Year End Recap

Year End Recap

            All in all I consider 2011 to be a successful year.  So many major things happened!  Not without hitches and setbacks here and there, but they happened nonetheless.  In March of 2011, I published my first book: The Dark Gifts: Birthright.  I was simultaneously deliriously happy and petrified. 

            Naive and deluded (because I can be very irrational at times), I believed that if it was any good at all, it would sell.  So I quickly got to work on Oceans of Red volume one and Inheritance.  Just before I’d completed Inheritance, I realized that A. Either Birthright wasn’t any good, OR, B. I didn’t quite ‘get’ the whole marketing thing.  (Consequently, I still don’t ‘get’ the whole marketing thing.) LOL

            Continuing to plug away, I kept busy writing Oceans 2.  In the fall of 2011 I had the extreme fortune of finding book club pages on facebook!  Who would have thought they’d have pages like that?  Not me!  I found Paranormal Reads, Paranormal Book Club, Paranormal Addicts, and Beneath the Cover.  Not only did I make some awesome friends through these pages, but many of them actually wanted to read my books!  Floored, humbled, ecstatic--were just a few of the wide range of emotions that flooded through me.

            When I started my fan page (which I didn’t want to do and was strong armed into doing), I had 38 fans.  All personal friends and family.  Chelsea from PA and Sabrina from PR put out a call for volunteer reviewers.  WOW!!!!  The number of volunteers shocked me.  I was dumbfounded that so many people were interested in reading something I wrote. 

            Within a month or so Inheritance was released.  We hosted a huge release party that went on for 2 days.  Many other authors I’d met over the past year joined in with numerous facebook pages and we had a blast! 

            As of December 31st, 2011, I’ve had 6 releases this year.  Birthright and Inheritance (full length novels), Oceans of Red 1&2 (mini novella series), Haunted (a compilation of short true ghost stories), and the short story A Christmas Miracle.  Birthright even managed to place #4 in Paranormal Reads 2011 Best Indie Author/Books poll!!!!  (Blew my mind and I’m still giddy about that one!!! LOL)

            I no longer run the page alone.  And that’s awesome because I don’t think I could handle it all by myself!  I’ve added Amanda Wimer, Amanda Sheffer, Brittany Carrigan, and Katie Seco as administrators.  However, these girls are more than just admins on the page.  They are my friends, my think-tank, my go-to girls when I need ideas for marketing, or just need to bounce my own ideas off of someone.  I consider myself very lucky to have found and enlisted them!!!

            And then of course, last but not least, are the people on the fan page.  I really don’t like the idea of calling them fans.  (Well, calling you fans.)  That word seems so distant and alien to how I feel about them.  Many of you I’ve grown to know fairly well and I enjoy each chance we get to interact with each other.  Not long ago someone made a comment to me pertaining to the number of ‘fans’ on the page. (At the time there were roughly 600 likes on the page.)  I don’t remember it word for word, but it was something to the effect of: “What number of fans on your page will make you feel successful?”  My answer was, “The number I have.  I would rather have a smaller group of people that are there because they like me enough to care about my work, than to have thousands who could care less if I take another breath or write another word.”  And I mean that!!!!  You guys amaze me and humble me every day with your generosity, kindness, and support!!!!!

            In November, thanks to an idea Amanda Wimer gave me, I contacted Arkansas Children’s Hospital to see if they had a Kindle or ebook program for the children staying there.  When they informed me they didn’t have one in place, the gears started spinning, and I put out a call for YA, Children’s, and Middle Grade authors who might be willing to donate their ebooks to the hospital.  Within a matter of weeks we had 90 participants and the ebook program had been set into motion.  These authors donated generously!!!!  Some of them with every book they had published!!!!  Now we’ve decided to do it again.  Many more times actually.  The end goal is to get an ebook program in every Children’s Hospital that doesn’t already have one.  Having a child and grandchild that have spent a large amount of time in ACH, the program is very near and dear to my heart.  Of all the things I hope to accomplish in the coming year, this particular item is very high on my to-do list.

