I am sure to a lot of you lurkers are thinking that there doesn't seem to be much traffic here. But there is, and the comments section doesn't tell the whole story. My chicken and flamingo post from yesterday earned me more than a few private messages on Facebook. Ranging from brilliant to I need professional help.
You can't grow up like I did without needing some degree of professional care. And people you've got to laugh at the crazy or you really will end up there. So I had a borderline abusive but never boring childhood. My teen years crossed over into the former category but still it was never boring. I will say this, as wild as some of my exploits were, I never went diving off canal bridges in Miami only to surface face to face with alligators like that person I married did, more than once. I was a good little stay at home girl compared to what he and his brothers got up to. How any of us born before the 1980's survived is still amazing to me.
Okay so on with the news and rambling stuff. First about the contracted books. Wicked Game. Oh My Fucking God, people I love you so much. I love how you are talking about this book. I love how you are loving this book. I never expected this much for this long. Thank you for all the beautiful reviews and thank you for telling your friends. Just thank you. I've been asked to write another like that book. How? That book was magic flowing out of my fingers. You can't repeat that kind of magic. Not saying I won't give it a go just saying every book is different.
And Double Coverage. Released back in January, is now seeing sales. I thank you all for that. The magic wasn't there for that book. Or should I say I didn't trust the muse and forced that story to a different conclusion than it should have had. If you've read it, you know what I'm talking about. It shouldn't have been a menage. I should have gone with my gut and made it a pure M/M. But it's still a good story. I think. Not my best. But decent. No apologies or regrets just post thinking.
Behind Iron Lace. Coming on October 31. M/M contemporary set in New Orleans during a heat wave. If you liked WG and you like M/M then you will love this book. I promise. But we'll start talking about that the week after next. Halloween week. Do you believe this month is already half over?
And now for the two re-releases. The two books I pulled from Cobblestone Press are nearing the end of their state of forced exile. November 11, 2011 is the first day I can legally do anything with either book and up until this week I was planning to release The 51st Thursday on that day. I was planning to offer In From the Cold and it's sequel Cold Shadow of Doubt to Silver Publishing but I've changed my mind. I'm going to self publish both books and the possible third book I have brewing in my peanut shaped brain. Yes, there was always more to Nathan and Quinn's story. You can't be that messed up and have a HEA three chapters later. Time plays tricks. And it did for them. Anyway, after careful consideration I've decided not to offer the books to a publisher. For one reason, time. If I wait until I'm legally allowed to do anything with this book to even submit the offer then it will be another month to six weeks before I receive an answer and then IF they were to take them it would be another four months before I could have Cold back out. Putting it back as an April release. If you remember it was an April release the first time. It's set at Christmas. It was hot in August when it finally hit ARe. Best seller in the suspense category and not far behind in the gay category. So it just makes sense to go with Cold first, now while people still remember it. 51st Thursday will come out probably the first week of December and then I'll put out Doubt in January. So yes, that's the announcement. In From The Cold will release on 11-11-11 and the cover will once again be by the wonderful Dan Skinner who assures me it's going to be pretty.
And lastly, if you look over to the right you'll notice I've added a new page. Yes, I'm offering my editing abilities for those of you who are wanting to self publish and need someone with experience to help you polish your books. I looked around at editing services before I set my prices. Considering I found more than a couple charging two dollars a page and several in the thousand dollar range I thought I'd keep it as low cost as possible. So ye,s if you are interested just email me or private message me on Facebook and we'll discuss terms.
So that's catching y'all up with the craziness that is me. Hope you have a great weekend. I think we're about to actually see some cool temps down here on the coast. It might start feeling like fall after all.
Mercy
Of cocks and pink lawn ornaments
I have an over fondness for pink flamingo lawn thingies. There I said it. I feel much better now. I love pink flamingo lawn sculpture. And I am not ashamed to admit that. And for some God awful reason I love the country rooster kitchen sculpture. I'm not really much for decorating. I hate knick-knacks and candles. What is the deal with candles? Come on people please. Don't you know those things just make my eyes water and I can still smell the fish you fried last week. And if you must burn candles please for the love of all things holy have the decency to burn the same scent in all locations or scents that go well together like vanilla and apple scented. Lavender Poppy spring and pumpkin pie just hurts. Don't do it.
Okay, so I can safely admit that I am lacking in the home decor gene that most women are born with. Gimme a paint brush and a sander and I can do some damage, but don't make me pick out curtains. It's not a pretty picture. I am unfortunately more at home in Lowes than I am at Bed, Bath, and Beyond. (We don't have any really nice trendy places to shop here in Lower Alabama, besides maybe Kirklands). I am about one step above trailer when it comes to stuff like that. My inner Jr. Leaguer never emerged, despite coaxing from various aunts on the subject.
