Etiquette for Contacting an Author

1. Do not email an author your critique of their work.

Authorship is a lonely road through a lot of self-doubt and gatekeepers. Authors need encouragement and support, not random critiques on an already published book (changes cannot be made at this point). Instead, post your reviews on retailers or Goodreads.

2. Do not ask an author for free books.

You wouldn't like it if someone asked you for free services. Don't do it to us. People have a sense that authors make a lot of money. "54% of “traditionally-published” authors (and nearly 80% of self-published authors) earn less than $1,000 a year." I do offer a couple free novellas for people to try. Having said that, 

3. Do not contact an author for technical assistance or to complain about the formatting of a book.

If there's a problem with your formatting, try updating your app or contact the retailer. I don't work for said retailers, so I don't know how their platforms work on their end. If there are any formatting problems, chances are it has to do with your reader or a faulty download. So don't email me in a huff.

4. Don't ask me to write your book.

Unless you want to pay me a lot of money.

5. Do email us positive reviews and heart emojis. Even if we don't have time to respond, we do see them, and they do make our days. 

6. Do send invitations for events in which you pay the author to come. Or, if it's an online bookclub, ask that all the members buy a copy of the book to compensate the author. 

That's it! Anyone think of any other legit/welcome reasons to email an author? 

Title help for Fairy Queens 1.5

I just sent out my short story (Fairy Queens 1.5) to my beta readers! Now I want input on the title (I love involving my fans). From the back cover (draft):

Arel is an acolyte destined to be the next High Priestess, but the Emperor of Idara has other plans for her. He needs a wife and heirs. She consents to marrying him on one condition: he rescues her family from a war torn province.

When the emperor refuses, Arel escapes and sets out to do the impossible: free her family and bring them to safety no matter the cost. What she doesn't yet know is that in escaping her marriage, she may have just sealed Idara’s destruction.

Title options:

1. Runaway Queen
  ~Really like this one. It has Queen in it like the other two titles, so it ties in nicely. I don't love that it's so close to The Runaway King by Jennifer Nielson (it feels like I'm stealing it or something-even though my son is the one who suggested it. So if anything, I stole it from him). But then the resonance is nice, cause our books share an audience.

The downside is that I have no idea what to call the other short story, which is about Ilyenna's mother and father.

2. Of Fire and Ash
  ~I'm writing another short story for the series (Winter Queen .5), which would be called Of Ice and Snow. Awesome tie in. Unless you guys like it better with the "Of" taken away. So it would be: Fire and Ash, Ice and Snow

I like the "Of" though.

So that was all kind of rambling. Sorry, it's late as I type this. The options are:
1. Runaway Queen
2. Of Fire and Ash
3. Fire and Ash
Also, what do you think of the description/blurb/cover copy?

And, go!

Solution to Book Piracy

Some techie needs to code ebooks so if they're downloaded over X amount of times, advertisements start to pop up.That way authors still get paid for pirated work. You don't want the ads, don't share the book over X amounts of times. Or pay for the @#%^ book in the first place.

I don't know if this is even possible, but it SHOULD be. Is it? Who's a computer/programming geek? What do you guys think?

Guest Post by David Farland (on YA and Magical Systems)

Amber: Why did you decide to write young adult after all of these years?

David: Actually, I’ve been doing it most of my life. It’s just that no one ever noticed!

My first novel had an older protagonist, but beginning with my second novel, Serpent Catch, my protagonists have almost all been young men and women in their late teens—age 19 or so. The Serpent Catch, Golden Queen, and Runelords series all feature very young protagonists. In fact, with the Runelords I have a couple of children as protagonists. In Wizardborn, I have a girl who is 8 as a protagonist for most of the book, and in Sons of the Oak, my main protagonist is between 11 and 14.

I have also written movie tie-ins using young adult characters. My novel Star Wars: The Rising Force was a big hit for Scholastic, and my Mummy Chronicles novels, four books in all, remained high on the New York Times Bestseller lists for months when they came out from Random House.

To tell the truth, when I first began working on the Runelords series, I strongly considered making it young adult, or perhaps writing a parallel series that was YA.

But it wasn’t until I was teaching a class at BYU in 2002 that I really got thinking seriously. I had one of my students, Stephenie Meyer, come to talk to me one day. She asked, “How do you become the bestselling YA author of our time?” So I we sat and talked about how to approach that. I suggested that she work on a contemporary fantasy with a powerful romantic angle to it, and all the time I was thinking, Of course as a man, I couldn’t write that novel. People would think it was just too weird. But I could write something for young men, with more of an adventure feel that would do much the same.

My existing contracts kept me busy for a long time, but now that I’m about done with the Runelords, I wanted to get a jump on the next series. So I’m hoping that this novel will go big. Whereas Stephenie went straight for the heart of the teen female audience, I wrote something that I think will have a much broader appeal for both men and women, from teens through adults.

Still, I have to worry that Stephenie and I took a similar approach to these novels. I really wasn’t copying her. I’m just trying to follow my own best counsel .

Makes one wonder how fine the line really is between YA and adult. I have a MS that I can't figure out where it belongs--YA or adult. It's kind of a blend of both, and it definitely has some violence (though not as bad as some YA books).

Amber: Tell us about how you came up with your magic system?

David: Years ago, in the late 1980s or early 1990s, I read a book by a doctor who had worked for the CIA, experimenting with drugs that would erase both long- and short-term memories. It was fascinating work, and he eventually won the Nobel Prize for it. So I became interested in memory transfer ages ago. I totally have a dystopian memory eraser book--it's in the editing stage presently. ;)

Later on, one Christmas, I got to thinking about the three “Wise Men” from the bible. Normally, a “wise man” is called a wizard. A “maji” is called a magician. Why was it that the writers of the bible were using double-speak when discussing these guys? Weren’t they astrologers? Doesn’t the Old Testament condemn these folks to death?

So I went back to the Hebrew and found out that indeed these three gentlemen were in the same class of magicians that the Old Testament, the m'khashepah—which originally referred to a class of magicians that hung around royal courts.

