Talia Jager

Little Bullies - Monday Mom Posts

2012-02-27T22:08:00.003-08:00

Here it is, very close to midnight, and I wasn't sure what to write about today. I'm really trying to stay on track, but with midwife appointments and kids' schedules, things don't always go according to plan.

As you can tell, most of my posts are short, sweet, to the point. I don't drag on whining about something for paragraphs on end. This one will be the same.

I live on a street I swear should be on reality TV. Some of the women here are life-size Barbies. Drives me nuts! There's one on the street who I thought was going to be more normal when she moved in, but she turned out to be as much as a drama queen and witch as the rest of them.

Her son is 4 years old and one of the biggest bullies I have ever met. My kids aren't allowed to go near their house or their kids. One of the neighbors on the street that is a nice person has a little boy the same age and he wants so badly to play with another little boy. But, this little boy (we'll call him Little Bully) is horrible to him. He's hit him, bit him, called him names, told him to shut up and so on.

One time, Little Bully hit Nice Kid and Nice Kid told Little Bully's mom. Little Bully's mom told them to "fight it out". Another adult neighbor overheard this. She was mortified and got Nice Kid inside.

Just this past weekend, another nice neighbor had to ban this kid from her yard because he hit her 5-year-old daughter and told her to "shut up".

What are these parents thinking? Why in the world would you think it's okay for 4 and 5 year olds to "fight it out"? Why would you teach your child that?

If my child ever acted that way, I would put a stop to it immediately! And believe me, if something happens to my child because of this one, I won't hesitate to press charges or whatever is necessary.

Indie Chicks - Sibel Hodge

2012-02-26T10:18:00.000-08:00

From 200 rejections to Amazon top200!

Sibel Hodge

Eversince I was old enough to scrawl my first word, which was Halibaaaaa, I knew I wanted to write books. OK, so the word didn’tactually make sense, and it might take a little longer for me to actually stringa whole sentence together, but that didn’t put me off. I was going to writebooks and no one would stop me…

Fromwhen I was really young, my mum encouraged me to read. “If you can read books,you’ll never be bored,” I remember her telling me. I secretly think it was aploy to keep me out of her hair and quiet for a while. I was always a loud kidwith lots of energy, and always getting into some sort of trouble with the boysdown our street. (Yep, even then I was a sucker for boys!). After discoveringthe wonderful world of books, I thought I’d have a go myself, and rememberscribbling down stories whenever I had a spare moment. Shame I was only six,and there was no way anyone would publish a book with I Want Big Girls’ Knickers in the title.

WhenI was in secondary school my favourite subject was English language. I’d losemyself for hours. And even though I hadn’t thought about my forthcoming career beforeI left (apart from being Wonder Woman or an astronaut), I knew, even then, Ihad a love of creating. I also loved to make people laugh from an early age. Inthe beginning, it wasn’t intentional. I was always saying ridiculous thingsthat I thought were quite serious. Like the time I went to the butchers shopwith my nan, and the lady behind the counter asked where I was from. “SouthAmerica,” I said. (I know, where the hell did that come from? I must’ve had anoveractive imagination from the start.) So when people started laughing at me,I thought, hey, this is pretty fun! We live in such a hectic world and laughteris a perfect way to de-stress. Because my personality is quirky, fun-loving,and slightly nuts, it was probably a given that I would eventually write chicklit, although I have recently delved into the dark side of my brain (which is apretty scary place to be sometimes!) and written a psychological thriller.

Butwhen I left school no one mentioned writing as a career. It was all boringthings like secretarial jobs, travel agents, office work. I didn’t even knowabout creative writing courses until about ten years ago! I think theyconsidered that writing wasn’t a “proper career.” No one suggested journalismor further education in writing. So what was a girl to do? Although my mumwanted me to go to University and study to be something like a doctor or lawyer(eeek!), I didn’t have a cluewhat I wanted to do for a career, so I flitted from one job to the next, tryingto find something that interested me, and eventually ended up working for thepolice for ten years. So there I was, too busy paying the mortgage, workingshifts, and living in the rat race of life to have the proper time oropportunity to write a novel. It didn’t stop me trying, though.

Itwas drastic things like splitting up with a boyfriend that made me start myfirst novel when I was about seventeen. I never got further than the firstthree chapters, though, because I didn’t have a clue what I was doing, otherthan using a typewriter! Then I started another one (I got dumped again – canyou see a pattern here?) when I was about twenty-three, and ditto (I’d hate forthose to ever see the light of day). I just knew that I loved writing and therefore it stood toreason that one day I’d do it, didn’t it? And although I look back now andthink I wish I’d started writing earlier, actually, I have to say, that itwould’ve been bad timing. Back then I wouldn’t have had anything to reallywrite about. A lot of the things that go into my books now are based on my experienceof life. People I’ve met, places I’ve been, books I’ve read, things I’ve done,struggles I’ve achieved. At twenty-three, what did I really know about any ofthat?

And then fiveyears ago, hubby and I had had enough of the UK. We got fed up with theconstant grey weather, bills that seemed to increase as you looked at them,working constantly to pay them, and never having quality time for ourselves orour family. Right, it was time to make my childhood dream come true and movesomewhere exotic, where the cost of living was lower, and we would actuallyhave time to enjoy each other and life again. Then I would finally have thetime and opportunity to dedicate to writing. Yes, we’d have to sacrifice a lotof things to achieve it, but it would be worth it in the end. So we moved toNorth Cyprus, and it was like my brain suddenly said, Hallellujah! Now we divide our timebetween Cyprus and the UK.

I didn’t activelythink about what I was going to write, but a year after we’d moved there I hadan exciting idea for a story, using my unique Turkish Cypriot/British cultural heritage,and my debut romantic comedy Fourteen Days Later was born. Then I actually became theguinea pig for the sequel, My Perfect Wedding! But it was all very wellcompleting my dream of writing a book, but until it was published, no one wouldget to read it.

So I started querying hundreds ofagents and publishers. I got too many rejections to even count! OK, small whitelie, a while ago I did count them out of morbid curiosity, and it was a whoppingtwo hundred!

I did come close a couple of timesto being traditionally published, but it never quite worked out. It was either,“one group of editors liked it but another didn’t”, or “the chick lit market issaturated”, or “we love it but…”

When I first looked intopublishing independently, platforms like Amazon Kindle didn’t supportinternational authors. So the way I saw it, I had two choices. Either I couldwrite another book, hone my writing skills and learn all I could about mycraft, and wait for an opportunity to come up, or I could let all the rejectionletters get me down, think my writing career was over before it had begun, andstick my head in the oven! Since heat tends to turn my curls into a ball offrizz, it was no contest, really. I wrote my next novel, a chick lit mysterycalled The Fashion Police, and waited. Because I knew,I just knew, that I COULD do this. I could write novels that people wanted toread. If only I could get the chance.

In the meantime, I also enteredseveral writing competitions. And while I was still getting the dreadedrejections, Fourteen Days Later was shortlisted for the Harry Bowling Prize2008 and received a Highly Commended by The Yeovil Literary Prize 2009. And TheFashion Police was a runner up in the Chapter One Promotions Novel Competition2010 (and later nominated for the Best Novel with Romantic Elements 2010 by TheRomance Reviews). Surely I was doing something right, wasn’t I? But I STILLcouldn’t get a publisher!

Then last year, when Amazon openedup their doors to non-US authors, I uploaded Fourteen Days Later and TheFashion Police onto their Kindle store. I couldn’t believe it when I finallysaw my books on sale. It was scary, rewarding, exciting, amazing – so manyexperiences rolled into one.

But what if no one liked mynovels? What if I had all bad reviews? What if all the two hundred rejectionswere right? What if, what if…?

Time for a deep breath, Sibel. Ifyou want to be an author, you have to repeat this mantra everyday… “I can dothis. I can do this. I CAN do this.”

So I did.

And boy am I glad I did! The firstmonth with Fourteen Days Later and The Fashion Police, I sold 44 books (anothereeek!). Then I released my third novel, a romantic comedy called My Perfect Wedding, and later released my secondchick lit mystery Be Careful What You Wish For. In the last 6months alone I’ve sold over 40,000 ebooks, and all my novels are consistentlyin the Amazon top 100 genre categories for humor, contemporary romance, comedy,and romantic suspense. My highest overall sales ranking to date is 136, justmissing out on the Amazon top 100 bestseller charts. Considering there are over900,000 Kindle books on Amazon, that’s not bad!

And this is one lesson I’velearned in the last couple of years…You can do anything you want to inlife. It may mean you have to go a different route than you originally planned,but if you’re determined enough and believe in yourself, you can overcome anyobstacles.

So I’m toasting all you women outthere with my glass of wine. Cheers to dreams and making them come true! Lookslike I got my big girls’ knickers after all!

You can find Sibel’s books inpaperback and all ebook formats. For more info, please check out her website

This is onestory from Indie Chicks: 25 Women 25 Personal Stories availableon Amazon and Barnes & Noble . To read all of the stories, buy yourcopy today.

Barbie Clothes - Monday Mom Post

2012-02-20T21:29:00.000-08:00

My five-year-old brought me a half dressed Barbie. "Can you help me?" she asked.

"Help you what?" I asked eyeing the Barbie.

"Get her clothes on."

Hmmm...okay. Seemed like something a five-year-old should be able to do. I took the Barbie and tried to pull up her shorts, they didn't budge. I yanked and tugged for at least five minutes and was finally able to get Barbie's shorts over her hips.

Really? This is what we're teaching our daughters? That clothes should fit this tight. It's not like Barbie is fat. Why can't she have clothes that simply go on? Something easy enough for kids to do so they don't have to bother their parents for help in putting clothes on a doll. I never liked Barbies anyway, now I have another reason to add to the list.

Polly Pockets often have the same problem. Tight clothes that take forever to shimmy up their thin bodies.

Dressing a doll shouldn't be hard.

Indie Chicks - Christine DeMaio-Rice

2012-02-19T11:07:00.000-08:00

HOW A BIG YELLOWTRUCK CHANGED MY LIFE

(for the better)

An orange peel grapple is a big machine. Excavator on thebottom. Long arm in the middle. And a metal grapple on the end that looks likea horror movie claw. The base spins. The arm moves up and down. The grapplegrabs stuff like SUVs and big piles of metal.

You may come across one while driving, and if you have alittle boy in the car, you may have to pull over to watch the thing move carsinto a tractor trailer. Otherwise, nothing about this machine will rock yourworld.

But an orange peel grapple changed my life.

My life was a complete disaster at the time. Though I had abeautiful baby boy and a good husband, I had a job in an industry I swore Iwould never return to, at a company that wanted nothing more than to suck theblood directly from my heart with a curly straw. This, after I had already soldall the blood in my heart to the film industry, which after a few meetings andscreenwriting awards, looked like it might want to take a sip from that straw.

A sip, because as good as things were looking, I saw a longroad in front of me. My work was not “commercial enough,” and my manager hadmade it clear that years would pass before I would be able to convince anyonethat this lack of commerciality was a quality that was, well, commercial.

But no. My husband lost his job, and I found work in thefashion industry soon after. What I rapidly discovered was that, thoughout-of-towners could schedule meetings back-to-back all over town, Angelenoswere expected to take a meeting at the last minute, or blithely accept arescheduling. My boss, on the other hand, had no interest in moving around mypersonal days, and my sick days dwindled in my first three months on the job. Ittook only a few months for the meetings to dry up and for me to start writing aSanta Claus script out of desperation.

So, the blood-sucking fashion job with the inflexible hours wasright next to a scrap yard, which apparently opened at the crack of dawn becausewhen I got there at seven thirty every morning, the orange peel grapple wasalready grabbing away. If I had a minute, I watched it go up and down as Iclutched my coffee, and I thought, one day I should get a video camera and filmthis because my son would love it. Really love it.

My son was about eighteen months old and just learning totalk. I missed him while I was at work, adored him when he was awake and withme, and the rest of the time, I found room to resent him for taking me awayfrom writing. He was then, and has remained, a fireball of energy. His teacheralternated between calling him a Jack Russell terrier and a buzz saw. He isalso obsessive. Right now, he has a room full of Legos. Before that, it wasThomas the Tank Engine, and before that, it was trucks. Big yellow trucks. Hewouldn’t fall asleep unless he gripped a toy truck in each fist. When he receiveda Tonka loader for Christmas, it was love at first sight. He called it “lolo.”

One morning, with the vision of that big ‘lolo’ that I wouldlater know as an orange peel grapple dancing in my head, I dialed a friend’snumber. I’d known this man from Brooklyn, and he’d come to Los Angeles a fewyears earlier to attend the American Film Institute. Most importantly, he had acamera. When I got his answering machine, instead of asking him for the camera,I said something else entirely, something like, “Hey, wanna produce a kid’svideo together? Here’s the pitch. Trucks. Okay, bye.”

That moment may not seem pivotal, but most turning pointsdon’t when they happen. That moment, I took control of my creative life. Myfriend called me back the minute he got up, and we began the journey towardbecoming business owners. We did not pitch the idea around town, and we did notask permission to bring the work to the public. We put the DVDs on Createspace,and eventually had to hold inventory to meet the demand.

Lolo Productions and the TotallyTrucks series have had ups and downs, but the process taught me two things.One, my concepts need to be simple. If I can’t pitch it in five words, it’s nota concept I should develop. My second lesson is that I can be in control of myproduct and my creative life. If I think something is worthwhile, I can bringit to my customers. Becoming the producer and publisher of my work means I understandnow what agents and studio executives meant when they said “commercial.”

Without my son, I never would have taken the life-suckingjob. And without that job, there would have been no orange peel grapple. Andwithout that scrapyard, there would have been no Totally Trucks. No eye for the commercial and no control ofself-publishing. Who knows what I would have made without all the things thatpissed me off for interrupting my work.

Website: http://fashionismurder.com

Amazon link: Dead Is the New Black (Fashion Avenue Mysteries)

Nook: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dead-is-the-new-black-christine-demaio-rice/1105858865

Teen Topics #7

2012-02-16T20:03:00.000-08:00

I'm slacking, I know. It's this darn pregnancy. I have no energy and I ache all over. But, I'm trying!!!

So, just a quick question for teens this week. This one is specifically for any teen that got pregnant. How did you find out and what was your first thought?

Some of my books deal with teen pregnancy. I want to know how YOU found out and reacted...no matter the outcome. Just want to know that first raw emotion.

As always, email me at taliajager at att dot net if you don't want to leave your comment here.

Thanks!

