Bouncing on that was still easier than bouncing back from bad reviews. I can see now the value in using a different name for different genres. I really thought I didn't need to, that a warning a book was NOT like my others would be enough. Clearly not. Still, I'll try to bounce back - but my bounce will have less spring in it.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Apparently lots of people do that! I suppose I do know how my stories will end - happily ever after - snigger - but it's never occurred to me to actually write the last two paragraphs before I start. I always have a little difficulty with the final few words - partly because I'm sad to finish, partly because I want those words in particular to be perfect.
A few of my endings!
“Home,” Matty said.
Turner smiled. “Home and you’re ours forever. It was in the small print.”
Caspar stared into her eyes and smiled. His star had risen. That star was Ally.
“Don’t need to,” he said. “My wish has already come true.”
Then things went on as though nothing had happened, but inside Piper, the life that had waited for just the right moment began to grow.
“Not as lucky as me.” He got to his feet, swept his little bolt of lightning into his arms and stalked toward the coach house. “Life’s perfect.”
Thursday, June 16, 2011
I should stop googling myself. It's a terrible habit but when I need a break from a scene I'm writing, I find my fingers itching to see if anyone has written any reviews about my recent releases. Generally I find the answer is no, so after skipping down a few pages I get trawled into a slow realization that every bleeping word I've ever written is there for all the world to admire, laugh at or ignore.
I am careful about what I say - mostly - but how long are those words going to be there? Forever? Is this my afterlife, my immortality? My pronouncements about TV shows, my son's dog, my ever patient husband, my kids? Why didn't I study astrophysics at university so that I could have at least left some intelligent words for the world. No, instead the world gets an insight into what is clearly a strange mind - one that writes about MM sex and MMF menages and MF sex and murderous psychotic bad guys like Jack in CHOSEN. Oh God, is that how I'm going to be remembered?
Monday, June 13, 2011
Finally, finally, the world has chance to read a book that I've had the great fortune to watch come to life. My invaluable, brilliant crit partner, Arlene Webb has published the first book in her series about what happens when light energy splinters. Oh but it's about so much more than that. Arlene has woven a complex tale of fascinating characters who interact with the humans they meet in ways that will make you laugh, cry, and gulp. I can't tell you how much I love this book and the ones that follow. All right - I can. I LOVE THEM!!!!!
In a nutshell, book one is about five, complex and flawed personalities (byproduct of a splintered particle of light) finding themselves grounded. They are suddenly trapped in adult human bodies on Earth and wanting to go home, without memory of where that even is. Splintered Energy concerns their journey to reunite, and survive each other and mankind.
Meet the Primaries.
Aaron kicked off his sandals, threw open the gate, and ran. Near the surf’s edge, David struggled to carry what looked like a woman with flowing green hair.
David halted, collapsing to his knees. A dark emerald dress clung to the motionless form. Shallow saltwater ebbed close to her bare, honest to God, green legs.
David gasped, “She’s breathing.”
“Good Lord, son, can’t you find pretty shells like normal people?” Aaron dropped to David’s side.
“She’s cold. She wasn’t completely in the water, but shouldn’t her skin be bluish? Why’s she green?”
“Maybe she’s an actress or something.”
Erotica no less, starring Aphrodite dipped in food coloring. The flush on Aaron’s face had to match his son’s. Her skin wasn’t Exorcist-vomit pea soup, nor gingerbread-trim lime, but a soft, immature apple—almost the same shade as the shirt David wore. Delicate emerald lashes curled against her cheekbones. Small breasts, flat stomach, and he could see the outline of her ribs through the silky dress.
* * *
Strawberry ice cream. Yep, that’d be the flavor du jour. Jaylynn pressed her foot down. The sun sparkled and heat reflected off pavement. Good ol’ boring I-87, where one could go the entire drive to civilization without seeing a soul. Perfect for DWD—driving while daydreaming. The pressures of an empty fridge had encouraged her to flip the “open” sign on her bookstore door, and head out on a mission for something tasty.
Jaylynn rounded a familiar curve and blinked. A man at the edge of the road? She blinked again. A red man wearing dark shades and no shirt?
Red? Foot eased from the pedal, she took off her sunglasses.
He still looked—he looked damn good.