            So as I said earlier, I feel this past year has been a terribly successful year.  I’m not famous, I most certainly am not rolling in the dough, but I don’t need to be.  I’m doing what I love, have made many new friends, and I’m moving forward.  Thank you for giving a year I will remember for the rest of my life!!!!

Blog Award!!!

Blog awarded the Liebster Blog Award!

This morning, I received a Liebster Award from J.R. Wagner.  Thank you!!!!

J.R.'s Blog is  here!

So, as per the rules for this award (copied from J.R.):

In accepting the Liebster Blog Award, the recipient agrees to: 

Thank the person who gave them this award and link back to that persons blog

Copy and paste the award to their blog

Reveal the 5 blogs they have chosen to award, commenting on their blog to break the news

Hope those people in turn pay it forward by accepting and awarding "the Liebster Blog Award" to bloggers they would like to honour

This award is for anyone with fewer than 200 followers :)

My chosen blogs are:

Angie Edwards  Books 4 Tomorrow

Brittany Carrigan  The Cover and Everything Between

Sofia Day  Sofia Day's Pen

Katie Seco  Paraholic's Preview

Mera Mera's YA Book List

I'm sure before long, these blogs will wield a mighty force!!!!  Congrats to all of you!!!! :D

Fan of the month contest

Would you like to be a character in a novel?  If you find this idea enticing, read on.  I know this is a long post, but you might find it interesting.

To be written in as a character in one of my books you must first become the fan of the month.  Here’s how this will work. 

To be included as a potential fan of the month you must: 

1.  Participate actively in the games, especially the quizzes about Willow Cross books. (As time permits of course.)

2.  Help spread the word about the page.  (Passing along book links when posted and other specials or promotions we have going on.)

3.  Have read at least one of the books.  (You’ll need that info for some of the quizzes.)  There will be special Fan of the Month (FOM) quizzes throughout the month.  You will have 24 hours to answer the 5 questions in each quiz and email your answers to  willowsfanofthemonth@gmail.com   FOM quizzes are separate from our regular quiz segments.

The FOM will be chosen based on their activity on the page from the previous month.  If there are several that qualify, the admins will vote for the top three and Willow will decide between those 3.  You will be notified the last day of each month who the winner will be for the following month.

Now, what do you get out of it?  Well, let me tell you!!!

1.  The fan of the month will be written into the current (or next) story I’m working on. (Depending where I am in the story.)  This character will most likely be a supporting character or play a cameo role.  You get to choose if you want ‘your’ character to have your name, appearance, etc.   (If you choose to have your personality incorporated into your character, you will need to fill out a questionnaire.)

2.  The fan of the month will receive an honorable mention in the dedication of the book he/she has been written into.

3.  Your picture will go into the Honorable Fan Album on the fanpage.

4.  You will receive one free copy of the ebook you were written into.

5.  When the book you are written into goes into print, you will receive one free autographed copy.

*Disclaimer:  I cannot guarantee that you will not end up being a vampire, werewolf, witch, ghost, ect.  As you know, my stories have a way of doing their own thing.  Hopefully you will not mind being a supernatural creature if that’s the way things turn out. 

https://www.facebook.com/willowcrossbooks

My two cents on the Vampire war

It seems, as readers, we’ve found ourselves smack dab in the middle of a Vampire war.  Now it’s quite possible you’ve not noticed it yet, or maybe you just aren’t bothering with it.  (And I don’t blame you.)

Lately, I’ve noticed lots of posts about Breaking Dawn.  It usually begins with an, “I can’t wait!!! I’m so excited!!!”  And shortly after several agreeing comments, there will be massive bashing of Meyers by those who don’t like sparkly vampires.  Generally, I keep my mouth shut.  After all, I don’t know Stephanie personally, and she seems highly capable of holding her own.  However...in the last 24 hours I’ve read a few comments that honked me off a bit.  So, being me, and ever so nosy, I’ve decided to put my two cents in. LOL

I’m pretty sure I don’t need to remind anyone that these are fantasy books with fictional characters.  (We’re big girls and boys, we get that.)  Most true-blue vampire lovers that really hold to vampire lore and tradition still love Blade.  Even though, there has NEVER been a documented case in history (and by documented, I mean someone told a story about it) of a human/vampire hybrid.  So I ask you, why is there room for Blade and not for Edward? 

