Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Point Of View - How to find my inner 14 year old boy


Emo5This week I have a bit of a problem. An editor friend is putting together an anthology with a pirate theme, and she asked me if I had a short story that might work. I didn't, but I told her to give me 48 hours to see if I could come up with something. She said she already had seven of the ten stories in place, and was looking for something that hadn't already been done. She wanted a male POV character, maybe a person of color, maybe someone with a disability, maybe a historical. So I took all that and threw it around the room a little and came up with an idea:

In 1810 New Orleans, a 14 year old boy whose parents are a plantation owner and his black mistress runs off with a pirate. 

Sounds simple enough, right? It has some of the elements the editor was looking for, and there's plenty of STUFF going on in that place and time to build conflict around. And really, the plot hasn't been a problem. It's the main character, Robert. I've had three people read the piece. One, my husband (and not the most critical reader) thought he sounded like a teenage boy. My friend Amanda read it, and she thought I landed somewhere in the 20's. The third (the editor, and necessarily more critical) thought he sounded like a forty year old man.
Oops.
Stratz - Körper des Kindes 30
Gotta fix that.
I know the basics of how to develop a character. I do a worksheet and figure out as much about them as I can, from their height and weight and skin texture to what's in their pockets and what they like to eat for dinner. All of that detail drives the things they say and how they respond to different situations. I did some of that for Robert - it's a short piece, and I had a tight turn-around - but it was hard when I was working with so many unknowns. Hey, I'm old, but not 1810 old.

I did a series of Google searches using accessible terms like, "societal expectations of children in the early 19th century". Not so helpful, really. Then, I posted my quandary on the WANA112 Facebook page - all writers from a variety of backgrounds and experiences. I heard back from YA writer Cristin Terrill that teenagers were hard and historicals were hard and to do them both together would be really hard. Ouch. It sounded like a such a good idea at the time. 

Cristin did suggest that I read books written in that time period that had teenage boys as the main characters. That thought had already crossed my mind, and so now I've got The Prince and the Pauper and a couple things by Dickens tee'ed up on the Kindle. I also found an interview with Claudia Gray, the author of the Evernight novels, a popular YA series. She said that to find the voice for her teen characters, she does whatever she can to remember what it was like to be a teenager. Hmm. Good advice, if I can remember back that far.

My friend Amanda suggested that it was an issue of language, that Robert would feel like more of an outsider and speak less formally. For what it's worth, I was aiming for Mr. Darcy as a teenager. Have to rethink that, I guess. Clearly I was never a teenage boy, but I believe that alienation is part of the package. As is anger. And insecurity. I've got an almost-teen-boy living with me now. And I've got a husband who was, at one time, a teenager. And I've got the internet to help me fill in the gaps regarding the life and times of New Orleans in 1810, if I can figure out the right search terms. I should be able to do this.

If' you've got any ideas on this, would LOVE to hear them in the comments. Thanks!
Peace,
Liv

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Coming Home Freebie!

Hey! My friend April Plummer is offering her new book, Coming Home, for free on Amazon for the next couple of days. You can get the e-version now, or the paperback will be available from Amazon soon. Check it out here, or look for April on her blog, April Plummer - Heart of the World.

Peace,

Liv

 Coming Home - Free on Amazon for 3 Days!


Today, tomorrow, and Thursday, I'm taking advantage of Amazon's Kindle Direct Publishing and giving my book away free to Kindle users!

Get your copy of Coming Home here, a women's fiction story about learning to trust, learning to love, and finding peace through an unknown past.

For years, eighteen-year old Isabela Fuentes worked two jobs to support her promiscuous, alcoholic mother.

After the latest boyfriend rapes her at knife point, Isabela throws her few possessions into her car and drives until she reaches Lakeside, Montana, twenty-five hundred miles from New York City’s suffocating smog.



As her bodily scars fade, she takes solace in the nature around her and records it in her sketch pad. It isn't until she begins sketching scenes from her rape that she learns to cope with what happened.



But leaving her mother behind to fend for herself might have been a mistake; and when two strangers appear on her doorstep claiming to be her dead grandparents, they threaten the fragile childhood memories.  Before she can rebuild her life, Isabela must decide to either let her past go or unite it with the woman she’s become.


