Spring Break is a week away. Now depending on who you're talking to, saying that might elicit either a groan or a cheer. From a parent's point of view, that might not be good news. The kids at home. For an entire week. What to do? From a student's (or even a teacher's) point a view, the news might be met with a resounding round of applause.
Our world is viewed through many lenses. People have different opinions about things. They are drawn to certain things. Have very specific likes and dislikes.
As a writer, we try to appeal to as many people as possible. After all, we want them to buy our books! But that's often difficult to do.
Even within the romance genre, there are dozens of sub-genres lurking. Contemporary, historical, paranormal, and within that even more...sweet, spicy, erotica, inspirational...the list goes on and on. How do we figure out what people like?
Many writers write within a specific genre and/or sub-genre. I, for example, write spicy contemporary romance. That's what I'm comfortable with, that's what I like. Others are able to branch out and write with more diversity.
What works for you? Are you devoted to a specific kind of writing or reading...or do you branch out? (And how do you feel about Spring Break...shivers of excitement, or shudders of dread?)
Don't worry, there's no right or wrong answer. Everyone has their own opinion...which makes the world an interesting place to be. Just imagine if we all thought alike...
Until next time,
Happy Reading!
Debra
www.debrastjohnromance.com
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Unique Museum by Margot Justes
I had a radio interview last Wednesday and was asked a really good question-Jena O’Connor of KORN 1490 AM Let’s Talk actually read my book and liked it, hence the question-what makes the Rodin Museum unique-what makes it standout and different from the rest?
And for once I was quick on my feet…it’s still a work in progress-the thinking on my feet part.
For me it is matchless in its intimacy-his incredible work aside-the gardens are magnificent, the sculptures appear to you from unexpected places, it is relaxing, not chaotic, your eye wonders but there is none of the panic of what shall I see first or next.
As a visitor you tend to relax, take your time. Savor. Enjoy. You’re among friends. You’re not overwhelmed. Look at the Thinker-thought and muscle? Or is it? What would you see?
Once you’ve wondered through the gardens, you’re now ready to enter his home. Some pieces have been left as a work in progress, ready for the master to return and finish. That is entirely my impression, probably because his presence can still be felt, at least by me.
The Kiss, hard cold marble generating a tremendous amount of heat. Passionate. The lovers wrapped in an ardent embrace, totally oblivious of others. If you’re lucky enough to be there, stand in front and decide if you agree with the critics and pundits-was it just a woman submitting to the man? Or is there more, much more.
The Hand of God, flowing, smooth, compelling. Can you feel the magic of the hand rising out of the un-worked marble? The hard, cold stone holds such magnificent power.
Walk through the house and listen to the creaking floor boards and imagine the beginning of life in the creative process.
Till next Time,
Margot Justes
A Hotel in Paris ISBN 978-1-59080-534-3
Art brought her to Paris, then a stranger’s death changes her life.
Missing ISBN 978-1-59080-611 1
Heat of the Moment ISBN 978-1-59080-596-1
www.mjustes.com
available on amazon.com
And for once I was quick on my feet…it’s still a work in progress-the thinking on my feet part.
For me it is matchless in its intimacy-his incredible work aside-the gardens are magnificent, the sculptures appear to you from unexpected places, it is relaxing, not chaotic, your eye wonders but there is none of the panic of what shall I see first or next.
As a visitor you tend to relax, take your time. Savor. Enjoy. You’re among friends. You’re not overwhelmed. Look at the Thinker-thought and muscle? Or is it? What would you see?
Once you’ve wondered through the gardens, you’re now ready to enter his home. Some pieces have been left as a work in progress, ready for the master to return and finish. That is entirely my impression, probably because his presence can still be felt, at least by me.
The Kiss, hard cold marble generating a tremendous amount of heat. Passionate. The lovers wrapped in an ardent embrace, totally oblivious of others. If you’re lucky enough to be there, stand in front and decide if you agree with the critics and pundits-was it just a woman submitting to the man? Or is there more, much more.
The Hand of God, flowing, smooth, compelling. Can you feel the magic of the hand rising out of the un-worked marble? The hard, cold stone holds such magnificent power.
Walk through the house and listen to the creaking floor boards and imagine the beginning of life in the creative process.
