I was a twitter addict. That's not accurate. I am a twitter addict.
It was so much fun adding followers. Figuring out what to write. While I was discovering the rules my WPD output started to dwindle by the day. Then I wanted to actually interact with other tweeters. I didn't even really realize how much time I stalked twitter.
I got pretty bad and my writing suffered.
I realized one day when two writers were in a conversation with me (ME!) on twitter that it was a rush.
I had to stop it with the tweeting. It was writing, yes. But not work toward completing my novel.
I stumbled on tumblr and I thought I should switch platforms to ease out of the addiction to being on the web. One day on twitter someone posted a photo link that took me to tumblr.
Tumblr, I soon found out took only a few minuets to set up my own blog and I was off to the races. I found out tumblr was far too much fun.
I dropped twitter completely in favor of the tumblr blog.
Now I know I have a problem.
So, while going cold turkey would be ideal, I am choosing the two T's as the base of a structured writing day.
Every day I break after each 500 word mark. Then I can go on line and tweet or tumble for 20 minuets. I set the alarm on my phone.
When it buzzes I get back to work.
No word work. No play.
I'm calling it GG's social media rehab.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Thursday, February 9, 2012
.99 books and 4 and 5 star reviews
I posted my first review of a .99 cent book on goodreads and Amazon.
I have been buying .99 cent books to help self published authors from the first day I got my kindle.
I was so happy in the beginning. I found dozens of yet to be noticed writers and loved the work they sold at the amazing price that was less than a dollar.
I have begun to notice specific books with very high four or five star ratings and reviews.
It looks professional, the plot seems great, the reviews are positive and abundant so I buy them and put them in my pile of books to read.
In January I read seven books one after the other that just sucked. They had one thing in common- the price.
I am so pissed off.
How could I be so wrong? I went back to check. These books were so mediocre I was beginning to doubt myself and my book picker.
Then I found that any review giving what I felt was a real criticism, stating both the good and the bad were rated as unhelpful reviews and kind of hidden from the first page on amazon. Then I noticed comments bashing the reviewer?!? ( and not just on on book, but all over the place)
I have come to several conclusions:
- it took me several hours to write my review. Why bother when my opinion will be bashed. I am choosing to save my energy for my own work.
-I am going to avoid buying .99 books PERIOD. I can't trust the other reviews. I would rather spend my money on authors I know and love. One book-versus ten-or-so okay (to poor) books? It has become such a crap shoot. I choose the one book.
It's sad because I want to find new authors to support, but enough is enough.
It's a shame. Sometimes a well written review, no matter the faults of the novel only enhance my desire to read the book and make my own decision.
I realize picking a book is still a crap shoot but in the future I will roll the dice and take a chance on each new book without the influence of the abundance of unreliable "reader" reviews.
I have been buying .99 cent books to help self published authors from the first day I got my kindle.
I was so happy in the beginning. I found dozens of yet to be noticed writers and loved the work they sold at the amazing price that was less than a dollar.
I have begun to notice specific books with very high four or five star ratings and reviews.
It looks professional, the plot seems great, the reviews are positive and abundant so I buy them and put them in my pile of books to read.
In January I read seven books one after the other that just sucked. They had one thing in common- the price.
I am so pissed off.
How could I be so wrong? I went back to check. These books were so mediocre I was beginning to doubt myself and my book picker.
Then I found that any review giving what I felt was a real criticism, stating both the good and the bad were rated as unhelpful reviews and kind of hidden from the first page on amazon. Then I noticed comments bashing the reviewer?!? ( and not just on on book, but all over the place)
I have come to several conclusions:
- it took me several hours to write my review. Why bother when my opinion will be bashed. I am choosing to save my energy for my own work.
-I am going to avoid buying .99 books PERIOD. I can't trust the other reviews. I would rather spend my money on authors I know and love. One book-versus ten-or-so okay (to poor) books? It has become such a crap shoot. I choose the one book.
It's sad because I want to find new authors to support, but enough is enough.
It's a shame. Sometimes a well written review, no matter the faults of the novel only enhance my desire to read the book and make my own decision.