Friday, February 24, 2012

Friday Fun


And it's Friday again. Yay! Love Fridays. For our "heading into the weekend with a smile" moment, my friend Nony (short for Anonymous and the source of ALL the funny videos I post) suggested the one below. Because, really, what do you think would happen if Charles Barkley and Bjork sat down for a conversation?

Have a great weekend. 
Peace,
Liv

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

A Tale Of Two Heros

I'm very pleased to welcome back my friend Jillian Chantal. She's been a busy (busier?) lady for the last couple weeks, promoting her two new releases, Sebastian's Salvation and "The Coroner's Heart", a short story in Valentine Delights: Be Mine. The excerpt of Sebastian's Salvation that I saw totally raised my blood pressure, and "The Coroner's Heart" is a truly charming love story that proves that a woman can be strong, smart AND loveable. Thanks, Jillian, for stopping in and telling us about your newest work.

Thanks for the invitation to come by and chat a bit with your readers.   

 What do a war wounded Green Beret and a blood expert who works in a crime lab have in common?  You might be surprised.  The first thing they have in common is that they each sprang from the same mind. The second thing is that they are both romance novel heroes. The third thing is that both of their stories were released on the same day. Now, you're probably asking if there are any things these guys have in common other than those innocuous ones.  Yes, indeed there are. 

Sebastian is the hero of Sebastian's Salvation and Adam is the hero of The Coroner's Heart.  Both men are fiercely loyal to their friends, family and coworkers. Both men are very competent at their jobs. Both men find themselves attracted to a strong woman. Both of them have a hidden soft side; Sebastian hides his under a suave painter persona and Adam hides his with the use of sarcasm and wit.

While each of them have a different story and a different route to happiness, each of them are heroic in their own way. It's important to me as a writer to be sure my heroes never act in a way that would violate the "hero code" as I see it. I love both of these guys for different reasons.  Sebastian has a lot to overcome and his way of coping with his issues endeared him to me. Adam, on the other hand, has had a much easier life and it shows in his more easy going manner and banter.  His dialogue was fun to write.

I think both heroes are smart, witty and kind. I hope the readers love them as much as I do.

I'll leave you with a few lines from each hero to give your readers a little peek into these guys and the buy links.  Thanks again for having me pop in. I enjoy your blog and am thrilled to be here. 

The Coroner's Heart:
Finally, in exasperation, Elspeth turned and her face almost collided with his. “Crap. Back off. What’s wrong with you?”
The driver snickered when Adam replied, “Just smelling your lovely perfume, Doc. What is that? A mixture of some kind of burnt sugar and dead body?”
“Shut up.”
Adam turned to the driver. “I must admit, it’s a strange but powerful concoction. Must be some of that new pheromone stuff.”

Sebastian's Salvation:
Sebastian looked up from his chili. “Bet I could get any of the three of you naked in two minutes flat. All I’d need is a paintbrush in my hand.”
Victoria blushed as Joanna looked him in the eye from her end of the table. “Best watch out with the bets, Bast. You already lost one to me today.”
Sebastian raised one eyebrow. “Did I, now?”
“You know you did. I beat you down the hill best out of three runs.”
“And what did you win, Lady Joanna?”
“The right to have you paint my portrait.” Her face registered triumph.
“You mean the right to get naked in front of me?”
Joanna and her two friends both gasped.
   Sebastian took a bite of his chili and once he swallowed, he looked at Hugh and asked, “See? All it takes is a paintbrush. Want me to teach you?” 
www.Jillianchantal.com Visit me anytime!  

Thanks again for posting, Jillian! It was fun to learn more about Sebastian and Adam.
Peace,
Liv

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Mardi Gras

This morning I happened to catch a tweet from one of my new Triberr buddies, who said she wanted to eat King cake today. Yep, it's that time of year. Mardi Gras. That means tomorrow is Ash Wednesday. 

When you're Catholic, there are two pertinent questions on Ash Wednesday. When you're with your non-Catholic friends, they find an expression that's equal parts embarrassment and concern as they tap you on the shoulder. "There's something black smudged on your forehead. Did you know that?" Um, yeah I did. It's ashes, and the priest went kinda crazy. I may well be marked like this for a week, but I think I'll live through it.

