I'm All Over the Place

It's true. My brain is a plate of spaghetti and I'm at least a touch ADD (attention deficit disorder) so is it any surprise my blog is so inconsistent?

I started this blog when I first joined in with the online writing communities and started growing my craft. Since then my craft has changed. I have changed. But, I still have a handful of books I want to promote and I continue to write forward in various genres.

It's been quite a journey toward finding my identity as a writer. Each time I think I know, something changes and, being a fan of organic growth, I go with it. As a result, the last ten blog posts have been about redefining myself again and again. And again.

And then I cam full circle back to writing Elizabethan historical romance. When I first started this blog, it was called "Doing it Elizabethan Style" thanks to my husband and then changed to "Hold on to Your Bloomers." It's gone through a few evolutions to the current title, "Spocktastic," which is more indicative of me rather than my writing.

The point of this blog post is to own it. It's who I am. I get distracted by shiny things and squirrels. I have moments of genius followed by moments of sleeping. Such is the nature of me and, therefore, my writing.

That said, I like to think my writing is good and entertaining. Right now I'm, as I said in the last post and it's still true, working on bringing Courtly Pleasures back to life. In the meantime, I have posted my paranormal romantic thriller, Possessing Karma, on Inkitt and it is consistently in the top romance novels with over 700 reads. While there's a big part of me that cringes that I'm just putting it out there for free when I feel like it's totally publishable, another part loves that people are actually reading my work.

And that's all for now.

Inkitt Writing Contest

I have posted my full manuscript, Possessing Karma, on Inkitt for their Story Peak contest. I feel ambivalent about it because if it does well, I'm still not certain that this is the route I'd like to take. But then I don't have high expectations. It is an interesting format to get your book read and, ultimately, that is what I want to do. Yes, I want to be paid, but that's secondary for now. The longer my books go unread, the worse they become in my estimation. As I uploaded chapter by chapter of Possessing Karma I gained confidence in my abilities once again. There's some good stuff there, if I do say so myself. :)

Anyway, to read a free digital version of my paranormal romantic thriller go to the link below.

Think Bones meets Witching Hour, set in New Orleans where the past and the present overlap.

Addendum: it seems like every time I edit and republish, I get pulled out of the competition. That said, I still want to have a quality product out there (which is why I've been so reticent about self publishing) so if you notice anything that pulls you from the read, I'd love to know. Your comments can only make me a better writer. 

Soft Horror

I accidentally discovered a new niche for my writing. I thought I was writing paranormal romance, but that brings vampires and werewolves to mind. As I analyzed the components of Possessing Karma, I found paranormal and suspense/thriller attributes overshadowed the romance. Yes, there is still an emotionally satisfying happily ever after, but the mystery and threat implicit in the ghost story is dominant. A judge in an unpublished author contest classified it as soft horror and things clicked.

My husband teases me that I write romance at all. No, not because he undervalues the genre, but because I am not romantic. I don't believe in soul mates. I do believe that you choose your love and then love your choice. I have a very pragmatic approach to relationships and, unfortunately, that has shown in my work. He says that readers want magical love, of people being sure of their feelings, etc... and I don't write that. Love overcomes because my main characters choose to work for it. I try to avoid reader-eye-rolling moments, but in doing so I might be removing some of the fantasy that appeals to readers of the genre. That's not to say I don't tell good stories, but maybe I'm not writing romance.

That said, I just wrote a chainsaw accident scene into my work in progress, Touching the Past. If it's horror I'm going for, the danger has to be more prominent instead of simply implied. Yes, my main characters will still find love with each other if they can learn to let go of the past and trust, but the paranormal elements (psychic trees) is no longer benign. The external stakes are more dominant than the internal stakes.

My contemporary work is straight up romance. Now that I've identified my problem I'm not worried about being able to make the emotional/internal components be worth everything. But as for my paranormal, soft horror it is. 

Resubmitting... Maybe? Advice Needed.

Every single project I have completed has ended up with me hacking the first two to three chapters off it. Why? Because I'm the queen of slow starts and back story. I can't seem to help myself. It's sad really.

When I chopped the first two chapters off of Karma, it wasn't enough. It still was too slow. I edited the bejeebers out of it, getting to the action ASAP. It wasn't until months later and a slew of non-responsive agents that I actually reread it with fresh eyes and realized I'd cut the soul out of the story.

One rejection said the story lacked balance. I didn't know what the agent meant until I read it again. Boom, there's action. It's hot, it's creepy... but it doesn't pull you into the story because there is no hint at who the characters are. It was painful to realize, but easier to fix than I'd hoped.

The question is should I resubmit? If the agents who gave me no responses read at all, it was only the first thirty pages. The rest of the book unfolded organically and, I'm happy to say, I'm still really proud of my work. They requested it int he first place, so they saw something in it. The lack of a "no thank you" isn't a de facto rejection, so it wouldn't necessarily be pushy or unprofessional of me to try again. Would it? I have no idea. I don't want to come across as too desperate -- but if the shoe fits...