I realize picking a book is still a crap shoot but in the future I will roll the dice and take a chance on each new book without the influence of the abundance of unreliable "reader" reviews.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Civil Blood- a sample
She had brushed against danger plenty of times, she was sure. Not the split second danger of nearly being trampled by a team of horses, that moment where imminent danger screamed at you to wake up.
Everyone lived a hairs breath from doom, especially these days.
With so many falling for both sides of the fight, it was a reality worn on every face Autumn met in her day. She crossed all classes comfortably, and she felt the sadness everywhere, a case of infection for no cure yet existed.
Now that she was out of the food hall and in the street, she stood close to the building allowing the heavy snowfall to shield her. She could allow herself to wonder in private.
Autumn and the danger of choice itself were getting acquainted.
Those few seconds of just looking at the man across the hall expanded her life. Changed her.
Her heart beat faster with the notion of all the endless possibilities. Possibilities that she felt as vividly as any real moment of her day.
It was not even a spoken invitation, but an entire conversation passed from him in the look the man gave her.
But there was something else.
He actually saw her. The world had slowed to this room, to the steadiness of his eyes on her. She knew he found her beautiful. Interesting. Kindred.
Used to being noticed, but never actually seen as a person, this split second interaction was a first for her.
His gaze communicated a power that was seductive.
She was caught in a bubble where time slowed to such a rate, one slowed to a crawl. One that made her aware of her own pulse. Intensely enveloped in the steadfast way she could not help but return his gaze.
He didn't lick his lips, but he might as well have.
The invitation in his eyes had an illicit tone that made her hand tremble as she reached for the door.
Autumn was already on her way out, but leaving as she had been, now felt like an escape. Cowardly.
She was blushing. The only person who could know and had ever noticed her blushing despite her dark skin was away fighting the war.
Autumn was surprised that she would think of Wolfgang at this moment. Thinking of Wolfe brought a pain and yearning that made her throat hurt.
She blinked and further cut off his connection to her by turning her vision toward the street. Time snapped back to life and then she was out the door.
Autumn escaped the cook shop for the streets as unnoticed as the first real snow of the winter that was falling. This was as familiar to her as her dress and she began to calm again.
The pleasant scent of roasted meat, potatoes, and onions mingled with the freshness of the falling snow in the open air.
On the street the food smelled delicious. Here outside the store the air erased what she'd smelled when she first entered the place; the animal aroma of people. People, too many bodies squeezed into a space, too warmed in their street clothing, and too lazy or too tired to remove their coats in fair of eating as soon as the food was before them.
Autumn checked the street. She looked both ways, blinking away the snowflakes gathering on her eyelashes.
She saw the peddlers who had no choice but to try and survive the night where they worked, slept and lived.
She took in the things that never slept in this part of the city with half of her attention because she always noticed these things. It really didn't matter where she was, but she noticed everything.
Her mind was simultaneously seeing the man again.
He was a gangster. She knew this for certain. There was a subtle flash to his almost all black attire, the plaid of his shirt the perfect color to make his eyes shine across the room. They had almost seemed lavender to her. But the color could have been caused by candlelight reflected in claret.
The likes of his kind were not welcome in this neighborhood, but the war was on and nothing was what it was. There were not many looking for trouble when there was so much about, trouble could be easily found by joining the fight on the battlefield.
Autumn knew the people of this area and she was known to them. It was a part of the city where money was short and she always was good for a supply of love and warmth if she was stopped for a chat.
She looked as always for the danger only a stranger could bring to someone like her.
Most of the men who would have cared that a stranger was making a foothold, so blatantly, in this neighborhood, in this food hall of all places, had been the first to sign up for the fight against the south. This included her older brothers and Papa.
Autumn pushed the thoughts of her family down. There was no good to come from that. Think of something else, she told herself.
She walked with her head tucked down against the tickling soft wind that put the snow to her face, unaware that she was still thinking of that man.
He was blond, tall.
She could tell, even though he was sitting that he was very tall from the length of his thin fingers. The men with him all seemed to be facing him so that she never saw their faces, not that she could remember. Everything that was not him had blurred.
The line of his shoulders gave an air of someone who, from birth, had controlled the world around him as if everything, every thing in existence orbited around him, for his entertainment and pleasure.
Autumn imagined herself just that.
Born for the collision, of life were they meet, and the mess she was sure her life would become because of it.
