Motivation for Writing

Honestly, with the publication world changing daily, it’s hard to stay motivated about writing. Where should an author submit his manuscript? Should I just write what’s in my head and hope it fits some publisher’s guidelines? Or should I write this book for myself and share it by self publishing and let come what may?

I’m committed to several series and those are committed to several publishers, so if I finish a series they are going to be with those publishers for at least five years whether they’re selling or not. Whether they get decent exposure of not. Whether policies change or not. Then I look at self publishing: What are the upsides?

Pricing – it’s my choice

Marketing – it’s my choice

Book Cover/Title – it’s my choice

Genre it’s my choice

So if the publishers are not willing to negotiate any of these options then why would an author publish with them? There must be an upside to traditional publishers, eBook publishers, or small houses. I believe it’s the organization. Authors want to write. They don’t want to sell, market, blog, twitter, or Facebook. I  write under a pseudonym that sells quite well. But to be honest when I started, there wasn’t the competition for the front page of the websites like there is today. The more authors, the more books, the harder it is to find you let alone discover you. So how can your work get discovered?

Readers are your best promoters. If I’m in love with an author or series I’m compelled to share that information with other readers. Goodreads is an excellent source of readers and reviewers. Sometimes personal tastes get in the  way of quality reviews but somewhere within the lists of readers you’ll find the information you’re looking for about authors and their books.

I hope this was a thought-provoking blog today. If you enjoyed it please share it. And if you’ve read a good book lately, share that information with your friends.

 

Writing to the masses or for yourself

The most widely read genre is romance, but with traditional romance there are rules…
The primary rule is there must be a happy ending with the hero and heroine alive and together at the end of the story. Seems an easy enough concept to understand; one that seems simple enough to follow. But then there’s Urban Fantasy… In this romance genre the heroine usually runs the show. She is a kick ass, capable woman who may not necessarily end up with the hero, if there’s one, but may be conflicted about her choices. She may have more than one man in her life and may not be ready to choose between them. This genre doesn’t necessarily have to have much romance in it. There are also romantic suspense novels that weave the romance and mystery together. Neither story could stand alone and it’s better for it. There are mysteries, intrigue and suspense stories, even horror plots that contain romantic elements, but they are not romances; the romantic plot in the story could stand alone and the most important part of the plot the suspense, would be just as good a story without the element of romance in it. (Frankly, I don’t think anything in life worth spending time at exists without an element of romance and if it does, what a shame!)
So on to my point…yes Across A Crowded Room is a romance and yes it’s also suspense. A murder took place several years before that involved the hero and the heroine, affecting each in different ways. They’ve been connected most of their lives in some way and after the murder each reacts as only their character knows how…much like anyone you might know. These characters lived in my head for a long time before I wrote them and made them real. And I find, even after all this time, they are still real to me. I didn’t write this story for anyone else…I wrote it for me. It doesn’t start at the traditional beginning of a romance because in order to really get inside the characters’ heads, you need to know how the real story started. This is more of an epic novel about an extended family and friends, spanning the course of about fifteen or more years. In the process of writing this for myself, I hope it pleases you. Many readers have responded positively to this romance, why don’t you try it?
Across A Crowded Room is available in ebook or print at http://bookstrand.com/across-a-crowded-room or Amazon, Barnes and Noble.

WIP

I’m working on the follow up story to Across A Crowded Room. I’d like to give Cade a crack at uncovering the where abouts of the master mind behind the car bombing.

Writing vs Revisions

Every author I speak to usually prefers the process of creation–the development of the characters, describing their goal and motivation, the unraveling of the plot, throwing in conflict to force the characters to grow and evolve into the heroes or heroines we expect them to be, flawed humans that they may be and all.

– to the process of revision or edits.