Till next Time,
Margot Justes
A Hotel in Paris ISBN 978-1-59080-534-3
Art brought her to Paris, then a stranger’s death changes her life.
Missing ISBN 978-1-59080-611 1
Heat of the Moment ISBN 978-1-59080-596-1
www.mjustes.com
available on amazon.com
Friday, March 13, 2009
JA Konrath & Jack Kilborn Cornered By Rob Walker (an interview and a reunion)
Today Acme Authors Link welcomes the indomitable JA Konrath to our humble niche of the internet. Konrath is the author of six thrillers in the Jack Daniels series, all named after drinks. He’s also got a new book coming out, a horror novel, under the pen name Jack Kilborn, called Afraid. You can visit him at http://www.jakonrath.com/.
I stalked suspense-thriller writer JA Konrath amid the Chicago shadows on a moonless night in search of the vacant warehouse that fronted the winding Chicago River where it turned sharply as a knife’s edge. Using the light from my cell phone, I hastily checked the address scribbled on my palm. If things got ugly in my search for the creator of the Jackie Daniels series here, author of Whiskey Sour, Bloody Mary, Rusty Nail and more, I might need the phone to call for help. Konrath, it was rumored, liked to do hands-on research, and my father didn’t raise an idiot, and having read Konrath’s ticklishly horribly scary yet hilarious novels, I truly did not wish to wind up in a Konrath novel myself. Especially not as a victim. Somber boat rigging beat out an anthem in the night. The shadows here befit a Bogart film, I was thinking when a George Raft voice came lilting out from behind a creaking door just cracked open. “Walker, inside now.”
I had come to this seedy section of Chicago to interview Konrath who some believed had an evil twin, one who actually wrote the books while the ‘other’ put forth the gargantuan, amazing marketing efforts on JA’s behalf. Of course, no one knew for certain how Konrath kept his cottage industry going at such a breakneck pace, but it had become legend among mystery, suspense, and thriller authors, not to mention the entire horror community. This since his arrival on the publishing scene a handful of years before. I was determined to learn the truth, but I hoped to come away unscathed as I’d promised my wife and children that I’d return safe and whole despite going to see a man termed by many as a true maniac. To ensure my safety I had a sealed affidavit of my last known whereabouts placed in a bank vault, and I was packing a snub-nosed .38.
Konrath remained in shadow, one eye on my wake as I entered the shabby place he’d selected for our meeting. No drinks, no music, no crowd—an empty warehouse, or so it appeared in the darkness. Then he threw a light switch, and I marveled at the sight before me. What appeared to be a million or more books! At first I assumed the poor fellow had had to purchase back every book he personally guaranteed to his readers as worthy of their purse. Then it dawned on me, and I realized why we were here—the place housed every book that the man had ever read in every genre. With head downtrodden he confessed: “The wife said I had to get them out of the house. Besides, the dogs were chewing up my first editions.”
Joe led me to a small table and chairs in one corner of his warehouse of titles where he lit a small kerosene lamp and shut down the costly overhead lights. Here too he had a cooler and from it, he snatched out two Sam Adams for us, and I began to relax. We sat and I tugged out my phone and pressed the key for tape record, and damn if my gun didn’t fall out at Konrath’s toe. Joe grabbed it up, twirled it around like a kid with a toy, and was about to fire it off when I said, “Hold on, it’s real and it’s loaded.”
“Why the gun, Walker?” he asked, a look of absolute puzzlement coming over him, the gun still in his hand.
“The neighborhood.” I shrugged. “Hey, I grew up in Chicago, too, you know. I followed the Blues Brothers.”
He accepted this and placed the gun between us. “So, you’ve got questions for me?”
I rolled out a scroll filled with questions. “Hope we have time for a few of these.”
He sipped his beer. “Best get to it. Twenty minutes I have to be on my way to O’Hare to hop a plane for Florida—speaking at the Writers Who Can’t Type Convention.”
I raised an eyebrow, surprised. “You can’t type?”
“No. Neither of my personalities can. JA Konrath, he’s the hunter. Jack Kilborn, he’s a real pecker.”
“I see. Well, we’d best begin.” I raised the volume on the recorder. “How has Chicago, this great city with its colorful history, informed your novels?”
