Like many people, I have chronic health issues. For me, writing has always been a way to escape the worry and pain, the never ending cycle of doctor visits, testing, and hospital stays.
Writing has always been my chosen drug.
But what happens when your passion and art becomes part or all of your livelihood? When all the excitement of having your work accepted has waned a little, and now you have responsibilities and deadlines staring you in the face? Whether self-imposed or contractual, finishing the book means money in your pocket and others are depending on you.
So you push yourself and of course, the cycle begins anew, irregardless of any agreements you made to your publisher/agent/readers. The chronic illness that seemed to go away comes back with a vengeance.
I think there is a tendency to get really mad at yourself. Or maybe that's me.
I'm just not fast enough at my own pace, and with my health issues,
to keep up with all my writing friends, and that depresses me a little. Because
my book wasn't ready, I lost out on an opportunity. Not their fault, not really mine. Just the way it is. I know beating up on myself isn't going to help me edit or write faster. It's at this point that the writing panacea no longer works.
I know there are others like me, writing and editing and
struggling—all the while dealing with chronic illness. So I wanted to
say a few things I recently had to remind myself.
1. Allow yourself the time to heal - If it takes a month or a year,
the world isn't going to go away and writing can wait for you until
you're ready for it.
2. Stop judging yourself by other people's standards. Just because
one friend can write eight books a year doesn't mean you're less of a
writer. It just means you are an individual with your own pace and your
own obstacles to overcome.
3. Make allowances for your disability, but not excuses. If you
suffer from chronic health issues, build in extra time to complete a
project, so you still can work toward an achievable goal. But if you
still miss deadline, it's better to finish than give up and not finish
at all.
4. Money flows where love goes. If you love what you're doing, it
will pay off if you give it time. You may never make as much as Nora
Roberts, but go back and read #2 and realize there is only one LaNora.
Likewise, there is only one you. Tell your story the best you can, and let
it go.
5. Always remember you are not alone. Somewhere, someone else is
battling similar problems. By sharing and finding solutions, maybe you
can help each other. It's worth a try and you have nothing to lose.
6. Forgive yourself. Often we place erroneous blame on ourselves for
our illness. Instead, look at the illness as a challenge to overcome, an
opportunity to achieve something special—self acceptance.
And finally...
7. Nothing done is ever wasted. Make sure whatever you do, you learn from it and carry that knowledge onto the next project.
Life is what you make of it, despite setbacks and hardships. It is
through the difficulties we face that character is built. Now go be your
own character and WRITE!
About the author: Cassandra Curtis is a former EPPIE award finalist, bestselling author, and cancer survivor. She also battles with COPD, sarcoidosis, epilepsy, diabetes, congestive heart failure, degenerative disc disease, neuropathy, and other chronic illnesses. While health issues may slow her down, she refuses to let them keep her down.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Sunday, June 1, 2014
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Halloween Flash Fiction Stories
I love flash fiction and short stories, especially stories on the paranormal side of the romance genre. I've collected a few of my own and thought to share them with my readers today. So grab your coffee, sit back and enjoy these little mini treats.
Blood Sacrifice
©2006, Cassandra Curtis
Blessed silence marked the layers of pain as she pressed her cheek against the cold glass and waited. She knew the noise would return as it always did, but for an instant, she could close her eyes and let her mind drift through the still landscape of darkness. Her thoughts settled in a valley of soft comfort.
Time held no meaning while the silence remained. If he died tonight, she wouldn't forgive herself. She could have told him. But would he have believed her? No, Kern was a man of logic and science. He would have dismissed her foolish notions.
A flash of lightning split the sky as she opened her eyelids. Rain clung to the clear perfection of glass, casting shadowy rivulets. She sensed his presence and turned away from the window to face the man who had interrupted her brief respite.
"You must learn to block the voices or go mad, Simone. The tuning crystal you wear is not dependable." He reached out and took hold of the multifaceted jewel, cradling it in the palm of his hand.
Simone captured his gaze, challenging him, and felt his fingers press into the flesh of her shoulders. A mistake–his mistake.
The thready beat of blood coursing through him woke her as nothing else could. It pulled at the dormant monster inside. She knew when the crescendo came, she would be helpless to fight the raging torrent of need...the desperate cravings.
“I am more than what you think I am, Kern. More than you can handle.” She welcomed the sexual energy that always accompanied the hunger. She’d worked with this man for over a year, and wanted him from the first moment she'd looked into his eyes. Cat’s eyes, secretive and knowing.
“You need to concentrate on the vibrations and learn to tune out the voices, or it’ll drive you insane.”
“The crystal—” She began.
“We can’t depend on it.”
“I am trying, you know. Maybe I need something to take my mind away from it. To just relax.” She sent a wicked thought his way, and wondered if he received it. Simone knew the exact moment when her planted thought registered.
“I thought we agreed our relationship was strictly a working one—a partnership to develop and test the crystal interface,” he reminded her.
“Afraid I’ll turn feral, Kern?”
“You don’t want me, Simone. This is the damn drug talking.”
“No, it’s not. You think you can hide inside that lab coat? I’ve seen you without the nerdy clothes, without the glasses you insist on wearing to work. Why, Kern?” She ran a fingertip down his smooth jaw to his lips, and watched his muscles flex in reaction.