Indie Chicks - Cheryl Bradshaw

2012-02-12T09:29:00.000-08:00

Just Me and James Dean…by Cheryl Bradshaw

When I was a little girl I used to make up stories atbedtime for my younger sister, Michelle. The most vivid centered on a boy and agirl who received a piece of gum for Halloween in their trick-or-treat bag, andwhen they chewed it, they were transported to a magical land where they weregranted unlimited wishes. Even at such ayoung age, the process of concocting stories was effortless. My mind revolved like the reel of a moviespinning inside my head.

I spent many hours daydreaming as a child. Back then everything was as beautiful andwhite as a freshly painted fence. Ifantasized about the day I would get married, the children I would have, thehouse I would own, and the life I would live when I was all grown up.

When I was a teenager,my mind still swirled with girlish hopes and dreams. I remember lying on my bed in my room staringat a poster on my wall of James Dean. Hewas hunkered down on the seat of a motorcycle, and Marilyn Monroe was perchedbehind him with her arms wrapped around his waist, and her head resting on hisshoulder. I wanted to jump into theposter like the girl in A-Ha’s Take on Mevideo and ride off into life’s highway, just me and James. Together, forever.

When I became an adult and moved out on my own to attendcollege at the tender age of eighteen, I thought I had my whole world figuredout. I’d developed a slight obsessionwith Agatha Christie and knew mysteries and thrillers were the perfect genrefor me as a writer. All kinds of ideasflowed for the first novel, and I thought I was on my way. There was just one problem: I never startedwriting.

Why?

I wasn’t prepared for the events that were about to takeplace in my life or how they would affect my journey. Life didn’t turn out to be the dream Ithought it would be, and I struggled—a lot, and faced challenges and trialsthat at times seemed more than I could bear. My relationships didn’t always work out, and all the babies I hoped tohave didn’t come like I’d planned. There were times when I felt like my life waslike a shattered mirror, and I was on my hands and knees desperately searchingfor all the pieces of myself so I could glue them back together and feel wholeagain. During those times I wondered howmany other women out there in the world felt the same exact way.

Time went on and I struggled, but eventually I picked myselfback up and I healed. With a new leaseon life and a positive attitude about what I’d overcome, I thought aboutwriting again. In 2009 I wrote Black Diamond Death, the first novel inmy Sloane Monroe series. Sinnerman followed six months later andnow I’m hard at work on the third, I Havea Secret.

As I sit here and write this, I’m shocked that I am being socandid. Normally, I safeguard myfeelings. To say I’m a private person isan understatement, but I feel compelled to get this out. My message in all of this is to never losesight of your hopes and dreams. Neverforget who you are, where you came from, and what you are capable ofaccomplishing in your life. And if youhave a passion, foster it with everything you have inside you. Let it shine. Let it breathe. Let it be.

When I pondered about the dedication I would use for Sinnerman, my direction was clear and Iwrote the following:

This book isdedicated to anyone who’s ever had a dream. We have but one life, and oneopportunity to live it. Make it last,make it count, and make it the best it can be. Live your dreams, I know I am.

Today, I’m no longer waiting for James Dean to ride up onhis shiny black motorcycle. I’ve fallenfor a different kind of boy now, one who dreams of wide open spaces and asimple life. One who wants to be acowboy when he grows up. Now the posterI see in my visions is one of man hoisting me up on the back of his trustysteed while we ride away together into the Wyoming sunset.

If you asked me ten years ago if this was the life I thoughtI wanted, my answer might have been no, but if you asked me today I would sayI’m right where I’m supposed to be. Mylife isn’t perfect, the challenges are still there, and I still have a lot tolearn about myself. But no matter whatthe future holds for me, I know one thing for sure: I’ll never stop writing.

*******

This is one story from Indie Chicks: 25 Women 25 PersonalStories available on Amazonand Barnes& Noble. To read all of the stories, buy your copy today.

*******

Cheryl’s book’s on Amazon:

Black Diamond Death (Sloane Monroe Series—Book One)

Sinnerman (Sloane Monroe Series—Book Two)

Whispers of Murder (A Novella)

To learn more about Cheryl, visit herhere:

Squeaky Shoes - Monday Mom Post

2012-02-06T19:19:00.000-08:00

Who's the genius that invented these?

They look like normal baby shoes, right???

Wrong.

They squeak when baby walks in them.

The first time I realized these shoes existed, I thought "Aw, cute." A friend had them on her 1 year old daughter. We were outside and she squeaked down the road. I actually said "what a neat idea". I thought about how you would know where your little one was at all times. Cute.

Then the 1 year old I babysit for showed up with a pair-at 7 o'clock in the morning. I opened the door and greeted her and her mother. She walked in. Squeak. Squeak...squeak...squeak...little faster then as she ran into the playroom. I cringed thinking about how much they echoed in my open floor plan and how my 1 year old-who was still sleeping-could probably hear them.

Within less than a minute, I sat the little girl down and took off her shoes. 7 o'clock in the morning is way too early for that kind of noise.

The child I babysit for now has 2 pair of noisy, squeaky shoes and constantly shows up in them. It really got me thinking. Who invented these? They can't possibly have children. These are the most annoying shoes I have ever seen/heard.

I was wrong.

I've been to a few websites of people who make them, some actually make them for a reason, like their children are delayed in walking. But, now with the squeaky shoe, the child is delighted to hear the squeaks coming from their feet and tries to walk more. I suppose I could see the reasoning there...but they are still VERY annoying and I NEVER want a pair.

Hear that people planning my baby shower?? NO squeaky shoes!!!

Indie Chicks - Dani Amore

2012-02-05T08:42:00.000-08:00

WRITING FROM A FLOUR SACK

Dani Amore

Fact: I was born ona bathroom floor. Literally. My arrival into this world wasfollowed seconds later by an unceremonious drop onto the cold tile of St.John’s Hospital in Detroit, Michigan.

You see, I was the fifth out of six children. My mother knew my delivery would be fast, butthe nurse at the hospital insisted she go to the bathroom before the doctorarrived.

Later, after the drama and I was pronounced healthy, mymother told the doctor that the nurse should have listened to her, that she hadwarned the nurse that the baby (me) was going to arrive any second. That, having already delivered four children,she knew her body pretty well.

The doctor said, “Five kids, huh? Maybe you should tell your husband to keep itin his pants.”

True story.

***

Both of my parents were born in Italy. They emigrated to the U.S. in the 1950s. My father always said the biggest differencebetween Italy and America at that time was that you could work your ass off inItaly and have nothing to show for it. If you worked hard in America, you could eventually become wealthy. He started a construction company and worked6 days a week, from dawn to dusk. Eventually, he was successful.

My mother raised six children.

She is a strong woman.

Both she and my father share a love of aphorisms.

The one I remember most? “A well-made flour sack stands on its own.”

It was almost like a mantra with her.

At a key point in my writing life, that phrase came in handy.

***

So there I am. I’vegot a full-time job in advertising. I’mwriting about products that suck, working for people I can’t stand, and withtwo good friends, drinking every night after work. At a little bar not far from the office. I’m averaging about five or six drinks anight. Every weeknight. More on the weekends.

But on those weekend mornings, I’m writing fiction. Just short stories that I try to picture inThe Paris Review.

Everything gets rejected with remarkable efficiency.

One night, probably half in the bag, I come across THE DAYOF THE JACKAL on television. Theoriginal movie is pretty campy and the remake with Bruce Willis is a pure loadof crap. But the book. The novel by Frederick Forsyth is one of myall-time favorites.

The scene on television is the best part of the movie: It’s where the Jackal is sighting in hisrifle. He paints a little face on asmall melon, then blows it apart from 500 yards away.

There’s no epiphany. I go to bed. But as I toss andturn, vodka fumes in a cloud around my pillow, I think about the narrativestructure of the story. I’ve read thebook several times. Even have acollector’s edition. The chase. The tension. The violence.

When I wake up the next morning, I make an especially strongpot of coffee. I push aside my shortliterary fiction, and start a new story.

It’s about a hitman and a female escort.

Later that day, during some interminable meeting whereeveryone is throwing out insidious phrases like “let’s get on the same page,”and “think outside the box,” I realized what I was doing.

I was writing to please others, instead of focusing on thekind of stories and books I like.

Crime fiction. Thrillers. Suspense.

I had forgotten one of my mother’s cardinal rules.

A well-made flour sack stands on its own.

***

I know it sounds melodramatic. But the truth is, everything changed afterthat night. I still despised theadvertising industry, but I no longer let it bother me so much. I begged off going to the bar with myfriends, instead choosing to work out and then get some writing done in theevenings.

Eventually, I finished several crime novels. Even landed a big New York literary agent.

But a funny thing happened. My agent, and publishers, seemed to have endless debates about how tomarket me. Should I be a hardboiledcrime novelist? A thriller writer? A traditional mystery author?

There were suggestions to change this book and change thatone. Then change it back. Then change it to something else.

But now I had learned. I was smarter.

I told them thanks, but no thanks.

It was time to stand up and be the writer I wanted to be.

So I became an indie author.

And when my first book became a Top 10 Mystery on Amazon, Iknew I had made the right decision.

Never underestimate the power of an Italian mother armedwith an aphorism.

Dani’s Books on Amazon:

To learn more about Dani, visit her at http://www.daniamore.com

Teen Topics #6

2012-02-02T15:35:00.000-08:00

It's Thursday again and that means another teen topic. Here's something I'd like to know about...what do teens feel comfortable telling their parents?

I want to maintain open communication with my teenager. She's in 9th grade and will come home from school and tell me about her day. I'm sure I don't get all the details. But, it's nice that she does this. I often wonder what is being left out and why. Last week, she confided something in me that I was shocked to hear. I didn't get mad because she was opening up to me.

But, now what?

I can't punish her for opening up and telling me something. I want her to be able to come to me and tell me when things happen - good or bad. But, I can't get this out of my mind!!!

Teens: How much do you tell your parents? If you tell them something in confidence, do they punish you?

Parents: If your teen tells you something in confidence, what do you do about it? How do you encourage communication?

As always, if you don't feel comfortable leaving a comment, you can always email me at taliajager at att dot net

Indie Chicks - Anne R. Allen

2012-02-01T11:05:00.000-08:00

A KINKY ADVENTURE IN ANGLOPHILIA

By Anne R. Allen

When I started writing funny women’s fiction fifteen yearsago, if anybody had given me a realistic idea of my chances for publication,I’d have chosen a less stressful hobby, like do-it-yourself brain surgery,professional frog herding, or maybe staging an all-Ayatollah drag revue indowntown Tehran.

As a California actress with years of experience ofcattle-drive auditions, greenroom catfights and vitriolic reviewers, I thoughtI had built up enough soul-calluses to go the distance. But nothing hadprepared me for the glacial waiting periods; the bogus, indifferent and/orsuddenly-out-of-business agents; and the heartbreaking, close-but-no-cigarreads from big-time editors—all the rejection horrors that make the Americanpublishing industry the impenetrable fortress it has become.

But some of us are too writing-crazed to stop ourselves. Iwas then, as now, sick in love with the English language.

I had three novels completed. A fourth had run as a serialin a California entertainment weekly. One of my stories had been short-listedfor an international prize, and a play had been produced to good reviews. I wasbringing in a few bucks—mostly with short pieces for local magazines andfreelance editing.

But meantime, my savings had evaporated along with myabandoned acting career; my boyfriend had ridden his Harley into the Big Sursunset; my agent was hammering me to write formula romance; and I wascontemplating a move to one of the less fashionable neighborhoods of the rustbelt.

Even acceptances turned into rejections: a UK zine that hadaccepted one of my stories folded. But when the editor sent the bad news, hementioned he’d taken a job with a small UK book publisher—and did I have anynovels?

I sent him one my agent had rejected as “too over the top.”Within weeks, I was offered a contract by my new editor—a former BBC comedywriter—for FOOD OF LOVE. Included was an invitationto come over the pond to do some promotion.

So I rented out my beach house, packed my bags and bought a ticket toGainsborough, Lincolnshire, where my new publishers had recently moved into a19th century former textile mill on the banks of the river Trent—the riverGeorge Eliot fictionalized as “the Floss.”

George Eliot. I was going to be working and living only a few hundredyards from the ruins of the house where she wrote her classic novel about the19th century folk who lived and died by the power of Lincolnshire’s great tidalriver. Maybe some of that greatness would rub off on me.

At the age of… well, I’m not telling…I was about to have the adventureof my life.

I knew the company published mostly erotica, but wasbranching into mainstream and literary fiction. They had already published thefirst novel of a distinguished poet, and a famous Chicago newspaper columnistwas in residence, awaiting the launch of his new book.

But when I arrived, I found the great Chicagoan had left ina mysterious fit of pique, the “erotica” was seriously hard core kink, and theold building on the Trent was more of the William Blake Dark Satanic varietythan George Elliot’s bucolic “Mill on the Floss.”

Some of my fears subsided when Iwas greeted by a friendly group of unwashed, fiercely intellectual young menwho presented me with generous quantities of warm beer, cold meat pies andgalleys to proof. After a beer or two, I found myself almost comprehendingtheir northern accents.

I held it together until I saw my new digs: a grimy futon and an old metaldesk, hidden behind stacks of book pallets in the corner of an unheatedwarehouse, about a half a block from the nearest loo. My only modernconvenience was an ancient radio abandoned by a long-ago factory girl.

I have to admit to admit to some tears of despair.

Until, from the radio, Big Benchimed six o’clock.

That’s six pm, GMT.

Greenwich Mean Time. The words hit me with all the sonorous power of Big Benitself. I had arrived at the mean, the middle, the center that still holds—nomatter what rough beasts might slouch through the cultural deserts of theformer empire. This was where my language, my instrument, was born.

I clutched my galley-proof to my heart. I might still be a rejected nobody inthe land of my birth—but I’d landed on the home planet: England. And there, I wasa published novelist. Just like George Eliot.

Three years later, I returned toCalifornia, older, fatter (the English may not have the best food, but theirBEER is another story) and a lot wiser. That Chicagoan’s fit of pique turnedout to be more than justified. The company was swamped in debt. They nevermanaged to get me US distribution. Shortly before my second book THE BESTREVENGE was to launch, the managing partner withdrew his capital, sailed awayand mysteriously disappeared off his yacht—his body never found. The companysputtered and died.

And I was back in the slush pileagain.

But I had a great plot for mynext novel.

Unfortunately, nobody wanted it.I was now tainted with the “published-to-low-sales-numbers label and my chanceswere even worse than before.

So I wrote two more novels.Nobody wanted them either.

