Saturday, May 18, 2013

Blast from the past


DH and I are welcoming a new member of the family...




A new computer!

I'm astounded to say that I'm at a point in my life where a computer is now part of my business. I used to consider writing a hobby, but that's no longer the case. Regardless, now that our new darling is on its way, it means I have to go through and organize my old files for transfer.

To say there are some old memories there is an understatement.

But I did find this funny little snippet. It's actually from the college application essay I submitted when I was applying to get into the school's creative writing program. The essay asked me about my plans for the future and how my writing factored into those plans.

I was rereading the essay, looking back fondly on the girl I had been, glad to see the same optimism and trust in humanity's capacity for good, amused by my blind faith in the path I had set for myself in stone, and I stumbled upon this paragraph:

I love to write tales in which the lines of good and evil aren't so clear, where redemption may or may not be possible, where sometimes you must accept the bad times along with the good. I believe the reason life is so hard is so we learn something from our brief time on earth.  Mother Theresa was right. God never gives us more than we can handle; although, sometimes we wish that He didn't trust us so much. This belief is infused solidly into my writing. While my stories may not end happily, there is always something in the story that lends itself to the theory of redemption and unconditional love. If my readers think about these questions, then my fiction has had the desired effect.

Well, shit...

That is my writing in a nutshell, spoken in the words of a high school senior who was positive she would live her life for her characters and stories. Almost a decade after I wrote this (not quite a decade, but close!), while I muddle through the world of author branding, the necessary but horrendous popularity contest that is Facebook, and my own struggles to define why I write what I write, I discover that that girl from my past had known all along.

Thursday, May 16, 2013

Call for submissions!

The lovely and talented Kate Cuthbert wants to spread the news: Escape Publishing is actively seeking manuscripts! If you've been holding onto that darling for years, hiding it under your bed, or just finished it, this is your opportunity! I've included her post about submissions below:

Here’s a fun fact: if you submit to Escape now, you can be a published (or multi-published) author by Christmas. We’re working to an aggressive publishing program, and we want stories!
I’m going to list some subgenres/themes that I’m very interested in, but please note: we publish all subgenres all the time. So if yours doesn’t necessarily fit in to the list, I still want to read it.
Here’s our submission page: http://www.escapepublishing.com.au/submission
Why submit to Escape?
  • Australian location, global reach
  • Actively seeking risky, niche, or cross-genre stories
  • Publishes short stories (of more than 5000 words), novellas, and short and long-length novels
  • Small, flexible team, with the backing of Harlequin’s knowledge, experience, and professionalism
  • No synopsis required! Just a 100-word blurb.
  • Two-week turn-around guarantee for initial response
So what are you waiting for?
Subgenres/themes that I’m particularly interested in:
  • Romantic suspense
  • Erotic romance
  • Historical romance (any period/any time/any setting)
  • Contemporary romance (especially Australia/NZ-set)
Got questions? Hit me: kcuthbert@eharlequin.com.au
Can’t wait to see what’s in store-y for me (see what I did there? Puns! Yay!)

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Out of the frying pan...

The great news? First round of copy edits are done!

The process wasn't as intimidating as I'd expected once I finally buckled down and did it, but I can understand the trepidation that comes when work is being edited. The top three bits of advice I learned from editing would be:


1. Accept that it's a potential blow to the ego - I'm not one of these people (I've accepted I'm one of those annoying people who shrugs and says, "Duh," when someone points out I'm not perfect), but when I first opened the editing document, my DH looked at it and joked that it would be hard for him to accept all those changes. Translation: I had a lot of red marks on my paper. My DH said this mostly from contrariness (one of his many talents), but it brings up a good point. 

We all want to be good writers, and we live in a culture that expects perfection the first time. If you don't achieve that, become a published best-selling author after working at it for two months and wowing your friends and relatives and perfect strangers with your witty prose, it leaves only two options: either you're deficient, or it's not your fault, which is the excuse I hear used most in today's world. To end the potential discussion on this point, let's just say it is your fault and it's high time you sucked it up and dealt with it.

Now that we're back on topic, realize that getting back a marked-up manuscript you slaved over, spent hours polishing, and was positive was perfect has the potential to let your annoying and overly involved inner-editor to say "I told you so." And then you listen to her because she must have been right. And then you never write another story again. Ever. Don't let the inner-editor win. And if you do, it's your fault.