So the thought occurred to me, “What if they weren’t just coming to give Jesus gifts? What if they really had come to be . . . advisors. What if they wanted to give him wisdom?”

That started a whole train of thought dealing with memory transfer—transfer of memories, the possibility of training reflexes, transfer of memories on a cellular level, and so on—which led to the creation of my magic system.

The questions arose, what would people do with such power?

And of course from that a novel was born.

Nightingale tells the story of a young man named Bron Jones, who is abandoned at birth. Raised in foster care, he’s shuffled from home to home. At age 16, he’s kind of the ultimate loner, until he’s sent to a new foster home and meets Olivia, a marvelous teacher, who recognizes that Bron is something special, something that her people call a “Nightingale,” a creature that is not quite human.

Suddenly epic forces combine to claim Bron, and he must fight to keep from getting ripped away from the only home, family, and girlfriend that he has ever known. He must risk his life to learn the answers to the mysteries of his birth: “What am I? Where did I come from? Who am I?” I would of course like to take this moment to offer a review for Nightingale. You can send me the novel amberargyle at yahoo dot com ;)

This is a big project, an enhanced novel with illustrations and animations from half a dozen talented illustrators. It has a sound track by the head of the National Composer’s Guild, James Guymon, with a dozen professional musicians and vocalists. We’re releasing the novel in several formats, as an enhanced novel, a normal e-book, an audiobook, and as a hardcover.

But we did one last cool thing. The enhanced book was designed for the iPad, though you will also be able to read it on just about any other pad or smartphone. But we had our programmers create a web app so that you can enjoy the book on your computer—read a few chapters, take it for a test drive, or simply buy it for reading online. You’re free to go check out the results at http://www.nightingalenovel.com/. If you like it, remember to “Like” us on Facebook. Better yet, re-post our site info and tell your friends on Facebook.

Oh, and while you’re there, check out our short-story contest, where you can win $1000. I should totally enter that.

Thanks for stopping by, David. As you all know, David is a hero of mine. He was good enough to write a blurb for Witch Song, for which I will ever be grateful.

Isn't it interesting to learn how authors come up with some of our ideas. We take a concept and spin thoughts around it like a cone dipped in a cotton candy machine. Layers and layers of thought combine to make something magical.

Appearances & a Question

The next two weeks, I'll have several appearances:
Oct 3rd: Dungeon Crawlers Radio Interview. http://www.blogtalkradio.com/dungeoncrawlersradio/2011/10/04/dungeon-crawlers-radio
October 4th: School visits to the Rich Co. Middle and High Schools. Signing and presentation at the Randolph, UT Senior Citizens Center that night.

October 12th: David Farland's author chat phone call (free) 7pm. http://authorsadvisory.blogspot.com/

October 15th: Logan Library panel and signing with fellow authors Elana Johnson (Possession) and Tyler Whitesides (Janitors).

Q4U: I'm considering writing a sequel to Witch Song. What do you guys think?

So, you wanna be an author?

I've had a lot of emails lately from people who want to be authors (also from attendees at the writer's conference I attended this weekend, see below for pics). Here's my advice:

1. Write three manuscripts--if this sounds daunting, it is. But only at the begining. You'll learn so much from those three manuscripts. Plus, now you have three manuscripts to query, and when one of them is accepted, you have two more sitting in the drawer, ready to go. You'll be far enough ahead that you can concentrate on marketing and there won't be so much pressure sitting on your shoulders. Plus, you'll know if this is really something you want to do.
2. While your writing your manuscripts, learn from professionals: follow at least 1 agent's blog. I recommend Rachelle Gardner. One blog on the business of writing. I recommend Katherine Rusch. Sign up for David Farland's daily kick in the pants to learn about the craft of writing.
3. Join a critique group.
4. Read at least 5 books on the art of writing. I'll recommend three: The Elements of Style by Strunk and White, How to Write Science Fiction and Fantasy by Orson Scott Card, On Writing by Steven King (skip the first part by of both Card and King's books).
5. Attend a writer's convention or writer's workshop to learn about the craft.
6. Develop a group of trusted alpha and beta readers.
7. After all of this work, start querying.

This will probably take you a few years. Getting your work to a point where it's publishable is equivalent to a master's degree. Unless you're a genius. It took me four manuscripts and five years of hard work to get published, and that's a pretty normal situation.

I don't mean this to be discouraging. Being published is totally doable if you're willing to put in the work and you have a little natural talent for it.

Q4U: For those of you who have been at this a while, what's your advice for beginning writers?

*I'll be signing this Saturday the 24th at the Layton Utah Barnes and Noble from 3-5 (thanks to Carrie for setting it up!). Address: Layton Market Center, 1780 North Woodland Park Drive, Layton, UT 84041, 801-773-9973

I hope to see you there!

 Amber and David King

Amber and Lisa Mangum

When everything falls apart, you fix it.

And if you can't fix it, you let it go.

Many elements combined to create the perfect storm that was bent on destroying my launch party and first three signings.

First, the place I originally ordered my back-up books from fell through. I hurried and ordered them from my publisher. Those books were delayed. Now they will be arriving after my launch party and first signing. The day after.

Not a huge deal, right? The bookstores should have my books.

No. My print run sold out so fast (from preorders and such), there were no books for the bookstores to buy. The bookstore where I'm having my first signing can't get the books in. The bookstore for my second signing can't get the books in. In the last 36 hours, I have spent hours on the phone trying to fix things.

I called my publisher, who called my distributor and printer. I called other bookstores. No one has my books. No one can get my books for another one to three months.

Insert panic attack here.

And then my publisher fixed things (for the most part). *hugs to Rhemalda* Bookstores can now order my books and have them in ~10 days. Much better than 1 to three months. And we won't be having this problem again (they switched our distributor and printer).

I was able to round up 20 books for my first signing (we pulled the newspaper article and will run it later when I do another signing).

At my launch party, people will preorder the books and I will sign them and drop them off at the library for people to pick up.

I have two more shipments of books coming which I will use for the conference and signing the next weekend and the signing the weekend after that.

That's the best I can do, and it will just have to be good enough.