But many also enjoy this second or third stage. It’s in the revision or edit stage where the layers of a story take on a new level of depth. Description is clarified, expanded, defined. Characters’ behaviors show us more about who and what they are and the story comes to life. The plot which was originally brushed [keyed] on the canvas [monitor] with broad strokes in the first version is now detailed [delete, insert, move] with a fine brush [dictionary] and an even finer palette [thesaurus]. The picture is becoming clearer, taking on an essence of its own. When you read the story it’s like studying a great painting; the more you look, the more you see… Or watching a great movie; each time you watch it you see the little details the director used to make that first impression just right.

When an author chooses a certain word or dialogue to show an action, or describe something, it often also sets the mood, defines the character, or foreshadows coming events. The decision to have a character say, “The kid’s a punk.” instead of “The child is troubled.” tells you more about the speaker than a paragraph long detailed description.

The next time you read a good book, think about the word choices the author used and think about why. Happy reading…

Across a Crowded Room Wins Book of the Week

You Tube Video Across a Crowded Room by Elizabeth Marchat

 

 

 

Release Day for Across A Crowded Room

Across A Crowded Room

After anti-terrorist agent Jason DesJardin survived the explosion that killed Emily Holmes’s father, he went deep undercover. Guilt and his dark past kept him from returning for her. When Emily discovers ties between the old bombing and the terrorists, she finagles an assignment to Jason’s next mission. The balance of world power drops into her inexperienced hands, and she is forced to play a dangerous game of seduction with Mosel Reinhardt, the notorious international arms dealer. Is Reinhardt peddling the nanotech chip technology, or are Emily’s instincts about him correct?

The mission heats up when Jason finds he can’t resist Emily—agency computer genius gone femme fatale—anymore than Mosel can. After years of waiting to have her again, the tables turn. Jason is unwilling to share her now, but will he be able to watch her seduce Mosel in order to find her father’s killer? Would she stop if he asked her?

A Siren Erotic Romance

Read an Excerpt:

Jason called to her. “Emily?”

“Be right there. I’m ready,” she announced.

She rounded the corner upstairs, and when she came into view, he couldn’t stop the response that escaped along with the rest of the air in his lungs. “I’ll say!” He could see she was definitely ready for something.

She paused at the top of the stairs and glanced down at him. One of her hands flipped a stray curl back off her shoulder, and the other rested lightly on the old wooden banister.

 Emily was fully aware of the impact she made. He could tell from the glint in her eyes. But regrettably, he couldn’t focus on her face once she took the first step. She looked incredible, and he felt gut punched. The multi-colored flowered skirt was too short. It looked even more so from his vantage point.

Strategically situated at the bottom of the stairs, Jason wished he could be sorrier about the view. But in the deepest recesses of his mind, the only feelings he could drag to the surface were pleasure, pleasure, and more pleasure. He’d just caught a glimpse of heaven, and poking his eyes out now wouldn’t be enough to erase the image of a sliver of black lace that was now branded in his memory.

He quickly tried to blind himself from the sight, but wasn’t fast enough. His gaze dropped, and he locked on the image. The only thing he could do was turn away.

Instead of soothing the impact, the image reflected repeatedly in the mirrored foyer. She was everywhere, taunting him. His mouth went powder dry. It took every bit of self-control to force his eyes shut and turn back to her and focus on her eyes.

After the day’s events, he felt like a lab rat. She was the motivation, and he kept responding. He couldn’t seem to stop his reactions, no matter how much he tried, and just like any good lab rat, he didn’t care. All he wanted was the reward at the end of the experiment.

She is that reward, all right.

She smiled that womanly, all-knowing smile with a casual glance directed boldly at his fly. His body jerked to attention as she took that first step, giving him an even better view with her knee bent. An uncontrolled groan escaped as his body reacted. Was she aware of the power she wielded? Damn right, she was. It was maddening to be at her mercy like this.

In a few minutes they’d be with the whole family. How was he going to manage any self-control under the circumstances? With each step she took toward him, his anxiety increased. God, what was wrong with him? He was very worried. She was initiating a full-out assault on his senses, and his control was diminishing as the day wore on.

