I hadn’t expected the spotlight on the Featured New Book to be dark today. Last week’s post prompted four replies… from four great authors whose book (or books) I’d love to feature, only… they didn’t follow the rules. Each of the four sent me an e-mail asking how to do it.

I sent them the same link that was in the post.

This link.

(I have yet to hear from any of the four, which is why you’re not meeting them and their books today. Weird, huh?)

It really is okay if the first contact you have with me is to send me the information I need for the Featured New Book. I know: others might consider it rude, but the information’s right there on the site for a reason. Use it.

I hope many of my author friends will take me up on this — and spread the word.

Really. It’s super if you send me an e-mail that starts, “Hi, Susan. Saw the Featured New Release and here’s my answer to the Famed One Question Interview…”

Most of you haven’t met Vanessa Kontempt yet. You still won’t; a train wreck like her is going to be hard to write. But here’s a member of her entourage, someone new on these pages.

The room looked like someone had gone on a rampage. In fact, someone had. Three someones, to be specific.

Fuelled by too much alcohol, too many groupies, a heaping mound of cocaine, and a morbid desire to be the next to die at age 27, Vanessa Kontempt had been the one who’d started it.

As usual.

Freddy and Lurch had joined in, as usual, and now here was Adrian, left to pick up the pieces, smooth the ruffled feathers, and fix everything. As usual.

“I thought it was the tour manager they called the asshole,” he muttered as he took in the damage. He held his breath, waiting for a light bulb to fall out of its socket or something, but it seemed it was all over. Damage done. Vanessa, Freddy, and Lurch had been rolled out to the bus and Stiffy was holding court to make sure they wouldn’t get off the bus and wreck something else.

They’d warned him before he took the tour. It wasn’t going to be easy, and it wasn’t going to be pretty, and that’s why they were offering the extra hazard pay. That hazard pay… it wasn’t enough. Not really. Not for having someone like Vanessa in his life on a daily basis.

Adrian ran a hand over his bald head, loving the smoothness. He should have known when he’d shaved that morning that this would happen. Vanessa always had to wreck his good moods. He swore it was some special talent she had. Like she’d come poke around, realize he was in a good mood, and get to work on how to ruin it.

“You the one I gotta dick with?” the in-house guy asked. He was maybe thirty, but he was wider than he was tall. His breath rasped even when he wasn’t talking, and every word was a wheeze. Adrian had spent the day making everyone else deal with this guy.

Yet more karma biting him on the ass.

Karma, Adrian decided, wasn’t just a motherfucker. It was a sisterfucker, a daughterfucker, a sonfucker, and a fatherfucker. All rolled into one.

“Yes,” he sighed and stared the guy down. Truth be told, he looked like a wonton.

Adrian decided karma was even worse than he’d imagined. Until that moment, he used to jones for Chinese food.

“Let’s not make this so bad,” the wonton wheezed. “Your divas wrecked a table, the couch, and five chairs. We gotta wash down the walls and clean the carpets.”

“Show me the receipt from the last time the carpets were washed,” Adrian said, his hand rasping against his stubble. Bald head, stubbly cheeks. It spoke for him.

The wonton shifted, a cumbersome prospect at best. “Now, I don’t think we need to be that particular.”

Adrian crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head. He’d picked up that move from the movies, but it hadn’t failed him yet. “I do. Cough it up.”

The wonton held out his hand, trying to stall the tour manager. “Now, now, I thought we weren’t gonna make it so bad.”

“You show me proof that the carpet was cleaned in the past month, and I’ll add it to the bill.” Adrian didn’t change his position.

The wonton licked his lips. “Well, now, we got us a problem. Your divas went and poured a Red Bull across the floor in the hopes of turnin’ it into a ant parade.”

“Red Bull?” Adrian raised an eyebrow. “Where’d that come from? There aren’t any energy drinks anywhere in our rider.”

“Maybe it was a Coke.”

“Maybe you’re blowing air up my ass in the hopes I’ll cave and let you pull one over on us. But Vanessa’s management’s paying me so that won’t happen, and since they’re the ones paying my salary, you can take your Red Bull and shove it where the sun don’t shine. If you can get your fat arms that far around your own body.”

The wonton’s wheeze got louder and his doughy face turned red. “There’s no need to get personal.”

Adrian leaned closer, getting down to the wonton’s eye level. “I haven’t even started to get personal yet.” He grinned. “Want me to?”

That did it. The wonton licked his lips again. The red drained out of his face, leaving it whiter than the cocaine had been.

“The table, the couch, and five chairs,” Adrian said. “By my count, we’re talking seven hundred.” He took a step closer to the wonton and held his breath. Someone had forgotten to stick the leftovers in the refrigerator, and it was ripe.

“Nine,” the wonton wheezed.

“Seven.”

“Eight fifty.”

“Seven.”

“Eight twenty-five.”