Then there's the question Catholics ask each other. "What are you giving up for Lent?" Good question, that. What am I giving up for Lent? How 'bout I give up dealing with surly adolescents? Hmm. There might be laws against it, since I gave birth to them. Maybe I could give up the rain. I'd like to. No more rain, or at least a lot less of it. Hmm. I live in Seattle and it's February. Good luck with that one, too. 

Then I could give up dieting. The current incarnation involves avoiding grains - except for the pint of beer I have every Saturday night. It's for the nutrients, you know. If I gave up dieting, at least for today, I could have King cake. You know, that's not such a bad idea. I'll have King cake and beer for supper tonight, and then in the morning I can ponder something that'll be a little more meaningful. 

As crazy as it sounds, Ash Wednesday - and all the other weird little holidays the church comes up with - are really a gift. They help locate me in time, framing the year with traditions that go back centuries. The Gregorian Communion antiphon for Ash Wednesday translates as, "He who meditates day and night on the law of the Lord shall bring forth his fruits in due season." I like the image of bringing forth your fruits when the time is right. And tonight it's time to party. Laissez les bons temps rouler!
Peace,
Liv

Saturday, February 18, 2012

Another day, another vampire - Three rules for writing paranormal fiction

The other day we saw the release of Bites - Ten Tales of Vampires. I wrote one of the ten tales, a short story called "Tangled Dreams". You might wonder why I'm still playing with vampires. Good question. They're just so darned useful, with all their history and baggage and good & evil stuff. I just can't seem to get over them.

You might also wonder HOW I write about vampires. Like, what are the rules? Well, like most things in writing, the rules are pretty flexible. In my mind, it comes down to three main points. 

  • Decide what the world rules are and stick to them.  Whether you're going to have vampires or werewolves or fae characters, you need to decide a couple things up front.  More than just what the magical powers each character is going to have, you need to know the framework they're functioning in. Do the non-magical characters know that paranormal characters exist, like the vamps and werewolves in the Anita Blake books, or do they operate in secret, keeping the Muggles in the dark?

  •  Make sure there's a good reason for the extra skills the paranormal characters have. Right now I hear Hell is hot. ;) I mean, angels and devils are popular characters.  It may be tempting (evil often is), but if your work doesn't naturally go there, I wouldn't try to force it. You need to do the same goal/motivation/conflict work to develop a paranormal being as you do for any other characters.

  • Don't let your characters discover a new magical ability right at the end that saves the day and resolves the final conflict. This is one of my pet peeves as a reader. Like, your kick-ass martial-arts expert heroine has some kind of magical psychic break ten minutes before the final showdown and discovers the ability to bend metal so she can wrap the evil Fae prince in iron chains? Really? That's cheating. You want your characters to learn new things about themselves, and some of those things might be magical, but it has to be congruent with their development within the story line.
This is my take, and if you're interested in learning more about how to create alternate worlds and use vampires and other paranormals, check out this blog post from Kris Neri. And have fun writing things that go bump in the night.


 (PS - If you've been following this blog, my daughter got accepted to both high schools that she applied for. Yesterday was a very happy day! Thanks for all the support and positive energy you sent up for us. You can read more here about where we started from.)
Peace,
Liv

luigi diamanti / FreeDigitalPhotos.net (Nightmare eyes photo)

(Millions of Bats photo) Sura Nualpradid / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Friday, February 17, 2012

Friday Fun

Last night I desperately need a laugh. I was juggling too many balls and dangerously close to dropping one...or all of them. A good friend rode to the rescue, coming over to make dinner while I drove the kids hither and yon. Sometimes you just need a little assist, you know?

While we were waiting for dinner to cook, we got to teasing my daughter about her affection for Benedict Cumberbach. Affection might be an understatement. It might range more towards obsession, in a way that only happens when you're fourteen. You can read more here to see what I mean. With all due respect to the undeniably talented young actor, we were making fun of both his appearance (an English-boarding-school version of Beaker from Sesame Street) and his name. I usually refer to him as Benedict Cumberbun, but my friend got really creative. By the end, my daughter ran out of the room squealing, "You don't love MEEEEEEEeeeee..."

