Showing posts with label fun. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fun. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 9, 2018
Sunday, May 4, 2014
Lisa Medley shares her new book
Today I have asked fellow author Lisa Medley to be a guest on my blog. I think you will be intrigued and entertained by our interview.
at she has to say.
You picked an unusual
genre, Reapers and Reaper love. What led you in that direction?
Lisa: I’ve been in love with monsters for a long
time, since I first started reading Stephen King ages ago. But it was J.R.
Ward’s Dark Lover which made me
realize monsters in LOVE were even better. That book sent my imagination
reeling. I don’t discriminate. I want love for vampires, shifters, witches and
of course, reapers.
The dark hero speaks to me, and when I find him in
the shadows, it’s my job to bring him into the light, sometimes kicking and
screaming. Reading urban fantasy and paranormal romance makes me crave contact
with the things that go bump in the night.
I wanted to write about an underserved monster. That’s when I hit upon
the idea of reapers. Not the skeletal creatures of ghost stories past, but
soldiers in the field, leading souls to the afterlife. Don’t fear the reaper,
because reapers need love too.
I love romance and
thrillers, is your series something I could read late at night, alone?
Lisa: I think so. I’ve
been told it’s suspenseful in places and will keep you turning pages. I don’t
think you’ll be too afraid to read it alone in the dark. Unless of course you
have a fireplace. You’ll find out why and what steps to take to avoid the
problem Ruth encounters.
Where does one learn and
research about Reapers?
Lisa: The internet of
course! Seriously, I Googled ‘reapers’ and it was all downhill from there. One
paragraph, story or drawing led to the next and it wasn’t long before my
imagination was going wild asking “What if…?” and “What then…?” I built my world in the way that seemed most
logical to me. For a few hours each night, I was Goddess of the Universe…at
least of MY Universe.
Do you have a set
writing schedule? I know you also work at another profession. Does finding
time to write become a problem for you?
Lisa: You don’t FIND
time to write. You have to MAKE time to write. I write late at night after my
husband and daughter have both gone to bed. I need quiet and solitude for the
words to come. When I’m in the groove, I can write 500-1000 words an hour. On a
normal writing night, I might write from 8:30 or 9 p.m. until Midnight. Occasionally
I’ll get a free weekend to spend writing. Oh, how glorious that is!
How important is
social media in your marketing and writing process?
Lisa: I focus on
Facebook, Twitter, and my website. I dabble in Pinterest for inspiration boards
for each of my novels and I’ve only recently began interacting on Google+.
Ultimately the goal would be to drive everyone to my website because that’s
where as an author you have the most control over connecting with your
audience. That being said, you have to go to wherever your audience hangs out
as well. I think this is especially true as a beginning author. Fans of
established authors will seek them out. Newbies have to build a solid platform
and home base (website) before fans will come.
I have found that most
writers are avid readers, who are your favorite authors?
J.R. Ward and
Charlaine Harris are my current favorites. I also enjoy Patricia Briggs, Michele
Hauf and Janet Evanovich. Then of course, Stephen King.
Take a little time
here and tell us about yourself. Getting to know the author is fascinating.
Lisa
Medley writes reapers. The grim kind. Her urban
fantasy romance, Reap & Repent
is available now in a Harlequin E Box Set with three other Harlequin debut
authors. A lover of beasties of all sorts, she has a farm full of them in her
SW MO home including: one child, one husband, two dogs, two cats, a dozen
hens, thousands of Italian bees and a guinea pig. Not so in love with the
guinea pig. She can do ten pushups IN A ROW and may or may not have a complete
zombie apocalypse bug-out bag in her trunk at all times. Just. In. Case.
Reap
& Repent Blurb:
Deacon Walker is a
burned out loner, whose two hundred years as a reaper have left him empty
inside. But when he meets Ruth Scott, a gorgeous shut-in with unusual gifts,
he’s forced to set his career complacency aside to train her for a destiny she
never knew existed. Soon the two will face the ultimate test: a battle against
demons determined to destroy humanity, one soul at a time.
Prologue
from Reap & Repent:
Prologue
What
does a guy have to do around here to get some service? Deacon Walker marveled
as he glared at the undulating queue of grotesque reapers in front of him.
For
all that’s holy, move the hell along already.
It
had been a long week, and it wasn’t over yet. He needed to make at least one
more pass through the hospital circuit before he could call it a day. He could
already feel the tug of a freshly departed soul. Again. People were dropping
like flies lately.
He
massaged his brow, trying to soothe his exhausted patience as the line inched
forward at a snail’s pace.