“Ever feel like a broken record? Seven.”

“Eight?”

Adrian hardened his face.

“Seven fifty?”

He ran a hand over his stubble again, making it rasp.

“Seven,” the wonton said with a wheeze that might have been a sigh. “But you have to leave Dodge within half an hour.”

“We’ll be gone as soon as I set foot on the bus.”

The wonton counted out the cash. The full amount, and then he very deliberately counted seven hundred back. “You won’t even miss it,” he wheeze-grumbled.

Adrian grinned at him, his special grin. The one he saved for when he was proving that tour managers were assholes. “The only thing you’ll miss is having to pay the poor schlub who’s gotta drag the next beat-up couch out of the storage closet. The red one’ll look great in here.”

The wonton’s wheeze was more of a gasp and for a second there, the guy looked more like a fish two minutes out of water than a wonton. “What–? How–?”

“I been around, dumbshit.”

Adrian folded the cash and tucked the wad into his bag. Shaking his head, he turned and left the production office for the bus.

“Adrian,” Vanessa said when he got on. “Think we can find some Chinese food before we hit the highway? I’ve got a craving for some…” She bit her lower lip, her eyes darting back and forth. For a second there, she looked cute. Vulnerable.

“Wonton soup?” he asked tiredly.

“Hot and sour,” she said thoughtfully.

“Hot and sour, it is.”

This was a Three Word Wednesday post. Be sure to stop in and see what else is happening in this cool community.

I did this last time I had a readalong — I absolutely devoured the book.

On the one hand, this is good. I’m picking good stuff right now (although the streak’s got to end at some point. Hopefully not soon, though).

On the other, are you guys able to get the book? Are you really reading along? Or am I totally outpacing you?

Go here for my review.

I can’t feature your new book if you don’t send me any information about it…

Spread the word. The definition of new doesn’t have to be exact… I’ve featured books that have been out a few months.

In the meantime, remember that a few words about any book you read at B&N, GoodReads, Smashwords, or wherever you can are always a great help to an author, big or small!

Here’s the link for the Featured New Book rules.

I keep thinking I’m done writing flash featuring the extended cast of the Trevolution, but then something like this comes out.

It was a joke. It was supposed to be an easy joke, the kind that didn’t backfire and embarrass the mastermind. But a joke. Nothing more.

The idea of stealing the other school’s mascot had been done to death back in the 1950s. Back in the days when the school mascot was an actual animal and not a fuzzy suit worn by the guy who thought being a cheerleader was the best way to get girls. Besides, they’d have to pay for any destruction done to the mascot, and making amends like that wasn’t Kerri’s style.

Kerri didn’t know how her planning had overlooked him. She had grabbed her usual accomplices, and even snared the head lunch lady into helping out. Soon, the entire cafeteria staff was involved. They should have thought to work together to make sure this didn’t happen.

The plan was simple: take the day’s allotment of mashed potatoes and, once they were cooked or stirred or whatever the lunch ladies did to make them that perfectly paste-textured mess, Deke would turn it into a sculpture of the rival school’s mascot. He was always bragging he was a better artist than Kerri. This would be his chance to show the entire school. Until their classmates got set loose.

Deke didn’t know it, but those individually-wrapped pats of butter, set on cardboard and with the wax paper over top, were in position to be fired at the sculpture rather than the ceiling. Total destruction.

Deke might not have forgiven her, but at least the matter would be settled. No matter how bad the entire high school hated the Vikings, they’d never fire the butter pats at a sculpture Kerri had made.

It should have been perfect. It started out that way. The lunch ladies cooked. Deke sculpted. Kerri snuck out of class on a bathroom pass and gave it a thumbs up, especially when she stuck a finger in the butter pats and found them the exact right temperature for sticking to what they were thrown at.

And then Fat Douglas walked into the cafeteria.

Kerri got lucky; she was there to see it. To stare in horror as Fat Douglas—who’d earned his name because he ate so much, by rights, he ought to be the fattest person on the planet—took a spoon and dug in.

He started with the Viking’s right horn.

Three spoonfuls in, Deke finally noticed him. “That’s art, you motherfucking loser!” He launched himself at Fat Douglas, who was the skinniest kid in the school, except for maybe Amy the gymnast, who was determined to not-eat herself to death.

Fat Douglas’s spoon went flying. So did Deke and Fatty, right under the table nearest the stage. A dull thud told Kerri they’d just rolled into the edge of the stage.

From her vantage point, it looked like Deke and Fat Douglas both gave as good as they were getting. That surprised Kerri; she hadn’t expected either of them to have the first clue how to throw a punch.

The bell rang, and students entered the cafeteria. People paused when they saw the statue. They cheered when they saw Kerri—and then they ran over to Deke and Fat Douglas and egged them on.

Kerri wasn’t sure how long it went on or who ran for the principal, but he waded in and broke up the fight.

