by Christine | Writer Wednesday, Writing
Writer Wednesday
Today we’re welcoming in author Shawny Romkey with her YA paranormal romance novel, Speak of the Devil. I, for one, can’t WAIT to read this book!
The lovely Shawna Romkey
Let’s find out a little about Shawna before we check out her book, shall we?
BIO:
Shawna grew up in around farms in the heart of Missouri but went to the University of Kansas, was raised in the US but now lives on the ocean in Nova Scotia with her husband, two sons, two rescue dogs and one overgrown puppy from hell. She’s a non-conformist who follows her heart.
She has her BA in creative writing from the University of Kansas where one of her plays was chosen by her creative writing professor to be produced locally, and two of her short stories were published in a university creative arts handbook. She earned her MA in English from Central Missouri State University where she wrote a novel as her thesis.
She’s taught English at the university and secondary levels for close to twenty years and can’t quite fathom how all of her students have grown up, yet she’s managed to stay the same. She’s a huge geek and fan of Xena, Buffy and all kick ass women, and loves to write stories that have strong female characters.
Now for the Cover, the Blurb, and the Excerpt!
What happens when falling in love and falling from grace collide?
After dying in a car accident with her two best friends, Lily miraculously awakens to grief and guilt. She escapes to her dad’s to come to terms with the event and meets some people at her new school who seem all too eager to help her heal. Sliding deeper into sorrow and trying to fight her feelings for two of them, she finds out who…what they really are and that they are falling too.
Can she find the strength to move on from the past, reconcile her feelings for Luc, find a way to stop a divine war with fallen angels, and still pass the eleventh grade?
EXCERPT:
Rain fell, not uncommon for late spring in Missouri. “If you don’t like the weather here,” my grandfather would say, “wait five minutes.” Of course, I’d visited distant relatives in Maine once before, and they said the same thing.
Julie fumbled with the wipers while I pulled the sun visor down to check my face in its little rectangular mirror, even though I’d only left my vanity like five minutes ago. The lights on either side lit up the interior of the car. I reached into my tiny party purse to find my lip gloss, which was easy to locate since I’d only packed the essentials in my bag: phone, some cash, and make-up. As I glanced at myself, I saw Mike in the reflection, smiling at me from the back seat. I stuck my tongue out at him, making him laugh, and put on the lip-gloss, fully aware of how flirty I acted.
The windshield wipers couldn’t keep up with the sudden downpour. The pitter-patter turned to thumping. Hail came down in gumball-sized pellets. “Damn.” Julie jerked the steering wheel to keep The Whale off the curb.
“Slow down, Jules.” Mike gripped Julie’s headrest. “We can pull over until it passes.”
“Yeah.” She squinted to see the road before her.
I pressed my lips together to smooth out the gloss. “Damn is right. I didn’t bring a jacket.”
The Whale swerved to the right crunching along the gravel on the side of the road. I braced myself in my seat. Julie leaned up to the steering wheel and peered over it as my grandmother sometimes did when she drove. I squinted because of the stupid light up visor mirror. I slammed it shut, but Julie panicked and over corrected, pulling The Whale to the left and careening over the yellow dotted line in the middle of the street.
“Julie!” Mike shouted.
Time slowed and ticked out in heartbeats.
Ba bum.
Julie cringed, her hands moving up to shield her face. Her head turned away from the highway.
Ba bum.
Mike reached protectively from the back seat.
Ba bum.
The headlights illuminated the rail of the overpass.
Ba bum.
The car hit the rail on the opposite side of the road with a hard thud.
Ba bum.
Crap. We’re going over the bridge.
Ba bum.
The Whale’s nose pointed down toward the water.
Ba bum.
A jolt forward and my forehead slammed into the dashboard.
Ba bum.
The Whale flipped in the air. I’m upside down.
Ba bum.
Pain.
Ba bum.
Did my mom say good-bye when I left?
Ba bum.
Cold water rushed into the car.
Ba bum.
Is this it?
Ba bum.
I can’t breathe. Oh my God, I can’t breathe. I can’t see or breathe!
My heart quickened. It pounded. The Whale leaned on its side under the surface of the water which rushed in fast, and I couldn’t see a damn thing.
Calm, stay calm. Don’t panic. They say when you’re drowning not to panic because you use up your air faster.
Dammit, am I drowning?
I tried to get myself upright and jerked out of my seatbelt. Luckily, it gave way. I fought the latch to open the door facing up, but the pressure of the water from Black Water River held it closed, trapping me inside.