“Informed my novels of what?” Konrath again looked puzzled but then he cracked up and slapped the table.
“Come on, you know what I mean? You’re a product of Chicago, right? How has it affected your stories, your style, man?”
“Born and raised in the Windy City, my friend. Perfect setting for thrillers. You got locations galore, plenty of room for action, intrigue, suspense, romance, laughs… and horror.”
I had come to this seedy section of Chicago to interview Konrath who some believed had an evil twin, one who actually wrote the books while the ‘other’ put forth the gargantuan, amazing marketing efforts on JA’s behalf. Of course, no one knew for certain how Konrath kept his cottage industry going at such a breakneck pace, but it had become legend among mystery, suspense, and thriller authors, not to mention the entire horror community. This since his arrival on the publishing scene a handful of years before. I was determined to learn the truth, but I hoped to come away unscathed as I’d promised my wife and children that I’d return safe and whole despite going to see a man termed by many as a true maniac. To ensure my safety I had a sealed affidavit of my last known whereabouts placed in a bank vault, and I was packing a snub-nosed .38.
Konrath remained in shadow, one eye on my wake as I entered the shabby place he’d selected for our meeting. No drinks, no music, no crowd—an empty warehouse, or so it appeared in the darkness. Then he threw a light switch, and I marveled at the sight before me. What appeared to be a million or more books! At first I assumed the poor fellow had had to purchase back every book he personally guaranteed to his readers as worthy of their purse. Then it dawned on me, and I realized why we were here—the place housed every book that the man had ever read in every genre. With head downtrodden he confessed: “The wife said I had to get them out of the house. Besides, the dogs were chewing up my first editions.”
Joe led me to a small table and chairs in one corner of his warehouse of titles where he lit a small kerosene lamp and shut down the costly overhead lights. Here too he had a cooler and from it, he snatched out two Sam Adams for us, and I began to relax. We sat and I tugged out my phone and pressed the key for tape record, and damn if my gun didn’t fall out at Konrath’s toe. Joe grabbed it up, twirled it around like a kid with a toy, and was about to fire it off when I said, “Hold on, it’s real and it’s loaded.”
“Why the gun, Walker?” he asked, a look of absolute puzzlement coming over him, the gun still in his hand.
“The neighborhood.” I shrugged. “Hey, I grew up in Chicago, too, you know. I followed the Blues Brothers.”
He accepted this and placed the gun between us. “So, you’ve got questions for me?”
I rolled out a scroll filled with questions. “Hope we have time for a few of these.”
He sipped his beer. “Best get to it. Twenty minutes I have to be on my way to O’Hare to hop a plane for Florida—speaking at the Writers Who Can’t Type Convention.”
I raised an eyebrow, surprised. “You can’t type?”
“No. Neither of my personalities can. JA Konrath, he’s the hunter. Jack Kilborn, he’s a real pecker.”
“I see. Well, we’d best begin.” I raised the volume on the recorder. “How has Chicago, this great city with its colorful history, informed your novels?”
“Informed my novels of what?” Konrath again looked puzzled but then he cracked up and slapped the table.
“Come on, you know what I mean? You’re a product of Chicago, right? How has it affected your stories, your style, man?”
“Born and raised in the Windy City, my friend. Perfect setting for thrillers. You got locations galore, plenty of room for action, intrigue, suspense, romance, laughs… and horror.”
I checked to make sure my phone was recording. “Tell me about horror.”
Konrath grinned at me, eyes glinting. “You know all about horror, Walker. Hell, I was reading you when I was a teenager. In fact, I read you under three different pen names before I knew they were all you. Maybe that’s why I decided on a pen name for Afraid.”
I glanced nervously at the gun, then checked my crib sheet. “That’s your first Jack Kilborn book, coming out at the end of March, right? Does it take place in Chicago?”
“Wisconsin. A tiny little town of nine hundred people. Something evil comes to town, and the population gets reduced. Drastically.”
“Any funny stuff in this one?”
Konrath/Kilborn shook his head. “This one is all scares, no laughs.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I’m predicting that a lot of people who start it won’t be able to finish it. Too frightening.”
“Why the switch to horror?”
