Authors Helping Harry
"Britain's Kindest Kid," Harry Moseley, was more than a nice kid with a big heart; he was a real life hero.
A hero with an inoperable brain tumor who raised over £500,000.00 for Cancer Research UK. Sadly, he lost his battle with cancer at the young age of 11 years old.
Continuing Harry's quest for research funds, are an amazing group of 19 romance writers, along with a wonderful cover artist/graphic designer, who have come together to support Harry's charity, Cancer Research UK, in his memory.
"Author Moments" is a collection of essays written by these talented writers. *As a bonus, each author has included an excerpt from one of their current, or upcoming, releases.
|
From the New York Times bestselling lists to the writer who is just beginning their quest, you will find this anthology filled with generous writing advice and anecdotes.
It won’t matter where you are on your road to publication or even in your life journey, Author Moments will fill you with love, laughter and a renewed hope that all things are possible when you care enough to come together and make a difference. Like real life hero, Harry Moseley.
The Authors Helping Harry invite you to pitch in and help find a cure simply by purchasing a copy of this wonderful anthology.
The heartbreaking news came down the wire on October 8, 2011. I was in no way or form prepared to hear that Harry Moseley had lost his battle with cancer. This brave and selfless little boy did more good and accomplished more in his short life than most of us could ever dream of.
It’s sad that sometimes it takes a tragedy to make us step back and take a look at what’s really important. That night, I spent more time with my daughter and made sure I told her that I loved her. I reflected on the things I take for granted. Namely, that tomorrow is never promised. Life offers no guarantees on time.
Take a moment to make sure the people who are important to you know how you feel about them. Tell them you love them. Say you’re sorry if you’ve hurt someone. Forgive that transgression that you’re still holding a grudge for. Life is really too short to harbor ill feelings.
We can all learn from this child who was so pure of heart and intentions. Be kind. Be compassionate. Be a little more like Harry and this world will be a much better place.
Today, I dry my tears and put a smile on my face. I am grateful to be part of this project and to help keep Harry’s dream for a cure alive. I hope you’ll help, too. Godspeed, Harry.
“Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.” ~ Dr. Seuss
Moving Right Along
In other news, I'm hard at work on my next book of literary naughtiness. Taken in Texas is part of the Deep in the Heat of Texas anthology I'm collaborating on with authors Alta Hensley and Amy le Blanc. We are having a blast working together! Our publisher has dubbed us the LazyDay Dirty Girls! *snickers* You can imagine how hot things are getting with three professional women spending two weeks on a dude ranch in Texas that is run by three wayward cowboys! Yeah...we went there.
Moving right along in the news feed...Giving Up the Ghost's release has been bumped up to April 25, 2011, by Turquoise Morning Press! I'm excited about this but means I need to get moving on editing. So much to do and not enough good coffee in the world to keep me sufficiently caffeinated!
I'm scheduled to attend Authors After Dark in Philadelphia next August. This is a fantastic opportunity to rub elbows with other authors and readers and hopefully introduce my work to a new group! I'm learning that the promotions never end. Look out Liberty Bell!
I'll try to write a more meaningful entry in the very near future but have to get back to work now! Thanks for tuning in until next time!
Melissa
Ménage-à-Blog
Let’s see, my life has been a whirlwind lately and it’s been hard finding time to keep the blog updated. I apologize wholeheartedly for not returning phone calls and emails as quickly as I should. *Bad Melissa*
I mentioned in an earlier blog that I was anxiously awaiting word from an unnamed publisher about whether or not they were going to contract my erotic romance series. GOOD NEWS!! Lazy Day Publishing has, indeed, contracted my Seduction in Memory Grove series. Thanks, Staci! You da’ bomb, girl!
WARNING: SHAMELESS PLUG TO FOLLOW
**Yeah, that's a total of FIVE books now under contract with two publishers! Craziness! My two paranormal romance novels, Giving Up the Ghost and Murder in Romance, will be out next summer from Turquoise Morning Press.**
Pull the Trigger, Mount Up and Feed the Fire are slated for a December 1, 2010 collective release. Click here for more details on these yummy stories that feature a hot cop, a delectable cowboy and a smoking fireman and, of course, the women who are mesmerized by them!