“I don’t understand...”
“You work out in your basement. In the nude. I’ve seen you in my dreams, and my dreams never lie.” She removed his glasses and enjoyed the startled look on his face.
“How is that possible?”
“You tell me, Kern. You’re the scientist. I’m just the lab rat.” She imagined them in her bed.
His eyes darkened, becoming more intense, more focused. “It can’t be...”
She ran a hand down his shirt. “Feels real to me,” she whispered. Her hands drifted lower. "Don't be afraid. This won't hurt...much." Her fangs lengthened. Just a nibble, a taste, she promised herself.
Kern closed his eyes, a groan of acceptance escaping his lips, as he gave into the inevitable and bent his neck, exposing his throat.
She'd probably regret taking his blood, knew that by doing so, it bound him closer to her, but knowing these things didn't stop her. She was so very hungry and it had been so long...besides, she'd been fighting this crazy, overwhelming desire for him, almost since she first met him. Only his harsh groan of pleasure mixed with pain stopped her feeding.
"Why did you stop? Don't you want me?"
"Of course I want you, but I made a promise a long time ago, and I won't bind you to me." She took a careful step backward, the slight distance easing the temptation.
"I never asked you to promise me anything, except to help me with my research." Kern said, and closed the gap between them.
"The promise I made was to myself. A long time ago, probably before you were even born," she sighed, adding, "More than a sip and I'd make you my slave. I can't trust myself."
"Then trust me to know what I want."
"And what is it you want, Kern?"
"You. Only you." He pulled her into his embrace.
At that precise moment, she knew both heaven and hell in his arms.
Fantasma
©2006, Cassandra Curtis
On slow nights, I like to get as much writing done as possible. I figured the storm's golf ball sized hail kept most sensible people indoors, so I might even finish a chapter or two. I poured myself a fresh cup of Earl Gray and sat down on the barstool in front of my laptop computer. I knew that tonight I would defeat the "wall" –well...so long as the battery lasted and electricity stayed on.
I built a rhythm and stuck with it, my fingers dancing over the keyboard like drunken sailors on shore leave. But that's okay. I'm known as a woman of many drafts. I wasn't concerned with the misspelled words or crappy syntax. I let it flow. Stream of consciousness baby
Minutes blended into hours, and my cup grew cold. I got up to fix a fresh pot of tea when my eyes caught something on the far end of the counter. I walked over and picked up what looked to be a dirty coin—an old peso.
Kinda cheap for a tip, I thought. I threw it in the empty tip jar and went about making my tea as the coin continued to spin in the glass.
"Heads or Tails?" I registered the sexy cadence of a male, speaking Spanish, and barely made the translation.
I wheeled, looking for the source of the voice. Damn, must be getting old, 'cause I'd swear no one had entered the café since TK left hours earlier. I got out from behind the counter and glanced around. What the hell?
"Show yourself!" I said, thinking that if another disembodied voice spoke to me, I'd go ahead and burn a pound of white sage in this place tomorrow. Smoke them out.
"My last peso, señorita. A shot of tequila, por favor." Another coin, this one a bit shinier than the last, spun on the countertop.
A hazy image, like a faded recording flickered near the end of the counter. Spectral phenomena. The gals would never believe me. I'd give my best pair of stiletto boots for an EVP recorder or a digital thermal camera right now.
"Sorry, but this isn't a saloon. It's a café. Coffee, tea, hot cocoa, soda, or bottled water. Take your pick—if you can actually drink."
He seemed to pause over that consideration. "No tequila? Coffee, sí. Black."
"One cup of black coffee coming up." I walked behind the counter and made myself busy, wondering if a ghost could get hopped up on caffeine. I set it on the countertop and waited to see if he could lift it. The ghostly form began to solidify, his hands reaching out to grasp the sides of the mug. He bent forward, nostrils flaring at the rich aroma.
Damn, my first real lepke. And no one here but me, myself, and my shadow to confirm the sighting.
"Gracias." He looked up at me through a thick fringe of black lashes most women would kill for. His eyes were deep pools of swirling, dark chocolate. Antonio Banderas wished he looked this good. My ghostly visitor epitimized the words handsome desperado.
"So, you just passing through?" Oh real good. Make a joke about his transient, incorporeal state.
"I look for my brother. He rides with Pancho Villa."
"I think you missed him by a century. Not to mention that this ain't Durango or Chihuahua."
"Where am I ?"
"The Twilight Zone." Not very helpful, but what can I say? Anything I told him would make things more confusing.
He continued to sip thoughtfully as I drank in the sight of such a magnficent specimen. Shame he wasn't a living, breathing hunk of man.
"This twilight zone you speak of... your accent...it is American, sí? I am in United States?"
"Yes and no. The "cantina" is real, but in cyberspace."
"Sigh-bear-space?"
"Yes...it's...well..." I struggled, searching my brain for a way to explain computers and the internet to someone who probably died long before the invention of radio. "...Sort of like you. Intangible. A kind of ghost."
"Ghost? You think I am a ghost?" Rich male laughter poured into every cell in my body. A quiver shot to my belly...and below.