“I’ve always written horror. The Jack Daniels series has a lot of scary scenes. But Afraid gave me a chance to sustain the terror-level for a whole book, rather than just a few chapters.”
I checked my notes again. “Would you classify any of your books as your favorite? And if so, can you explain why?”
“I like Rusty Nail. It introduces Alex, who becomes Jack’s nemesis for two more books, Fuzzy Navel, and Cherry Bomb, coming out this July. It’s a pretty wicked book, in between the jokes.”
“As wicked as Afraid?”
“I’ve never read a book as wicked as Afraid.” He smiled. “Except for some of your stuff, Walker. Remember the first time we met, I called you a sick son of a bitch?”
“First words out of your mouth. Endeared me to you forever.” I switched gears. “ No author on the planet has done more guerilla-styled and classy promotion and marketing than has JA Konrath both on the web and in the real world, and if a prize were given for most endurance in an author on a tour and self-promotion effort, it must go to you, Joe. In fact, if I had a canned ham, I’d award it to you now.
“Thanks. I might even share it with you, if you threw in some bread and cheese.”
“You’re a generous man. My question is: Can you offer a quick word of advice to authors, new and old, who struggle with marketing or have flat out given up on it?”
Konrath took in a breath, blew it out slow. “Okay, in a nutshell. The one who gets their name on the most pieces of paper, wins. That paper could be a book, a short story in a magazine or anthology, or virtual paper, like a blog or web page. The more places people can find you, the better you’ll do as an author. So you need to help people find you.”
“How?”
“Having an Internet presence that’s all about offering information and entertainment. Making sure people can easily find you, while also making sure other people find you when they’re searching for something else. That means you have to give good content.”
“What else?”
“Meeting as many people as possible, in person and on the web. Some people have more power than others. Media folks. Reviewers. Booksellers. Librarians. Bloggers. Give them extra special attention.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“Writing is a service industry, my friend. Give good service, and people will come back for more.”
We hear footsteps just outside and Konrath blows out the single kerosene lamp we have been laboring under. “Who is it, Joe? Who’s after you? For God’s sake man, perhaps I can help. If you are in some kind of trouble . . . you must tell me who is stalking you?”
“Same people who are after you!”
“Fans?”
“Creditors!”
After a moment, the sounds from outside become muffled and soon are gone altogether. Joe relights the lamp. My gun is back in my possession, but the phone is still recording. “Final question for the ACME blog, Joe is not a question. This space is completely and utterly yours to sound off. Your time to add anything you wish. Anything I’ve failed to cover.”
“You’ve been in this biz long enough to know the secret, Walker. It’s about survival. But you can’t survive on your own. We’re writers. There’s no competition between us. My fans are your fans, and vice versa. So we need to treat each other better. Support one another. Recommend each other’s books. Hell, we should buy and review each other’s books as well. Never ceases to amaze me that something so simple, so obvious, is done by so few.”
Konrath stands up, offers his hand. “Thanks for the interview, Walker, and for watching my back. You know I’m your biggest fan.”
I nod, and he walks off into the shadows before I can return the sentiment. But if you’re reading this, Joe, know I feel the same way…
If you’ve enjoyed our brief interlude with Joe Konrath, you can learn a great deal more about him at his website - http://www.jakonrath.com/
“Any funny stuff in this one?”
Konrath/Kilborn shook his head. “This one is all scares, no laughs.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I’m predicting that a lot of people who start it won’t be able to finish it. Too frightening.”
“Why the switch to horror?”
“I’ve always written horror. The Jack Daniels series has a lot of scary scenes. But Afraid gave me a chance to sustain the terror-level for a whole book, rather than just a few chapters.”
I checked my notes again. “Would you classify any of your books as your favorite? And if so, can you explain why?”
“I like Rusty Nail. It introduces Alex, who becomes Jack’s nemesis for two more books, Fuzzy Navel, and Cherry Bomb, coming out this July. It’s a pretty wicked book, in between the jokes.”
“As wicked as Afraid?”
“I’ve never read a book as wicked as Afraid.” He smiled. “Except for some of your stuff, Walker. Remember the first time we met, I called you a sick son of a bitch?”
