West of Mars

So it’s Friday and I wasn’t going to do this week’s Three Word Wednesday prompt. I’m busy, as you guys can tell by my lack of Three Word Wednesday and Friday Flashes.

But I opened the feed in my reader anyway and checked out the words. Just in case they inspired me.

Then I went and got myself a new keyboard.

Because, you see, this week’s Three Word Wednesday’s three words are: grin, jumble, and naked.

For real?

Are you sure about that?

Let’s stop and think about this, shall we? Grin. Jumble. Naked.

C’mon. I don’t even have to write this.

Or, if I do, it’ll look like this:

Trevor. Naked jumble. Grin.

There you go. Like you hadn’t already envisioned this, yourselves.

If you were trying to access West of Mars for an almost five-hour period last night, you were out of luck. While I was sitting at The Boy Band’s orchestra concert, the lights flickered. Then went out.

Here’s an article from the local paper about it. Anyone else a bit scared that they don’t know what caused such a massive outage?

Needless to say, the orchestra concert was cut short. We all raced home, although I’m not sure why. It’s not like any of us could get into our garages.

And, just as we did during the mega snowstorm of 2010, when the street hadn’t been plowed for days, all the cool neighbors (and some of the uncool ones, too. Really? Mowing the lawn at 7AM on a Monday?) gathered in the street. The kids ran wild. Dogs danced on their leashes, their walks abandoned in favor of the impromptu gathering.

It may seem heretical for someone who has built the bulk of her career online, but nights like last night remind me why unplugging is a good thing. I do wish for more of these nights when we tumble out of our big homes and reconnect, face to face, and chat about everything and nothing. You long-term readers know how much I love to be outside, camping and biking and with the family.

This is a good balance to strive for, I think. Shutting down the glow of the screens and instead seeking the glow of the stars.

It’s a day late, but mostly because yesterday set the tone for how the week’s going to play out: freaking crazy.

But… our winner of an autographed copy of Trevor’s Song (one of the last remaining Lulu editions that have since been retired) is Tammy Ramey!

Congratulations, Tammy. Keep an eye on your inbox for mail from me.

Okay, so it wound up being on three of us, but I suppose if you want to join the fun, you should.

People are leaving for BEA — Book Expo America. For us authors, unless we’re being heavily promoted by our publishers, it’s not worth our going.

So best-selling author Anya Bast put out a call. Who wants to have a Left Behind party with her?

I think Anya’s way cool. Denise Agnew joined us, as well. Denise is also neat; we’ve known each other’s online personas for years.

So… what to give…

Well, it dawns on me that I now have five copies of the now-retired Lulu version of Trevor’s Song. I have nothing to do with them. Which means I’ll give one away, to mail anywhere in the world.

Just leave me a comment (complete with your e-mail so I can contact you!). I’ll pick a winner first thing Monday morning.

Want to up your chances? Tweet it. Mention it on Facebook. Like the West of Mars Fan page. Tell me in the comments what you’ve done. I’ll throw it all into a big hat and let one of the kids pick a name out.

Prefer e-books? I can do that, too. Pick your title of my four (not sure? Visit The Books page to see them — but note that I can’t give copies of the With Love anthology away) and Monday morning, some of you lucky folks will get Smashwords coupons.

Yep, it’s that easy.

Oh, and those of you worried about leaving your e-mail? Have no fears from ME. I don’t save e-mail or addresses (ask any of my friends, who are always getting e-mails from me, asking for their addresses along with useless promises that I’ll write it down THIS time).

If you’re an author who didn’t make it to BEA this year and would like to join the fun, holler. Anya, Denise and I would love to have you.

We’re nine weeks in now. I’d have thought you guys would have made this place hop every weekend. What’s up? C’mon. We all need new readers for our blogs (and, for us writers, for our books). Meeting new people is fun. And it’s not like you’re obligated to hit up more than one person!

Here are the rules…

1. Leave a comment here, on this post. Say hello to me, tell me what you’re reading, what song you’re jamming to… You pick, just say SOMEthing! Leave your link (I can’t get Comment Luv to work regularly) to your blog.