"You're the one who said you have a brother that rides with Pancho Villa! Pancho and his men are long gone now. Dead and buried almost a century."
"No. It has been but a few short months since last I saw mi hermano. You are mistaken."
"Look, I'm sorry, but dead is dead. If it's any consolation, you might meet up with him if he's a ghost, too."
"Quit your talk of ghosts! I am no ghost. My brother is no ghost. Pancho Villa is no ghost."
"Ok-a-a-y...I'll just go back to what I was doing. Take your time." Sheesh, some 'people' are so pigheaded.
"I am not a ghost." He muttered.
I decided to ignore him. I hit the space bar on my sleepy laptop, and started rereading the last paragraph I typed. I heard a grunt, and looked up in time to see his hand go through the cup, then him go through the floorboards. Damn, that must be a real bitch. I debated whether to get up and check on him—providing he didn't also pass through the cellar—when he appeared at my side.
"Geeze, give a gal some warning! What the hell happened?"
"You are the keeper of this zone, senorita. Do you not know?"
"Not a clue, handsome."
His lips curved into a wide grin, exposing a set of flashing white teeth.
"What?"
"You called me handsome."
Oh boy...I recognized that look. The big bad wolf wore one just like it, right before he took a bite of little red riding hood.
"Look, I have a weakness for Latino and Hispanic men, okay. I'm sure it's just a passing phase." So what if the phase had lasted over thirty years...
"I am also romantic, senorita." He rolled the "r"–stretched the sound on purpose. I imagined that trilling tongue coursing over my body. Stop it! He's a ghost–a fantasma!
My favorite apparition leaned forward and proceeded to place a ghostly kiss on my lips, even as his impossibly strong hands held my hips in place against his own. For a few precious minutes, I felt it. He was as solid and real as any man. His palms curved around to rest on my derriere, and press intimately.
The jingle of chimes at the front of the cafe broke the silence.
"I, umm...oh..." Where did my brain go? "I have customers." I scooped my pad and pencil off the counter, and practically ran to the table near the front of the cafe.
You'd think I'd have learned from my last ghostly encounter. It's difficult enough to maintain a relationship with a live man, let alone one who has been dead over a 100 years! They tend to disappear.
The newcomers were a pack of goth groupies. They ordered black coffee to go with their equally black lipstick and nails. Never have understood that. And I wondered if they, too, saw my handsome desperado? I turned to walk back and realized he was gone. Oh well, I knew it wouldn't last...
I took down four large cups from the hooked rack and placed them on the tray, then grabbed a pot of our finest blend and made my way back to the Marilyn Manson-inspired quartet.
Finished with my customers, I went back to the counter, sat down on my stool, and stared at the screen saver on my laptop.
Would I ever see him again? I hoped so.
To read more of my flash fiction, check out my author page on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/cassandra.curtis.author
Blood Sacrifice
©2006, Cassandra Curtis
Blessed silence marked the layers of pain as she pressed her cheek against the cold glass and waited. She knew the noise would return as it always did, but for an instant, she could close her eyes and let her mind drift through the still landscape of darkness. Her thoughts settled in a valley of soft comfort.
Time held no meaning while the silence remained. If he died tonight, she wouldn't forgive herself. She could have told him. But would he have believed her? No, Kern was a man of logic and science. He would have dismissed her foolish notions.
A flash of lightning split the sky as she opened her eyelids. Rain clung to the clear perfection of glass, casting shadowy rivulets. She sensed his presence and turned away from the window to face the man who had interrupted her brief respite.
"You must learn to block the voices or go mad, Simone. The tuning crystal you wear is not dependable." He reached out and took hold of the multifaceted jewel, cradling it in the palm of his hand.
Simone captured his gaze, challenging him, and felt his fingers press into the flesh of her shoulders. A mistake–his mistake.
The thready beat of blood coursing through him woke her as nothing else could. It pulled at the dormant monster inside. She knew when the crescendo came, she would be helpless to fight the raging torrent of need...the desperate cravings.
“I am more than what you think I am, Kern. More than you can handle.” She welcomed the sexual energy that always accompanied the hunger. She’d worked with this man for over a year, and wanted him from the first moment she'd looked into his eyes. Cat’s eyes, secretive and knowing.
“You need to concentrate on the vibrations and learn to tune out the voices, or it’ll drive you insane.”
“The crystal—” She began.
“We can’t depend on it.”
“I am trying, you know. Maybe I need something to take my mind away from it. To just relax.” She sent a wicked thought his way, and wondered if he received it. Simone knew the exact moment when her planted thought registered.
“I thought we agreed our relationship was strictly a working one—a partnership to develop and test the crystal interface,” he reminded her.
“Afraid I’ll turn feral, Kern?”
“You don’t want me, Simone. This is the damn drug talking.”
“No, it’s not. You think you can hide inside that lab coat? I’ve seen you without the nerdy clothes, without the glasses you insist on wearing to work. Why, Kern?” She ran a fingertip down his smooth jaw to his lips, and watched his muscles flex in reaction.
“I don’t understand...”
“You work out in your basement. In the nude. I’ve seen you in my dreams, and my dreams never lie.” She removed his glasses and enjoyed the startled look on his face.