Then I started a blog. I figuredI could at least let other writers benefit from my mistakes. My blog followersgrew. And grew. The blog won some awards. My Alexa and Klout ratings got betterand better. Finally, publishers started approaching ME. (There’s a moral forwriters here—social networking works.)

And finally, six years later,another publisher, Popcorn Press, fell in love with FOOD OF LOVE and sent me acontract. Soon after, they contracted to publish THE BEST REVENGE, too.

And this September, a brand newindie ebook publisher called Mark Williams International Digital Publishingasked if I had anything else ready to publish.

Just happen to have a fewunpubbed titles handy, said I.

He liked them.

So in October and November of2011, those three new comic mysteries will appear as ebooks: THE GATSBY GAME,GHOSTWRITERS IN THE SKY, and SHERWOOD, LTD (that’s the novel inspired by myEnglish adventures.) Popcorn Press will publish paper versions in 2012. THEBEST REVENGE debuted as an ebook in December, with the paper book to follow inFebruary.

A fifteen-year journey finallyseems to be paying off.

Did I make some mistakes? Ohyeah—a full set of them. But would I wish away my English adventures?

Not a chance.

*******

Links:

Blog http://annerallen.blogspot.com

Twitter @annerallen

Authorpages: At Amazon.com , at amazon.co.uk, on Facebook

SHERWOOD, LTD

(Romantic comedy/mystery: MWiDP) A penniless socialitebecomes a 21^st century Maid Marian, but is “Robin” planning to killher? Buy at amazon.co.uk, amazon.com,or Barnesand Noble

THE BEST REVENGE

(Romantic comedy/mystery: Popcorn Press) A suddenly-broke1980s celebutante runs off to California with nothing but her Delorean and herdesigner furs, looking for her long-lost gay best friend—and finds herselfaccused of murder. Buy at amazon.co.ukor amazon.comand inpaper at Popcorn Press or inpaper at Amazon.com .

Where Are Grandpa's Feet?

2012-01-30T10:51:00.000-08:00

Many parents don't want their kids exposed to death at an early age. I understand and respect that, but I feel that death is a part of life and kids should know about it. A lot of people asked me why I took my kids to my grandfather's wake and asked if I let the kids see him.

I think it's important for kids of any age to understand what dying is and to participate in the family events that happen when someone dies. Now, I don't necessarily mean a 1 or 2 year old. They are too young to understand. Although, I did bring my 2 year old and she kept pointing at Grandpa and saying, "Papa." I know she doesn't understand, however my 5 year old had some questions...

She wanted to know why Grandpa was so short and where his legs and feet were. This was something I didn't think about preparing her for. It was really cute how she wanted to know where the rest of him was. I explained to her that he was all there...legs, feet, toes and all...they are just underneath the top of the coffin. She wasn't so sure about that answer. I don't know why she didn't believe me.

At the end, she was asking my mom about it again and the funeral director was there. She offered to open the bottom part of the casket so my daughter could see. They lifted it up enough so she could see that he had legs and feet under there and boy was she relieved when she saw that he was wearing SOCKS. Guess she thought maybe his feet would get cold?

She also wanted to touch his skin and his hair. Nobody had a problem with this. She was just curious. She had some other questions and hopefully we answered them well enough for her. I really do think it was important for her to go and see him and even experience the sadness that people showed. Although, I'm sure she enjoyed the huge family dinner and ice cream bar afterwards.

Death is part of life.

Teen Topics #5

2012-01-26T06:00:00.000-08:00

How far do you let your teen wander? How much supervision should they have? Once again, I would love to hear from both teens and parents.

Teens: Do your parents let you roam around the neighborhood during the day? What about at night? Do you have a curfew?

Parents: Do you always know where your teen is? Is it okay with you if they roam around the neighborhood?

My husband and I have a difference of opinion. As you know we have a teenage daughter. She likes to hang out with some of the kids from the neighborhood. Our neighborhood is big. She has a few girlfriends who come and hang out, but she has 3-4 "boyfriends" that hang out too. I insist that she stay in our yard once it's dark. She hates this of course. But, these boys seem to have no supervision. My husband thinks she shouldn't be able to hang out with them at all because they must be bad news.

Opinions?

Indie Chicks - Sarah Woodbury

2012-01-22T19:32:00.000-08:00

Turning Medieval bySarah Woodbury

Sometimes it’s easy to pinpoint those moments in your lifewhere everything is suddenly changed. When you look across the room and say to yourself, I’m going to marry him. Or stare down at those two pink lines on the pregnancy test, whenyou’re only twenty-two and been married for a month and a half and are livingon only $800 a month because you’re both still in school and my God how is this going to work?

And sometimes it’s a bit harder to remember.

UntilI was eleven, my parents tell me they thought I was going to be a ‘hippy’. I wandered through the trees, swamp, andfields of our 2 ½ acre lot, making up poetry and songs and singing them tomyself. I’m not sure what happened bythe time I’d turned twelve, whether family pressures or the realities of schoolchanged me, but it was like I put all that creativity and whimsicalness into abox on a high shelf in my mind. By thetime I was in my late-teens, I routinely told people: ‘I haven’t a creativebone in my body.’ It makes me sad tothink of all those years where I thought the creative side of me didn’texist.

WhenI was in my twenties and a full-time mother of two, my husband and I took ourfamily to a picnic with his graduate school department. I was pleased at how friendly and acceptingeveryone seemed.

Andthen one of the other graduate students turned to me out of the blue and said,‘do you really think you can jump back into a job after staying home with yourkids for five or ten years?’

Iremember staring at him, not knowing what to say. It wasn’t that I hadn’t thought about it, butthat it didn’t matter—it couldn’t matter—because I had this job to do and the consequences of staying home with my kidswere something I’d just have to face when the time came.

Fastforward ten years and it was clear that this friend had been right in hisincredulity. I was earning $15/hr. as acontract anthropologist, trying to supplement our income while at the same timeholding down the fort at home. Iremember the day it became clear that this wasn’t working. I was simultaneously folding laundry, cookingdinner, and slogging through a report I didn’t want to write, trying to get itall in before the baby (number four, by now) woke up. I put my head down, right there on the dryer,and cried.

Itwas time to seek another path. Time tofollow my heart and do what I’d wanted to do for a long time, but hadn’t hadthe courage, or the belief in myself to make it happen.

Atthe age of thirty-seven, I started my first novel, just to see if I could. I wrote it in six weeks and it was bad in away that all first books are bad. It wasabout elves and magic stones and will never see the light of day. But it taught me, I can do this!

Myhusband told me, ‘give it five years,’ and in the five years that followed, Iexperienced rejection along my newfound path. A lot of it. Over seventy agents,and then dozens and dozens of editors (once I found an agent), read my booksand passed them over. Again and again.

Meanwhile,I just wrote. A whole series. Then more books, for a total of eight, sevenof which I published in 2011.

AndI’m happy to report that, even though I still think of myself as staid, myextended family apparently has already decided that those years where I showedlittle creativity were just a phase. Theother day, my husband told me of several conversations he had, either with themor overheard, in which it became clear they thought I was so alternative and creative—so far offthe map—that I didn’t even remember there wasa map.

I’m almost more pleased about that than anything else. Almost. Through writing, I’ve found a community ofother writers, support and friendship from people I hadn’t known existed a fewyears ago, and best of all, thousands of readers have found my books in thelast year. Here’s to thousands more inthe years to come . . .

Links:

My web page: http://www.sarahwoodbury.com/

My Twitter code is: http://twitter.com/#!/SarahWoodbury

On Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/sarahwoodburybooks

Links to my books: Amazon and Amazon UK

Smashwords BarnesandNoble Apple

Kindle Fire Giveaway

2012-01-20T08:33:00.000-08:00

I'm participating in a giveaway for a Kindle Fire. You can enter for free and get another 25 entries when you buy one of the books of any of the members participating. Read the details and enter here.

Indie Chicks - Suzanne Tyrpak

2012-01-19T07:12:00.000-08:00

Holes

by Suzanne Tyrpak

I used to think I had to be perfect. Of course, I fell shortof perfection on a regular basis so I frequently felt like a failure.

The only way to prevent failure is to hide. If we don’t put ourselvesout there, we can’t fail.

To prevent myself from failing, I hid in a fantasy world. Asa young child, I longed to be a ballerina. I loved to dance, but more thanthat, I wanted to escape into the fantasy world of the ballet. I wanted to live inside a fairytale, and in my mind,I did. I invented worlds I could escape to, perfect worlds that seemed morereal to me than life. Meanwhile, I ate, and ate, and ate. Not ideal, if you wantto be a ballerina. My reality never matched my inner world.

I created this pattern, this external and internaldisparity, throughout my life. I brought it into my marriage, convincing myselfthat my marriage was perfect, while in reality it was a mess. Instead ofleaving, I found escape in writing. I lost myself other times: ancient Egypt,ancient Greece, ancient Rome—worlds as far away from my reality as possible. Inmy writing, I disappeared for hours, days, years. I got a job working at anairline so I could travel and do research. I got an agent. I felt sure I wouldbe published.

Then my world fell apart. After nineteen years of marriage,my husband wanted a divorce. I fought it. Divorce didn’t fit my idea ofperfection, my fairytale. I viewed this loss as a disaster, but in truth it wasan opening, a hole leading me to greater understanding and compassion formyself and others.

I was broke, trying to live on what I made at the airline. Iwas lonely. I had no time to write. Worst of all, I had to admit my life wasn’tperfect. I wasn’t perfect. Forced to acceptmyself with all my imperfections, I discovered that the more I could acceptmyself, the more I could accept others. Even my ex-husband. To this day, weremain friends.

Because I no longer had time to sit down and write forhours, the kind of time it takes to write a novel, I wrote short stories. I wroteabout my experience, about my struggles as a woman of fifty going throughdivorce and entering the dating world. Initially, I wrote the stories formyself as therapy. Then I began to share the stories with my writing group.They encouraged me to submit the stories to magazines, and several werepublished. I read a couple of stories at our local library and people laughed. Thenmy good friend, Blake Crouch, convinced me to publish the stories on Kindle. Afrightening prospect. What if my stories weren’t good enough? What if theyweren’t perfect?

At first I resisted. I’d had two literary agents, and alongtime dream of being traditionally published. Self-publishing didn’t fit myidea of perfection. But, in reality, I no longer had an agent, and I hadn’tworked on a novel for several years. What did I have to lose? Nothing. So Ipublished Dating My Vibrator (and othertrue fiction).

My world changed, not because I was finally published, butbecause I changed. I finally foundthe confidence to pursue my dream despite my imperfections. I found the courageto stop hiding and put myself out into the world. This freed me.

I rewrote my novel, VestalVirgin—suspense in ancient Rome. Originally, my characters were a bit flat.Why? Because they were too perfect! I hadn’t looked at the manuscript for twoyears, and a lot had changed for me in that time. I rewrote the book with acold eye: cutting, digging deeper. My characters became multifaceted, realpeople with flaws.

I became busier and busier, caught in a whirlwind, trying tohold down a full-time job, write, promote my books and have a life. Trying,once again, to be perfect.

And then the universe stepped in.

I had an accident at work. While moving a jet stair (whichweighed over 1,000 pounds) away from the aircraft, my right foot got crushed. Ifell, screaming, onto the tarmac while passengers onboard the plane watched. Acoworker rushed me to the hospital for the first of three emergency surgeries. Isuffered intense pain due to nerve damage, broken and dislocated toes and,ultimately, amputation of a toe. As I write this, I’m still recovering.

I spent five weeks at a nursing home, a good place for me (eventhough most of the patients were over eighty years old), because it would have beenclose to impossible for me to take care of myself at home.While there, I had a chance to meet a lot of the patients and residents.All of us had obvious holes.

I learned a lot from the other patients. And I was forced toface my own mortality. Aging offers us the gift of acceptance. In order to agegracefully, we must the release the idea of perfection. We learn there are somethings we can change, and some things we must accept. And, when we accept what is, we may find the good in even themost difficult situations. We learn to accept the holes in ourselves andothers. We even welcome imperfection.

Since the accident, I’ve been thinking about holes a lot. I'vebeen thinking about being whole, in relation to loss. How can loss make aperson whole? I’ve learned that loss can make a person strong, more self-reliant.Loss can make us more compassionate to ourselves and others.

Where I had a toe, there’s now a hole, and that hole remindsme that I’m not perfect. But, despite my imperfection, I am whole. I am me. Itwould be ridiculous to think that I am any less of a person, because I’mmissing a toe, because I have a hole. Just as it’s ridiculous for any of us tothink we must be perfect.

Physical wounds can’t be hidden as easily as emotional andpsychological wounds. And that’s a gift. Physical wounds make us confront ourmortality, our humanity. Physical wounds can’t be denied. They are tangible andforce us to accept ourselves, with all our imperfections.

It's impossible to get through life without being wounded.Some wounds are obvious. Others are internal, even spiritual: the loss of theability to trust, to connect deeply, to hold a friend and know that you areloved.

We run away from wounds. Try not to look at them. We think they're signs ofweakness, but our wounds—the holes in us—provide a doorway, a soft spot in ourarmor. We walk around armored, protecting ourselves with platitudes and false smiles,never touching our own vulnerabilities, afraid to share our tender rawness withanother or even with ourselves.

If we can touch the tender spots, allow ourselves to feel fear, sorrow, loss,we become closer to wholeness. The more we accept our holes, the morecompassion we can have for others. When we feel compassion we are able toconnect. We are able to expose our soft underbelly to another human being andshare the salt of our tears, the sweetness of our joy. That’s what I want towrite about, that’s what I want to share, because salt makes all the differencebetween a bland, protected life, and a true life: pulsing, bloody, messy,passionate and truly whole.

Flaws, or holes, are what make a character seem real—in lifeand in fiction. Perfection is impermanent, an illusion. A person who seems tooperfect is repulsive. We don’t trust him. We know that person can’t be real. Holesspeak of truth. Holes allow us to connect, to ourselves and to each other. Ourholes make us human, make us beautiful. Holes allow the light to shine through.

If someone had asked me last spring, “Would you give up atoe in order to learn, in order to have time to write your next novel?” I mighthave said, “Yes.”

Funny, how life works.

Links:

My blog: Who's Imagining All This?

