900 am – Airport arrival.  Subsequent musical luggage as the men attempt to lighten their suitcases.  The woman – me – has the lightest, smallest of the baggage.  I’ll let you draw your own conclusions on stereotypes.

1030 – I indulge with a mocha and pastry from Starbucks.  The self-loathing only lasts a few minutes.  This is vacation, after all, I can’t deny myself the luxury of 2000 calorie coffee.

1100 – Adorably gay flight attendant.  I want to put him in my pocket and keep him forever.  A passenger asked why he was wearing shorts while the female attendant was not.  Adorably gay flight attendant giggles and says, “I have sexier legs than she does.”

1130 – I have elbow room – a window seat. There’s something about sitting above the wing of a plane that grounds me, even thousands of feet off the ground.  Rain beads on the metal as we attempt to crest the cloud cover.  There is no land beneath us.  It is simply a flat sea of cloud, storms brewing. I remember how the runway stretched into mist and disappeared, and I don’t know which image I love better.

1200 – My mom says I have a compulsion that drives me to use the bathroom everywhere I go.  She calls it “checking the wallpaper” – a long time inside joke in our family.  No wallpaper here on the plane, but the soap smells DIVINE.

1230 – People come in about every shape, size, color, and atrocity, don’t they?

130 – Could the cab ride have been ANY longer?  Thank goddess for a hotel bed.

300 – OMG POTBELLIES SANDWICHES!!!!!!!  Please excuse me while I kiss the floor.

400 – What is… What is this?  Is this – ?  DOWNTIME?  But…but…WHAT DO I DO WITH MYSELF???

600 pm – Ah, the FOP lodge.  It’s like a familiar jacket that I shrug into.  Officers I know and love surround me.  We catch up. A white russian, you say?  Well, sure.  Of course.  One of my favorites, thank you.  What?  Another?  But I haven’t finished – yes.  Yes, please.

700 – Enough with the milk, bring on the rum.  With coke, please.  Lots.  Gotta take it slow.

800 – I really like these two women I’m chatting with!!  Ginny and Dora.  Police officers’ wives.  I’m about to be a police officer’s wife, HOW WEIRD IS THAT?  They want to help me plan my wedding.  I want to hug them and praise them both, cuz no clue how to plan a wedding here.  Their faces are a little blurry, and I’m pretty sure I can barely talk, but I like these gals.

900 – Candlelight vigil.  I’m drunk, but could be drunker.  It’s a gorgeous night.  The air on my skin feels like the cool breeze off an ocean’s surface.  I stand beside Sweeney and Tim and stare in the general direction of the stage – I hear the speaker, I listen to the rustling of the thousands of police officers and supporters and families around me, and I feel so connected.  Most people don’t get a chance to feel this “brotherhood” that comes from living a life within and around the Thin Blue Line.  The candles are lit in remembrance of the men and women of law enforcement who gave their lives in 2011 for the good of the nation, and in honor of those men and women who still serve, every day, every night – most of them under-appreciated and underpaid.  I’m in awe at the blanket of tiny flames burning all around me.  I stare at the little white cup that holds my own and I think, “I don’t want to be anywhere but right here, right now.”

1000 – Ah, go to tent city, you say, Tim?  Why, certainly!  What a fantastic idea!  I’ve not been to tent city after dark.  I’d like to experience this, seeing as I’m writing a book.  Yes, a book!  I don’t remember just what it’s about right now, as you see I’m three sheets to the wind and feeling a tad…unstable…  Are you sure you’re okay to hold me up?

1030 – Another rum and coke?  Sure!  And who are these people?  Oh, great!  Let’s dance!

1100 – MMMM….RUUUUMMMM….

Midnight – What’s my name? Who are you again?  Ah, that’s right, you work for my mom!!  Fantastic!!  Let’s dance some more!!  I love this song!!!  Do I want another drink?  HELL YEAH!

100 – …unsure…

200 – …don’t…remember…

300 am – …how’d we get back to the hotel?  We took a cab?  I don’t remember the drive.  Why can’t I get in my room? …

EIGHT AM - uuunnngggghhh…I’m never drinking again.  Where’s my phone?  I bet I have a million missed messages from Dymphna and Andrew…

OH MY FU*KING SHIT, WHERE IS MY PURSE?

to be continued…

Something big is building.

Don’t argue with me. The amount of sheer madness happening around the country, around the world, in nature, all of it amounts to something. Some kind of energy is building little by little and I’ll be damned if I don’t think it is leading us to the Winter Solstice of 2012.

According to Mayan Priest Carlos Barrios, 2012 is not the end of the world. Well, duh, in my opinion. The “end of the world” nonsense that has hit at various points throughout history, including at the new year of 2000, have all been scandalous Christian teachings that have followed in the wake of Jesus Christ for two thousand years.

The weekend before the largest Supermoon of 2012, Louisville, Kentucky went insane:

A double murder on Interstate 264

A cop hit by a car

A husband murdered his wife with their baby in other room

A serial killer has been captured in New Albany, just across the river – they’re digging bodies out of his backyard.