“You’re coming, too, Broadhurst,” he said as he escorted Deke and Fat Douglas out of the cafeteria to a very loud Bronx cheer. “Don’t think I don’t know any better.”

Kerri shrugged and followed them to the principal’s office. It wasn’t the first time she’d been summoned.

The principal sat Fat Douglas and Deke in opposite corners, then pulled out a chair for Kerri. He set it perfectly in the middle of the two boys—and directly across from his seat. Which he sat in and pulled up more closely to his desk. Leaning his forearms on the top surface, he leaned forward and fixed Kerri with a glare.

“I have one question,” he said in a deadly voice.

Kerri licked her lips, not sure where this was going.

The principal turned to Fat Douglas. Out of the corner of her eye, Kerri watched the color drain out of the kid’s face. She almost fell sorry for him. Almost. Taking a bite out of Deke’s sculpture hadn’t been particularly smart.

“How’d it taste?”

Fat Douglas broke into a smile, even though the look on the principal’s face was enough to melt the mashed potato sculpture. “It needed salt.”

This was a Three Word Wednesday post. Be sure to stop in and see what other cool stuff was created this week.

A number of years ago, I signed my book club up for every publisher and agent and other group who was taking book club registrations. I was, as always, upfront with our focus: Jewish Lit.

I got a few suggestions for books. I got a lot of postcards from people who’d just snag my name and not bother to look at what our group is all about. I even got a few books.

And then… silence. For years.

A few weeks ago, Kensington Press was kind enough to send me two books: Scrapped and Chihuahua Confidential (written by Mollie Cox Bryan and Waverly Curtis, respectively).

Hmm, I thought. They look cute, but they’re not Jewish-themed. We’ll read cute, so long as it’s Jewish-themed. That’s our thing. Jewish lit.

Kensington was kind enough to send me a catalog of their other upcoming cozy mysteries, and it features a work of Jewish lit. From Herring to Eternity, by Delia Rosen. It looks like it’s part of a series, and we prefer to read series in order — which isn’t a problem, except the setting is what makes this Jewish-themed. That means it’s not a Jewish-themed series. Possible strike out, right there. It’s not due out until August, so I’ll discuss it with my group, but I’m not optimistic.

Well, thanks for the thought, I told myself. It was nice of them to send me two books.

This week, I picked up an advance copy of Joanne Fluke’s new Hannah Swensen Mystery, Red Velvet Cupcake Murder.

Still not Jewish-themed.

I’m still appreciating the thought.

If you know of any Jewish Lit not already on our book club page (did you even know that was there? I bet not!), throw the titles my way. I’ve been so busy lately, I haven’t been able to keep up with the search.

Welcome Back!

Today, we have a review on a book that I did not really like.

Well, let’s get going.

Revolver by Marcus Sedgwick
D: out of 😀 (1/5)
A LOADED GUN. STOLEN GOLD. And a menacing stranger. A taut frontier survivor story, set at the time of the Alaska gold rush.

In an isolated cabin, fourteen-year-old Sig is alone with a corpse: his father, who has fallen through the ice and frozen to death only hours earlier. Then comes a stranger claiming that Sig’s father owes him a share of a horde of stolen gold. Sig’s only protection is a loaded Colt revolver hidden in the cabin’s storeroom. The question is, will Sig use the gun, and why?

I hated this book so much, I won’t be writing my own description

This book was HORRENDOUS! I would not recommend reading this unless you like books where nothing happens! Revolver was all exposition, and the end rushed up in you. The best part was the end, because the stand-off FINALLY ends! So I was relieved to get the book away. And this is VERY unusual with me. Some like the book, but I didn’t, and Revolver bored me to death. So I do NOT recommend this book.

Well, Until I have another, better book, (which will be next week), I’ll be signing off.

Your friend at TBR

Susan Taylor came to me for editing help. Before we could blink, she had the book under contract!

The only sad part about this story is that I didn’t get to work with her more.

Read on, MacDuff!

Song: Snow Patrol, Lifeboats – A Hundred Million Suns

I actually found this song after Secret Desire was contracted but it couldn’t be more perfect. From the super lyrical quality of writing and sensual feel of the melody, it’s almost like having warm caramel poured over…well you pick a body part.

Lifeboats speaks about dreams and waking to take action, between singer and lover. “Flashed up in my wildest dreams, like red blood streams, stretch out like vast cracked ice.” Claire’s imagination, thoughts, and dreams are bombarded by images of her lost love, Dustin Murray. Images she can’t control. She and Dustin were in love since childhood. Their veins are like great forest trees. Those types of roots forge personalities and life choices.

Secret Desire opens with Claire writing an erotic story alone inside her apartment in Seattle. The kitchen setting is cold, damp, angular. The line from Lifeboats: “Silence eats us from the inside” is pinnacle to the Claire’s Elizabeth Kubler Ross avoidance to conflict. She ran away from love that keeps her pinned, spinning, and fantasizing, and she can’t move forward or back. Her parents are killed, forcing her to deal with her life.