Remember, I was the girl who ripped all of her dresses on the neighbor boy's Big Wheel when I was four or five. And get your heads out of the gutter, a Big Wheel was these plastic three wheeled death machines with a bar you pulled to lock the back wheels causing you to skid in a circle. Yes I was doing donuts in the street before I lost my first baby tooth.
I'm the kinda girl who can spot a classic car a mile away and tell you the make model and year. I don't know designers and really I have no interest.
So when I say I love pink flamingo lawn art it's a big admission. Makes me almost cute and cuddly. My only other claim to femalehoodness is transferware dishes, old quilts, and Raggedy Ann dolls. (And romance novels but that's a different story).
I blame my great grandmother, she had these two concrete and metal flamingos in her front yard, she also didn't really have a front yard, it was all wild flowers. She loved cereal box premiums and her garden and her chickens. She kept the ones with the fuzzy feet that looks like boots that layed blue eggs. So maybe that's why I love rooster ceramics too. I don't know. Which brings me around to my grandmother and the evil that is she. And her rooster. The one I named Satan. Grandma wasn't half as interesting. She didn't collect and has no sense of whimsy like her mother. Grandma kept the basic run of the mill chickens. And it was my job every weekend to go and gather the eggs. A job that I dearly, loathed is probably not strong enough of a word, hated, loathed, with a passion of a thousand burning suns. I'd rather try and milk the Brahman Bull (yes I know they don't give milk, work with me people) than deal with that God Damned rooster. He was mean, and he didn't like me messing with his harem, you see. And then there was the chicken shit problem but again that's another story. But after finding out the hard way how not to go about gathering eggs I had to come up with a way to get the damned fuckers. Because no matter how bad the rooster was, the grandmother was worse. She liked to get the ironing cord, and on more than one occasion I had hog brains in my scrambled eggs. So yes the rooster which wasn't much smaller than me and had huge claws and a beak and chickens will eat any damned thing, little girls included, I was sure. But I would rather face it than the evil that sent me to deal with it who was standing on the porch getting a good laugh out of a damned chicken attacking her oldest grandchild. But I digress. So I learned to take the scrap bucket (I did mention chickens will eat anything right) over to the fence and make clucking sounds to catch the roosters attention. I would hold the bucket up so he could see inside or smell or whatever it was that sent him into a frenzy, then I would slowly walk him down to the end of the yard, toss in a few tidbits, scrambled eggs were his favorite and potato peels. And then I'd haul ass to the door to the hen house, run inside, scare all the hens off their nests lure them out into the yard and fling the hell out of the contents of that bucket. Then I would run back into the house and slam the door shut. Once, I swear the rooster ran into it trying to get to me. Usually one hen wouldn't get off the nest, it was always the same one, and every weekend I had to sneak my hand under her butt and steal her future babies. She didn't put up a fight. I think she might have been depressed. Her eggs were blue. Sometimes speckled brown. I sort of liked that hen. I felt sorry for her. But her eggs wouldn't hatch so there was not point in leaving them to rot. Anyway, after that I put down corn and other feed in their bins filled their water and then got the hell out of Dodge while the rooster had forgotten about me. Chicken shit on bare feet might just be the grossest thing I've ever stepped in, though that frog comes a close second.
I have no idea why I love rooster art, maybe I'm more fond of that memory that I want to believe. I was the best damned egg gatherer of all the grand kids. Even the old biddy told me that, I took it as a compliment, then she sent me to cut okra. But that's another story.
Mercy
Oh and since it's working it's way up to Halloween I'll leave you with this.
Okay, so I can safely admit that I am lacking in the home decor gene that most women are born with. Gimme a paint brush and a sander and I can do some damage, but don't make me pick out curtains. It's not a pretty picture. I am unfortunately more at home in Lowes than I am at Bed, Bath, and Beyond. (We don't have any really nice trendy places to shop here in Lower Alabama, besides maybe Kirklands). I am about one step above trailer when it comes to stuff like that. My inner Jr. Leaguer never emerged, despite coaxing from various aunts on the subject.
Remember, I was the girl who ripped all of her dresses on the neighbor boy's Big Wheel when I was four or five. And get your heads out of the gutter, a Big Wheel was these plastic three wheeled death machines with a bar you pulled to lock the back wheels causing you to skid in a circle. Yes I was doing donuts in the street before I lost my first baby tooth.