We had twelve wrecks in one night – one fatal.  This was AFTER a storm passed through, not during.

My body is out of whack, too.  I’ve slid into a deeper depression since this past fall, and if you listen to the Pagans, we seem to be more sensitive to changes in the planet and nature.

So, what’s going on?  Are we building into a new era?  If the past few months have been anything to go on, we’re going to descend into absolute chaos before it gets better.

That’s life, though, right?  Darkest before the dawn?

*waits impatiently for dawn*

The story of my life is… BUSY.  Let’s catch up a bit.

***

On the book end (hehe, bookend), I’ve put out some books this year.  Surprisingly, the focus has been on the young adult genre so far, which is completely strange to me as I never felt the urge to write YA before.  Heaven Below was pulled from my store of teenage ideas and most of the rewrites took place while, well, intoxicated.  HB was also my first book with an honest-to-goodness editor, Sarah Billington.  Sarah has also recently finished a substantial edit on “Abigail,” and I’m waiting for a free moment to sit and begin rewrites. Ack.

Hate is what drives mankind, but have you ever stopped to consider that one day, love will be our salvation?

When sixteen-year-old Kelli McNeil sets into motion an ancient prophecy from an extinct civilization, memories of past lives return to her. As the dreams intensify, Kelli discovers that she is the answer to the renewal of her lost race and without her, her kind will never rise again.

In every memory and dream is a man: Sebastian, whom she loves…and fears.  When she meets him in the present-day, Kelli can’t help but fall for the man she feels she’s always known. But there is more to it than love and the fate of her people. Because in every incarnation, Bastian isn’t only her true love—he’s also her murderer.

Available now at:

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Barnes & Noble

Smashwords

iTunes

and Amazon in print!

You can read more about the concept and execution (booze-fueled) at my YA blog.

Also along the lines of Young Adult novels, I also officially announce the release of my co-write  with Julia Crane!!  This book was so much fun to write.  Julia and I passed it back and forth by email for a couple months, each of us adding a few hundred words here and there.  It was so neat to watch the story line unfold, bouncing ideas off each other every day.  I’m extremely proud of this book. Julia and I make an excellent writing team, and we’re already planning our next book

The six years following the abrupt death of her father were the worst of Calista Bishoff’s life. Frightened by her own mortality, Callie’s mom threw herself into a search for the Fountain of Youth—and dragged Callie along with her.

Callie should have loved traveling, but instead she hated every minute. When one more failed search sends her mother into depression, they finally return home to California.  Sixteen-year-old Callie is ready to hang with her friends and be normal for as long as she can.

But, an unplanned trip to Bermuda with her grandmother throws Callie’s plans awry, and there’s more in store for Callie and her mom than just a simple beach vacation.  Callie’s life is turned inside out as she finds herself in a very different world than the one she knows—

Where things exist that she never dreamed were real.

Available at:

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Barnes & Noble

Smashwords

iTunes

The Eclective’s newest anthology was released in March – The Celtic Collection.

Six stories from the Eclective, six accounts of Celtic things. There’s more than one way to go Green.

Irish Kiss by Shéa MacLeod
Morgan Bailey, vampire Hunter, thought finding a Leprechaun’s missing pot of gold would be easy. She couldn’t have been more wrong.

The Luck of the Irish Brigade by M. Edward McNally

The Irish are fighting themselves, only because there are no other worthy opponents.

Song of the Banshee by Heather Marie Adkins

Belinda has a job to do, but a dying man’s grandson may be a big problem. It’s a hard world for a lonely banshee.

The Red Veil of Vengeance by Jack Wallen

Vlad Kurvail is back and, as usual, he’s pissed. This time his cold vengeance is served up to the Irish. Will their luck hold out?

Zombies Eat Leprechauns by P.J. Jones

When a zombie curse infects the Fairytale Kingdom, Lucky the Leprechaun needs the help of an idiot dragon slayer and a cross-dressing dragon to escape. Can he make it out with his pot of gold, or will Lucky’s luck run out?

Five Shamrocks by Alan Nayes

After her husband dies on St. Patrick’s Day, life goes on for Mattie O’Malley.

It is currently only available at Amazon, but is coming soon to all other major ebook retailers.

The Eclective is also planning a print version of our first three anthologies – Celtic, Holiday, and Halloween.  I’ll post about it when it happens!

My focus right now is on rewrites of “The House”.  Once released as a short story, I’m aiming to make it a complete novel.  Check out this killer cover Jack Wallen of adorkabledesigns.net made me!

After The House, I’ll be spending the month of June doing a quick and dirty write on The Trickster, the second book in my Vale Avari series, sequel to The Temple.

***

In January, Andrew and I drove to Nashville and stayed a few days.  We arrived on a Sunday and were utterly LAZY for three days, until Tuesday evening when we saw my absolute favorite band in the ENTIRE WORLD!!