“Wake up wake up dreaming only leads to more and more nightmares” is a great line that frames Claire’s life. It’s exactly what she does as a writer and lover. She succumbs to a man who is the exact opposite of the hero in her stories only making her feel more lost and alone. The proverbial nail in the coffin scene.

“I meant no harm but I only get to say these words too late” speaks the lie existing between Claire and her lost love, Dustin. Backstory or the past inciting incident, occurs when Dustin was tricked by Fran, Claire’s identical twin sister. Fran is competitive to the ninth degree. Dustin tried to enlist her help in gaining Claire’s affection in high school. Unwittingly he threw down a gauntlet, provoking Fran into proving her twin sister was nothing special. This wedge became the reason why Claire left for California to get away from life back home in Mill Spring, NC. But as we know, fleeing trouble never works. Our luggage just becomes heavier as we travel.

“Snap out of it you said it in a way that showed you really cared.” This line speaks to the point when Dustin decides since Fran is coming back to assist Claire with the estate of their parents, he’d better tell Claire the truth of what happened. And he does without sugar coating what type of sister Fran actually is to Claire. This becomes the moment when Claire and Dustin reconnect emotionally and physically.

“Send your lifeboats out for me” is the action required to rescue Claire. Dustin reaches out to her, finally divulging the truth about what happened before she left home. With the truth, Claire is freed from feeling lost in love and in life. She gains the strength to take hold of her life, letting go false expectations, and is ready to say, in essence, “I write erotica…” Her moment of reckoning on her character arc: this is who I am…take me or not.

Be sure you give this a listen, if you haven’t yet. It’s melodic and haunting, all at once.

And look! Susan made a playlist and video, just for the book. She loves music as much as I do, it seems.

Ready for the blurb? I am!

IF YOU PUBLISHED AN EROTIC NOVEL, WOULD YOU USE A PEN NAME OR NOT?
Claire Robertson is a journalist living a vanilla life. Except when she’s alone at night where she wields her writer whip and stilettos within her erotic writing and fantasies. Tragedy blindly strikes when her parents are killed, forcing Claire to return to her hometown, and confront her past. And that past includes Dustin Murray, an old flame she ran away from when things became complicated.

Her life comes apart and she sends her editor the “wrong” story by mistake. One of her hot novels.

Amidst chaos, Claire must decide between returning to her safe life back in Seattle or risk an adventure, ensuring her smoxy fantasies come to life. Dustin has his own plans and isn’t about to let Claire go. Not when he proves he can handle her life and ALL her bedroom fantasies.

Love sparks, igniting the flame within Claire’s heart
forcing her to choose a life stuck on slow-bake or one that SIZZLES

WOW! Having been on the receiving end of the wrong manuscript, I can say it does happen, folks. This isn’t as far-fetched as you’d think.

Buy a copy!
AMAZON
ALL ROMANCE E-BOOKS
KOBO
BARNES & NOBLE

If you’ve never met Roadie Poet, definitely take a stroll through his archives. It won’t take you long to see why he’s got a cult following all his own.

There’s something drab about
Places like this.
They’re all the same.
Generic.

This is what it looks like
when you’re
a roadie.

The color’s on the outside,
where the paying people sit.

Not here,
where the employees go.

Don’t matter if they’re athletes
musicians,
or roadies.

In the end,
we’re the paid help.
Nothing more.

Not even
the reason
for places like this.

As drab,
generic,
and boring
as they are
back here.

Backstage.

But later,
Oh, later,
this entire building
and every person in it
will pulsate
with the music.

Every rafter,
every tendril of light
that escapes the drapes
we’ll hang
will throb.

Pulsate.
Throb.
Rock.

This is what it will mean
to rock the house.

And it won’t matter
that when you look away
from the stage,
all you’ll see
will be
drab
compared to the
magic
we’re creating.

For you,
the paying people.
Who never get to see
how drab
our existence
sometimes
is.

This was a Three Word Wednesday post. Stop in and see what others have come up with.

I have more than enough to read. I really do.

So what was I doing in the library, letting my eye get caught by a book called Heavy Metal and You?

Well, trying to avoid exactly that problem, to be honest. I’ve still got books other authors have sent me, I started a book when I was between reviews for The World’s Toughest Book Critics that I’ve yet to finish, and TWTBC must like me enough that I got this current assignment an entire week before the last one was due. In other words: they’re filling my reading time, all by themselves, and all the other books around here continue to lie in wait for me.

But… how do you walk away from a book called Heavy Metal and You? Especially when a line in the acknowledgements reads: Special thanks to Tom, Jeff, Dave, and Paul, for being Slayer. (However, we won’t stop to ask why founding member Kerry King didn’t get a thanks but Paul Bostaph, who tends to play with them when Dave isn’t, did.)

