9/21/13

Ch-ch-changes...




So, I am in the midst of revising Solitary Sky (Book 1) along with writing Book 2. No big thing...just correcting a few typos and changing some wording here and there. Everything will pretty much be the same...just spit-polished until it shines. ツ

One thing I'm on the fence about is the cover. My plan was to just lighten it up a bit and make a few more slight changes.....now I wonder if I should go for bigger changes? I do like the current cover...I love the pic so much...Amanda is gorgeous and I love her! ツ  But I'd like to get input from others. Do you like it as is....do you think it needs something more...or a total re-do?

Leave your suggestions in the comments and/or answer the poll here:






Thanks for your help! ♥
Here's a bonus video:







paxamo,

8/1/13

Edgar & Elizabeth


This post is a celebration of my 2 favorite poets: Edgar Allen Poe & Elizabeth Barrett Browning. I'm very drawn to the dark beauty of Poe's writing...and the profound passion Elizabeth weaves with her words. She's a romantic and I can totally respect that!  They both capture my imagination like no other poets have ever done...with the possible exception of Jim Morrison...but he's technically a songwriter.



Edgar Allen Poe
  • There is no beauty without some strangeness.
  • The boundaries which divide love from death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends and where the other begins?
  • There was much of the beautiful...much of the wanton...much of the bizarre...something of the terrible...and not a little of that which might have excited disgust.
  • Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing...doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.
  • Yes I now feel that it was then on that evening of sweet dreams...that the very first dawn of human love burst upon the icy night of my spirit. Since that period I have never seen nor heard your name without a shiver, half of delight, half of anxiety.
  • And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.


                                                                 Elizabeth Barrett Browning

  • Light tomorrow with today.
  • The face of all the world is changed, I think, since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul...move still, oh still, beside me.
  • I shall but love thee better after death.
  • Love me sweet with all thou art...feeling, thinking, seeing.  Love me in the lightest part...love me in full being.
  • I love thee to the level of every day's most quiet need...by sun and candlelight.
  •  
     ♥~♥~♥

Do you have a favorite poet? Love poetry...or loathe it? Are there any poetry writers out there? I think it's an under-appreciated art form. My step-grandmother, who came to Oklahoma from Puerto Rico, was a poet. She had a few published books of poetry. Her name was Myriam Herrera Bevers and she was an amazing lady...very talented. 


I dedicate this post to her beautiful memory. ♥




paxamo,

6/6/13

Fixed

Lately I've been spending most of my time working diligently on book 2 .....when not fighting week-long bouts of chronic pain.....but I digress.  So really there's not much for me to post about, except "Yep, still working on book 2.".......or giving exciting, perhaps detailed accounts of my ER visits.......but that's not going to happen.  
In order to save anyone who reads my posts from dangerous levels of boredom, I've decided to start posting some of my short stories! ツ  
Not on any regular basis, of course (what am I, organized?!).....but roughly every week.
Or so. 

The first offering is a very  short story called "Fixed".....please to enjoy! ♥
(warning for mild language....and no sunshine or roses)



~♥~♥



It burns. I don’t have to check my reflection in the rear-view mirror to see the hand-sized splotch of red radiating from my cheek. At least it’s not as bad as last time. When my eye started turning black my parents started asking questions. Sometimes it hurts that they always accept whatever lame excuse I give them. They don’t know…or they don’t care.  
A trickle of blood slides down to my lip, but I ignore it. No one in the cars around me can see me through all the rain. They can’t see the blood…the bruises…the Blackest Black mascara streaking down my face.
I don’t want to cry anymore. 
The thump-squeak, thump-squeak of the windshield wipers is off beat with the rain pounding hard on the roof. It’s too loud. It’s too much. I’m having a hard time seeing the road. I’m having a hard time seeing a lot of things lately.
Why I let him treat me like shit.
Why I let him hit me.
Why I can’t let him go.
It wasn’t always this way. He was amazing in the beginning. He worshipped me. Now all I seem to do is make him angry. But we used to have a lot of good times. For our first month anniversary he gave me a stuffed pink flamingo because he knew I’m obsessed with them. I named him Flappy since one of his wings wouldn’t lay flat.  We argued about what a stupid name that was, but in the end I got my way. On our second anniversary he gave me a silver heart necklace with our names engraved on the back. He told me he loved me that night. He’s never said that to any girl before. And deep down I know he does love me. He’s just got some…stuff to work through. 
His step-dad used to beat him. He showed me the scars and got tears in his eyes when he told me. His step-dad was a monster. His mom was never around much. He never knew his real dad. That’s why he needs me. No one has ever loved him like I do. I can help him heal from everything his family did to him. Yeah, it hurts to be the one he takes his anger out on, but that won’t be forever. I just have to wait it out. 
If I leave him, he has no one. 
I just got a text. I hope it’s not my parents. I can’t go home now looking like this.
It’s him.

<I’m so sorry>

My heart does a little flip as I pull over to text him back. It takes me a few minutes to figure out what I’m going to say....if I’m even going to say anything at all. Outside the rain's slowing down to a drizzle and it's time to let him know how I feel.

<Me, too>



paxamo,

5/9/13

Making History


Believe it or not, there IS progress being made on the second book in the Solitary Sky Series (SSS). True, it doesn't have a title yet, but usually I don't have a title until it's finished...and it's nowhere near that. The shame of my writer's block is now semi-public...and I'm hoping the semi-mortification of that fact will light a fire under me and keep me writing.  If that doesn't work, I might just have to do weekly updates of my progress so that I'll have more to answer to than just myself.

Tough love.

Oh, the horror.

Though not a lot of actual writing has happened around here lately, I have been working on the book...books 2 & 3 together, really. I've been working out plot-lines and extensive backstory...y'know the stuff that goes way back and all over the place but most of it never ends up in the actual book? Yeah, that.  Turns out there was so much backstory...and it was really getting intriguing...so I decided to do something I have never done before. Something I swore I'd never do. Something I truly believed was not in the realm of possibility for me to even think of taking on.


I'm going to write a historical fiction novel.




No, I'm serious.

I'm taking that plunge...accepting the challenge to myself...stomping out on that limb -- which means I'm either somewhat ballsy...chock full o'nuts...or just not fit for duty.  Whatever else I am, I'm about to be a historical fiction writer...but not until after book 3 in the SSS is finished, of course.


Check-in for this week finds us at the third chapter in book two...tentatively titled "Stranger".  This chapter is almost finished, so hopefully I'll be done with it and well into chapter 4 or 5 by next check-in...if not, you seriously need to kick me in the ass.
I'll be expecting it.

No more blocks for me.


paxamo,