He winced. This was going to be a long night.

There was no point trying to hide his response from her. Since she walked in the door earlier this afternoon, he’d managed to sport a chronic erection. He was past being embarrassed by his dick. Trying to recover some ground, reclaim some of his masculine pride, he dragged his gaze back to her face and forced himself to stare directly at her. Making sure to hold her attention as she descended the rest of the steps, he boldly reached down and adjusted himself.

She flushed.

Score one for the boys.

Jason felt triumphant, felt a smile start, until she looked directly at his face. He had to rethink his success. Her blush was intoxicating. Her tongue flicked over her parted lips, her hand dropped to her blue diamond pendant, and she inhaled, drawing his attention to nipples alluringly visible through the thin material of her top.

No bra?

He swallowed. He readjusted.

This time her expression widened a little in response. A small smile tempted the corner of her lips, but she contained herself. She seemed pleased instead of shocked.

Rats, no ground gained for the men’s side. Maybe he’d been too quick to claim victory.

When she reached the bottom step, he moved toward her, taking her coat from her. He had an urge to wrap her up in a useless attempt to cover her. Maybe if her body was concealed, he could put this hunger aside.

His hand lingered, refusing to be controlled as it slowly slid down her arm, taking in the silkiness of her skin. Caught in his own trap, a little voice in his head laughed as he draped her coat over her shoulders. He knew it wouldn’t help. It was too late for him. He sniffed her hair one last time before they headed out the door.

He could cover her up all he wanted. He’d still be thinking of the contrast between that scrap of black lace against her pale pearl skin all night.

Across A Crowded Room by Elizabeth Marchat

Copyright Elizabeth Marchat

Chapter 1 [Unpublished]

Later in life, when Jason DesJardin recalled that fateful night, he noted it wasn’t an ominous sort of night, not the kind that film directors like to portray in horror movies. It certainly wasn’t the kind of night anyone would have expected to change the course of so many lives.
Even the moonlight couldn’t be blamed for producing the silhouettes haunting the walls in the children’s room, creating imaginary monsters to initiate their nightmares. The real source of light was a small bit escaping the upstairs hallway, sneaking warily through the crack beneath the door. Seeping in, penetrating the ebony space, turning black into shades of gray, it reflected off the ancient oak outside and cast back soft shadows on the walls. Jason didn’t sleep soundly back then…not while his foster father drank.
****
The man closed the door quickly behind him and became nothing more than a massive shape, a mere shade defined by a flash of light. The glow broke the smoky depths of the room, then dimmed to gray, and allowed the stick figures to resume their flickering limbo over the walls. As the man crept silently deeper into the room, Jason held his breath and waited.
Beyond the piles of discarded clothes and other remnants of the day scattered around the waxed wooden floor, the man watched Cade and Harry as they slept soundly in their bunk beds. The brothers’ spindly bodies were still childishly fragile, defined by their delicate bone structure. Each had matching wheat-colored hair, sticking out at all angles from their round freckled faces. So innocent as they slept.
The man stilled allowing his eyes to adjust to the low light, and then glanced over his shoulder to make sure Jason slept.
With his eyes squinted shut and his frame sprawled across his bed, Jason engulfed the entire surface. His gangly limbs extended well beyond the mattress boundaries, and yet Jason didn’t sleep. He allowed his chest to rise and fall evenly, faking it. A few stray hairs from an unkempt lock fluttered across his forehead with each outward puff. When a whisper of sound tried to escape, fear kept him silent. The evidence of his full masculine potential delayed beneath the surface of his still soft features. Jason knew what kept the monster at bay was how the harder planes of his body had already appeared mere moments away from emerging.
“Such a shame to lose all that softness.” The man whispered, “Too old.” He turned away from Jason and headed toward the younger boys.
The real monster wasn’t under the bed—he was climbing into it.
The branch figures danced innocently around the quiet room, muted ghosts unable to forewarn the approaching peril, but Jason could.