I'm the kinda girl who can spot a classic car a mile away and tell you the make model and year. I don't know designers and really I have no interest.
So when I say I love pink flamingo lawn art it's a big admission. Makes me almost cute and cuddly. My only other claim to femalehoodness is transferware dishes, old quilts, and Raggedy Ann dolls. (And romance novels but that's a different story).
I blame my great grandmother, she had these two concrete and metal flamingos in her front yard, she also didn't really have a front yard, it was all wild flowers. She loved cereal box premiums and her garden and her chickens. She kept the ones with the fuzzy feet that looks like boots that layed blue eggs. So maybe that's why I love rooster ceramics too. I don't know. Which brings me around to my grandmother and the evil that is she. And her rooster. The one I named Satan. Grandma wasn't half as interesting. She didn't collect and has no sense of whimsy like her mother. Grandma kept the basic run of the mill chickens. And it was my job every weekend to go and gather the eggs. A job that I dearly, loathed is probably not strong enough of a word, hated, loathed, with a passion of a thousand burning suns. I'd rather try and milk the Brahman Bull (yes I know they don't give milk, work with me people) than deal with that God Damned rooster. He was mean, and he didn't like me messing with his harem, you see. And then there was the chicken shit problem but again that's another story. But after finding out the hard way how not to go about gathering eggs I had to come up with a way to get the damned fuckers. Because no matter how bad the rooster was, the grandmother was worse. She liked to get the ironing cord, and on more than one occasion I had hog brains in my scrambled eggs. So yes the rooster which wasn't much smaller than me and had huge claws and a beak and chickens will eat any damned thing, little girls included, I was sure. But I would rather face it than the evil that sent me to deal with it who was standing on the porch getting a good laugh out of a damned chicken attacking her oldest grandchild. But I digress. So I learned to take the scrap bucket (I did mention chickens will eat anything right) over to the fence and make clucking sounds to catch the roosters attention. I would hold the bucket up so he could see inside or smell or whatever it was that sent him into a frenzy, then I would slowly walk him down to the end of the yard, toss in a few tidbits, scrambled eggs were his favorite and potato peels. And then I'd haul ass to the door to the hen house, run inside, scare all the hens off their nests lure them out into the yard and fling the hell out of the contents of that bucket. Then I would run back into the house and slam the door shut. Once, I swear the rooster ran into it trying to get to me. Usually one hen wouldn't get off the nest, it was always the same one, and every weekend I had to sneak my hand under her butt and steal her future babies. She didn't put up a fight. I think she might have been depressed. Her eggs were blue. Sometimes speckled brown. I sort of liked that hen. I felt sorry for her. But her eggs wouldn't hatch so there was not point in leaving them to rot. Anyway, after that I put down corn and other feed in their bins filled their water and then got the hell out of Dodge while the rooster had forgotten about me. Chicken shit on bare feet might just be the grossest thing I've ever stepped in, though that frog comes a close second.
I have no idea why I love rooster art, maybe I'm more fond of that memory that I want to believe. I was the best damned egg gatherer of all the grand kids. Even the old biddy told me that, I took it as a compliment, then she sent me to cut okra. But that's another story.
Mercy
Oh and since it's working it's way up to Halloween I'll leave you with this.
They Stab it with Their Stealy Knives
And then eat it raw. Oh the humanity
if you like that abomination you can go here to buy it...but please don't invite me to see it, I'm sensitive.
Is it Wednesday? I'm seriously asking. It's hot man day isn't it?
This is the last week of the first school quarter, it's also a short week, the kids are home on Friday. But for some reason I'm going to blame on mid-term testing all three of the ones living at home are driving me bat shit crazy. The older two have decided it's time to challenge me for my alpha position, or try to kill the other, they only cooperate to gang up on me. And the youngest seems to be running on pure mean. Okay not mean, she's actually a very sweet child, just it's like she's strung out or something. I can't keep her from bouncing off the walls and she's become to quick to cry over nothing. She falls asleep the second her head hits the pillow but getting her to go to bed has become a struggle.
I'm just tired. Worn out dealing with kid drama. I think it's Wednesday. This week has been so long already it's hard to tell.
And it looks like I'm going into the indie freelance editing business. Okay, so, I can do this, I'm very good at bossing people around....er reading for errors and offering correction suggestions. And yep I'm doing this. If you need a book for self publishing or polishing for submission gimme a holler, we'll talk terms.
So that's me, today, Wednesday, October 12. Monday I am going to start yapping about Behind Iron Lace so get ready for that. Lace comes out on Monday, October 31st. And I can't wait for you to meet Darcy and Caleb.