He
was worn thin. Over the past few weeks, three demon soul poachers had popped up
in his fair city of Meridian like poisonous mushrooms after a hard rain. While
it wasn’t unheard of for one to slip out from Hell every now and then, three
was a nightmare.
When
it got topside, a demon’s M.O. was to steal a human body, poach a few souls
from the dead and dying, and then make its merry way back to Hell, taking its
host’s soul along for the ride. The only way to save the souls a poacher was
carrying was to behead the host with a scythe. Not a pretty thing to do, but
the poor suckers were too far gone by then to survive anyway. No human could
withstand the pressures of being ridden by a demon. And it was worth it to save
a handful of souls, not to mention inconveniencing the demon.
Deacon
refused to lose any souls from his territory. At all.
So
far the score was Deacon, 3. Demons, 0.
As
a reaper, carrying souls to Purgatory for judgment was his job and he wasn’t
about to cede his territory to poachers who used up their hosts like they were
disposable Tupperware. So now, in addition to his normal day job, he also had
to keep an eye out for more demon invaders.
While
demons burned through most human hosts in a matter of days, some in a matter of
hours, they had discovered long ago that under the right circumstances they
could ride a reaper. Of course, they couldn’t just worm their way in like they
did with humans—they had to be invited. But once a deal was struck? They were
in.
And
reapers? Yeah, they could hang on for decades inside a reaper. Deacon knew that
fact firsthand.
His
stomach twisted at the thought, but he shook it off, looking ahead with a heavy
sigh.
Seriously,
this line? Still. Not. Moving?
God,
he needed a freakin’ vacation. Extended. He dragged a hand through his hair in
frustration as his mind flipped through postcard-esque locations of reapings
past. He snarled at the thought of New Orleans in summer. He would definitely
want to go someplace cool—cool as in frigid, not hip. He was sick of the heat,
and it was only the beginning of summer in the semitropical Midwest.
Come
to think of it, he was sick of a lot of things.
This
place was high on the list. It was as hot as…well, Hell actually. Or at least
what he imagined Hell to be, although he’d never actually been there. Thank
God.
Steam
rose from random cracks in the stone floor of the underground station, veiling
the place in a humid sulfur stench.
He
pushed forward, finally making his way to the front to deposit his cargo of
souls. He didn’t bother chatting. In. Out. Move on. It was a motto that served
him well.
Mission
completed, he hustled through the crowd, forgoing the bar-side frivolity of
some of the more socially inclined reapers and their small talk about their
glory days in the field or—even better—the missteps of the newest reapers.
Newbies often tested their limits to humorous if not disastrous effect at least
once in their early careers. That was exactly why new reapers had mentors or at
least worked in teams. From all the laughter, he could tell that the stories were
good ones. It didn’t tempt him.
He
slapped his palm against the black granite monolith and flashed out of
Purgatory to what he prayed was his last stop of the day.
BUY LINKS: Reap & Repent is available until June 1, 2014 in a Harlequin E
Urban Fantasy/Paranormal Romance Box Set with the works of three other amazing
new Harlequin authors! Reap & Repent
will be available for single-title release June 2, 2014.
AMAZON: http://amzn.to/1gF6Q98
KOBO: http://bit.ly/1cSZBam
ITUNES: http://bit.ly/1njOngj
HARLEQUIN: http://bit.ly/1gf0Cbs
Follow
Me on Social Media here:
at she has to say.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Shameless Self Promotion with a little insight added.
Okay, one paragraph of self promotion and then my blog.
Yesterday I had lunch with three talented ladies. They are writers, publishers, musicians and all around interesting people.
We talked about writing and characters and the publishing business.
It is so good to know that other people have characters roaming around in their heads. These phantom folks who eventually live in the pages of a novel completely written in our minds.
The hard part is sitting down at your desk on a beautiful spring morning and putting it all down on paper. That is why it takes me so long to write a book. (I am trying to change my ways.)
Tattered Wings was penned on the ten year plan, not because it was so difficult to write, but because I could always find something to do that distracted me from the business of getting it down on paper.
Finally I did it. I made myself get up and go straight to the kitchen for coffee and then off to the office to write. I now know the key is to get it down on paper. The book can always be changed, characters tweaked and locals investigated.
Once you are at a point where THE END is inevitable, bombs burst in air, the sun shines brighter and you feel ten pounds lighter.
