A new day. April 13th. Two months since Blood Child came out and I have three five star reviews, which is awesome. As of today, nearly two hundred copies of Blood Child are out in the world. It is weird, wonderful and still completely surreal.
The book is selling. My book is selling.
I am a published author.
The reviews are good. There just aren’t enough of them, yet. It is the bane of every author’s existence. You write a good, maybe even great book and the reviews just aren’t there. It doesn’t take off.
You lose hope.
But you are a writer. So you keep on going. And going.
I am working on my second book.
My second book and it isn’t easier than the first. It is hard to manage everything I have going on in my life. I want to be able to write for a living and the more I think about how things are going the more I know that I need to make some sacrifices. Stop working so hard on maintaining my income and do what I love.
I love writing and telling stories. I love interacting with readers and working on this blog.
The only way to get better is to write more and put myself out there more. The only way to sell more books is to write more of them and perfect your craft.
Do what you love. Find a way to be happy today and don’t wait for tomorrow, because all we have is today.
If you’d like more information on Lucinda’s work subscribe to this blog, follow her on Twitter or like her page on Facebook. Her new novella, Blood Child is available on Amazon.
Every Sunday between now and September I will be sitting at desk for eight and a half hours. Eight and a half hours of potential writing time if I can multi-task. A dream come true for a lot of writers even if the price is talking to tourists; people who’s IQ seems to drop the moment they decide to go on vacation. But, I have access to a computer, the internet and a boss who lets me write so long as I get my work done.
One of the things that I do to keep myself from going crazy is watch TV shoes on Hulu. It keeps the stillness of the office from overwhelming me. At the moment, I am watching the 100, a new series on the CW which is gaining in popularity. It seems that Americans are obsessed with dystopian futures. Perhaps it is our discontentment with the current state of world affairs. Or maybe we have just had enough of happily ever after and need something with some grit.
In the 100, the nuclear Armageddon that sent school children around the world under the desks for thirty years as finally taken place and the only surviving human are those living on a space station called the Ark. Only nine-seven years in the future, the Ark’s systems are failing and life-support can no long support everyone on the station. People are already beginning to suffer the effects of oxygen deprivation. So, 100 juvenile prisoners are exiled to the surface to see if it is safe.
It is a well written drama with expert twists making it great food for inspiration. I can see the classic archetypal characters running everywhere throughout the show. It gives me ideas for how to make my own characters more complex. This afternoon, I hope to brainstorm some ideas for a short story to be submitted to a horror anthology at the end of May. Maybe I will watch some Hannibal after the next episode of the 100.
What inspires your writing or gets your creative juices following?
I love plays on words and people who play with them as well, which is why I always jump at the opportunity to read something by Edward Medina. So when he said he was coming out with a story for Valentine’s Day, I was ready and waiting for the Corpse of Madeline Hill to be released and late last night it was.
So here we are back reviewing new releases on Friday’s.
And what a lovely place it is. A quaint grave yard at the end of a quiet lane. Elites buried next to no bodies with as Medina writes “No walls nor fence or gate encircles it. Whatever unrest exists here is free to come and go at its pleasure.” And on the top of hill buried here is the tale of Madeline Hill. A tale that every ghost lover must read. It is the tale behind a mystery. One forgotten over the years not due to the weight of time, but because the story was really too horrible to retell. It was easier to try and bury it then deal with the consequences of looking the other way.
But, Madeline Hill is not a woman to be ignored. It doesn’t matter that she’s dead. She will be heard and her revenge felt long after her death.
Edward’s classical storytelling style with its lyrical style is at play through out the tale, although there are a few tiny bumps. This story continues his recent trend towards dark and sexy storytelling. I love the references to wine making as well as the historical ones to the Civil War and classical themes; honor and loyalty versus self-interest and greed.
I encourage you to read this story, because it is honestly one of the best short stories that I have read in a long time and reading it will encourage him to write more like it. I for one would like to see a novel written with the same skill, passion and artistry that this story was written with, because honestly this story like his last short story release left me begging for more.
His decision to release it on Valentine’s Day makes it the perfect gift. You can pick up this wicked little Valentine for only $0.99 on Amazon.
One of my favorite authors, Stant Litore, has begun Kickstarter campaign to help fund his latest project.
Here is it in his own words. If you can please invest in this unique project, thank you.
