Because of the great response I’ve gotten to the Shotgun Rites cover, I revamped the Voodoo Dues cover in the same style.
I’ve been concerned for a while that the blue Voodoo Dues cover was not hitting my target audience. Hopefully the new covers are closer to the mark. They certainly look less like a graphic or pulp novel!
Ask any writer with a blog and they’ll usually tell you that the golden rule for building a blog audience is that you shouldn’t blog about writing because your readers don’t care about that. I’m not sure where that pearl of wisdom came from, but I’m about to call bullshit on that one.
After two years, give or take, of trying to engage readers here, I’ve noticed that my posts that are actually about writing or geared toward authors in some form are the posts that get the most traffic. If that’s not enough proof, look at Joe Konrath or Dean Wesley Smith. They both have very successful blogs on writing and they’re both doing quite well in the ebook arena.
After doing some blog related soul searching for the new year, what I’ve decided is that I’m just going to blog about the things I’m doing. Heads up… it’s probably going to be about writing and book cover design, because that, aside from work and my laughable social life is what I’m doing.
Oh and fyi, just in case we’re not connected on Facebook, I’m starting a pre-made ebook cover design site this year. I don’t have enough inventory to open just yet, but I’ll drop in a couple of preview covers below. Comments are welcome and encouraged!
I had my New Years Day post all typed out and ready to go last night. The original felt kind of defeatist. The point of the whole thing was that I feel like I don’t have any time to spend writing. The truth is that I have a lot of time, I’m just not using it wisely. (Hello, Pinterest!)
Have you ever gotten up, gone to your feed reader (if you use one) or blogs you read on a daily basis and the perfect storm, post wise has sprung up overnight? My experience was like that today. This handful of posts did me a huge favor, pulling me out of Eyore mode and propped me up with a huge helping of this can be done attitude.
The most influential post of the day is a tie between Zoe Winters’ Social Media Blackout and Goals post and 4 Steps to Creating Enjoyable Reader Experience on Your Fiction Author Website that I found through The Passive Voice blog.
My plan for the new year is this – within the next couple of days, I am going to download the Cold Turkey App which if I understand it correctly, will let me block the time suck websites. I’m looking at you Facebook and Pinterest! I’m going to come up with a workable schedule and devote 80% of that time to writing and 20% to the shiny, addictive things.
Stage two of the plan is going to be coming up with a new strategy and schedule for my website and blog. I’ll let you know more about that as I work it out, but Stephannie Beman has some great suggestions in her 4 Steps article.
So, wish me luck lovelies. More time to write can only mean good things!
For all of you good ladies and gents who stop by on occasion, thanks so much for reading. I wish you all a bountiful 2013 and I hope you’ll continue to visit me here and on Facebook.
A little disclaimer here, this portion of the story is not safe for work or for the kiddos to read. You’re entering adult only reading here.
If you’re just joining in on the fun, part one is here and part two is here.
I glared right back at him. “Try to stop me.” He may have been bigger than me, but I was faster. He reached out to grab me, but I escaped his grasp by millimeters. Kicking off my flip flops, I ran across the boiling hot sand to my 1960s, white and lime green trailer. It sat about 50 feet across from Miriam’s and only the screen door was closed. I almost had the solid, or as solid as antique aluminum gets, door closed when Ray’s hand grabbed it and snatched it open.
Not yet deterred, I lunged across the 8 foot width of the trailer and grabbed for the phone hanging on the wall. Ray hit me with his big body like a Mac truck, pinning me against the wall opposite the door. The poor little trailer definitely swayed with the force. He ripped the phone cord out of the wall with one hand and threw it onto the kitchen floor. His other hand was full of my hair, as if having me pinned face to the wall wasn’t enough to stop me from escaping.
Instead of yelling at me as I expected him to do, he used the fist-full of hair to gently pull my head to the right. The only sound that emerged was a low, trickling growl. He sniffed my hair and rubbed his face down, over my ear and onto my neck where he kissed the bare skin. I was stunned by that. His fingers on the hand that had just destroyed my phone pulled the strap of my tank top down my arm, not stopping until my left breast sprang free of the elasticized fabric.