The Adventures of Diggitty the Dog was quite another story. I wrote Diggitty on a legal pad in forty-five minutes in the dark with only a nightlight to guide my words. It had been on my mind for a long time to write a series of children's books based on my real life dog Diggitty and things that actually happen here on the farm. I am trying to write Diggitty Dog and the Dairy Cow, but I know I will have to wait until it is ready to be written. Mahaaaaaaaaa.....Strange things happen to me when I am writing.
So if you write, sew, draw or cook and it is a labor of love, get with it. Make a schedule, don't let anything distract you. When it is all said and done, people usually regret what they didn't take time to do. Enjoy the first chapter of Tattered Wings, and a special thanks to Patti Tierney, Susie Knust, and Sharon Kizziah- Holmes for a great afternoon and insight into how the artistic mind works.
Look for Unlikely Hero by Tierney James (Patti), Twentieth Century in Rural America, The Shockley Family Stories, by Susie Knust, and Sharon Kizziah-Holmes new Romantic Short Stories, you won't be disappointed.
Tattered Wings, Chapter One.
Ian Michaels only had one foot in the back door when Maggie stepped into his office.
“Ian, I’m glad you're here. There's a girl in the waiting room. She says she must see you.”
“Who is she?”
“She's the sister of the Johnston kid who supposedly killed all of those people.”
“Why does she want to see me?”
“She didn't say. When I drove up this morning she was sitting on the steps. I told her it would be best to have an appointment, but she wouldn't leave.”
“Strange.” Ian shed his overcoat.
The phone rang and Maggie reached over the desk to answer it. “Ian Michael's office, may I help you?” There was a pause before she spoke again. “Yes, I'll tell him. One moment please.” She pushed the mute button and looked up at her boss. “It’s the district attorney's office. Tom Waters wants to speak to you.”
The lawyer shrugged his shoulders. His practice was almost exclusively divorce oriented with a few corporate accounts and wills for old friends and neighbors. None of his clients warranted a call from the district attorney. Taking the phone from his secretary, he pushed the button to activate the sound. “This is Ian Michaels. How can I help you, Tom?”
“I'm calling about the Johnston boy.”
“Why me?”
“In his initial interview he told me you were his attorney.”
“This is the first I've heard about it. I don't handle criminal cases.”
“I didn't think so, but the kid had your business card. He gave it to me himself.”
“If it weren't for him having my card, I'd say I was a random pick. I don't want any part of it, truthfully, I haven't followed the case. Isn't he just a kid, fifteen or sixteen?”
“He's sixteen.”
“What do his parents say?”
“They’re not in the picture. Because he’s a minor, we tried to get them down here. I finally sent a patrol car for his father and we hauled him to the station. He sat in on the interview. All he did was say over and over he had done all he could. I think he's relieved the kid's in jail.”
“My suggestion is that you get him a public defender. Isn't that standard in a case like this?”
“I would think you would want to see him if only to find out where he got your card. So, his parents haven't contacted you?”
“No, but his sister is camped out in my waiting room. She told my secretary she couldn't leave without seeing me.”
“Well, let me know what you decide to do,” Tom continued. “He's a strange little bastard.”
“I want no part of this. I don't intend to see him or his sister. Get him a public defender.”
Ian set the phone in its cradle and turned toward Maggie. “Tell the girl we’re too busy to see her today.”
Maggie stood rooted to her spot. “Don't you have the slightest curiosity about her?”
“Not really.”
“She's awfully upset.”
The phone rang again. Maggie turned on her heel and walked toward the door leading to the waiting room and her desk. “I'll answer that from out here.”
Ian pushed away from his desk turning his chair toward the window. The panoramic view of Forest Park below always made him feel better. He was beginning to relax his way into the day when his secretary came back into the room.
“Yes, Maggie?” He had a feeling about what was coming next.
“Ian, please see the girl. She isn't going to leave and what we're going to end up with is a nasty scene if we’ve got to have her removed. It's only a couple of minutes out of our day. Your first appointment isn't due for over an hour.”
Turning to face his secretary he heaved a heavy sigh and stood. Taking his time, he stretched each muscle in his neck and back until some of the tightness was gone. Maybe he was overreacting.
What could it hurt if he saw her?
He was suddenly tired as he followed Maggie to where the girl was waiting.
A slow sweep of the outer office showed nothing had changed. Everything was as he wanted it- but for the girl. She sat tucked into a massive chair at the far side of the room, near the exit.
There she was, crumpled like a rag doll. Her clothes were neat and clean. She wore skinny jeans and a crop top and looked like a thousand other teenage girls he had passed on the street.
Maggie was at her desk, busy with the computer. Ian looked at her and back to the girl. “So you're still here?” he said.
The girl didn't answer him. All he got was a slight nod of her elfish head.
