The “SON OF THE SERPENT” BOOK RELEASE TOUR @VashtiQV #RRBC

Hello and welcome to the final stop on the exciting book tour for the New Release “Son of The Serpent” By Vashti Quiroz-Vega!

Let’s meet Vashti!

Vashti BOOK TOUR BIO PIC photo (2)

Vashti Quiroz-Vega is a writer of Fantasy, Horror, and Thriller. Since she was a kid she’s always had a passion for writing and telling stories. It has always been easier for her to express her thoughts on paper.

She enjoys reading almost as much as she loves to write. Some of her favorite authors are Stephen King, Michael Crichton, Anne Rice, J.R.R. Tolkien, J.K. Rowling and George R. R. Martin.

She enjoys making people feel an array of emotions with her writing. She likes her audience to laugh one moment, cry the next and clench their jaws after that.

When she isn’t building extraordinary worlds and fleshing out fascinating characters, she enjoys spending time with her husband JC and her Pomeranian Scribbles who is also her writing buddy.

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Hello and welcome to the last stop on my Virtual Book Tour! Thank you so much for following along. I truly appreciate the support. And a big hug and kiss to the wonderful hosts who welcomed me so graciously to their wonderful blogs. I am very grateful.

 

Son of the Serpent is a High Fantasy|Paranormal book sprinkled with Horror and Romance. It is aimed at an 18+ audience. The book is written in 1st person POV. There are chapters written in Dracul’s voice interspersed by chronicles written in Lilith’s (the villain) voice. Today I’m going to share an excerpt from one of the Chronicles of Lilith.

 

Vashti Book Tour BANNER Last Hope

Excerpt: Chronicles of Lilith

 

As I prepared to leave Shuruppak, rumors about a man named Noah, who claimed to be God’s prophet, came to my attention. According to my human servants, this man said God speaks to him and has told him there shall be a catastrophic event. Every living thing on this planet shall perish, except those beings selected by God Himself.

The servants laughed and took pleasure in ridiculing this man. They called him insane. I, however, have learned throughout the years that there is always some truth to the ramblings of the insane. I would like to see this man, Noah, and listen to his preaching, thus my departure would have to wait.

In the middle of the night I awoke to booming thunder, the likes of which I had not heard since the days I wandered in the wilderness with Gadreel when we first arrived on this planet. I leaped out of my bed and ran to a nearby window. The sky was ominous, with large bitumen-black clouds gathering to form gigantic ones. My superior vision allowed me to see things in the darkness that no other being could. A flash of lightning lit the world white for a moment. Rain began to fall, first tapping on the window and then becoming a rapid succession of beats.

I threw on a garment and ran outside to get a better look. There were still people outdoors, servants slow to finish their tasks for the day and others who came out to see what was happening. They ran for cover as storm clouds spat their loads of water. Sharp droplets of icy-cold water needled my shoulders and back. I shivered under the prickly feeling. The rain came in torrents now. Puddles formed, and the puddles became streams. They grew into rivers. I ran to a nearby tree to take shelter under it.

I hid from the people running and screaming in fear and shifted to my serpent form. The torrent became more intense, and the night grew darker with the bruise of thick, angry clouds. A wall of rain moved over the tree I stood under, and the drops drummed against the canopy. So much water fell from the skies that the sound blurred into one long, whirring tumult.

Many of the people of Shuruppak left their flooded homes and wandered the streets like lost souls. They had never seen a storm of this magnitude. Some had only been familiar with the morning dew. I had seen enough. I spread my wings and took to the sky. Flying had never been more difficult. The rain pelted my wings, while bolts of lightning threaten to spear me as they sliced the air to my left and right.

The earth shook and sent shockwaves rippling through the ground like water, destroying houses in an instant. Fires exploded everywhere, and the smell of smoke twisting through the air between raindrops was acrid on the hot breeze. Regular clatters rang out as structures crumbled apart and fell to the ground. I needed to escape, find shelter, but where could I hide from such devastation? The skies were becoming more and more dangerous. I flew toward the coast, but my wings grew too heavy and sodden to keep me airborne. I fell to the beach.

I looked toward the coastline, wincing and moaning, feeling the pain of my fall. I had been to this beach before, but it looked strangely unfamiliar now, abnormally vast. I thought maybe the darkness of the night was playing tricks on my vision, but then I realized why the beach looked so strange. The surf had drawn back hundreds of miles; the abandoned sand twinkled in the moonlight despite the rain.