2. Take your time - So, you plan to spend four hours going through all the edits and approving them. I mean, you wrote the damn book in a flurry of NaNo inspired creativity over the course of 30 days, right? And now that it's finished you can sit down and read it on your computer screen in, like, an hour, right? So, going through edits should be a breeze...

Yeah, that's bullshit.

Plan that for every minute you spend dreaming of the moment you see your book in print, you're going to spend at least an hour editing before the book reaches that stage of transcendent bliss. And no, I'm not overexaggerating. 

You'll sit in front of your copy edits and plan to work on them. Genuinely devote yourself to it. And an hour in, your stomach will growl, so you'll get some food, but you can't edit while you eat, so you get onto Pinterest or Facebook or email or God only knows what else so you can amuse yourself while you eat (quickly, of course), but then something else will catch your attention, so an hour later you'll discover you're researching whether raccoons could mate with macaw parrots and breed little macaroons...

You see how it begins?

Sit your butt in the chair. Edit. Get up. Stretch for one minute. For every minute over one minute, dock yourself ten M&Ms from the ever-present chocolate snacking bowl and watch how quickly you'll return to that chair. 


3. Make sure you have a comfy chair - Just teasing...


The real #3. Trust your editor - He or she is there to make your work be the best it can. It may hurt to change some things or adjust your eloquently repetitive wordiness...ness, but it's worth it in the end when you realize that they cut in half the number of times you used the same stinking word and never caught it. 

And it's awesome when you have a comment where your editor tells you, "Not everyone would know what CoD is. I’m a gamer but let’s use the full name here." I mean, with a comment like that, can life really get any better?

Nope. At least not until Round 2 of edits hits my email.

Friday, May 10, 2013

The Perfect Con

One of the great writing practices we have in the Harlequin online community is a Writer's Challenge. The challenge: write no more than 1,000 words on a given topic. It provides a great opportunity to practice your craft, since you get feedback from other forum members, and it also allows you to see how much diversity can come from one simple topic. This is one of my old, unused entries from the challenge. Maybe someday it will grow up into a full fledged story!


The Perfect Con

Jack Piper hated the holidays. He’d barely survived his latest job in the glitter and glamour of Carmel; even now, the prize resting in his jacket’s hidden pocket was only a reminder of all his sacrifices. Now that it was New Year’s, he was holding out hope that maybe his life would finally get back to normal. After he dropped off the flash drive in Philadelphia, that is.

A quick glance at his gate showed that few people had arrived for the miserable red-eye flight. Who would he sit next to tonight? A grandma with her young grandson? She glared at him, a clear warning that he wasn't welcome. No problem, grams. A business man, already talking obnoxiously on his cell phone barely one day after Christmas? All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. But there, sitting quietly in a corner and staring blankly at the wall, was someone…intriguing.

Normally he wouldn't have given her a second glance. Plain was her best descriptor. A closer look though showed that her fair complexion didn't require makeup, and she didn't need the enhancement jewelry would provide. Her posture was impeccable, her luggage carefully tucked away next to her, her fingers drumming on a paperback. She probably enjoyed her invisibility.

Jack made his living by being invisible. And he knew it could be lonely, so he may as well talk to her, even if the only words to fall from her surprisingly kissable lips would tell him to shove it up his…




“Going to Pittsburgh too?” 

Sarah Jameson looked up at the man who had spoken to her, expecting to see an airport worker. It only took half a second to realize this man couldn't possibly be that, not with his worn jeans and leather jacket. Honestly, he would have been completely forgettable, if not for being just a few inches too tall, his hair just a hint too dark, and his jaw just a bit too strong. The light smile on his lips when he noted her slow perusal quickened her pulse.

Not wanting to give too much information, she settled for, “Yes.”

“That’s a bit of a climate change. From Santa Cruz with its sun and sand, to Pittsburgh with its...”

Giving in to his charm, she finished, “Snow and smog? I wouldn't go except I promised to visit my mom and her new husband.”

“You don’t sound excited.” He looked her over carefully, leaving her flushed and more than a little confused about his interest. “I know what it is!” he finally crowed before asking sympathetically, “First time flying?”