“How is that possible?”
“You tell me, Kern. You’re the scientist. I’m just the lab rat.” She imagined them in her bed.
His eyes darkened, becoming more intense, more focused. “It can’t be...”
She ran a hand down his shirt. “Feels real to me,” she whispered. Her hands drifted lower. "Don't be afraid. This won't hurt...much." Her fangs lengthened. Just a nibble, a taste, she promised herself.
Kern closed his eyes, a groan of acceptance escaping his lips, as he gave into the inevitable and bent his neck, exposing his throat.
She'd probably regret taking his blood, knew that by doing so, it bound him closer to her, but knowing these things didn't stop her. She was so very hungry and it had been so long...besides, she'd been fighting this crazy, overwhelming desire for him, almost since she first met him. Only his harsh groan of pleasure mixed with pain stopped her feeding.
"Why did you stop? Don't you want me?"
"Of course I want you, but I made a promise a long time ago, and I won't bind you to me." She took a careful step backward, the slight distance easing the temptation.
"I never asked you to promise me anything, except to help me with my research." Kern said, and closed the gap between them.
"The promise I made was to myself. A long time ago, probably before you were even born," she sighed, adding, "More than a sip and I'd make you my slave. I can't trust myself."
"Then trust me to know what I want."
"And what is it you want, Kern?"
"You. Only you." He pulled her into his embrace.
At that precise moment, she knew both heaven and hell in his arms.
Fantasma
©2006, Cassandra Curtis
On slow nights, I like to get as much writing done as possible. I figured the storm's golf ball sized hail kept most sensible people indoors, so I might even finish a chapter or two. I poured myself a fresh cup of Earl Gray and sat down on the barstool in front of my laptop computer. I knew that tonight I would defeat the "wall" –well...so long as the battery lasted and electricity stayed on.
I built a rhythm and stuck with it, my fingers dancing over the keyboard like drunken sailors on shore leave. But that's okay. I'm known as a woman of many drafts. I wasn't concerned with the misspelled words or crappy syntax. I let it flow. Stream of consciousness baby
Minutes blended into hours, and my cup grew cold. I got up to fix a fresh pot of tea when my eyes caught something on the far end of the counter. I walked over and picked up what looked to be a dirty coin—an old peso.
Kinda cheap for a tip, I thought. I threw it in the empty tip jar and went about making my tea as the coin continued to spin in the glass.
"Heads or Tails?" I registered the sexy cadence of a male, speaking Spanish, and barely made the translation.
I wheeled, looking for the source of the voice. Damn, must be getting old, 'cause I'd swear no one had entered the café since TK left hours earlier. I got out from behind the counter and glanced around. What the hell?
"Show yourself!" I said, thinking that if another disembodied voice spoke to me, I'd go ahead and burn a pound of white sage in this place tomorrow. Smoke them out.
"My last peso, señorita. A shot of tequila, por favor." Another coin, this one a bit shinier than the last, spun on the countertop.
A hazy image, like a faded recording flickered near the end of the counter. Spectral phenomena. The gals would never believe me. I'd give my best pair of stiletto boots for an EVP recorder or a digital thermal camera right now.
"Sorry, but this isn't a saloon. It's a café. Coffee, tea, hot cocoa, soda, or bottled water. Take your pick—if you can actually drink."
He seemed to pause over that consideration. "No tequila? Coffee, sí. Black."
"One cup of black coffee coming up." I walked behind the counter and made myself busy, wondering if a ghost could get hopped up on caffeine. I set it on the countertop and waited to see if he could lift it. The ghostly form began to solidify, his hands reaching out to grasp the sides of the mug. He bent forward, nostrils flaring at the rich aroma.
Damn, my first real lepke. And no one here but me, myself, and my shadow to confirm the sighting.
"Gracias." He looked up at me through a thick fringe of black lashes most women would kill for. His eyes were deep pools of swirling, dark chocolate. Antonio Banderas wished he looked this good. My ghostly visitor epitimized the words handsome desperado.
"So, you just passing through?" Oh real good. Make a joke about his transient, incorporeal state.
"I look for my brother. He rides with Pancho Villa."
"I think you missed him by a century. Not to mention that this ain't Durango or Chihuahua."
"Where am I ?"
"The Twilight Zone." Not very helpful, but what can I say? Anything I told him would make things more confusing.
He continued to sip thoughtfully as I drank in the sight of such a magnficent specimen. Shame he wasn't a living, breathing hunk of man.
"This twilight zone you speak of... your accent...it is American, sí? I am in United States?"
"Yes and no. The "cantina" is real, but in cyberspace."
"Sigh-bear-space?"
"Yes...it's...well..." I struggled, searching my brain for a way to explain computers and the internet to someone who probably died long before the invention of radio. "...Sort of like you. Intangible. A kind of ghost."
"Ghost? You think I am a ghost?" Rich male laughter poured into every cell in my body. A quiver shot to my belly...and below.
"You're the one who said you have a brother that rides with Pancho Villa! Pancho and his men are long gone now. Dead and buried almost a century."
"No. It has been but a few short months since last I saw mi hermano. You are mistaken."