Jesus. I know this river. It’s more of a creek. It can’t be more than fifteen feet across and ten feet deep. I pushed at the door. Opening my mouth to scream, I swallowed water.
I couldn’t see or hear Julie or Mike. My watch ticked. Or was it my heart beating?
Ba bum. Ba bum. Ba bum.
Darkness.
Silence.
Cold.
Wet.
Defying gravity.
Nothing.
The dreams came. Like a good sleep you don’t want to wake up from. I felt heavy and floaty. I wore this long white gauzy gown and the wind blew my dress and my hair like in some feminine hygiene commercial. I could breathe slowly and deeply. Completely relaxed and at peace, but I was alone.
I floated along in a white space for a while. Drifting. Breathing. Relaxing. Had I gone to a spa? After an immeasurable amount of time, others appeared. They wore white clothing, too, and they floated like me, reaching out. They opened their arms as if to welcome me to them.
I stopped and frowned. I heard no sound, and I didn’t know who these white floaty people were or why they welcomed me. They smiled, genuinely happy, and held their arms out to me. I panicked.
Where’s my mom? My family? Wait, Mike and Julie were just with me, where are they? Are those wings?
I noticed the others floating with me had white feathery wings.
“Lily,” one of them called out.
Holy hell. I’m dead.
WOW! What an excerpt – I know Shawna’s going to be around today, so if you have any questions, let her have ’em in the comments!
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by Christine | Observations, Writing
Traps Abound
It’s been years since I’ve played this game…
Remembering to be aware of traps and leeches is something that I have to remind myself of every so often, especially after going through last years’ receipts. Every writer should beware of the traps set for the unwary. Unfortunately, every trap is different, too, depending on the person and where they are in their career. So I decided to share with you the stuff that’s tripped me up over the past few years.
In no particular order, here are the things I have learned to be wary of as I go about building my career.
1. People Who Make Money Off of Writers. Every art form has them, the people who are like leeches, bleeding those who can least afford to spend the money because we’re desperate for guidance. (These are the people who get actors and dancers to perform for free, because every actor and dancer isn’t quite who they think they are when they aren’t performing. I’ve been both, and I get it.) Who are these people making money off you? They are those who profess to know what you need to learn because they have done it, and now are willing to teach you. I’m not saying all teachers are in it just for the money; in many instances, you can find good teachers at reasonable rates (especially online) who will teach you what you need to know/want to learn.
Plus many teachers are very good at it, and they do it because they see a need and they know they can fulfill that need. But when those rates go sky-high? (Tip: Just because it’s expensive doesn’t mean it’s a good class.) When the class is less than satisfactory? Yeah, then you have a problem. YOU ARE BETTER OFF WRITING YOUR NEXT BOOK than take a class you really can’t afford and might not get much out of. That said, classes can be vital to our growth. Budget your class money, and be very careful how you spend it or you’ll be like me. I’ve got several classes that I’ve spent over a hundred dollars each on last year, and you know what? Few of those classes were memorable and made a difference in my work. And now money is tight. If I’d saved that money, I could have gone to National Conference this year. Lesson learned.
2. Beware Of Other Writers’ “How To Do (whatever)”. This one is similar, and yet a little different from the one above. If you are like me, and you go to conferences and writer’s meetings, you have all these people sharing their way (or “a” way) to do things. Like, plot. How many different plotting structures are there? Without thinking too hard about it, I can think of 4. The problem for me is, none of these work AS I’M WRITING. Now, that may just be me, but still – I’ve had workshops totally mess me up and paralyze my writing. Not pretty.
I came to this epiphany at the SoCal RWA Conference last month. I was lucky enough to continue a dialog I had started with the fantastic Brenda Chin back at Desert Dreams last year. (My other posts about Brenda are here and here.) So, we’d talked about a book I’d sent to her and she said the plot needed work. We talked, I revised the plot and sent in the synopsis to her, and we met up at the SoCal RWA Conference where she said, yeah – there’s too much plot.
But but but – I had used the Latest and Greatest Plotting Device in my Toolbox – The Blake Snyder Save The Cat way to plot! (Blinks eyelashes, widens eyes innocently.) How can it possibly be too much? (Trust me, it was. Too much. Way. WAY. Too much. Maybe not for a single title, but DEFINITELY too much for a category romance.) Just another instance of how a great new “tool” can totally derail you. (Or maybe that’s just me.) Yes, be a sponge. Absorb all you can. Then let it all go, and just write.
(BTW – Brenda sat with me and explained the nuances of a catagory romance plot. Book is in progress. I’m a happy girl!) (Also BTW – you’d think, after reading the books for so many years, it would be ingrained. It wasn’t. Sigh.)