I gasped at a black line on the horizon and watched as a colossal wave swept toward me at hundreds of miles per hour—rushing, roaring, angry froth foaming from between its lips. I stared, eyes fixed, as the wave surged in. I knew it was impossible to escape it. Heat had never left my body as fast as it did in this brief moment of realization. The torrent came after me, granting me a few seconds to enjoy breathing the ocean air before it wrapped me in frigid foamy fingers and dragged me to the ocean floor.

I struggled as sand and briny water filled my lungs, causing them to expand and burn. As the wave moved, it pulled me along with it, like it wanted me to witness the devastation it would cause. My death would not be simple or fast, for the powers granted to me by the fruit from the Tree of Life would sustain me. Powers I once cherished now seemed a curse.

As the wave pushed me along, I crashed into debris in the water. Every stab, rip, and fracture my body suffered brought me immense pain. Men, women, and children drowned, their dead bodies floating around me, yet I remained alive.

The giant wave hit Shuruppak. It was nothing like the waves which lap the shore every minute of every day. This was a gigantic wall of water, cold and powerful. It came over land with the power of a volcanic blast. It moved over the city with more ease than a wave over the sand, reducing houses and structures to rubble and killing every living thing.

My broken body filled with water, sand, and debris until the weight of it fixed me to the ocean floor. People, livestock, uprooted trees, and all manner of structures floated past me. The rain continued to pour.

The sky was now hinting at sunrise. Nothing escaped my eyes and ears, but I was immobile. Every inch of my body throbbed with pain, and the cold of the water chilled my bones. As I lay motionless, I watched a large wooden vessel approach. It was the greatest ship I had ever seen. It glided over the water’s surface, throwing its shadow to the sea floor as it sailed past me, turning day to night. I overheard people singing and the roar, moo, bleat, and bray of animals coming from the vessel. Not everyone had perished. Some shall go on, while I remain imprisoned in this watery grave. The weight of the water pressed down on me, crushing me, as the rain increased its depth.

The feeling of drowning never left me. The feeling of panic, unable to take breath, to inflate my lungs. The slow filling of my larynx––gagging, coughing, briny water forcing its way through my nostrils and into my lungs like acid. I would drown and die, and after a moment of peace, the process began again.

A familiar recollection filled the void in my head, spinning memories of Beelzebub lying at the bottom of the Euphrates River bound in chains, disfigured by suffering and hate. Is that also to be my fate? Shall I become a grotesque monster wallowing in fear, self-loathing, and pain? A sharp, loud wail pierced my psyche, and I realized it was I who did the screaming.

Vashti Book Tour CLOSING BANNER BOTH BOOKS

Both books in the Fantasy Angels Series on sale for only 99¢/99p! Download your eBook today!

Purchase Link & Social Media:
Twitter (VashtiQV):  http://twitter.com/VashtiQV

 

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/vashti-quiroz-vega

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Vashti-Q-Author-Page-396515670465852/

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Vashti-Quiroz-Vega/e/B00GTXG5W4/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1540242966&sr=8-1

Son of the Serpent: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07HS4C3B7/

Thanks for supporting Author, Vashti Q. Vega on the release of her latest read, “SON OF THE SERPENT.”  To follow along with her tour, please visit the CURRENT EVENTS page of the 4WillsPub site.   To book your own virtual 4WillsPub blog tour, please visit us HERE!

Welcome to the WATCH “#RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! Day 1 Guest Laura Libricz @LauraLibricz #RRBC

 

RWISA BLOG TOUR BANNERWelcome to the WATCH “#RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! #RRBC

Say hello to today’s guest Laura Libricz.

Laura Libricz Author PIC

Laura Libricz was born and raised in Bethlehem, PA, and moved to Upstate New York when she was 22. After working a few years building Steinberger guitars, she received a scholarship to go to college. She tried to ‘do the right thing’ and study something useful, but spent all her time reading German literature.

She earned a BA in German at The College of New Paltz, NY, in 1991, and moved to Germany, where she resides today. When she isn’t writing she can be found sifting through city archives, picking through castle ruins or aiding the steady flood of musical instruments into the world market.

Her first novel, The Master and the Maid, is the first book of the Heaven’s Pond Trilogy. The Soldier’s Return and Ash and Rubble are the second and third books in the series.

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The Protective Plague

Laura Libricz

 

From the overlord’s house came a quiet but vicious argument. I walked past the stately, tiered structure, decorated with wooden carvings. The other houses circling the town square stood quiet: the midwife’s red wooden house built up on stilts; the iron workers’ blue housing complex and their adjoining workshop also built on stilts; the dark-brown community building, windows tightly shuttered.