Q4U: Have you ever planned some huge event and had everything fall apart last minute?

First Page of Forbidden Forest

I'm trying to decide whether to use 1st or 3rd person. There seems to be an unwritten rule that classic fantasy be written in 3rd (it sounds more formal, for one). But I kinda like to break rules. Let me know if the third person works for you.

Forbidden Forest

Chapter 1

Mud squelched between my toes. Shoving my spear-shaped hoe into the ground, I lifted a sodden lump of earth and scattered three seeds inside. I did this over and over again as rain ran down my face, dripping off my nose and chin, and my back clenched into one big cramp. But I didn’t let any of it slow me. If I finished fast enough, Shan and I would have time to go fishing in the river. And I’d finally be free of the mud and the drudgery . . . for at least a little while.

When I finally ran out of seeds, I straightened up with a sigh to roll the kinks from my neck. “Sella’s, time to go,” I called impatiently to my three-year old sister. When she didn’t answer, I threw off my damp smelling wool hood to look for her. But instead of freshly plowed fields, all I saw was a thick black-green line of the Forest.

All the blood seemed to leave my body, pooling with the water in cold puddles at my feet. I’d strayed too far from the village—dangerously close to the Forbidden Forest.
Like hunch-shouldered sentinels, the enormous trees strained toward me like reaching arms. I grabbed my hoe and held it like a spear—a dull, mud caked spear. I knew it was laughable, but I felt a little better with it in my hand. I took a startled step back, my eyes automatically searched their shadows for the dark face of a Treeman.

“Sella?” I called again, and even to my own ears, my voice sounded hollow. How long had it been since I’d last seen her?

Free Ebook?

Decisions. Decisions. Decisions.

I have a manuscript just sitting around. It's the first in a trilogy. It's not bad (I was offered a publishing contract for it, which I turned down--long story). But it's definitely my "first" book. So what do I do with the thing? Do I try and publish it as an ebook (I could use the money)? Do I permanently shelve it (this makes me sad)?

Do I scratch it and do a rewrite ("No!" scream the other voices in my head. "Our stories need told!")?

Here's the thing, I'm not sure the books stands alone well enough to put it out there without the rest of the trilogy. And it would take me years to rewrite the entire trilogy. I don't know that I want to dedicate that kinda time.

So what would you do? Does putting it out there help my career or hurt it? (psst: just so you know, there's a Unicorn. A black one. And a girl with a sword--which is so kick A.)

And for your reading pleasure:

The Priestess Prophecy
Prologue


Familiar threads of ice wound up Ara’s spine. She tried to force them down. She may as well have pummeled the wind. They twinned out, spreading across her back. No. Not here. Not now. Time slowed as the ice took her belly, her shoulders.

Her brother turned, his face lost its smile. His gaggle of friends, not understanding, watched her with mixtures of concern and confusion. Vines of cold snaked up her throat. “Tenan!” she managed a warning cry before the vision sucked her in.

Cold and hunger gnawed at her. She would have cried, had she the strength. As it was, she whimpered softly—mewing like a sick kitten. Her body wouldn’t obey her commands. Whether because of the cold or for some other reason, she couldn’t tell.

Before her was an insurmountable white barrier. It served as her prison as well as her fortress. Beyond the barrier, trees—tall and straight as giants—stood as her sentinels. But strangest of all, the barrier moved.

The vision slammed shut, thrusting her back and leaving her fourteen-year old limbs trembling. Slowly, sounds trickled in, as if from far away, “Ara? Ara? Answer me, Ara.”

Her head flinging back, she gasped before slumping in her brother’s arms. His flesh felt like the sun against her winter skin. She swallowed against the sharp remnants of hunger the vision had left. As the cold began to fade, to grow bearable, she blinked and her furry vision managed to focus on his worried face. “Tenan?” she croaked.

“Is she all right?” a voice asked. She flinched as an unfamiliar hand brushed across her arm. “She’s freezing!”

Smells suddenly returned to her. Hearth smoke, hot wool, Tenan—his breath warm against her neck. Shaking her head, she tried to order her scrambled thoughts. She had to get away—away from them. Before they realized what had happened. What was still happening.

Tenan’s arms tightened around her. “She’s fine. She just needs to rest.” Draping her arm over his shoulder, he scanned the faces of the villagers surrounding them. “Move,” he growled.

Ara forced her wooden legs to stir. He half dragged, half supported her across the empty green of the village square. Underneath the shade of the Hallowed Tree’s vast boughs, he hauled her down beside him. She watched as Tenan’s friends slowly dispersed. Did they understand what had just happened? Her eyes fluttered shut. If word spread that she was Gifted, how long before the Assassins found her?

Unstopping his waterskin, Tenan held it to her lips. She tipped back her head and didn’t care that it gushed over her cheeks and down her tunic. It tasted of her family’s cold well and leather. The familiarity helped.

“Better?” Tenan asked.

She nodded. The reckless rush of her heart had steadied, and the ice that flowed in her veins was thawing. “Another moment, and I’ll be all right.”

Without taking his gaze from the people in the distance, he grunted sourly. “I warned you, Ara.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, hating how different she was. Her golden skin. Her lanky build. Her curious eyes—brown, flecked with green in the iris. But most of all, she hated her Gift. “You won’t tell Father?”

Tenan scoured his hands over his tender beard, as if to scrub away her taint. “I never do. But try not to have them anymore.”

She looked away, out over the village. The houses topped with split-shingle roofs and vegetable gardens seemed so out of place with the turmoil inside her. Nothing to hint of the danger she’d just placed herself in. “I’ll try.” But in truth, she tried to suppress the visions every day. It hadn’t stopped them.

“There you are!”

She choked, a mouthful of water sputtering down her front. Her father lowered his head like a charging bull. He always did that when he was angry. “You were supposed to wait by the inn.”

Tenan’s grey eyes shot her a look, one she was all too familiar with. The one that said ‘let me do the talking.’ She was more than happy to comply. “Ara got hot; I found her some shade.”