3. Jealousy This one hurts. Mainly because it hurts all ways around. There are some people I know who have marvelous careers that started writing at about the same time I did. I’ve learned to be happy for them and only mildly envious, instead of wildly jealous. Jealousy does no one any good. I have come to learn that, had I had early success with my writing, I most likely would have burned out because I wasn’t that good. No, seriously. I had a lot to learn. I STILL have a lot to learn, and I’m looking forward to that journey. I am content with my path because, frankly, everyone’s path to success will look different. Kick jealousy to the curb, you won’t regret it.
4. Anyone Who Promises You A Fast Solution is lying. There are none. There is no magical way to lose weight except through hard work. There is no magical way to become a brilliant writer except through hard work. There is no magical way to become a better person/good mother/loving spouse/best friend/critique partner except through hard work. No one will hand you a career. You have to work hard for it. Anyone who promises a fast solution is talking about moving money from your pocket to theirs. They win, you lose.
5. Anyone Who Says “You Must” or “Must Not” With Regards To Your Career. Be REALLY wary about these people, because often (but not always – see #1) they are people in power. At my very first conference (2002), I had an editor tell me that paranormal was dead on arrival, and try something else. Three years later, Ms. Meyer set the ball rolling with Twilight. Do take whatever your agent/editor says seriously, take it and live with it and make it your own – but if your gut rebels, then look at the relationship. Open that dialog again, and work it out with the person who gave it to you. Don’t take their position on an issue at face value. If after discussion it still doesn’t sit right, then their advice isn’t for you. This may change your career, but hell – IT’S YOUR CAREER. Not theirs.
6. Be Careful on Social Media. This should also be called the “don’t bash anyone” point. You may have been dismissed by every publisher in the business; but that doesn’t mean it’s okay to Indie pub your book and then trash talk about all publishing houses everywhere on social media. All that does is make you look childish and, perhaps, a wee bit unstable. Instead, use the trite but true “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say it at all” when it comes to social media. Because honey, what goes on the internet never dies.
I am a soft touch. I’m easily convinced the next wonderpill will make me look like a 20 y/o Victoria’s Secret model (after airbrushing) in real life. That the next skin cream will have people looking at me with delight and wonder at my glowing vitality. That a stranger will come up to me on the street and tell me I’m beautiful. (Oh, wait – that really did happen. Twenty years ago.) I’ve learned the hard way, and I no longer have the money to toss away on a class that won’t get me anything but a handful of followers (or whatever).
So I’m passing on my hard-won knowledge (for free, lol!). Please, all you wonderful writers and actors and dancers and photographers and artists and game designers out there just trying out your wings – please be careful. Search out the traps. Spend your money wisely. Keep working at your craft and keep your eyes open for new opportunities, and beware of those selling promise-covered snake oil. There are no short cuts.
We Need More Writers and Poets, Dreamers and Lovers in the World.
Without them, the world is a poorer place. Do you have a lesson to share? Please do!
~ Until the next time…Cheers! ~
~oOo~
Demon Soul and Demon Hunt are available for the Kindle and Kobo! Have you fallen into the Caine Brothers’ world yet?
by Christine | Life, Observations, Writing
It’s been twenty years since my brother Scott died. Twenty years. Which means my youngest son will be twenty this year. How did this happen? (For I am still a mere seventeen myself.)
My brother Scott Cunningham
I remember the day. It was a Saturday; my husband had two shows that day in Hollywood, and I had just been lazing around the house, being pregnant and happy and playing with my two year old. Until that afternoon, when my parents called.
I couldn’t believe it and yet it was utterly believable. The last time I had seen Scott, my heart had broken, and I will spare you the details. The time before that was in January, and we’d gone to lunch. Our conversation ranged over many topics and lunch, as I remember, took hours. I wish now I had recorded our conversation.
Anyway, the phone rang and my world shifted. It had happened to me before; the year I turned twenty, both my cousin Lori and a dear friend named Mark had died. Two separate, tragic instances separated my months and geography; both of which my parents had called to tell me about.
But those paled in comparison.
As Rosamund Pilcher said in her novel Coming Home, and I’m paraphrasing; Until you were told a loved one had died, they were there, living their lives, going about their business. It was the telling that killed. That last sentence has stayed with me. Haunted me, because it is true.
We knew his death was coming; it had been a long haul, three years of decline. Three years of giving our love, doing our best to banter the way we always did while hiding our shock at how thin he grew. Three years of feeling him slipping away. So by March we were taking it a day at a time.