I set my basket down in the middle of the square. The fountain marking the village center bubbled behind me. A mouse scurried around its stone base. The door of the overlord’s house slammed open and he appeared on the top step. A woman’s sobs came from inside the house. He raised his nose to the sky and sniffed at the air, his black, wiry hair standing on end. He approached the fountain, his black woolen cape fluttering behind him.

“The weather has changed,” the overlord said.

“You notice such things, Master?” I asked. “Today is the Turn of the Season; coupled with the full moon.”

“Yes, that is why you tie those wreaths of herbs,” he said. “Silly old traditions.”

“We will burn them at sunset on the Field of Fruition. These old traditions give the people comfort.”

“Your traditions have no power,” he said. “This year we initiate my new ritual. The One True Deity is not appeased with burning herbs.”

“What will appease your Deity then, Master? Burning flesh?”

The door of the red house squeaked open. The midwife flurried towards the fountain carrying a spray of reeds. Two red-haired daughters followed behind her. They carried baskets overloaded with sage and wormwood.

“Good day, Master,” she said, dropping her reeds at my feet.

Her black hair, not colored carefully enough, showed red roots at her scalp. I moved between her and the master, hoping he had not seen her hair, and gathered three reeds in my hands. I braided their stalks. Her daughters set the baskets down on the stone steps of the fountain and the midwife pulled both girls to her side.

“The workshop is quiet this morning.” I mentioned.

“The men have crossed the ford to the settlement beyond the Never-Dying Forest. They’ve taken our surplus of food and hope to trade. Years ago, the forest villagers made fabrics.”

The overlord chuckled. “Foolish men. No one lives beyond the water and the forest but barbarians. They don’t trade, they take.”

I held my braided reeds aloft. “Our petition tonight at the bonfire is to ask for the safety of all villagers involved, whether they come from Forest Village or Field Village.”

“There will be no bonfire tonight,” he said.

As if by the Master’s silent command, the double doors on the community building slid open. Five leather-clad men, adorned with weapons of glinting steel, took two steps forward. Five young women draped with dirty white shifts, hands and mouths bound, knelt behind their ranks. I recognized the midwife’s eldest daughter and the barrel-maker’s granddaughter.

“My new Turn of the Season tradition starts today.” The overlord nodded to the troop. The men grabbed each of the young women under the arms and dragged them into the square. They were forced to kneel on the stone steps by the fountain. The overlord’s daughter was also among them.

“These women will be taken against their will on the Field of Fruition. The One True Deity will come to accept the eggs as soon as they are fertilized. I will summon him. The women and their fruits belong to him. He will exalt them and admit them into his glorious mountain realm.”

I threw my reeds aside. “Our traditions and petitions are based on protecting our villagers, not sacrificing them.”

“These women are ripe. We have prodded them all. The One True Deity will have this offering.”

“Men cannot enter the Field of Fruition at the Turn of the Season. It will bring us harm so close to the coming winter.”

“Your foolish traditions cannot keep the furies of winter at bay. Harm will only come if one of these women becomes pregnant. That would prove her self-seeking nature, her desire to retain the fruits for herself. She will be executed.”

The midwife let out a shriek. The overlord stroked his daughter’s matted hair.

“If she becomes pregnant,” he said, “we will also know she enjoyed the act. She will have defied The One True Deity. Women cannot become pregnant when taken against their will.”

He took two steps forward, his face a breath away from mine. “These women can be saved. Here they are. Save them. Save them now but know this: four others will take their places. You shall be the fifth.”

He turned with a swish of his cape and, followed by his armed mob, disappeared into the community house.

The midwife and I unbound the women. Together we gathered the wreaths, all our herbs and reeds, and walked out of the square towards the Field of Fruition. The sky was overcast. Rains threatened. Two women and their children stood at the edge of the green field, bundling straw. They piled it neatly on a cart. Two other women whacked the lazy ox and the cart jerked into movement.

In the middle of the Field of Fruition, wooden planks stood in support of one another, forming an inverted cone. Mice scurried under my feet and under the cone. The planks were once an old barn. In its place we built a new one. Since the great flood, our village had prospered. We had practiced our Traditions of Gratitude ever since. I gave silent thanks for the abundance of grain that allowed even the mice to multiply.

“The moon is coming up over the trees,” I said. “We will start the fire now.”

The midwife scraped her knife on her stone and sparks flew into a pile of straw. She convinced the fire to burn and we fed the flames until the dried planks ignited. I raised my wreath of braided reeds over my head as mice scurried out from under the burning planks.