Help me out, people. Your expert advice is appreciated.

Viewing Your Own Work Objectively

It isn't possible. There. Done. Shortest blog post ever.

Nah, I was just kidding. My point has been made but I'm still going to babble. And, before I begin, let me explain that I am on pain killers for shoulder surgery. Be warned. I am not bi-polar but I play one on TV.

Okay, on point: Objectivity = impossible.  While I'm writing and excited, the book is the best book ever written. I am a GOD!  And then revisions of the first draft begin and I should not be allowed to live, let alone write. When everything is done and I have a clean, finished manuscript I, yet again, become awesome. At this point I usually don't look at it again and move on to the next project.

From time to time I've unearthed one of my previous works for a submission or competition or such. These times are iffy. I could be far enough removed from it to find the cadence of my writing unfamiliar and be pleasantly surprised by a book that (by that point, it's probably been rejected a few times) is obviously terrible. Or maybe it was so close to my heart that it hurts to even read it with the knowledge that it will remain under my bed. I've been through the gamut of reactions with my courtly books.

Possessing Karma was going to be my break out novel. It was edgy, different, super sexy, a little scary... it merged my love of history with my total fear of ghosts and came out awesome. Or at least I thought it was awesome until yesterday when I decided to do a quick once over for Golden Heart.

Things I remember including as part of my voice and my character's deep pov are not there. I must have cut them in favor of brevity or something. Philippe's a nice guy, maybe too nice. Karma's OCD because I say she is, but I don't show it. Damn. I don't know what I did in the final edit, but my work feels soulless and choppy. No wonder it didn't get the response I expected.

I think I may have to set aside Touched in favor of breathing life back into Karma. Either that or I'll read it again tomorrow and be awed by my brilliance.

Finish it Already!

This week I surpassed my estimated word count for Possessing Karma, and I'm not done. I'm in the final, KABOOM scene, but I'm not done. I'm really struggling, actually. It may just be self sabotage or the muses not speaking, either way it's frustrating.

I seriously only have a half a chapter to write, then the denouement. I keep going back and inserting details so that the bread crumbs are there and the consistency is, well, consistent. Problem with all the fine tuning is that I'm not moving forward. Sure, I'll have less to do in revisions, but I would rather be able to say that I'm finished with the first draft.

I keep dinking around with my query, with my pitch, with games on Facebook, when I should be focusing on getting the work done. I know what I'm going to write, I just need to write it. In fact, I've already started the musing process about my next book, I'm that done, mentally, with Karma. It's frustrating. Even now, what am I doing? I'm blogging about not writing when I could use this time to write.

In fact, I will. I have 20 minutes before I need to leave for work. That will be twenty minutes of writing forward.

Ready.
Steady.
Go.

The Year in Review

Well, I did not finish Possessing Karma by my self imposed deadline of 12/31/2012. I am 96% done -- so, so close. I really have about 2 1/2 chapters left, but time was not on my side. Stupid Christmas got in the way. Bah-humbug. (Yes, it did get in the way, but no bah-humbug. I love Christmas).

Today is the last day to submit to the Golden Heart contest through Romance Writer's of America. Yesterday I submitted both Courtly Scandals and Courtly Abandon. I wanted to get Karma in, but even if I'd finished the first draft, it wouldn't have been ready for judging.

2012 is over. I did not get an agent, though I did get some positive agent connections. I did not get published, but I did (almost) finish two books. I broke completely out of my Elizabethan comfort zone in writing and have found a new niche for myself. I did not lose weight, but I didn't gain weight either. I broke the heck out of my foot, then healed. I attended the RWA 2012 conference in Anaheim and resolved to attend the 2013 in Georgia.
Just for fun, here is my past year in random pics I took on my phone.

We saw this dog at the mall, fresh from the groomers. She still stood tall and proud, a Great Dane in spite of her pink-ness. Even her nails were painted.

In case you ever wondered what hope, dreams, and love smelled like, I can tell you. It's has a soft floral with a hint of vanilla. Quite nice, actually. Now you know.

Everytime I park next to this car, I wonder how many of those cats are still living. Sort of creepy. Reminds me of the dogs from Coraline....

This movie made my children cry and afraid to sleep in their own beds. They are 8 and 6 1/2. Never trust the movie recommendation of a 34 year old, single, childless, entomologist.

This pic was taken for a blog I didn't end up writing. This is a laundry detergent scoop from Arm and Hammer. Line one indicates the amount of detergent needed for a regular load. Line two is for extra soiled. Line three is for nothing, but is more prominent than one and two. Of course, I bet most people just fill the scoop without reading the directions, then wonder why they didn't actually get 125 loads from their box of soap.

I don't know why this was on my phone, but it was, so here you go.

I must have deleted the picture of the guy in a pumpkin costume riding his motor cycle down the freeway.