Embarrassment swept over her and she gnawed at her lip. “Is it that obvious?”

He chuckled and sat two seats down. “You've got new luggage, a paperback that doesn't even have the binding cracked, and I’m guessing from how you keep shifting in your seat that you followed airport suggestions exactly and arrived three hours before your flight.”

“Are you...are you some kind of security person? Have you been watching me? Because, I swear, I haven’t accepted packages from anyone, and I made sure to pack all my liquids in my checked bag...”

His rolling laughter stopped her mid-sentence. “No, I’m not security.”

“Then how do you know all of that about me?”

He pursed his lips, and for some inexplicable reason she found herself waiting with bated breath. A slow, smug grin spread across his face and he leaned in confidentially. “Can you keep a secret?”




Jack couldn't resist, even though he knew he should. But if he didn't do something crazy, she’d stop talking to him. And for some bizarre reason, he didn't want to end the conversation. “I’m a con man,” he confided.
For a second, she looked confused. Then her eyebrows raised just a hint. Her shapely lips parted and she moistened them with the tip of a pale pink tongue. She started to say something, but reconsidered.

Maybe she was going to make some comment about that being a poor joke, or she’d string him along for a bit before she realized he was serious; he wasn't counting on that though, since she looked more like a church mouse than a flirt.

Instead she surprised him.

Relief flitted across her face before turning into a spine-tingling look of sheer canniness. “You’re a con man?”

He nodded. She really wasn't reacting the way he’d expected.

She shook her head. Sprawling back in the uncomfortable seat, Jack was fully aware that his grin had widened and he was itching for some sort of argument. Which was crazy, since he never let a woman get him riled. But something about this one set fire to his blood.

He didn't immediately catch that she wasn't trying to argue. Instead, she was asking, “How much would it cost to hire you for this weekend?”

“Excuse me?”

“I need to hire you.”

“Why?”

Her eyes narrowed and those full lips tilted downward. “Because I refuse to show up at home without a man by my side.”

“Interesting. Why not?”

“My mom’s husband is my ex-boyfriend from college.”

“Seriously?”

That earned him a wary look. “Do you really think I could make something like that up?”

“Not unless you’re the best con artist I've ever met, lady.”

“Would you do it?”




Sarah knew her question was ridiculous, but she was desperate and this man - this stranger Fate had thrown into her path - seemed the perfect answer. Still, it would make sense if he refused her or even laughed in her face.

She did not expect him to pause momentarily before casually answering, “Why not? I have a few days to kill.”

“You’ll do it?”

His eyes caressed her figure once more and he added, “For a price.”







Wednesday, May 1, 2013

3 months to go

It's hard to believe that in three months Red Moon will be released. I'm nearing that final stage of editing, when I've been away from the manuscript for long enough that I'm sure I'll look back over the changes and wonder how I missed those the first time through. I'm excited to see the story in black and white, but what I'm looking forward to most is seeing the cover art Escape Publishing is putting together for my novel.

I've always been a visual person. My DH was sweet enough to help me put up a bulletin board near my writing desk, which is currently covered with pictures of the Sinclair boys and Rhys Donovan from Muse of Fire. It's gotten some awkward looks before from visitors to our house (I mean, there is a huge board of rather swoon-worthy men just sitting there out in the open and DH and I don't act like it's a big deal), but when I type, I tend to let my eyes wander. If they wander to on-topic pictures, there's no harm done.

Pinterest has also become a new obsession/organization tool. Instead of collecting tangible clutter, I collect digital clutter. But it also serves as a place to go when I need inspiration.

That's why I can't wait to see Red Moon's cover. I've had those pictures in my head so clearly, and knowing that someone else is recreating those characters, the moments that make them tick, gives me shivers. It makes this entire journey real.

Not to mention, Escape creates the most fantastic covers! Browsing the art is well worth the time. I've included some of my favorites below (trust me, if there were space, I'd be including even more)...







See what I mean? 

I love all the covers that have come out for Escape books...there's always a little detail that makes the cover stand out, or the way the relationship between characters is shown, or the font that's used that hooks my attention.

So, in not too long, I'll be posting Red Moon's cover to this blog and doing a happy dance in my living room. Hopefully you'll be just as excited!

Sunday, April 21, 2013

Lace & Lead


Chapter 1: Welcome to the Firefight

“Keep your head down!”