Mercy
I'm just tired. Worn out dealing with kid drama. I think it's Wednesday. This week has been so long already it's hard to tell.
And it looks like I'm going into the indie freelance editing business. Okay, so, I can do this, I'm very good at bossing people around....er reading for errors and offering correction suggestions. And yep I'm doing this. If you need a book for self publishing or polishing for submission gimme a holler, we'll talk terms.
So that's me, today, Wednesday, October 12. Monday I am going to start yapping about Behind Iron Lace so get ready for that. Lace comes out on Monday, October 31st. And I can't wait for you to meet Darcy and Caleb.
Mercy
The greatest invention known to man
In 1853 Mr. Levi Strauss accidentally invented the greatest thing ever to be invented...okay bar inside plumbing and air conditioning. The blue jeans.
As a teen age girl in the latter half of the 1980's I was highly appreciative of Mr. Strauss' invention. One born of necessity in the days of the California Gold Rush, and I'm fairly sure he never set out to become a fashion designer, but I still thank him. For providing me with comfortable clothing that my mother hated. And for accentuating that wonderful feature on those creatures called teenage boys. You know where those pockets sat, and the stitched V ended up? Can I get an Amen Hallelujah sister? Blue jeans on a man are like god's gift to woman kind. I spent many, many wonderful days following a moving pair of double V's down long hallways. The more faded and ragged the better. And being a country girl there was one particular feature to some of the boys jeans that I am slight ashamed to admit stays in my memory. That white faded out circle on one pocket. City girls (or guys) won't know what I mean but country girls will. The Skoal Ring.
Yes I know, disgusting habit. And I don't condone dipping. I never wanted to kiss a guy with that crap in his mouth. But there was something about that ring that was sexy as hell. Back then it was fashionable to have one. Even guys who didn't dip carried a thing of Skoal to get that ring. Probably empty. It was what it was. Like stone washing or acid washing or the high waist. Jeans. The greatest invention known to man (and woman) kind.
I salute you Mr. Strauss. Because without you none of this would be possible.....
Happy Tuesday everyone,
Mercy
As a teen age girl in the latter half of the 1980's I was highly appreciative of Mr. Strauss' invention. One born of necessity in the days of the California Gold Rush, and I'm fairly sure he never set out to become a fashion designer, but I still thank him. For providing me with comfortable clothing that my mother hated. And for accentuating that wonderful feature on those creatures called teenage boys. You know where those pockets sat, and the stitched V ended up? Can I get an Amen Hallelujah sister? Blue jeans on a man are like god's gift to woman kind. I spent many, many wonderful days following a moving pair of double V's down long hallways. The more faded and ragged the better. And being a country girl there was one particular feature to some of the boys jeans that I am slight ashamed to admit stays in my memory. That white faded out circle on one pocket. City girls (or guys) won't know what I mean but country girls will. The Skoal Ring.
Yes I know, disgusting habit. And I don't condone dipping. I never wanted to kiss a guy with that crap in his mouth. But there was something about that ring that was sexy as hell. Back then it was fashionable to have one. Even guys who didn't dip carried a thing of Skoal to get that ring. Probably empty. It was what it was. Like stone washing or acid washing or the high waist. Jeans. The greatest invention known to man (and woman) kind.
I salute you Mr. Strauss. Because without you none of this would be possible.....
Happy Tuesday everyone,
Mercy
Tuesday:Talking about fantasy versus reality in romance
Over the weekend I had several very amusing conversations about romance novels. Not amusing in that sarcastic condescending way but really funny long conversations. On Facebook mostly, IRL a little. People IRL aren't as free about talking about sex even those who write about it. It's different when you're face to face with someone rather than being words on a page.
Anyway, one of the main "complaints" and it's not really a complaint, just a comment or two or twelve about how sex in real life is far different than in romance novels. Not every man has a huge dick. Sand gets in places when outdoors, and bugs. Bugs are a kill joy. Clean up if it's mentioned at all is unrealistic. You know stuff like that.
But you know sex IRL is usually not pretty, it's sweaty, dirty, grunting...well you get the drift. In a novel the writer is free to explore their fantasy of what they want sex to be like. Ideal sex. Ideal seduction. Ideal partner.