Our peaceful but preventive petition resonated between our practiced voices. We’d recited the verses many times and shuddered with the energy they held. I threw the wreath on the fire; sparks flew into the low storm clouds. More mice scurried over my feet. I looked down and the Field of Fruition was no longer autumn-green, but mouse-grey. A layer of mice had gathered, completely covering the Field–a protective plague insuring the fulfilment of our petitions of peace and gratitude. Well, this was not what I had in mind, but it would do. No ill-wisher would enter this field tonight.

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Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.

We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs.  Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

 RWISA Author Page RWISA AUTHOR PAGE: Laura Libricz

Contact Via:

Twitter:  @LauraLibricz

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/LauraLibriczAuthoress

Linkedin:  https://www.linkedin.com/in/laura-libricz-8980a43a

Google+

Blog/Website:

http://www.lauralibricz.com/

#NewRelease Book Tour: “If you love me, I’m yours” By Lizzie Chantree @Lizzie_Chantree #RRBC #IARTG

 

BOOK TOUR LIZZIE BANNER IF YOU LOVE ME USE THIS ONE

Hello and welcome!  Today. I’m delighted to be featuring the latest release by Author Lizzie Chantree, as part of her “If You Love Me, I’m Yours” book release tour. Available now for Pre-order.

Release date July 9th.

 

Please meet author Lizzie Chantree.

LIZZIE CHANTREE BIO PIC

Award-winning inventor and author, Lizzie Chantree, started her own business at the age of 18 and became one of Fair Play London and The Patent Office’s British Female Inventors of the Year in 2000. She discovered her love of writing fiction when her children were little and now runs networking hours on social media, where creative businesses, writers, photographers and designers can offer advice and support to each other. She lives with her family on the coast in Essex.

Cover of If You Love Me I'm Yours Lizzie Chantree tour 2

Book blurb:   ‘If you love me, I’m yours…’
Maud didn’t mind being boring, not really. She had a sensible job, clothes, and love life… if you counted an overbearing ex who had thanked her, rolled over and was snoring before she even realised he’d begun! She could tolerate not fulfilling her dreams, if her parents would pay her one compliment about the only thing she was passionate about in life: her art.
Dot should have fit in with her flamboyant and slightly eccentric family of talented artists, but somehow, she was an anomaly who couldn’t paint. She tried hard to be part of their world by becoming an art agent extraordinaire, but she dreamed of finding her own voice.
Dot’s brother Nate, a smoulderingly sexy and famous artist, was adored by everyone. His creative talent left them in awe of his ability to capture such passion on canvas. Women worshipped him, and even Dot’s friend Maud flushed and bumped into things when he walked into a room, but a tragic event in his past had left him emotionally and physically scarred, and reluctant to face the world again.
Someone was leaving exquisite little paintings on park benches, with a tag saying, ‘If you love me, I’m yours’. The art was so fresh and cutting-edge, that it generated a media frenzy and a scramble to discover where the mystery artist could be hiding. The revelation of who the prodigious artist was interlinked Maud, Dot and Nate’s lives forever, but their worlds came crashing down.
Were bonds of friendship, love and loyalty strong enough to withstand fame, success and scandal?

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A great tip from Lizzie Chantree.

Using keywords in book reviews:  
Like most authors, I am learning new things about the publishing industry every day and try to share what I learn here, in the hope it helps other writers, book lovers and bloggers. I have been looking at keywords and good ways to use them, but had no idea that reviews count as keywords too! Reviews literally take 2 minutes to write and a couple of sentences is plenty, although a detailed description is wonderful too. They are the first place that readers look to discover a new read and are really helpful to both author and reader. Reviews containing keywords make the books even easier to find on Amazon’s search engine. Here are some examples. The keywords are in a different colour. 
Review 1:

A lovely read. I enjoyed the characters immensely and the way the author used description really drew me in. This is a book I would recommend to friends as I couldn’t wait to get back to my kindle to read the next chapter!

Review 2: 
I was recommended this book by a friend as I love Freya North Lisa Jewell... I’m a bit of chick lit fan!!! By the end of the first chapter I was completely gripped…This is a really compulsive romance read and not easy to put down; but quite light hearted and full of humour. The characters are really fun, engaging and believable.
BOOK TOUR LIZZIE CLOSING BANNER

Social media links:

 Website:  https://lizziechantree.com

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/Lizzie_Chantree

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/lizzie.chantree.

Instagram:  https://www.instagram.com/lizzie_chantree/

Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7391757.Lizzie_Chantree

 

Universal book buy link: viewbook.at/IfYouLoveMe-ImYours

 I love to hear your thoughts and comments. It’s been a pleasure to host Lizzie Chantree today.