“First words out of your mouth. Endeared me to you forever.” I switched gears. “ No author on the planet has done more guerilla-styled and classy promotion and marketing than has JA Konrath both on the web and in the real world, and if a prize were given for most endurance in an author on a tour and self-promotion effort, it must go to you, Joe. In fact, if I had a canned ham, I’d award it to you now.
“Thanks. I might even share it with you, if you threw in some bread and cheese.”
“You’re a generous man. My question is: Can you offer a quick word of advice to authors, new and old, who struggle with marketing or have flat out given up on it?”
Konrath took in a breath, blew it out slow. “Okay, in a nutshell. The one who gets their name on the most pieces of paper, wins. That paper could be a book, a short story in a magazine or anthology, or virtual paper, like a blog or web page. The more places people can find you, the better you’ll do as an author. So you need to help people find you.”
“How?”
“Having an Internet presence that’s all about offering information and entertainment. Making sure people can easily find you, while also making sure other people find you when they’re searching for something else. That means you have to give good content.”
“What else?”
“Meeting as many people as possible, in person and on the web. Some people have more power than others. Media folks. Reviewers. Booksellers. Librarians. Bloggers. Give them extra special attention.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“Writing is a service industry, my friend. Give good service, and people will come back for more.”
We hear footsteps just outside and Konrath blows out the single kerosene lamp we have been laboring under. “Who is it, Joe? Who’s after you? For God’s sake man, perhaps I can help. If you are in some kind of trouble . . . you must tell me who is stalking you?”
“Same people who are after you!”
“Fans?”
“Creditors!”
After a moment, the sounds from outside become muffled and soon are gone altogether. Joe relights the lamp. My gun is back in my possession, but the phone is still recording. “Final question for the ACME blog, Joe is not a question. This space is completely and utterly yours to sound off. Your time to add anything you wish. Anything I’ve failed to cover.”
“You’ve been in this biz long enough to know the secret, Walker. It’s about survival. But you can’t survive on your own. We’re writers. There’s no competition between us. My fans are your fans, and vice versa. So we need to treat each other better. Support one another. Recommend each other’s books. Hell, we should buy and review each other’s books as well. Never ceases to amaze me that something so simple, so obvious, is done by so few.”
Konrath stands up, offers his hand. “Thanks for the interview, Walker, and for watching my back. You know I’m your biggest fan.”
I nod, and he walks off into the shadows before I can return the sentiment. But if you’re reading this, Joe, know I feel the same way…
If you’ve enjoyed our brief interlude with Joe Konrath, you can learn a great deal more about him at his website - http://www.jakonrath.com/
His blogspot - http://jakonrath.blogspot.com/
MySpace - http://www.myspace.com/jakonrath
For more tedious information about moi, it’s http://www.robertwalkerbooks.com/
Thanks for coming by –
Rob Walker
For more tedious information about moi, it’s http://www.robertwalkerbooks.com/
Thanks for coming by –
Rob Walker
Thursday, March 12, 2009
What Is That Stench? by DL Larson
Reading Tony Burton's blog the other day reminded me of an incident that happened just a few weeks ago at my house. Now, I don't want to one-up the new guy, and if my daughter ever discovers I shared this incident on a public blog, she will have my hide. But at my age, I dare to be brave and a bizarre story is well, meant to be shared, so here goes ...
We had the family over one Sunday and my twin granddaugthers were packing all their animals in order to play vet. They were excited and anxious to hike everything upstairs to their play room. They're seven with big brown eyes that melt my heart and an imagination to rival my own. They played for hours, running around roaring and having an over-all great afternoon. Sounds pretty normal for first graders.
The next morning I was racing down the stairs and sniffed something sour and wondered what that could be. But I didn't have time to investigate and went on my way. That night the same sourness wafted about when I went to change my clothes for a meeting. I wondered if the Sears guy had left a sandwich behind when he installed my new washer and dryer, but I didn't have time to go looking already being late for my appointment.
The second morning my husband hollers up the stairs, "Honey, what's that funny smell?" The phone rang and we never got to discuss it. I left for work, not very happy that my house had smelled green, and not in a good way.
That night I walked in the door and gasped! What is that stench??!! I was supposed to be in Lisle by 6:30, which meant I was already late. But hey, enough is enough and my nose led me upstairs. In the cartoons the air has a green haze and I think there might have been one in my house that night.