I hope you had a great 2012 and are optimistic about what 2013 may bring your way.

Happy New Year.

CSI and Me

The CSI team is always finding fibers, hairs, or biologicals on the carpet of the victim's home. Sometimes in the drain, sometimes on the sheets, there is always some sort of clue that stands apart from the myriad of other fibers, biologicals, etc... that exist in the victim's home. Except that there are no other samples. Why? Because all their victims were surprisingly clean.

Every time I watch CSI, I wash my sheets out of shame. If CSI had to come to my house, they would find all sorts of stuff, very little of it relevant to their case. I think of all the times my daughter has wiped buggers in my bed. When my husband has come to bed, collapsing fully clothed in his lawn-mowing jeans. When the bare feet that earlier went outside to feed the dog then tucked themselves under my sheets.

God only knows what's under my nails or how many toxins are in my blood just from working in Hemet. If they searched my drain, would they find samples of the killer's blood amidst all the human, My Little Pony, and Barbie hair there? Trace would be working for hours to differentiate between all the different samples. By the time they were done, they wouldn't want to solve my murder -- they'd consider it karma for them having to process all the dirty tissues in and around the trash can.

If they had to autopsy my corpse (I know, dark.) they would have to cut off my not-matching undergarments, including my too-big grandma underwear. They'd find evidence of past bruising, a lot of evidence. Eventually they would match it up to the corner of my bed, the open dishwasher, my daughter's elbow, and various other things I don't even know about. They would find all sort of residue of different lotions, topical ointments, etc... none of which were pertinent to my murder.

Of course, they writer's couldn't tell a one hour story if they dealt with someone like me. Even when they dumpster dive or have a murder in a back alley, the tiny evidence is clear enough that it stands out as relevant against the grime of the region.

These are they types of things that go through my head when I watch crime dramas. When it comes to writing a mystery, I have to be careful to give clues, but not be captain obvious. It has to be possible for the reader to solve the story, but not so blatant that the reader is frustrated. Luckily all my clues lay in paper trails and verbal accounts and I don't have to deal with soiled sheets and random, important fibers.

NaNoWriMo

We are halfway through the month, but I am not halfway through my writing goal for National Novel Writer's Month. I was doing great for the first nine days, totally on track. Then I got busy with real life. Then I played some Bejeweled. Then I procrastinated (I read The Taker by Alma Katsu -- a disturbingly haunting story).

This weekend I plan to get back on track. I'm using NaNo as a platform to push myself to produce. I am not actually 'competing' since I'm continuing my existing work in progress, Possessing Karma (still not sold on that name). As I read other blogs about NaNo prep and schedules, I feel a little like a fraud because I don't do any of that. Yes, I have my rough outline (from which I have deviated like nobody's business), but I have no spreadsheets, flowcharts, or sacred writing hours. I just write -- which is what I've always done.

Right this moment, I'm blogging as a warm up to writing. Coffee is almost ready, the dishwasher's runing, and I'm caught up on work for the time being -- ready to write.

Do you have ways your prepare for writing sessions?

The Next Big Thing Blog Hop

Thank you Stacy McKitrick for tagging me in this blog hop. This tag morally obligated me to answer the following questions (not that I'm complaining -- any excuse to promote my writing):

What is your working title of your book?
My current project is titled Possessing Karma, but I'm not 100% sold on the title. It's a play on words, which I like, but a little cheesy. Karma is the name of the main character and she gets possessed, so there's a literal meaning. Of course, there is the idea of what goes around, comes around, and Karma lives in a haunted home where the ghosts of two lovers are stuck in a cycle of violence and sex, karma for their lives.

Where did the idea come from for the book?
The idea came from a dream. I've been to New Orleans a few times and LOVE it. The city, the history, the streets, the streetcars, the shutters, the brickwork, the accents, the food, even the vomit in the gutter at 2 am. Love it.In my dream, my husband and I had gone back and rented a place famous for rekindling passion. What no one knew (but me) was that it was haunted and the passion came from being possessed. I woke up with the image of the apartment in mind and the sexually aggressive nature of the haunting. Yes, it was one of those dreams -- sort of. It was also scary.

What genre does your book fall under?
Romance. The subgenre would probably be suspense. I hesitate to call it paranormal because that implies the love aspect is with paranormal beings. My love story is with two humans. The supernatural, while sexy in parts, is more of the antagonist. It is set in modern times.

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?
Joe Manganiello would be Philippe Jarreau, the chain-saw artist/sculptor who purchased the trashed building and turned it into his studio and two condos. He's a solid rock of man, a nice guy, part of the flow of New Orleans, whose brawn makes up for any less-than-macho creative tendencies.
Halle Berry, but with pale blue eyes, would play Dr. Karma Betancourt. She goes by Kay because Karma is such a whimsical name. Multi-ethnic, with no real sense of belonging to any particular group or culture, Kay is a professor of religious studies. She has always felt like an outsider, until she arrives in New Orleans for a teaching position at Tulane.