I wrote a post about it for the Eclective site–it’s about dreams coming true, and the fact that we should hang on to our dreams, no matter how big or how small.  Meeting Gaelic Storm that night after the concert was one of the best nights of my life.  While you’re there, take a look at all the books my co-authors have released this spring.

***

The Indie Chicks have launched a website!!  From this central location, you’ll catch posts on love, life, and living from some of the hottest indie women out there — and from some of us newbies just trying to make it As a starting point, I highly recommend Terri Giuliano Long’s article on Writer’s Envy and inspiration.  If you get the bug, feel free to check out MY first post about Growing Up Slowly.

We are also in the middle of uploading our newest Indie Chicks anthologies.  More on that soon

I’ve come to a crossroads.

I mean, come on, everyone does.  Over and over, throughout life, until you think that you just want to catch a f*ing break and fly off to Tahiti to be oiled down by a Cabana boy wearing nothing but a banana hammock and a smile.  But I’m to a point now where if I don’t make changes in my life, I’ll never drag myself out of this funk.

I used to be vibrantly happy.  I used to do things for myself – study the Tarot, read an entire book a day, write a blog post just for the hell of it.  I would sit in the grass and watch the clouds float by or scribble a short story simply because I got the urge.  That girl cared about making herself happy.

Now, this girl is running a business.  She’s formatting for some pretty amazing clients, but it’s adding up to about 35 hours a week.  On top of her 40 hour a week job.  And don’t get her started on the job — she’s been unhappy there for a very, very long time now for a laundry list of reasons that she isn’t going to go into because she probably shouldn’t.  In public.  She’s published books (and holy hello, is that AWESOME), but those books are just listlessly sliding off the virtual shelves like ice cream in December and suddenly success seems…impossible. Happiness seems like a mythological creature.

She’s floating in some kind of dark abyss where she can’t force herself to care about anything.  There is a vacuum beneath her, steadily pulling her into a Mariana Trench of despair.  Maybe there will be cool fishes, but on the other hand, she can’t even muster the energy to believe that cool fishes exist.  They exist for other people, but for this girl, it’s just…empty.

I don’t like this girl that I’ve become.  This girl who puts everything else before her own happiness and well-being.  This girl who is so stressed that she’s put on ten pounds since Christmas.  This girl who has spent the past three weeks crying herself to sleep and reaching a depth of unhappiness she hasn’t known since Cory died.

This is who I am.  I am no more, no less than the woman that I AM and WILL BE.  I make no apologies for it, but I embrace the fact that I’m not alone.  I’m not going to surround myself by a bubble and pretend I’m happy, slowly dying inside while the smile on my face makes my muscles tense and angry.  Because that’s not healthy.  Women the world over have these feelings, and so do writers.  Double whammy here.

But I AM going to do something about it.

I want to be the girl that I was when I backpacked Ireland.   She had a dream to see Ireland, and she made it a reality.  It was the single most amazing month of her life and she’d give ANYTHING to get it back.

That girl believed that ANYTHING could happen.

This girl is hopeless that any of her dreams can come true.

It’s time to grab life by the balls and take care of myself first.  Big changes are happening in my world, and they’re coming straight from my heart.

***

This growing season

May I be reborn

Washed clean

Made new

Forgiven

& spectacularly loved.

Remind me who I am.

Forgive me my shadows.

Heal my broken wings

that I may fly

and succeed.

by Marianne Williamson (slightly modified)

Carol Davis Luce

Self-taught Late Bloomer

My motto is, “If I can do it, anyone can do it.” I wasn’t born to write. I didn’t aspire to be a writer from the time I could hold a Crayon. I could, however, draw, and make things take shape through form and color on paper and canvas, and that’s the path I traveled well into midlife. The artist’s life opened up my eyes and mind to expression and sometimes stories through composition on that blank eighteen by twenty-four inch stretched canvas. Then one day it changed.

As a voracious reader, I was content to read what others wrote. I admired those writers who had mastered the craft. I was happy to dwell in their world for 300 pages, to laugh, cry, and be enlightened and surprised. Until one day when I closed a book by my favorite author and felt something was missing. The novel was a mystery/suspense with elements of romance. The suspense was killer. The romance, however, was lacking, missing those subtleties that resonated with me. I wanted more. The promise of romance was there, but fizzled somewhere along the way. For me, it wasn’t about graphic sex. It was about sexual tension, passion, love. After searching unsuccessfully for novels to satisfy my romantic suspense fixation, looking for just the right balance, I realized I had to write the book myself.

Only I knew nothing about writing a novel, let alone a genre book with a sub-genre. So I went to the library and checked out a reference book titled, HOW TO WRITE A NOVEL. Easy enough, right? If dedication is easy, then it was easy because I was driven. My artist’s passion shifted to focus on the writer’s canvas. That canvas was structure, words, emotion, and truth. And the rest is history.

Well, almost.

