Literally. My head is about to hit it and I’m going to have little square keypad imprints on my forehead. This week has been a whirlwind of guest blogging, twittering, facebooking and posting bulletins on Myspace. I had a release you see. MASTER OF CRAVING, book three in my Blood Sword Legacy series. I love those hot knights! But promoting them? Yikes. It’s exhausting. But here’s the kicker: I have met some really great folks. Yeah, yeah the promo brought us together, but already I can tell I’m not only going to sell a few books, but I’ve made friends. Cyber friends count! Hell, I spend more time with cyber folks I’ve never met face to face than with my family! Not only have I met new folks, but I’ve discovered not only can I help them out with a cop question or two, well, ok Officer Friendly does that, but they have some nifty info to impart as well.
It’s a win win. I used to see the internet as a colossal chain around my neck. But with blogs and Myspace and Twitter and Facebook, a whole new world I am fondly embracing has consumed me. And now, I am tired. Not tired of it all, but the energy involved in keeping up with everyone has caught up with me. Next week since I’m leaving for the WisRWA con, I didn’t schedule any guest blog appearances, but my 8 Days for 8 Knights over at my place will continue until Monday. We’re having a lot of fun and lot’s of winners of some really unique prizes. Master Your Craving tees, dog tags with my book covers, BN gift certificates, signed books, and a few other kewl things coming up. There will be two grand prizes: A $50 Visa gift card, and an Inspiration necklace and earring set by the incomparable Poppy Laurel.
My husband just shakes his head. But I look at it this way, many of the folks who hang out at my place have supported me by buying my books and spreading the word. Now? It’s time to give back. And I am a giver. So another win win. Yes? No?
Do you comment on blogs to win a prize? I do. I like autographed books, and hell, yes if someone is giving away a Kindle to a lucky commenter I’m so there! I couldn’t afford a Kindle plus all of the other prezzies, so I broke it down so lot’s of peeps could enjoy.
Do you like to go for the big prize or have the love spread around?
Oh! I almost forgot! To celebrate the release of MASTER OF CRAVING, my publisher Simon & Schuster put up A KNIGHT TO REMEMBER a short story of mine as a FREEyes FREE download! Check it out. And feel free to pass the link along.
Well, book one (Charmed and Dangerous) will be out next Tuesday… and that means I am starting that process again: that crack-open-a-whole-new-story process as I start the next book, and it’s one of those things that I absolutely love.
And absolutely hate.
The thing I love about it is that there is this story that’s been in my head for a while, now, and opening that new file on the computer is like being the very first person to open a jar of peanut butter. You know how that is… that surface is smooth and creamy and never before used and you get to be the first person who plunges a….(hmmm. I now have a whole new appreciation for why stories about virgins are so popular.)
Anyway. I love that first moment. I have to have a title, and character and conflict (not necessarily in that order) and I have to know where to start, and the voice. I may start and discard seven or eight (or ten or twelve) attempts at a chapter, honing that voice. At this point, the story is filled with possibilities, and yet, I know the guts of it. I know what it is inside this story that would break my heart not to tell. I have to feel that compelled to spend that much time, sitting still, weaving a dream.
On the other hand, I kinda loathe beginnings.
There are just so many damned choices. How much to reveal? How much needs to be layered in? How fast can I move to the crux of the inciting incident without confusing the audience? Can I get away without telling them all of this if I show them that?
Even when I know things, like the general premise, I’m in the process of discovering the world–not just the setting/environment, but the tone, the rules of the world, the perspective I want to convey. I’m trying to figure out in those moments how to tuck the reader in close and just tell them a damned good story that will keep them turning pages–and yet… I don’t know the story yet. There are so many choices. It’s almost too much, because there’s this smorgasbord and I have to settle on one thing: one way to tell this particular story. I need to know what kind of story it is. If you promise a comedy in the opening lines, you have to deliver. If you promise horror, same thing. So I’m thinking of all these things, which actually means…
I’m futzing. I’m too aware of my process. I am thinking too damned much, and am not quite yet in the flow of the magic. Drives me a little batshit, this thinking. Wherein I drive my friends a little batshit with the whining. “I don’t know how to write anymore! I don’t remember how to start a story! Does this work? No? How about this? Or this?” It is a simple wonder they have not sent hit men.