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

Karma unwittingly rekindles a century old romance and finds herself the focus of a dangerous, sadistic, ghost.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?
Agency, please. Please?

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?
Not finished. I started in late June. I plan to finish by the first of the year.

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?
Karen Robards meets Sylvia Day, maybe? Difficult question.

Who or what inspired you to write this book?
Both my husband and my critique partner urged me to move away from the historical Elizabethan era romances I've been writing. I had this idea and they both told me to go for it. I figured it would show agents I was multi-faceted, but that Elizabethan would remain my niche. I'm not so sure any longer. I love this project. It's my best work to date and I have two more supernatural romantic suspense stories percolating, just waiting for me to finish this one so they can be written.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?
Two words: Haunted House. Who can resist the curiosity? This book is sexy, spooky, and emotionally stimulating. It takes you to past and present New Orleans.

Here's the hard part -- Tag, you're it! (only if you want to, that is)
Raquel Byrnes - Edge of Your Seat Romance
Tanya Reimer -- Life's Like That
Taryn Tyler - Taliesin
Roland Yeomans - Writing in the Crosshairs
Morgan Shamy - Writings and Ramblings of a Redhead Writer

Rules for The Next Big Thing Blog Hop:

***Use this format for your post
***Answer the ten questions about your current WIP (work in progress)
***Tag five other writers/bloggers and add their links so we can hop over and meet them.

Ten Interview Questions for the Next Big Thing:
What is your working title of your book?
Where did the idea come from for the book?
What genre does your book fall under?
Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?
What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?
Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?
How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?
What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?
Who or what inspired you to write this book?
What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?
Include the link of who tagged you and this explanation for the people you have tagged.

Page 99 in Possessing Karma

I remember how important page count was on my first book. Knowing nothing about word count norms, I was aiming for about 325 pages and, when I finished my first hundred, I celebrated it as a major milestone.

Now I gauge progress by word count instead of page number, especially since I like to type in Times New Roman and the submissions I've had requested in the past specified Courier New. That said, I still got a little shiver of excitement when I noticed I was well past my first hundred pages. I may still have 60% of a book to write, but I'm getting there. It's healthy to be able to find validation within oneself, right.

There's an urban legend within the online writing community that editors turn to page 99 right off the bat. Of course first chapters are polished and hook the reader, but is the writing still as engrossing by page 99? So, following the precedent set by me with my other books, here is page 99 (in the Times New Roman version, Courier New is something completely different) of my work in progress.

Page 99 of Possessing Karma

“So, do you?” Rosario’s voice was barely audible over the roar of the water pounding against her scalp.

She stepped out of the stream. “What?”

“Do you plan on sleeping with him, no strings attached?” Rosario repeated her question loud enough for the whole locker room to hear.

“Oh my goodness, keep your voice down!” Karma heard her own words echo through the cinderblock room. “I’m a professor,” she added more quietly, poking her head around the corner of the stall to make sure Rosario would hear her. “If any of my students heard you…”

“I’m one of your students,” Rosario answered, her voice level. “Right now we’re both naked and you want to talk about boundaries?” With one raised eyebrow, she turned back to face the shower head, presenting Karma with a view of her naked butt.

“Sheese.” Karma ducked back into her stall fully and finished her shower in silence.

#

Philippe woke up, his back aching. Lifting his head from the cold cement table top, he looked around his studio. How long had he been asleep? The sketch pad showed his half-hearted attempts to design his next piece, but more so showed rumpled proof that his nap had been a restless one.

Smoothing the crushed sheet, he reviewed the measurements and notes. He wanted to incorporate glass into the current sculpture, but didn't know if it would be possible to make the transition as seamless as he envisioned. He stood, stretching his neck and shoulders and he strode across the room. Uncovered, his sculpture laid waiting. He decided her name was ‘Becoming” and the rough pool of wood laying jagged against the workspace would merge with blown glass as if she was emerging into the corporeal world. She would be stunning, his best piece to date – if he could pull it off.

Just for fun (if you have the patience to read more), click below for the Courier New page 99.

Romantic Friday Writers

It's been a while since I've participated in a Romantic Friday Writers challenge. This one was:

We’re looking for chilling stories of ghosts and haunted locations – and maybe even love from beyond the grave.
A romantic element is essential, but we’re looking for stories with a thrilling edge of fear to add to the romantic tension building between our Hero/Heroine.

I chose to highlight a section from my work in progress, Possessing Karma. In this story, Karma (going by Kay) has recently moved in to a refurbished town home in New Orleans’ French Quarter. She and Philippe, her neighbor, have both lost time while together with only flashes of memory implying they were sexually involved. Karma thinks she’s going crazy. Philippe suspects something paranormal.

In this scene, Philippe has just come home to secure everything against a coming tropical storm. This 979 word selection is from chapter seven..