I burned up two electric typewriters before investing in a computer. I checked out every book on the “book writing” reference shelf, and many grammar and stylebooks, and two years later, my 800-page opus, NIGHT STALKER, was finished—

Almost.

I learned about the important shaping process, without which most stories would be unreadable. Editing. The passion and pain of cutting and revising. Finding the jewels that lie buried in too many, or misguided, words. Three years and a dozen revisions later, 400 pages lighter, it found a home with a traditional publisher. Within the first few months of release, it went into three printings and became the flagship for the sub-genre “Woman in Jeopardy/Romantic Suspense” at Kensington Publishing.

Where it started…

I left school at sixteen to marry my high school sweetheart. Six years later, as a housewife and mother, I channeled my artistic talent into sketching and painting, selling my work at a local art gallery. A quarter century later, I traded in my paints and brushes to hit the keyboard. Our three sons, not much for novel reading, are waiting for my books to be made into movies. That childhood sweetheart I married a lifetime ago is now my soul mate of 50 plus years. His encouragement fueled me, and his support allowed me to pursue my goals.

Going back to my motto of, “if I can do it, anyone can.” There has never been a more opportunistic time to try your hand at writing a book. Or taking the plunge and self-publishing. My decision to self-publish my upcoming suspense novels came about when I hit the proverbial brick wall after five published books. With a stalled career, I had a choice. Teach, or see my stories in print again. I chose the latter. My first self-published book is the short story trilogy, BROKEN JUSTICE, followed by my suspense novel, NIGHT WIDOW.

Agents and editors think they know what readers want. They don’t always know. Readers know what readers want, and they’re expressing their wants by buying books written by indie authors. Give yourself a hardy pat on the back if you’ve completed a manuscript, but the big applause goes to our devoted fans and readers. Without them, we would be nothing.

***

About the Chick

Carol Davis Luce’s first novel, Night Stalker, was also her first sale. “A dandy read,” wrote author Tony Hillerman. It went into three printings and became the flagship for the sub-genre “Woman in Jeopardy” at Kensington Publishers—strong heroines pitted against evil opponents. Reviewers have said of her villains: [Night Prey] “Luce’s portrayal of a psychopathic mountain man is chilling&hellip” [Night Game] “The villain is evil personified.”

In addition to five published novels, Carol’s short story “Shattered Crystal” appeared in Alfred Hitchcock Magazine and Treadmill Tales (audio). E-reads Publications reprinted Night Passage in e-book format and POD. Nonfiction publications include two articles for Writer’s Digest. One article, “Writing Suspense That’ll Kill Your Readers,” was reprinted (second edition) in THE COMPLETE HANDBOOK OF NOVEL WRITING (Writer’s Digest Books)2010.

In The Complete Handbook of Novel Writing 2010, Carol Davis Luce defines tension as “the act of building or prolonging a crisis.” She goes on to give some examples and ends the chapter with this: “How you build that suspense can make the difference between your readers chucking your book for a good night’s sleep or nudging their spouse to say, ‘the suspense is killing me.’”

Find Carol Online!

Facebook

Website

Blog

Facebook

Twitter

Find her books at http://www.amazon.com/Carol-Davis-Luce/e/B000APHQU2

Who doesn't like sales?  Especially when combined with green beer, drinking games, St. Patrick's effigy on a stick, and leprechauns. (of course there are leprechauns)

Author David Gaughran has pulled together this massive sale of books from some of the finest authors out there.  Not only is so much greatness in one place, but every book has been knocked back to 99 cents THIS WEEKEND ONLY.  So, pick a few books for less than the cost of a case of Guinness (and preferably buy the Guinness, too.)

My book, "Abigail", is a paranormal romance usually priced at 2.99, yet you can grab a copy for 99 cents today, tomorrow, and Sunday.  WOOT.

Find ALL the books on sale listed HERE.

***

In other exciting BOOK NEWS, the Eclective's 3rd short story collection is out!  Not only is it published, but you can download a copy FREE FROM AMAZON for the next two days! It has leprechauns, zombies, vampires, and shamrocks.  My story is about a banshee with somewhat of a drinking problem, and could be fun to read while imbibing.

Download your FREE copy HERE.

I’ve been thinking a lot of ways I can give myself a bit of “oomph” in my spellworking in reference to my writing.  My rituals have fallen to the wayside in the wake of my many projects—between writing several books at the same time (what? I have ADD) and ebook formatting and working a full-time day job, I have little time or inclination to practice magick.  So, how can I harness my own powers for the good of the writing, thus improving my writing prowess AND working on maintaining my direct line to the spiritual? I need to research, and research fast.

From where does this need stem?  From the fact that I’m notorious for procrastinating.  I’ve considered having the word legally added to my name.  Anytime I HAVE a break in the madness, all I want to do is sit on my ass and stare at the television screen—to turn off my brain and just veg.  My poor mind works overtime times three.  That’s a lot for one girl.  I’m almost positive my recent bout of viral chest infection was brought on by all of the stress I place on myself.