Then I got the call.
In 1993, we had pagers. So in my grief, I paged my husband, who had to go on stage just then (in a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream), so he thrust the pager at his friend Paul, and said call her. Paul called me and I told him about Scott; Paul had been at our wedding, and he had met my brother. Paul was on one side of the stage when Tom looked at him – and from Paul’s expression, Tom knew.
I cannot do justice to Scott, for I am only a sister, one he fought with, laughed with, at times protected, and loved. But here are some places you can go to hear from people who knew him, probably better than I.
Donald Michael Kraig wrote this article on Scott. The Llewellyn Worldwide Publications site has his books listed, and they’re all on Amazon as well. And someone put up this video that Scott did on YouTube and while I normally wouldn’t do this, here’s a link. Because this is so totally Scott, lol.
And we can’t forget the Wikipedia site.
Two of the books I love:
The Magical Household by Scott Cunningham and David Harrington
and Whispers of the Moon by David Harrington and deTraci Regula,
which is the biography they did of him.
Though, seriously, all of his books show a side of Scott I only barely grazed as we were growing up. We shared an apartment for a little while; but through our childhood, we shared a bond that I feel will never be broken.
My older brother Greg and I miss him, and we cling perhaps tighter to each other with one of us gone, so long ago now.
The moon is full, Spring is here, and it’s been twenty years since Scott’s passing. But I like to think he’d still recognize me, even with my thinning hair and thickening body, for my smile is still as bright and my arms still hug tight. I shall go outside into the moonlight tonight, and pour some wine into the soil for him.
Hug those you love, for our time is short in this world. A last note: I know I’m not the only one who has lost a sibling/spouse/parent/friend/cousin. As Gregor Caine says, “We all have our dead.” May we honor those who have gone before us, and love and cherish those who are still with us.
~ Until the next time. ~
~oOo~
Demon Soul and Demon Hunt are all available for the Kindle and Kobo! Have you fallen into the Caine Brothers’ world yet?
by Christine | Life, Writer Wednesday, Writing
Chet Cunningham
Okay, so. On Sunday, as my last post here said, Tom (the hubs) and I went to see my Daddy and to work in his garden. Well, Tom worked in the garden. I interviewed my dad. See, there’s a lot I never knew/don’t remember/mom never told me. And now mom is gone (6 years in April), so she can’t talk to me.
So I’m interviewing my Dad, Chet Cunningham, every time I go down to see him now. About everything I can think of/dare to ask (and there are some areas I haven’t even considered broaching yet, but I’ll get there). Here it is (and here’s a picture).
Chet Cunningham, June 2011
Interview No. 1.
Me: So, Daddy. How did you become a writer?
Chet Cunningham: The stock answer is in high school, I had an essay test in English on a book I don’t remember now. I wasn’t too sure of the answer, so I wrote down everything I could remember. Got an A on the paper, and an A in the class. And I said, hey, this writing thing is easy.
Me: I had to laugh at this, because I learned in the 8th grade (history I think) that I could ACE essay tests. Who knew that’s where I got it from?
Me: What happened next?
CC: I signed up as a journalist major with Pacific University in Forest Grove, Oregon. But I didn’t pass the English test, so I got put into bonehead English. And the professor in charge of Journalism said, you can’t be a journalism major if you’re in bonehead English. I said to him, by the way, I’ve sold a couple of articles to the Portland Journal. He said to me, selling a couple articles doesn’t make you a journalist.
Now, the emphasis in the classes I was taking was toward working on a newspaper, but I wanted to write for magazines.
Me: What was your first writing job?
CC: A buddy of mine, Hans Running and I, had a photography business during college. A way to make some extra money. He saw that the Central Oregonian was looking for a reporter, I applied, and I got the job. I graduated, then two months later, I got drafted.
Me: That would be for the Korean War, right?
CC: Right. After I came home, I applied to Columbia University to the Master’s Program in Journalism.
Me: Wow. What was Columbia like?
CC: Fast and furious. One of my professors told all us new kids to be sure go do the tourist stuff. Go to the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, the museums, see a play or two or three on Broadway, walk in Central Park. Do it while you’re here, because you may never get back. So Rosie and I did all the touristy things.
It wasn’t until later that I found out the college was reaching out to as many states as possible for students, and I was the only student who applied from Oregon. Columbia is also where I learned to never, never, never use the word “very”. It’s the weakest word in the English language.
Me: I remember you telling me that years ago. Okay, let’s skip ahead. You wanted to be a writer, and you wrote. What kind of writers’ books did you read? Any craft books?