Her father surveyed the waterskin in her hands and his head came up slightly, a sure sign that his anger had come and gone as quickly as a doe in flight. “Next time, find shade closer to where I tell you.” He handed Ursha’s reins to Tenan. The mare was heavily laden with supplies. “You two move for home, I’ll be along shortly.” He turned back toward the village.

Tenan held out a heavily calloused hand for her. “Are you fit?”

She let him pull her up. “I am.”

He tugged her cap from her belt and tossed it at her chest. “Hide your hair then. You know the rule.”

She tucked her braid under the stuffy cap that most women of Bondell wore, in addition to trousers. It was the villages attempt to disguise how few men there really were. Living far away from the nearest neighbor, and help, her family had embraced the rule. After all, four men seemed more formidable than two.

The walk to Bondell had been a pleasant one. No more. Silence punctured the already raw tension between Ara and Tenan—silence only interrupted by occasional fingers of wind through the aspens or the crunch of brittle pine needles beneath Ursha’s hard hooves.

The heavy pines plunged them into an unnatural twilight as they wound deeper into mountains that still bore icy caps of snow, toward their home in the high meadows.

Her head swinging from side to side, Ara searched for the source of her tension. Something unnatural tickled the back of her memory, but what? She wanted to ask Tenan, but he was glowering at every bush and rock, probably in an effort not to glower at her.

It’s so quiet. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. A feeling of danger washed over her as sure as a bucket of water overturned on her head. She halted, staring into the trees.

Tenan’s voice seemed far away, “Ara?” His tone dropped dangerously, “Not again!”

She barely heard him. The feeling of danger had grown until it was palpable against her skin. Instinct took over. She felt as though her soul simply gathered itself and stepped out of her body. With a shock, she glanced down at herself—a smoky apparition. A little ways off, her body stood frozen, eyes unseeing, ears unhearing.

Face contorted, Tenan was shouting at her body, but his lips were moving slowly. Spit flew from his mouth, arching slowly through the air in front of him. She watched it in disbelief.

Somehow, her soul had left her body. And time had changed—either speeding up for her or slowing down for everything else. She wanted to move. No sooner had the thought entered her head than she glided forward. Faster. The landscape blurred by.

Not understanding how or why, she flew over the ground like a puff of smoke, her instinct leading her to a dark cover of bushes. She paused, in the shadows she could sense another creature.

But she was afraid to go in. She stretched toward it, somehow sending tendrils of her soul forward. The stench of rotten meat inundated her. The metallic, salty taste of blood filled her mouth. Slitted catlike eyes turned toward her. Everything but its face and palms was covered it dark, bristly hair. It had no nose to speak of. Only wide pits rimmed with jagged ridges. Between forked lips, its razor-sharp teeth were nearly as yellow as its eyes.

Terrified, she snatched the pieces of her soul back and rushed into her body. Her eyes flew open, her mouth murmuring the word that came unbidden to her mind, “Hebock.”

Tenan gaped at her. But he didn’t have time to react. Ursha shied and it was all he could do to hold her. The mare’s nostrils flared as she blew out, her ears pointing westward. “Ara, help me!”

She leapt for the reins, pulling hard. The mare screamed and then fled, heedless of the iron bit in her mouth.

Refusing to let go, Ara and Tenan were wrenched from their feet. Ara slammed into the ground and the mare began dragging them both. Branches and twigs tore at her body. The reins slipped! They seared her hands before pulling free.

“My hand is caught!” Tenan screamed. He fought to get his feet under him before the mare killed him.

Ignoring the pain, she pushed herself up and surged after her brother. Fumbling for her belt knife, she watched as the mare bound over an overturned tree. Tenan slammed into it with a grunt as the air was knocked out of him. Somehow, he managed to hold fast to a gnarled root. Ursha flayed wildly, like a fish fighting to be free of a line.

Ara gathered her legs and leapt over the dead trunk. As she came down, she slashed at the taut rein, snapping it instantly. Liberated, the mare turned and ran as a pack of wolves nipped at her heels.

Drawing ragged breaths, Ara knelt next to her brother. “Tenan?”

He moaned. “She nearly pulled both my arms off.”

Ara’s eyes raked across the black-green woods. What had frightened the mare so badly? She remembered what she’d seen just before Ursha had panicked: a Hebock. It couldn’t be. Not here. “Tenan-Tenan, we have to get out of here.”

Grimacing, he leaned forward and worked his arms in a circle. “Father will murder me if we don’t get the mare back.”

She started digging frantically through the loose leaves. “Where’s your bow?”

He nodded in the direction Ursha had disappeared.

That left them with nothing more than their knives. She looked toward the village. Her father might not be far down the trail. Somehow, she had to make Tenan come with her. “We have to go! Something’s still out there. I feel it as if its breath is hot against my throat.”

Tenan gave her a withering look. “I’m not going anywhere until we find Ursha.”

Suddenly, the danger in Ara’s mind exploded. A high-pitched sound like the screech of a thousands bats drove nails into her ears. A black shadow, shorter than Tenan by a span and twice as wide, seemed to gain life and streak toward them through the trees. She gripped her brother’s arm and heaved. “Tenan, run!”

One look at the creature, and he fell in beside her. She peered over her shoulder. Another screech erupted from a bat-like face. She put on a burst of speed she hadn’t known she possessed. She saw a horse between the trees. A familiar one. “Father!” she cried. “Father! Help!”

Kendrake jerked at her cry. His eyes widened with fear and disbelief. Bringing his bow around, he slammed his heels into his horse’s side.

Tenan’s pace increased with her scream. Side by side they raced. Danger, danger, danger, a voice inside her mind chanted. The tempo increased no matter how fast she ran. And then the words changed, bursting in her head, Death!

“Get down!” Her father shouted as he pulled back his bowstring.

Tenan glanced over his shoulder. His face twisted in fear. He lunged, tackling Ara and shielding her body with his own.

And then the danger was gone. Not faded or diminished. It simply ceased to exist. Tenan eased up, his body as rigid as if it were carved from rock. Ara saw her father’s horrified face above them, his bow half drawn with a new arrow.