I figured I would start by identifying a goddess of writing.  I already knew of a few “gods” of writing, but come on—I’m a female.  I’m 95% percent positive my muse is a woman. Without further ado, I give you SESHAT, goddess of writing, astronomy, astrology, architecture, and mathematics. (Smart woman.  Day-um.)

Seshat is the feminine consort/counterpart/wife/child of Thoth the Scribe, he who wrote the story/program of humanity’s journey through time. She is a Magician, as is Isis, Thoth, Hermes, etc. Seshat bore the title ‘Egyptian Fairy Godmother’. Her magic wand, with its seven pointed star, was the symbol which represented the source of all creative ideas, consciousness. Her powers of cause and effect for any affectation were legendary before the founding of Egypt. – (all quotations from this site) http://www.crystalinks.com/seshat.html

What’s that?  A magic wand?  Holy cannoli, I have a magic wand!  It doesn’t have a seven pointed star at its point (instead, a clear quartz arrow-ish thing), but knowing now what that star represents, maybe I should add one?  I could use a little “source of all creative ideas and consciousness” at my beck-n-call.

Her “powers of cause and effect”?  Why, how strange!  I have a book called Cause & Effect!  So weird.  It’s like we’re connected.

With this combination of a magic wand and cause and effect, could Seshat help me in my quest to be a better witch and writer?  Let’s move on.

The Egyptians believed that she invented writing, while Thoth taught writing to mankind. She was known as ‘Mistress of the House of Books’, indicating that she also took care of Thoth’s library of spells and scrolls. She is the patron of libraries and all forms of writing, including census and accounting work. Seshat was the only female that has been found (so far) actually writing. Other women have been found holding a scribe’s writing brush and palette – showing that they could read and write, but these women were never shown in the act of writing itself. As goddess of writing, she was seen as a scribe, and record keeper, and her name itself means (she who) scrivens (i.e. she who is a scribe).

I’ll be damned.  A woman invented writing!  Are we surprised? (Um. No.)  Not only did she create writing, she actually wrote.  Seshat was a writer!  She was also a patroness of libraries, and I might as well OWN a library.  Nearly 3k books in my collection, and my friends request to borrow them so often I ought to give them library cards.  So, okay, my name doesn’t mean “she who writes”,  but it means “evergreen”, and that is a tree, and paper is made from trees, and we write on paper!  (Grasping at straws? Who?)

The plot thickens! What more?

Her headdress was also her hieroglyph which may represent either a stylized flower or seven pointed star on a standing goddess that is beneath a set of down-turned horns. The horns may have originally been a crescent, linking Seshat to the moon and hence to her spouse, the moon god of writing and knowledge, Thoth.

What a coink-i-dink.  I love the moon.  She is my goddess, coo-coo-ki-choo.  I think I need a patroness just like Seshat.

She is frequently dressed in a leopard-skin, a symbol of funerary priests, because the pattern of the skin represents the stars, both a symbol of eternity, and associated with the moon.

Read: leopard skin.  Heather’s brain: Um, ew.  But, then, it goes on and I say: “Ohhhhh.  Represents stars.  Eternity.  The moon.  I get it.  Totally okay leopard skin situation.”

Wait! There’s more!  This is where it gets FREAKY.

No temple has ever been found in her name. But in a temple constructed during Hatshepsut's reign, queen Hatshepsut is shown directing Thoth to speak to Seshat to get the answers to his questions.

A few days ago, Andrew and I were being lazy on the couch.  We’ve both become addicted to our streaming Netflix on the Wii.  He picked out a 5-part series on Ancient Egypt and then promptly fell asleep.  I, however, got sucked in as the narrator introduced me to this amazing QUEEN of Egypt named Hatshepsut.  She was an activist, a feminist, and a daring, successful leader—the only successful female reign in Egypt.  They told a few anecdotes—learned from the walls of her temple—and suddenly, I was struck with the idea for a book.

So, how strangely marvelous that I choose SESHAT to study within days of a glaring book idea for HATSHEPSUT, only to learn this multi-talented goddess is pictured in prominence on said Queen’s temple wall! Of course, because Hatshepsut was a female, she's often depicted with male characteristics on her temple walls.  Ridiculous, isn't it?  Good ole patriarchy can be found in all sorts of historical places.

Needless to say, it seems I’ll be building a close, personal relationship to a certain Egyptian goddess of writing.  As I learn how to speak to and connect with Seshat, I'll be sure to keep the blog updated.  Heck, just by DOING SO, I may actually blog more than once a month ;)

Maybe—just maybe—a little communion with Seshat will push me to be a better writer.

I lost everything including my home, my car, and even my retirement accounts. I was physically attacked inside and outside a court building. My daughter and baby granddaughter were threatened. I came at the bad guys like a mother tiger.