Where would he leave her when his curiosity and amusement wained? That was the unknown that made her feel weak in her step.
It's not like she would really have gone with the man, but there was something in his light blue eyes.
The blond man had the look of life, a life lived on the edge. She thought for a moment more, pondering just what she felt when her eyes had met his. There was a promise of being taken to a world unlike the one she was living.
Autumn imagined herself with him lost on the avenue where pleasure met up with danger on a daily basis.
Everyone lived a hairs breath from doom, especially these days.
With so many falling for both sides of the fight, it was a reality worn on every face Autumn met in her day. She crossed all classes comfortably, and she felt the sadness everywhere, a case of infection for no cure yet existed.
Now that she was out of the food hall and in the street, she stood close to the building allowing the heavy snowfall to shield her. She could allow herself to wonder in private.
Autumn and the danger of choice itself were getting acquainted.
Those few seconds of just looking at the man across the hall expanded her life. Changed her.
Her heart beat faster with the notion of all the endless possibilities. Possibilities that she felt as vividly as any real moment of her day.
It was not even a spoken invitation, but an entire conversation passed from him in the look the man gave her.
But there was something else.
He actually saw her. The world had slowed to this room, to the steadiness of his eyes on her. She knew he found her beautiful. Interesting. Kindred.
Used to being noticed, but never actually seen as a person, this split second interaction was a first for her.
His gaze communicated a power that was seductive.
She was caught in a bubble where time slowed to such a rate, one slowed to a crawl. One that made her aware of her own pulse. Intensely enveloped in the steadfast way she could not help but return his gaze.
He didn't lick his lips, but he might as well have.
The invitation in his eyes had an illicit tone that made her hand tremble as she reached for the door.
Autumn was already on her way out, but leaving as she had been, now felt like an escape. Cowardly.
She was blushing. The only person who could know and had ever noticed her blushing despite her dark skin was away fighting the war.
Autumn was surprised that she would think of Wolfgang at this moment. Thinking of Wolfe brought a pain and yearning that made her throat hurt.
She blinked and further cut off his connection to her by turning her vision toward the street. Time snapped back to life and then she was out the door.
Autumn escaped the cook shop for the streets as unnoticed as the first real snow of the winter that was falling. This was as familiar to her as her dress and she began to calm again.
The pleasant scent of roasted meat, potatoes, and onions mingled with the freshness of the falling snow in the open air.
On the street the food smelled delicious. Here outside the store the air erased what she'd smelled when she first entered the place; the animal aroma of people. People, too many bodies squeezed into a space, too warmed in their street clothing, and too lazy or too tired to remove their coats in fair of eating as soon as the food was before them.
Autumn checked the street. She looked both ways, blinking away the snowflakes gathering on her eyelashes.
She saw the peddlers who had no choice but to try and survive the night where they worked, slept and lived.
She took in the things that never slept in this part of the city with half of her attention because she always noticed these things. It really didn't matter where she was, but she noticed everything.
Her mind was simultaneously seeing the man again.
He was a gangster. She knew this for certain. There was a subtle flash to his almost all black attire, the plaid of his shirt the perfect color to make his eyes shine across the room. They had almost seemed lavender to her. But the color could have been caused by candlelight reflected in claret.
The likes of his kind were not welcome in this neighborhood, but the war was on and nothing was what it was. There were not many looking for trouble when there was so much about, trouble could be easily found by joining the fight on the battlefield.
Autumn knew the people of this area and she was known to them. It was a part of the city where money was short and she always was good for a supply of love and warmth if she was stopped for a chat.
She looked as always for the danger only a stranger could bring to someone like her.
Most of the men who would have cared that a stranger was making a foothold, so blatantly, in this neighborhood, in this food hall of all places, had been the first to sign up for the fight against the south. This included her older brothers and Papa.
Autumn pushed the thoughts of her family down. There was no good to come from that. Think of something else, she told herself.
She walked with her head tucked down against the tickling soft wind that put the snow to her face, unaware that she was still thinking of that man.
He was blond, tall.
She could tell, even though he was sitting that he was very tall from the length of his thin fingers. The men with him all seemed to be facing him so that she never saw their faces, not that she could remember. Everything that was not him had blurred.