CC: No.
Me: *totally shocked* No?
CC: No. I wasn’t brought up to read. That wasn’t how I learned the best. So I just wrote.
Me: But you wrote westerns. Your first western – you sold Bushwhackers in the Circle K in 1968.
CC: I got a grand total of $300 for it, too. I decided to learn how to write westerns – my dad by that time was reading lots of Louis L’Amour. So I read all I could, and marked them up, and wrote the book. And sold it. The editor, he said, “Well, it’s not the best book I’ve read, but I’ll buy it.”
Me Again.
So there you have it. My dad, Chet Cunningham, who’s had over 300 novels published not to mention all his non-fiction books, has never read a writing craft book. This was so illuminating to me. Why?
I’ve read many books on writing. The best ones, in my opinion, don’t tell you what to do, but just keep encouraging you to do it. The War of Art by Pressfield, for instance, or On Writing by Stephen King.
I’ve read books, taken how-to classes, learned different story structures, and all of them seem to tie me up into over-writing paralysis. For instance, I can’t even begin to use Donald Maas’ “Writing The Breakout Novel” way to write. It tangles me up in knots and I can’t do it. It’s not for me. It might work well for you, and that’s terrific.
I wrote a synopsis based on Blake Snyder’s Save The Cat, and guess what? TOO MUCH PLOT. Okay, maybe that one will work for a single title, but not a shorter novel. And then I remembered something else my dad taught me, years ago when I had just begun to write. I asked him how he structured his synopses.
He said, just tell the story in first person, present tense on the page. Don’t use too many pages, don’t tell too many little details.
Brilliant advice, Daddy.
The hands that wrote the books.
Did I mention he’s got arthritis?
~~~
Do you have any books on writing that really worked for you? How about ways of plotting? Please share!
~ Until the next time, cheers! ~
~oOo~
Demon Soul and Demon Hunt are all available for the Kindle and Kobo! Have you fallen into the Caine Brothers’ world yet?
by Christine | Writing
I am having the very devil of a time getting this post together today – so sorry! It’s been a madhouse here – I’m behind on everything at work, and I need to get at least 2k words written before I go to sleep tonight. So – a bit frantic, but in a very good way.
Conference was WONDERFUL. I had my best booksigning ever, and my workshop was well-attended. Plus I received a thank you note from one of the conference attendees who came to my workshop! Staggered and flabbergasted, and very pleased.
Having a grand old time signing books at the SoCal RWA Conference, March 17, 2013.
I promise to do a proper recap later. In the meantime, my thanks to Christine Leo for snapping the photo. I shall float on the remembered high of hugging friends, getting writing support, and learning for the past three days. My Roomie Dayle and I had the best time, despite both of us being on the ill side. Well, walking 4.5 miles round trip to get Chinese food for dinner that first night didn’t end up being the smartest decision we made…but now it’s a story, lol!
And I won’t go into our last minute decision to hit the bar before it closed…
Cheers – and have a great day!
by Christine | Wine Friday, Writing
Today is the beginning of the SoCal RWA Conference in Santa Ana, California. Which means I get to spend the better part of three days with writers and agents and editors while I learn and laugh…what’s not to like about that?
On Sunday, I’ll be participating in a large public book signing, where I’ll be signing copies of DEMON HUNT and DEMON SOUL. I sure hope there are a lot of So Cal peeps down there who like paranormal romance!
So you might be asking yourself, what wine goes with a conference? Well, since I’m not too sure about the hotel prices, I always say bring your own. And since my go-to wine is Smoking Loon Pinot Noir, that’s what I’ll be bringing.
I’m doing a Book Camp this afternoon, then going to a cocktail/reception party tonight. Tomorrow morning I’m doing some volunteer work, then diving into workshops all day. Dinner with friends tomorrow night, woot!
Sunday is my big day – I’m giving a workshop at 9am (against some
incredible speakers). It will be interesting to see how many people show up for my workshop! Maybe I’ll bring chocolate…
Then there’s a luncheon, and finally – from 1pm to 2:30pm – the book signing. So – lots to do! And as I’m leaving here at 9:30am to pick up the faboo Dayle Dermatis, my roommate for this venture, I’d better get packed, don’t you think?
Here’s hoping YOUR weekend will be jam-packed with friends, laughter, good food and good wine.
~ Until the next time, cheers – and remember to drink responsibly! ~
~oOo~
Demon Soul and Demon Hunt are all available for the Kindle and Kobo! Have you fallen into the Caine Brothers’ world yet?