A few years earlier I had agreed to testify against a real estate developer in a civil racketeering case. He was obscenely rich and could afford a hanger full of Lear jets, four sneering lawyers, and a greedy judge. In an effort to discredit my testimony in his upcoming trial and to frighten me out of appearing against him, his team of legal manipulators pasted together a bogus suit against me designed to keep me tied up in court and unable to function. They underestimated my sense of justice.

I’d been sitting on the witness stand for the better part of a day… one of many in my five-year “trial.” The judge, forgetting her microphone was on, had just proclaimed me “a pretty tough cookie.” I’d given up expecting justice. It was much too late for fairness. I was in an out-of-body state observing my own funeral and laughing about it.

When the four-hundred pound lawyer asked me if I’d ever lost a hat, I thought one of us had lost our minds. I was pretty sure it wasn’t me. He blinked as if he realized the absurdity of what he asked and dropped the line of inquiry. The question struck my funny bone and sent me into giggle-fits. And that was the moment when The Secret Diary of Alice in Wonderland, Age 42 and Three-Quarters was born.

Within a few months the lawyers I hired to help me sucked up every penny I could muster.

When I was broke, they walked off the case. Unlike in criminal cases, defendants in civil litigation must pay for their own attorneys. No money – no lawyers. I was on my own. I needed to defend myself. But how when the case was nonsense? How do you fight silly? The lost hat question was a perfect example of the charges brought against me. But the more ridiculous their charges, the stronger and feistier I grew. For each thing they threw at me, I came back that much harder, roaring and taking notes for my someday book.

Since I was a child my driving passion has been to write. In Catholic grade school I started an underground newspaper. When our nun forbade me to continue, I carried the paper further underground. While I continued to write as an adult, life eventually got in the way of living and my writing took a backseat. But now as I sat in the courtroom I was inspired and chomping at the bit to get this real-life fairytale on paper.

Anger boiled in me as I saw the precious time I had carved out for writing being eaten up as I defended myself in bizarre proceedings. I was spending all my time in the law library studying the Rules of Civil Procedure in order to write Motions and Pleadings and filing them against the court in such rapid fire I would have made Rambo back off.

Earning a living on commission sales is impossible when you are spending 14 hours a day fighting a pack of legal sharks. I had to take the creepiest part-time jobs… things that still give me nightmares. Things like working for a gold broker who brought us the teeth from dead people. We were expected to separate the gold from the molars – not unlike the lawyers I was dealing with. I needed the money but not that badly. I ran to the nearest exit.

Locked in a deadly struggle with the notorious real estate developer, I chose that time to become romantically involved with a Brit who, it turned out was not what he seemed to be. I stepped into the perfect storm. The Brit’s upper-class accent and polished manners hid a not-too-clever conman, but clever enough to fool my starry eyes. The developer and the conman clashed in a rage of wicked deeds. I was sandwiched between them.

Is The Secret Diary of Alice in Wonderland, Age 42 and Three-Quarters true? Would Lewis Carroll say Alice in Wonderland was true? The emotions are real and still raw, but the journey was worth the results. Would I do it again? You bet your tushie. My sense of justice would not permit otherwise. But I would not be quite so naïve. I would expect slimy tricks and dirty pool. Merely because someone wears a robe and speaks of the law does not mean they abide by the law.

“The Hail Mary Pass” refers to any very long forward pass made in desperation with only a small chance of success. It’s used in football and occasionally courtrooms.

My Hail Mary Pass knocked the bad guys on their butts. I filed a Petition for a Writ of Certiorari, which is a request to the United States Supreme Court asking that Court to review the decision of a lower court. I cast a spotlight on their dark shenanigans.

And as my Petition worked its way along the queue in the United States Supreme Court, making it almost to the finish line, the judge on my case went strangely silent, the notorious developer disappeared, and the Brit wandered off.  I had become a writer but not in the way I had envisioned. I was a self-taught legal guerrilla who had managed to land her petition to be heard by the highest court in the United States… right through the goal post. Unfortunately, in the end corruption won and I barely escaped with a toothbrush and a change of clothes.

Were those five years tough? Yes. But I fought because I knew I couldn’t live with myself if I rolled into a ball. I fought with the wit and sarcasm of Alice in the original Alice in Wonderland. Standing on the outside watching the Jabberwocky operate on the inside. I knew that someday my story, fictionalized with absolutely no resemblance to anyone living or dead and the names changed to protect the corrupt, would make a darn good yarn. And each step of the way, like Lewis Carroll and my out-of-body ordeal, I would allow the action to the skate on the edge of logic.

In The Secret Diary of Alice in Wonderland, Age 42 and Three-Quarters, a few murders have been thrown in for comic relief, and the characters have been shaken and stirred, then presented in a Pythonesque light. Any similarities to the jerks I dealt with are purely coincidental.

Have I ever lost a hat? Probably.

But did I retain my passion for writing, and even kick it up a notch?  Absolutely.

Every adventure contains a novel.

Sometime you have to pay dearly for it.