 

 

The #RRBC “TREAT” Reads Blog Hop. Featuring “Sons of My Father” by Peggy Hattendorf @PeggyHattendorf #RWISA

RRBC TREAT AWARDS BLOG HOP PEGGY HATTENDORF BANNER

  The #RRBC “TREAT” Reads Blog Hop

Greeting:  Welcome to the first ever “TREAT” Reads Blog Hop!   These members of RRBC have penned and published some really great reads and we’d like to honor and showcase their talent.  Although there were maybe 3-4 winners who were previously on this list who are no longer with the club, now all of the listed Winners are RWISA members!  Way to go RWISA!

 

We ask that you pick up a copy of the title listed and after reading it, leave a review.  There will be other books on tour for the next few days, so please visit the HOP’S main page to follow along.  

 

Also, for every comment that you leave along this tour, including on the HOP’S main page,, your name will be entered into a drawing for an amazing gift card to be awarded at the end of the tour!

Book:   SON OF MY FATHER

BOOK COVER SON OF MY FATHER BY PEGGY HATTENDORF

Blurb:   

It was always “Father” never “Dad.” The love and respect was manifest so was the distance – the distance not as evident. Christiana Lynn Barrington’s life was a carefully constructed world built, presented and controlled by her billionaire father, Jonathan Robert Barrington.

She never knew anything else.

Frequently, she wondered if her father had wished to have had a son instead of a daughter but never posed the question.

Maybe she was afraid of the answer.

As the only child of Jonathan and Elizabeth Matthews Barrington, she was the heir apparent to the behemoth Barrington Holdings International.

But a threat to her hard-earned succession waits in the shadows ready to take everything she’s worked for away from her.

This novel contains profanity and adult situations. 

Author:  PEGGY HATTENDORF

BOOK BIO PEGGY HATTENDORF

Thank you so much for joining us today. Join in with your comments below.

 

This blog hop sponsored by:  4WillsPublishing

 

Featuring #RRBC ‘Spotlight’ Author for February 2018. Gracie Bradford @IamXordinary #Children’sBooks

 

RRBC BANNER FOR GRACIE BRADFORD SPOTLIGHT MY BANNER

It’s my pleasure to host the Rave Reviews Book Club’s Spotlight Author for February 2018. Talented Children’s book author: GRACIE BRADFORD.

Please join me in making her welcome.

RRBC SPOTLIGHT AUTHOR GRACIE BRADFORD BANNER FOR POST

Meet Gracie.

RRBC SPOTLIGHT GRACIE BRADFORD BIO PIC

My business logo is “I AM….”. So, who is Gracie?

The best parts of me are that I am dynamic, an inspirer, a motivator, a risk taker, an explorer, a magnet to children, and a bookworm.

I am a retired senior healthcare executive who travels the world, a grandmother of an amazing 19-year old college student who lives with me, a grandmother to the awesome beagle, Lady Bird, an award-winning author, a lover of flowers, and a professional volunteer with causes related to childhood illness.

I am almost a vegan but still eats fish and eggs.

FEATURED BOOK: “JUNE THE PRUNE & LADY BIRD.” (Cancer Stinks.)

BOOK COVER GRACIE BRADFORD FOR FEATURE

AN INTERVIEW WITH LADY BIRD!

SHE IS ADORABLE.

Character Interview (Lady Bird)

Lady Bird: Hello, I am not really a bird. I just like to be treated like a lady. I’m June’s protector. She needs me.

Interviewer: How did you meet June?

Lady Bird: I was without a home when I was very young. She and her brother, Alex, found me far away from home and brought me to their home. They gave me a bath and fed me. At first, I was frightened, but June took me into her arms and gently caressed my head.

Interviewer: Where did you stay when you went to their home? Were you afraid?

Lady Bird: They hid me under the porch away from their mean ole mother for months. Alex was afraid that his Mom would make them take me away.  Every day, June would bring me food and water after everyone finished eating. We would eat and play in the back yard. Alex usually sit in the swing playing with his phone.

Interviewer: What happened when June’s Mom finally discovered that you lived under the porch?

Lady Bird: One day, she was sitting on the poach rocking in her usual rocking chair. I saw a cat and barked at the cat several times. The mean mother heard my bark, eased over to the edge of the porch, leaned over and our eyes met. I barked at her and she ran in the house screaming for June. I knew I had just gotten June in trouble.

Interviewer: Then what happened? I imagine June’s Mother was ready to punish June and Alex for bringing you home.

Lady Bird: Woof. Woof. You must read the book to find out.

Expect to see the 3rd book of the Lady Bird series late 2018 addressing Autism.

CONTACT DETAILS for Gracie Bradford.