I look forward to hearing your thoughts.

He stopped, before her door. “Kay? I heard you come up earlier. Just wanted to know if you needed help with the shutters.”

Waiting, he laid his forehead against the plaster wall. He listened, anticipating the creak of her stairs, the metallic click of her lock… nothing.

“Huh,” he muttered to himself and knocked again. Still no response.

“Okay, then.” He turned the key in his own door and went inside. It was almost as muggy as outdoors.

Stooping low he untied his work boots and left them on the mat by the door. He wasn’t a neat freak, but didn’t want to risk tracking debris from the workshop over the polished wood. Someday he hoped he’d just think of them as functional floors instead of works of art. He unclasped the buckles on his overalls and stepped out them. He hooked one foot under them and kicked them in the general vicinity of the laundry hamper in the closet off the kitchen.

The wind rattled the windows again, howling around the building in harmony with a roll of thunder. In his socks and boxers, he stepped into the rain pelting the second floor balcony outside his living room and closed the shutters over the windows. After securing the bars in place, he closed himself back inside, pulling the bright green shutters closed behind him then locked the French doors.

So much for needing a shower. He stripped off his soaked socks and padded upstairs, checking that he didn’t leave puddles in his wake. Uncaring if anyone saw him in his shorts in the storm, he stepped out onto the third floor balcony outside his bedroom. Nope, he wouldn’t need a shower after this. The stinging assualted him, the drops almost angry in their wind driven strength, each drop a shock of cold in the trapped heat radiating from the city.

Barefoot and soaked, Philippe turned his back to the storm and focused on his task at hand. Two out of three French door shutters secured, he turned to watch the storm. The sting of the rain nothing against the chaos of the sky, of the haze blurred rooftops spread before him. Shielding his eyes against the wind, he leaned over the figured iron balustrade to look around the tall wood fencing separating his balcony from Kay’s.

She stood there, driving rain plastering her long hair to her neck and shoulders. For someone naked and soaking on her balcony in the face of lightning, she looked relaxed – her hands in soft repose, laying gently on the ironwork. He wanted to sculpt her.

Was she crazy?

“What are you doing?” He shouted over the next rumble of thunder.

She simply turned her head, looking at him, her eyes an eerie silver glimmer in against the rich cocoa of her skin.

“Secure your shutters and get inside!”

Her lips curved into a smile, as if she were amused by him. She did not respond, but turned to face him. Placing one hand on her breast, she gasped and closed her eyes. He watched, spellbound, as her fingers traced tiny swirls in the water drops, never quite touching her nipple.

He pushed his wet hair from his face, watching the water stream down her naked body. A rivulet started at her shoulders, flowing in sleek plains down her breasts, to join in the center and stream down her abdomen. She was glorious, one with the storm. Yes, he had to sculpt her – but first he had to get her inside.

Crazy woman.

“Don’t you want to touch me?” Her soft voice carried over the storm.

“Kay, get inside.”

She looked different somehow. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but her skin seemed darker. And, of course, she was naked. He’d seen her partially nude before, but made a point not to stare. Right now, there was no way around it.

“I knew you would come for me.”

“Kay, are you nuts? This isn't just rain – the wind can carry debris, there will be lightning.”

She seemed to have no issue with her vulnerable state. If anything, she welcomed him.

“You need me. I’m under your skin, a sickness in you.” Her voice echoed in his mind, clear and soft in spite of the steady drum of the rain.

His skin tingled, a shiver running down his spine. Philippe gasped at the jolt of sensation, of the soft caress of the rain, the almost painful pleasure of the pressure of the wind against his finger tips, tickling his scalp. Stepping back he looked at his own hands, sure he was in dream.

His arms reached toward the divider, straining with an uncoordinated heaviness. With a crash, the boards splintered, flying around him. He felt himself wince at the stinging pain above his brow. Lifting one hand to his forehead, he laughed when it came back slick with blood. He gulped greedy breaths at the joy of sensation, marveling at his living body. The way the muscles of his abdomen contracted with each breath, the taste of soot that coated each raindrop, it was magnificent.

Barefoot on the tile, he took one heavy step, then another until she was an arm’s breadth away.

“I knew you would come for me. You have no choice – not any longer.”

“I crave you always.” He reached for her just as lightning split the sky. In that single burst of light, she seemed to glow, outlined by a reflection of herself.

Philippe fought against her pull, against his own body’s response. What was he doing here? It wasn’t safe. Instead he heard his own voice say, “Does that please you? Does the surety of my desire make you feel powerful?”

She smiled, smug and sensual. God, how he wanted her – he always did, always would.

The back of his fingers grazed along her cheek, her jaw. Her responsive shiver sent a dusting of goose bumps all over her skin.

“This body pleases me.”

This is a collage of inspiring images for my project. Karma is a religious studies professor, Philippe is a chainsaw sculptor.