The author is Christopher Krovatin, and he’s written some other things since Heavy Metal and You, settling into the horror genre after this stint in YA. The publication date is 2005, which feels old by today’s standard of immediacy. And the publisher? Push, a division of Scholastic.

So… go pick up a copy and read along! Leave your comments here or on the West of Mars Fans page over at Facebook.

Hey everyone:

I have a pretty good not-so-new book that I read a while back.

Lets get into my review.

Montmorency by Eleanor Updale
:/ out of 😀 (3/5)
When a petty thief falls through a glass roof trying to escape from the police, what should have been the death of him marks the beginning of a whole new life. He soon becomes the most elusive burglar in Victorian London, adopting a dual existence as both a respectable, wealthy gentleman named Montmorency, and his degenerate servant Scarper.

When a unknown thief botches up a job badly, he falls through a glass roof and is unrecognizable until a young Doctor takes it as a personal challenge to fix the man, named Montmorency by the prison guards.

When Montmorency is finally let out, he is forced to lead a double life, as to avoid being caught. There is Montmorency, the gentleman; and Scarper, is low-life, thieving, lying manservant. Together, many an adventure is had, until a friend poses Scarper with his biggest challenge yet.

Montmorency was an OK book. The story sort of dwindled, as though the author lost interest, and so the book ended without an ending. It was sort of pathetic. Although, the idea was good, and the dual-life storyline great, but,the book still crashed and burned. This is the first in a series, with the full title of this book being Montmorency: Thief, Liar, Gentleman?

SO, I hereby decree that this review has been sufficiently looked into, and I now pronounce this review CLOSED!

See you next time,

Your friend at TBR

Just when I think the well is going dry for these Featured New Book spotlights, you guys come through for me. Keep it coming!

Today’s guest and spotlight savior is ML Roble, a woman whose kindness and upbeat personality shine through the e-mails we’ve exchanged. I hope this is the start of a good friendship.

Her book is called The Magician’s Doll. And the song that makes her think of it?

I’ll let her tell you, herself.

One Safe Place by Marc Cohn. I’m partial to his live versions, but any one of them will do.

When looking for a song, I thought I should try to find something magical, whimsical and Disneyesque since The Magician’s Doll is a children’s novel, but somehow One Safe Place by Marc Cohn grabbed me. The lyrics capture a major force driving my main character, Natalie; her journey is one of feeling safe, both outside and in.

“Will you make a smoother landing
When you break your fall from grace
Into the arms of understanding
Looking for one safe place.”

Natalie feels her powers represent a fall from grace, and the people around her, especially her mother, try to help minimize her fear and help her understand that there is good in what she has and in who she is.

“Life is trial by fire
And love’s the sweetest taste
And I pray it lifts us higher
To one safe place.”

Natalie resists her abilities as the experiencing of them can be frightening, but it’s her love for the people around her that brings out her best and helps her come into her own against the forces coming for them.

“How many roads we’ve traveled
How many dreams we’ve chased
Across sand and sky and gravel
Looking for one safe place.”

There will be more journeys for Natalie and those she loves before they are truly free of the forces in pursuit.

Wow, huh? I love how you guys are able to relate your books to one song so well.

Now, for the book blurb:

“They are stronger. They are coming. They will arrive!”

Life is hard enough for twelve-year-old Natalie whenever her mother opens shop as a psychic.

But when Natalie herself starts to “see” things, it gets even harder.

Now she has to deal with losing control of her mind and body when information she does not seek comes to find her. Now people won’t stop asking her questions when all she wants to do is bury her head in the sand and pretend she has a normal life.

But then a big top circus rolls into town bringing with it Beausoleil the Magician, his daughter, Louisa, and his mysterious doll. Strange things are afoot with Beausoleil and his ilk, and in their wake, an eerie storm is brewing. Soon Natalie must decide whether to keep her head in the sand or whether to embrace her abilities and face the growing threat that will change her world forever.

Ooh, I like; it’s a neat twist on the paranormal.

Go pick up a copy for yourself!
Smashwords (this is an affiliate link)

Amazon Kindle

Barnes and Noble Nook

An Excerpt from The Magician’s Doll

My Goodreads page

My Facebook page

You’d think a book about the Beatles would have to be Rock Fiction, right?

So did I.

Until I sat down and started reading Alan Goldsher’s Paul is Dead. There’s nothing Rock Fiction about this book. In fact, what started out as amusing quickly turned annoying. Yeah, it was funny to see Mick Jagger as such a putz, even though I am rather fond of Mick.

It was too one-joke and not enough… well, anything else.

So… no to Paul is Dead as Rock Fiction. And no to it as being a book I even finished.

Hey everyone! First blog post, more coming your way. So let’s get started.