I remember, ironically, knowing exactly where to start the first Bobbie Faye. Her voice hit me, clear as a hammer, and that beginning didn’t change much from the original rough draft:
Something wet and spongy plunked against Bobbie Faye’s face and she sprang awake, arms pin wheeling. “Damn it, Roy, you hit me with a catfish again and I’m gonna—” Whoa. Everything was dark in her cramped trailer. There was no catfish, no little brother Roy pretending innocence. Of course she’d been dreaming, because Roy was twenty-six now, not ten. Still a complete pain in the ass, though.
She swiped at the cold rivulets of wetness running down her face. “What the fuck was that?” she muttered to no one in particular. “And why the hell am I wet?”
And then, if I remember correctly, and God knows I suppress this as much as possible… everything was hard. As hell. I told too much, I showed too little. I fought to figure out who the hell this character was and what kind of world she lived in. I whined a lot. To everyone. My dog got tired of me, people. Seriously. That first act? Killed me. And then I finally hit the turning point at the end of act one and angels sang, rainbows popped out my ass and I knew what the hell to write. I love that turning point. It has been the same for every book… slog through act one, figure out what the hell I’m even telling and then bang, I know where I’m going.
It will take me a century to write the first half of the book. The second half? Feels like mere minutes. I’ll be so engrossed and having so much fun, you could come into this office and wallpaper over me and I don’t think I’d notice. (As long as you don’t get in the way of the Post It notes. I survive on Post It notes.)
Right now, I’m at that beginning part. Which means I’m falling in love with the characters, I’m excited to get into the heart of their story, I’m itching to get into the flow…
And I’m whining and pacing and making notes and more notes and erasing notes and whining and brainstorming and what-iffing and did I mention the whining? I have a big white board (where I usually put up a sort of general structure of the story. This is not to be confused with the “O” word, which we try very very hard not to use in this house. [outline] But is, instead, an overall “structure” to the story. Because I can live with the word “structure” that implies built-in flexibility, but I cannot even think of actually writing something from the word “outline” because it feels restrictive and as if someone is imposing something on me and YES, I know that someone would be ME, but nobody said SANITY was involved.) Meanwhile, as I am working out the “structure” of the story, I’m also jotting notes in Scrivener (which I love and has sort of taken over the whole whiteboard / notebook tasks, because I can dump everything in one place and it’s findable, lo those many months later when I’m all, “huh, I need the name of that thingie which did the thingamabob that so-and-so used on the whatsit.”)
At some point, it will happen: I will hit the sweet point, where I’ve figured out the set up and everything flows, the world falls away. After ten scripts and three books (and a couple hundred non-fiction articles and ten–yes ten–years worth of blogging), I know that sweet point will happen. Eventually. Before I die. Of pacing. And whining.
What part of a project do you love? (Any project, not just writing!) The beginning? Conceptualizing it? The first few steps where it’s all shiny and new? The middle? Where you see you’ve made progress and can see the light at the end of the tunnel? Or do you just like getting done? Seeing the whole thing, completed in front of you?
Charlie, my brother-in-law’s son, was married Saturday night to Rachel. Charlie is extended family to me, being my nephew’s cousin on the other side, and Teresa and Stuart family who rise above whenever the occasion demands. We were all delighted to be at the wedding, everyone making sure they were back from wherever they might have been in time for the sunset wedding. Naturally, at this wedding, we thought about all the recent family and close as family friend weddings we’ve been to lately.
They all fit the couples perfectly.
DJ–boater and fisherman–and Franci were married in the Keys at the sunset, stunning, and yet casual. There were fireworks and a sand castle.
Derek and Zhenia, the artists, were married at a real castle, and Derek wore his family Graham plaid.
Bobby and Alicia, a bit older, opted for a Vegas wedding, Chippendales, slot machines, and strip clubs for the guys, but come the moment of saying those vows, she was the traditional stunning bride.
Stacey and Kevin, the most casual of all, and yet, the vows were beautiful, as Stacey’s daughter became a part of it, and they were announced not just man and wife, but a family. T shirts. And lots of dancing, and outdoor ceremony by a fountain, and lots of good eats in the friendly bar. And, to boot, we got a bit of the Lafayette dog parade, right before Mardi Gras.
Now, Charlie and Rachel. They are attorneys. They love boats. (It’s a Davant family requisite.) Now this is great for me, since I’ve actually known the Davants longer than the in-laws and children since Vickie and Davis got together when I was about fourteen. Mr. Fred Davant was a major attorney in the Miami area then, and I was afraid of my first dinner at their house. I thought it would be stuffy and proper. There were five Davant children, and the food went around on a lazy Susan. Davis warned me to grab fast if I wanted food at all. He was right.