Whether you want to read about a zombie apocalypse in the Middle East in 1160 BC, or in second-century Rome, or enjoy the dark, brooding, philosophical horror of the Old Testament prophet Jeremiah entombed with the undead in a dry well — The Zombie Bible has incredible stories to tell.
I began the series in 2009 and published the first novel in fall 2011.
I’m still struggling to break even financially with the series, given my daughter’s continuing medical crisis; she has suffered debilitating seizures since she was 11 days old. A moment of profound wonder and blessing in my life was the moment that her medical bills and my royalties began arriving on the very same day, allowing me to cancel out those expenses.
So far, this set of standalone, read-them-in-any-order novels includes:
Death Has Come Up into Our Windows – an Old Testament prophet trapped in a dry well with the ravenous dead.
What Our Eyes Have Witnessed – Polycarp has a Gift. He can bring rest and peace to the restless dead. But Rome might burn him for it.
Strangers in the Land – A zombie apocalypse in 1160 BC Israel. Four must stand against the dead…if they can first stand together.
Right now, as I write this, I’m wrapping up the fourth book, No Lasting Burial, retelling a New Testament story (you can read about it here), and I am deep into planning something amazing.
Now I want to do something even bigger. Something even more ambitious. Something daring.
This summer, I want to undertake my largest project yet — a project of a truly epic scope. A 700-1000 page novel in which one courageous woman will lead thousands of refugees from the ruins of zombie-infested Rome. This novel has quiet, intimate moments and panoramic set pieces grander than anything I’ve ever attempted:
The Colosseum converted into a refugee camp, defended by a small band of gladiators
The descent of an angel by night over Rome (and by angel, don’t think of a little cherub of wings. Think seraph. Picture a being of grace and beauty and unthinkable power, a being that might juggle supernovas like tennis balls).
A face-off with the Roman emperor while zombies blaze in flames behind his throne.
A desperate exodus down a road lined with tens of thousands of crosses, on which the Roman legions in their rage and grief have crucified the writhing, moaning undead.
A final escape sequence that will leave you awed. All I can tell you about it right now is that it is big.
I am very excited about this project. More than I can possibly express.
I have proven that I can deliver a moving, evocative, and thrilling novel that mashes up history, biblical stories and themes, and zombie horror. Now I want to take this to the next level. I want to deliver not just a zombie story, but a zombie epic.
Undertake some ambitious research this summer and fall, while I continue outlining and sketching the key sequences of the novel.
Secure a series of retreats or a “sabbatical” during the winter 2013-14 and spring 2014 — time away to just write. There are 1,000 pages of story to tell, and for both my readers’ sake and my own, I don’t want it to take as long to complete as A Game of Thrones.
I want to ask for your help raising a $10,000 crowd-sourced advance to fund my work on this novel, and I want to invite you into the excitement of its creation.
Some of the higher-tier prizes you’ll find over to the right offer exclusive previews into the novel in the midst of the creative process — or even offer you opportunity to brainstorm with me. I hope you’ll check them out, and consider joining me in this adventure in a hands-on way.
But even if all you have is a dollar in your pocket, I’d appreciate your help. A kickstarter campaign is all-or-nothing; I have to make that $10,000 goal to receive any funding. And a dollar may make all the difference in helping make this unique novel happen.
Warren Bronck had had enough so he took a rowboat out to sea. He had grown tired of all the jibber jabber, folderol, and twaddle of the populous at large. All he wanted was a place to fish that was all his own. All he wanted was some peace and quiet.
Everyone knows that pelicans are natural fishers of the seas. Everyone knows that they are jovial, even-tempered, celebratory creatures. Warren Bronck was a pelican, but he was none of those other things. If you encountered him in the morning he was usually grumpy. By evening he was normally using a great deal of salty language.
Other than his temperament Warren was a striking figure of a pelican. He was tall, big chested, and had a deep rich voice. To most, he seemed distinguished and charming. In truth he was such a master of the obvious and ironic that no…
The challenges of finishing Blood Child, a horror novella, have been adding up over the last week as my writing sessions have become less and less productive. Still, I am not giving up and will un-bury the ending. It is in my mind I can see it, but the words are slow in coming. So day by day, I plot and type away. The end is in sight, it is just a bit fuzzy.
Below is a preview of my novella, Blood Child, which I am working on finishing by the end of this month. The story began with the first line and the image of a woman stalking away from an open door. Enjoy and let me know what you think, please and thank you.
“I am not drunk enough to talk about it, now.”