Suzanne Tyrpak on Facebook

Twitter: @SuzanneTyrpak

Vestal Virgin—Suspense in Ancient Rome

Currently available on Amazon Amazon UK

Hetaera—Suspense in Ancient Athens

Currently available on Amazon Amazon UK

Life After Death

2012-01-18T20:21:00.000-08:00

Grandpa would have been 90 this year. We all knew he would die soon, but it was still devastating. We weren't very close, Grandpa and I, but I loved him. I remember being on his boat when I was little. He liked to take my cousins and I out on the lake. I remember how he'd sit down in his big recliner and say "Ah me." And my favorite memory, popcorn! Grandpa loved to make popcorn and cover it in butter and salt. He made it for me and he made it for my daughters. They loved going up to Grandma and Grandpa's house and eating popcorn!!

I'm glad we got the chance to go home for the services. I'm glad my girls got to see their family. I'm glad I got the closure I seem to need. It was a long, hard trip. Being cooped up in a car with five kids for 30 hours is not fun, especially when one is two years old and does not like to sit for long periods of time. It was also hard because of the pregnancy. My legs ached and my feet swelled. But, I knew that I had to go. It was something I needed to do, something I wanted to do.

And now, I take a deep breath. A few...actually.

It's time to return to "work". Time to get busy on Roots and Wings. I know some of you have been waiting for this sequel and I said it would be out in December. I'm close to being finished, so please hang on and hopefully it'll be out soon. The baby is due in March and I want every loose end tied up by February. Thank you for being patient.

Sorry

2012-01-14T11:07:00.001-08:00

My grandfather passed away and I've been doing the family thing. I should be back on schedule soon. Thanks for understanding!

Indie Chicks - Cheryl Shireman

2012-01-02T22:12:00.000-08:00

I Burned My Bra For This? One Woman's Fantasy

By Cheryl Shireman

I’m a Baby Boomer. Which means that I rememberbell-bottoms, Happy Days, and having only three channels on the television. Iplayed Donny Osmond albums on a record player. My parents watched Gunsmoke, andon Sunday nights we all watched The Wonderful World of Disney. In the livingroom. Together. On the only television we owned. Imagine that! I remember thefirst time I saw Bonanza in color. I remember the first time I heard aboutremote controls for televisions. The whole idea seemed ridiculous. With threechannels, really, how often would it be needed? I remember the Watergatehearings playing on the television when I came home from school.

I also remember watching feminists (does anyone usethat word anymore?) burn their bras and march for equal rights. I grew upbelieving that a woman deserves equal pay for equal work and that a woman isnot defined by the man she marries or by the children she gives birth to. Infact, we were told that both men and children were optional. The idea seemedrevolutionary at the time. It still does. Women were mad as hell and theyweren’t taking it anymore. We called it Women’s Liberation, and though it wasnever said, it was certainly implied (and believed in most circles) that awoman who did not work was a bit inferior to a career woman. That was when suchwomen were called housewives and not “stay at home” moms. Women were dividedinto two groups – those who worked and those who didn’t. Back then, no onethought that staying home and taking care of a family and home was work. Thewomen of my generation wanted more, demanded more, and believed we wereentitled to just that – more. We sometimes looked at our own mothers, most ofwhom did not have real jobs, as womenwho simply did not understand that there was more to life than being a mother.If truth be told, we thought they were a bit simple-minded and we secretlyvowed to do more with our lives.

And yet…as this Baby Boomer looks at her life, Irealize nothing I have ever done, or will ever do, is as important as being amother. Not career, volunteer work, graduate school, or any creative pursuit.Nothing else even comes close to being a mother. Period.

One of my children lives half an hour away, anotheris one state away, and the third is on the other side of the world in Denmark.Yesterday, my husband and I spent the entire day with our two-year-oldgranddaughter. She then spent the night. As I write this, I hear her gentlebreathing in the baby monitor positioned atop the table close to where I sit.

To say that my children, and now my granddaughter,have filled my life with love and joy is an understatement. As children, theyexpanded my heart in ways I could never have imagined. For the first time in mylife, I not only understood, but received unconditional love. As adults, theyare three people that I know I can always count on. They will always be therefor me. Just as I will always be there for them. Can you say the same aboutyour career?

There used to be a television show called FantasyIsland. People visited the island and lived out their fantasies – no matter howwild (okay, not that wild – this was primetime family tv in the seventies). Nottoo long ago, my husband and I had a discussion about that old tv show andasked each other – What would your fantasy be? Mine was easy. If I could have aFantasy Island day, I would relive one day with my children. My son would be10, which would make my daughters 4 and 2. We would spend the day doingwhatever they wanted. Going to the park, going to the movies, playing games,baking cookies, or just sitting on the floor playing with Legos and Barbies. Iwould hug them a lot. And kiss the tops of their heads. And take tons ofpictures. I wouldn’t cook. I wouldn’t clean. And I wouldn’t worry about mycareer.

I would watch my son show his younger sisters howto do things, like he always did in his older brother sort of way. I wouldwatch my 2 year-old daughter follow her older 4 year-old sister around theroom, shadowing her every move. Just as she did, even through their collegeyears when they shared an apartment near Indiana University. I would watch theolder sister taking care of her younger sister, as if she were her baby.Which is what she called her when she was born – my baby.

Bedtime would be later than usual on that fantasynight. I would tuck them into their beds, fresh from baths and smelling ofshampoo. The girls smelling like baby lotion. My son would hug me goodnightwith his long skinny arms and tell me he loves me. And I would feel the truthin that. I would tuck in my girls and tell them it is time to go to sleep. Iwould take extra care in covering the older girl’s feet, because she alwayskicked her blankets off during the night. I would kiss the baby and hold her alittle longer, because I would know that, as I type this she is in Denmarkwhich makes visiting tough.

And, as I walk down the hall and turn out thelights, I would call out to all of them, as I always did… “Goodnight. Love you.Sweet dreams. See you in the morning.”

And that would be my fantasy day. Oddly enough, ithas nothing to do with my career as a writer. Even though being a writer hasalways been my dream. My first novel, Life is But a Dream: On the Lake, waspublished earlier this year. The main character, Grace Adams, is a woman facingan empty nest and the possible demise of her marriage. Grace withdraws to asecluded lake cabin to redefine her life and try to find a reason to continueliving. While at the lake, Grace not only finds renewed purpose and hope, but whenthings take a turn for the worse at the lake, she finds a strength she neverknew she possessed. The novel is thought-provoking, sometimes frightening, andoften funny (just like life). It is also, very definitely, fiction.

I'm not Grace. Even though my “nest” is empty, I amenjoying this time and this new focus on my career. I am not suicidal orlacking in purpose. My husband and I both work from home (he designs websites),we live on a lake, and our schedule is our own. It is truly a wonderful time inour lives. Sometimes I have popcorn for dinner. Enough said.

But, would my current life be as wonderful if I hadnot pursued career and graduate school and developed the skills I am using now?Probably not. I managed to combine work and school and motherhood. I believed Icould have it all, and do it all, but to be honest – the kids always camefirst. And being a mother is the strongest and best part of my identity. It isthe thing I am most proud of. My greatest achievement. And, once in a while, I missthose days when toys where scattered across the floor, the washer was always running,and we bought eight gallons of milk a week.

If you have children at home, cherish those simpleevery-day moments with them. They really will be gone in the blink of an eye –sooner than you can possibly imagine. Put this book down. Now. Go sit on thefloor and play a game. Pop some popcorn, put on one of their favorite movies,and cuddle up on the couch. Live that “fantasy” right now. You will never beable to recapture these moments. Enjoy them now. There is no greater gift thanthe love of your children. Spend the rest of your day letting it pour over you.And pour your love right back over them. You can come back to this booktonight, after they are asleep.

As I type this, I can hear my granddaughter wakingup. I am shutting my computer off. Right now, I am going to go upstairs andscoop her up from her crib. She will probably wrap her little arms around myneck and ask, “Play blocks, Bomb Bomb?”

And we will play blocks.

This is one storyfrom Indie Chicks: 25 Women 25 Personal Stories available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble. To read all of the stories, buy yourcopy today. All proceeds go to the breast cancer research.

Also included aresneak peeks into 25 novels! My novel, Life Is But a Dream: On The Lake,is one of the novel excerpts featured. It is available at most online retailersin trade paperback as well as e-book formats.

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Barnes & Noble

Teen Topics #4

2011-12-29T09:16:00.000-08:00

Do you cut?
Do you know someone who does?

I started a YA book on cutting a while ago and am thinking of finishing it in 2012. I would like to hear some personal experiences - whether they are your own, a friend's, or relatives. If you would like to tell me your story or feelings, please post here or email me at taliajager (at) att (dot) net

Thank you!

Retail Stores and Phone Numbers

2011-12-26T11:55:00.000-08:00

We teach our children not to give out things like name, address, phone numbers to strangers. The other day, my 10-year-old daughter wanted to buy a present for her friend at Justice. She picked it out and went up to the counter to pay. The cashier asked for her phone number, my daughter told her no. The cashier then looks at me (I was standing a few feet behind her) and asks for the phone number.

I said, "She's a kid."

Cashier said, "Well, she's with you, right?"

I replied, "She's the one buying the item."

Cashier starts getting nasty. "Don't you have a home phone?"

I was getting irritated at this point. "She's a kid. She's buying this with her own money. She knows not to give out this kind of information to strangers. You should respect that."

We glare at each other for a minute and she finally loudly types something into the computer/register thing and rings up the purchase.

The funny part of this is I usually give my phone number to kids' places like Justice so I get the coupons. But, this lady had me so irritated, there was NO WAY I was going to give it to her at that point. My mother who was also shopping with us and waiting behind us to make her purchases NEVER gives out her number. She just tells them no. I always roll my eyes at her when she does this. If I'm with her and it's a place I like, I'll give them my number...but this...this was principle. The cashier never should have gotten nasty over the fact that a CHILD was protecting herself like she was taught.

So, when my mother went to pay, the cashier looked at her and said, "I suppose you don't have a home phone either."

My mother said, "No, I live out of state."

Cashier growled and punched something into the computer/register again.

So, WHY do they need it so bad? Do they get paid a commission for how many phone numbers they get? What if you don't have a home phone? Just a cell phone? Do they get an address for you from that to send coupons to? If they call your cell phone, they might use some of your minutes. I don't want random texts from some store. (Yes, I do have unlimited texting and I haven't ever gone over my minutes, but ya never know, it could happen.)

Shouldn't these stores teach their employees not to harass children for a number? And to respect anyone who doesn't want to give out their number?

Teen Topics #3

2011-12-22T22:10:00.000-08:00

Question for parents and teens. Would love to hear opinions.

Scenario: Teenager goes to friend's house. Parents expect teen to stay there unless they are told otherwise. Parents find out teen is at the movies with friends and was driven there by teenage boy.

Does teen get in trouble?

I would expect some sort of permission to be asked. A text, phone call, even Facebook message. Something. I would be upset to find out my teen was somewhere other than where she said she'd be. But, then again, she is a teen.

Parents: What do you expect from your teen?

Teens: What do you think is reasonable and responsible?

Our Elf VS. Everyone Else's Elves

2011-12-19T12:19:00.000-08:00

A few years ago, one of my daughters came home talking about an elf.

Who knew my life was about to change?

"What elf?" I asked.

"An elf on a shelf. He comes to your house and watches you and then reports to Santa."

Hmmmm. Could be blackmail... I could hear myself threatening, "Better be good. The elf is watching and will let Santa know how you're acting."

But, the price was a bit high. $30 for a measly looking elf and a book. Really? $30?? Grandma to the rescue!

And then, Krispie, the elf was at our house. The first year was fun.

The second year not so much.

This year...sigh. Is there anywhere the elf hasn't hidden?

First, why didn't they make this elf posable? He has to be the cheapest made thing I have ever seen. Imagine the possibilities if he was posable? Or had velcro on his hands and feet? But, no, he's very boring. And other than having a skirt for sale NOW, all elves are the same.

Then came the time last year where the elf didn't go back to the North Pole one night. He was in the same place the next morning. Kids were devastated. Did someone touch him? Was their behavior that bad? Was it that good? Why, oh why, didn't Krispie go back to the North Pole? (Mom really felt horrible that day! But, it had poured all night, so she told them that maybe Krispie didn't want to fly in the rain.)

Now, you have to understand that we have a variety of ages in our household. Our daughters range from 14 to 1. The 1 year old does not understand that you cannot touch Krispie, therefore he cannot be low enough for said 1 year old to reach. This limits things. There just aren't enough hiding places in the main rooms. Why doesn't the elf hide in the kids' rooms? Well, this would cause a fight. "Why is Krispie in HER room? Why isn't he in MINE?" Nope. Not happening. Not with 5 kids - although I doubt the oldest and youngest would complain. That still leaves 3 whining about it all day.

So, Krispie is stuck showing up in the game room, living room, kitchen, dining room, and study. And well, I'm not a very fancy person, so we don't have lots of great places for him to hide. And again, he's not posable, so that limits things too.

I decided that Krispie should come a little later this year. Maybe not Thanksgiving weekend, but a week or two later. That way, he didn't have to think of as many places to be.

You would have thought the world ended!

EVERYBODY else's elf came that weekend!!! And by everybody, I do mean everybody. It seems that every household with children under the age of 10 has at least 1 elf, maybe even 2. (One for each kid, I was told. Could you imagine if 5 elves were in this house?)

So, Krispie showed up a few days later. And the kids' were relieved! We read the book. We watched the new TV show.

But, now, I have to hear about everyone else's elf getting creative, or getting into mischief (where in the book did it talk about elves having bad behavior??? Maybe they should be reported to Santa?? Isn't the whole point of having an elf so that the child's behavior gets reported to Santa? Wouldn't a naughty elf encourage naughty behavior? It must be okay to make a mess, the elf does!). One floats on a raft in the pool. One bakes. One does this, one does that. I admit I'm boring. I can write books, but figure out what do do with an elf? Nah. Then I see pictures or read about what to do with your elf...flour? feathers? MESSES? Um...no. I have FIVE kids, a husband, 2 dogs, a house, and I'm pregnant and you want me to make a mess just to have to clean it up? No.

But, so and so's elf does.

One day, I caught them leaving notes for Krispie asking him to color a picture or write a letter. I put a stop to that. Krispie doesn't have time to draw pictures or write letters. He has to FLY to the North Pole and back every night! Sheesh!!!

But, so and so's elf writes them notes.

UGH!!!!!!! The elf on the shelf used to be fun. I can only hope it'll be fun again, because right now, I'm so not feeling it.

