This question I’m sure comes up a lot for people to ask authors, and authors to answer. “How did you write your book?” I know with some authors, everything is sketched out beforehand, then elaborated and cleaned up as it is written. Others, like me, tend to just start writing and the story goes where it will. Both work. Just because you can’t write like your favorite author should tell you something. You’re not that person. Write to tell a story your way. It takes time and practice. It’s worth it in the end.
I’ve found all the effort behind the scenes to be a real education. The publishers asked, and helped me get these sites set up in Google+, Twitter, Facebook, and here. The idea is to introduce myself, quirks and all, to people, and get you all curious about the crazy person behind the screen. 😉 Seriously though, publishing a book is a lot of work for all involved. This is just one part, trying to create interest. I freely admit to not being the best or most experienced poster. So this is education in itself, which is exciting and frustrating for me. I’m a very shy person in real life so getting me on something like this is akin to walking nude in public. Anyways, to those who read this, thanks for sharing a bit of your day. 🙂
A fiery crash ended a life today, one that had such promise.
Drugs, rebellion, and anger tore it from that path.
The woman stole a car, then tried to run away.
The police didn’t let her go, and neither did her despair.
The wreck killed her quickly, her body crushed beyond hope.
The promise in young eyes is gone.
The promise of youth is wasted.
The future is gone, and the memories are oil spattered dust
on a faceless road where no one will remember what was taken
by the choices, and the cost of them.
((This is an excerpt of the first story in the old City of Heroes MMO that I joined. I can’t thank everyone in that game enough. They showed me how much fun a cooperative game is.))
“OK”, said Flash-Over, “Plan B”. “What’s that?”, I said. Jack just tackled me and screamed “‘Kickers down!” Then the whole world went up. My legs, where Jack hadn’t been able to cover me with the tackle, felt like they had just been dipped in molten lava. I screamed as the pain hit me. A pulse of heat-generated pressure hammered the breath out of me.
I panicked and Jack just held me down for a few moments more, then got off me and I got a chance to look around. Most of the Tsoo were down with second and third degree burns, and a lot of the crates looked worse off than the Tsoo did. Hyper-Man was the first off the ground and he cut loose on the lone remaining sorcerer and hammered him flat. “Anybody else want a shot!” Hyper-Man called out. Groans and dropping weapons eloquently answered his question. This fight was over.
“Listen, pledge, this was a rough introduction to the team, but we are glad to have you. Err, by the way, your pants are smoking. “Uh…..thanks”, I said, still dazed from the blast. I looked around at all the scorched and burned people and crates. “What was that?” “That was Flash-Over, and ‘Plan B’ means find cover ’cause its gonna get hot.” “Does she do that often?” “No, just when she gets pissed at something, or we’re in it deep.” I looked around again and spotted a forklift that had been near me when the blast happened. The forks were sagged and looked like they had been halfway melted, which they had. “Remind me to stay on her good side.”
Currently, Glass Bottles (or whatever the eventual name will be), is in review. It’s expected that there will be two more edits and reviews to iron out any logic gaps and story bumps. In the meantime I’m going over book two, and doing some short story writing for fun. I don’t think any of the shorts will be published, but you never know. I just like the chance to try out ideas.
Zhirk turned Hervald over. A small bottle clung to the side of his hand. I squatted down to get a better view. It was made of an odd looking metallic glass. A small cork stopper lay on the floor.
I looked Hervald over carefully. His eyes were open and glassy. Spittle dribbled from the corner of his mouth, dripping to the carpet and soaking slowly in. His chest rose and fell shallowly, so he wasn’t dead. It was like no one was home at all. I looked again at the bottle and sounded out a small spell to see if magick was active. The moment the spell activated, I had to douse it, as the power nearly burned my eyes from their sockets. The bottle was glowing like a small sun. What the hell was going on here?