This wedding was at the yacht club where Fred was once commodore and Stuart will be one day. This is a very good thing for me–the Davants answer all my boating questions, and if they cannot, they know who can. One might think as I once did, yacht club! Stuffy. Maybe even pretentious. No. Rachel vowed to be with him through Florida ‘Gator losses and nights with too much Miller beer. He vowed to make coffee–and never try to talk to her until she had been up for fifteen minutes. It was funny; it was beautiful. He’s a maritime attorney while she’s a fraud attorney. They have a house and a dog already. They have a bucket list of things to do before they start a family. Pretty cool, nicely organized. It’s a Davant family tradition that all grooms must get thrown in the pool. Rachel knew this–she was ready to jump in after in, wedding dress and all. As this all occurred, the Miami rain suddenly poured down–which was fine, it hadn’t done so at Sunset–but even those not in the pool wound up wet.
A great wedding had by all.
A really nice brunch the next morning. And it’s wonderful to have these moments, to share these moments, because the sad ones will come, too. Thankfully I refer to none of the brides or grooms. But on Monday we learned about a terrible accident that had occurred to a young woman who is friends with my children. She was a passenger in a car on US1 which became involved in a terrible accident. She has survived, but in critical condition, broken and stitched–a beautiful young person who will spend months in recovery. Another girl was injured; the third, just twenty-six, died at the scene.
Traffic down here is crazy. People don’t always give pedestrian’s the right of way, I don’t think most drivers here realize that cars come with blinkers to signify turns, and there are clubs open just about around the clock, so the alcohol factor comes in frequently. I was terrified each time one of my children started driving, and yet, I know they have to drive, just as I know they have and might still move on where I can’t reach them easily. Accidents are frequent; we know that. Sometimes, they’re just fender benders. Sometime, they’re far worse. It’s always tragic to hear about bad accidents. It’s shattering to hear about them when it’s someone you know.
The really simple point of all this is–confused. Family, friends, weddings, the good times–are all precious. They need to be cherished. And God knows, we can’t live our lives paranoid of everything, we can’t walk around on eggshells, or we’ll never really live. But I think it’s important for everyone–perhaps writers more than anyone–to always make sure to embrace life. We’re quick to be too busy for events and busy. Life sometimes seems to be one giant and eternal deadline. But we never know when “too busy” will never matter anymore, because there comes that time when it just doesn’t matter how busy we were–life is, indeed, filled with final deadlines.
Late, late, late last night as I was trying my best to finish a project (I now have 23 hours to finish it), I realized that my poor beagle had chewed a spot on his tail down to the skin. It was red and raw and he wasn’t stopping the chewing for nothing. I also realized that this is what happens when you don’t pay attenion. This is flea season. My dog (dogs actually, I have 3) all have fleas. It was the middle of the night, what could I do? I had to stop him from continuing to bite that spot. So I applied an antibiotic cream, put a band-aid on the spot then wrapped it in duct tape (duck tape to some) so the band-aid wouldn’t fall off. Let’s just say that my beagle did not like this. I’m certain I saw this on MacGyver once. I had to be a frigging genius. Not long after that I went to bed. It’s not good to write when you think stuff like putting duct tape on your dog’s tail is an impressive feat.
The point of this story is that I still don’t pay attention to certain things–like me. I know, I know. We’ve talked about this before. This is a new year. I was gonna lose weight. Blah, blah, blah. It’s the end of May, and it hasn’t happened yet. Life gets in the way! The year isn’t over–I’ll do better!!!! I swear!
Since the hours are ticking down and I MUST finish this project, I’ll keep this fairly short. By 7 am tomorrow I’ll be on my way north to New York City. I’ve picked out a couple of professional looking outfits to wear to BEA (Book Expo America) where I’ll be signing books for the first time in my career. While in NYC I’ll have lunch with my Harlequin editor, Denise, and breakfast with my agent, Kim. I’ll wear the make-up and the nice outfits my daughter helped me pick out. BUT- I’ll still be FAT since I haven’t paid attention to my New Year’s resolution to take better care of myself. Do you think that there will be certain folks who will avoid coming to my table at BEA or that my editor or agent will look at me differently because I haven’t bothered to stay in shape? Really, should I consider getting in shape part of the business plan? I wonder if a passing hunter would look at my beagle with his duct-taped tail and think, “Glad that mutt’s not mine.”