Flat on her back, her gaze swung slowly to her side. Close enough that she could have reached out and touched it, the charcoal colored creature stretched toward her, menace permanently etched on its face and a wicked axe still clenched in its fist. A Hebock.

An arrow protruded from its right eye. A yellow eye. Slit like a cat’s and still trained upon her. In a way, the Hebock resembled a human, for it had moved on two legs and was roughly the same size. But it would only be mistaken for a man on the darkest nights.

Ara ripped her gaze from the Hebock to look at her father. Kendrake dismounted and eased forward. “It can’t be.” He didn’t let the tension ease from his bow, as he kicked the limp body, turning the Hebock from its side onto its back. His eyes scanned the woods. “There may be more.”

“There aren’t,” Ara whispered.

Whether he heard her or not, her father leapt back on his horse. Though the Hebock’s presence made the animal fight, Kendrake began making a circuit around them.

Tenan looked at the Hebock in wonder, and then that wonder transferred wholly to her. “How in all the Lands did you know that thing was coming . . . that there aren’t more?”

The blood pounded in her face. What had she done? Oh please, for her mother’s sake, not another Gift. “My soul . . . it’s like my soul broke away from my body, like I was a ghost.” Her nose wrinkled in distaste. “I saw the Hebock and taste blood.”

“Hebock? How do you know what a Hebock looks like?” he asked in bewilderment.

“I’ve seen one befo—” her voice cut off as she realized what she’d said. Seen a Hebock before? That was impossible. No one saw them this far south of the Wild Lands. No one.

Tenan crawled away from her and was sick. Ara wondered if it was her admission that brought on his retches or the sight of the Hebock.

Her father pulled in beside them. “I don’t see signs of more.” He studied her and Tenan. “Either of you hurt?”

Ara tucked her palms behind her. “No, Father.”

Tenan wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “No, Father.”

Her father’s shoulders slumped as if he’d been deboned. His hazel eyes seemed flat, lifeless. “If I hadn’t heard Ara calling for help . . .” he trailed off, his face going even paler. “I don’t understand. Why would a Hebock come here?”

Tenan seemed to recognize the look on Ara’s face. He shook his head, his lips pursed.

“Do Kanovians use Hebocks for Assassins?” she asked gingerly.

Her father rubbed his jaw. “I have heard that they use them for scouts, but Assassins . . .” Suddenly, his eyes went wide. “Ara?” He searched her face and then groaned, “Oh, Ara! No!”

She gathered her knees into her chest, refusing to look at the Hebock, refusing to acknowledge the creature that had tried to kill her for what she was.

Her father tugged his cap further over his thinning black hair. “No one can know about Ara’s Gift. No one besides us. Do you both understand?”

Her eyes remained unfocused. “We’ve both understood for a long time, Father.”

Kendrake shot a condemning look at Tenan before softening. “I see.” He studied the ground as if it might hold the answers he sought. “Your mother doesn’t need to know. We’ll keep Ara close, keep her secret safe. The Hebock’s dead. We’ll bury it. Tonight, so that no one sees. We never speak of this day again. It never happened. Understood?”

Ara’s head felt waterlogged, as if she might hear a sloshing sound if she shook it. “Yes, Father. I understand.”

Kendrake stared at Tenan, waiting.

Tenan threw a rock against the tree stump. It clattered loudly in the stillness. “I haven’t told anyone yet.”

Their father nodded. “Good. Help me drag this thing out of sight. Then you two clean up. We can’t have you coming home looking like you’ve been brawling in the dirt and twigs.” He glared at the dead thing. “Tonight, we’ll come back and bury it.”

In the darkest hours, Ara stole out of the house with her father and brother. They made their way silently to the Hebock’s body. The fire still burning from the reins, she held the lantern aloft, while her father and brother’s shovels rang loudly in the still night.

Sweat ringed their underarms and drew long, fat lines down their backs by the time they finished a hole deep enough that their heads weren’t visible above the rim. Setting the lantern on the ground, she helped them roll the Hebock’s heavy body inside.

Ara’s nose wrinkled at the Hebock’s pungent odor—rotting meat. Her soul had been right about the smell. They covered the carcass with rocks before refilling the hole. Then they walked across the grave until the ground was smooth before replanting brush and sage.

Dusting off their hands, the two men surveyed their work. Ara didn’t. She looked anywhere but at the grave. How long would it take for another Hebock or Assassin to find her? She pressed her eyes shut. Another secret to keep. Another thing to make her different. Another reason for the Assassins to seek her blood.

#

Beneath her, the floor rocked and swayed. Her clammy clothes did little to keep out the cold. And nothing assuaged her hunger. Arms held her, trying to comfort her, trying to shield her, trying to warm her.

The arms weren’t human.

With a fierce shake of her head, Ara pushed herself up on her forearms. Another vision. She drew her quilts tighter, drawing the remaining warmth from them. It couldn’t have been more than a few hours since she’d returned with her father and Tenan. Her head ached from lack of sleep and her hands burned as if the reins had just seared them.

Blinking hard, she peered out her warped window. Soft darkness blurred the clean line between mountain and sky, tree and ground. Dawn was still a few hours away. So what had woken her? As if in answer, a knock echoed through the house. Snatching her blanket, she wrapped it over her thin shoulders and hurried from her room.

Her father, mother, and brother blocked her view of what lay beyond the door. Black curls spilling over her blanket, she rushed forward. A Nonaean officer stood with his armor gleaming silver in the pale light, a conscription notice in his hand. Ara’s body froze, her tongue stuck fast to the roof of her mouth. They’re here for Tenan. In the middle of the night, so that the men wouldn’t see them coming and run.

Tenan wouldn’t look at her. “It’s time, Ara.”

She barely registered her mother and father hurrying past her to gather Tenan’s armor and already packed saddle bags. She knew this was coming. They had been preparing for months. But it didn’t feel real. Like a dream. She hoped it was a dream. Tenan couldn’t leave. They needed him. She needed him.

Tenan wrapped her in a fierce embrace, crushing her against his hardened muscles—muscles that trembled with fear. Tenan afraid? Tenan feared nothing. This was no dream. It was real. He was leaving her. “You knew it was coming, little sister. We all did.”