The interview I had lobbied over six months for just turned on her heels and walked back into the shadows of the house, leaving the door wide open giving me an excellent view of her curves. My appreciation was short lived as cool air slapped me as I hesitated before the threshold trying to take in the house’s details. The ten foot walk from the car to the house, however, had broken me out in a sweat making it difficult to concentrate. It wasn’t even May, and already Florida was managing to melt British tourists and small yippy dogs into smelly sticky puddles. British born myself it was only being raised in the U.S. that kept me from disintegrating.
Watching the current Countess Bathory return with a fresh glass it occurred to me that she was nothing like her infamous blood bathing ancestor. She had no aura of power or authority. She was, in fact, a wino, judging from the bin overflowing with bottles on the front porch.
Albeit, an incredibly attractive one. Technically, she wasn’t a countess having renounced the title, but not the money. Only people in fairy tales give up both and usually that is for love. As far as I knew, Ms. Bathory, was single.
Nothing about Emily Bath made sense. She was richer than Donald Trump and had more degrees than Neil Degrass Tyson, yet she lived in a tiny orchid colored house with floors that creak with each every step in a mismatched Orlando neighborhood and taught high school. She could have done anything and willing chose to work in high school hell. Literary since she didn’t work in a regular school, but an alternative one for students who had been kicked out of other schools.
The interior was modest, if not a little old fashion for a twenty-something heiress. There was no TV in sight just bookshelves and seating. All the furnishings looked like they were hand-me-downs from someone’s long deceased grandparents. The sofa engulfed me in patterned floral pillows. The countess smirked as I struggled to right myself. At least she had a sense of humor.
Still nothing about the home spoke of the mounds wealth she had; it was all understated and sadly normal. I expected more, craved it to be honest.
Emily Erzabet Bath was the survivor of modern day murder mystery. Nine years ago, she and her three older brothers spent the weekend at their late father’s estate in upstate New York. They died along with twenty three other souls As the ten year anniversary approached interest in the case was reemerging; making this an interview priceless. And I was the man who landed it; the first and only person to speak to the reclusive Ms. Bath. Persistence, charm and just a bit of cyber-stocking had won the day; being unemployed finally had a benefit.
The manor had been drenched in blood, literally. It dripped off of tables, pooled in puddles on the floor and had un-artfully spattered the walls. The first officers on scene inched their way around the edges of each room as they searched for survivors. They weren’t trying to preserve evidence no one wanted to step in that much blood. And with that really weren’t expecting to find anyone alive. Pieces of victims were carried out bit by bit for nearly a week. It was a forensic nightmare.
The officers who found her had to break into the room after following a blood trail to the door, only to find her cloistered in the back of the closet beneath a bunch of old musky coats stained with her blood. The combination of the smell: musky fur, stale blood and human excrement remained with the two men. Their stomachs emptied upon seeing Emily broken and begging for help with her eyes. Even mentioning her or her condition made the two turn green. They thought she was dead until her emerald eyes opened. Severely dehydrated with deep bloody scratches which had turned her flesh into ribbons; her wounds would seep blood for days after her rescue confounding the medical staff. It was months before she was released from the hospital.
Emily allegedly had fled to her room and hidden there until found. She couldn’t explain how she had gotten there or what happened that weekend. Many believed that she was at least partially responsible for the deaths of the twenty three people in attendance. Especially the media who kept the story alive even after the relatives of the deceased pleaded with them to stop.
No evidence was found linking Emily with the deaths according to the investigators’ report in my satchel. It had cost a pretty penny. Now, I was wondering if the expense had been worth it. She was just so ordinary. So painfully plain.
This month, I have challenged myself to write a blog post everyday until my birthday.
I thought two days ago that it would be difficult; especially since I was so tired I could barely keep myself awake. Today, however, my mind was flooded with ideas. The deluge didn’t stop even when I was in the shower. I am faced with great ideas and not enough time to get them all down before they fade.
Fading thoughts is the curse of every writer. Other well known curses include the Well Intentioned Friend Curse as well as the Aren’t You Done Yet Curse. I have experienced all three of these curses this month along with the Oh I Can See You Have Lost Weight Curse. The last was experienced within ten minutes of weighing myself and discovering three pounds has found their way back to me.
No matter where you leave excess weight, it always finds its way back home. Personally, I try to leave a false trail back to my annoying neighbors’ door. No offense, Mr. Smith, but your girlfriend was trying to pick up clients in my front yard again.