"Look, I'm sorry, but dead is dead. If it's any consolation, you might meet up with him if he's a ghost, too."
"Quit your talk of ghosts! I am no ghost. My brother is no ghost. Pancho Villa is no ghost."
"Ok-a-a-y...I'll just go back to what I was doing. Take your time." Sheesh, some 'people' are so pigheaded.
"I am not a ghost." He muttered.
I decided to ignore him. I hit the space bar on my sleepy laptop, and started rereading the last paragraph I typed. I heard a grunt, and looked up in time to see his hand go through the cup, then him go through the floorboards. Damn, that must be a real bitch. I debated whether to get up and check on him—providing he didn't also pass through the cellar—when he appeared at my side.
"Geeze, give a gal some warning! What the hell happened?"
"You are the keeper of this zone, senorita. Do you not know?"
"Not a clue, handsome."
His lips curved into a wide grin, exposing a set of flashing white teeth.
"What?"
"You called me handsome."
Oh boy...I recognized that look. The big bad wolf wore one just like it, right before he took a bite of little red riding hood.
"Look, I have a weakness for Latino and Hispanic men, okay. I'm sure it's just a passing phase." So what if the phase had lasted over thirty years...
"I am also romantic, senorita." He rolled the "r"–stretched the sound on purpose. I imagined that trilling tongue coursing over my body. Stop it! He's a ghost–a fantasma!
My favorite apparition leaned forward and proceeded to place a ghostly kiss on my lips, even as his impossibly strong hands held my hips in place against his own. For a few precious minutes, I felt it. He was as solid and real as any man. His palms curved around to rest on my derriere, and press intimately.
The jingle of chimes at the front of the cafe broke the silence.
"I, umm...oh..." Where did my brain go? "I have customers." I scooped my pad and pencil off the counter, and practically ran to the table near the front of the cafe.
You'd think I'd have learned from my last ghostly encounter. It's difficult enough to maintain a relationship with a live man, let alone one who has been dead over a 100 years! They tend to disappear.
The newcomers were a pack of goth groupies. They ordered black coffee to go with their equally black lipstick and nails. Never have understood that. And I wondered if they, too, saw my handsome desperado? I turned to walk back and realized he was gone. Oh well, I knew it wouldn't last...
I took down four large cups from the hooked rack and placed them on the tray, then grabbed a pot of our finest blend and made my way back to the Marilyn Manson-inspired quartet.
Finished with my customers, I went back to the counter, sat down on my stool, and stared at the screen saver on my laptop.
Would I ever see him again? I hoped so.
To read more of my flash fiction, check out my author page on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/cassandra.curtis.author
Thursday, March 14, 2013
Restart the Party! Contest
I'm restarting and rewinding back to New Year's Day 2013. To celebrate my restart, I'm having a reader contest. To enter, email me: cass @ cassandra curtis . com (no spaces) with your answers to these restart questions. There are no wrong or right answers, and winner will be drawn at random from all entries received. Good Luck!
1. Name something you'd like to restart this year.
2. If you had a second chance, what year would you like to redo differently and why?
3. Name a book you read last year that you loved.
4. When and where do you usually find the time to read?
5. What is your favorite type of book?
a. paranormal romance
b. contemporary romance
c. historical romance
d. young adult
e. category romance
f. science fiction romance
g. fantasy romance (steampunk is in included)
6. What type of ebook reader do you have (if you own one). If not, just put n/a.
7. Does wearing green on St. Patrick's Day make you lucky? I guess we'll have to see, since this contest ends midnight, Sunday, March 17th and I'll be picking a winner after the stroke of midnight! Good Luck To All.
The prize pack includes: Glitter eye and crystal lips make-up box, flying high dolphin pin, and a goody bag filled with bookmarks, glittery pen, bendy nail file, scented wax melts, and more.
Contest ends midnight, Sunday, March 17th, 2013 and the winner
announced that week. Remember to check back to see if you've won. Good
Luck!
Must be 18+ to enter. The odds of winning depend upon the number of participants. Contest void where prohibited by law. I strive to make my prize winners happy! However, as with all my contests, it is the participant’s responsibility to check the blog to see if their name is announced as a winner, and/or to respond to winning notification emails in order to claim your prize. Not responsible for lost/stolen mail.
2. If you had a second chance, what year would you like to redo differently and why?
3. Name a book you read last year that you loved.
5. What is your favorite type of book?
a. paranormal romance
b. contemporary romance
c. historical romance
d. young adult
e. category romance
f. science fiction romance
g. fantasy romance (steampunk is in included)
6. What type of ebook reader do you have (if you own one). If not, just put n/a.
7. Does wearing green on St. Patrick's Day make you lucky? I guess we'll have to see, since this contest ends midnight, Sunday, March 17th and I'll be picking a winner after the stroke of midnight! Good Luck To All.The prize pack includes: Glitter eye and crystal lips make-up box, flying high dolphin pin, and a goody bag filled with bookmarks, glittery pen, bendy nail file, scented wax melts, and more.
