Sometimes, I’ve been extremely fortunate in my writing journey. When I’ve needed them the most, I’ve met people who have shown me that ePublishing is not only possible, but in some ways it is preferable to traditional publishing.
During my year of querying agencies and receiving a whole basketful of raspberries, around the time I’d started to build my author platform, I quickly began to encounter other writers, some of whom were still querying, others who had decided to go it alone by self-publishing.
And as they proved to me that there is definitely hope after rejection, one author in particular steered me towards the tutorials that explained how I could complete the process myself. Thanks Ryan!
I’ve also become friends with several other authors who went on to recommended exactly the right cover artist.
Thank you everybody! You are my guardian angels. Or at the very least, he recommended you all. :)
Now I am entering a new phase in my writing. By sheer chance, and some very fortunate timing, I have become friends with Tara, an aspiring editor who began by examining my first chapter, but went on to review the entire MS. We are now working together on a complete and thorough edit of CoA.
When I wrote the post How to accept editing feedback I thought that accepting a professional critique would be much more daunting, but Tara has been fair as well as thorough with my MS.
She even likes my jokes… :)
As I write this, we have already made some major changes to the story and I now have several words to purge from the MS, on pain of nagging.
It seems that I use the words ‘just’, ‘like’ and ‘sigh’ a great deal (thanks, WordSmith!), to the point where it has begun to leap off the page at Tara. *Sighs* We are also discussing the intricacies of ‘forwards’ versus ‘forward’ and it looks as if I have sinned with ‘towards’ as well. Taking into account that I write in British English (BrE), we both understand that different rules apply on our respective sides of the Big Pond, but she may have me cornered in this instance. :)
However, Tara seems to enjoying the peculiarities of BrE and I’m slowly introducing her to some of our colloqualisms. I’ll soon have her speaking like a native of the UK and then we can be china plates for life!
This week’s extract is from ‘A Construct of Angels’ and describes the impromptu angel Michael’s battle against the self-named Damocles, an Anakim, or demon’s offspring.
At this point, Michael is only just beginning to realise his powers and has very little to time to explore them before Damocles attacks him with deadly force.
White light exploded across Michael’s vision as a hurricane of force roared about him; the world spun away in a dizzying blur and the ground hurled itself aside to give way to a vast body of water. Something dark slammed into Michael’s chest, smashing the breath out of him.
Spinning wildly, he ripped across the sky, supersonic shockwaves exploding from his arms and legs, but Michael willed his hurtling body to stop and the shockwaves instantly vanished from his limbs – but even as he slowed, a dark blur rocketed straight towards him.
This time Michael’s reactions were faster – he spun around, avoiding the hurtling shape just as he had side-stepped the black sword and watched as Damocles exploded past him like a missile, already turning to strike again. Watching the black dot grow larger by the second, Michael’s determination resolved – he would no longer be pushed around by the approaching Anakim.
Damocles cannoned into him faster than a fighter jet.
I’ve just completed the first part of an author interview with Draegon Grey. It surprised me how much fun something like this can be – almost like reliving the whole process of writing the novel over again. Happy memories, the small problems that seemed so insurmountable at the time and the joy of completing the work…they all came flooding back.
The second part, a character interview with Sara Finn, my protagonist, will follow soon.
In the meantime, you can read the ‘Author Moment’ interview here.
This week I offer an excerpt from ‘A Vengeance of Angels’ (book 2 of the Angels of York). Again, it will contain mild spoilers if you haven’t read the first book ‘A Construct of Angels’.
Michael has been taking action that has angered the Eternal Realm (what we have come to know as Heaven) enough for the Realm to despatch an Angel to warn him; ‘Cease your activities or suffer destruction.’
A single booming ‘NO!” precedes the Angel’s arrival.
Michael, despite his status as an ex-Angel, is afforded no respite from the might of this powerful being;
The voice that smashed into me was powerful enough to shatter my bones. I was slammed into the grass, my breath exploding from my flattened lungs as a whoosh. A brilliant figure materialised before me, radiating a furious energy that set my blood wailing with terror even as I scrambled to regain my feet.
Twice my height, its incandescent limbs barely distinguishable as such, the being seemed to sneer at my diminutive mortal form as my knees buckled and I dropped into supplication before it. The ozone-laden air rippled madly as the being’s voice thundered past and through me, vibrating deep into my lungs.
My body begged for release; to wail out its anguish at having been subdued in such a matter, but little more than a whimper escaped me as the air continued to resonate from the being’s thunderous words.
If you are a planner, I imagine that the answer to my next question will be obvious;
What inspires you to write that next post?
If you’re a planner, you’ve probably got a list of ideas to draw from, a sequence of posts that lead from one to the next to the next and so on. You may have a teaching plan that unfolds week by week to build into an exciting and informative series of articles.
But what if you hail from the Planet Pants?
What if you happen to be an impetious and spontaneous fly-by-luck scatterbrain like me?
I can often go for weeks without any idea about what I will post next – aside from my regularly irregular and often-late Six Sentence Sundays.
And then, without warning, an idea will strike, coming out of nowhere like a thunderbolt on a clear summer’s day.
Quickly, ere I forget the subject matter, I will fashion a post from old wood and used pieces of string – and as I write, I often realise that I am trying to cover several subjects, several concepts within the same post. Rather than (as they said in Top Gun) push a bad position, the disparate subjects will split into enough material to suggest several vaguely-related posts; In other words, the fledgling post will create spin-off ideas; it will have babies.
A half-dozen little pink and hairless posts will suddenly begin to mewl and squeak and demand to be considered as posts in their own right.
So the fresh flurry of fledgling posts will be nurtured. They will be a bit like my family – very loosely related and perhaps a little edgy. There may be very little to connect them to previous or future posts aside from a single word or a faint, shining thread of thought.
That is why, dear reader, you may see groups of related topics appearing from me – sometimes two or three in one week.
Despite my endeavours to hold them back and release them into the wild one at a time, they will often break free. When that happens, I am forced to watch helplessly as they circle the internet, scaring young women and inspiring modern Hitchcocks into making new movies a la noir.
But I’m interested to know; How does inspiration strike you? Your system cannot be as haphazard as mine…surely?
Do you have a rolling plan of posts that stretch towards a vanishing point on the distant horizon? Or is inspiration fired by a song on the radio, a news article or even another blog post?
This week’s SSS is an extract from the later part of ‘A Construct of Angels’.
Michael, our reluctant angel, has just given battle to a demonic swordsman, driving him from the streets of York. Michael holds one of a pair of black swords in his hand; the other is jammed into the tarmac nearby – the result of a clever defence move by Michael. However, the swordsman has left behind a dangerous mob, which Michael is holding at bay with the captured sword – although events are about to conspire against him.
Sara takes up the story;
Before my astonished eyes, the black blade began to disintegrate, dropping to the ground like crumbling ashes.
Michael hurled the hilt aside and stared at his hand in horror – a cold chill had raised goosebumps along the entire length of his arm.
The mob chuckled; many of them raised their bottles and makeshift clubs.
A knife flashed, my nerve broke and I leapt forward, racing across the slick street towards Michael.
My hands reached out towards the second sword that had now toppled, the satin blade having softened the tarmac to leave a puckered crater in the black surface of the road.
Michael shook himself out of his daze, his darkening fingers reaching for my arm as my fingers closed around the hilt…but he was too late – I was already beyond his reach.