I cleared my throat. “Um, Ray?” I asked, not sure what I was feeling about the situation. There were after all, body parts rotting just across the main road, but my libido seemed to have different pursuits in mind, as did his.
He palmed the naked breast, kneading it with his work-roughened hand while continuing to kiss my neck and tickle me with his beard. I moaned involuntarily. It had been a long, dry winter for me, not counting my vibrating friend beside my bed. I arched my back, pushing my butt back into him and my breast more firmly into his hand. Ray repositioned himself, so that I could feel him, hard and thick against my cheeks. He released my hair and freed the other breast while kissing the back of my neck.
“Fuck it.” I said out loud. If I was going to be a raging slut, I was going to own it. I pulled the tank top over my head, dislodging his hands and lips long enough to reach behind me and stroke him over the denim, worn thin. With my hands behind me, on him, Ray shoved a hand down the front of my shorts. My hips bucked when he touched my clit.
Ray growled again and removed his hand, quickly unbuttoning my shorts, sliding them with my underwear down to about mid-thigh. He positioned my hands flat on the wall and had his pants around his ankles with supernatural speed. He wasn’t one for much foreplay, but I was wet enough that it didn’t matter. He pushed into me from behind, fingers digging into my hips. He was thick, long and fantastic. All I could do was hold on as he thrust inside me, pounding or maybe punishing with short, frantic strokes.
He stopped, mid stroke.
“Shit.” I heard him mumble. He dropped his head so that it rested on my shoulder. “You okay, Cora?”
He raised his head and I looked over my shoulder at him. His eyes looked almost scared, but his hands were still in the game, gently this time, exploring my sides, teasing my breasts. I nodded and pushed back into him, forcing him to slide in deeper.
“uhh!” He groaned and his hands found my hips again. This time he was slow, building a rhythm with his thrusts. It wouldn’t be long for me; I could feel the orgasm coming. He pulled me back against him, adjusting his angle, continuing to fill me up. One arm was holding me up, the hand kneading my deprived right breast, the other hand moved lower, pressing flat against my lower abdomen. “Come on,” he said, thrusting deep, his breathing becoming labored, “come for me, Cora.”
I came twice; once just as he asked me to and the second shortly before he did. It was a good thing he was holding me up, because my noodle legs definitely wouldn’t have. He sank down to the floor, no longer inside me, but still holding me against him. When he did let me go, I slid down a little, still cradled between his bent legs.
“You’re not screaming, so I assume you were willing.” He said, his voice rumbling against my back.
Who the hell was he? Jekyll and Hyde?
“I told her not to let you stay.” He said. “Outsiders are dangerous.”
I stood and pulled up my shorts. I had no idea where my shirt had gone, but that didn’t stop me from putting on my best defiant look. “What are you talking about, Ray?”
“Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to run from a predator?”
Don’t forget to leave a comment here or on Facebook telling me what you’d like to happen next!
The new Lian and Figg compilation, Shotgun Rites is up and if Amazon cooperates with me, it will be FREE 12-26 to 12-28! The collection includes Voodoo Dues, Vampire Blues, Voodoo Dues Companion, the full Charming Short (renamed R.U.M.P.), a Halloween short I did for the Alaskan Book Cafe and a teaser for book three.
If you haven’t read Lian and Figg yet, you should definitely give this one a shot, or if you’ve read them already, recommend it to someone with a new Kindle or tablet.
That’s all the “buy my stuff” marketing I’m going to do, I promise. 
Hello Lovelies! I have something new to share today. On the 25th, I’ll be launching a compilation of all my Lian and Figg material so far, including the shorts and a preview of book 3. Best of all it’ll be free for a few days, mostly for those of you who’ve purchased Voodoo Dues and Vampire Blues in the past and might want this one just for the extras.
I’m also using a new cover style on this one, more realistic and a little less noir.
I’m still working on the font style and all that good stuff. If you have any comments or opinions on the new look, I’d love your feedback!
If you’re just joining in on the fun, part one is here.