Ara’s words came out half strangled, “It doesn’t make it easier.”

“Don’t ever let anyone know about your Gift, Ara,” he whispered fiercely. “I won’t be here to keep you safe.”

He couldn’t leave her! He couldn’t! But she found herself saying the words he needed to hear, “I’ll be careful.”

As if her touch suddenly burned him, he jerked away and hurried outside.

Ara followed him. She didn’t feel her steps, her body, or even her wounds. Nothing stirred her, not even the stiff breeze from the canyon. She was a wraith, cold and untouchable.

Tenan embraced their mother as if Qessa might break and then stood before Kendrake. Her father stared at the ground, his mouth working. “Come home, son.”

Because if you die on the battlefield, we’ll never see you or your body again. The pain suddenly hit Ara with such force that she nearly doubled over. Tenan was leaving to fight in a war against the men of Kanovia and their monsters, the Hebocks—a war from which he might never return. She bit her lip to hold back her sobs. It felt like a part of her was dying.

Swallowing hard, Tenan nodded as he swung into the saddle. “Yes, Father.”

Ara tried to burn his image into her memory. The Nonaean commander shouted the order. The men spurred their horses. Tenan held his mount, though the stallion danced beneath him. He closed his eyes before giving the horse his head. Within moments, the trees had swallowed him whole.

It felt like hours later when her father pressed Tenan’s old clothes into her arms. “No use trying to sleep. Saddle Talbot. There’s just as much work as before, and now one less pair of hands to do it.”

As Tenan’s scent rose up from the garments, Ara understood what part of her was dying.

Her childhood.

She didn’t try to stop it.

LibraryThing Versus Goodreads

 

I've been a member of Goodreads for years. I love being able to keep track of what I've read and what I haven't. I've even looked at a book on my "read" list and think, "I read that?" But it has stars, so I know I did.

Goodreads has also been fantastic for spreading the word about Witch Song. As of right now (4:4:11 @ 9am MST) nearly 1,850 readers have requested to win Witch Song, while another 1,400 people have added it to their "to read" list. And that's not counting how high Witch Song is on many of the lists where members have voted it to the top 5 of 15 different lists  (mostly featuring debut authors or beautiful covers). It's also # 15 on the most requested Goodread's giveaway list.

So ya, Goodreads has been an awesome medium to spread the word about Witch Song *insert girlie squeal*. So I wondered if other sites like Goodreads would expose the book to new readers in the same way. I decided to try LibraryThing. Honestly, it's beyond me. It's more like a forum. I've never been very good at forums (they seem too time consuming). But I decided to at least add all the information I could about Witch Song to the site.

Since the book went up on March 24th, ZERO people have added it. Type in the exact title in a search, and it's still 8th down without the BEAUTIFUL cover showing (though it appears when you click on it).

Epic Fail. ;)

I know this is partially my fault. I need to get the book out there as I did on Goodreads. But that would require me to learn the ins and outs of yet another social networking site. Not to mention trying to keep up on it.

So I turn to you, dear blog reader. How the heck do you work LibraryThing? Any ideas for marketing the book on LibraryThing's site? Which site do you prefer: LibraryThing or Goodreads? (I'm, um . . . leaning heavily towards Goodreads)

PS Don't forget to enter my contest.

Answers to Your Buring Questions Pt 2

Continued from last week . . .

4. When real world obligations mount, how do you keep your excitement for writing and whatever project you're working on?


Take a break. I'm so tired of the advice, "You must write every day. No matter what."

You know what? Not everyone can do that. Not everyone wants to do that. There are no rules in writing. There are guidelines. And while this is a good one, it doesn't apply to everyone all the time.

If you need a break, take one. I got to the point where I was so bitter I couldn't stand writing anymore. I took six months off. And I have no guilt about it. Seriously, if you're unpublished, you have no deadlines. No commitments. You're free. Enjoy it.

5. What do you do if you find yourself stalled on a project? What do you study to get your creative juices flowing on a new project, or to twist an old project and re-invigorate it?

This is a fun one.

To get the creative juices going: Watch a good movie. Read a good book. Listen to inspiring music. Take a break.

If you're stalled: usually it's because I've got my editor hat on instead of my writer hat. The first draft is messy. It's doesn't make sense, it's chubby, and cluttered. I find myself constant reminding myself, "I'll fix it later."

6. How do you keep your personal momentum for a project before you're a "discovered" author?

I give myself deadlines. I want to have book X ready for conference Y. I'm going to have this one ready to query by X.

Having a regular meeting writers group helps too. You have to have something to share, and it's fun.

7. How do you work toward getting to the point where you're prepared to be seen as professional?

I have no idea. I'll let you know if I ever figure it out.

What rules do you break?

Answers to Your Buring Questions Pt 1

I had a writerly acquaintance, Mike Shaffer, ask me a boat load of questions. Hoping the rest of you might benefit, I've posted them here.

1. I need help pre-writing and world building. I haven't figured out a strategy that works. What's yours?

I could give a whole discourse on this subject. Honestly, it's really not a question with a quick answer. The best, brief advice I can offer: Outline. As a budding writer, I hated it. I thought it was constrictive and intimidating. It's not.

There's lots of different methods. Check some books out from the library, google it, pick different ones and try them until one fits. Honestly, I work best when I can sit down with my husband and we hash out an idea together (usually when we have a long drive). Honestly, I do 3/4 of the talking. For some reason, saying it out loud makes it click in my head.

2. How do you either write an ending, or plot a good one out if you come up with scenes that feel like a middle or just beyond the beginning?

Sometime plotting intimidates writers because they feel like they have to know everything. You don't. It's like going on a vacation. You plan out your destination, some stops along the way, some of the big things you'll see, etc. The rest you fill in as you go along. Sometimes you know your ending from the start of the book. Sometimes you change it. Sometimes you don't figure out the ending until you write it.

And that's okay. Say it to yourself, "It's okay. It's okay."