Do you believe that the way you look and your general, overall well-being is important when it comes to the job? Not doing the job necessarily but getting the part–or in this case the contract?
The other day I saw a man walking his pig on a leash. A big black pig.
I can’t get this picture out of my head.
We were at my mother in law’s house for a BBQ to celebrate the engagement of a family member. It was a blast to see people we haven’t seen in a while. Then my husband and sons snuck away for few minute to go look at the house two of my sons are going to move into soon.
We drove down to the house and get out of the car when one son says, “That man is walking a pig.”
Okay, it is fair statement to say that I raised three smart ass sons. I said something pithy like, “Yeah right.” And kept walking toward the house.
Everyone else turned around. Not wanting to be left out, I hurried back to see it, and I still couldn’t believe my eyes. This dude was walking a full sized black pig on a thin little lease. The man was late twenties, bald, thick set and walking a freaking pig!
Talk about unexpected and out of context. Suddenly I am paying attention. My mind is whirling and asking a dozen random questions:
What makes a man get a pig as a pet?
Is he married, does he have a girlfriend? What if his girlfriend gave him an ultimatum—it’s the pig or me! And he picked his pig?
Does he work at home or in an outside office? Hey what if he’s a veterinarian and rescued the pig?
What does the pig do all day?
What does this guy’s mother think about her son and his pig?
What makes this guy WANT to stand out? I mean, come on, he’s out walking a pig. On some level, he wants the attention.
And of course, I really want to know what his house looks like. I mean the guy has a pig—and while pigs may have gotten a bum rap about being dirty—they DO like to roll around in mud.
This man and his pig had my sudden and full attention. Why? It goes back to being unexpected and out of context. I was going about my day, seeing all the normal stuff, first at the party where people were behaving in the usual fashion, then when we drove through the neighborhood, I saw kids riding bikes, a man mowing his yard, someone washing their car—all normal. All expected. I saw it but didn’t really pay attention.
Then I saw the man walking his pig and my reality was challenged. This was different, this didn’t make sense to me, and it didn’t fit the pattern of expected behavior. The human brain doesn’t like it when it can’t make sense of something. We are hardwired to look for patterns…and as writers; we need to screw with the expected, predictable pattern to get the reader’s attention.
In seconds, I was transfixed by the man walking his pig. If the first line of the book was, “Look at that guy, he’s walking a pig!” I’d read on. But if it was, “That dude is walking his dog.” I’d think, “So what?” or “I should go walk the dog.” Or in my case, “I should get a dog so I can walk it. Hmm, wouldn’t a German Sheppard be cool?” And I’d be out of the book, no longer caring. I don’t know that I’ll ever use a man walking his pig in one of my books, but it was a good reminder about what gets the reader’s attention.
So what’s the strangest, out of context, reality jarring thing you’ve seen lately?
I have a thing about being late. I don’t like it. In fact, if I am late to something–anything–I start to get sick to my stomach, antsy, nervous, ready to spontaneously combust, because the THE WORLD DOES NOT LIKE LATE. In truth and reality, lots of people are late. All the time. I’m just usually not one of them.
But lately, I am late. I’m late with a book deadline, late posting my blog, late, late, late. I still make it on time to work and to appointments. But these major things have become a real issue with me.
And I don’t get any less upset with myself for BEING late. I don’t just blow it off in a “I’m late again, oh well” kind of attitude like so many people that I know. I hate it. I want to change it. I just don’t know how.
It seems there are two kinds of people in the world. Those that are always late, and those that are always on time. I suppose there are degrees to this, as well. But I really want to be known as the one who is on time.
So, forgive me for being late with my blog post, which should have been up on Friday. I am suffering from a case of summer (spring?) pneumonia, and have been all afuzz in the brain because of all the medication I am taking.
I don’t want to be one of those people who run on their own time. I know your time is important, and I intend to take that seriously.
NOW, let’s talk about the premiere of SO YOU THINK YOU CAN DANCE? Yay, I am so excited that this show is on again, and even more excited to hear they are going to have a Fall edition! Most of you know that my youngest is deeply enmeshed in the dance world, and so, by proxy, am I.