In romance no one has bed head. No one has foul breath. No one farts. Air goes in air comes out. It happens. But not in romance. No one laughs or thinks about people starving in Africa. The mind never wanders. All bodies are perfect, men have huge dicks, women have round perky gravity defying tits. Everyone has money and the house is always perfect, even the bachelor pad is always perfect. What guy keeps his house perfect. Even gay guys can be slobs. Come on. Sex in cars, uh yeah, no, nearly impossible if you are a little bit larger and those Alphas are usually six foot five with huge shoulders. And about that, why are all men six foot five with impossibly wide shoulders? I mean six foot five is very rare. I have a friend who is six foot seven and my son is six foot two and I have to stare way I mean WAY up to look at them. And most women are still petite. So in straight romance we have these six foot giants and these petite princesses. Have you ever seen a couple that far apart in size proportion? I have. Once. She was shorter than me maybe maybe she might have been five foot two and he was probably six six. I couldn't stop wondering how they did things you know. I mean seriously, how their bodies met up in bed. He'd squish her. And there is never any mess or odor and if there is mess there is always handy warm towels to clean up.
So yes, there is a vast difference in sex in real life versus sex in romance novels. In romance novels no one goes to the bathroom. Everything is mint or rose scented. People only shower when they want to have wet kinky sex. Everyone is well endowed.
But that's why people read romance. To forget that they are in a suck ass relationship. To forget that their kids are fighting in the next room. To forget that their husband just got laid off. To live in a perfect world even if it's only for a little while. I know I want to have a perfect house with income from a job I never seem to go to. I don't have a perfect house because I gave up housework years ago. I'd still like that income from the job I gave up years ago, that would be nice. I want a husband who doesn't talk about football or work all the time and sex...well I'm not talking about that.
I want the fantasy damn it. Just give me a damned fantasy.
But what about being realistic in romance? To a degree. I mean I still don't want to discuss stinky morning breath when my characters are having hot morning sex. I like realistic sex scenes. I like realistic emotions and realistic body types. I like dirty nasty on the floor with nothing but a shirt to wipe up the mess. I like that type too. I like to read it. I love to write it. Hair pulling, biting, dirty talking sex where clean up is optional.
Anyway you look at it, it's still fantasy sex. A far fetched alien with a prehensile tail that doubles as a sex toy right down to sex against a bathroom wall in a club. No one is ever going to write the down and dirty truth. Or that they like the down and dirty, the dirtier the better. It will always be somewhere in between reality and fantasy. And that's why it's called fiction.
If we wanted reality, it would read something like this. Got up, kids off to school, have a nice day dear, go to separate work places. Deal with crap all day. Leave pissed off. Go to kids after school stuff. Debate take out versus home cooked dinner realize there is no time get take out. Rush around the next three hours getting homework and kids into bed. Clean up as much as you can before you remember you have some homework of your own and oh crap I need something to wear tomorrow. Start the laundry. Forget the laundry. Fall asleep watching Letterman. Maybe maybe squeeze in a quick bout of morning sex just to take the edge off. Get up and do it all over again.
Pardon me, but I'll take the fantasy. Unrealistic in all it's warm towels, silk sheets that never stain, no one can hear you even when they are in the next room and you've left the door open, nothing stinks, no one farts and everyone is beautiful and well endowed. Yep, fantasy is good. Fantasy wins out over reality every time. In my book. In all my books. Now go curl up with a good book and forget that your life sucks for a couple of hours. Preferably one of mine. And have a wonderful Tuesday.
Anyway, one of the main "complaints" and it's not really a complaint, just a comment or two or twelve about how sex in real life is far different than in romance novels. Not every man has a huge dick. Sand gets in places when outdoors, and bugs. Bugs are a kill joy. Clean up if it's mentioned at all is unrealistic. You know stuff like that.
But you know sex IRL is usually not pretty, it's sweaty, dirty, grunting...well you get the drift. In a novel the writer is free to explore their fantasy of what they want sex to be like. Ideal sex. Ideal seduction. Ideal partner.
In romance no one has bed head. No one has foul breath. No one farts. Air goes in air comes out. It happens. But not in romance. No one laughs or thinks about people starving in Africa. The mind never wanders. All bodies are perfect, men have huge dicks, women have round perky gravity defying tits. Everyone has money and the house is always perfect, even the bachelor pad is always perfect. What guy keeps his house perfect. Even gay guys can be slobs. Come on. Sex in cars, uh yeah, no, nearly impossible if you are a little bit larger and those Alphas are usually six foot five with huge shoulders. And about that, why are all men six foot five with impossibly wide shoulders? I mean six foot five is very rare. I have a friend who is six foot seven and my son is six foot two and I have to stare way I mean WAY up to look at them. And most women are still petite. So in straight romance we have these six foot giants and these petite princesses. Have you ever seen a couple that far apart in size proportion? I have. Once. She was shorter than me maybe maybe she might have been five foot two and he was probably six six. I couldn't stop wondering how they did things you know. I mean seriously, how their bodies met up in bed. He'd squish her. And there is never any mess or odor and if there is mess there is always handy warm towels to clean up.