2. Go visit the blog link in the comment above you. Tell them “I’m from West of Mars” and hopefully something nice about their post. Because, you know, the best way to make new friends is to actually read what they write.

3. When three people have left a comment since your last one, you may play again. If no one’s commented for two hours, you may play again. This is the ONLY time you may visit someone other than the person above you.

4. If you’re new here, your comment will go into moderation. I’m going to try to keep on top of that, but do check back to make sure no one missed you. If you were skipped, leave another comment — even if you break the three-person rule.

5. Be nice. Have fun. Make new friends — that’s what this is all about. And, of course, I operate on the Commutative Principle of Friendships, whereby any friend of yours is a friend of mine. Which means anyone and everyone is welcome to play.

6. Game ends Sunday night, even if I post something again in the meantime.

I made friends with Suzan Harden ’cause she’s friends with Christie Craig. I met Christie through Win a Book (and to think I’m toying with the idea of shutting it down!). See how this works?

Suzan’s followed a road similar to the one I’ve taken: which route to publication do I take?

As you guys know, it’s a hard road. A hard decision. And Suzan’s finally made her choice, which is good for me ’cause I get to tell you about her debut novella, Seasons of Magick: Spring. It’s 99c at Smashwords! (and yes, that link is the affiliate link, so I’ll get some pennies if you use it to buy the book. Which you ought to do.)

This means I had to ask Suzan the Famed One Question Interview (do I need to trademark THAT, too?): What song makes you think of your book?

Her answer shocked me. Ready for it?

Okay, this sounds incredibly geeky but it’s Barry Manilow’s ‘Ready to Take a Chance Again.’ The lyrics match my hero Adrian’s despair after he lost his wife and the return of hope after he meets Tessa. I know. I’m such a sap. LOL

The opening to that video is a hoot. Go check it out!

And here’s the extended book blurb. So you know what we’re going on about today:

Extended Description
Welcome to Morrigan’s Cauldron! But be careful what you ask for because this little Greenwich Village shop can deliver your heart’s desire. Or your greatest nightmare.

Tessa McClain’s life has spun out of control. Thanks to her con artist ex, she’s lost her job, her money and her reputation. Desperate, she talks her way into job at a local New Age shop. There’s just one problem—Adrian Holloway, the hunky store manager. The last thing she needs is another bad boy in her life. But her body hungers to break her brain’s ‘no men’ rule.

After the death of his wife, Adrian abandoned his Wall Street world and found peace in the quirky Greenwich shop, Morrigan’s Cauldron. Or he did until an April wind blew smart-mouthed Tessa McClain through the front door. While he’s ready to take another crack at love, convincing Tessa may be more trouble than he bargained.

There ya go… another new book from another new voice. I love it.

I woke up this morning, Friday, convinced that author Nancy Martin and I were at irreversible odds. She’s always been very anti-self-publishing. One of her concerns — and I’ve always seen the truth of it — is that people are sucked into the scammers and the services that charge a lot of money for no return.

One of the reasons I went the route I did was because I was told, point-blank, that there’s no market for books about rock stars (Agent Barbara Poelle confirmed that yet again this afternoon). Yet I had a demand. Not a HUGE demand, but enough demand to make some money. I was told, back in 2008, that Trevor and the band were what self-publishing was perfect for: a niche book aimed at a niche audience.

I was also told that it was 100% about my subject and zero% a reflection of my writing skill and talent.

But… knowing that Nancy felt as she did, I tried to keep my world under her radar. I didn’t want to set her off, get on her bad side. I mean, heck. Nancy is an important woman in the Pittsburgh writing community. She’s smart as the devil and can deconstruct a book’s structure in one reading. I respect Nancy. I LIKE Nancy.

So imagine my surprise when I wandered into the hospitality room and Nancy asked if I’d be joining the lunch for the Published Pennwriters. You have to meet certain criteria for the Published Penns, and although I’m about to put out my fourth book, I don’t meet those criteria. I pointed that out. She told me to come anyway — she said I had important things to say and she was hoping I would say them. About my choices in the publishing game.