The truth is, I love to watch really good dancers, and our studio, Infinity Dance in Ogden and Brigham, is FILLED with incredible talent. I know you will see some of these girls on SYTYCD when they get old enough!
For example, this girl is one I KNOW you will see. The choreography is by Mandy Moore.
And here is another one you will be seeing in the future. Although not real soon, as she is only 14. She is one of my daughter’s very good friend, and is amazing.
And here is a routine we did that one overall at every competition we went to. My daughter is in this dance, as are the two whose videos I showed you.
I’m excited to share these with you, and you can see a little bit of what I do. I work for the dance studio, in addition to my day job, and really, they are both full time jobs. In between all of that, I am trying to be a writer. Supporting my family comes first, but writing will always be my love.
I’m going to figure out how to make it all work. Maybe it’s like a dance. I just have to get the choreography right, so that I am in the right place at the right time… I’ll keep you posted.
It’s that time of the year. Publishers start thinking about cover concepts 8-10 months out from publication. Though my second book of my FBI Trilogy was just released on Tuesday (FATAL SECRETS–an RT Book Review Top Pick!), and the next is still two months out, we’re talking about how to package my Seven Deadly Sins series.
Packaging is not easy. While there are lots of reasons why books sell (or not), packaging is certainly one of the most important.
What’s in a book “package?”
The obvious include the cover itself–arguably the most important part of the overall package–and the back cover copy (or inside flap for hardcovers.) The goal of the cover is for readers who don’t automatically buy your book because of your name to pick it up. It needs to intrigue them. The cover needs . . .
. . . to tell the reader what genre/type of story to expect. It sets the tone. This is the “same” part of the phrase “same but different.”
. . . to be visually interesting/eye-catching/intriguing . . . overall, attractive for the type of story inside. This is the “status quo.” No one intends to create an ugly cover, but there are often covers that seem to be blah or boring.
. . . to stand out as unique, not the same book you read last week. This is the “different” part of the phrase “same but different.” And the hardest to achieve. How do you create a totally unique cover while still positively conveying the type of story inside?
For my supernatural thriller series, I have two primary concerns. First, this isn’t a traditional paranormal romance, nor is it an urban fantasy. It’s a classic supernatural story–what some might have branded as “horror” in the past–but with a growing, multi-book relationship, an ensemble cast of characters, and an epic battle of good vs evil. If I was allowed to write a 1200 page novel ala Stephen King’s THE STAND, I could write this seven book series as one book (though certainly structured differently! They’d be battling the seven deadly sins simultaneously, building to an earth-shattering climax, rather than battling them individually book by book.) But each of these books will be about 450-500 pages and contain a complete story . . . while also continuing the multi-book story arc. So how do we convey this in the cover? I argued for a simple cover with a single focal point–an object that exposes the sin inside so that people would understand on a gut level, while also conveying that the book is paranormal. We’ll see what they do.
My second concern was how to show that this is a series with a returning cast of characters rather than what I traditionally write, which is a complete romantic suspense with an HEA. We’re going to have something like “Book One of the Seven Deadly Sins Series” or something similar as a tag line, which will hopefully help. But again, this is important information to convey to the reader and I want them to know what they are getting.
Titles are also important. Does the title tell you what the story is going to be? SUDDEN DEATH pretty much tells you that it’s a suspense novel, right?
One thing I learned early on is that, as far as publishers are concerned, titles don’t have to mean anything. They don’t have to reflect the story, or a cool plot twist. SUDDEN DEATH is fairly interchangeable with most suspense novels. It’s a great title (I picked it, so I’ll admit I’m pretty partial to it,) but it still is rather generic. THE HUNT was another of my own titles, and certainly reflects the story–the killer is “hunting” his prey in the Montana wilderness, and the heroine is “hunting” the killer. It has a dual meaning. KILLING FEAR, another of my own titles, has a double meaning as well. The heroine is fearful after walking in on her dead roommate in the dark six years before. She has to combat that fear–kill it–in order to survive by the end of the book. And it also relates to the villain who has no real emotions, including fear. CUTTING EDGE also has a double meaning, since the killer uses a knife and the first target is the scientist heading up a cutting edge technology company.
The titles for the first two Seven Deadly Sins books are: ORIGINAL SIN and CARNAL SIN. I am thrilled with the titles because they not only convey the sin involved (envy and lust respectively), but most people will have an instant, visceral reaction to the title. They will know what it means, they (hopefully) will be intrigued enough to pick it up.