Must be 18+ to enter. The odds of winning depend upon the number of participants. Contest void where prohibited by law. I strive to make my prize winners happy! However, as with all my contests, it is the participant’s responsibility to check the blog to see if their name is announced as a winner, and/or to respond to winning notification emails in order to claim your prize. Not responsible for lost/stolen mail.
Thursday, January 31, 2013
The Boggles of Life
I can't believe time has flown so fast and today is the last day of the month. I'm a bit ashamed I haven't posted to my blog in weeks, but I've been bogged down in real life craziness, and coming up for air about once every handful of days. I am behind on everything, including updates to my website, uploads to Amazon, writing projects, promotion, and housecleaning. And the housecleaning is the only thing I don't feel bad about. After all, it's just going accumulate and wait for me next week...or month. (Yes, I have Hoarders on stand-by). lol.
After two weeks fighting with the stomach virus from hell, trying to declutter the monumental mess that is my office, battling hot flashes, and menopausal crying jags that usually end with someone getting their ears pinned back with my little verbal knives, I figure it's probably best I took a mini break from the world. I did try to keep my Facebook and Twitter statuses updated, so my friends knew I was still alive.
This next month I hope to post a little more regularly. We'll see. In the meanwhile, I hope to finish a freebie story I plan to post on Smashwords for Valentines Day. If I miss my deadline, then I'll probably release it later this spring, so watch for more news about upcoming releases. Now, I guess I'd better get back to those rewrites and edits.
Until next time,
Cass
After two weeks fighting with the stomach virus from hell, trying to declutter the monumental mess that is my office, battling hot flashes, and menopausal crying jags that usually end with someone getting their ears pinned back with my little verbal knives, I figure it's probably best I took a mini break from the world. I did try to keep my Facebook and Twitter statuses updated, so my friends knew I was still alive.
This next month I hope to post a little more regularly. We'll see. In the meanwhile, I hope to finish a freebie story I plan to post on Smashwords for Valentines Day. If I miss my deadline, then I'll probably release it later this spring, so watch for more news about upcoming releases. Now, I guess I'd better get back to those rewrites and edits.
Until next time,
Cass
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
October Plans and Chillaxin' Mer-Style
I'm planning a wicked cool Paranormal Party this October and ya'll are invited. Most of the fun will be on my blog, on my Facebook, and on Twitter, but I'll also be at my good friends Eden Bradley, Crystal Jordan, and R.G. Alexander's Smutketeers website and blog (later this month or early next month). Also planning a hop to another friend, T. Sue Versteeg's blog. Lots in the works, so make sure and check back for updates.
Some of the Paranormal Party events this October will also be in Second Life for the fans and friends who follow me there. With that in mind, I've been hunting with my longtime friend and social media helper (gods knows I needed one, lol) for places willing to host various events next month in SL.
One of the things we have lined up so far is a free tarot reading event open to the public on a pirate sim in SL. More details on that later.While scouting around SL for venues, I found this virtual gray tabby who followed me back to my merhome.
Since my place is 3/4 under the sea, I grabbed kitty so he wouldn't drown and hightailed it mer-style to the upper terrace above the water and sat kitty on my tarot table.
Until next time,
Cass
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
The Character Grill
Sometimes you have to play rough with your characters. You can’t be
squeamish. You have to make them talk. And when they won’t, you have to
teach them a lesson. Poke them. Prod them. Spank them. Whew. Getting hot
in here, LOL.
But seriously, as a fiction writer you cannot afford to let your characters give you the silent treatment.
When they do, you have to sit them down in the hot seat, put a spotlight on them, and grill them.
I created a form I fill out for each character. Every line must be filled out on the form before I can proceed. They know that as well and sometimes fight me on each and every line. But I have techniques I am not afraid to use in order to get the answers I seek. It goes well beyond rank and serial number.
I will employ whatever means necessary to make them talk, and I am not above using Rod Stewart’s Maggie May or Leo Sayer’s You Make Me Feel Like Dancing at high decibels over and over and over. ::grins and winces::
When I am done with them, earworms will be the least of their problems. The hero of my current wip is refusing to talk, to explain his motivations. He was shy at first, but he seemed to open up under the threat of my “writing” crop.
My form looks just like one you’d see at a doctor’s office, except it goes into more details of a…shall we say…private nature. ::wink::
No excuses. Everyone must fill out the form. Even secondary characters with only a brief walk-in part.
For other writers: Do you grill or interrogate your characters? What do you use to intimidate them into speaking?
For readers: Do you like to see authors run their characters through a virtual wringer?
*note* Once I figure out how to upload the character form into a clickable download for people, I'll try to post the link here as an update. If the internet should happen to break, it wasn't me. I hope. lol
When they do, you have to sit them down in the hot seat, put a spotlight on them, and grill them.
I created a form I fill out for each character. Every line must be filled out on the form before I can proceed. They know that as well and sometimes fight me on each and every line. But I have techniques I am not afraid to use in order to get the answers I seek. It goes well beyond rank and serial number.
I will employ whatever means necessary to make them talk, and I am not above using Rod Stewart’s Maggie May or Leo Sayer’s You Make Me Feel Like Dancing at high decibels over and over and over. ::grins and winces::
When I am done with them, earworms will be the least of their problems. The hero of my current wip is refusing to talk, to explain his motivations. He was shy at first, but he seemed to open up under the threat of my “writing” crop.