Originally, I had planned to write a ménage story for a specific publishing line but Pull the Trigger’s love story just didn’t allow for a third in the bedroom. The third party ejected from that story still needed his tale told. Hence, Mount Up. And, the series was born... I’m not ruling out writing something along the kinkier lines later. It just didn’t work out with these characters.
I considered using a nom de plume for the erotic series. Do I really want EVERYONE to know how much I enjoy writing literary nasties? It’s bad enough that when I let the hubby read the first draft of Mount Up, he looked at me, raised and eyebrow and said, “You want me to do that to you?” YIKES! For now, I will use my real name, but might come up with a porno queen name later. Something that oozes sex appeal. I had a few in mind, but I better save those for the other blog I’m building that will be dedicated to that side of my writing. You know, one of those that issues a warning before you enter. 0_0
IN OTHER RANDOM NEWS...
I’m judging a writing contest. That’s a first for me. Not sure if I’m allowed to say what or for which group so I won’t do any namedropping but I’m looking forward to it. After all, it’s the love of reading that draws us into writing. What an honor to have a first look at new material!
Football season is here and I can say that I will walk away from the computer for any and all SAINTS games! WHO DAT?!?! Last night’s victory over the Vikings was SWEEEET! Oh, and did you see Jeremy Shockey cut his hair? Good move, JS. The shaggy look was not becoming.
Additionally, I was "unrejected" by @FakeEditor in his Twitter contest for sarcastic advice to writers. Oh, yeah...I was awarded the prestigious Certificate of Wise-Assery for my "unmitigated gall" in pointing out a typo in the contest blog. *snicker*
Oh, and Sally (@honeysock), thanks to you and Dex for inspiring the title of this blog!
Melissa
New From Inez Kelley
COMING CLEAN never felt so good...
Grant and Vivi Michaelson share everything in their marriage: love, commitment—and their wildest sexual desires. But their relationship is tested when Vivi admits she wants a threesome with Grant’s old friend Cade, proposing their annual trip to the lake as the perfect opportunity to fulfill her fantasy.
All three of them are aroused by the idea. Vivi and Cade have long felt a smoldering attraction to each other…and Grant and Cade have hidden an illicit desire for decades. Going through with the ménage will test their boundaries, reveal old secrets…and maybe tear them apart. After all, there might be room for Cade in bed, but is there room for a third in their marriage?
Rated Top Pick, 4 Stars, 5 Blue Ribbons and called 'the best menage of the summer' by reviewers!
"The characters are adorable, the storytelling is perfect and Mrs. Kelley’s voice is something I will never forget."
HOT! WET! STEAMY!
COMING CLEAN by Inez Kelley BUY it now.
Crazy, Crazy
The last ten days have been crazy. I don’t even know where to start. It’s all still so surreal. Giving Up the Ghost and Murder in Romance are both under contract with Turquoise Morning Press with release dates of June 27, 2011, and August 22, 2011, respectively. Thanks, Kim (the cupcake diva). *much love and kisses* Hey...that sounds like an acceptance speech. “And I’d like to thank the Academy...” *curtsies*
But seriously, this is what I’ve worked so hard for and now it feels like my dreams are coming true. I’ve endured the rejections and the harsh criticisms and, I can honestly say, I have learned something from all of it. Big hugs to TMP for giving me this opportunity!
