Friday, January 22, 2010
Cover Art!
No, not mine. This is the cover to my friend Kasey's fabulous debut, hitting shelves everywhere in June. Go, buy, love!
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Back to the Drawing Board
Or the writing board? What IS the writing equivalent of that?
So, all my doubts and reservations about book 2 were actually very valid, since The Editor brought up the exact same issues upon seeing a synopsis. So, I went back to the drawing board! (or whatever)
And over the course of a weekend, I hashed out a mostly-new plot for Book 2. Of course, this means I'll be scrapping most of what I had done (well, I can salvage some of it, pared down) but when I really step back and look, I'm much happier with the New Two (as I'm now calling it).
It flows better, it sits in the back of my head better... I knew, when I was struggling so much with version 1, that it was my subconsciousness's way of saying "THIS SUCKS, STUPID!" My subconscious has now been appeased, and is actually gloating rather smugly at me.
Granted, this puts me on a much shorter time frame to produce the New Two. I can do it, don't get me wrong, but it means I'll have less time for screwing around, and less time to work on "me" stuff (ie: things I'm not getting paid for). And that's ok too. Discipline is a good thing, when applied correctly.
(not to be confused with "Apply Directly to the Forehead!")
In other news, Gretchen McNeil (blog in the links to the left) is starting up a new blog series about writing (imagine that!). Definitely go over and check out what she's got to say.
Also, if there's anything anyone wants to see me babble about, feel free to make requests. I do not, however, sing the Bee Gees, clog dance, or juggle small mammals. Much to their relief.
So, all my doubts and reservations about book 2 were actually very valid, since The Editor brought up the exact same issues upon seeing a synopsis. So, I went back to the drawing board! (or whatever)
And over the course of a weekend, I hashed out a mostly-new plot for Book 2. Of course, this means I'll be scrapping most of what I had done (well, I can salvage some of it, pared down) but when I really step back and look, I'm much happier with the New Two (as I'm now calling it).
It flows better, it sits in the back of my head better... I knew, when I was struggling so much with version 1, that it was my subconsciousness's way of saying "THIS SUCKS, STUPID!" My subconscious has now been appeased, and is actually gloating rather smugly at me.
Granted, this puts me on a much shorter time frame to produce the New Two. I can do it, don't get me wrong, but it means I'll have less time for screwing around, and less time to work on "me" stuff (ie: things I'm not getting paid for). And that's ok too. Discipline is a good thing, when applied correctly.
(not to be confused with "Apply Directly to the Forehead!")
In other news, Gretchen McNeil (blog in the links to the left) is starting up a new blog series about writing (imagine that!). Definitely go over and check out what she's got to say.
Also, if there's anything anyone wants to see me babble about, feel free to make requests. I do not, however, sing the Bee Gees, clog dance, or juggle small mammals. Much to their relief.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Teaser Tuesday Catorce
It's been a while since I've posted a teaser. Heck, it's been a while since I've posted anything that wasn't merely an update on my existence.
So what you have here is a snippet. There's no more, this is all there is. I don't know who these people are yet, I'm not even sure what their names are. I don't know why they're doing what they're doing, or where they're going.
This was inspired by a song called "Smoke" by a band named Lucero. Someday, I'm going to write an entire book based around this song. After I'm done writing this other stuff folks are paying me for.
~*!*~
Maybe it was the fact that Don-the-Dick had fired me just that afternoon, from a job I hated anyway. Without the menial under-the-table job of grease monkey at a mostly-shady engine shop, there was no way I’d be able to pay next week’s rent on the lousy motel room I called home.
Maybe it was the fact that the last woman I’d come within arm’s reach of had almost gotten my head blown off by the jealous husband she’d conveniently forgotten to mention. I was still finding buckshot in weird places.
I piled everything I owned into one army-green duffel bag and strapped it to the back of my bike, the only thing I had that was worth anything. It growled me over to The Bar – no name, but since it was the only one in this podunk piece of crap town, it didn’t really need one – and I went in to drink my goodbyes.
