An Infinitesimal Abundance of Color, written by Mark David Major and beautifully illustrated by Layce Boswell, tells the simple story of a father answering his daughter’s questions at bedtime.
Buy Now @ Amazon
Genre – Juvenile Fiction/Bedtime and Dreams
Rating – G
More details about the author
CHAPTER ONE
My mind screamed for me to move. To fight the monster who trapped me with its arms. But my body remained paralyzed, a prisoner of flesh and bone. It wasn’t fear. I knew that much. Inside I was striking out with limbs, nails, and teeth. But any connection to actual movement was lost. My whole body felt like it was filled with cement.
Parted lips closed in on my neck. My eyes darted around, desperate to find a way out of this. Darkness stretched beyond the waning light of a naked bulb. There was a single door, then nothing but damp stone and shadow. The stink of death and decay hung thick in the air. Horror seeped through my veins.
There was nothing I could do. No way to stop this. No way to save my life.
The sound of labored breath rasped. Not my own. Not this monster’s. In the shadows it was impossible to see where it came from. Was someone watching? Fear snaked through my soul. The fear wasn’t for my own life, not really. I was afraid for someone else. But who?
Any thoughts vanished as fangs punctured my flesh. A gasp escaped my lips.
Flames bloomed from the punctures, swarming across my skin. The monster clutched my body tighter and tighter with every sickening gulp.
As the flames began to dull, my internal screams and my drive to fight faded. Without the current of blood filling my veins, violent shivers took hold of my entire body.
My body was giving up.
With shallow contractions, my heart slowed. My mind wavered as my body began to fail. The crushing pain of imminent death faded. As my eyes fluttered shut, a memory of the boy I loved floated across the backs of my eyelids. I saw his dejected expression. I felt the moment he had crushed me against his body, covering my lips with his. Then I heard the words he had spoken for the very first time. “Amelia, I love you.”
An icy tear escaped my eye. Now he would never know the truth. Never know that my feelings for him were still as irrefutable and irrevocable as ever. Never know that I would give anything just to be in his arms and feel the warmth of his kiss one last time. The realization was more agonizing than knowing my fate now, more agonizing than any lingering pain.
I love you too. The memory faded, dissipating like a cloud of smoke.
The room began to blur and spin. Unable to blink, my eyes stared up at the dusty light bulb. Blood loss pressed in on me. I was so deathly cold. The edge of my vision turned black, light being eaten away by a stain like blotted ink. Then empty darkness took hold.
This is it, I thought. I’m dying.
~
Buy Now @ Amazon
Genre – YA Paranormal Romance
Rating – PG-13+
More details about the author and the book
Connect with Jessica Myers on Facebook & Twitter
Website http://bloodboundnovels.com
10 Tips for Becoming a Better Writer
1. Read your genre. Whatever you are writing, it is probably safe to assume there are others writing in the same genre. It is important that you read as much as you can from your chosen genre. This doesn’t mean you have to emulate it in any way, but, especially if you are planning on publishing, you should know the lay of the land. As you expand your knowledge of your genre, you will find less direct inspiration for your own book and more niches that you can fill. You will start asking questions that other authors haven’t addressed. The more you explore, the more there is to find.
2. Read other genres. While you are becoming an expert in your own genre, you should also explore works far outside your realm of experience. Literature cannot thrive in a vacuum. New information, styles, themes, and topics should always refresh the literary landscape, and we do this by cross-pollination, if you will (see what I did there? Science!) If you are writing epic fantasy, go read some Mary Roach. Biography? Read some Orson Scott Card. Your work will be richer for it.
3. Pay attention when you are out and about. Writing comes from the world we live in, even when we write about new worlds. Pay attention to how people speak, interesting turns of phrase, striking visual images. You know when you’re driving and you suddenly arrive at your destination without knowing how? Try to avoid that automated state of mind whenever you can. Be conscious.
4. Chronicle. Write things down when you can. I’m sure you’ve heard the advice to carry a notepad with you, well here it is again. Those of us without eidetic memories need to preserve little details in the only way we can – by chronicling them.
5. Write every day. It’s a job. You won’t feel inspiration all of the time. You still have to write. Writer’s block is a wall that doesn’t go away with time – it needs to be broken through. You can always go back and edit the “uninspired” parts.
6. Take a vacation from your work. There are times you just need to walk away. If you’ve been working on a piece for hours each day, put it in your desk and leave it for a while. Come back with new eyes. You might choose to work on a different piece, or journal, or watch TV. Either way, sometimes you just need a break.
7. Share what you write. I get it – writing can be intensely private, but to get better, you need feedback. Join a writing group or send drafts to trusted friends and family.
8. Read critically. The most helpful thing I have done as a writer has been to work as a reader of unsolicited manuscripts for a playwriting company. My job was to respond honestly to the scripts I received with helpful feedback, not to say whether I did or didn’t like a script. By giving that feedback, I was able to recognize similar mistakes or successes in my own writing. Find a way to put yourself in a position that you can read new work and respond, whether to the author or simply to yourself.