~

Quoting the Cheshire Cat:
“Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?” (Alice)
“That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,” said the Cat.
“I don’t much care where—” said Alice.
“Then it doesn’t matter which way you go,” said the Cat.
“—So long as I get somewhere,” Alice added as an explanation.
“Oh you’re sure to do that,” said the Cat, “if you only walk long enough.”

***

This is one story from Indie Chicks: 25 Women 25 Personal Stories available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble. To read all the stories buy your copy today. All proceeds go to fund breast cancer research.

About the Author
Barbara Silkstone is the best-selling author of The Fractured Fairy Tales series that currently includes: The Secret Diary of Alice in Wonderland, Age 42 and Three-Quarters; Wendy and the Lost Boys; and London Broil.

Silkstone’s writing has been described as “perfectly paced and pitched – shades of Janet Evanovich and Carl Hiaasen – without seeming remotely derivative. Fast moving action that shoots from the hip with bullet-proof characterization.”

Wendy and the Lost Boys topped the charts in comedy, climbing over Tina Fey, Sophie Kinsella, and Ellen DeGeneres. The Secret Diary of Alice in Wonderland, Age 42 and Three-Quarters has been a consistent best seller in comedy. Both Wendy and Alice have been in the top 20 Amazon comedies at the same time. Silkstone has been fortunate enough to take part in writing workshops with Stephen King, Robert B. Parker, and James Michener. She lives in South Florida but has no time to visit the beach.

Barbara Silkstone loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at: barbara_silkstone@yahoo.com
Or visit her at: Barb’s Wire eBooks & More http://barbswire-ebooksandmore.blogspot.com
Twitter @barbsilkstone   http://twitter.com/#!/barbsilkstone
Facebook   http://www.facebook.com/people/Barbara-Silkstone/100000778601230
Pinterest:  http://pinterest.com/barbsilkstone/

Fractured Fairy Tales by Silkstone
Criminally Funny Fables

The Secret Diary of Alice in Wonderland, Age 42 and Three-Quarters

This author has a unique narrative voice, and reading the story is like taking a smooth slide into Alice’s surreal world. The premise is outstanding – a classic we all love, with a contemporary, intelligent twist.                             ~ Elizabeth Lindberg, author Upper West Side Stories

Purchase for your Kindle at: Amazon
Purchase for your Nook at: Barnes & Noble

Wendy and the Lost Boys
Be aware, this is not the Peter Pan story you want your kids reading. It is clearly intended for adult readers. Yet it appeals to the childlike part of us that loved the classic original stories. Combine that childlike love with modern politics and technology, and you get this smart, snarky, hilarious mystery. The story is richly developed and leaves you guessing until the very end. I am liking this grown-up version of Peter Pan even more than the original.                                  ~ Tiffany Harkleroad for Tiffany’s Bookshelf
Purchase for your Kindle at: Amazon
Purchase for your Nook at: Barnes & Noble

London Broil — the sequel to Wendy and the Lost Boys
The snarky Python sequel to Wendy and the Lost Boys. A murderous rollercoaster ride through London during a killer heat wave.                                                                                          ~ Ravan Reviews
Purchase for your Kindle at: Amazon
Purchase for your Nook at: Barnes and Noble

Zo White – coming  Summer 2012

Sibel Hodge

From 200 rejections to Amazon top 200!

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

From when 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 a ploy to keep me out of her hair and quiet for a while. I was always a loud kid with lots of energy, and always getting into some sort of trouble with the boys down our street. (Yep, even then I was a sucker for boys!). After discovering the wonderful world of books, I thought I’d have a go myself, and remember scribbling 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.

When I was in secondary school my favourite subject was English language. I’d lose myself for hours. And even though I hadn’t thought about my forthcoming career before I left (apart from being Wonder Woman or an astronaut), I knew, even then, I had a love of creating. I also loved to make people laugh from an early age. In the beginning, it wasn’t intentional. I was always saying ridiculous things that I thought were quite serious. Like the time I went to the butchers shop with my nan, and the lady behind the counter asked where I was from. “South America,” I said. (I know, where the hell did that come from? I must’ve had an overactive 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 laughter is 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 chick lit, although I have recently delved into the dark side of my brain (which is a pretty scary place to be sometimes!) and written a psychological thriller.

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

It was drastic things like splitting up with a boyfriend that made me start my first novel when I was about seventeen. I never got further than the first three chapters, though, because I didn’t have a clue what I was doing, other than using a typewriter! Then I started another one (I got dumped again – can you see a pattern here?) when I was about twenty-three, and ditto (I’d hate for those to ever see the light of day). I just knew that I loved writing and therefore it stood to reason that one day I’d do it, didn’t it? And although I look back now and think I wish I’d started writing earlier, actually, I have to say, that it would’ve been bad timing. Back then I wouldn’t have had anything to really write about. A lot of the things that go into my books now are based on my experience of 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 of that?