3. Can you pre-plan a series?

Absolutely. Although I recommend you write stand alones or stand alones with sequel potential until you find a publisher. Why? Because no one's going to buy books 2, 3, 4, or 5 if 1 doesn't sell. Don't ever become so entrenched in a book that you're unwilling to let it go.

Continued next week . . .

Winner and Blurb Announced

First of all, thanks for all your help with my blurb. The majority of you liked a combination of 1 and 3. I've been playing with it to try and get it right. Here's what I have so far:

The world is changing.


For thousands of years, witch song has controlled everything from the winds to the shifting of the seasons. But not anymore. All the Witches are gone, taken captive by the dark witch Espen.

All but one.

As the last echoes of witch song fade, Espen grows stronger even as winter and summer come within the space of a day. Now she’s coming for the one she missed—Brusenna, a shy, untrained girl of fifteen.

Somehow, Brusenna has to succeed where every other Witch has failed. Find Espen. Fight her. Defeat her.

Or there won’t be anything left to save.

Whaddya think??? Does it flow well? Do you have a good idea what the story is about? Any confusing parts?
Second of all, it's time to announce the winner as chosen by random.org:

YzhaBella's BookShelf

*throws confetti*

Thanks so much for all your help everyone.

Help Pick my Cover Blurb, Win Forest of Hands and Teeth

The dreaded cover blurb. I have to take my entire manuscript and condense it into a few compact, tantilizing, info-packed paragraphs.

No worries though. It only goes on the back cover. Which most everyone reads to see if they actually want to BUY the book. No problem at all. If I fail, no one will purchase my book, forcing me to buy hundreds of copies of Witch Song so I don't feel like an idiot.

I'm not worried.

At all.

*curls into the fetal position and chants, "Blurb, blurb, blurb."*

Can you see the drool running down my chin? Cause I'm not taking a picture. You'll have to use your imagination folks.
After much hair pulling, drooling, and rocking, here's what I've come up with. And lucky you, you get to vote. Everyone who votes will be entered to win a paperback copy of The Forest of Hands and Teeth by Carrie Ryan. If you share this link on facebook, twitter, blog, etc, you get 1 extra point (leave me the link). I'll pick a winner next week.

Choice 1:

The world is changing. Once, the witches controlled everything from the winds to the shifting of the seasons. But not anymore. All the Witches are gone. Taken captive by a traitor.

All but Brusenna. Hidden away from the truth by her overprotective mother, she knows so little about saving the world. But with Summer and Winter coming in the space of a day, she’s the only choice the world has left.

Because if she fails to free the other witches, there won’t be anything left to save.

Choice 2:

Fourteen-year old Brusenna is the last Witch. All the others have been imprisoned by the Dark Witch. And the without the Witches’ songs to shore up the bindings of nature, storms rage, climates cross hardened boundaries, and seeds refuse to germinate.

Hiding from the Witch Hunters and their muskets, Brusenna and her Guardian, Joshen, must find the key to defeating the Dark Witch and rescuing the others. Because if not, there won’t be anything left to save.

Choice 3:

Brusenna is a Witch

With little more than a melody, all the plants within the sound of her voice grow and bend to her will. Collectively, the witches control the winds, the storms, even the changing of the seasons.

But all that was before—before the others were taken by the Dark Witch. (94) Before she sent her Witch Hunters after the rumor that turned out to be Brusenna.

As the echo of their songs fade, the Dark Witch grows stronger. And now she’s coming for Brusenna. She has her Guardian to protect her. But even he can’t stop the Dark Witch. Somehow, she has to succeed where every other witch has failed. She has to find her. Fight her. Defeat her.

Because if she fails, there won’t be anything left to save.

Help! My cover blurb and bio are kicking my butt!

In keeping with Week Four (excerpt week), I'm including my draft cover blurb and bio. I'd love to know what you think. Does the teaser give away enough information without being vague? Is my bio funny, or just corny? Things like that. Be honest. If it sucks, someone will evenutally tell me. I'd rather it be before my book comes out. :)

Blurb (reworked on 10-22):

Fourteen-year old Brusenna is the last Witch. All the others have been imprisoned by the Dark Witch. And the without the witches’ songs to shore up the bindings of nature, storms rage, climates cross hardened boundaries, and seeds refuse to germinate.


Hiding from the Witch Hunters and their muskets, Brusenna and her Guardian, Joshen, must find the key to defeating the Dark Witch and rescuing the others. Because if not, there may be nothing left to save.

Bio

Short:
I'm a study in contradictions. I love dressing up and looking pretty but hate uncomfortable clothes. I love a clean house but hate cleaning. I wanna eat chocolate for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but still wanna fit in my jeans. And perhaps worst of all, I grew up on a cattle ranch but love chicken (don't tell my dad).

Long:
I grew up on a cattle ranch on the outskirts of a town measuring ~six blocks by six blocks. I played center on my high school basketball team and competed in barrels and poles in rodeo (top ten in my state my senior year).

I graduated from Utah State with a bachelor in Physical Education and English. While there, I also met and married my husband. We continue to reside in the Rocky Mountains with our three children and our chew-everything-in-sight, chocolate Labrador Retriever, Dove.

So whaddya think? Did I nail them both, or do I need to start over?

Hear ye, hear ye!

After much research, I've decided on the new format for my blog.
I'm going to try to do a post once a week (does anyone have an opinion on what's the best day to post?).

Each week will have a theme. The themes are:

Week 1: Random Thoughts (because at the beginning of the month, my thoughts are random . . . okay, they're always random, but at the first of the month, it's worse).

Week 2: Book Review (because reading books is better for your health than drinking).

Week 3: Short Story/Excerpt (*takes a dramatic pose* because it's not just what I do, it's who I am ).

Week 4: Contest with FREE STUFF*insert confetti here* (because it's my way of bribing you. Shameless, I know. But who are you to complain? You'll have a chance to win free stuff too).

So there you have it. And for those of you who'd like to add that there are ofttimes more than four weeks in a month--once again, did I mention free stuff? *insert more confetti here . . . and while we're at it, some of those rolly blowy thingies*

Where Did I Put Those Notes!