Emmaline Gregson immediately followed the barked command, ducking down behind the low stone wall that surrounded the garden. The next shot grazed the top of the wall where her head had been a half a second earlier. Her heart was hammering, her palms sweaty, and she wasn't positive she wouldn't lose her lunch completely as the exchange of gunfire rang out through the crisp morning air. “Wh-what should we do?”

“Well, honey, at this point I’d be pretty damn pleased about not dying!”

At the presumptuous endearment, Emmaline gritted her teeth and reminded herself that her father had spent a lot of money to ensure Peirce Taggart protected her. So she couldn't kill him.

Instead she shot him a glare. Too bad the bullet-jockey was busy returning fire and didn't even give her a sideways glance. Even now, with her life at risk, shots hammering the stone wall at her back, she couldn't completely escape the fact that he was the best looking man she’d ever seen.

She’d been smitten since Taggart had waltzed into her comfortable ancestral summer home two weeks ago, all confident swagger and heady sexuality, carrying his security orders from her father. A former corporal, he still moved with the restrictive grace of an ex-Lawman despite his broad shoulders and strong thighs. His blonde hair remained buzzed, although he’d relaxed his training enough to allow the most interesting shadow of stubble grace his strong jaw and chiseled lips. Even now, face smudged with dirt, blood rising up where he’d been hit by the spray of rock shrapnel, she couldn't look away from the intent focus in those blue eyes, even when they were narrowed and focused on the unseen enemy. He’d be the perfect man to help her solve her little problem, if not for -

“What the fuck are you doing sitting there?” he yelled at her as he ducked down behind the wall to reload. “I told you to get to the fucking house!”

If not for his filthy mouth.




If you're like me and need some visual cues for this story, check out my Pinterest board for it.

Thursday, April 11, 2013

If music be the food of love...

My muse is a fickle little creature. She's quite distractable, and will flit in and out of my life on the slightest whims. I often  find her annoying, especially when she visits at the most inopportune times - sleeping or showering being two of the worst. She'll give me tantalizing snippets of ideas, but disappears when the real work begins. Most importantly, when she hits on an idea, she's stubborn to the point of stupidity.

Still, there are times when I'm grateful for her tenacity.

Earlier this month, she showed up late at night while I was working on my sequel to Red Moon. The smudge of dirt on her cheek and her comfortable worn clothes made me think that she had just been in the garden planting, although the snow was still far too deep for such activity. She sat on the edge of the couch, watching me while I tried to ignore her and focus on Connor and Dana. Her body practically vibrated with excitement.

Finally, unable to hold still a moment longer, she jumped up and shook my shoulder. "I have a present for you!"

I tried to wave her off, but she wouldn't be deterred.

"Just listen, okay? Here!"

And headphones were slipped over my ears and the initial gentleness of the song suddenly darkened and throbbed, leaving me with no other choice but to close my eyes and give in.

And with Imagine Dragon's "Radioactive," Lace & Lead's mewling cries suddenly were birthed into the world.

It's a completely different story than anything I've ever written. I mentioned its premise briefly in my last post, and it's grown and taken on a new life since then. I had prayed I would be able to make it into a short story. Now it's 11,000 words and climbing.

All because of a song.



I've always loved music and know that it has an effect on my creativity. I create complicated playlists for my characters, often crossing lines of genre and types, searching for the right combination. These lists invariably leave my DH shaking his head and muttering, "Such a weird mix," but it works for me.

I suppose that each book, each character has its own theme song, one that perfectly sums up a particular moment. What I love most about this quirk is that every time I hear that song, I think of those characters, of the moment they were going through when that song grabbed me. It's like having an old friend call on the phone just to chat.

These songs are flashes of my characters' souls sneaking out, begging me to let them see the world outside. And how could I refuse that?

Taggart - "Radioactive" by Imagine Dragons

Emmaline - "Rebirthing" by Skillet

Connor - "Good Girls Go Bad" by Cobra Starship

Dana - "Gravity" by Sara Bareilles

Flynn - "Fix Me (Acoustic)" by 10 Years

Evie - "Just a Kiss" by Lady Antebellum

Rhys - "No Words" by The Script

Wren - "Bloodstream (Quartet Session)" by Stateless