Ray turned his attention to Franky and let loose an honest to God growl, so deep and menacing that it had me crawling reverse crab style toward the chain link fence surrounding the pool. The boys scattered and I froze as Ray turned his hooded gaze to me. I might have been hallucinating, but I could have sworn that for a minute, his eyes were different.
“I could have killed you.” He rose to his full height and offered me his hand. “Did you need something?”
I couldn’t think of a reply, so I just blurted out my business. “I think Miriam’s corpse is rotting in her trailer.”
“Let’s go see.” He didn’t ask why I thought that or if I had contacted the authorities, he just turned and walked away from me, his long legs eating up the distance between the pool and Miriam’s trailer. I scrambled to catch up to him, blathering about the boys coming to me because they smelled decomposition coming from inside.
He had a key. That was the good news. The bad news was lying just inside the tiny entry, on olive and yellow, 1960s linoleum, extending a little past the gold transition strip and onto well-worn, brown shag carpet. It wasn’t Miriam, not all of her anyway, just most of her right leg. The foot was still inside her fuzzy, baby blue house shoe. The 3×3 linoleum covered square was almost completely covered in congealed blood. The place where the leg had been detached looked like it had been gnawed by something with sharp teeth.
Ray trudged on through the smell and the swarm of flies buzzing about the limb. I couldn’t say why I followed him, but it seemed like a better idea than standing over a severed leg.
In the bathroom, there was more blood. It was all over the harvest gold countertop and sink, dripping down the cabinet and onto linoleum that matched the flooring in the entry. I shouldn’t have looked in the sink. The contents were eight fingers, two thumbs, an ear and a pair of pruning shears.
I felt my meager breakfast of oatmeal and toast threatening to come up. Turning toward the open bathroom door, I sprinted, and didn’t stop until I’d hurdled the leg in an athletic feat I didn’t know I was capable of and hit the relatively fresh air outside. Hanging my head over the porch railing, I retched in the yucca bed until I knew there couldn’t be anything left in my stomach.
As soon as I righted myself, I took my phone out of my pocket and flipped it open. I was a second away from redialing the Sherriff when Ray slapped the phone out of my hand. “No police.” He said.
“We have to call the police,” I said, “there’s been a murder.”
“I don’t see a body.” Ray stared at me, maybe trying to intimidate me into silence. I had news for him, I’d dated scarier men than him and lived to tell the tale.
“Miriam is dead, Ray.” I told him. “She would have bled out long before she could have gotten medical attention.”
He glared at me and flattened my phone under his boot heel. “NO cops.”
Don’t forget to leave a comment here or on Facebook telling me what you’d like to happen next!
It’s here, FINALLY! We get to see a little more of Henry Cavill’s Superman. I’m a huge fan of Superman and I’m pretty stoked about Man of Steel.
What about you? Are you a fan? If so, what do you think?
I haven’t given you guys and gals much lately that wasn’t depressing, so I thought I’d share a freshly typed snippet of a short unrelated to Lian and Figg.
I was thinking of doing a choose your own adventure (remember those?) type of thing here. If you want to participate, leave a comment telling me what you think should happen next (I’m partial to urban fantasy, but anything goes), I’ll choose one comment randomly and write from there.
Brothers, Tim, Astaire and Franky Shaw stood behind me in a half circle formation. Tim, a scraggly eleven year-old grifter in the making was standing just behind my left side so that his shaggy blond hair and shabby wardrobe lurked just on the edge of my periphery. Ten year-old Franky mirrored him on my right, proudly sporting a baby mullet and a vintage rock t-shirt he’d probably stolen from his dad. Nine year-old Astaire stayed behind me. Not enough to make the older boys think he was a coward, but definitely far enough to get a solid head start if there was a horror movie villain lurking on Miriam Gabney’s front porch.
I stepped up on the first of the clearly rotted trio of risers leading to Miriam’s door. The boys had come to me when they smelled something funny outside the park manager’s home, not because I had any authority around the dilapidated trailer park, but because I was the only trustworthy adult in residence during the day. I took the next step carefully, causing it to groan under my weight. The smell of decomposition hit me just as Astaire stumbled into me, not nearly as graceful as his namesake, sending me face first into the neon green astroturf carpeting the porch. The smell was much stronger where I landed, a mere two feet from the trailer’s front door. I had the feeling we were going to need the sheriff.