9. Read your own work aloud. This is important. Everyone reads differently, and your writing might sound different in your head than it does on the page. Read it out or have someone read it to you. When my eyes get tired, I have my computer read it to me. It’s rudimentary, but it does the trick quite well.
10. Buy an audiobook. This is a variation on #9. Get used to how certain books sound when narrated. Listen to your favorite book. What do you like about how it sounds? Do you notice anything different about the book hearing it? Where does it fall flat?
Buy Now @ Amazon
Genre – Children’s
Rating – G
More details about the author
Connect with Reagan Chesnut on Facebook & Twitter
Website http://www.reaganchesnut.com
How to Write by the Seat of Your Pants: Outline or No?
There is no perfect formula for writing a great story. There is only what works best for you. Some writers use detailed outlines to keep themselves on track and their thoughts organized. There is certainly nothing wrong with that approach. However, it’s not my style. This is a bit surprising to me, as I am so organized in every other aspect of my life. Yet, I prefer an organic approach to writing that is more nebulous, hard to pin down, and not easily defined. Why? Well, because I write the story that my characters want to tell. I don’t force my story on them.
It’s no different than when you first meet someone. You don’t know everything about them right away. It’s the same with characters in a story. Of course, I start with ideas and a general sense of where I’m headed, but as I begin writing and developing the characters, it’s not uncommon for me to change from my original course. As I get to know the people I’m writing about, get in their heads, I quite often take turns in my storytelling that I wasn’t expecting when I first sat down to tap away at my laptop. This makes it fun for me, like an adventure. In some respects, it puts me in the shoes of the reader wondering what is going to happen next. This type of writing process keeps me excited and eager to see where I will end up. I often can’t wait to sit down and see where I will be taken each day.
What’s more, I never know the ending when I begin writing. I like it that way. It frees me up to write authentically without having to contrive a story in such a way as to arrive at my preconceived outcome. Again, I go where my characters take me and sometimes it’s not comfortable places, but it’s always fun and worth the time and effort. I have had moments while writing a story when I discover that I’m writing something completely different from what I had intended. Those moments always fill me with energy and a renewed curiosity about where it will all lead.
Now having said this, writers still, no matter their process, have to line up thoughts, words, paragraphs and ultimately chapters that are coherent, easy to read, and will keep the reader turning pages. My process may not be an organized one, but I make sure to arrange the output with the reader in mind. I want my stories to have an easy, natural flow that goes unnoticed. I want the reader more caught up in finding out what happens next than paying attention to a particular writing style. At least that’s my goal, and I think it’s safe to say the same is true for most writers.
Here is another thing. I don’t believe in making myself write something every single day as some suggest is necessary. If I have to force myself to write, well, the output is going to reflect it. To me, those times when I don’t feel like writing, or don’t know what to write next, are the very times when I need to step back and reread, or rethink, what I’ve already written. I start all over in the sense that I look with fresh eyes from the beginning, see where I’m currently at, and think about what the next step would be for the characters. I wait until they tell me. No, I do not hear voices. I know that my characters are imaginary, but I do feel them. When you spend as much time creating people in your head with all of their flaws, nuances, and tics, as writers do, you feel like they’re real, you feel like you know them.
There is no magic pill for writing. No systematic instructions that will guarantee a great story destined to become a bestseller. Find your own voice, your own style, and discover your own process.
Buy Now @ Amazon & Smashwords
Genre – Women’s Fiction, Suspense, Thriller, Romance
Rating – R
More details about the author and the book
Connect with Robyn Roze on Facebook & Twitter
Website http://www.robynroze.com/
Julie squeezed my arm, snapping me back to the present and my duty as host as some of our guests were leaving.
With most of the people gone, I cornered Adrian again and told him that I would be down at Head Office some time during the week to make a start on learning the business.
“I want to know everything about this micro-electronics factory in Belfast before any more decisions are made,” I told him firmly.
“But there are still some negotiations to be completed, and other formalities. I really think they ought to be dealt with now, not later,” he said in a tone that implied I should let those who know about these things get on with it.
“No. Under the circumstances I'm not rushing us into any decisions.” I took vicarious pleasure watching him squirm.
“If you insist,” he said stiffly and walked out to his waiting car.
“You seem to have ruffled his feathers a bit,” said Julie, standing beside me. “Something tells me you are not going to have an easy time with him.”
“I don't trust him.”
“Is that why you're goading him? Or do I detect a spark of interest in the Group?” She was laughing at me again.
“I want to know why my father was murdered, and my gut tells me it has something to do with this new project in Northern Ireland.”