Opportunity Cost

I am currently 33% into Possessing Karma. The story ready to unfold is the clearest it's ever been (for me) and it's turning into the best book I've written so far. Exciting.

Writing Karma means I'm not sewing an Irish dancing dress for my daughter. That is one of the opportunity costs of choosing to write over other activities  It also means, to a MUCH lesser degree, that I have not downloaded the new panda expansion on World of Warcraft. Whoopdie-Do. There was a time when I would have done it the first moment possible then tried to power level. Now the game has been tainted by more than pandas and I don't care enough. I hope I care again because it was fun once. But I digress....

I am also NOT writing three different books. In the past month I have had moments of genius for three different, unrelated, not in my genre niche, stories that I think would be awesome and take the publishing world by storm. If I started every new project the moment inspiration hit, I would never finish anything. So, along with my three additional Elizabethan era historicals I have planned, these ideas must be shelved for now. This is the opportunity cost of writing and finishing a book.

So I am not writing:

• 3 Elizabethan historicals
• A complete revision/rewrite of Courtly Pleasures
• A chapter that will flesh out Courtly Abandon
• 1 supernatural romance w/secret baby (but not a cheesy way)
• 1 supernatural romantic suspense based on my time in Ireland
• 1 kitschy vampire series (a minimum of 5 books I'll write it in 5-7 years when the market's not saturated)
• and 1 that I won't even mention because the idea is so great you might run with it and then where would I be?

Oh, opportunity cost.

In other news, 90 days since the RWA 12 conference is approaching and that means it's time to start politely  reminding the agents and editors holding on to my submissions about me. A little nervous.

Sense of Urgency Required

All of my stories have had a clear time period in which to become resolved. Frances had three months at court, Mary had twelve days of Christmas, and Jane had Frances' house party and the threat of her father taking action. All of these issues created a sense of urgency and made it easy for me to pace my story when it came to chronology.

Not so for Karma. I've made Karma so blasé  about the haunting that it might take years to resolve. There's no need to hurry, so there's no set time frame. What did I do to myself? Of course, urgency creates higher stakes, so beside the fact that I've made my pacing difficult, I've stifled the conflict. Bad Erin. Bad.

Solution? Make the ghosts less amenable and Karma more frightened and less intrigued. I can do this. Karma is one of those highly intellectual people with the common sense that usually goes hand in hand with that -- very little. She's more fascinated by the research than cautious for her safety. Right know she's on a research kick that threatens to slow the pace of the story -- so let's threaten her safety, shall we?

In the space of me mulling it over in this blog the problem has been solved. I love it when that happens and it doesn't have to be forced.

Are you having any issues with your stories?

Possession

I'm off to a good start on my new w.i.p., Possessing Karma. This is my first contemporary, but luckily since I do live in current times, it's not too much of a stretch. :) The paranormal aspect is also not entirely new to me. The story involves a haunted historical building.

For a time during my childhood, my family lived in Ireland. My parents managed a hotel and we lived on the property. The hotel had begun its life as a hunting lodge in the lat 1700s. It later became a boys boarding school before evolving into a hotel during WWIIish. While I never saw anything that I would be willing to swear was supernatural, I definitely felt something (blog post about this here). You can chalk it up to a hyperactive imagination, but it doesn't really matter. What matters right now is that it felt real to me and that gives me a great experience to draw upon when writing about a haunting.

Of course, I was never possessed by a horny ghost, or by any ghost - so that's all new to me.

I introduced my first 250 months ago while I still more in developing stages than real writing (you can compare the two here if you like). Now I'm actually starting the story where the story starts (my mantra). Here are the first 292 words of Possessing Karma. Please let me know your thoughts regarding the hook, the character, setting, etc... Thanks in advance. :)

“What on earth…”

Kay’s voice echoed through the empty room. Where was she? Looking around she took in the polished oak floors, the elaborate crown molding at the ceiling, the Ikea boxes and bags stacked by the wall.

Her new condo in New Orleans. “Home,” her voice echoed through the almost empty room.

She mentally retraced her steps. She remembered the airport in Los Angeles, stepping into humidity in New Orleans. The taxi driver speaking gibberish, one way streets, construction, then finally the bright yellow painted bricks of her new home. She remembered putting the key in the lock, stepping inside to the scent of fresh paint… then nothing.

How had she ended up half naked and dripping wet on the floor?

Sitting up, she ran her hands over her hair. It was damp but not soaked through. Slicking it away from her face, she tied it in a knot on top of her head. Her bra, white cotton and perfectly serviceable, was spotted with water drops, her nipples a dark contrast through the damp fabric.

Maybe she’d passed out. Air conditioned air port, hot parking lot, air conditioned taxi, steaming streets, jet lag, airport food… it wasn’t an unreasonable assumption. But then what had happened to her clothes?

“Was I assaulted?”