ORIGINAL SIN works on multiple levels. One meaning of “original” is “first” and this is the first book in the series. “Original Sin” is when Adam and Eve fell from grace by eating from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Eve was lured into sin by the serpent, who represents jealousy as it’s suggested by many theologians that the serpent was jealous of humans because God appeared to favor them over all other of His creations. Envy itself is the one sin that has no personal gratification–in lust, one has physical satisfaction; in greed, one gains wealth and means; in gluttony, one enjoys good food and drink. But envy seeks to deny the object of the envy something that the envious can not have himself. It’s the only sin that derives pleasure from the destruction of another person.
Envy is the primary reason that the villain releases the Seven Deadly Sins from Hell. She is envious of the youth and beauty of others; envious of power. She wants it for herself, but the only way to get it is to destroy.
So you can see why I was thrilled with ORIGINAL SIN as a title.
Our own Toni McGee Causey has had a major re-packaging of her Bobbie Faye series, and for the better.
First, I do LOVE her original title BOBBIE FAYE’S VERY (very, very, very) BAD DAY. It fits the book brilliantly and tells the reader what to expect–the story of Bobbie Faye’s bad day, and because of the parenthesis, you know that it’s going to be humorous. But as we’ve learned, titles don’t mean much of anything, right? They need to go with the packaging. And the packaging needs to tell the reader what to expect.
The packaging for Toni’s book was all wrong for the story. And worse, she was shelved in fiction. That’s the curse of death for any book not written by Jodi Picoult or Toni Morrison. But with the packaging, the book didn’t say “mystery” or “thriller” or “romantic suspense” though it had elements of all three, none fit it right. Frankly, it’s out-of-genre, it transcends being pigeon-holed in a category. It’s funny, irreverent, fast-paced, quirky, and original. It’s Stephanie Plum, with a gun, on speed.
Does this cover tell you that?
Bobbie Faye 1
Great title, poor packaging. What’s with the crustacean on the cover? And this is what just KILLS me. I stayed up ALL THE EFFING NIGHT READING THIS BOOK BECAUSE I COULD NOT PUT IT DOWN!!! Does that cover tell you that this is an unputdownable book?
Now, publishers may be a little slow on the uptake sometimes, but they’re not stupid. And they knew they had an incredibly talented writer in Toni. As book three in the Bobbie Faye series was nearing press time, they decided to reissue the first two books in mass market–with new covers, new titles, new packaging. All to gear up for the third brand-spanking-new book that will be out this August.
So VERY BOBBIE FAYE became CHARMED AND DANGEROUS. A slightly more generic title, but it does exactly what it’s supposed to: it intrigues you. It’s witty and a pun, implying humor as well as suspense (going along with the next two titles, GIRLS JUST WANNA HAVE GUNS and WHEN A MAN LOVES A WEAPON–and I’ll admit, the third title, and the third cover, is my absolute favorite.) This is NOT easy to do, especially with a title, but this time all three are winners. And there’s a tag line that rocks as well: “Love down South just got a whole lot deadlier.”
So how do you package such titles?
Just. Like. This.
Okay, I’m back. What, you didn’t know I was gone for the last two hours? Well . . . I pulled out my copy of BOBBIE FAYE, the one that’s being reissued on Tuesday June 2, to find a short little scene to give you a taste of Toni’s voice. Well, yep, though I’ve read this book (twice) I got sucked in. This scene . . . no, this one! . . . oh, no, I have to put in THIS scene, it’s perfect. Lo and behold, I’ve re-read most of the book. Finally, I just had to pick something or this post wouldn’t be up in time.
In a nutshell, Bobbie Faye is being chased by the police for (not) robbing a bank, bad guys, and sordid others as she tries to save her stupid-ass brother Roy who got himself kidnapped. She herself kidnapped Trevor, who became her getaway car after the not-quite-a-bank-robbery robbery. They’ve already had some tense moments, and have, oh, two minutes of downtime here in the shed of a gunrunner.
She looked down at the gun again, remembering what the hell she needed Trevor for, and cursed under her breath. She couldn’t ditch him just yet and get away from all those muscles and the abs and the crinkly eyes, holy geez. She had to focus until they safely found the geeky boys and the tiara.
He turned at that moment and saw her sitting on a crate, staring at him. “You okay?” he asked, squatting on his heels, bringing himself blue-crystal-eye level to her, looking sincerely worried.