So yes, there is a vast difference in sex in real life versus sex in romance novels. In romance novels no one goes to the bathroom. Everything is mint or rose scented. People only shower when they want to have wet kinky sex. Everyone is well endowed.
But that's why people read romance. To forget that they are in a suck ass relationship. To forget that their kids are fighting in the next room. To forget that their husband just got laid off. To live in a perfect world even if it's only for a little while. I know I want to have a perfect house with income from a job I never seem to go to. I don't have a perfect house because I gave up housework years ago. I'd still like that income from the job I gave up years ago, that would be nice. I want a husband who doesn't talk about football or work all the time and sex...well I'm not talking about that.
I want the fantasy damn it. Just give me a damned fantasy.
But what about being realistic in romance? To a degree. I mean I still don't want to discuss stinky morning breath when my characters are having hot morning sex. I like realistic sex scenes. I like realistic emotions and realistic body types. I like dirty nasty on the floor with nothing but a shirt to wipe up the mess. I like that type too. I like to read it. I love to write it. Hair pulling, biting, dirty talking sex where clean up is optional.
Anyway you look at it, it's still fantasy sex. A far fetched alien with a prehensile tail that doubles as a sex toy right down to sex against a bathroom wall in a club. No one is ever going to write the down and dirty truth. Or that they like the down and dirty, the dirtier the better. It will always be somewhere in between reality and fantasy. And that's why it's called fiction.
If we wanted reality, it would read something like this. Got up, kids off to school, have a nice day dear, go to separate work places. Deal with crap all day. Leave pissed off. Go to kids after school stuff. Debate take out versus home cooked dinner realize there is no time get take out. Rush around the next three hours getting homework and kids into bed. Clean up as much as you can before you remember you have some homework of your own and oh crap I need something to wear tomorrow. Start the laundry. Forget the laundry. Fall asleep watching Letterman. Maybe maybe squeeze in a quick bout of morning sex just to take the edge off. Get up and do it all over again.
Pardon me, but I'll take the fantasy. Unrealistic in all it's warm towels, silk sheets that never stain, no one can hear you even when they are in the next room and you've left the door open, nothing stinks, no one farts and everyone is beautiful and well endowed. Yep, fantasy is good. Fantasy wins out over reality every time. In my book. In all my books. Now go curl up with a good book and forget that your life sucks for a couple of hours. Preferably one of mine. And have a wonderful Tuesday.
Sunday this and that
As you may have noticed by now I'm subject to mercurial moods. I'm an Aquarius what do you expect? I'm one of those pesky creative types who feels things deeply. Most of the time I'm pretty good at keeping what I'm feeling buried deep. Sometimes not so much. This past month has been one of those months where everything happens in the extreme. On the top side Wicked Game was released and in this month I've followed it's progress (a bit obsessively) watching it's rankings on the various listing sites and wondering why it's doing so well. I can't find any reviews, besides Mrs. Giggles who I am becoming more and more certain is only reading the first chapter excerpts for her reviews now-a-days. I mean seriously I've looked at all of her recent Liquid Silver Books reviews, (she never reviews that many books by one publisher) and with one or two exceptions she never "quotes" anything that can't be found in the first chapter excerpt. She gives a middling review rating and a don't waste your time snark report and moves on. Her words seem odd to me too. Yes I've read her reviews for many years. Mrs. Giggles is not American. And you can tell that in how she writes. These latest reviews don't capture the tone of her usual voice....so speculation on my part either Mrs. Giggles is only reading the first chapter excerpts now which accounts for the five or six books she reviews a day or she's hired out. Either way I thought her review of WG was hilarious, and I might just take her advice and go write me a Harlequin Presents, if I can use her as reference when I query.
Enough about that, back to the main topic, which was Wicked Game. Reader reviews are so wonderful on this book. The phone sex scene has become a huge topic of conversation on the Goodreads boards. I know this because a wonderful reviewer gave me a heads up for an upcoming review and told me WG is being talked about all over GR. So that answers that question. The one I've had all month about how WG can go up (or down depending on how you look at it) in Amazon rankings to sixty thousand and then plunge down to twelve thousand an hour later. I still don't know how Amazon's ranking system works. How many sales constitutes that much of a plunge? How many sales keeps you in what area of rankings at all? Three books in ten minutes? or steady purchases. And why do I never seem to get checks from Ellora's Cave with Amazon or ARe sales even though both of my Emjai books climb and fall in the ratings there? Odd that.