Indie Chicks - Katherine Owen - One Fictionista's Literary Bliss

2011-12-18T11:03:00.000-08:00

One Fictionista’s Literary Bliss

By: Katherine Owen

I was anointeda female fictionista by an overzealous Georgia Bulldog fan on Twitter. Iimmediately took it for my job description. So, here’s what youshould know. Iwrite. I write a lot. And, when I'm not writing, I think about writing a lot. You may think we're having aconversation, but invariably I'm stealing your name, asking how to spell it,and secretly describing the look on your face in five words or less in my mind.My writing tends to be dark, moody, and sometimes funny. Sometimes, it can be abit lyrical or even literary. It’s often edgy, so be forewarned. My readers complain they can't put my books down. Or,just when they think they've figured the story out, it changes and becomessomething else. My stories tendto be dark and comprised of broken heroines; even the heroes in my books have afew flaws that cause trouble. It’s true; my characters may disappoint you orsurprise you or piss you off, but I think you’ll understand why they do what theydo because of the way I write them. I strive to reveal the deepestunderpinnings about life, about love, and about human nature, but it’s not forthe faint of heart. I’ll take you through a proverbial emotional ringer beforereaching resolution and it’s never as predictable as you might think. Do Isound like your kind of fictionista? Come along, darling. This way.

Somethingelse you should know about me is that I’m a huge George Clooney fan. Maybe, Up In The Air wasn’t one of his usualgigs, but I loved that movie. And, let’s be frank, I watched ER without him for years, but it wasnever the same. Never. Anyway, Idigress. There’s a scene in Up In The Airwhere he’s telling this guy to follow his dream after George has told him he’sbeen laid off. When I saw that scene, itwas as if George was practically speaking to me because I was there, two years ago, when I was laid off from a high techsales job, had always harbored a dream to write full-time, and went for itafter that. Is it a coincidence that UpIn The Air came out about the same time? I think not.

So now,this is what I do. Write. Write all the time. I’ll admit it was hard at first.It still is—hard, harrowing, humbling. Believe me, it would be easier to go outand get another high paying sales job than write for a living because writingcauses me to question my mental toughness so much of the time. Can I do this? Am I good enough?

Yet,here’s what I’ve learned: you just have to turn off that voice in your head offor ignore what is being said. Sometimes,all you need to do is stand up for yourself, stop depending upon the opinionsof others, and just go after what you really want.

For me,that’s writing. For you, it might be anything else, but just pursue yourpassion whatever it is.

With thisanthology, my debut novel, Seeing Juliais featured. Seeing Julia is a laborof love and represents a lot of hard work. Truly, this book has caused me asmuch grief as it has joy. After I first wrote this novel, I entered it into aliterary contest and promptly forgot about it. I was busy. I was taking classes at The Writer’s Studio, becoming literary savvy, and writing anothernovel called Not To Us.

Iremember it was a Monday morning in early June of 2010 when I received a callfrom the president of the Pacific Northwest Writers Association telling me Iwas a finalist in the romance category with my entry of Seeing Julia. “What?” Sheasked me if I planned on attendingthe conference. “Well, I guess so.” Lucky for me, I attended the summerconference, bought a new outfit, and won the Zola Award and first place with Seeing Julia the night of the awardsdinner. It was a surreal moment, when I had to go up to the front of the roomwith those seven hundred people watching and accept my award. But, truly? I wasmore concerned about navigating all those tables and chairs on my way up to thepodium than actually seizing the moment. As word spread about my writing awardwin, self-doubt had already set in. It was a fluke. It was dumb luck. As highas my emotions soared about winning; they fell just as fast when literaryagents still rejected my work. Yes, the win opened a number of literary agentdoors for me, but I wrote several different versions of that novel when anumber of them took greater interest, but then wanted to change everythingabout the story. One agent called me up and lectured me for forty-five minutesabout the book and then promised to take a look if I made more changes. I senther the revised manuscript, but she never called again.

Thiswas a year ago. I was at a crossroads with my writing and myself. I keptthinking if I did what they said and changed it, yet again, I would get to the next step—literary bliss. But Iwasn’t getting anywhere.

Discouraged,but still determined, I reviewed what the critiques and feedback about Seeing Julia had been. Based on those, Isifted through what I thought would need to be changed and began rewriting thestory, working day and night throughmost of November. With just getting a few hours of sleep each night, I kept upthe intense pace and by the time the novel was finished; I knew it was. I’m extremely proud of Seeing Julia. During the process of rewriting it for the last time,I reached an important pinnacle with my writing: I trusted myself. Confidenceentered into the realm. And, along with it, swift understanding: I had to make my own literary bliss.

Twoadditional things became clear. First, it was essential for me to have completecontrol over the publishing of my work; and second, the publishing industry wasin the midst of a perfect storm because of e-books and I needed to take fulladvantage. And, so I did.

In lateApril and early May of this year, I released two novels: Seeing Julia and Not To Us. Thesebooks are available as e-books as well as print trade paperbacks.

Manywonderful readers have responded to my work. They often reach out to me and letme know how they love my novels. I love and cherish their enthusiasm for mywork.

This is literary bliss.

Ofcourse, my family’snumber one complaint is that I write too much and all the time. Now, add tothat the twittering and the facebooking and the wordpressing and now googleplus-ing, and checking Amazon, and taking writing classes; it's a full-timegig. But, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The good newsis that with the encouragement of my readers and confidence in my writing, I’m working on my third novel, When I See You, and hope to release thisbook before the end of this year. And, Ialready have drafts for two other novels, SavingValentines and Finding Amy.

Oh yes, there are occasions, rareones, when I'm not writing. That’s when I like to drink a fine wine, check inwith my family, and look at my awesome view which I can see when I look up longenough from my computer screen in my writing refuge.

And so,welcome. Welcome to my little piece of the universe.

I’llleave you with this—a philosophy I now live by, borrowed from one of thegreatest women tennis players of all time: “You’vegot to take the initiative and play your game. In a decisive set, confidence isthe difference.” Chris Evert

Oh,Chrissy, you are so right!

***

This is one story from Indie Chicks: 25 Women25 Personal Stories available on Amazonand Barnes& Noble. To read all of the stories, buy your copy today. All proceedsgo to the breast cancer reseach.

Also included are sneak peeks into 25 novels! Mynovel, Seeing Julia, is one of thenovel excerpts featured. It is available at most online retailers in tradepaperback as well as e-book formats.

Seeing Julia

Amazon

Amazon UK

Barnes and Noble

Apple/iTunes http://itunes.apple.com/us/book/seeing-julia/id446055623?mt=11

Smashwords (variouse-book formats for Sony e-book, Kobo, Apple iBooks and Diesel)

For more information about KatherineOwen, visit these links:

Website: http://www.katherineowen.net

Blog: http://www.katherineclareowen.com

Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Katherine-Owen/e/B004Z3BG3I/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

Follow her on Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/KatherineOwen01

Connect on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/KatherineOwenauthor

I'm on Tumblr, here: http://katherineowen.tumblr.com/

Other books by Katherine Owen:

Coming Soon!

Mom Posts

2011-12-17T11:07:00.001-08:00

So, I have some mom and life posts I'd love to blog about here. But, I'm not sure I should mix them with my author blog.

What do y'all do? Mix author stuff, life, motherhood, etc together or keep different blogs?

Teen Topics #2

2011-12-14T08:17:00.000-08:00

My 14 year old just asked me for a bunch of songs. Since I don't know these songs, I look up the lyrics. At least half of them have swearing or inappropriate phrases. My daughter says she'll just hear them on the radio if I don't give them to her.

Do they really play this stuff on the radio?

Moms - what do you let your teens listen to?

Teens - what do you do when your parents say no to buying a song or album because of the lyrics?

Indie Chicks - Donna Fasano - Stepping Into the Light

2011-12-12T08:12:00.000-08:00

Donna Fasano wrote for Harlequin Books for 20 years beforebecoming a proud Independent Author. She's the written over 30 romance andwomen's fiction novels that have sold over 3.5 million copies worldwide. Herbooks have won awards and made best-seller lists. Below is the story shecontributed to the anthology IndieChicks: 25 Independent Women, 25 Inspiring Stories.

Stepping Into TheLight

I sit in the back row, shouldersrounded, knees jumping, my left thumb rubbing a raw spot in the center of myright palm. The sad and lonely sufferings being expressed in the dank,dimly-lit basement are all too real and much too close for comfort. I glance atthe door and contemplate escape, but it's too late. All eyes are upon me. Ihesitate only a moment before standing on quaking legs, clearing my throatsoftly and confessing, "My name is Donna. I'm a writer. And I need to comeout of the closet because it's dark in here."

Twenty years ago, had there been agroup called Writers Anonymous, I would have attended faithfully, pouring outmy heart at the weekly meetings. You see, for the couple of years that I spentwriting my first novel, I told almost no one what I was doing. My husband knew;in fact, he's the reason I even attempted what felt like the insurmountabletask of plotting out and finishing that first book. He's also the reason Iended up in this glorious, chaotic, roller-coaster life I've lived as an author;however, that's a story for another day. But when I first started scratchingwords on a yellow legal pad with a no. 2 pencil (there's nothing else thatstirs my creativity more than the feel of graphite gliding against paper), Ididn't tell a single family member or friend.

Why would I keep my dreams andaspirations such a tightly guarded secret?

I would hazard to guess the answeris the same reason anyone else hides things that could have life-alteringpotential: fear.

What if I failed? What if I had notalent? What if I didn't possess the perseverance to finish that firstmanuscript?

The mere thought of the snideremarks, tittering laughter and looks of skepticism and ridicule I might receivewere enough to keep me silent. My imagination has always been strong, and Ieasily saw the scenes play out in my head.

Soyou think you're going to write a book, huh?

Butyou didn't go to college.

Aromance novel? Really?

Ifyou're going to try to write, why not write a real book? You know, like amystery or a thriller; something someone is going to want to read.

My ability to conjure fantasy hasalways been a blessing and a bane. When reading a book or listening to someonetell a story or imagining repercussions of actions, visions will take shape inmy head. Situations feel real, characters become corporal, while my stirredemotions brim and often overflow. Needless to say, Hallmark commercials make mecry. While powerful creativity is a great and necessary trait for a writer whois intent on concocting a compelling tale, it can become crippling if thatwriter is too focused on the opinions of others.

However, I also have to confessthat keeping that first novel-writing dream all to myself charged me with avibrant energy. I was excited to get my story down on paper. Seeing my plotunfold was absolutely thrilling! Creating my characters was fun. And the factthat no one knew about my clandestine efforts gave me a huge amount of freedom.No one told me I was doing it all wrong; no one suggested I could never reachmy goal.

In defense of all the people I keptin the dark all those years ago, I have to admit that most of them were delightedand supportive when I finally divulged that my first manuscript had beenpurchased by a bona fide publisher. Oh, there was a scoffer or two, and Icontinue to meet them; you know the type, people who can't be happy for othersor who feel another's success somehow diminishes his or her own self-worth, butI've learned to deal with those people (working with New York City editorsforces a writer to grow a thick skin pretty quickly). I merely smile and thinkabout the slew of books I've sold and the fan mail I've received from all overthe world.

Those scoffers seem to have comeout of the woodwork now that I've reinvented myself as an Indie Author. Butventuring into this new arena couldn't have happened at a better point in mylife. I'm confident in my ability to tell a good story. I'm more than satisfiedwith the career I've had, and have no trouble imagining even more success inthe future. I saw tangible proof when two of my books made it onto Kindle's Top100 List. I'm happy with who I've become as a writer and as a person. If mywork receives less-than-flattering feedback from a reader, I might not like it,but I also realize it's not the end of the world; I've learned that I can'tplease all readers all the time. I love the creative freedom I have as anindependent author. I can allow my muse to take me wherever it will. I'm terrificallygrateful that there are readers out there who are willing to buy my novels.Every time I read a good review of one of my books I want to (and do!) kiss myhusband for suggesting I take a stab at this profession (it's a habit that's beenvery good for my marriage).

So… what's my point? Well, don'tlet the negative opinions of others keep you from dreaming, for one thing. Mostof the scary thoughts that run through your head will never happen, and the fewthat do materialize can be dealt with. You're stronger than you think. Don'tallow fear to paralyze you. Aspire to be and do whatever it is you want to beand do. Be kind to yourself; you deserve the same compassion and concern thatyou offer others. And most importantly, know that your dreams matter. Indulgethem. Reach for the stars! I did, and I'm still astounded that I snagged afew.

~ ~ ~

Donna loves to hear from readers! Ways to connect withDonna:

Her blog, AuthorDonna Fasano, In All Directions

On Facebook, Donna Fasano

On Twitter, DonnaFaz

A few of Donna's available titles:

The Merry-Go-Round inpaperback or foryour Kindle.

His Wife for a While foryour Kindle.

An Accidental Family foryour Kindle, foryour Nook, or onSmashwords.

Look for other available titles on Amazon, Barnes& Noble, and Smashwords.

This is one story from Indie Chicks: 25 Women 25 Personal Stories available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble. To read all of the stories, buy your copy today.

Also included are sneak peeks into 25 novels!

Indie Chicks - Linda Welch - Never Too Late

2011-12-05T07:32:00.001-08:00

When I published the first two Whisperings paranormalmystery novels, I created an icon to use on Facebook and Twitter. The pictureis of Whisperings lead character, Tiff Banks. It seemed a good way to advertisemy product at the time. But no matter how often I say she is not me, I am not atall, slim, blond young woman, many obviously don’t believe me. Response to theavatar has amused me over the years. You wouldn’t believe the comments, compliments, and odd comments I think were meant as compliments. Many ofthem were a hoot. I knew I’d eventually have to come out of the identity closetand say, hey, look here, this is me, not the long-haired cutie.

Then Cheryl Shireman asked me to contributeto the Indie Chicks anthology and also asked for a photo. This is the perfect opportunityto set the record straight. If you want to know who Linda Welch really is, read on. . . .

NEVERTOO LATE

I’m going to tell you something I don’tthink you know.

I haven’t been a “chick” for many a year. I’ma couple of months shy of 61. I have been married to the same man for 39 years.We have two sons and four grandchildren. And you thought I was a tall, slim young thing, didn’t you. I am what iscalled a late bloomer and I’m writing this for other old biddies who had adream and let it pass them by, or think they are too busy, or it’s too late tofulfill their dream. I don’t mean just writing, but any dreamed-of achievementyou hide in your heart.

I was born in a country cottage in England.My father was a restless man, so we often moved and never had much money. Iremember days when only Dad had meat on his plate at dinner, but we never wenthungry. We had vegetables and fruit from the garden, eggs from the chickens. Timeswere hard, but we children never knew that. We were loved. When Mum and Dad metduring World War II, Mum was a privately educated “well-bred” lady. I doubt Iwill ever meet anyone as smart as my mother. At 88 years, she is still as sharpas a tack. Dad was a countryman to the bone. He had many artistic talents hedidn’t pursue until later in life. When he did, he excelled at them. I like tothink some of their intelligence and talent rubbed off on me.