I've tried many different methods for taking notes on my MS. A notebook--the kind with sections. In each section, I'd try to keep my notes for a particular MS. Things like maps (I write fantasy), names, locations, descriptions, character sketches, common phrases, etc.

Problem with this method is my kids. More than once, I 'lost' a notebook, only to find it later with colorful sketches all over the pages. (Of course, I never lose a notebook).

I switched to the post it note method. It was a disaster. Not only was my work space cluttered, so where the notes. I'd look through dozens of them trying to find the right one. They ended up disappearing even more frequently than the notebooks.

After years of frustration, I finally figured it out. I now keep my notes in a word document. It's a lot harder for my kids to steal my tower, and I back it up on my thumb drive. I also copy and paste pictures--pictures of locations, people, even random things like tattoos.

Q4U: What methods have you used to keep notes? What's worked best for you?

On Synop...si...siss? Summaries

First of all, you finished a book! Take a day to celebrate. As an unpublished writer, you're going to have to reward yourself for all your hard work. No one else has recognized your brilliance . . . yet.

Now go back and rewrite/edit/murder your MS. If this is your first book, you're going to be doing this A LOT. Take a hard look at it. Is it worth all those rewrites? If not, start a new story. My first MS, I bet I rewrote/edited 80 times (I'm much better/faster now). At one time, I had the whole first page memorized.

At some point in this process, you need to start thinking about writing a query letter and a synopsis. I suggest that you write your synopsis first, as it's actually a good editing tool, helping you spot plot holes like sagging plot, etc.

"But Amber, how do I write a synopsis?"

Well, let me tell you.

To write a synopsis, Condense your entire novel into two single spaced pages (with a hard return in between paragraphs).

I'll cringe in the corner while you scream in horror.

Done?

Alrighty then.

Capitalize the names the first time you use them. DO NOT leave out the ending of the story. This is not a hook. This is a plot summary. That includes the ending.

Example:

Synopsis of Daughter of Winter
Fantasy in 75,000 words
By Amber Argyle Smith

Seventeen-year old ILYENNA and her family find a neighboring ARGON near death on their border. They discover that his clan had been attacked. And theirs could be next. After mustering their warriors, the men leave the village. They return days later with what remains of the sacked Argon clan.

Ilyenna goes about caring for sick and injured Argons. While on a trip to gather supplies at a isolated home, she hears a band of Argons coming. She hides, but DARRIEN and his brother find her. While trying to take her captive, Ilyenna kills Darrien’s brother. In retribution, Darrien wounds her and leaves her for dead.

I don't claim to be an expert at writing a synopsis. In fact, I'm probably pretty bad at it, but you can get a general idea from my draft above. Don't be too hard on yourself about this. I've never read a synopsis that didn't make the story sound contrived. It sounds contrived because it is.

If you're really struggling, write a synopsis for each chapter and then weave those together. In order to keep it under two pages (some will want it shorter, some longer, but I've found that 2 pages is the norm), leave out minor characters and all but the most important subplots . In my synopsis, I only named eight characters/clans.

I know this sounds overwhelming. That's because it is. Taking ~80,000 word story and condensing it to 1,000 is HARD. I've been working on it for years, and I still struggle.

Q4U: Does anyone have any other synopsis tips they'd like to share?

Effectively Integrating Backstory

In my current WIP, I've been struggling with what to do with an important backstory scene. I felt it was integral to the story--something my readers would benefit from knowing. It set up the relationship between my characters, my MC motivation and weaknesses, sets up a strong undercurrent as it mirrors whats happening now, and sets up an ironic ending.

In short, including it would make the story stronger.

And yet weaker at the same time. Anytime you interrupt the forward momentum of the story by flashbacks, sometimes with prologues (as prologues set the reader up for A, then chapter one gives them A mixed with B, or even worse, straight B) you risk losing your readers.

So I was really struggling with what to do with this really important, life changing moment for my character. I toyed with using it as a prologue. I also toyed with splitting it into small chunks and delivering them as dreams.

Both of these methods seemed like I gave up as much or more that I gained. So I did some research. I studied out what some of my favorite books did with backstory information that the author considered integral to the plot.

One of the strongest influences was Catching Fire and Hunger Games (also Harry Potter). The MC father dies in a mine accident and the mother slips into depression, leaving the MC solely responsible for providing for her family at a very young age.

This moment was huge for all the same reasons my moment was. So how did Suzanne Collins integrate this information? She delivered it in small chunks, a paragraph or so at a time, when the character encountered experiences that drudged it up.

And it worked. It gave the character depth that couldn't have been achieved any other way.

So here's what I did. I wrote out the scene and saved it for later (when my book is a bestseller, I'll give it away for free on my website). Then I've delivered it in bits and pieces by way of memories. That way, my reader gets to piece together my character and her story one step at a time. This technique actually strengthened the story like a shot of steroids.

Here's a brief example from Daughter of Winter. My main character has just been beaten with a strap soaked in poison oak:

"The river felt so deliciously cool, soothing the itch and swelling . But only Rone's tight hold kept Ilyenna from bolting. She couldn’t swim, and anything deeper than her knees brought up memories. Memories of water bouncing her along the riverbed like a child with a new ball. She remembered seeing the sky through a window of ice. Ice she'd clawed at until each and every one of her fingernails had ripped off. "

Not only is the reader moving along with your character, they're learning a backstory that keeps them reading.

You probably all knew this already, but it really was a lightbulb moment for me!

Q4U: How to you incorporate backstory into your storyline?

Check Out This Link

I found this blog while scanning through some agent ones. It has a lot of information of on the last Writer's Digest Conference.

Check it out!

Also, funny thing happened to me yesterday. A neighbor of mine commented on how pretty I looked on my facebook page. "Absolutely gorgeous," she said. "You looked so stunning."

I smiled, genuinely pleased. "Thank you."

Studying me, she shook her head in disbelief. "It really looks nothing like you."

My eyebrows flew up and I had to suppress a snort. "Uh . . . I guess I clean up well?"

I love it when people offer you insults wrapped in praise. lol