Wildwood
Colin Meloy
:)(4) out of 😀 (5)

Prue McKeel’s life is ordinary. At least until her brother is abducted by a murder of crows and taken to the Impassable Wilderness, a dense, tangled forest on the edge of Portland. No one’s ever gone in—or at least returned to tell of it.
So begins an adventure that will take Prue and her friend Curtis deep into the Impassable Wilderness. There they uncover a secret world in the midst of violent upheaval—a world full of warring creatures, peaceable mystics, and powerful figures with the darkest intentions. And what begins as a rescue mission becomes something much greater, as the two friends find themselves entwined in a struggle for the very freedom of this wilderness. A wilderness the locals call Wildwood.

After Prue McKeel’s baby brother Mac is abducted by a murder of crows, Prue decides to follow them into what she knows as the impassable wilderness, and she was warned NEVER to go there. After her friend Curtis tails her in, while narrowly missing a train, they are quickly split up and taken into towns with two opposing parties. After many a startling discovery is made, Prue realizes Mac and Curtis are both in a predicament that will pose a problem for them to all make it out alive.

I personally liked this book, having read it three times. The book has a great and captivating storyline, with many different twists and turns, making it necessary to read many parts again to fully grasp the depth. There are pictures in the book, but they mostly look like a pro artist just doodled whatever he thought would go well with the content. The book is suitable for all ages, but can be slightly dark at times. The sequel is out and my thoughts on that will be out soon. See you next time!

-Your Friend at TBR

After a holiday hiatus, the Featured New Book spotlight is back in action! (I had to give the spotlight operator time off. Union rules. Plus, he was going to tell Roadie Poet about what a hardass I am. Hello? One day of work a week? Spotlight operators should have it so good!)

Today’s guest is the lovely Julia McDermott, whose new book, Make That Deux, sounds simply delightful. But before we get to the book, here’s the song behind it.

The song that makes me think of my book is LOVE AND AFFECTION by Joan Armatrading, recorded live in 1976:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r4eZ1DP__yY

MAKE THAT DEUX is the story of Jenny Miles, who spends her junior year of college studying in the south of France in the late 1970s. Jenny leaves behind her boyfriend Phil in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, where the two met and became a couple almost a year before the novel’s opening. Jenny has studied French for years and is ecstatic to be able to realize her dream of participating in UNC’s new year-abroad program, and to see Europe. But she’s anxious and uneasy about being separated from the person with whom she’s been madly in love for many months.

Phil and Jenny manage their long-distance relationship via handwritten letters and a few very expensive phone calls, and Phil plans to come see Jenny over the winter holiday break. But in the fall, when unexplained issues force Phil to renege on his promise to visit, Jenny begins to suspect his feelings for her. Later, an accidental incident fuels Jenny’s doubts about their relationship and whether they are meant to be. Then, as her friendship with French-speaking (but not French) Lucas develops in romance, Jenny is forced to make some decisions.

The novel has three parts, and Part 3 is entitled OPEN TO PERSUASION, taken from the beginning lines in Armatrading’s song:

“I am not in love
But I’m open to persuasion
East or West
Where’s the best
For romancing”

Here are a few lines from Part 3:

“…I left and trudged back to the room. I unlocked the door like a cat burglar while Trish slept soundly. Good. I changed clothes and softly crawled into bed. What a day it had been. Maybe it was for the best that tonight had turned out like it had…
Love and affection, that was what I wanted. With someone. I just wasn’t sure with who anymore.”

Joan Armatrading! Who’d have thought such a classic would grace THESE pages?

Believe me, I’m not arguing.

Here’s the book blurb:

Three American college girls living in an apartment on the Mediterranean. Two boyfriends back home. “The One” (and only), if it’s “meant to be” — whatever that means!

Jenny Miles has three goals: to speak French like a native, to travel all over Europe, and to have a blast. Meanwhile, two men compete for her attention and amour, ici et là. C’est compliqué!
Take 10 months. Add 2 (surprise) transatlantic flights, 2 Greek isles, 1 moped (une mobylette) and beaucoup de lettres! Subtract 1 phone, 1 promise to be faithful, and 1 bikini top. La solution?

Make that…a year that Jenny will never forget.

Ready to go buy? (Why not???)
Amazon paperback

Kindle

Barnes and Noble

iBooks

Smashwords (note that this IS an affiliate link, please and thank you!)

Since I’ve spent the past few months being booked out a couple of months, it seems it’s time to be a little more exclusive…

That’s a polite way to say my editing rates are going up.

For projects BOOKED after March 1, the rates will look like this:

Content editing (looking at plot, pacing, characterization, tension; etc. The big picture)
$.011 (or, $2.75 per 250 words)

Line editing (looking at your language and your sentences. Do they match the voice? How’s your word choice? Can you reword something for better meaning?)
$.008 (or, $2 per 250 words)

Proofreading/copy editing (sticking straight to mechanics — are words used correctly? How’s the punctuation?)
$.005 (or, $1.25 per 250 words)

As always, booking me for a content edit will give me the freedom to work on line editing and proof work — although as always, if you make revisions I haven’t seen (and you should!), look into having a final proofread right before you hit that submit button. Be that for an agent, an acquiring editor, or on the self-published side. Strive to put your best out there — and remember I’m here to help you get there.