I went into the upstairs bathroom, smiled at my new washer and dryer. My husband came in about then and hollered from the back door, "What in hell is that stench?"
That's when I looked into the waste basket and gagged. I found the culprit. I just didn't know what it was. I pulled layer after layer of fluffy tissue away, frowning at the cover-up. Hey, I'm a mom, I recognize a cover-up when it knocks me upside the head. Beneath lay a mass of green blob with red stains all around other tissue. I thought I'd seen everything, but I'll have to say I've never laid eyes on rotten hamburger in the bottom of a waste basket in my bathroom. Hamburger! Patties to be exact, most of it still tucked in between the small square freezer sheets.
Needless to say the halos on my granddaughters slipped a notch. Confrontation was inevitable. Playing vet had become a little too real for them. And yes, Gram and Gramps received a sincere apology and the promise to never play with meat again. But what still flabbergasts me, is their honesty when they said, "We poured the beer out!"
I will never under-estimate the imagination of a seven year old again. I have re-instated the eyes in the back of my head. And I'm back to counting the beers in my frig. And if you see my daughter, please don't tell her I told you this story! I don't want to hear, "Mom! I can't believe you told everyone!"
Til next time ~
DL Larson
We had the family over one Sunday and my twin granddaugthers were packing all their animals in order to play vet. They were excited and anxious to hike everything upstairs to their play room. They're seven with big brown eyes that melt my heart and an imagination to rival my own. They played for hours, running around roaring and having an over-all great afternoon. Sounds pretty normal for first graders.
The next morning I was racing down the stairs and sniffed something sour and wondered what that could be. But I didn't have time to investigate and went on my way. That night the same sourness wafted about when I went to change my clothes for a meeting. I wondered if the Sears guy had left a sandwich behind when he installed my new washer and dryer, but I didn't have time to go looking already being late for my appointment.
The second morning my husband hollers up the stairs, "Honey, what's that funny smell?" The phone rang and we never got to discuss it. I left for work, not very happy that my house had smelled green, and not in a good way.
That night I walked in the door and gasped! What is that stench??!! I was supposed to be in Lisle by 6:30, which meant I was already late. But hey, enough is enough and my nose led me upstairs. In the cartoons the air has a green haze and I think there might have been one in my house that night.
I went into the upstairs bathroom, smiled at my new washer and dryer. My husband came in about then and hollered from the back door, "What in hell is that stench?"
That's when I looked into the waste basket and gagged. I found the culprit. I just didn't know what it was. I pulled layer after layer of fluffy tissue away, frowning at the cover-up. Hey, I'm a mom, I recognize a cover-up when it knocks me upside the head. Beneath lay a mass of green blob with red stains all around other tissue. I thought I'd seen everything, but I'll have to say I've never laid eyes on rotten hamburger in the bottom of a waste basket in my bathroom. Hamburger! Patties to be exact, most of it still tucked in between the small square freezer sheets.
Needless to say the halos on my granddaughters slipped a notch. Confrontation was inevitable. Playing vet had become a little too real for them. And yes, Gram and Gramps received a sincere apology and the promise to never play with meat again. But what still flabbergasts me, is their honesty when they said, "We poured the beer out!"
I will never under-estimate the imagination of a seven year old again. I have re-instated the eyes in the back of my head. And I'm back to counting the beers in my frig. And if you see my daughter, please don't tell her I told you this story! I don't want to hear, "Mom! I can't believe you told everyone!"
Til next time ~
DL Larson
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Signs of the Times by Morgan Mandel
This morning I went to Mass for Lent, where the grammar school children were leading the invocations, some of which were:
Let us pray for peace in the world.
Let us pray for the unemployed.
Let us pray for our parents who are sacrificing to send us to a parochial school.
All of those invocations were about actual issues facing many Americans. We are still at war in Iraq and have no guarantee that even if we pull out, we won't be struck by terrorists when we least expect it.
Last night on TV I saw a video of people braving it out in line in the rain. The announcer said 1000 applicants came to apply for 100 jobs.
As I looked at the children in their uniforms this morning, I wondered how many of them might have to leave and go to another school because their parents can't afford to keep paying tuition.