We do love her, quite a bit in fact. She's just got a flair for the dramatic. Anyway, as a result of all this, my friend suggested an Eddie Izzard clip for our Friday Fun video (and yes, this friend is the source of all my funniest links). Here Eddie describes how Englebert Humperdink probably got his name....
Peace,
Liv

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Blog Tour FINAL STOP A Vampire's Deadly Delight



Hey y'all!
It's the big finale - the final stop of my blog tour. For your viewing pleasure, I have chapter one of A Vampire's Deadly Delight. Check it out, and leave a comment because I'm going to do a drawing on Friday 2/17/12 at noon, and the winner will get a framed, limited edition copy of the original cover art that was created for the book by my sister Liza Rancourt-Fennimore. Hope you enjoy this sneak peek at Deadly Delight, and good luck with the drawing!
Peace, 
Liv


CHAPTER 1
     So when I came to, I was handcuffed to a bed. Someone had used old-fashioned metal cuffs—one on each limb—pinning me spread-eagle. All I could hear was the sound of my own heart pounding. The only illumination came from a single small candle. I rocked my head back to see what was behind me. The sickly light reflected off the twists and curves of an old brass headboard. Underneath me was what felt like a down comforter with a silky cover, and I was glad I’d worn a long dress to work, because even though the orange
cotton made my round body look a bit like a pumpkin, I couldn’t feel any inappropriately naked flesh. My feet were bare and I felt pretty green, but I had underpants on and whoever tied me up had left my bifocals, um, I mean, my progressive lenses in place. At least I’d be able to see whatever was coming to get me.
     It occurred to me that it would be hours before anyone missed me. Robbie was right, there were situations when it would be handy to have a man at home. Too bad I was so stubbornly single. I tried to blink back my tears because it really didn’t seem like crying would help. I was nearly at the silent
sobbing stage when I was distracted by the sound of a door opening. There was a puff of rose perfume, then a figure walked in carrying a candle. I recognized Vivienne, a frequent flyer at my bookstore who I’d more-or-less made friends with. I didn’t know much more about her than that she had a preference for historical romances, which she found unaccountably funny, but seeing someone I recognized made me feel a little better. Only a little better.
     Vivienne had always been kind of odd, a pale and insubstantial figure draped in flowing gowns, her auburn hair worn long and loose so that it fell in graceful tendrils around her face. When my hair was long and loose, it frizzed out so I looked like a milkweed pod. From the little I knew about Vivienne, I’d always figured that she’d played one too many games of Dungeons and Dragons. This must be one of those
games.
     “I’m so sorry, Kristen. I had to bring the Master a gift. He’s refusing me.”
     “Right now I’d refuse you too.” If I pressed my eyes shut I could remember her coming into the store right as I was closing up for the night.
     “The Master needs to feed.” She sounded like she might cry.
     I had no idea what she was talking about. “I hope you at least locked up when we left.”
     “Of course,” she said.
     I guess I should be thankful for small favors. Finding an empty cash register in the morning would make it all that much worse. That’s assuming I ever made it back to work.
     “He comes,” she whispered, holding the candle higher so that its light spilled over me.
     “Vivienne, what is this?” The voice was deep, resonant, a perfect match for the man who came through the door. He was a modern update of a classic Greek hero, square jaw, strong nose, close-cropped golden curls and all. But—and this is significant—he smelled. Vampire. Dried meat left too long in the back cupboard mixed with old dirt and a hint of manure.
      Vampire.
     This I could deal with.
     I felt the change begin as soon as my mind registered his scent. My body got soft, like it was melting, and my legs stretched, shoulders broadened, and pudgy curves shifted into more strategic locations. My frizzy hair even calmed down, falling into loose waves that framed my temporary cheekbones. I wasn’t Kristen anymore. I was Jai, a vampire’s most deadly delight.