You can pick up a copy of Gracie’s books on Amazon.com. Reviews are welcomed.

http://amzn.to/2gfLCEJ

Like and follow this author through the social media platforms below:

Blog: www.free1592.wordpress.com

Website: www.authorgraciebradford.com

Instagram: www.instagram.com/authorgraciebradford/

Pinterest: www.pinterest.com/graciebradford5/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/iamxordinary

Facebook: www.facebook.com/gracie.bradford.58

LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/authorgraciebradford/

We look forward to hearing your comments.

Thanks so much for visiting!  Please continue supporting this month’s RRBC Spotlight Author by visiting the website, where you’ll find more awesome information and other blog stops.

Blog tour: Author Laura Libricz … October 2nd, 2017. #RRBC @LauraLibricz @4WillsPub

LAURA LIBRICZ COMPLETE TOUR MEME

Hello, and welcome to this October 2nd leg of author Laura Libricz’s Tour.

What this #author learned by completing the second novel @lauralibricz

This last year has formed my writing more than any of those past. These five lessons I’ve learned have pushed me from a novice to an advanced novice. For the first time, I am proud of my project. I say that with a humble heart because without those who work with me, this project would never be in the form it is now.

1. I can take criticism.

This last year, I learned how to take criticism. This was the most important lesson. Finally, I am able to dampen that personal, precious attachment I feel about my project. I am separate, a living person, and the project is just that, a piece of work. It is not me. I originally wanted to release The Soldier’s Return in December 2016. It was about 95K words and, on the surface, I thought it was good enough. But together with my editor, we saw that there could be so much more made out of the story. That meant a big picture structure change. We decided to shift the focus from one main character to another, pulling that character more to the forefront. By doing that, I had to write twenty new chapters. The restructure and the rewrite took me five months. This major overhaul was the best thing I could have done to bring this piece of work up to the next level. The lesson learned: I must step outside myself long enough to accept advice.

2. Editors’ corrections can be painless.

Waiting for the corrections of my first novel was a horrible experience filled with self-doubt, fear and loathing. But this time, as I waited for the corrections of the second novel, I was actually looking forward to my editors’ input! I knew they would make the work better, great even. I am grateful to be working with such high caliber colleagues. Even before I saw the corrections, I knew this project was on the right path. This feeling of letting go, this is what helped me this past year to truly grow as a writer. My editor is not out there to discredit my artistic ability. We have the same goal—to make this a great piece of work. The lesson learned: the time it takes to find the best professionals for a specific project is definitely worth it.

3. Take your writing advice, please.

There is plenty of writing advice out there. I have read every blog post and every show-don’t-tell essay. I get it. There are times it works for me and times it doesn’t. Writing this last novel has helped me find my own way. Should this writer disregard all that advice? Not at all. Once I internalized all that how-to stuff, I could experiment with what worked for me and my story. I compare writing to cooking and making music. I can choose to incorporate different ingredients and techniques into my work. For me, words are chocolate, sentences are songs. Writing just to fit into someone else’s rules, that’s not art. I can break their precious rules if I want to season my stories like a fine meal. The lesson learned: I must first learn the rules to break them.

4. I am a slow writer and that’s fine.

There are those who are writing their tenth, their twentieth, their thirtieth book. I have just finished my second. Please allow me to take a moment to let that sink in: I have finished my second novel; emphasis on the fact I can , a project at all. It takes me a long time to write. I have a family, a day job with a very cool guitar brand, http://www.hutchinsguitars.com, an ongoing EDM project https://www.facebook.com/lagzzmusic/.

I started my writing project, the Heaven’s Pond trilogy, in 2009. That’s almost ten years. The third book in the trilogy exists as a 50K word zero draft written in 2012 and I haven’t looked at the manuscript in years. I will probably have to start it over from scratch. It may take me two years to finish. But, so what if it does. The lesson learned and internalized: Valerie Douglas https://www.facebook.com/Valerie.Douglas.Books/ is right: this is a marathon, not a sprint. Here’s an interesting article about the slow writer: http://annerallen.com/2014/03/is-there-place-for-slow-writer-in/

5. Marketing is not a dirty word.

I am slowly getting a grasp on what it means to market a product. I am not a marketing whiz and there are lots of things I coulda, shoulda, woulda done, but there you go. I do what I can and every little bit helps. Active participation on all artists’ part is imperative. Whether one is a musician or a visual artist or a wordsmith, some sort of promotion is needed if one wants to sell one’s work. No matter if one works with an agent, a publisher, a gallery, a record label. We still have to build our brand, spread the word. Now there are great support groups out there. I found one with a good fit: https://ravereviewsbynonniejules.wordpress.com and work a lot with them. We can’t do it alone and no one is asking us to. There is so much noise out there and we have tons of competition. The lesson learned: marketing takes a lot of ongoing research, trial and error. It’s a lot of work. Get used to it.