So much has changed, in my life, in theworld. I hold memories of my childhood close. I won’t let them fade. One day, Iwill write about them.

I had a good basic education, first at avillage school, then an all-girls school, but I left at 15 (at that time thelegal age in England) and worked first as a telephone operator before I wentinto office occupations. I did not see authorship in my future.

But I have always daydreamed. Often, Irecreated the same daydream multiple times, constantly elaborating. I did not realize I wrote books in my head.

I began writing words on paper in mymid-forties, but it was a hobby. Somewhere along the way, I thought, Could I publish this? and then I’d like to publish. But I talked myselfout of it. Authors were young men and women who decided they wanted to write ata young age and worked to improve their skill their entire life. They went tocollege and university, they had degrees in writing, creative writing orjournalism. I was inexperienced; I didn’t have their dedication or education.Anyway, I had a husband to support, children to raise and part-time jobs tosupplement the family income. I didn’t have time to write and send queries,synopsis or sample chapters to agents.

In 2008 I discovered the Lulu publishingplatform and took the plunge. I published the space opera Mindbender andscience fiction Galen’s Gate. I subsequently unpublished them, with everyintention of revising and republishing. Some copies are still floating aroundout there somewhere. However, Tiff Banks,who had been swimming around in this murky thing I call a brain for severalyears, chose to come out and play. She took over my life. She became my secondskin.

When I think back to why I did not publishuntil in my fifties, I realize it had nothing to do with inexperience or lackof education. I was not ready. I had to marry a dashing young American airman,leave my homeland, raise two sons, spoil four grandchildren, live and work withAmericans and become entrenched in the way of life. I was not ready to writeAlong Came a Demon until I came to the mountains of Utah, stood looking over mymountain valley, and knew, “this isit. This is where Tiff lives. She knows the bitter cold and snow of winter, theharsh heat of summer. She knows her city and the people inside-out. This isTiff’s world, and now, I know who she is.”

Then the hard work began. My education wasstrictly “King’s English.” I wrote formal letters, contracts and legaldocuments at work. I had to take the starch out of my writing. Research didn’thelp. It seemed that each time I read an article or blog about word usage, inparticular overuse and what to avoid, the next book I read was a best-sellingnovel by a best-selling author who broke those rules. And having decided to bargeinto my life, Tiff was very positive about how she talks. She’s a born and bredAmerican, a slightly snarky, slang-wielding gal who speaks to the reader on apersonal level, individual to individual. I had to use a style that practicallyscreamed “you can’t do that!” in my ear every other sentence.

I published the first Whisperings novel for another reason: Nobody seemed to believe inmy writing. Not friends, relatives, friendly acquaintances. I think theysupposed a 58-year-old with no education in the literary field, who suddenly cameout of the woodwork and decided to publish, must be a “vanity publisher” whowanted to force poorly-written books on readers. When I said I wrote fiction, Igot blank looks, followed by, “that’s nice. Now, as I was saying. . .” Nobody wanted to read my work, not even my sweethusband. But he enjoyed urban fantasy and I thought he’d like Tiff Banks. So in a way, I alsopublished for him.

I published Along Came a Demon in November 2008. It was supposed to be astand-alone novella, but readers wanted more and Tiff obliged. Along Came a Demon became book one ofthe Whisperings series of paranormal mysteries. I published the sequel, The Demon Hunters, in November 2009. In2010 I added material to Along Came aDemon to make it a full-length book and at the same time made small changesto The Demon Hunters to reflect thosein Along Came a Demon. I publishedbook three, Dead Demon Walking, inMarch 2011. Being a wordsmith, I should be able to express my joy each time areader tells me they love my books, but it truly is beyond my powers ofdescription. Now, when someone asks me what I do for a living, instead of tellingthem I am a part-time administrative assistant and adding (hesitantly) “I alsowrite fiction,” I say I am an author. When I fill out a form that asks for myoccupation, I proudly write “author” in the little box.

Mary Wesley published Jumping the Queue at age 70 and went on to write ten best sellersuntil she died twenty years later.

Harriett Doerr was 74 when she published The Stones of Ibarra.

Laura Ingalls Wilder published her Little House on the Prairie series whenshe was in her 50s.

Mary Lawson was 55 when Crow Lake was published.

Flora Thompson is famous for hersemi-autobiography Lark Rise toCandleford, published when she was 63.

Age is irrelevant. You are never too old.For anything.

This isone story from Indie Chicks: 25 Women 25 Personal Stories available on Amazonand Barnes& Noble. To read all of the stories, buy your copy today.
Also included are sneak peeks into 25 novels!
All proceeds go to Susan G. Komen for the Cure.

Linda on Amazon USA for Kindleand paperback.

Lindaon Amazon UK

Lindaon Barnes and Noble

Linda's Website

Linda on Smashwords

Whisperings on Facebook

Whispering booksare also available in e-book formats from Apple, Diesel, Kobo and Sony.

Coming Soon

New Release!

2011-11-30T07:39:00.001-08:00

An author friend of mine and I wrote a book together. It just went live and has already sold 10 copies! It is a YA book, but it's for older teens due to sexual content. We hope you'll check it out!

Seventeen-year-old succubus Lily Anderson can’t have a normal life: She isn't allowed a boyfriend, she has no friends, and school is just one mess-up after another.

Lily’s parents send her away to the prestigious Emerson Academy. It doesn’t appear to be any different from the others. That is, until she meets her roommate, Hannah, and a blue-eyed boy named Jake.

Lily makes an almost deadly mistake, and Jake has a mysterious past that has come back to haunt him. Together, they must go on the run from things neither of them understand in order to save the people they love—and each other. But, Jake’s foe is more dangerous than they realized, and it will take the help of friends and family to save the man Lily loves.

She must learn to use her powers for good before it’s too late.

WARNING: This is a mature YA. Due to sexual content and some language it is not recommended for younger teens.

Approximately 44,000 words

Buy it for $2.99 on Amazon, Apple iTunes, Barnes & Noble, or Smashwords.

Indie Chicks - Lizzy Ford - The Phoenix and the Darkness

2011-11-28T11:28:00.001-08:00

ThePhoenix and the Darkness

I've been runningfrom The Darkness since I left home at the age of 17. I escaped a broken family to the military,found it unwelcoming to creative non-conformists but fulfilled mycommitment. The first man I dated was adrunkard who suffered from post traumatic stress disorder; the second rapedme. The rest of my time in the militarywas a blur of men, the different places I lived and The Darkness stalking me. At the end of my tour, I set my world on fireto keep the Darkness away, abandoned everything and everyone, and emerged fromthe flames like the mythical Phoenix. I ranhome to Ohio. I didn’t stay long andcontinued onward to New York, where I reinvented myself for a very brief periodof contentedness.

It didn’t last. Darkness, fire, rebirth, and a few years, menand states later, I ended up in the arms of yet another unworthy man. I followed him to DC, bore the mental abuse,and tried to tell myself this was the best life would ever get.

I took a job in afield I didn't care for and ended up running from job-to-job-to-job, unable tofind a place where I was happy. I washit by a drunk driver at 26, leaving me with a long lifetime of constantpain. I had a miscarriage, gave all mymoney to the unworthy man and couldn't pay my bills despite the good job. I moved from Virginia to Maryland and back toVirginia, unable to shake the pursuing Darkness. Finally, I put all my belongings in storage,ready to set my word afire and flee once again.

I worked up the nerveto ditch the dysfunctional man, but before I could run far, I met the man whowould become my first husband. He wantednormal things: stability, house, family. I convinced myself if I had these things, theDarkness would be gone. He needed amother, not a wife, but I married him anyway and prayed it was enough.

It wasn't. I set my world afire once more, and I fledhim, too. I put everything I valued inmy truck, grabbed the dog, and left. Awayfrom DC, the east coast, everything I owned, my first husband. I ran to Texas to a new job and divorced thefirst husband. Yet again, I wasreborn. Soon after, I met my soulmate. Some part of me knew I couldn’tkeep running if I wanted to keep him. I turnedaround to see if The Darkness still chased me. After fifteen years of running, The Darknesswas closer than ever.

I told the man whowould become my second husband to stay away from me – I was dangerous. He saw The Darkness, and he saw me.

You’re brilliant and beautiful. I love you, Darkness and all, he said. But if you don’t deal with it and accept thefate for which you were put on this earth, you’ll be consumed by it.

I couldn’t yet facethe Darkness even with his support, but I could see how wrong my path was. My path wasn't a career I loathed, and itwasn't ignoring my true gift: writing. So I worked full time and wrote full time. I found true joy for the first time in mylife, but The Darkness got too close. Iran away from that job - the only job I'd ever remotely enjoyed. This time, I kept my only ally in life - myguardian angel and partner.

I took a new job in anew state. With my husband and mywriting, I saw The Darkness recede, and I grew happy. Instead of looking over my shoulder, Istarted looking into the future. I vowedto run towards something instead of away from something. I wasn’t just reborn – I was alive for the first time in my life.

And then, this past summer,I tripped. The Darkness swallowed me. As in one of my upcoming novels, The Darknessturned me inside out. I couldn't go towork and could barely leave the house. It pinned me beneath it, and the more I tried to run, the heavier itgot. Everything I'd run from in life wasthere: my near-poverty upbringing; the breaking apart of my family when I was akid; my struggle with my weight and social anxiety issues; with findingacceptance at any job; with men and dysfunctional relationships; the pending financialdisaster I'd been building; fear of failure and ending up as miserable as myparents. I thought I'd suffocate, untilthe Darkness spoke to me.

You can run again and risk losing the man you love,or you can face me and be happy, itsaid.

I want to be happy, I replied.

Then do what you must.

It's not that easy. I'm scared.

Sometimes life only gives us difficult choices, butyou still must choose. I am a part ofyou. You must accept me and deal with me before you can move on, it said.

I thought hard as Ilooked at all the things I'd accumulated that were bankrupting me financiallyand emotionally. I looked at what mademe happy in life: my husband and my writing. I saw how I'd hurt my most precious treasures - and myself - by settingmy world on fire whenever The Darkness got too close.

This is gonna hurt, I told The Darkness.

Not for long, it said. You only have to do this once.

In that moment, Imade my choice. I would face TheDarkness within me, no matter how hard it was. I loved my husband too much to hurt him more, and I was sick of being acoward. I took a leave of absence inearly September to deal with my past as well as the depression and anxiety thathave haunted me my whole life. Writinghas always been my solace and my passion. Through it, I'll heal the world Ibroke and my own soul, and become the partner my husband deserves.

The Phoenix will bereborn once more, not of fire, but of Darkness, and will emerge stronger thanever.

The "War of Gods" series by Lizzy Ford is a paranormal romance series depicting the ongoing struggle between good and evil - and the immortals and their human mates who are caught in the middle. The first book, "Damian's Oracle" (released October 2011) is the story of the White God and his Oracle, the cool beauty, Sofia. The second book, "Damian's Assassin," (released November 2011) is about the White God's assassin and the woman who heals his heart and body. The third book will be released 02 Dec and tells the tale of the White God's chief immortal and the mysterious, beautiful Magician he risks his life to protect.

Lizzy's info:

Website
Facebook
Twitter
Google+
GR
Amazon

Damian’s Oracle (currently free on Amazon)

Amazon

iTunes

***

This is one story from Indie Chicks: 25 Women 25 Personal Stories available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble. To read all of the stories, buy your copy today.

Also included are sneak peeks into 25 novels!

All proceeds go to the breast cancer research.

Indie Chicks - Danielle Blanchard - Write or Die

2011-11-21T06:29:00.001-08:00

“Writeor Die”

2010 was the worst year of my life.

After a very successful career in thebanking industry, I suddenly found myself unemployed, my marriage falling apartand to add insult to injury my father dying. I had a 10 month old daughter andsuddenly, I was back living with my unmarried, child-free sister with twochildren. Life was bleak and the most terrifying part about the whole situationwas I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do.

I was attending university for adegree in International Business but who was I kidding? I’d always hatedbusiness; I was good at banking but should I base my career on something I wassimply good at or should I be doing something I love? This was my dilemma and Ihad no one to blame for my predicament but myself.

Plenty of women had overcome moretremendous obstacles so why was I feeling sorry for myself? I steeled my spineand decided to make some real decisions. In the middle of the detritus whichwas now my life, I found a wonderful and caring man I fell hopelessly in lovewith but the problem was he didn’t live in this country and he was a successfuland driven attorney. What would he want with someone like me? Unemployed, twochildren, divorced and somewhat shaky ambitions at an age where most women had itmade, were married and excelling towards middle age. My life was a mess and Ineeded a man like a fish needs a bicycle (thanks, U2!).

I took a long hard look at my life andrealized I had failed to plan and therefore I had planned to fail.

When I stood at that podium and lookedat the few family and friends who had bothered to show up at my dad’s funeral,my life became so clear. My father had had so many chances; so much lostopportunities and had blew all of them due to fear and inertia. I was myfather’s daughter; I was falling into that same black hole of despondency withno way out.

It took another fourteen months beforeI had the actual courage to see out my dream and make it a reality. IsabelleSolal had written a book, In The PastImperfect, and her good friend, Sion Dayson, had promoted it on her blog.She was tired of waiting for the agent who would never accept the publisher whocould never take a chance and had decided to self-publish her fictional book onAmazon. Was this possible? Could I self-publish? Could I take my book which Ihad tried to find an agent for the past eight years or so and do it myself? Sayit isn’t so!

I was so excited about the possibilityof publishing, I dug it out of the place it’d warmed my different hard drivesand laptops over the years, decided at over one thousand hard back pages, itwas much too long to publish as a full length novel, chopped it up into eightparts and hit publish on the first part.

I was ecstatic as I had done my owncover (a beautiful statue which captivated me while I was on my Europeanvacation) and it was just so perfect. Unfortunately, no one else knew I existedand that is when I realized publishing was more than just about hitting abutton. I had to make sure my novel was edited, the right cover was used toattract attention and there was a whole list of indie writers I didn’t knowabout but they were there and ready to be at my service.

In the beginning, I only used Kindle’sDirect Publishing board because that was the only one I knew about. Anotherwriter, Athanasios, who wrote a thrilling book titled Mad Gods, told everyone on the KDP boards about a new Facebookboard group called Indie Writers’ Unite. I joined, Cheryl Bradshaw, the creatorof IWU accepted me, and the rest is history.