 Refusing to panic, she stood barefoot in a puddle on the waxed wood. Though undone, her jeans were still on. Running her hands over her body, she felt no injuries. There was nothing outside the norm, well, not really – but her underwear was uncomfortably askew. Kay ran her fingers along the elastic at her thighs, putting everything in place.  What should have been a perfunctory motion sent shivers through her, her body tightening, aroused.

What the hell was going on?

Self Deprecation at its Finest

I just started, really started, my contemporary paranormal romance with suspense sauce. They get down and dirty within the first fifteen pages. Too quickly, you may ask? No, because they’re possessed by ghosts. It’s all good. Don’t worry, they’ll actually have honest and meaningful sex around the appropriate time – say page 125ish. And yes, it will be emotionally significant to their character arcs.

Karma, aka Kay, is an ethnic mutt newly moved to New Orleans to teach religious studies at Tulane. She is newly out of the life of professional student and is playing house. Unfortunately her house is haunted. You’d think as a scholar of religious studies that she’d be open to that stuff, but no – she thinks of mystical explanations as a crutch for humanity. Lucky for the readers, the ghosts are horny. Lucky for Kay (I have cast Halle Berry, but with blue eyes), her neighbor and chainsaw artist, is hot (Joe Manganiello). Yes, I have been watching True Blood and Saw Dogs.

In other news, Courtly Abandon edits w/beta readers are going well. No one has been turned off by my hero’s virginity, although one commented that the scene were he was trying not to, umm, spend, in his pants, hinted at sexual dysfunction. Changing that. Otherwise, my incredibly well bathed Elizabethans finding love amidst adversity has been well received.

Sometimes I enjoy laughing at myself. Sometimes I don’t. Right now I’m in the process of trying to finesse my queries. In doing so, I’m trying to step back and look at the big picture. What are my stories really about? This morning, this process has resulted in my laughing at myself. A lot. I’m frustrated with some of the cliché necessities of genre fiction, even though I’m confident that I addressed them professionally and made them an organic part of my stories. I like to think that I own the fact that I write romance. I am unashamed, proud even – but then I find myself highlighting all the steamy scenes to make sure there are enough and that they’re well balanced and I get a little sad. But then I read a romance and it lightens my day. I have to remember that, whenever I think of myself as tawdry, that I’m writing what I love, what many readers will love. Romance offers that silver lining and any negative thoughts I have about it stem from external sources. Take that, world!

Here I am writing my fourth book about stunningly beautiful people with baggage. Lucky for them I’m here to help them get past their issues and realize that love is worth it and that they are worthy of happiness. So, watch out Karma and Philippe, I’m about to rock your world way more than the ghosts of the wealthy plantation owner and his Creole mistress ever could. Just ask Jane and Percy, or Mary and Charles, or Frances and Henry.

Hook, Line, and Sinker Blogfest

I am entering Justin Parente's Hook, Line, and Sinker blogfest using the opening from my brand-new-me contemporary paranormal romance. Since the blogfest is over a month in the future, this is me being optimistic that I will have finished the first draft of Courtly Abandon and be more invested in my unnamed new project (Haunting Karma? Passion Past? Karma Moves Into a Haunted Condo? Karma's Ghosts? Sexy Ghosts? Possessing Karma? Bad, Bad Karma? -- actually I just brainstormed more successfully now and sort of like Possessing Karma. Although Bad, Bad Karma is funny.... I digress).

Blog details:

Date: February 13, 2012

Where: In My Write Mind blog, and your own

Objective: Post your 500-1000 word hook and critique other hooks posted by participants

Suggestive topics to consider when critiquing:

• Does the character have a personality I can fall into easily? This includes any dialogue exchanged.
• Is the world around them set up to compliment the character as they're introduced?
• Are there secondary characters to assist with the hook?
• Lastly, would I read more?

So, without further ado, here are the first 1161 words (it felt weird to cut it off 2 sentences from the end of the chapter) from my current w.i.p. Something Something Karma Something. I'm really looking forward to reading the other entries. I hope you enjoy mine.

Kay had everything organized in order of size. If she knew what information the attendant would ask for first, she would have set it up that way for efficiency’s sake. As it was, she had a nice little stack in her hand that resembled irregular stair steps; California driver’s license, luggage tags, passport, and a tri-folded printout of her online flight reservation just in case.

Not that she needed her passport for a national flight, but one could never be too careful.

The bored bottle blond behind the desk signaled for her to step forward. The girl was pretty enough. She obviously put effort into the ritualistic hygiene required to attract a mate, but the dullness behind her eyes made Kay think it would be best if this woman did not procreate.

“Monique, is it?” Kay always made a point to address people by name, if the name was available. Based on Monique’s name tag, she had been with the airline for three years. “My name is Kay Betancourt. I have reservations on flight 6730 to New Orleans.”

The girl did not make eye contact and simply retrieved Kay’s license from the neatly fanned documents she had placed on the desk.

“I have your reservation here: Karma R Betancourt, business class. I do not see a return flight booked – is that correct?”