Let’s Meet Laura Libricz.

Laura Libricz’s Media Kit: Pictures, Book Covers, Links, Bios, Book Blurbs: Laura Libricz Blog

 Bio:

Laura Libricz Author PIC

Laura Libricz’s Media Kit: Pictures, Book Covers, Links, Bios, Book Blurbs:

https://lauralibriczblog.wordpress.com/about/

Long Bio:

Laura Libricz was born and raised in Bethlehem PA and moved to Upstate New York when she was 22. After working a few years building Steinberger guitars, she received a scholarship to go to college. She tried to ‘do the right thing’ and study something useful, but spent all her time reading German literature.

She earned a BA in German at The College of New Paltz, NY in 1991 and moved to Germany, where she resides today. When she isn’t writing she can be found sifting through city archives, picking through castle ruins or aiding the steady flood of musical instruments into the world market.

Her first novel, The Master and the Maid, is the first book of the Heaven’s Pond Trilogy. The Soldier’s Return and Ash and Rubble are the second and third books in the series.

WHERE TO FIND ME ON THE WEB:

Website: http://www.lauralibricz.com

Twitter: https://twitter.com/LauraLibricz

Google+ private page: https://plus.google.com/u/0/+LauraLibricz

Google+ brand page: https://plus.google.com/u/0/b/111626375322992289353/111626375322992289353

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC3c-yIyoN-UprxB15L5l8zA

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/LauraLibriczAuthoress/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/lauralibricz/

Blog: https://lauralibriczblog.wordpress.com

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.de/lauralibricz/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6526953.Laura_Libricz

LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/laura-libricz-8980a43a/

 Please join in with your thoughts and comments at the conclusion of this post

“This tour sponsored by 4WillsPublishing.wordpress.com.”

 

‘Watch RWISA Write: Month-long-blog-tour: Featured author today is John Howell. #RRBC #RRBC_RWISA

RWISA JOHN HOWELL BLOG TOUR

Rave Writers – International Society Of Authors (RWISA)

August is Watch RWISA Write month. We will showcase a different author each day. Today, we celebrate author JOHN HOWELL.

Firstly, let’s learn more about John Howell:

The Author’s Story – @HowellWave

John began his writing as a full-time occupation after an extensive business career. His specialty is thriller fiction novels, but John also writes poetry and short stories. His first book, My GRL, introduces the exciting adventures of the book’s central character, John J. Cannon. The second Cannon novel, His Revenge, continues the adventure, while the final book in the trilogy, Our Justice, launched in September 2016 completes the story. All books are available on Amazon in paperback and Kindle editions. John lives in Port Aransas, Texas, with his wife and their spoiled rescue pets.

***

Last Night by John W. Howell © 2017

So, with nothing better to do, I figure I’ll stop at Jerry’s place and grab a couple of drinks and a burger. Usually, I don’t go there on Saturday night since there’s a crapload of amateurs taking up what would be considered prime space. I figure since this is a Friday and close to Saturday, it may be packed, but not as crazy as Saturday. It’s the kind of place where everyone minds their business. They’re there for a good time and will likely not notice me. Even so, I go through the door, stop, and have a look around, trying not to make eye contact. I hope that the ball cap and large coat will keep me from getting noticed. The bar holds a weekday crowd, hanging on each other like they never had a date before. I tighten my eyelids against the smoke and make out four guys near the pool table, and what looks like a couple of girls fetching drinks. I search for a seat beyond the table in the back, but it seems like they’re all taken.

A guy bumps into me as I stand here. I say excuse me, and he looks me in the face. “Hey, don’t I know you?” he says.

“I don’t think so.” I make to turn away.

“Yeah, you’re the sports hero who lost all his money. I saw you on TV.”

“Naw, people always say stuff like that. I’m not him, buddy; trust me.”

He gives me a puzzled look but doesn’t want to push it, in case he has it wrong. I turn away and continue to look for a seat.

Straight ahead lies the bar, and it has a place right in the middle. I move in the direction of the empty place and look over to the other side of the room. The tables look full of happy drunks. Buckets of empties line the bar top, and the barmaid’s trying to sell more. She doesn’t have much luck since most of these people just spent their last five bucks on this outing. Upon making it to the stool, I hoist myself up and lean on the bar.

“Hey, Greg,” Jerry says. “Whadda you have?”