***
  
     “You have loosed an asp in our bower,” the vampire said softly.
     Vivienne gasped. The chains snapped easily when I tugged at them. I was much stronger than Kristen.
     “Your associates need to do better research, Shakespeare,” I said, as I pried the cuffs from my wrists.
They clanked onto the stone floor. I swung my legs around so I was sitting on the edge of the bed. I didn’t need Kristen’s bifocals, so the glasses were gone. I stood up in knee-high boots with what felt like 4-inch stilettos. I’ve always loved high heels. I think. My memory’s not so great.
     Kristen’s pumpkin dress had morphed into a little peach-colored cotton top and pair of denim Daisy Dukes that put my flat tummy on proud display.
     Nobody moved for a second while I worked off the ankle cuffs and adjusted my top. It would never do to flash The Girls at a dead guy before it was time.
     “Dude, what’s up?” I stalked towards him in a barely controlled surge of energy, letting those four inch heels put a sinuous swing into my step.
     Vivienne held the candle, frozen in place. “I swear I did not know, Master.”
     The vampire was trying to poke holes in me with his eyes. I walked right up to him, pressing The Girls lightly into his chest. In my heels, I had maybe an inch on him, so I angled my gaze down until I met his amber eyes.
     He didn’t move, which was a little strange. Most vampires couldn’t keep their hands off me, pawing at me like drunken high-school boys as soon as they got close enough.
     “Don’t you like me, Shakespeare?” I purred, my lips nearly touching his cheekbone.
     “I will ask you but once, Jai. Please take a step back.”
     “Whoa, Shakespeare, no fair. You know my name, now you have to tell me yours.”
     He knew my name. How? I’d never met a vamp I didn’t kill, so it’s not like they introduced me to their friends. Only two people knew Jai and one of those was technically not a person. He was a large spider, and he was, well, my keeper. Or something. The other had been cuffed to the bed. I took a step back, which surprised me even more.
     “Better.”
     In that one word I heard his tension, saw the wooden rigidity of his arms. Yeah, he wanted me. He wanted me bad. This one was strong. And old. As we stood, taking each other’s measure, I could sense the power of his years on Earth. Woo baby, I’d never done one this old. Wasn’t going to stop me, though. I reached for the short sword I kept in a sheath that was strapped to my thigh.
     “Sorry we don’t have time to catch up, Shakespeare baby,” I said as I raised the blade I called Mr. Sticky. I imagined pressing it to his chest, making a quick slice up his sternum, right turn across his ribs, then back to make sure I got through his great vessels, the aorta and the vena cava. His heart would be mine. Too easy.
     “Jai,” he breathed.
     I stood frozen in place, my normal protection against a vampire’s vibe completely gone. They usually don’t scare me. He did. He was so old, so powerful.
     Pausing is always a mistake. It gave me time to really look at him. There was something warm, something good, worked into him, one golden thread in the blackened weave of his being. All I usually saw in a vampire was dead—bone and muscle, sinew and dust. This one was different. I didn’t put Mr. Sticky away. I didn’t go for his heart, either.
     It was Vivienne who blinked first. She threw the candle at the bed then dove between me and the vampire. He grabbed at her hair. I heard a snap and saw her crumple to the floor, her neck making an awkward L-shaped curve, her head at an impossible angle to her shoulder. The candle went out and before I could respond I felt the vampire leave. Jai faded and Kristen came back.

***

     I found myself standing barefoot in the dark with a dead woman, with no idea where Vivienne had hidden my Birkenstocks or how I’d get home. I shrugged and started forward slowly, feeling my way to the door. This was so not how I thought this day would end.