Proving once again that West of Mars is about more than just a simple author’s site, I’m introducing a new blogger here at the Meet and Greet. You guys are going to LOVE him, I know.

But, then, I’m biased. Our new blogging voice belongs to my one and only son, The Boy Band, as I’ve called him around here since I began blogging. He’s renamed himself, though, and while I’ll still call him The Boy Band, when he’s in blogger mode, he’s got a new persona: Teen Boy.

That’s because when he’s in the spotlight, his feature will be called Teen Boy Reads.

It was a simple thing, really: the kid reads more than I do. He devours books. And when I saw a call, be it on Twitter, Facebook, or a blog, for people who were curious to know what teen boys are reading, I asked if he wanted to blog. He could be a voice for teen boys.

Starting next week, and hopefully running every Tuesday, the Teen Boy will drop in to tell us all about what he’s reading. We’ll be working up a book review policy and all that fun stuff, but for now, he’s said he prefers not to be solicited to write reviews. He wants to read what he wants to read, when he wants to read it.

He’s a teen boy. I don’t blame him.

If you’ve got a book that you think will appeal to him, please keep that in mind. You’re better off to contact me, Susan, for a Featured New Book spotlight and get your exposure at West of Mars that way.

Author David Biddle got a hold of me. He’s written a work of Rock Fiction, and he wanted me to review it.

But… I am horribly behind with my reviews that aren’t for The World’s Toughest Book Critics. So I said no, but that he was, as usual, more than willing to step into the Featured New Book Spotlight for a week.

Well, you guys know how swamped I’ve been with the editing. Maybe you’ve even been one of the people who’s lately been asking me for expanded services. So conversation with David has been slow. And then the holidays hit, and who wants to be posted during the holidays? And then, my feed went down, so I held off again…

That brings us to today. So… because I’ve taken up WAY too much of your precious time already with my saga, let’s get to David.

Hey, David! What song makes you think of your book?

Beyond the Will of God is a rather unique, highly psychedelic novel about the mysteries of loud guitar music and altered states of consciousness. Years ago, after an all-night state of wonder (hopefully you know what that means), I flashed on the notion that our great deceased entertainers, particularly musicians like Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, and Jim Morrison, could possibly still connect to us through their music. I was 17. It was 1975. I was a crazy kid. 25 years later I completed Beyond the Will of God: A Jill Simpson Mystery. It was finally published this year.

The story is chock full of references to every kind of music — from Elvis’ first hit “That’s All Right” and Jeff Buckley’s “Last Goodbye,” to The Doors’ “Riders on the Storm,” the Grateful Dead’s “Playing in the Band,” and Sun Ra’s improvisational jamming Arkestra. But one song rides high over all the others — Jimi Hendrix’s “1983 … (A Merman I Should Turn to Be).” That’s the song that got me so riled up with this notion of musical mystery. It’s a long (nearly 14 minutes), nutty composition that Hendrix described as science fiction poetry. He worked harder on this single piece than all the others on his defining album Electric Ladyland.

At one point, just before a crazy, beautiful, super over-dubbed guitar solo, he sings: “Anyway, you know good and well/It would be beyond the will of God/And the grace of the king…”

Now, I’m not a very religious person (though I do think about spiritual stuff all the time), but that phrase “beyond the will of God” just smacked me upside the head. To me, it said all there needs to be said about why people seek altered states of consciousness.

And the song … well, the song is still an anthem about those wild days of running free. Jimi played all the instruments on it. He was as unbridled and infinite with his vision of the possibilities of music as anyone has ever been. Had he lived, I’m sure he would have gone even further off into that realm. It’s a beautiful and rarefied realm. He had definitely gone beyond the will of God. And he made it possible for me to do the same with my story years later.

Partial lyrics from “1983 …”

Well it’s too bad that our friends can’t be with us today
Well it’s too bad
The machine that we built
Would never save us that’s what they say
That’s why they ain’t comin’ with us today
And they also said it’s impossible
For a man to live and breathe undrerwater
Forever was a main complaint
Yeah and they also threw this in my face they said
Anyway you know good and well
It would be beyond the will of god
And the grace of the king
Grace of the king
Yeah

For the full set of lyrics, go here.

Song on YouTube (this is, ironically, one of those pieces of work that Hendrix would never do live)

Ready for the book blurb?? I sure am!

If you’re looking for something different to read this year, Beyond the Will of God is a mystery/thriller that goes completely off the grid. As much as it begins with a murder, the story ultimately points at secrets to many of the unresolved conspiracies people have wondered about for years.