So yes I'm very happy with how Wicked Game is doing. I am very happy with how people are receiving the book. I loved writing that book, Cass was the first female character I wrote that I fell in love with. And Jaime, was such a delight to write, he was a little kid in a grown man's body. Big bad alpha who has no clue how to deal with women. And yes the phone scenes were my favorite to write. I doubt that would be allowed in the NFL in reality but who knows what goes on on the sidelines in the down time leading up to the game. Could be some serious phone sex going on. It's fantasy. And as one reader put it phone sex while on national television...yummy.
And yes it's October, now, my favorite month, the temps have actually dropped here which is refreshing and I'm less than a month away from the release of my next book Behind Iron Lace. If you loved WG and you like m/m romance then you're going to enjoy Lace. And believe me when you come asking, the line for Caleb has already formed and I believe the editor of the book is first in that line, so be ready to fight for him. Just wait, you'll see. In a few days I'm going to start working up to that release with promotion tours and stuff...don't know what stuff yet. I'm still new to promoting myself. I've found out you don't promote the books, you promote yourself, and people buy your books. Problem is I'm a classic introvert, people scare me, I can be articulate and funny on the blog but that getting face to face thing makes my brain forget how to work. Don't likey.
So yeah that's the good, the fabulous and the bright and shining. Why is it when there is a good and fabulous and bright and shining that equal dose of kicked in the balls has to go along with it (yes I'm female and yes I have some, figuratively).
Not quite three weeks ago my husband lost his job, well not exactly lost his job, he was demoted from General Manager down to assistant manager in February and three weeks ago demoted again down to driver. He went from 55 hours a week to barely pulling 25. They didn't want him fired, that way they he could get unemployment benefits so they sneakily underhandedly didn't even have the guts to tell him to his face but told his entire staff a week earlier. And no he didn't deserve the demotion, he did his job and he did it better than his co-managers. He didn't kiss ass and that's the name of the game with the new owner. So yeah, right now isn't good. Three weeks of super part time pay isn't going to pay the rent and feed a family of five (Currently). I don't work outside the home. I do have a medical issue that keeps me from going back to the job I left when I was pregnant. My husband made more than enough to support us without the little extra income I provided. I didn't have to. I could focus on writing and publishing and getting the career I started in 2004 going for real this time. And I did that. I've written seven books since August of last year and I've sold five of those. One is out for submission and one is a sequel to one of the two books I retrieved my rights on (took back from publisher). So yes I've been working my ass off. Problem is royalty checks don't pay the bills. One of my publishers pays quarterly, and the two checks I've received for Double Coverage was enough to cover a rent payment, just one. And even though my Ellora's Cave books are still for sale and they pay monthly those checks are usually for 2 dollars if I'm lucky I'll get a 10 dollar check every third month or so. And Cobblestone Press? Yeah, CP sent me an invoice for August sales of two books. Now grant you I pulled both of those books the second week of August, both books were still for sale until August 12th, and guess what, neither book sold a single copy in those twelve days. How delightfully not unexpected. To date I've made little more than a hundred dollars for those two books combined from May (which paid the March sales of 51) until October (which paid for August and the second quarter sales for outside distributors but since CP didn't list either book with any outside distributors until the third quarter I didn't expect any). I haven't and won't be paid for any Wicked Game sales until December when they pay third quarter sales. So yeah I might be working my ass off writing but I'm still a long way away from seeing any real money for that work. Not complaining (except for the issues with CP) just stating how the system works. Double Coverage wasn't a big seller. I was new and unknown. It exceeded expectations. Reviews were good. Wicked Game has done very well, and because of that there was renewed interest in DC. That's how the system works. Lace will sell very well I expect. But that doesn't do anything to help my situation now. And frankly I am scared to death. He has applications out for over night stock at Wal-mart all the way up to manager positions with different companies. There are no jobs available. And we have about a month until what we have in savings runs out. So that's why.
I can't justify writing when my family is about to be homeless. I might not find a job myself. There are no openings in the medical office field anywhere in town, I can't go back to the service industry. I have no ideas. So it's hard to maintain the glib tongue and public face of a published writer when my private world is crashing down around me. Forgive me. It'll be better soon. For now. Not so much.
Mercy
Enough about that, back to the main topic, which was Wicked Game. Reader reviews are so wonderful on this book. The phone sex scene has become a huge topic of conversation on the Goodreads boards. I know this because a wonderful reviewer gave me a heads up for an upcoming review and told me WG is being talked about all over GR. So that answers that question. The one I've had all month about how WG can go up (or down depending on how you look at it) in Amazon rankings to sixty thousand and then plunge down to twelve thousand an hour later. I still don't know how Amazon's ranking system works. How many sales constitutes that much of a plunge? How many sales keeps you in what area of rankings at all? Three books in ten minutes? or steady purchases. And why do I never seem to get checks from Ellora's Cave with Amazon or ARe sales even though both of my Emjai books climb and fall in the ratings there? Odd that.