“Where the hell you gonna go, man?” Joey shook his head, already three sheets in, and it was only ten minutes into happy hour.
“Dunno. Just gonna ride til I get there, I guess. S’how I wound up here in the first place.” Here, being where my bike had decided to blow a gasket on me, and where I’d been more or less living for the last eight months. It was the longest I’d stayed anywhere in a very long time, a mistake I didn’t think I’d be repeating.
“Won’t be the same without you.”
That made me smirk. “Yeah it will. The bar will still be here, and Ralph will still be serving the same pig piss as his ‘special brew’, and on Fridays, Kelly will come in, get plastered, and flash her tits all over the place, just like always. You don’t need me for that.”
Joey’s head swayed morosely, more drunk than grieving my imminent departure. “Won’t be the same.”
I stayed longer than I meant to, as folks I knew straggled in after long shifts in jobs even shittier than mine had been. They were people I would nod hey to, folks I didn’t want to punch in the teeth. Guess that’s as close to “friends” as a guy like me got. I drank more beer than I meant to, and I knew if I didn’t get my ass on the road, I wouldn’t be fit for riding.
Took me fifteen minutes to get out the door, and it wasn’t even that big a place. I think the whole town of maybe a hundred people turned out to see my road dust.
I got settled on my bike, buckling my pitiful excuse for a helmet under my chin. It wasn’t going to do much more than be a bucket for my brains on the day they scraped me off the pavement, and that was ok by me.
Just as I was about to punch the starter and see this town in my rearview, the bike sagged as more weight was added to it, and a pair of arms slipped around my waist.
I turned to find a pretty pair of brown eyes smiling at me, her dark curly hair caught back in a haphazard tail. Her jeans were ripped in several places, on purpose, and the white tank top she wore barely covered the assets the good Lord gave her. Her leather jacket was at least three sizes too big, and so worn it was almost see-through in places. Wasn’t anyone I’d ever seen in town before, and trust me, if a piece of tail like that had walked down the street, we’d have all known it before nightfall.
She grinned at me, displaying her dimples while one hand fished in the saddlebag where I kept my spare helmet. Slapping it on, she buckled it under her chin, and said, “Go!”
Maybe it was the three beers I’d had, or…hell, I don’t know. Without another word, I kicked the bike to life and we were gone, tearing out toward the highway.
So what you have here is a snippet. There's no more, this is all there is. I don't know who these people are yet, I'm not even sure what their names are. I don't know why they're doing what they're doing, or where they're going.
This was inspired by a song called "Smoke" by a band named Lucero. Someday, I'm going to write an entire book based around this song. After I'm done writing this other stuff folks are paying me for.
~*!*~
Maybe it was the fact that Don-the-Dick had fired me just that afternoon, from a job I hated anyway. Without the menial under-the-table job of grease monkey at a mostly-shady engine shop, there was no way I’d be able to pay next week’s rent on the lousy motel room I called home.
Maybe it was the fact that the last woman I’d come within arm’s reach of had almost gotten my head blown off by the jealous husband she’d conveniently forgotten to mention. I was still finding buckshot in weird places.
I piled everything I owned into one army-green duffel bag and strapped it to the back of my bike, the only thing I had that was worth anything. It growled me over to The Bar – no name, but since it was the only one in this podunk piece of crap town, it didn’t really need one – and I went in to drink my goodbyes.
“Where the hell you gonna go, man?” Joey shook his head, already three sheets in, and it was only ten minutes into happy hour.
“Dunno. Just gonna ride til I get there, I guess. S’how I wound up here in the first place.” Here, being where my bike had decided to blow a gasket on me, and where I’d been more or less living for the last eight months. It was the longest I’d stayed anywhere in a very long time, a mistake I didn’t think I’d be repeating.
“Won’t be the same without you.”
That made me smirk. “Yeah it will. The bar will still be here, and Ralph will still be serving the same pig piss as his ‘special brew’, and on Fridays, Kelly will come in, get plastered, and flash her tits all over the place, just like always. You don’t need me for that.”