I ate lunch with the non-published folk, because, after all, they’d already accounted for my lunch with that group and I do like them. Most of my good friends are among them. And then I intended to sneak into the Published Penns lunch and lurk in the back.

No go.

Nancy had me walk through the room and take her seat. At the front. So that, you know, the ENTIRE ROOM (full of well-published people, including the amazing Jonathan Maberry and the awesome CJ Lyons and the way cool Jacquelyn Mitchard, as well as agents! And editors!) saw me. They were doing introductions. Nancy saved me for third-to-last. The only people who introduced themselves after me were Susan Meier and Jonathan. Wow.

And yes, I introduced myself as shamelessly self-published. I told the story of how I wanted royalties for my birthday, so I published a short story that you guys bought. (It’s still for sale, if you missed out somehow. Same price and everything!)

What I think this means is that I’m done hiding. I don’t like to talk about myself as a self-published author; we should all just be authors and be done with it already. But I need to stop NOT talking about my books. I need to put it out there — heck, there are two copies of Trevor’s Song sitting in baskets, waiting to be won by a lucky raffle winner. And yes, there are tickets in the cups beside my baskets now, too!

Time to quit hiding. Time to stop expecting to be attacked for taking an unpopular path (and how rock and roll is that? Taking the unpopular path?).

Hi. I’m Susan Helene Gottfried. I’ve got three books in print and a short story that’s available only as an e-book. And there’s another on the way, hopefully next month.

Isn’t it time you all joined the Trevolution?

It’s the big weekend for me — the Pennwriters conference. If you are new to the Hangout, know that you’ll wind up in comment moderation until I get home and can approve you. So go about and visit folk anyway — and if you GET visited, make sure you return that visit!

The hangout is, after all, about networking with some cool people.

Please follow these rules. Like Trevor, I loathe rules. But I do see the point of them from time to time. Here are some that made sense to me:
1. Leave a comment here, on this post. Say hello to me, tell me what you’re reading, what song you’re jamming to… You pick, just say SOMEthing! Leave your link (I can’t get Comment Luv to work regularly) to your blog.

2. Go visit the blog link in the comment above you. Tell them “I’m from West of Mars” and hopefully something nice about their post. Because, you know, the best way to make new friends is to actually read what they write.

3. When three people have left a comment since your last one, you may play again. If no one’s commented for two hours, you may play again. This is the ONLY time you may visit someone other than the person above you.

4. If you’re new here, your comment will go into moderation. I’m going to try to keep on top of that, but do check back to make sure no one missed you. If you were skipped, leave another comment — even if you break the three-person rule.

5. Be nice. Have fun. Make new friends — that’s what this is all about. And, of course, I operate on the Commutative Principle of Friendships, whereby any friend of yours is a friend of mine. Which means anyone and everyone is welcome to play.

6. Game ends Sunday night, even if I post something again in the meantime. I doubt I will, but sometimes, the conference needs to be blogged about as it happens. Or as close to “as it happens” as you can get when you’re commuting from home — and leaving the laptop at home, as well.

Okay, then. Have at it! Hang out!

Man, that blog post title sounds like something you’d see in my fiction, doesn’t it? Believe me, I played with the idea of what Mitchell would do if he screwed up his own lyrics. It wouldn’t be pretty; he’s awfully hard on himself.

So. What’s this First Verse Fuck Up all about?

It ain’t a new band I’ve created here — although that’d be a great band name. Nope.

Over the weekend, I stopped in to visit author Tim Ellis. Because I’m talking — again — about how music influence my writing, he prettified the post with some videos. He’s got some Black Sabbath (yum!) and Zeppelin (Classic!) and … at the end of the post, an awesome version of Metallica doing Fade to Black live.