I’m not asking you like Edward, or even to give him a chance.  Personally, I don’t care whether you do or not.  And I may be going out on a limb here, but I’m pretty sure Stephanie (and her millions) doesn’t care either.   Here’s what I’m asking...how about everyone allows everyone to enjoy whichever books/movies they like and quit trying bash readers for their taste in literature?

I don’t like Faulkner.  I know he’s a classic, but reading his work is daunting and time consuming. (IMO)  I had to do a paper on Barn Burner.  It was by far the hardest paper I’ve ever written.  I had zero interest in the subject matter.  I do however, enjoy reading Shakespeare.  I love the way he words things.  Does this mean I think Faulkner sucks?  Well of course not!!!!  I simply don’t care to read him.  Not a big deal.  I bet Faulkner (were he alive) wouldn’t care either.

The point of this entire post (and yes there is a point) is simply this:  If you don’t have something nice to say, say nothing at all.  Feel free to voice your opinion on whether or not you like something, but don’t take it upon yourself to run a diatribe on an unsuspecting reader about how stupid they are for liking a certain book.  It’s simply none of your business what they like or dislike.  And in case no one’s told you, it’s terribly rude....

That’s my two cents.  Take or leave it.  LOL

The Protector

Next in the series of 100% Totally True, Ghost Stories is The Protector.  Happy Halloween!!! :)

The Protector

            The house on Rivermet wasn’t my first experience with something otherworldly.  It wasn’t my last either.  At the time, I was very young and not in tune with myself or my surroundings.  I hadn’t learn to recognize those little tinglings and ‘feelings’ you get when something, or someone, not of our plane is around.  The very first experience I had was quite different than the Rivermet episode.

            I’d just turned 18 and graduated from high school.  It was glorious!  My coworker has a crazy ex and was in dire need of a roommate.  I jumped at the opportunity.  For the sake of this story, we’ll call my roommate Sandy, and her boyfriend Mike. 

            Sandy was as petrified of the place as I was enthralled.  The antiquated building had been a 3 story home.  Over time the owners had renovated the structure into several apartments.  Ours was an efficiency on the top floor.  One bedroom, bathroom, and a kitchen/living area.  It was cute, cozy, and frequently held the sweet scent of pipe tobacco.  I loved it!

            The first week there, I’d made up my mind she was crazy.  Every so often she’d get goose bumps and say, “Do you feel that?”  Her eyes would grow wide as a terrified expression came over her face.

            I wasn’t sure what ‘that’ was.  I felt warm, peaceful, and protected.  The scent of pipe tobacco grew stronger during those times.  Something about the presence, and there was definitely a presence, made me feel safe and warm.  He (we were sure it was a he) reminded me of my Grandpa.  You see, I didn’t think she was crazy for believing the place to be haunted.  I thought she was nuts, because he seemed like such a nice old man.  Not that we had conversations or anything, just the ‘feeling’ I got.

            Strange things did happen there.  Mostly little things like the doors opening and closing for no apparent reason.  Half of which we could debunk by believing it was a change in air pressure when people entered or left the building. 

            My second week there, I realized Sandy wasn’t as nuts as I’d thought.  Although I still felt the warm fuzzies, it had become obvious that our visitor either didn’t like her, or had an enormous amount of fun scaring her.  It seemed like all the bumps and bangs would happen just behind her or over her head.  She’d jump, squeal, and move as close to me as she could get. 

            I could stay home for hours alone, and thoroughly enjoy it.  She couldn’t stand to be there five minutes unless someone was with her.