Despite my shock, excitement and anxiety, I started a new series in the midst of the craziness. Seduction in Memory Grove. After much blushing and squinting my eyes at the words, I think I figured out how to write romantic erotica. Hubby read it, shook his head and said, “You are nasty! I had no idea you could write like that!” I’m now an amateur literary porn star! Yay me! The first book, Pull the Trigger, is being considered by an unnamed publisher. I won’t reveal who they are in case they reject it thereby creating an awkward moment where I would have to come back and put little xxx’s and skulls and crossbones over their names and look spiteful. *snickers*
So, now I’m trying to set up a workable schedule. I’ve submitted my author input for the cover art on Giving Up the Ghost but still need to format the manuscript for my editor. I have to get back to writing Murder in Romance since I actually have a drop dead date on it. I’m outlining the second book for Seduction in Memory Grove titled Mount Up. Yeah, there’s a cowboy involved. *swoons*
On another note, my heart fluttered a bit yesterday when my twelve year old told me she wanted to be a writer like me. She wrote a few paragraphs of a story and asked me to read it. All in all, it wasn’t bad. I gave her the talk about first person versus third person and the importance of grammar, sentence structure and syntax. And that she really needed to excel in English and Literature classes and read as much as she could. At that point, her eyes glazed over and she said, “But, I hate those classes and I don’t like reading that much.” *sigh* Not likely that she’ll follow in my footsteps. This opened the door to the what am I going to do with my life? talk.
She outlined all the reasons why every career suggestion I made would not work for her. Out of constructive advice, I said, “How about you just start by getting your Bachelor’s Degree.”
Her face took on a thoughtful but decidedly confused look. She responded, “Why? I’m not getting married until after college.” I then explained the difference between a Bachelor’s Degree and a bachelor party. It’s a darn good thing she’s cute because I think her college fund will go for a boob job and she’ll make an excellent trophy wife to a professional athlete someday. I hear Reggie Bush is single again!
“Yes, Reggie, you can call me Mom.”
Stripper Stilettos
We piled in the car and drove twenty miles to the mall. Of all the cool stores in the mall, my sophisticated twelve-year-old wanted to go to J.C. Penney. Okay. I waited in line while she perused the costume jewelry, oohing and aahing (the child loves bling). I finally made it to checkout with two pairs of shorts, one pair of capris and four shirts. The total came to $85 and some change and we high-fived, applauding our fierce bargain hunting skills. As we headed for the exit I realized she was wearing the sweatshirt she wanted to buy and we hadn’t paid for it. Dang it! Back in line I got and ten minutes later we were cruising the rest of the mall, the girl needed shoes.
We ended up in Payless. This is where the trip gets interesting. She picked out a very sensible pair of canvas shoes that would match the J.C. Penney wardrobe. Then, my tweenage daughter picked out a pair of shoes that she just had to have. Faux black and tan snakeskin strappy four inch heels with a zipper. Now, I have only seen heels that high (with a zipper no less) on a half naked chick dancing on a pole. My first reaction was absolutely not. Especially when I remember that at the age of eight this child informed me that she was going to dance in her bathing suit for money to pay for veterinarian school and a boob job. She truly does have an entrepreneurial spirit.
You’d think she was Cinderella as she slipped her feet into her glass slippers. She adjusted all the straps (and there were a bunch of straps) and zipped up the trampy shoes that, surprisingly, fit her feet. Paired with her mini skirt, tank top and blue eyeshadow, she looked like an extra in Pretty Baby. I was adamant that I would not buy the shoes which had a ridiculous $44 price tag (Hello, we’re in Payless!). She strutted around in front of the mirror for a bit before accepting the reality that she would have to leave the store without them. Before saying goodbye to the coveted shoes, she took a picture of them with her cell phone. She may have kissed them, but I'm not sure.
All the way home I had to listen to the very creative reasons why she needed the stripper shoes and that, yes, she could wear them to school. I laughed and told her if she saved up the money, she could buy them herself. She will get $5 a week to keep her room clean. Now, if you’ve ever seen the show Hoarders: Buried Alive, you will understand my reasoning in making this offer. This child won’t earn a nickle.
Update: The child cleaned her room tonight.