Books can be a wonderful escape from reality. When I write, I try to pull my reader away from the real world and into the make believe realm. When I read, I read to escape.
I wonder how many other authors still write about a make believe world, or are more of them adding a dose of reality to reflect our times.
What about you? When you read, do you prefer escapism or reality? If you're an author, which do you write? Please share.
If you liked this post, please consider stopping by my daily post as well at http://morganmandel.blogspot.com
Let us pray for peace in the world.
Let us pray for the unemployed.
Let us pray for our parents who are sacrificing to send us to a parochial school.
All of those invocations were about actual issues facing many Americans. We are still at war in Iraq and have no guarantee that even if we pull out, we won't be struck by terrorists when we least expect it.
Last night on TV I saw a video of people braving it out in line in the rain. The announcer said 1000 applicants came to apply for 100 jobs.
As I looked at the children in their uniforms this morning, I wondered how many of them might have to leave and go to another school because their parents can't afford to keep paying tuition.
Books can be a wonderful escape from reality. When I write, I try to pull my reader away from the real world and into the make believe realm. When I read, I read to escape.
I wonder how many other authors still write about a make believe world, or are more of them adding a dose of reality to reflect our times.
What about you? When you read, do you prefer escapism or reality? If you're an author, which do you write? Please share.
If you liked this post, please consider stopping by my daily post as well at http://morganmandel.blogspot.com
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Flooded Basement
Obviously, I'm late in posting to the blog although I'm back dating it so it appears on Tuesday. I spent this past Tuesday with a flooded basement and ended up replacing two sump pumps. The previous ones had been so badly jerry-rigged that it was amazing they lasted as long as they did. We've had a very snowy and rainy winter her in the Chicago area and the water seems to gravitate towards my house.
Believe me - I'd rather be writing.
In the meantime please visit one of my other blogs - Sleeping with the Author at:
http://sleepingwiththeauthor.blogspot.com/
Have a great - and dry - day!
Believe me - I'd rather be writing.
In the meantime please visit one of my other blogs - Sleeping with the Author at:
http://sleepingwiththeauthor.blogspot.com/
Have a great - and dry - day!
Monday, March 9, 2009
Web Tour
Last week was the YA Web Tour and it was very successful. Basically, seven authors from the young adult line from my publisher, The Wild Rose Press, got together and had a tour. We each gave away a book or books and it was really a fun.
Honestly, I had no clue how it would work, and even though we each did our contest a little bit differently, things went smoothly. In actuality, it was pretty darn easy!
Kimberlee Mendoza, who is also a graphic designer and does many of our covers, designed the graphic and organized the days. Then all we had to do was post the tour on our website, donate a book and tell people where to go on the next stop. This drove a lot of traffic to each of our sites. I’m sure some people went there and just entered the contest, but I know that some of them looked around; saw what kind of books we write, what was coming up, etc. I am really pleased with the tour and would highly recommend it for promotion, it’s easy and inexpensive!!
So, if you missed any of the stops on our web tour, here are the other authors:
Kimberlee Mendoza, Deb Logan, Kitty Keswick, Terry Lee Wilde, Linda Kage and Laurie Larsen.
Please have a look at theses authors sites and just hang around a little bit.
Enjoy!
June
www.junesproat.com
Honestly, I had no clue how it would work, and even though we each did our contest a little bit differently, things went smoothly. In actuality, it was pretty darn easy!
Kimberlee Mendoza, who is also a graphic designer and does many of our covers, designed the graphic and organized the days. Then all we had to do was post the tour on our website, donate a book and tell people where to go on the next stop. This drove a lot of traffic to each of our sites. I’m sure some people went there and just entered the contest, but I know that some of them looked around; saw what kind of books we write, what was coming up, etc. I am really pleased with the tour and would highly recommend it for promotion, it’s easy and inexpensive!!
So, if you missed any of the stops on our web tour, here are the other authors:
Kimberlee Mendoza, Deb Logan, Kitty Keswick, Terry Lee Wilde, Linda Kage and Laurie Larsen.
Please have a look at theses authors sites and just hang around a little bit.
Enjoy!
June
www.junesproat.com
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