The bastard.
“Yeah, I’m just having a little girl-time here, rethinking my choice in nail color,” she snapped, and instead of snapping back, he grinned. He fucking grinned at her, that big-cat-stalking-its-prey-sort of grin, making her very very nervous.
“Cut it out.” He only grinned bigger. “I thought we had an agreement going here. You hate all women, I hate you.”
“I think I’m making an exception in your case.”
“Well I’m not.”
He looked her up and down, and her skin flamed hot, and his smile grew more wicked.
“Oh, I think you are.”
She started to retort as he turned away, but there was an internal war going on, with Lust (which had not been out to play in a long, long time) beating the hell out of Common Sense, and she could feel certain body parts placing bets. She opted for ignoring him because she didn’t think “nuh uh” was a very convincing comeback.
Trevor opened the doorway a crack and watched a moment until he was satisfied it was clear to leave. They eased down the pier toward the boats tied at the end when the first scowling guard came out of the house. Bobbie Faye knew they were in plain sight, but the guy acted as if he didn’t see them, which was just phenomenally odd. As she was contemplating this, a second man walked around the corner of the house and the first guy seemed to be trying to wave away a mosquito or something. Or maybe he was trying to indicate they should get moving.
“Sonofabitch,” Trevor muttered. “Head for the white boat at the end.”
“You mean the Triton 5220?” she asked, which surprised him enough for him to turn to her with a blank, shocked expression. “What? Girls can know boats.”
He didn’t get a chance to answer. Bobbie Faye thought she heard a firecracker pop then bam, something hit the pier not far behind them, and they both looked in the direction of the house in time to see the two guards running in their direction, the second one definitely sporting a gun.
Bobbie Faye was pretty sure that if she’d read her horoscope that morning, it would have said something like, “Today the universe hates you. A lot. A whole freaking Grand Canyon lot of hate. Stay in bed. Better yet, dig a hole, hide.”
She hauled ass down the pier with Trevor right behind her. They passed a glassed-in Peg-Board set up where all the keys to the boats were stored, and Bobbie Faye jumped into the boat as Trevor slammed the butt of his SIG Sauer against the glass, shattering it, all the while trying to hide his frame behind the skinny wooden stand as the running guards shot at them.
“They’re not labeled,” he shouted, and then turned to her, shocked again when the engine revved. She’d hot-wired it.
“What is the deal with you being pokey? Get in!”
Want to read this book? Good! So do I . . . again. So I’m going to sign off and curl up with a damn good book. And one of you will get a FREE copy of the original, collectable, BOBBIE FAYE . . . all you have to do is comment by midnight tonight, Thursday, and the winner will be posted at 12:01 (ish) PST in the comment section by moi. You’ll get the book early next week, before everyone else . . . And if you don’t win the collectable copy, you can always order the new and improved packaging wrapped around the same fantastic book for yourself at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or an Indie.
Sorry for the late post, everyone. The week has been nothing short of an out of control roller coaster ride!
This past weekend I attended the Tunica-Biloxi Pow Wow in Marksville, La, and, as always, was blown away by the event! The Pow Wow is an annual event, where over 100 Native American tribes from all over the continent come to this one reservation. Here they meet and compete in activities, like traditional dance, drumming, and song.
There’s something about hearing the drums, the gourds, the chanting, and watching the dancers—all of it seems to drill down deep inside me and reverberate. Granted, I’m sure some of that has to do with the fact that I’m part Native American, but there sure were plenty of other ‘white’ folks at the Pow Wow caught up in the same spirit. Hell, it was hard not to.
The Pow-Wow grand entry alone is like watching the entire human history of the western hemisphere parade before your eyes. Singers and drummers representing a multitude of tribal traditions and cultures assemble in dress and song, representing thousands of years of presence on these continents. In my opinion, to be a spectator or participant is to be an honored part of continuing historic significance.
The best part of the Pow Wow, to me anyway, is the validation that differences CAN be put aside for a time and harmony achieved. So many tribes are present, all different in traditions and customs, yet everyone standing firm on one solid, common foundation—being Native American. From the young to the old, the wealthy and poor, they all joined together in one place to celebrate life. How sad that we as a society, as a nation, as a planet can’t do the same even though our foundation is so much broader—simply being people.
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. . . And if you don’t win the collectable copy, you can always order the new and improved packaging wrapped around the same fantastic book for yourself at 
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