Digging in my pocket, I flipped my not-so-smart phone open and dialed 911. As far out in west Texas as we were, it was lucky that we had the service at all, but that didn’t mean that it wouldn’t take the sheriff or one of his Gomer Pyle deputies an hour to get out to Shady Dell.
“Reagan County Sheriff.” A voice on the other end of the staticy line said.
“This is Cora Beane out at Shady Dell.” I told the voice, “We have a possible emergency out here.”
“What is the nature of your emergency?” The sticky, sweet, southern belle voice asked.
I sighed, looking at the three young faces soaking in every word, “It smells like decomposition coming from inside the park manager’s trailer.”
“Sugar,” Miss Southern Belle said, “if we sent a car every time someone smelled a dead animal, we would run those boys ragged.” There was a pause as if she were hoping I’d hung up. “Look under the trailer and call us back if you don’t find something there.” She hung up the phone.
I stuffed the phone back into the pocket of my khaki shorts. “You boys know where Ray is?”
“He was by the pool a while ago.” Tim said.
Oh boy.
Ray was the maintenance man in the loosest sense. For the first six months I’d been at Shady Dell, I’d thought he was a drifter that Miriam had taken in. She was one for taking in strays. Then, one day when Shelley, the mother of the brood that was following me, was feeling chatty, she told me that he was a friend of Miriam’s grandson who had been killed in our first go-round with Iraq. Ray had apparently come out to deliver the bad news personally and Miriam had taken him in. He might have been a warrior and a hero at one time, but presently he was a drunk who barely managed to get out of bed in the morning.
I rounded the bend near Charlotte and Caleb’s pink trailer to the “pool”. It had been drained in the distant past, but still collected a little water when we managed to get some rain. The concrete surround was cracked, but still lined with aluminum lounge chairs.
Just as the boys said, Ray was asleep in one of the chairs, his long legs stretched out in front of him, clad in denim so worn that I could see the shape of his kneecaps sticking through. I cleared my throat, but he kept on snoring.
“Ray.” I pushed at his leg with the toe of my pink flip flop. Nothing. It was a good thing he was snoring, because if he hadn’t been, I might have thought he was dead too.
“Ray!” I reached down and shook him by the shoulders. That was a mistake. Before I knew it, I was flat on my back with Ray’s muscular forearm pressed against my throat, cutting off my air supply. I tried to shout his name, but it was no use. Thankfully, he let me go, sitting up on his knees that were between my outstretched legs. It was not the position you wanted to find yourself in around boys who had a satellite dish and parents who didn’t know how to work the parental controls.
Tim was thrusting his pelvis in our direction and the other two boys were howling with laughter. Ray made no attempt to move, he just slid his dark, stony gaze at Tim who stopped mid thrust and looked away. In my eyes, that made Tim the smart one. Franky kept up the assault, though on a more PG front, making kissy noises at us.
Frankly, Ray was not the worst of the men I’d found myself in that very position with, generally wearing a lot less. If he took a shower, brushed his teeth and trimmed the Rip Van Winkle beard, I might have given him a shot. Especially after I’d come upon him using the outdoor shower near the pool a couple of months ago and almost swallowed my tongue, much like when I saw Hugh Jackman’s little shower scene in Australia, the image of Ray’s chest and abs were burned into my memory forever.
Don’t forget to leave a comment telling me what you’d like to happen next!
You might notice the absence of a NaNoWriMo word count widget on my side bar. I decided this morning that it was too depressing to let it hang around. After all, there’s no way I’m making 50k words by tomorrow.
What did I learn?
That there is no playing catch up (for me). I started strong, dropped the ball early on and never got my momentum back. Sadly, even as someone who has done it before, and by “it”, I mean writing a book, it’s not easy.
I am in awe of all you writers who managed to complete NaNo. If you’re one of them, or soon to be, congrats! Know that I am at the same time green with envy and so happy for you I could burst.