My form looks just like one you’d see at a doctor’s office, except it goes into more details of a…shall we say…private nature. ::wink::
No excuses. Everyone must fill out the form. Even secondary characters with only a brief walk-in part.
For other writers: Do you grill or interrogate your characters? What do you use to intimidate them into speaking?
For readers: Do you like to see authors run their characters through a virtual wringer?
*note* Once I figure out how to upload the character form into a clickable download for people, I'll try to post the link here as an update. If the internet should happen to break, it wasn't me. I hope. lol
Monday, July 30, 2012
Writing The Journey
I’ve heard it said that writing is a journey, but what does that mean
exactly? Does that mean you might as well prepare for an arduous, uphill
trip? Or maybe they simply mean writing is like a marathon race, a
long, slow road, with stops along the way to grab a cup of water?
So far, my own journey is more like a surprise, a box you open, and inside isn’t a prize, but another box, and you open it, to find yet another box. And another, all of them increasingly smaller and smaller, until the very last box is so small your fingers and thumb dwarf the teeny box.
But you open it anyway, because Pandora lives in each of us, that
need to know what is on the inside. And inside the box is a seed, a
kernel, perhaps even a bit of stardust. But just enough to keep us
going, to keep writing, keep trying.
Have you opened your boxes yet? And when you came to the very last one, what did you find?
So far, my own journey is more like a surprise, a box you open, and inside isn’t a prize, but another box, and you open it, to find yet another box. And another, all of them increasingly smaller and smaller, until the very last box is so small your fingers and thumb dwarf the teeny box.
Have you opened your boxes yet? And when you came to the very last one, what did you find?
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Keeping Motivated
I know one of the hardest things to do as a writer is to stay motivated. I think this is doubly hard if you are also disabled. Nothing is easy and nothing can be taken for granted when you have disability. Just finished reading one of the most inspiring, poignant, heart rending books. The collection is a mish mash of essays and poems, all connected through the voices of disabled women writers. The message is one of empowerment built on the back of physical and emotional pain. It's strident, in turns angry and loving, reflective and impulsive, and viewed solely from a feminine view. And by God it should be! The women in this anthology have something to say and it's worth hearing.
Recommended read:
What Happened To You: Writing by Disabled Women
Edited by Lois Keith, 1994,
ISBN: 1-56584-280-4 paperback edition.
What Happened To You: Writing by Disabled Women
Edited by Lois Keith, 1994,
ISBN: 1-56584-280-4 paperback edition.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Banter and Witty Repartee
I've always admired writers with a talent for writing great dialogue, especially sexy and witty banter between the hero and heroine. The chemistry literally zings between the characters and you can almost smell the phermones coming off the page.
But how do you write sexy banter? There has to be a smooth rhythm, right? I mean, this is verbal sex.
So, to the readers out there: Do you like sexy banter in a book? Do you have a favorite book that uses witty dialogue to reveal aspects of the main character?
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Edits, edits, and more edits...
When I'm in the throes of my latest project, I usually start mental editing after the first sentence is written. I have to continually smack my hand to keep typing instead of backspacing, or I'd never finish anything. All this editing doesn't mean my work is error-free, and that's the saddest part of being a writer. No matter how often you proof, your bff critique partner proofs, your beta readers proof, your editor proofs, you will still find something you should have changed after the damn thing goes to print...err...digital ebook. It's like a messed up quantum universal law—probably developed by someone named Murphy.
So whether you're a seasoned pro or a beginner trying to get published, never fear, we all go through the same hell of editing. A good friend (who actually likes editing) suggested I try to keep focused and creatively visualize the end product—a finished book, and the book's release party. It's good advice and has helped me to see the road ahead and that there is light at the end of the proverbial tunnel.
Eeps, excuse me, looks like I better get back to my wip. My characters are getting antsy for their next scene to get edited. :-p
Until next time...
~ Cass
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Spring Has Finally Sprung!
I am so excited spring is finally here. Well, for me at least. lol. Not sure about ya''ll in northern parts of the states or out west, or in other parts of the world. But all I know is when I see the buds on trees and the flowers in my flower bed poking their heads up through the soil, it makes me really happy. Renewal of life is a beautiful thing. :) If I were a Disney character, this is about the point where I'd break into song. lol. Be glad I'm not, because my screeching wakes the dead and then we'd be up to our butts in zombies! :pSpeaking of zombies, have ya'll checked out my pal Cora Zane's free ebook, My Zombie Ex-Boyfriend? It's a quick, fun read that will have you grinning if not outright giggling. Yes, I said the G-word. lol. You can grab it here: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/14038
Oh and be on the lookout for a new contest here on my blog, starting in April. Just my way of celebrating the season. Now, if you'll excuse me, I left my heroine in a rather precarious situation and the hero is bitching at me to get moving so he can try to save her. lol.
Until next time
~Cass
Monday, March 21, 2011
Saturday, August 28, 2010
High Squee
Last night I went hair shopping in SL with my bff Cora Zane (who btw, is celebrating a birthday today and we're having a contest over on the MMC blog to celebrate). We discovered a store we both love, called Nikita Fride. They have the most wicked and wild hair, skin, eyes, and prim lashes. I gave them excessive Linden love. lol.