            Now I realize this is all relatively uneventful, even boring.  But what happened the night before she moved out is the entire point of telling this story. So I will fast forward to that night about a month after I moved in.

            Sandy’s ex harassed her terribly.  Any fear I had of living there came solely from him.  He’d show up in the middle of the night, beating on the door, screaming at her to open.  I don’t even know how many times we called the police.  A lot, for sure.  It was awfully hard to get a restraining order back then.  I’d taken to keeping a baseball bat by the front door.  He was a big guy and I wanted to protect my friend.

            That night I’d been soaking in the tub, and decided to try to communicate with our visitor.  At the time, I had a name for him.  It wasn’t his real name of course, but it seemed to suit my mental picture of him.  So many years have passed that I’ve forgotten it now. 

            I’d been in the tub at least a half hour, when I had the strangest feeling I needed to get out and get dressed.  I didn’t to start with, but the feeling grew stronger and the water got cold, so I did exactly that.  No sooner than I’d put clothes on, Sandy burst through the door, slammed it, and locked both locks.

            “Call the police!  Quick!” she said.

            “What’s going on?”

            Her pale skin was whiter than I’d ever seen it.  She was absolutely petrified.

            “It’s Mike.  He’s drunk.  I’m really scared this time.  He said he was going to kill me!”

            About that time, the entry door down stairs slammed.  From the bottom of the stairs, Mike screamed, “You ain’t getting away this time!”   Thump, thump, thump echoed up the stairwell as he made his way to our door.

            I grabbed the phone and dialed.  Nothing.  It was completely dead.  I tried again.  Still nothing.  “Sandy, go to the bedroom and lock the door,” I said as I picked up the baseball bat.

            “These doors are paper thin; the locks won’t keep him out.”

            Holding the bat as if ready to hit a homer, I replied calmly, “Someone in this building will call the police.  There’s no way they’ll just let him break in here.  Go to the bedroom.”

            The door rattled on its hinges with the force of the first impact, but the locks held. 

            I bent my knees in anticipation of his entry.  As big as he was, I knew I only had one chance to get in a good hit.  If I didn’t get him good the first time, I was toast. 

            Another boom announced his second hit.  It seemed stronger than the one before.  Once again the door rattled violently.  The locks held.

            The third hit sounded as if he’d thrown his massive body against the paneled door.  Close to 300 pounds of man should have sent that door swinging wide open, but the locks held.  The scent of pipe smoke had grown so strong it nearly choked us.

            Four strikes, then five, then God only knows how many more.  Each time, the noise was louder than before, but each time the door remained closed and the locks held. 

            Soon the sound of running footsteps and yelling wafted through the door.  Another slam, followed by swearing, and then a knock on the door.  “This is the police.  We have him in custody.  Open the door.”

            I dropped the bat and unlocked the door.  I could have hugged that cop!  He came in and asked us a bunch of questions.  We answered, and right before he left he said, “You girls don’t know how lucky you are.  He was nearly through the door.”

            We moved into the narrow hallway to see what he was talking about.  The door was made up of two thin sheets of particle board that looked like paneling.  There were giant holes all over the outside panel.  You could easily see where he’d pushed his shoulder through and the places he’d kicked.  The inside panel, remained pristine.  Not one dent, crack, or mark of any kind.  It wasn’t possible.  Even though the door opened outwards, he should have busted right through.

            Sandy moved out the next day.  Between Mike and the ghost, she’d had enough.  I stayed for another week, but couldn’t find a roommate and unfortunately had to move back home.  There are many who will say this was all just coincidence.  Just the over active imaginations of two teenagers who’d never been out on their own before.  Possibly they’re right.  However, if you have the opportunity, I suggest you hit one of those flimsy panel doors sometime.  See how easily they break.  Then consider the force a 300 pound man would exert when throwing his entire weight against it.  Coincidence?  Or maybe, just maybe, we had a protector no one could see. 