***

     Sunrise didn’t register in the subterranean room. Nevertheless, it triggered something in Vivienne, bringing her to consciousness as the morning light outside turned the clouds a soft mother-of-pearl. She still lay sprawled on the floor where she’d fallen, her head cocked at an unnatural angle.
     Slowly she blinked her eyes to clear them, then struggled to raise herself. Her mouth tasted like dust.
She made it up to her elbows, her head lolling loosely down her chest. When she was more or less upright, she put a hand over each ear and lifted. There was a sharp click as her head dropped into its normal place on her shoulders. She shook herself, flexing her neck and rolling her head from side to side, then untwisted the long chiffon skirt from around her legs. Satisfied, she stood and drifted towards the bed, feeling
the cool and delicate silk against her legs as she moved.
     Amber light pooled around the old gilded sconces that were evenly spaced along the bedroom wall. The spacious room was one of several constructed below a mid-century rambler in one of the older subdivisions northeast of Seattle.
     She hated the house because Sir John had moved them there after hearing a rumor that someone was killing vampires. He had hoped that someone would be Jai. He’d guessed right.
     From the street the house showed its age, though the basement rooms Sir John had renovated were luxurious. The stone floors were heated from below with a piped water system and the walls were heavy concrete that had been covered with tinted plaster, mahogany wainscoting, and stretches of heavy
brocade fabric. There were no windows, and the door to the house above was kept locked.
     Sir John, the vampire, was lying dead on the bed, his golden curls kissed gently by the light from the sconces and one hand clutching a chemise, its creamy silk turned a bitter tan by time.
     Glaring at him, Vivienne tugged the chemise out of his hand. It had belonged to Jai in one of her past incarnations, though Vivienne doubted it would fit this new and buxom version. Sir John was Vivienne’s, and she wouldn’t share him again. It was too much for him to ask it of her. She was his Food, the one human he fed from and who he sustained indefinitely. Her hands pulled at the fragile silk, as if she would tear the old slip into pieces. She knew she would have to play along. She always did. She loved him. She’d just wait for her opportunity to chase Jai away. Again.

***

     “You’re here.” Herbert scuttled out from behind the register as soon as I unlocked the door, his eight legs clicking on the glass countertop.
     “No thanks to you.” I crossed to the back of the store and hit the light switch. Pads of fluorescent tubes sprang into action above my head.
     “That woman did something to you last night.”
     “And you did nothing to help.” I was a little bitter.
     “You look ok now.” he said.
     I glared at him. He was the size of a tea-cup poodle, which admittedly was big for a spider, but I could still step on him if he made me mad enough. He scooted back out of my way.
     “Got lucky,” I snapped. “She drugged me or spelled me or something so she could make a gift of me to her boyfriend.”
     “I always said you were a prize.”
     “Whatever. I hope you get spider mites.”
     Herbert climbed up onto the counter. “Tell me what happened.”
     “No.”
     “Please.”
     I shrugged. “It turned out the boyfriend was a vampire.”
     “Jai time,” Herbert said.
     “Right.”
     I opened the register. Yesterday’s money was still in the till—which was a good thing—and I had time to drop yesterday’s deposit at the bank before I opened for the day.
     “Another heart for the collection.”
     “Or the trashcan.” I was nervous about this next part so I gave myself a stern shake. “No, in fact, he got away.” None of them had ever gotten away before.
     “You let him get away?” Herbert was really being a pain.
     “I didn’t let him do anything.”
     “So the girlfriend helped.”
     “Not even. She ended up with her neck snapped. He was just real old and real strong. He kept himself from touching me. He knew my name.”
     I busied myself turning all the five-dollar bills so that Abraham Lincoln was facing the same direction. Remembering the vampire’s response made me feel squidgy.
     “No shit,” Herbert said.
     “Don’t swear.” It was automatic. I scolded him every time he swore. My parents raised me to believe that there were enough words in the English language that a person didn’t need to use the dirty ones. “Even spiders don’t need to use profanity.”
     “Well excuse me.” Spiders didn’t need to be sarcastic either, but that didn’t stop Herbert. “So the big bad vamp didn’t fall for your...assets?”
     “The big bad vampire knew my name.” I finished counting the bank into the register and slammed the door shut. “Kristen got chained to a bed by a vampire minion, Jai didn’t get the tag, and poor Vivienne ended up with her neck broken. It was not a good night.”
     I headed into the back room faster than Herbert could crawl. Didn’t want him to see me cry.
     “Hey, come on. This guy must have a story. Let me check my sources.”
     “Sure, go consult your magic web.”
     I didn’t look at him, just stared at the computer and kept plugging figures into the balance sheet. The bookkeeping was pretty easy. Once I entered all the cash and checks it would automatically add in all the debits and charges and compare it with the register tape. I could have worked faster except that I
had to keep brushing away tears.
     When I was done, I had time to run to the bank to deposit the cash and stop for some coffee before opening the store. I opened the office door and found that Herbert was planted in the middle of the aisle. He wasn’t truly blocking me because I could easily have stepped over him. I stopped anyway, to be
polite.
     “Shoo. I need to work.”
     “This could be trouble,” he said, his multifaceted eyes shining up at me.
     He was so black that it was hard to see much of his face except for the glittering eyes and beak-like mouth. As it was, he looked like an oversized black widow with buckteeth and a thyroid condition. I stepped around him then walked through the long shelves of books, heading for the front door. I could
hear him clicking along behind me.
     “Only two vamps have shown any immunity to Jai,” he said. “One keeps trying to kill her.”
     “That must be the reason you have to keep finding new recruits.” Fine, I was willing to air all the dirty laundry today if he was. “Besides, I’m still alive, so maybe this is the other one.”
     "Jai is not a death sentence,” he said.
     I stared hard at him, trying to see if he had his fingers, or rather, his legs crossed. “Sure,” I agreed and let myself out the front door.