I knew that the Gunn Group was complicated. It controlled many companies in the fields of electronics, engineering and chemicals. The assets were enormous and profits almost equal to the largest of multi-nationals. No mean feat for a privately owned business. Obviously with the amounts of money involved, there must be very tight controls on security, especially as the areas of micro-electronics and chemicals were high risk and the competition cut throat. I could understand Adrian's reluctance to talk business at the wake, but still there was this nagging doubt in my mind.
“I think I'll have a talk with Mary. Perhaps she can shed some light on the matter.”
Julie shook her head. “Don't disturb her just yet. It is the first real rest she's had. How about taking me for a walk around the grounds instead?”
“You're right and they're quite beautiful at this time of year.”
We passed the rest of the afternoon wandering the grounds talking. It was the first time since we arrived that we had been alone for any length of time and now that the funeral was over we could look forward to happier times ahead.
I led Julie around to the nondescript barn set aside from the main Hall. The only thing that could give away the fact that the barn was an aircraft hangar was the small round concrete helipad thirty metres from the hangar building.
Julie looked at me askance. “A helicopter?”
“Wealth does have its perks.”
“A private jet and a helicopter?”
“Well actually the Gunn Group has two helicopters and two more private jets.”
“Of course it does,” she said sarcastically.
The electric hangar doors slid open at the touch of the ‘app’ on my iPhone and revealed the interior of the barn, aside from the helicopter, there was a small yet comprehensively equipped workshop and maintenance area, and outside a five hundred gallon tank of Jet fuel. Julie watched as I wheeled the aircraft out of the hangar onto the pad, disconnected the ground handling wheels, stowed them back in the hangar and checked the fuel. My father always kept the helicopter fully fuelled and ready to go at any time. It made trips to London easy and quick.
It had been a while since I flew the Eurocopter, demanding a different set of skills to the fixed wing Cessna Mustang. This one was equipped with a full EFIS (Electronic Flight Information System) digital 'glass' cockpit, so I could fly 'blind' from Norwich to the London Heliport in Battersea on the river Thames only eight miles from the Gunn Group offices. This particular aircraft had been configured for right seat flying. I liked it better than flying from the left seat, as I could lock off the collective and use my left hand for changing radio frequencies and other instruments.
“When was the last time you flew this?”
“About two years ago. We'll take it tomorrow, I need to make an appearance at the office.”
“You'll take it, I have my own business to run and that means mollifying my agent and getting some work.”
“Where's your sense of adventure?”
“You get some practice in then we'll talk about my sense of adventure.”
Mary reappeared for dinner. The rest had done her good.
Some of the old bounce was back in her walk and conversation. I didn't want to spoil the atmosphere so suppressed my desire to bombard her with questions. There would be plenty of time after the meal.
She had been through a lot in the last eighteen months, having just recovered from a serious car crash the previous year in which two of her closest friends had been killed. After a long period in hospital and private nursing home she had pulled through.
“Mary, there are some things that have been worrying me about Dad,” I said, as tactfully as possible. She sipped the brandy delicately. “I keep wondering about this Northern Ireland deal. This afternoon I tried to talk to Adrian about it, but he brushed me off, virtually saying it was none of my business.” I paused, waiting for a reply. There was none. “Well, don't you think it is more than just a coincidence?”
She placed her brandy glass carefully on the side table and shook her head. “The police came to the conclusion that it was probably a case of mistaken identity. If there is anything they will find it Thomas.” She smiled. “You concentrate on learning the business. Leave the investigating to the experts.”
“I need to know what the Northern Ireland deal is all about. Adrian just said it was one of Dad's personal projects. If I’m going to learn about the company then it seems to me to be a good place to start. Did he say anything to you about it?”
“No, of course not. You know what your father was like about business. No work at home. All business was to stay where it belonged, at the office. Perhaps Adrian was just honouring your father’s memory by not discussing it here. I'm sure he will tell you all about it when you go in to work.” She drew a weary hand across her face. “I must go to bed, Thomas. I'm not really as together as I look.”
“Of course.” I helped her up and watched as she walked slowly across the room. “Are there any papers that Dad would have left in the house? Presumably, if he was handling the deal on his own he would have something here.” I felt I needed to press her on the subject. It was so strange that nobody seemed to know much about it at all. I know that the old man liked to keep business away from his private life as much as possible, but I also know that there were times when he brought very important documents home. Particularly those pertaining to projects in which he was personally involved.
“Please, Thomas. Enough. I never pried into his business affairs at all. Perhaps if I had I could have been a better wife to him. Now please, we can talk again tomorrow, but there is nothing much I can tell you.” She stopped at the door, turned and looked at me carefully as if trying to tell me something by telepathy. “I want you to do a good job now that you're in charge,” she said, tipped her head on one side as if asking a silent question, then turned and left the room.
Buy Now @ Amazon
Genre – Thriller
Rating – PG13
More details about the author
Connect with AFN Clarke on Facebook & Twitter
Website http://www.afnclarke.com/