            To this day, I still love the smell of pipe smoke.  And when I smell it, it brings a smile to my face and a reminder that we are not alone.

           

           

Spotlight on 2011 Debut Author Jessie Harrell

Author Bio:

Jessie Harrell fell in love with the Cupid & Psyche myth while majoring in Classical Studies at the University of Florida. (Yes, that degree is about as useless as it sounds.) After attending law school, getting married, having kids and realizing that the real world is a lot more work than she thought it'd be (both good and bad), she turned back to this myth and made it her own.

When Psyche receives a prophecy gone horribly wrong, she learns that even the most beautiful girl in Greece can have a hideous future. Her fate? Fall in love with the one creature even the gods fear.

As she feels herself slipping closer into the arms of the prophecy, Psyche must choose between the terrifyingly tender touch she feels almost powerless to resist and the one constant she's come to expect out of life: you cannot escape what is destined.

Destined is a fresh and heartachingly romantic retelling of the Cupid & Psyche myth from debut novelist, Jessie Harrell.

Note from me:

This is a wonderful book and when I say you need to read it, I'm not kidding!!!  If you are remotely into mythology, you will LOVE it!!!  You can pick up a paperback or e-book copy here!!!  Special thanks to Christina Lee for organizing this event.  Please stop by her blog and take a peek at all the debut authors/blogs participating!!!

The House on Rivermet (part 3)

          The House on Rivermet (part 3)  

            It was dark and stormy that night.  (Okay no it wasn’t, but it should have been!)  I jest, but truly it was a horrifying experience.  Even now, it freaks me out to think about it.  Worse, the fear that most folks will believe I’ve completely flipped my lid after telling of those awful events, nearly throws me into a panic attack.  Exactly one week after we saw the shadow, things escalated again.

            My 3 year-old was asleep on a palate on the floor and the baby was snug in her crib.  My husband’s rhythmic snoring irritated me at first, but finally lulled me to sleep.  I don’t know what woke me up.  One minute I was sound asleep, and the next sitting straight up in bed.  I listened intently for a noise or some sign of what was wrong.  Something had to be wrong.  I could feel the wrongness of the situation deep within me.  My heart raced so fast and hard that it made it difficult to hear much of anything.

            From my bed, I watched the rise and fall of the baby’s chest, making sure she was still breathing.  Then my eyes moved to her sister.  As with the baby, her breath came in normal intervals.  Still afraid, and feeling like a complete idiot, I took a few deep breaths, closed my eyes, and laid back down.  Seconds turned to minutes as I waited for my thudding heart to still.

            Instead of diminishing, the feeling of wrongness amplified.  Fear grew and blossomed into full blown terror as I listened to the quiet house.  Nothing.  Not one sound that wasn’t completely ordinary and easily explained.  The refrigerator fan kicked on, making me jump.   A creak from a windowsill here and there.  Even  muffled sound of the electric icemaker dumping its next batch, but nothing strange or unusual.  And yet, I was so tightly wound, I would have leapt from the bed in an instant. 

            Sleep eluded me completely.  The dark feeling would not go away.  I don’t know how long I laid there before I noticed that I was clenching my eyes shut.  Almost instantaneously, I realized I didn’t want to open them.  Not at all, for any reason.   It was like I was six again, waiting for the monster under my bed to reach out and grab me.  Without a second thought, I pulled the blanket up over my head and opened my eyes.

            You can imagine how ridiculous I felt.  I was a 23 year-old woman for Pete’s sake!  And a mother.  What kind of Mom hides under a blanket while her children are out in the room with whatever it was that scared her in the first place?

            Determined to be a good mother and protector, I pushed the blanket away and surveyed the dark room.  The heavy blinds over the window let in just enough light to leave dark shadows in the corners of the room.  The rocking chair piled high with clean clothes I had yet to fold and put away, sat unmoving.  Not one solitary thing was added or out of place.

            Sighing, I placed my hands behind my head, and contemplated my insanity.  I must be nuts, right?  I mean who acts like that?  Sheesh!