(ANY formatting errors are my own... )

A Vampire's Deadly Delight is available from 
Black Opal Books
Barnes & Noble
Amazon
Smashwords 

Monday, February 13, 2012

Love Quotes

First off, I want to thank everyone who checked out Sherry Isaac's great post from Saturday. The blog was a busy place over the weekend, that's for sure.
;)

Lately I've been playing around with my new toy, Twitter. It's so much fun, in an addicting, who's going to say what next kind of way. In honor of the upcoming holiday, I've searched for some Valentine's related quotes to post on my Twitter feed. They have to be 140 characters or less, and some of them are pretty cool. Thought I'd post them here, so you can have a little Twitter fun without actually staring at your computer screen for hours at a time the way I do.

 I think this one is the best one: 
“You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.” ― Dr. Seuss

And these are good, too:
Love is the magician that pulls man out of his own hat. ~Ben Hecht

Loving is not just looking at each other, it's looking in the same direction. ~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Wind, Sand, and Stars, 1939

"A very small degree of hope is sufficient to cause the birth of love." ~ Henri B. Stendhal




Can't argue with any of these:
"Women are expensive. Their happiness requires maintenance." --Captain Sarasa

“You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough.” ― Mae West

“A woman has got to love a bad man once or twice in her life to be thankful for a good one.” ― Elizabeth Taylor

And would you believe Einstein and Aerosmith in the same set?
 "You can't blame gravity for falling in love." ~ Albert Einstein

"Falling in love is so hard on the knees." ~ Aerosmith 

 Anyone can catch your eye, but it takes someone special to catch your heart. ~Author Unknown


That's it for now. Feel free to borrow any of these quotes and share them with your Valentine...or Twitter feed. And keep an eye on my blog because on Wednesday, I'll have my Deadly Delight blog tour wrap-up and giveaway. You could win a framed copy of the cover art done by my sister, Liza Rancourt-Fennimore. Check it out! and Happy Valentine's Day!
Peace,
Liv

Saturday, February 11, 2012

Keeping It Real





Today I am most fortunate to have a guest post from the lovely Sherry Isaac. She is an award-winning writer whose work sometimes takes her to unexpected places. Read on to see whether or not we can all truly call ourselves writers...
E R, the two most important letters to a writer. Er can mean a lot of things to those who have chosen this profession called writing. Or has the profession chosen us?

Er, what should I blog about?
Er, should I open my WIP, or watch Grey’s Anatomy?
Er, how will I build my platform? Er, should I build a website or blog? Er, plotter, or pantster?
But the great E R is also a suffix. By definition, one who writes is a writER. That is how the English language is constructed. One who paints is a painter, one who counts is a counter, one who kisses is a kisser. The act of doing makes one a doer.
So why is it that when a new, as yet unpublished writer confesses their craft, she is asked to support her claim with a published book.
No matter how much talent or promise, no matter how many years spent learning the craft, no matter how many queries are made, no matter how many partials or fulls are requested, no matter how close she has come, if a book can not be found on a shelf in the local bookstore with her name in bold letters on the cover, the pronouncement is made.
“Oh, you’re not a real writer,” comes the verdict, through lips so pinched the speaker might be sucking on lemons.
I’m not?
Really?
Then from where, pray tell, did the reams and reams of printed pages in my office come from?
Embracing the phrase, I am a writer, is a risk. The confession opens us up to scrutiny, people ask for proof, so until you score that NYT label, you may want to tread carefully, and be selective about whom you share your profession with.
Ray Bradbury, in his address to to The Point Loma Nazarene University, shared this bit of advice:
“Get rid of friends who don’t believe in you.”
Well. we may not have to go so far as getting rid of friends. (I surely won’t. Nerd that I am, friends are hard to come by!)
Some friends will come around, and learn to respect your title. They may become your greatest cheerleaders. But you may want to prepare yourself, and appreciate that some friends can only see you for who you are on their terms, not yours.
So, what does this mean? Should you keep who you are a secret?
No way.
The proclamation, I am a writer, can give you wings, validation, and the attitude shift to take you from amateur to professional. It can take you from wishing you might be published to knowing you will be. It can sit your butt in the chair and do the work. As writer, you create the characters, construct the journey, build new worlds.
And isn’t that what the job is all about?
~
Raised by Nancy Drew and Jane Marple, Alice Munro Short Story Award winner and Maggie Finalist Sherry Isaac’s novels and short stories weave the common thread of everyday life, love and forgiveness into tales that transcend all things, including the grave. Find Sherry on the web, follow her on Twitter, like her on Facebook and read her blog posts at Romance & Beyond.

