

He strained his ears and caught normal sounds: a southern short tail shrew foraging for worms that would have come out with the rain, the chirp and crick of night insects, heavy plops of leftover drops that rushed down with each slight breeze—they all rang hollow and untrue. And though the heavy scents of wet bark, pine and loam were the only things that hung in the night air, his nostrils still flared as he sought to find another scent, something that was off, something to explain why he was sure death laced every breath he drew.

Long minutes crawled as he remained under the low slung branches of his pine, immobile as King Tut in his tomb, waiting. If need be he could wait all night. There’d been times he’d waited longer. Endless minutes passed. The flickering light that shone through the windows and doorway of the isolated cabin waned, until eventually the candle he’d lit before he’d come outside to scour the woods guttered and snuffed out. One word could have called up the lights—the hundred year old log structure may have looked old and rustic, but had been updated with the latest technology—but raising his voice would give away his position. Instead, he shifted out of his cover and moved in on silent feet, using the dark shadows to hide his approach.

He didn’t enter, but slipped behind one of the porch posts. Carefully, he craned his neck and peered through the open door, his eyes searching. Dilapidated sofa, stiff chairs, the scarred, pine table—which now held an oversized mug and a saucer of wax, smoke trailing up from its center—all popped into perfect focus. Other than the lack of color, he could see just as well at night as during the day. ‘He must have spliced in some cat’, his brother Carthridge would say jokingly. The ability was another of Viadal’s blessings to his boys, or, depending on one’s viewpoint, a curse. Viadal had given his children many of those.

Silently slinking from window to window, he scrutinized the interior of the cabin. A quarter hour later, he stood on the front porch once more. Nothing. The only thing out of place was him. He should be inside that warm cabin right now enjoying his two days of freedom, not crawling around out here in the chill mist. He sighed, tried to wipe the filth from his fatigues, then cursed. He was becoming paranoid. Whitesman’s questioning the other day had put them all on edge. The cabin was safe. No one was here to kill him. The terror that licked at him was all in his imagination.

Annoyed with himself, he eased inside and closed the door, absently engaging the locks and security behind him. The scent of wet earth and evergreen clung to the air of the cabin. Not surprising. He’d left the windows cracked during the storm.

Pushing aside his unease, he went back to his evening routine. His tea had gone cold, so he reheated it then sipped while he flipped through the pages of the classic Orson Scott Card book, Ender’s Game. By the time Ender had been promoted to the Command School ahead of schedule, the soldier’s nerves had eased and he decided to shower.

It was as he padded back across the threshold of the darkened bedroom, the small towel around his waist lapping up the water droplets running down his chest, that it came to him—the one thing that was wrong. A scent: Man, distinct in his chemical make-up, the whiff of adrenaline radiating off him in anticipation. The sharp odor was smothered in mud and pine pitch. Still, he should have heard him, seen him, something before now. The fact that he hadn’t was alarming.

This realization was instantaneous and not nearly long enough to ponder what that meant… a snap, a burn and the soldier was dead.

The Muse Within...

I've decided to begin an expirement. On this blog, besides the occasional poll or excerpt for feedback, you'll find teasers, pitch lines, or scenes that I've taken out of my novels because they just didn't quite fit, or made the book too long (I tend to overplot *sheepish grin*). Enjoy!