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

I didn’t actively think about what I was going to write, but a year after we’d moved there I had an 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 the guinea pig for the sequel, My Perfect Wedding! But it was all very well completing my dream of writing a book, but until it was published, no one would get to read it.

So I started querying hundreds of agents and publishers. I got too many rejections to even count! OK, small white lie, a while ago I did count them out of morbid curiosity, and it was a whopping two hundred!

I did come close a couple of times to 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 is saturated”, or “we love it but…”

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

In the meantime, I also entered several writing competitions. And while I was still getting the dreaded rejections, Fourteen Days Later was shortlisted for the Harry Bowling Prize 2008 and received a Highly Commended by The Yeovil Literary Prize 2009. And The Fashion Police was a runner up in the Chapter One Promotions Novel Competition 2010 (and later nominated for the Best Novel with Romantic Elements 2010 by The Romance Reviews). Surely I was doing something right, wasn’t I? But I STILL couldn’t get a publisher!

Then last year, when Amazon opened up their doors to non-US authors, I uploaded Fourteen Days Later and The Fashion Police onto their Kindle store. I couldn’t believe it when I finally saw my books on sale. It was scary, rewarding, exciting, amazing – so many experiences rolled into one.

But what if no one liked my novels? What if I had all bad reviews? What if all the two hundred rejections were right? What if, what if…?

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

So I did.

And boy am I glad I did! The first month with Fourteen Days Later and The Fashion Police, I sold 44 books (another eeek!). Then I released my third novel, a romantic comedy called My Perfect Wedding, and later released my second chick lit mystery Be Careful What You Wish For. In the last 6 months alone I’ve sold over 40,000 ebooks, and all my novels are consistently in the Amazon top 100 genre categories for humor, contemporary romance, comedy, and romantic suspense. My highest overall sales ranking to date is 136, just missing out on the Amazon top 100 bestseller charts. Considering there are over 900,000 Kindle books on Amazon, that’s not bad!

And this is one lesson I’ve learned in the last couple of years…You can do anything you want to in life. 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 any obstacles.

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

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

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.

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The Fashion Police at Amazon!

I have quite a few regular clients for formatting, and they’re all pretty rockin’.  One of the aspects I’ve truly, truly enjoyed about building the CyberWitch business is the fact that I’ve found some great relationships in the people I work for.  I recently posted Dani Amore’s Indie Chicks post–she’s one of those clients.  Today’s post is another one of those clients.

I’ve read (and formatted) all of Christine’s books.  Even her kid’s book.  She is an incredibly talented writer, as well as a cover artist (she did the cover for my first YA, Heaven Below).  She’s wry, snarky, and has the kind of sense of humor that I LOVE.  I’m honored to have her at my blog today!

Christine DeMaio-Rice

How A Big Yellow Truck Changed My Life

(for the better)

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

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

But an orange peel grapple changed my life.

My life was a complete disaster at the time. Though I had a beautiful baby boy and a good husband, I had a job in an industry I swore I would never return to, at a company that wanted nothing more than to suck the blood directly from my heart with a curly straw. This, after I had already sold all the blood in my heart to the film industry, which after a few meetings and screenwriting 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 long road in front of me. My work was not “commercial enough,” and my manager had made it clear that years would pass before I would be able to convince anyone that this lack of commerciality was a quality that was, well, commercial.

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

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

My son was about eighteen months old and just learning to talk. I missed him while I was at work, adored him when he was awake and with me, and the rest of the time, I found room to resent him for taking me away from writing. He was then, and has remained, a fireball of energy. His teacher alternated between calling him a Jack Russell terrier and a buzz saw. He is also obsessive. Right now, he has a room full of Legos. Before that, it was Thomas the Tank Engine, and before that, it was trucks. Big yellow trucks. He wouldn’t fall asleep unless he gripped a toy truck in each fist. When he received a 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 would later know as an orange peel grapple dancing in my head, I dialed a friend’s number. I’d known this man from Brooklyn, and he’d come to Los Angeles a few years earlier to attend the American Film Institute. Most importantly, he had a camera. 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’s video together? Here’s the pitch. Trucks. Okay, bye.”

That moment may not seem pivotal, but most turning points don’t when they happen. That moment, I took control of my creative life. My friend called me back the minute he got up, and we began the journey toward becoming business owners. We did not pitch the idea around town, and we did not ask 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 Totally Trucks 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 not a concept I should develop. My second lesson is that I can be in control of my product and my creative life. If I think something is worthwhile, I can bring it to my customers. Becoming the producer and publisher of my work means I understand now what agents and studio executives meant when they said “commercial.”

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

***

Christine lives in Los Angeles with her family, though her accent is pure Brooklyn. She has been involved in the fashion industry for over 20 years, and though she protests that she’d rather not talk about it, she complains about little else.

Find Christine Online!

Website

Facebook

Twitter

Amazon Author Page

Smashwords Author Page

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Find Dead Is the New Black Online

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Amazon DE

Barnes & Noble

Smashwords