I wish I could say I am sellingthousands of copies and I got the guy but that isn’t life and nothing happenswithout time. I am selling and many people have discovered my work; I have metsome of the bravest men and women on the planet at IWU and I feel like a millionbucks even if my life still isn’t a bed of roses. The guy, like everything goodin life, will take some time and I am willing to put it in and make the effort;nothing worth anything is easy to accomplish for the matter.

I love to write so that is what I’mdoing. I enjoy writing whatever moves me, thus I have work in several differentgenres including Women’s Literature, Contemporary Romance, Paranormal, ScienceFiction and Fantasy. I also plan to do a novel I have had in the works for awhile that is firmly Mystery with a Thriller twist.

For the first time, I stayed true tomyself, my ambitions and what I want my life to be and represent. I know itwill get better and all my dreams will come true—many of them already have. Mylife is still changing, still revolving but I have come out ahead, stronger andmore positive than I ever thought possible. I learned the hard way either Iwrite or I can simply subsist and die.

Life is like writing; it isn’t aboutperfection but it is about the possibilities we are given every day, thedecisions we make and what we want to do with them. It is about forks in theroad and deciding which direction to take and making the best with whatever isthrown at us once we make our decisions. It is the way it should be and that issimply imperfect.

***

This is one story from Indie Chicks: 25 Women 25 Personal Stories available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble. To read all of the stories, buy your copy today.

Also included are sneak peeks into 25 novels!

All proceeds go to breast cancer research.

Pick up Danielle's book Death Wish: Book One of The Vamp Saga in all eformats at Amazon, Amazon UK, Barnes & Noble and Smashwords.

Indie Chicks - Heather Marie Adkins - Latchkey Kid

2011-11-14T08:21:00.001-08:00

Heather MarieAdkins

Latchkey Kid

It isn’t easy being the daughter of a police officer, but it’s even moredifficult to be the daughter of a female police officer. I would come tounderstand this early, and often, in my life.

My mom’s career has always been the whirling force of my existence.

She was sworn into the Louisville Police Department on September 10, 1990. Iwas five years old. For the majority of my developmental years, I bouncedthrough a succession of caretakers—my grandmother, my father and stepmother,and a kind woman I called ‘Mama Lo’—while my mom was forging her way throughher early years as a rookie officer.

I remember late nights—my mom in her uniform, her gun belt digging into myside as she bundled me into a blanket to carry me to the car. I remembermornings getting on the school bus, knowing Mom would be coming home from workjust in time for me to leave. But when I remember these things, they aresnippets: Only bits and pieces of the woman who is my mother. Her job wasdemanding and sometimes, you just have to sacrifice to make your dreams cometrue.

When I was ten, Mom aced the Detective test and was granted her firstpromotion. Suddenly, we were buying a new house in a nice neighborhood. I wasin middle school, which was awkward enough, and Mom began working 4 pm tomidnight.

Thus began my time as a Latchkey Kid.

I rode the bus home from school and let myself into the house around 4:30every afternoon. Under Mom’s strict instructions, I would check to make sureall three doors of the house were locked and then I would set the alarm.

Until bedtime, I was on lockdown. No going outside—not even to the backyard.No answering the door, no looking out the windows. Just me and the dog: A tinyShih-Tzu named Cinnamon.

I was kind of an odd child. I didn’t care much for television, though I didlove to play Nintendo. I could rock on some Mario Bros. I also absolutely lovedto read, particularly R.L. Stine’s Goosebumps and Ann M. Martin’s TheBabysitter’s Club.

There is really only so much video gaming and reading a girl can do beforeshe wishes she had another hobby. At least, that’s how it was for me. I waslonely. Monday through Friday, every evening alone…it sucked.

It was around this time that my daddy shared with me a novel he was writing.Daddy is a computer guru who does freelance work, but he writes for fun on theside. “Demigod” was one of the most amazing things I had ever read. Not onlywas I astounded that my dad had such talent, but for the first time I realizedthere were people behind the books I liked to read.

Armed with nothing more than spiral-bound notebooks and pencils, I beganwriting.

Between 10 and 16, I wrote seven full-length novels. Today, I suppose theywould be considered Young Adult. Some of them were murder mysteries with strongheroines. Many of them had elements of what today is considered ParanormalRomance. Most of my early influences were from authors I enjoyed: Stine, aswell as Richie Tankersley Cusick and Christopher Pike. Somewhere in the midstof all this, my mom bought me a laptop and I transferred everything to digital.

I continued to write during high school, though significantly less once Igot my driver’s license. I focused mainly on short stories and built up a vastcollection that I ended up losing to the nightmare of an erased floppy disk. Imajored in English in high school. Earned a couple college credits. And wastold multiple times by various English teachers that I had talent.

After graduation, I went away to college at Western Kentucky University. Mymother had married a great man who was also a police officer. Between the twoof them, I was able to go away to school and thus started several years of BADDECISIONS. I kicked it off right, as most first-time college teens do. I dranktoo much and partied too hard, not making it to class, much less spending mytime writing. Two years later, I came home to Louisville with my tail betweenmy legs, no smarter than I was before.

Back at my mother and stepfather’s home, I found the situation to be stiflingfor the girl who had done what she wanted, when she wanted for so long. I wasalready rebelling—not phoning, disappearing all night—when a chance encounteron the banks of the Ohio River brought a man into my life who was notright for me in more ways than one.

Jason was an ex-con and felon. I was the daughter of two police officers.Cue ominous music.

Let’s skip the dirty parts and go to the section where I pack my things andflee into the night like a bat out of Hades. My parents change the locks, I cutoff all contact, and hole up in a hovel on 3rd Street with my friend, Brent.Oh, and in the meantime, my convict boyfriend ends up back in the Slammer.
I bounced around for some time. To an apartment with my cousin, Ryan. Thento a big, fancy house outside of Nashville, Tennessee with Jason’s family.After severing ties with them, I rented a tiny studio apartment downtown. Imoved a couple more times, losing money (and myself) in the process.
Not once in the years I spent chasing something, anything in Tennesseedid I sit down to write.

In January 2008, I was in debt and barely hanging on to the apartment I wasrenting. My good-for-nothing, pot-smoking boyfriend-of-the-moment wasn’thelping with the bills because he couldn’t hold a job. My car was on the vergeof repossession. I was going nowhere; the only positive thing I did havewas that I was talking with my parents again.

Then the life-shattering, earth-moving event. In North Carolina, January31st, my cousin Cory—a Marine, a firefighter, one of my best friends—was killedin a car accident. He was 25 years old.

My mom drove from Louisville to Nashville the minute she heard. She told meit was because she didn’t want me to be alone, nor did she want to tell mesomething so sensitive over the phone. That’s just how she is; no matter howterrible a daughter I could be, she always put me first.

Later that same night after she left, I was alone. My deadhead boyfriendwasn’t home, neither was our equally stoned roommate. I was sitting on oursingle mattress on the floor, looking around our bare room with its one dresserand a floor strewn with clothes. It hit me.

What are you doing? Really?

Was I just trying to prove I could do it on my own? Because I couldn’t.Obviously.

In a flash of grief and pain, I realized my life had spiraled out of controlsimply because I was too stubborn to admit my parents were right.

I packed my things. My dog and I climbed in the old Jeep. And we came hometo Louisville.

During the upheaval of moving back, I also found something I hadn’t yetrealized I had lost—my writing. Whether it was my grief over Cory or simplyreturning home, I don’t know—but I started writing again.

Even better…I finished the novels I had started years before and I havestarted (and finished) even more in the time since.

I’ve been through a lot in my life. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as some, maybe itwasn’t as rough…but it shows that a girl can make bad decisions, life-changingmistakes, and still bounce back.

My mom is a Major with the Louisville Metro Police force—the third highestranking female on the department. She just celebrated her 21st anniversary thismonth. I am in a stable, committed relationship with a man who will one day bemy husband. We live in a small but nice home—I’m a police dispatcher. He’s apolice officer.

I was a latchkey kid and because of it, I am now a writer. I am the daughterof a female police officer, and because of that, I’m a stronger, better woman.

***

This is one story from Indie Chicks: 25 Women 25Personal Stories available on Amazonand Barnes& Noble. To read all of the stories, buy your copy today.

Also included are sneak peeks into 25 novels!

My paranormal romance novel, Abigail, is one of thenovels featured.

All proceeds go to the breast cancer research.

Abigail

Knight in Shining Armor

2011-11-06T20:39:00.000-08:00

Knight in Shining Armor by Shéa MacLeod

It’s strange howlong a bruise can last.

Long after thephysical evidence is gone, the muscles remember. A raised hand or an angry voice, and the bodyflinches away. The mind tries to forget,bury the pain deep … but the scars are forever.

It didn’t startthat way, of course. He said all theright things. Did all the rightthings. When I was sick he took care ofme. When my car broke down he fixedit. I thought I’d finally found myknight in shining armor.

What I’d found wasa nightmare. The minute I was hooked,everything changed. It started with thename calling, the blame, the bouts of rage. As time passed, he turned increasingly violent. It was always my fault. I was useless. I’d never be anything. Do anything. Accomplish anything.

If I tried tofight him, he threatened to destroy everyone I loved. To ruin their lives. Stupidly, I believed him.

He was alwayssorry after.

You might ask whyI didn’t leave. It’s a fairquestion. But until you’ve been there,until you’ve lived through that, you have no idea how messed up a woman’s headgets when she has to live through that day after day. There is no such thing as confidence,self-esteem. You learn to live with theoverwhelming conviction that this is all there is. You have nowhere else to go.

That’s the veryworst part of abuse. Beyond the bruisesand the emotional scars. The absoluteknowledge that this is the way you will live. And most likely the way you will die. You don’t deserve anything else.

In a way, I waslucky. I had something else. A secret weapon, if you will. I just had no idea back then how powerfulthat weapon was.

I could write.

All through thosenightmare years I wrote. Not about whatI was living through, but about something else. An imaginary world where I would escape, where I was strong. A place where I kicked bad guy ass. A place where I was my own hero.

Prophetic? Perhaps.

The writing kept aspark of something alive in me. Mysoul? Hope? Who knows. But one day, that tiny spark of something flared up. I couldn’t take another minute.

I hadnothing. No money. Nowhere to go. But I walked out that door and never lookedback.

Nobody rode in ona white horse to save me. I savedmyself.

It was a very longuphill struggle to get healthy again, but through it all I kept writing. Writing had always been my passion, now itwas my salvation, too.

Through writing Iregained my sense of self. I grewstrong. Stronger than I ever had beenbefore. Words poured from me as my mindand body healed itself. Slowly butsurely I recovered.

It’s nine yearslater and that life seems like a distant nightmare. The woman I was then could never have dreamedof the life I am living today.

The writing hasnever stopped. It just moved with me,changing zip codes. I now write in asunny room in a Georgian townhouse in London, England. I have self published two novels and am aboutto publish the third. My stories, whilesometimes holding a dark edge, are still full of hope and my readers lovethem. I am now selling enough that I canstay at home and write full time. I mademy dreams a reality.

Guess what?

You can, too.

The day I walkedout of that abusive relationship was the day I became my own hero. That one action changed everything.

If you or someoneyou know is in an abusive relationship, please visit the Hot Peach Pages for alist of agencies all over the world who help women living in domesticviolence.

http://www.hotpeachpages.net/

No woman deservesto be abused and mistreated. It’s timeto say NO to violence.

It’s time to beyour own hero.

http://sheamacleod.wordpress.com/

DragonWarrior on Amazon

Dragon Warrior on Smashwords

“This is one story from Indie Chicks: 25 Women 25Personal Stories available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble. To read all of thestories, buy your copy today. Also included are sneak peeks into 25 novels! Mynovel, DRAGON WARRIOR, is one of the novels featured. All proceeds go to breast cancer research.”

Indie Chicks is available on Amazonand Barnes& Noble.

Spooktacular Giveaway Winners

2011-11-01T14:50:00.000-07:00

The winners for the Spooktacular giveaway are:

Jennifer @ Fictitious Musings

and

Latisha Depoortere

I will be emailing you shortly.

Thanks to everybody who participated!

I am always looking for people to review my books, so please feel free to contact me for a free copy in exchange for a review and stay tuned for more giveaways coming soon - including a Kindle giveaway!

Is Your Life Whispering To You?

2011-11-01T09:04:00.000-07:00

Is Your Life Whispering to You?

By Cheryl Shireman

I believe life whispers to you and providesdirection. I call that life force God. You can call it whatever you want, butthere is no escaping it. If we are open, and brave enough to say yes, life willtake us in directions we never expected, and you will live a life beyond yourwildest dreams.

Those whisperings often come in the form of a“crazy” idea or a nudge to move into a certain direction that seems odd orsilly or daring. Then there is that moment when you think, Well, that’s weird. Where in the world did that come from?

And then there’s the second moment, when you haveto make a choice. You can dismiss the crazy notion, and probably even come upwith a dozen reasons why it’s a bad idea. You don’t have the time, the money,or the resources. Besides, who are you to do such a thing? What in the worldwere you thinking? So, you dismiss the idea. We always have that option - tosay No.

But it comes back - that whisper. Sometimes againand again. But if we are practical, and safe, we can squash the notion until itis almost forgotten. Almost.

Such a notion came to me a couple of months ago. Ibegan to think of an anthology composed of women writers. An anthology thatwould be published before the rapidly approaching holiday season. The titlecame to me almost immediately - Indie Chicks. It was a crazy notion. I wasworking with an editor who was editing my first two novels, and was also in themiddle of writing a third novel. Working on three books seemed to be a prettyfull plate. Adding a fourth was insane.

But the crazy notion kept coming back to me. Itsimply refused to be dismissed. So I sent out a “feeler” email to anotherwriter, Michelle Muto. She loved the idea. I sent out another email to mywriting buddy, J. Carson Black. She loved the idea, too, but couldn’t make thetime commitment. She had just signed with Thomas & Mercer and was knee deepin writing. I took it as a sign. I didn’t have the time for the project either.Perhaps after the first of the year, when final edits were done on my ownnovels. I dismissed it, at least for the present time. I’d think about it againin another couple of months, when the timing made more sense.

A week later I surrendered, started developing amarketing plan for Indie Chicks, and began sending out emails to various indiewriters - some I knew, but most were strangers. I contacted a little overthirty women. Every one of them responded with enthusiasm. Most said yesimmediately, and those who could not, due to time commitments, wished us welland asked me to let them know when the book when the book was published so theycould be part of promoting it.