I’ve never seen this version and I have to admit, the musical intro almost moved me to tears. Maybe it was my mood. I don’t know. I don’t even know which show it’s from (although it’s clearly post-2001, as Robert’s playing bass). All I know is that it hit a chord (ha) and … then James started singing.

I’ve heard him joke about skipping the second and fourth verses in his own songs, but I’ve never heard him say ANYthing about flubbing the first verse so spectacularly.

Go check out what *I* had to say (author and rocker Jeremy Wagner agreed about The Blue One and The Red One, he Tweeted to me), and then this version of Fade to Black. Let me know what you think about my hero fucking up his own first verse.

Note from Susan: If you’re looking for the Weekend Hangout, you’re on the right blog, wrong post. If you’re here to check out my Friday Flash, Three Word Wednesday, or fiction in general, you’ve hit the right blog, right post. Have fun.

“Grace?” Trevor said. He looked the girl over; she was too skinny to be considered thin, and was more jittery than a coke addict who’d just gotten all toked up. He couldn’t see her eyes; she was looking down, but she knew how to work those jeans, in a quiet, un-self-conscious way. It wasn’t enough.

“A woman named Grace ought to have some,” he said and walked away.

“Hey,” Mitchell said, his voice low but not concerned, “you’re passing?”

“I don’t do junkies,” Trevor said with a sniff.

Mitchell snorted, then wiped at the base of his nose with the back of his hand. It went horizontal, knuckles to wrist, and then disappeared into the front pocket of his jeans.

Trevor eyed him.

“Junkies. You’re sniffing. Oh, never mind.”

Trevor sniffed again. Just to prove the point.

He felt her hand on his wrist before he sensed she’d come near. Shit. Skinny, graceless, as jumpy as a junkie — and ghostlike.

This girl was not Trevor’s type. But here she was, grabbing at him, ready to protest that she did, indeed, have grace.

She got two words out before she tripped over something.

Trevor didn’t have a choice. He had to play the gentleman and stop her from falling, if only because she was trying to take him out on her way to the floor. He glanced down at her feet, hoping she’d tripped because it wasn’t easy to totter along in those heels his favorite girls wore. Then again, he hung out with strippers. They knew how to work a pair of heels.

Graceful, here, was wearing flat boots. Not even the clunky type that were easy to trip over. Nope. They were dainty, delicate.

Like a girl named Grace ought to be.

“I don’t want…” She blushed. Trevor stared, fascinated. He’d seen all sorts of shit by this point in his life, but girls who looked at him and blushed were a novelty.

“Well… I don’t want that.”

“That?” Trevor folded his arms over his chest, the same way he expected Mitchell had. Mitchell was behind him, out of sight. It was only this ugly duckling mis-named Grace who had the front row.

Her blush deepened. “Yeah. That. You know. What most girls want from you.”

Trevor smiled. She’d managed to say probably the only thing that would save her from an immediate ejection from his personal space. “You’re not most girls?” he asked.

“Not that type,” she said and finally met his eyes. Hers were green, a bright emerald green. And holy shit, but if she gained some confidence and grew into her name, she’d be one of those chicks every man on the planet lusted after. He watched a backbone steel itself somewhere deep inside her. “I don’t even want to be. Not really. I just want to be…”

She broke their gaze and looked away. Her hands scrubbed her sides, looking for pockets.

“You want to be my steady girl? The one above all others? The one I call when it’s late and I’m bored and lonely?” Shit, how many times had he heard this song and dance?

“Cool,” she said, and this time, there was even more backbone in her eyes.

Trevor knew what this was costing her. He nodded. “C’mon, then. But here’s your first lesson. Cool? Comes from inside. From wherever it is you found the balls to tell me what you’re after, here. It’s there. You just need to let it out.”

Her eyes had stuck themselves to him. If they could have come out of her head and physically picked a spot where they’d live forever and ever, amen, they would have. For the first time, he got what it meant to have someone hang on his every word.

He put his arm around her. “Come with me, little Graceful.” He lifted his face to the ceiling and let out a delighted cackle. “Uncle Trevor here’s got a thing or two to teach you.”