Joey’s head swayed morosely, more drunk than grieving my imminent departure. “Won’t be the same.”
I stayed longer than I meant to, as folks I knew straggled in after long shifts in jobs even shittier than mine had been. They were people I would nod hey to, folks I didn’t want to punch in the teeth. Guess that’s as close to “friends” as a guy like me got. I drank more beer than I meant to, and I knew if I didn’t get my ass on the road, I wouldn’t be fit for riding.
Took me fifteen minutes to get out the door, and it wasn’t even that big a place. I think the whole town of maybe a hundred people turned out to see my road dust.
I got settled on my bike, buckling my pitiful excuse for a helmet under my chin. It wasn’t going to do much more than be a bucket for my brains on the day they scraped me off the pavement, and that was ok by me.
Just as I was about to punch the starter and see this town in my rearview, the bike sagged as more weight was added to it, and a pair of arms slipped around my waist.
I turned to find a pretty pair of brown eyes smiling at me, her dark curly hair caught back in a haphazard tail. Her jeans were ripped in several places, on purpose, and the white tank top she wore barely covered the assets the good Lord gave her. Her leather jacket was at least three sizes too big, and so worn it was almost see-through in places. Wasn’t anyone I’d ever seen in town before, and trust me, if a piece of tail like that had walked down the street, we’d have all known it before nightfall.
She grinned at me, displaying her dimples while one hand fished in the saddlebag where I kept my spare helmet. Slapping it on, she buckled it under her chin, and said, “Go!”
Maybe it was the three beers I’d had, or…hell, I don’t know. Without another word, I kicked the bike to life and we were gone, tearing out toward the highway.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
They like me!
They really like me!
I came home today to find blurbs for my book! Famous people have read it, and as far as I know, no one tried to burn the book after! Yay!
Here's what people cooler than I have to say about A Devil in the Details:
“If you want your life saved you call the cops. If you want your soul saved, you call Jesse James Dawson, a modern day samurai who has it all over an Old West gunslinger and then some. But with demonic double dealing, enemies old and new lining up to take a shot, and every battle a battle to the death, you’d better buckle up for one helluva ride. Humor, action, and a one-way trip straight to Hell, this book delivers it all.” –national bestselling author Rob Thurman
"K. A. Stewart’s Jesse James Dawson is a modern day warrior who can tie up his ponytail with one hand and use a katana in the other to fend off the forces of evil. Equal parts heroic, dark and funny, A Devil in the Details is a welcome addition to the urban fantasy genre, pickup truck included.” --Anton Strout, author of DEAD MATTER
“A DEVIL IN THE DETAILS has a clever conceit, with a surprisingly strong moral centre. Lots of fun, deftly witty, and one of the most appealing central characters of recent years.” –New York Times bestselling author Simon R. Green
I'm a bit agog (can you BE a "bit" agog, or is it like being a bit pregnant?)
I came home today to find blurbs for my book! Famous people have read it, and as far as I know, no one tried to burn the book after! Yay!
Here's what people cooler than I have to say about A Devil in the Details:
“If you want your life saved you call the cops. If you want your soul saved, you call Jesse James Dawson, a modern day samurai who has it all over an Old West gunslinger and then some. But with demonic double dealing, enemies old and new lining up to take a shot, and every battle a battle to the death, you’d better buckle up for one helluva ride. Humor, action, and a one-way trip straight to Hell, this book delivers it all.” –national bestselling author Rob Thurman
"K. A. Stewart’s Jesse James Dawson is a modern day warrior who can tie up his ponytail with one hand and use a katana in the other to fend off the forces of evil. Equal parts heroic, dark and funny, A Devil in the Details is a welcome addition to the urban fantasy genre, pickup truck included.” --Anton Strout, author of DEAD MATTER
“A DEVIL IN THE DETAILS has a clever conceit, with a surprisingly strong moral centre. Lots of fun, deftly witty, and one of the most appealing central characters of recent years.” –New York Times bestselling author Simon R. Green
I'm a bit agog (can you BE a "bit" agog, or is it like being a bit pregnant?)
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