Bright, unruly crimson hair fell past his shoulders. Over six foot in height. A shade of continuous red, his chest appeared marred by streaks of black soot. Tight jeans surely clad the body of an athlete. He not only looked hot, he sprang with ninja grace.
Brakes slammed, and she swerved off the shoulder. A seatbelt would have been smart.
No frickin’ airbag? Her face smashed into the steering wheel.
Spots of bright vermillion faded.
* * *
The policeman blinked hard. A weird burst of light had darted across the sky. Either something screwed up with a satellite, electrical discharge out of whack, or he needed to get his eyes checked. He shrugged and approached the sedan parked on the shoulder, propped by a deflated rear tire. Inside, he found an adult male slumped sideways, and his jaw hit the asphalt.
Heart attack, aneurysm, seizure…or something much worse. The man had short blue hair, baby blue dress shirt and black pants, and his arms and clean-shaven face were a soft blue.
At 9 AM in Cleveland? Maybe a rock star struggling for attention, some idiot drinking colloidal silver.
Screw it. He hadn’t survived this long by taking chances. He pulled on his latex gloves and opened the driver door.
“Metro, Adam seven.”
“Go ahead Adam seven.”
“Yeah, I got a 10-24 here. I-90, southbound, just before exit 27. Appears to be a non-responsive Caucasian—well, sort of Caucasian—male. Some kind of blue skin discoloration. Let the EMTs know about the blue skin. You copy?”
He brushed his fingers over the neck artery—bingo. He swallowed his relief and stepped back. Not that he rated male beauty, but this unconscious guy would certainly cause a flutter from the double X side of the species.
This four book adventure has been a work in progress for close to a decade now. It’s very cool to hopefully have book four go live by January, 2012. All the books can be read as stand alone titles. There's no - oh my god, how will they get out of that, at the end!! The only thing I haven't read is the very end and I can hardly wait to see what happens.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Hi there. My name is Winston Kennedy and I want to complain about the way I'm treated by my slave, Barbara. She spends far too much time sitting on her backside with a shiny flat thing on her lap when she could have a fluffy thing - me! Trying to get her attention when she's writing is almost impossible. I have needs! Often. Frequently. Food being one of them. I'm getting fed up of eating the same thing every day - what dog can live on chicken breast? - and her expecting me to be grateful for it. What's worse, she keeps dragging me outside for a walk and then not letting me sniff every lamppost. She rips the fun out of my life. I don't ask for much--just a few treats every now and again, her NOT TO LEAVE ME ON MY OWN - and why can't I go in the loo with her?? What happens in there? And why did she buy me that squeaky ball only to get cross when I run round the house and squeak it??
If you'd like to read about my adventures - which frankly are a lot more exciting than her scribblings, I have my own blog. www.winstonken.wordpress.com
That's a picture of me - on the right - with my mother and sister. I'm the good-loooking one, obviously.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
This is NOT an erotic book. This is the story of a woman put in a desperate situation, who fights for survival with every ounce of her being. It's an adventure story, a thriller, a tale of psychological suspense and a murder mystery - all rolled into one. I'm very proud of this story and thrilled to pieces that Decadent have published it.
Some crimes can never be forgotten.
Kate Evans doesn’t take risks. She chose her apartment with care—a safe district with a good neighbor—a place where she can live a quiet, unassuming, under-the-radar existence. Then she makes one mistake and opens her door to accept a delivery of flowers from a secret admirer and her life will never be the same again. A guy she’s never seen before bursts into her apartment and asks her to marry him. Jack Thompson won’t take no for an answer and drags Kate on a cross country journey to hell.
Invalided out of the police, Nathan Beranson works as a private investigator in San Antonio, Texas where he spends too much of his time following unfaithful spouses and delivering the bad news to their partners. When his fiancée cheats on him with Jack Thompson, the half-brother Nathan’s only just met, he becomes obsessed with Jack in the same unhealthy way as his revenge-seeking clients. By the time Nathan finally realizes putting the ghosts of the past to rest is a wiser option than settling an old score, it’s too late. He’s already been drawn into his sibling’s latest deadly game and Nathan and Kate find their nightmare is only just beginning.
For the chance to win one of my ebooks and find a little information about my journey to my twentieth book visit - the site below.