Cora wearing Nikita Fride hair, Lust - Chantilly; Prim lashes and eyes also by Nikita Fride.
As we sat on the floor of my mermaid digs, Cora snuck over to the Casablanca Authors Blog and checked out the Open Pitch Session post. She scrolled down, past her pitch and my own, and saw Deb Werkman's response to my pitch. OMG! Deb wants a full on my story Earth To Elena!!!! Or at least I think she does. Eeps! Another writer using a pen name of Cassandra asked if she is the Cassandra mentioned by Deb. Whew. I hope I'm the Cassandra in question. Cora and I squeed all over the place.
I would love it if we both got on with the same publisher, either me with EC or both of us with Casablanca/Sourcebooks. That would be too cool. ::fingers crossed::
Sunday, June 6, 2010
And on the 6th day, she took a breather…
It seems like I’ve been fiddling with my sci-fi romance romp forever. I went over the plot, checking for potential holes, building the backstory and filling out the cast of characters. Then I created the skeleton outline, my own personal diagram and trip tik so I could navigate the storyline and not get confused or lost along the way—which I did anyway, of course…
Then when the holidays hit, my mother became very ill and I dropped most of what I was doing and focused on my mum. When I wasn’t at her place, I played house in Second Life, putting up holiday decorations on my dream villa and taking a breather from my writing, planning to regroup in January.
Of course, nothing ever goes as we plan it, does it? Only a couple of days after Christmas 2009, my life did a 360º and everything I thought I knew had changed. I won’t go into the details of my tailspin, but it took me several months to regain my footing and even want to write something more creative than a grocery list. My nerves were shot and I felt up in the air about so many things, basic things I thought I had nailed down. Like where I would live, where my home was and who I’d be sharing it with.
I did a lot of growing as a person and realized some of the fault lay at my own door. I’d become complacent. And fallen into a serious rut. The person I used to be had changed over the years and I wanted her back!
So I started going to the gym again, I worked out, I started eating right and taking my vitamins. And as I lost weight, I realized I needed new clothes, so I rediscovered the love of shopping for wearable items. You see, before I hated clothes shopping because nothing ever fit the way it should, due to my size. But having lost two dress sizes made enough of a difference, that I could now shop with ease and find something that fit me without a struggle. Was I skinny? Hell no! I have a gene pool full of obese people, but at least I could see a glimmer of daylight.
I started writing again, small things, mostly angry letters I didn’t send and a few that I did. lol. Then, as I was going through the cancer scanning again, facing my own mortality yet another time, I realized I needed to get back at my writing or else give it up and admit defeat.
Now, I’m sort of stubborn in case you didn’t know, and the idea of simply giving up pissed me off. So like everything in my life, I fought and I pushed through my own angst and mental barriers by picking up the threads of a story I’d pushed to a back burner the year before when I was going through the radiation and all the surgeries.
The story was a departure for me, almost pure erotica and probably the kinkiest stuff I’d ever attempted. ::insert blush here::
I decided at the onset that I wouldn’t try to publish it through my
usual avenue and would branch out a little and try something new since
it was a new kind of story for me, especially since the ebook was also
going to be below the word count required by Amber Heat, my publisher.Earlier in the year, I’d uploaded a few freebies to Smashwords, to reach a new audience of readers, and the response was incredible. Thousands of downloads and even a few nice reviews came from the effort. So I decided to finish a couple of stories I’d place on Smashwords for sale and release them as 99¢ short story ebook specials.
The first of these stories is The Deal Breaker, and will be available to purchase on Smashwords starting June 11, 2010.
With most of the hard edits done on Deal Breaker, I returned my attention to my sci-fi romantic comedy, tentatively titled Earth to Elena. I’m happy to say I finally finished the first draft and now can focus on some of the other things in my life I need to do. That way Elena can sit and ‘cure’ and I can get a little distance, so when I pick it back up, it’ll seem fresh again and I’ll be able to spot the mistakes easier…at least that is my hope. ::wide grin::
Not sure where I’ll send the story, since it’s less erotic romance and more romantic comedy. E to E (as I’ve nicknamed it) is also a full fledged novel, sitting at just under 100k, so that will also make a difference. But before I look at where to send it, the story will have to go through its paces, which in C.C. speak means about three to four drafts. Yeah, I know. How some authors can do a single draft, then simply edit and be done has always astounded me. I wish I knew their secret. I have to reread the story from scratch, agonize over ever sentence and red pen the printed out version until my fingers bleed ink. lol.
Oh yeah, I did move out of my house, just not the one in RL (at least not yet, lol). Nope, I moved out of the Villa I had in SL, so those pictures I took of myself there are bittersweet, but nothing lasts forever and in the case of SL, that is doubly true I’ve found. For the hell of it, one day I went through all my landmarks, some 200plus of them, and went to every location. I found that well over half no longer existed or had been changed and were now something completely different. Nothing like going back to your favorite hat and hair boutique and finding it’s become a virtual gay country western bar. lol. Ahh well, cie la vie.
Until next time…
Cass
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