“Evening, Jerry. I’ll have a Gin on the rocks with a water back.”

“Comin’ up.”

I like Jerry’s no-nonsense way of handling things. He doesn’t like small talk and gets right to business. My eyes smart from the smoke, and I wonder how Jerry gets away with letting people kill themselves, when clearly, it’s not supposed to be allowed in this kind of establishment.

“Here you go. Want me to run a tab?”

“Yeah, I would appreciate that. I intend to have another drink and then a burger.”

The guy who thinks he knows me grabs my shoulder from behind. I almost fall off the stool.

“You’re Greg Petros, the big fund manager. I knew I’d seen you on TV. You took a beautiful career in football and ran it into the ground.”

Jerry leans over the bar and lays his hand on the guy’s shoulder. “Move on, my friend. You made a mistake. This guy is nobody. Go sit down and let me buy you a drink.”

“You sure? You called him Greg.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Go get a table, and I’ll send someone over.”

The guy looks at me one more time but does as Jerry suggests. He believes Jerry’s wrong, but the idea of a free drink lets him get away without losing face.

“Thanks. I didn’t mean for you to have to jump in.”

“No problem. Gimme the high sign when you’re ready for another drink.”

“Will do. Thanks.”

“For you buddy, anything.”

I should mention that Jerry and I go back aways. When I fell on hard times, he became the only one that seemed to give a shit. I take a sip of my drink and wait for the burn in my throat, which signals the good stuff. Here it comes. I take a swig of the water and almost believe life is good. The Gin needs to get to the brain before making any honest judgment.

While I wait for the warmth to go from my stomach to my head, I check out the folks seated on either side of me. They both have their backs turned to me and sit engrossed in some discussion with their neighbor. I figure it’s just as well since I don’t want to go through that old “don’t I know you?” bullshit again. Also, I don’t figure on staying the night, so no use in getting into any long discussions about life.

I look down at my drink and wonder what will happen tomorrow. My daughter Constance wants to come and visit. She lives in New York, and before all hell broke loose, we didn’t see each other often. I missed her so much, and it seemed I had to beg her even to talk on the phone. Now, it’s like she wants to be here every weekend. It’s only an hour’s flight by the shuttle or three by train, so she can come when she wants. I just can’t figure out why she got so clingy. I have my troubles, but it doesn’t have anything to do with her. No use in asking her husband, either. Though a nice enough guy, I always wonder if he has someplace important to go when I visit. He never sits still, and stays busy on the phone or at the computer. He makes a good living, but it seems a person could take an hour to sit and talk. I’d looked forward to some kind of relationship when he and Constance got married. It’ll never happen with him.

When I take another pull at my drink, I notice the burn feels less. It happens every time. First sip initiation, I call it. It’s like the first puff of a cigarette, hits hard then, after, nothing. I decide to let Constance pretty much have the agenda tomorrow. She and I have not had a chance to talk about anything deep for a while. It could just be that she blames me for her mother running off with that guy with the house on the Hudson. He has a title, and the old gal couldn’t resist, but, I think the daughter always felt I should have done something. Her mother’s sleeping with another guy and what the hell can I do about that?

I’ll just go with the flow. If she wants to go out, we will. If she wants to stay in, we can do that, too. I better think about getting some food in the house. Of course, we can always order take out. I need to move on to my drink and let this go. Tomorrow will be what it is. I remember the day she was born. I looked down at her in my arms and promised I would do anything for her. I love her more than life itself, and I hope we can somehow get to the root of whatever’s wrong. She sounded strange on the phone this morning, and I feel helpless to do anything about it. I hope she opens up when she gets here.

For some reason, I feel tired. Perhaps I’ll go ahead and finish my drink. Maybe I’ll just go home and forget the burger. First, though, I’ll just shut my eyes for a minute. My hands feel good when I put my head down.

“Hey, Greg,” Jerry says. I barely hear him. “What’s the matter? You taking a nap? Greg?” I can feel him shake me, but I have no interest in waking up. His voice gets further away, and I think he says, “Oh my God, Sophie, call 911, quick.” Now the room goes silent.

END

Contact via:

Twitter:  @HowellWave

Facebook  https://www.facebook.com/john.howell.98229241

LinkedIn –http://www.linkedin.com/pub/john-w-howell/48/b59/462/

Blog/Website:

Fiction Favorites

Titles:

“MY GRL”

“HIS REVENGE”

“OUR JUSTICE”

***

To learn more about John:

*The Author’s Story

*Author Showcase

Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA“ WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, to please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.  WE ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs.  Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

Author JOHN HOWELL RWISA PAGE

 

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