So yes I'm very happy with how Wicked Game is doing. I am very happy with how people are receiving the book. I loved writing that book, Cass was the first female character I wrote that I fell in love with. And Jaime, was such a delight to write, he was a little kid in a grown man's body. Big bad alpha who has no clue how to deal with women. And yes the phone scenes were my favorite to write. I doubt that would be allowed in the NFL in reality but who knows what goes on on the sidelines in the down time leading up to the game. Could be some serious phone sex going on. It's fantasy. And as one reader put it phone sex while on national television...yummy.
And yes it's October, now, my favorite month, the temps have actually dropped here which is refreshing and I'm less than a month away from the release of my next book Behind Iron Lace. If you loved WG and you like m/m romance then you're going to enjoy Lace. And believe me when you come asking, the line for Caleb has already formed and I believe the editor of the book is first in that line, so be ready to fight for him. Just wait, you'll see. In a few days I'm going to start working up to that release with promotion tours and stuff...don't know what stuff yet. I'm still new to promoting myself. I've found out you don't promote the books, you promote yourself, and people buy your books. Problem is I'm a classic introvert, people scare me, I can be articulate and funny on the blog but that getting face to face thing makes my brain forget how to work. Don't likey.
So yeah that's the good, the fabulous and the bright and shining. Why is it when there is a good and fabulous and bright and shining that equal dose of kicked in the balls has to go along with it (yes I'm female and yes I have some, figuratively).
Not quite three weeks ago my husband lost his job, well not exactly lost his job, he was demoted from General Manager down to assistant manager in February and three weeks ago demoted again down to driver. He went from 55 hours a week to barely pulling 25. They didn't want him fired, that way they he could get unemployment benefits so they sneakily underhandedly didn't even have the guts to tell him to his face but told his entire staff a week earlier. And no he didn't deserve the demotion, he did his job and he did it better than his co-managers. He didn't kiss ass and that's the name of the game with the new owner. So yeah, right now isn't good. Three weeks of super part time pay isn't going to pay the rent and feed a family of five (Currently). I don't work outside the home. I do have a medical issue that keeps me from going back to the job I left when I was pregnant. My husband made more than enough to support us without the little extra income I provided. I didn't have to. I could focus on writing and publishing and getting the career I started in 2004 going for real this time. And I did that. I've written seven books since August of last year and I've sold five of those. One is out for submission and one is a sequel to one of the two books I retrieved my rights on (took back from publisher). So yes I've been working my ass off. Problem is royalty checks don't pay the bills. One of my publishers pays quarterly, and the two checks I've received for Double Coverage was enough to cover a rent payment, just one. And even though my Ellora's Cave books are still for sale and they pay monthly those checks are usually for 2 dollars if I'm lucky I'll get a 10 dollar check every third month or so. And Cobblestone Press? Yeah, CP sent me an invoice for August sales of two books. Now grant you I pulled both of those books the second week of August, both books were still for sale until August 12th, and guess what, neither book sold a single copy in those twelve days. How delightfully not unexpected. To date I've made little more than a hundred dollars for those two books combined from May (which paid the March sales of 51) until October (which paid for August and the second quarter sales for outside distributors but since CP didn't list either book with any outside distributors until the third quarter I didn't expect any). I haven't and won't be paid for any Wicked Game sales until December when they pay third quarter sales. So yeah I might be working my ass off writing but I'm still a long way away from seeing any real money for that work. Not complaining (except for the issues with CP) just stating how the system works. Double Coverage wasn't a big seller. I was new and unknown. It exceeded expectations. Reviews were good. Wicked Game has done very well, and because of that there was renewed interest in DC. That's how the system works. Lace will sell very well I expect. But that doesn't do anything to help my situation now. And frankly I am scared to death. He has applications out for over night stock at Wal-mart all the way up to manager positions with different companies. There are no jobs available. And we have about a month until what we have in savings runs out. So that's why.
I can't justify writing when my family is about to be homeless. I might not find a job myself. There are no openings in the medical office field anywhere in town, I can't go back to the service industry. I have no ideas. So it's hard to maintain the glib tongue and public face of a published writer when my private world is crashing down around me. Forgive me. It'll be better soon. For now. Not so much.
Mercy
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