The line of his shoulders gave an air of someone who, from birth, had controlled the world around him as if everything, every thing in existence orbited around him, for his entertainment and pleasure.
Autumn imagined herself just that.
Born for the collision, of life were they meet, and the mess she was sure her life would become because of it.
Where would he leave her when his curiosity and amusement wained? That was the unknown that made her feel weak in her step.
It's not like she would really have gone with the man, but there was something in his light blue eyes.
The blond man had the look of life, a life lived on the edge. She thought for a moment more, pondering just what she felt when her eyes had met his. There was a promise of being taken to a world unlike the one she was living.
Autumn imagined herself with him lost on the avenue where pleasure met up with danger on a daily basis.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Tales of The Daywalkers Contest
I discovered writer Erica Lucke Dean on twitter.
I think she is a great writer.
Her blog features a weekly serial vampire tale that I love.
I love getting her story peace meal each week. I have a thing for Charles Dickens. Checking in for the next part reminds me of being part of something as it's being created.
Erica Lucke Dean is having a "Getting into Character" contest: become one of the characters from the Daywalker Chronicles. Take an original photo. The details on entering can be found on her blog.
Here is the link:
http://www.ericaluckedean.com/the-daily-blog/2011/9/18/tales-of-the-daywalkers-week-4.html
You will be able to read the chapters for free.
I highly suggest you visit her site, take a chance and enter the contest.
I had fun doing it myself.
Above is my photo as a hot tempered and hungry Victoria.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
the artist and the installation of things that work
My focus is to get the most out of the time I put into writing everyday.
As much fun as checking in with twitter and reading other writers blogs are for me; I now need to officially label them as my bad habit number one.
I need better efficiency for every stage of my writing process.
Typically when a character comes to me I let myself get drawn onto the web. I love inventing the rest of the characters world.
I get lost looking for the right photo to represent the character. Then I start gathering information to support who I think the character is, where it lives (and on and on).
I could lose an entire day or two “playing” like this. I could easily rack up three thousand words in research in a few hours.
This number would meet my daily word quota for writing, but does it really?
No. None of this output is the work in progress.
I want as much of the tale on paper as possible. My time in the chair can be spent writing the story.
Since character development is my weak spot I came up with some questions so I have a place to begin. I find I can make quick notes when the ideas come to me and go back to the work I want to be doing.
How do you train yourself to work productively? What has increased you're amount of contributing-to-the-story-work time?
These are my character study questions. I will add to it as other prompters come to me.
1. Where does your character live?
2. Where is your character from?
3. How old is your character?
4. What is your character called?
5. What does your character look like?
6. What does your character do for a living?
7. What kind of childhood did they have?
8. How does the character deal with conflict and change?
9. Who else is in the characters life?
10.What is the characters goal or motivation in this story, this chapter or scene?
11. What is the contrast for this character?
12. Favorites- food, people, places, things?
13.What is most important to this character?
14. the characters family?
15. deepest desire?
16. What is most important to this character?
17. Characters abilities?
18. This characters fears and dislikes-
19. How this character view by the world?
20. How does this character view himself?
21. Biggest regret?
22. Things on characters bucket list-
23. This characters contribution to others?
24. This characters flaws?
25. What this character does better than anyone else-
26. What past karma is owed to this character? good or bad
27. Would this character kill?
28. Who is this characters nemesis?
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Who?
When I reach my daily word count I like to check in with I write like.
Usually, I get Stephen King or Chuck Palahniuk.
Today I got Cory Doctorow.
Who the F is that? Because I didn't know his work I got worried.
I though bad right away.
What kind of crap did I write this morning?
So I had to google him.
I watched an interview of him. (http://www.boomtron.com/2010/06/cory-doctorow-video-interview-bookexpo-america-2010/).
I am such an Author nerd, so I watched both parts.
After listening to everything this interview had to offer, I was left with how attractive his hands are.
I've made a promise to myself to keep my distractions limited to twitter, but now I want to read his YA book. (For the Win.)
I'll just have add it to the list.
Cory Doctorow's For The Win is available free at
Your Badge
Sunday, August 28, 2011
good intentions
Something is up with my laptop.
I lost about four hours work when I took a break to shower.
Now I am saving my document after every sentence.
Just when I am in the flow it all vanishes.
What a pain.
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