Lesson Learned
Anyway, I grew up having these fantasies of someone trying to snatch my purse in a parking lot or attempting to carjack me at a red light. Now, I know that sounds crazy and, don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t longing to be a victim by any means. The main point of the fantasy was that I would totally go “Charlie’s Angels” on some bad guy and kick the crap out of him before throwing him in my trunk and personally delivering him to the police department without so much as breaking a nail.
Fast forward a few years to the sort-of-newlywed me. I think the hubby and I had been married about a year when he got the bright idea to test my reflexes. We lived in an upstairs apartment and I had just returned home from grocery shopping and was trudging my purchases up the stairs and depositing them on the kitchen floor. I was considerate enough to not ask him to help since he worked a graveyard job and I knew that he was sleeping in anticipation of that evening’s shift.
While I was putting away the groceries, I heard a strange noise coming from the rear of the apartment. I ventured toward our bedroom to investigate. I peaked through the half-open door and saw the hubby’s sleeping form under the blanket on the bed. Just then, I heard the noise again, louder this time. It was a mechanical, clicking type sound. I stepped into the room, just past the door and realized the noise was coming from behind me.
It was dusk and the room was kind of shadowy, but not dark yet. In my peripheral vision I saw movement from behind the door. My heart skipped then jack hammered against my rib cage as I slowly turned around and came face-to-face with a tall man whose face was distorted by a pantyhose pulled over his head and he was pointing a pistol at my forehead. :-O Okay, here is where my Charlie’s Angels skills were supposed to kick in. According to my fantasies, I should have roundhouse-kicked the gun out of his hand and planted my knee in his crotch before ripping the phone cord out of the wall and tying him up like Dolly Parton in 9 to 5 when she took down her booty-grabbing boss.
Well, it didn’t actually go down like that. I didn't knuckle up and open a can of whoop-ass on him. I simply didn’t react at all as my life literally flashed before my eyes, I deduced that my hubby was probably dead under that blanket on the bed and I was next. My legs gave out and I dropped to my knees and squeezed my eyes shut, hoping for a quick and mostly painless execution-style death.
Then he says, “It’s me, it’s me.” I opened my eyes to see the would-be assassin pull the pantyhose off his head and, low and behold, it’s my at-that-time-not-so-better half. It took about thirty seconds for me to realize that I wasn’t really going to die. The hubby had arranged pillows in the bed to make it look like he was sleeping and then hid behind the door to see how I would react if confronted with an intruder.
He didn’t immediately apologize for nearly giving me a heart attack. What he said was, “If I had been a real criminal, you would be dead. You failed.” Once the blood returned to my brain and my limbs were usable again, I tore into him like a tornado into a mobile home. He had no idea what hit him.
So, I asked myself...why didn’t I tear into the intruder like that when I feared for my life? It’s simple really. Only a few seconds had passed between the time I saw him and turned into a Jello shooter on the floor to when he revealed himself and alleviated the imminent danger. My body didn't have enough time to react to the fear invoked adrenaline that produces the fight or flight response (I stole that opinion from a security expert I consulted after buying pepper spray and a pocket knife). Another thirty seconds and I may have tackled him at the knees from my advantageous position on the floor and put him in a rear wrist lock before strangling him to death with the second leg of the pantyhose dangling alongside his head. Okay, I’m probably injecting some fantasy there. It's more likely that I would have opted for the flight response and dove through the window and fell two floors down into the dumpster in the alley.
Anyway, after some reflection, he apologized and admitted it had been a bad idea even though he insisted his heart was in the right place. He wanted to make sure I would defend myself in a real life scenario. Fourteen years later, I forgive him and now keep my loaded forty caliber Glock (complete with Trijicon night sights and two extra high cap clips) in an undisclosed, yet easily accessible, location in my bedroom. And, yes, I know how to use it. So, I don’t think he’d try something like that again.
Melissa
A Day/Night in the Life of...
3:45 a.m. Get hubby up for work, make his coffee, kiss him on the cheek and send him on his merry way.