One of the first writers I contacted was HeatherMarie Adkins. Earlier this year, while I was browsing the internet, I cameacross an interview with Heather. The interviewer (oddly enough, Michelle Muto)asked Heather, When did you decide to become an indie author? Heather’s answerwas: Abouta month ago. My dad had been trying to talk me into self-publishing for sometime, but I was hesitant. One night, I sat down and ran a Google search. Idiscovered Amanda Hocking, JA Konrath, Victorine Lieski; but it was CherylShireman that convinced me. This is the field to be in. I was shocked (Astonished!Flabbergasted!). I had no idea that I had ever inspired anyone! To be honest,it was a bit humbling. And,okay, yes - it made me cry. So, of course, I had toinvite Heather to be a part of the anthology. Heather not only said yes, butshe also volunteered to format the project - a task I was dreading.

As Heather and I exchanged emails, I told herabout how I had been similarly inspired to become an indie writer by KarenMcQuestion. My husband bought me a Kindle for Christmas of 2010. Honestly, thepresent angered me. I didn’t want a Kindle. I wanted nothing to do with readinga book on an electronic device! I love books; the feel of them, the smell ofthem. But, very quickly, I started filling up that Kindle with novels.

One day, while looking for a new book on Amazon, Icame across a title by Karen McQuestion. I learned that McQuestion hadpublished her novels through Amazon straight to Kindle. Immediately, I began doingresearch on her and how to publish through Kindle. I had just completed a noveland was ready to submit it through traditional routes. Within 48 hours of firstreading about McQuestion, I submitted my novel, Life Is But A Dream: On TheLake. Twenty four hours later, it was published as an eBook on Amazon. Withinanother couple of weeks it was available as a paperback and through Nook. Did Ijump into this venture fearlessly? No! I was scared to death, and I almosttalked myself out of it. Almost. The novel went on to sell over 10,000 copieswithin the first seven months of release.

As I shared that story with Heather, another crazynotion whispered in my ear - Ask Karen McQuestion to write the foreword for IndieChicks. Of course, I dismissed it. We had exchanged a couple of tweets onTwitter, but other than that, I had never corresponded with McQuestion. It wasnonsense to think she would write the foreword. I was embarrassed to even askher. Surely, she would think I was some sort of nut. But, the idea keptwhispering to me and, with great trepidation, I emailed her. She said yes! Kindly,enthusiastically, and whole-heartedly, she said yes. Karen McQuestion hadinspired me to try indie publishing. I had inspired Heather Adkins. And now thethree of us were participating in Indie Chicks, that crazy whisper I had beenunable to dismiss.

The book began to develop, and as it did, a themebegan to form. This was to be a book full of personal stories from women. Aswomen, one of our most powerful gifts is our ability to encourage one another.This book became our effort to encourage women across the world. Twenty-fivewomen sharing stories that will make you laugh, inspire you, and maybe evenmake you cry. We began to dream that these stories would inspire other women tolive the life they were meant to live.

From the beginning, I knew I wanted the proceedsof this charity to go to some sort of charity that would benefit other women.While we were in the process of compiling the anthology, the mother of one ofthe women was diagnosed with breast cancer. Almost immediately upon learningthat, Michelle Muto sent me an email. Hey,in light of *****’s mother having an aggressive form of breast cancer, can Inominate The Susan G. Komen foundation for breast cancer? I mean, one of ourown is affected here, and other than heart disease (which took my own mother’slife), I can’t think of anything more worthy than to honor our sister in wordsand what she’s going through. A daughter’s love knows no bounds for her mother.Trust me. I know it’s a charity that already gets attention on its own. But,that’s not the point, is it? The point is there are 25 ‘sisters’ stickingtogether and supporting each other for this anthology. I say we put the moneywhere the heart is. We had our inspiration. All proceeds would go to theSusan G. Komen foundation for breast cancer research.

The stories started coming in. Some were lighthearted and fun to read. But others were gut-wrenching and inspiring - storiesof how women dealt with physical abuse, overwhelming grief, and a host of badchoices. It was clear; these women were not just sharing a story, but a pieceof their heart. I felt as if I were no longer “organizing” this anthology, butjust getting out of the way so that it could morph and evolve into its truestform.

Fast forward to just a few days beforepublication. Heather was almost done with the enormous task of formatting abook with twenty-five authors. We were very close to publishing and were on thehomestretch. That’s when I received an email. An unlikely email from someone Ididn’t really know. Beth Elisa Harris and I were involved in another indieproject and Beth sent an email to all of the authors in that project, includingme. She attached a journal to that email. For whatever reason, Beth had beeninspired to share a journal she wrote a few years ago. She cautioned us to keepher confidence and not share the journal with anyone else. I tend toward privacy and don't tend to trust easily. This is a HUGEstep for me. I've only read it once since I wrote it. Intrigued, I openedthe journal and began reading. It dealt with her diagnosis, a few years back,with breast cancer! Before I was even one third of the way through the journal,I felt I should ask Beth to include this journal in the Indie Chicks anthology.It was a crazy notion, especially when considering her words about privacy andtrust. We didn’t even know each other, how could I ask her to go public withsomething so personal? I tried to dismiss the notion (are you noticing apattern here?), but could not. I wrote the email, took a deep breath, and hitsend. She answered immediately. Yes. Most definitely, yes.

Indie Chicks: 25 Women 25 Personal Stories, withforeword by Karen McQuestion and afterword by Beth Elise Harris, is nowavailable through Barnes and Noble and Amazon. The book includes personalstories from each of the women, as well as excerpts from our novels. And itbegan as a whisper. A whisper I did my best to ignore.

What whisper are you ignoring? What crazy notionhaunts you? What dream merely awaits your response? I urge you, say Yes. Livethe life you were meant to live. Say yes today.

Stories included in IndieChicks:

Foreword by KarenMcQuestion

Knight in Shining Armor byShea MacLeod

Latchkey Kid by HeatherMarie Adkins

Write or Die by DanielleBlanchard

The Phoenix and TheDarkness by Lizzy Ford

Never Too Late by LindaWelch

Stepping Into the Light byDonna Fasano

One Fictionista’s LiteraryBliss by Katherine Owen

I Burned My Bra For This?by Cheryl Shireman

Mrs. So Got It Wrong Agentby Prue Battten

Holes by Suzanne Tyrpak

Turning Medieval by SarahWoodbury

A Kinky Adventure inAnglophilia by Anne R. Allen

Writing From a Flour Sackby Dani Amore

Just Me and James Dean byCheryl Bradshaw

How a Big Yellow TruckChanged My Life by Christine DeMaio-Rice

From 200 Rejections toAmazon Top 200! by Sibel Hodge

Have You Ever Lost a Hat?by Barbara Silkstone

French Fancies! by MelComley

Life’s Little Gifts byMelissa Foster

Never Give Up On YourDream by Christine Kersey

Self-taught Late Bloomerby Carol Davis Luce

Moving to The Middle Eastby Julia Crane

Paper, Pen, and Chocolateby Talia Jager

The Magic Within and TheLittle Book That Could by Michelle Muto

Write Out of Grief byMelissa Smith

Afterword by Beth ElisaHarris

Indie Chicks is availablefor your Kindle on Amazon and your Nook on Barnes and Noble. You may also readit on your computer or most mobile devices by downloading a free reader fromthose sites.

Stop by our Facebook page

Follow our Indie Chicks hashtag on Twitter! #IndieChicksAnthology

Giveaway Winners

2011-11-01T08:46:00.000-07:00

The Spooktacular giveaway is over and the winners will be picked by random number generator today. I will put them on this website as well as send an email.
Thank you all for your participation!

Guest Post With Heather Marie Adkins

2011-10-31T06:44:00.000-07:00

A Bad Halloween

Five yearsago, I had the worst Halloween ever.

I ran awayfrom home at twenty. That sounds funny,seeing as at twenty years old you’re supposedly an “independent adult”. But, I wasn’t. I relied solely on my mother and stepfatherto support me and I was quickly reverting to childish pettiness and immaturity.

A wrongdecision about a boy got me thrown out of my parents’ home on Halloween. It had always been my favorite holiday. On this particular Halloween, I had plans thatnight to hang with friends--to have a good time. To continue my existence as a worry-free girlwho drank too much and partied too hard.

So thatHalloween is burned into memory as the evening I had a final blow-out with mymom. When she told me if I couldn’t stopseeing this boy, then I just needed to pack my things and leave.

And itwasn’t the boy, folks. It was neverTRULY about the boy. It was about being20-years-old and being told who I could or could not date. It was about having to check in with my motherevery few hours to let her know where I was. It was about a complete lack of freedom--freedom I had been given while awayat college for two years. The boy wasthe straw breaking the camel... and he didn’t last very long after theincident, anyway

I left. I rented a U-Haul. I enlisted the help of a couple friends. We packed my things while my parents changedthe locks on my home. We steered thattruck away and I cried.

Fastforward a couple of weeks and I was penniless, waiting tables at Outback andmaking coffee at Starbucks more hours than I was sleeping. I bounced from place to place as I realized Icouldn’t live with anyone because everyone drove me crazy. I ended up moving to Nashville where I onlyspiraled even further into despair, poverty, and unhappiness.

I remembervividly the next Halloween. I think Iwas compensating for the lack of celebration the year before by carving 6 pumpkinsin various patterns--a vampire, a witch, a scaredy cat, etc. etc... They surelooked fantastic on our little front porch but they didn’t give me back theHalloween I lost.

It’s been 6years. Life has returned to a state ofnormalcy--my relationship with my mother is stronger than ever. I’m dating a wonderful man who is not only apolice officer, but works for my stepdad--instant success in the boyfrienddepartment from my mother and stepfather. And my Daddy and stepmom love him too. I’ve made a lot of bad decisions in my life, but that fateful Halloweenwas the worst.

I’m justglad it didn’t turn the tide on how I felt about the holiday. Today, I have two boxes full of Halloweendecorations that usually go up an entire month before. I look forward to it just like I used to--andI remember the bad one with fondness.

Becausethat decision ended up shaping the woman I have become. And this woman understands one crucialthing...

Her parentsare ALWAYS right. It just took a littlebit of maturity to figure it out.

Heather Marie Adkins is an independent fiction novelist andavid bibliophile with the library to prove it. She writes across genres and began self-publishing her work in June of2011—much to the chagrin of her mother. Heather has five published books and two more coming out this year. She loves to garden, cook, and travel, andwould give anything to live in a cottage in Ireland. She currently resides in Kentucky with thelove of her life and 15 pets.

Find me online!

http://heather.bishoffs.com

http://www.facebook.com/heathermarieadkinsauthor

http://www.twitter.com/hmarieadkins

http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/2564411-heather

Check out my paranormal romance novels:

The Temple (ebook)

A girl with supernatural powers against a supernatural foeshe doesn’t believe exists.

Abigail (ebook)

A half-fairy, half-human girl who must unite with thefairies she has long denied to save the humans she loves.

Spooktacular Giveaway Hop

2011-10-23T21:21:00.000-07:00

I am participating in the Spooktacular Giveaway Hop. I am giving away your choice of my eBooks. Any one that you choose. I will give you a Smashwords coupon code where you can download whatever format you'd like (mobi for Kindles, epub for Nooks, or a pdf, etc). I have 6 eBooks released, you will get your pick. You can check them out on this blog, there are links for each book at the top.

There will be 2 winners.

Giveaway Details:

To enter giveaway, please follow this blog, then fill out the form below.

Last day to enter is 10/31/11.

To enter giveaway, please fill out this form.

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Teen Topic #1

2011-10-20T07:57:00.000-07:00

Breaking Dawn is less than a month away. My teen's birthday is around the time of the movie's release. For her birthday, she wants to either go to the midnight premiere (and probably miss some or all of school the next day) or go to the 2pm afternoon showing on Friday, WITH a few of her friends.

I'm not completely against this because Friday is the last day of school before they get a week off for Thanksgiving break anyway. So, really, how much would she be missing? I also like to think I'm somewhat of a cool mom :D However, I'm not sure if the 3-4 friends she wants to bring have parents that would allow this.

How do other teens and parents see this? Would you let your child go to a midnight premiere of a movie on a school night? Would you let them miss part of school to see a movie? What if the movie started at 2pm and school was over at 2:30? Would getting picked up an hour early be okay with you?

Tell me your thoughts!!

Giveaway Coming Soon

2011-10-17T11:48:00.000-07:00

I am participating in the Spooktacular Giveaway Hop. It runs from October 24-31, 2011. Please check back between those dates to enter.

Teen Topics

2011-10-15T08:52:00.000-07:00

I often believe my mind is stuck in the teen years. I still remember exactly what I felt when my parents yelled at me or punished me. I remember how I felt failing a class in school. I remember how I felt when I was forbidden to see a friend. I remember how I used to exaggerate about certain things.

Now, that I have my own teen, I find myself struggling between remembering what it was like and being the parent. I know many of my readers and fans are teens and am interested in starting blog posts about teen topics.

Not only do I want to hear from you for book reasons, but also for handling my own teen :)

I really hope to get some interesting feedback!! So, stay tuned and jump in - teen or not!

Day Job Woes

2011-10-10T09:14:00.000-07:00

Although my books are selling well, they don't sell enough for me to quit my day job. I still have to babysit to bring the money in. Lately, it seems that it's more trouble than it's worth.

I babysit for two families, both first children. One is 2 years old and the other is 6 months old. The 2 year old has been here over a year. Her parents are pretty flexible, they let me take her to appointments if I have them or wherever I might need to go, they're almost too flexible. They feel that they can disregard the contract, not bring her one week, and not have to pay. I don't understand people like this. My contract specifically says I won't charge them if they tell me one week in advance that their daughter won't be here. Simple right? Better than a daycare who will charge you no matter what. But, no. I get a text at 9pm the night before telling me she won't be here this week.

Well, I budgeted that money. I needed that money. It's my paycheck. So, I could be mean and say I still want to get paid - because that IS what the contract says. OR I could let it go - AGAIN. I know they are struggling financially and I feel really bad insisting that they pay. I try to work with them as much as possible, but what about me? Why would anyone want to screw over the person who takes care of their child???

Then the other people who are good about giving me notice, bounced checks and then got irritated when I told them I wanted cash from now on. Really? Another contract thing. You bounce, you pay, and then you have to pay cash. And again, I must ask, WHY would you do that to your babysitter? These people aren't flexible when it comes to taking their child anywhere. It's a big, fat NO. Normally, I don't go anywhere, but there might be an occasion where I have to go to the doctor or pick someone up at school.

I can't wait for the day that I make enough money on my books so I don't have to babysit anymore!!