Thanks Sherry! I feel so....VALIDATED...What do you guys think? Do you ever introduce yourself as a writer? or an artist? or a musician? And is it a comfortable fit?
Peace,
Liv 

Friday, February 10, 2012

Friday Fun















It's that time of week again! Are you ready for a little Friday Fun? ;)

This video is the funniest thing I've seen all week. It just is. It was put together by the brilliant forces behind the blog Rants from Mommyland and if you like the video, check out their blog because there's more where that came from. Have a fabulous weekend!
Peace,
Liv

Thursday, February 9, 2012

Where do you like to do it?

Hey gang!
This morning I'd like to welcome another of my fellow blogging students, Susi Nonnemacher. She's a Pennsylvania girl, born and bred, and her enthusiasm for writing and for reading have made the class a lot more fun. Here she's going to talk about her fave place to do it....
 
I love to read, as most writers do. My favorite place to read is on a beach--the sun beating down, the waves providing the background music. Actually, the beach is my favorite place to be even if I am not reading. :-)

 "Reading on the beach"

Unfortunately, I live in Pennsylvania, about two and a half hours from the closest beach. Even worse, there are only a few prime beach months each year, so I don't get to visit as often as I would like. In spring and summer, when not at the beach, I love to sit on our back patio to read (thank goodness for e-ink readers), but I didn't find that perfect reading spot for winter until recently. For Christmas, my husband and I bought a new sofa. It is a big, fluffy sectional. (We joke that I bought him one piece, and he bought me the other.)
:-)

  "I think Cami spends more time here than I do!"

Seriously, the corner of this sofa I ridiculously comfortable, perfect for snuggling in with a blanket, a great book, a cup of tea, and, of course, my cuddly pup, Cami. I read over 200 books on my first Nook before replacing it after 2 years (and a worn-out page turn). I am up to 8 on the new one (bought the week after Christmas), and most of that has been read in my new favorite reading spot. I wonder if I can wear my shiny new Nook out quicker than the first one? ;-) I hear there is a new one coming out in a few months. 
 
 "Just a little crack--but it still works! :-)"

Speaking of reading, it just started to snow;  I have a crystal-clear view outside from my reading-spot, and a to-be-read list that is calling my name.

What’s on your to-be-read list? Where is your favorite place to read?  Does it change by season? Any must-haves when you are reading—a preferred drink, a pet?

Thanks so much, Susi! I know I always read better with a cat in my lap. What about the rest of you?
Peace,
Liv


S. M. Nonnemacher has loved reading for as long as she can remember. It didn’t take long for her to realize that she enjoyed creating her own stories as much as reading the creations of others.  A lifelong daydreamer, she sometimes claimed her “characters” as actual friends, especially when it meant getting her way with her parents. When not writing or spending time her beloved husband, she can be found with family and friends, at a community theatre rehearsal, at a minor league baseball game, or relaxing with a cup of coffee or tea and a great book. You can find her on-line on the following sites: Facebook http://www.facebook.com/SMNonnemacher,  Twitter http://twitter.com/SMNonnemacher, and her blog/website http://SMNonnemacher.com.