“Bring Miss Johnston into my office,” Ian said in a voice that cut the unnerving quiet in the room.
Maggie jumped to her feet. “Yes sir.” Ian could feel her hot stare on his back. He was out of the room before her words reached him.
He looked up as his secretary and the girl walked into the room. He saw Maggie give the child a smile.
How could someone so small and insignificant looking, so young, be the cause of so much uneasiness in a grown man?
“You’ve been waiting a long time, Miss Johnston,” he said in his most businesslike voice.
“How’s it you think I can help you?”
“I’ve come about my brother.” She wiped her hands on her jeans, and then massaged her temples.
“What about him?”
She glanced over to Maggie and then back to him before she spoke. At five feet six inches Maggie's tall lean slender body looked huge next to the child. The kid sat ramrod straight with a poise well beyond her age, quite different from the waif he had encountered in the waiting room. Ian watched as Maggie nodded at the girl and gave her another smile.
“My brother wants you to come to the jail and talk to him.”
“Why me?” Huge tears began rolling down the teenager's cheek, staining her already tired and worried looking face. He hated to see a woman cry.
“I don't know. I'm only doing what he asked me to do.”
“Don't cry,” he said, acknowledging her tears. “Maggie, would you get our guest a tissue?”
It wasn’t in his nature to make the girl suffer, but he didn't want to encourage her, either. He overcame the urge to relax and lean back in his chair. “Let me explain my position. I'm not the kind of lawyer your brother needs. He seeks an attorney who handles crime. I don't do that. You'll have to explain that to him.”
“Mr. Michaels. You don't know Kenny. He'll haunt you, make your life miserable, until he gets his way.”
Ian slammed his hand on the desk with much more force than he intended. “Do not threaten me, young lady.”
“I'm not threatening you. I just want you to understand.” Her hands trembled as her voice quivered in a bizarre unison. She hesitated before she continued. “Kenny is – well – different. He’s got no one to help him- only me – and I don't want to. Our parents are divorced, our mother doesn't live here. Our step-mother won't lift a finger to help. She wants it known he's not hers and she's not responsible for what he did. My dad, well, he does what needs to be done to keep peace in the family. I think he’s seen Kenny once because the cops came and got him.” She was talking so fast, Ian couldn’t stop her until she paused.
“I understand he's your brother, but your family's best course of action is to contact the public defender's office. They'll appoint someone to represent Kenny.” He stood to indicate the interview was over.
The girl looked at Ian but remained seated. “Kenny doesn't want a public defender. He wants you.” He could see she had no intention of leaving now. He saw fear in her eyes. After taking a deep breath, Ian glanced toward Maggie. She’d been watching the entire exchange as if it was a tennis match. He wondered why she seemed to be rooting for the girl.
Ian was still standing. Tension hung like stale air in the room. A man beaten at his own game, he looked down at the tiny girl as if for the first time. He let his body fall back into the familiar seat behind him.
“What's your name?”
“Amber.”
“How old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
“All right Amber, I'll speak to your brother. I'm only going to find out what’s going on, and how I became a part of it. I’m not consenting to defend him.”
Amber all but melted in her chair. The expression in her eyes was what he imagined he would see in the eyes of a convict getting a stay of execution ten seconds before the switch was thrown. “I'll drop by the jail tomorrow.”
“Oh, Mr. Michaels, thank you, thank you, and thank you.” For a minute Ian thought the teen was going to come over the desk and hug him. Instead she backed out of the room, tripping over things as she went. She mumbled to herself as she left the office.
Maggie and Ian sat in silence. Ian turned his chair toward the window.
Why was the girl so afraid?
“Maggie,” he said.
“Yes, Ian?”
“Can you get me the papers with the accounts of all the murder and mayhem the boy's supposed to be a part of? And call your buddy over at the court house. Find out what they're saying. Not the official stuff, I want to know what they really think.” He glanced at his watch. “How does the rest of the day look?”
“Mark Robertson will be here at eleven and we’ve got Mrs. Schneider and her will at two. At four- thirty David Marshall’s coming by to sign his custody papers and go over the terms of visitation.
All in all we have a light day.”
“Thanks.” He remained staring out the window.
“Was there anything else?” He was lost in thought and had forgotten she was still sitting there. “You can go. Let me know when Mark gets here.”
Ian heard the door close softly behind her as she went back to her office. He stood and ran his hand from his collar to his waist to straighten his tie and leaned on the window sill. He could see Amber running down the street and he shook his head.
“Mark Robertson's here.”
“Send him in.”
He was never fond of Mondays.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)