            I watched the ceiling fan go round and round, hoping that at some point it would hypnotize me and put me to sleep.  Above the fan, the ceiling itself was so black I could only see the outside edges.  I rubbed my eyes as the darkness seemed to grow larger than the fan.  It stretched and elongated until it was oval shaped.  My breathing became labored.  And as badly as I wanted to close my eyes, they would not even allow me to blink.

            I was frozen.  Paralyzed.  Not by fear, although the fear was definitely there and very real.  I tried to move.  I tried to reach out and grab my husband.  With every ounce of strength I had, I tried to put my hand on his shoulder and shake him.  My body refused to obey the mind’s commands.   The darkness retreated slowly, and once again the shadow above the fan was the size and shape it should have been.  Tears streamed down my face, and not wanting to wake the children, I choked back sobs.

            My husband finally woke and rolled over to face me.  “What’s wrong,” he asked.

            I couldn’t speak.  All I could do was curl up in his arms and cry, and that’s what I did. 

            The next morning, I told him what had happened and that we had to move.  He, of course, told me I was crazy.  “It must have been a dream.  Maybe a night terror or something.  I saw a show about how in different levels of REM sleep you can think you’re awake, and paralyzed, but really you’re sleeping.  It has to be something like that!”

            But it wasn’t something like that.  I knew it wasn’t anything like that!  I’d made my mind up, and regardless of whether he was willing or not, I was moving.  There was no way I would keep my children in that house for any longer than necessary.

            He went on to work that morning as if nothing ever happened.  I went apartment hunting.  There were 3 complexes in town running move in deals.  No deposit, first month’s rent free.  I hit all of them, signed a lease with one, and came home to start packing.  It didn’t take me long.  I still had boxed stuff in closets from the previous move. 

            As soon as I had a truck load, I filled up my old orange ford and took it to the new place.  Unloaded and went back for more.  The last load I could do alone had about 12 boxes.  The couch, coffee table, and love seat were covered with them.  Each box was full, but the tape gun we’d used when we’d moved last was missing.  Killing the proverbial 2 birds, I finally called my husband.   I hadn’t told him about the new apartment, or moving, no matter what he’d said--I knew he’d go wherever we were.

            (Now I know you’re going to think I’m crazy, but I SWEAR this is true)

            He answered on the third or fourth ring.  “Yeah, babe.  What’s up?”

            “We’re moving.  I’ve already rented an apartment and have almost everything moved in.  All you’ll have to move is the furniture.  Do you think you can get Rod, or Dave to help?”

            “Have you lost your mind?  We can’t afford to move again!” he exclaimed.

            “It didn’t cost anything, and it’s a very nice complex.  It’ll be closer to your job too.”

            He let out an exasperated breath and didn’t say another word.

            “Look hun.  I can’t live here.  Something’s very wrong with this place.  It’s not safe for the kids!  If it can do what it did to me last night, what can it do to them?”

            Surprisingly, he answered with a chuckle.  “Well it’s not like I can do anything about it now, right?”

            Relief settled over me.  I’d been somewhat afraid we’d fight, but it was one I’d been willing to have--if needed.  “Hey, where’s that tape gun?  I only have a few boxes left and I don’t want to just fold the tops in.”

            “Should be in the pantry on the shelf.  That’s where I put it.”

            “Okay, great!  I love you, and I’ll be at the new place when you get off work.  Meet me there.”

            “Love you too.”

            I hung up the phone and walked into the living room.  The tape gun was sitting dead center on the coffee table.  All of the boxes were stacked by the door.  No one had come in, and there’s no way my 3 year-old could have done it.  That was all the pushing I needed.  I grabbed up my kids and purse, put them in the truck, and went to the new house.  I NEVER stepped foot in that house again.  

            That night, my husband moved the rest of our things with a friend.  He said when he got there; every box in the room was stacked in two columns, one on top of the other, all the way to the ceiling.

            After everything I’d been through, I totally believed him.