4:15 a.m. Go back to bed only to lay awake for roughly 45 minutes listening to the voices in my head. Right now those voices belong to Carolina and Nathan, the hero and heroine of my current project. Oh, and check my email once more via my cell phone because you never know when an agent or publisher may have insomnia and decide to read your submitted manuscript and send you an offer.
8:00 a.m. Drag myself out of bed because if I sleep any later I feel like I've wasted half my day. Have my coffee, let the dog out to pee and make myself somewhat presentable. It's easy to get comfortable with the cave woman look when you have no real contact with the outside world. Both my "day job" and my writing are done from home. Trips to the dentist and Walmart have become awesome socializing opportunities. The Walmart greeter is super sweet! Oh, and check my email. *fingers crossed*
10:00 a.m. Remember to let the dog back in and go feed the two dogs who live in the "other" backyard since they all can't get along. The one who lives in the house seems to think he's a match for the 150 pound Mastiff out back. He's old and clearly delusional. I may have to get him one of those Alzheimer's Med-Alert bracelets to hang on his collar with his rabies tag. Make more coffee and see who's on Twitter. Realize I've lost an hour and try to buckle down and write something. Oh, and check my email.
12:00 p.m. Work on a project for the job that nets profits (when applicable). I'm sort of on-call for those "just in time law" projects that the firm pitches my way. This could just as easily be for the 10:00 p.m. slot as well. And that quoted phrase is copyrighted by Ray Kaiser, so don't try to steal it (just kidding). *chuckle* If I'm not working, I try to write a few more words and remember to feed the child who lives in the east end of the house. Tweet about my third cup of coffee and lack of attention span. Oh, and check my email.
2:00 p.m. Peruse the websites for a few publishing companies to make sure I followed all their guidelines for submission even though the submission was sent days ago and they might get a restraining order against my IP address. Eat a twinkie with my fourth cup of coffee. Lunch of champions. Chat with my tweeps on Twitter and follow some people who don't know I'm alive because I'm cool like that. Try to write in my blog while editing Manuscript #2 and jotting down ideas that pop into my head for Manuscript #4. Oh, and check my email.
4:00 p.m. Take the child to the dentist and enjoy her nitrous oxide trip, feeling a little envious that I don't get any. I bet dentists have a good time after hours. Join a Twitter buddy's discussion and Tweet a quick tip on what you should or shouldn't do at a writer's conference even though I've never been to one. *hehe* Oh, and check my email.
6:00 p.m. Remember that I haven't taken anything out for dinner and weigh the options of heat and serve frozen foods or check the junk drawer for pizza coupons. Feed the dogs again. Water the pretty-much-dead garden while Tweeting my whereabouts on my cell phone. Yes, I'm an awesome multi-tasker. Oh, and check my email.
8:00 p.m. Make lunches for the hubby and son, clean up dinner dishes or throw away the pizza box and make more coffee. Chat with hubby before he goes to bed, maybe watch some South Park. Mark my calendar for the Harlequin Twitter party on August 4th at 8:00 p.m. EST. Don't laugh, I was invited and they're giving away three iPads. Oh, and check my email.
11:00 p.m. Lip sync to the Pat Benatar/Joan Jett playlist (I probably just dated myself on that, ha!) while I work on my outline and look over the four different blogs I started before commencing a fifth. Hook up on Twitter with my BFF so we can share coffee and catch up on our day and discuss ghost hunting and John Cusack's lack of reciprocity when it comes to Twitter stalking. We compare notes on who's following us and if they're creepy or not (we don't discuss whether or not others may consider us to be creepy). The later it gets, the more paranoid we become and start sending direct messages to each other instead of publicly Tweeting. Oh, and check my email.
1:00 a.m. I think about the wisdom of another cup of coffee versus going to bed. I re-read my blog four times before posting it and think to myself that no one is going to read it, so I don't need to go over it a fifth time before actually shutting the computer down. Oh, and check my email one more time. Brush my teeth and flop into bed.
3:45 a.m. Get hubby up for work, make his coffee, kiss him on the cheek and send him on his merry way.