Police detective Jill Simpson is investigating the murder of an Amish teenager outside of Columbia, Missouri. Tabloid reporter Frank Harris has been sent into the heartlands to interview a clairvoyant who claims she is having an affair with Elvis. As these two work first separately and then as a team, the storyline twists and turns to include bigger questions that will change their lives forever.

Beyond the Will of God is a cross between a Tony Hillerman mystery, Ayn Rand’s “Atlas Shrugged” and Carlos Castaneda’s Yaqui Sorcerer series. It is serious yet playful, questioning and entertaining. You could call it a YA novel for Boomers. You could call it a paranormal fairy tale for refugees from another time. Or you could just call it weird, a bit sexy, and a good winter read.

Buy at Amazon

Buy at Barnes and Noble

Buy at IWriteReadandRate

So?

Okay, maybe you missed my initial post about the Rock Fiction Readalongs I’ll be doing, but it’s never too late to talk Rock Fiction.

I have to confess that I read David Hiltbrand’s Dying to be Famous in a few days, certainly much faster than I’d expected. Always a good thing — unless you were going to read along! I doubt some of you even had the book before I’d closed the back cover, only reasonably satisfied by the experience.

Here’s the link to my review of Dying to be Famous. Read it, and be sure to come back here and tell me what your own thoughts were.

If you know me, you know that I’m a huge hockey fan. I even used to be a player and a youth hockey coach.

You probably don’t know, unless you are another of my stalkers, that I love the blog written by the awesome Carmi Levy. He wrote a post about the end of the NHL lockout. But… he called us fans sheep. Said we’d return.

I tried to leave a comment over at his blog, but Blogger blogs that won’t let me sign in with my name and url often eat my comment after they refuse to let me sign in. And yes, like many of you, I have problems with WordPress blogs, too. And then we bloggers wonder why people don’t comment as much anymore!

But we’re talking about Carmi and his accusation that I’m a sheep.

I’m not a sheep. Sorry, love. Please don’t call me names; that’s a form of abuse and I’d rather not have to end our relationship over that.

Yes, I used to be a season ticket holder to an NHL team. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that team is the Penguins. The whys behind my no longer being a season ticket holder don’t belong here on the blog. Suffice it to say that with the lockout over, I’m sad again. Sad I won’t get to see the friends I’d made after so many years of sitting in the same seats. I don’t get invited to their parties in the summer, or their tailgates before games. Sad I won’t get to count 27 steps down to find my seats, and sad I won’t be able to mock-complain about how far away I had to go to find popcorn — and sad I won’t be able to appreciate being close to the bathrooms, even though they’re not as close as they’d been at the old Arena, when I’d been able to dart in and out of the bathroom in the time of a TV timeout.

Going to NHL games was, for me, about more than hockey. Those reasons — and more — were what would have kept me going to games now that the lockout’s ended. Those aren’t reasons that find me labelled a sheep, surely! They are my own reasons, personal and unique to me.

As I said, there’s more. It’s the reason WHY I love hockey and why I started going to games in the first place. It’s not because of a sheep-like reason: I don’t love it because everyone else does, or because I’m told to. I love it because I love the passion, the grit. Because I love being part of a game that sees a goaltender take a skate to the throat, have the gash stitched up on the bench, and go back and pull out the win as the new stitches continue to ooze. Only in hockey, and the toughness that the game has taught me has carried me through the past few years.

I love the sounds of skates on ice, so reminiscent of tearing paper. I love the barks the players make as they talk. Pucks on sticks. The ping of a puck ricocheting off the pipes of the goal. Bodies slamming into boards. Glass swaying.

I love the smells of hockey: the Zamboni, a sheet of freshly cut ice. I love the way my nose involuntarily wrinkles when I catch a whiff of gear in need of an airing out. I love the way that it takes more than one shower to get the stink of my gloves out of my palms.

I love the way a hot summer night feels against freshly-showered skin when I’d step out of the ice arena after a game. I love the way my gear bag would cut into my shoulder, the way it would settle onto its side when I dumped it in my trunk as if it was as tired as I was.

I love how it feels to catapult myself over the boards and land on 1/4-inch of steel blade attached to the bottom of my feet. Yep, that’s all that’s in contact with the ice. One quarter inch. I love the wind in my face as I gain speed, I love the way my legs slide out from under each other as I bend sharply, executing crossovers that, if I lose an edge, will send me sliding into the boards, where I’ll land with a thunk and a bark of my own laughter. I love the view through the bars on my face cage.

So, yeah, if I’m given the chance to go see the best of the best, the professional players who make up the NHL, I’ll take it if I can afford it. Watching them reminds me of what I love about the sport.

If that makes me a sheep, well… so be it. Sheer my wool off come spring and turn me into socks, I suppose.

Just be sure to give those socks to a pro so he can wear them under his skates and let me be part of the game again.