Kay nodded.

“Do you have any luggage to check?”

Kay shrugged her shoulder, hefting her over packed small suitcase. “Just my carry-on.”

“Alright-y then.” The girl looked less bored. Maybe she was wondering what a thirty-something woman travelling alone with no return flight was planning to do in New Orleans. If she wondered, she did not ask; she merely nodded, printed up a page, folded it, tucked it in a small folder, and placed it on the desk. “You are all set. Please go to gate 52. You flight should begin boarding in the next twenty minutes or so. Thank you for flying with us, Miss Betancourt.”

Kay tucked the small folder in her purse and fought the urge to correct Monique. Doctor Betancourt. She knew better than to care about such trivialities – she would never see Monique again and the correction would just come across as pompous.

Reaching her gate, she found a seat that afforded a view of the rush – people coming and going, most of them in a hurry. The tired looking woman wearing sweats, carrying a screaming toddler obviously was more focused on reaching her destination in one piece than being a part of the social networking around her. A young man, military, probably a Marine, sat straight and proud. His eyes were open to the scene around him, particularly to the activities of the young woman across the corridor at Gate 53. That young lady was enrapt in the pages of a book, her face flushed. She kept licking her lips and fumbling with the top button her blouse. The book, though obviously a paperback, had a brown paper jacket cover. Kay wondered what type of book she was reading – the woman obviously felt some shame about reading it in public, either that or she was very private. Then again, if she were truly private, she wouldn’t be sharing her personal reactions to the author’s fantasy with complete strangers in an airport. She was both separating herself from her environment and adding to it.

Kay stopped her musing from bordering on poetic. Yet again, she was on the outside looking in, observing human interaction as if through a window. As if she were not part of the scene itself. Which she was – passive or active, she could not avoid physically being there in the moment. It was just simpler for her to observe rather than participate.

“Flight 6730 to New Orleans will now begin boarding for premier guests.”

Kay stood up automatically and retrieved her paperwork, her California Driver’s License and boarding pass. She stepped into the short line and noticed the young Marine’s eyes on her. He was not subtle in his appraisal. Kay always found being ‘checked out’ interesting. Did the man find her body pleasing? How did his subconscious assess her breeding capacities? She certainly had full enough hips and bust to imply she would create healthy children. Her overall physique was strong, but not too well muscled to imply that she would not accept his alpha dominance. She was clean and healthy, her face appropriately symmetrical. Overall, she knew herself to be a good specimen. He met her eyes and held her questioning glance for a moment before looking away.

Dismissed, yet again.

Not that she wanted that young man to pursue her, but it would be interesting to hear an honest answer as to why she was not worth approaching.

Then again, she already knew the answer.

She was weird. Off. Regular women did not analyze the data that drove mating rituals, they just participated. They depended on instinct and chemistry. Kay could not do that. She could not simply be, she had to know why.

It was her turn at the gate. She handed her boarding pass to the attendant.

“Miss Betancourt, welcome to flight 6730. You will be in seat F3.”

“Thank you.” Again she held back the correction. Doctor Betancourt.

The retractable tunnel between the airport and the plane shook with each step. Gentle suction from the intense air conditioning ushered her onto the plane and the flight attendant showed her to her seat.

The good looking man, no more than twenty-four, repeated his rehearsed lines. “My name is Todd. Let me know if you need anything more. Enjoy your flight, Miss Betancourt.”

Kay smiled and almost held herself back. “Doctor.”

Todd turned back to her. “Sorry?”

“I am Doctor Betancourt.”

Todd’s face remained neutral. “My apologies, Doctor Betancourt.” His voice did not betray whether or not he felt her insistence at the title was ridiculous.

Maybe it was. The only universally accepted caste system in California seemed to be based on wealth or popularity: Kay had established her social rank academically. She would never gain notice or import by being gregarious or vivacious. No, she elevated herself into an elite social rank by her own intelligence and work ethic. She was a Doctor. That meant something; perhaps it meant more than driving a Mercedes or wearing Prada shoes. Or maybe it didn’t. At least it meant something to her.

“Excuse me, I don’t mean to pry,” the older woman in seat F2 turned to her, her voice polite, “but did I hear you say you were a doctor.”

Kay smiled. It did matter. “Yes. I am a doctor.”

“Wonderful! I was wondering if you could take a look at this bump on my arm. My daughter says it’s nothing, but I can’t help but worry…”

“I’m sorry to interrupt you.” Kay was not in the least bit sorry, but it was the right thing to say. “But I’m not a medical doctor. I am a doctor of anthropology and sociology.”

“Oh.” The woman looked stunned for a moment. “Oh, well, that’s very interesting.”

To her credit, she did not try to appear interested.

            They would be in New Orleans in six hours. 

So there is my intro. Kay is moving to New Orleans to start a new job, her first time as a real adult outside of the bubble of academia.