And so it begins again...in a few weeks the child will be back in school and I will be forced to adhere to some sort of schedule. For now, that is a random day in the life of yours truly.
Melissa
Family Ties
I look at some people in my family and ask a simple question: "If they weren't family, would I choose to be friends with them?" For the most part, my answer would be "definitely." I am blessed to have some truly awesome people in both my immediate and extended families. However, there are a few that I would answer a resounding "NO" to. They are those people that just make you scratch your chin and wonder what went wrong. Maybe evil incarnate isn't such a far fetched idea after all.
I've learned that in our times of need and sorrow, we discover who our real friends are and who our real family are. Forget who we share DNA with, it's much more important to consider who we share empathy with; who we share compassion and understanding with; who we simply share love with.
I guess there is probably a "pack of wolves" in every family. They display the basic traits of Alpha personalities and constantly struggle to maintain dominance and superiority. At the first sign of weakness, they turn on each other and kill or run off the weaker member. They are a narcissistic breed with no need for love and no tolerance for imperfection. They are that small, symbiotic group that lives up in the crookedest branches of the family tree. I've heard it said that "the fruit doesn't fall far from the tree." Well, in this case, the fruit ended up miles away from the tree that spawned it. The fruit shows no affection for the wanton familial bloodlust displayed by these beasts.
We are so lucky to have the friends and neighbors we "choose" to have in our lives, as well as the wonderful family members whose blood we share. We are not so grateful for those we are bound to by blood tainted with selfishness and apathy. We have learned the hard way that some relationships are not worth salvaging and some people are not worth the effort it takes to hate. I believe that in life we reap what we sow and, for the sake of those wolves, I sincerely hope that karma is capable of mercy.
Sex Sells
I don't remember who told me about the job opening in the food court but I went over and put in an application. I was especially excited because it paid $4.75 per hour when minimum wage was $3.35. I was going to be making bank and my first paycheck would be allotted for the pink and black bikini in the window at Contempo.
I got a phone call a day or so later to come in for an interview. The manager was a senior in high school and told me that she wanted to hire me but before she could she needed to take a Polaroid picture of me to send to corporate for approval. I laugh now at how blatant that was and how much trouble the company would get into for that sort of practice today. Anyway, after corporate approved my Polaroid, I was a proud employee of Hot Dog on a Stick. Yes, I had to wear the ridiculous hat and outfit to match.
What a genius idea...hire young girls in shorts and tank tops and have them sell wieners in the mall. There was always a line, business was good. Especially when we were "stomping" lemonade. For those of you who aren't familiar with how Hot Dog on a Stick makes their lemonade, here is a description: Dump the lemons, sugar, water and secret ingredient (I still feel a proprietary responsibility not to divulge the "secret ingredient," lol) into a large container (big plastic garbage can), then we had a "stomper" (a metal pole with a slanted disc on the bottom) with handle bars at the top (think pogo stick) that we had to jump on to crush the lemons and make the lemonade. It kind of looked like we were operating a manual jackhammer.
Now I can't say for certain that having at least a "C" cup bra size was a job requirement but all the girls working there seemed to be future Hooter girls candidates. *snicker* Needless to say, when we were stomping lemonade, we drew a crowd. I remember one day when I was working alone and stomping lemonade (mind you it had to be made fresh every two hours and in plain view of the public; no hiding in the back room to make it) when an older man approached the counter. Thinking he was waiting to place an order, I put aside the stomper and washed my hands and asked what he would like to order and his response was, "Oh, nothing. I'm just watching."
Ewww...pervert. That job was my first lesson in "sex sells." At one point they tossed out the idea that we should wear French cut bathing suits while performing our duties. My mother said I would have to quit if it came to that, but that proposal never came to fruition.
So, I bought the bathing suit after my first check and spent the rest of the summer getting paid to be ogled by old men and teenage boys. Not a bad gig for a 15 year old. If they had installed a pole shaped like a hot dog we might have gotten better tips.
