And then...

Most stories begin with a 'what if' idea. The author then proceeds in an orderly fashion to discover the answer to all the what ifs. Occasionally, something happens and the story wanders off (or heck, it even flees!) the track. Dragging a rebellious story back where is belongs isn't always worth the effort.

I think the rebel story is more interesting. I once had a notion to write a trilogy about three sisters who go to Camelot with their father in search of husbands. It was a valid idea. I chose names for the characters and began the story setup. By the end of the first page, I knew the story wasn't going to cooperate.

The characters blithely romped off in quest of adventure, new characters insisted on shoving their way onto the stage, and none of the sisters behaved like they were supposed to. One married the butler. Their father turned out to be a traitor. One of them ended up with Merlin as a father-in-law. There were dragons and trolls and unicorns.

Sigh.

Once I let it roll, I had a great deal of fun. Some of my most memorable characters strolled on the stage during the days of Flowers of Came-a-lot. Percival and Bart, the dragons. Robin Hood and his wife, Delphie. Peter and Dick, the firebird twins.

I sometimes wonder if we try too hard to fit in the acceptable mold instead of allowing ourselves to explore 'what if'? Maybe there's a reason the vast majority of books all sound alike. Why not see where the story goes when it runs away?

We might discover entirely new territory.

anny

Train Wreck

When a writer sets out to begin a story, they generally have some notion about plot and characters, if not exactly all the details. Of course, there are unexpected changes that crop up. But for the most part, the story proceeds along the original lines.

Until it doesn't.

Back in my early writing days, I planned a little trilogy. It wasn't anything exciting...three sisters who go to Camelot to find husbands among the Knights of the Round Table. On the whole, except for the historical aspects, the idea was pretty basic romance fluff.

I sat down at the computer to rough in the story with a little prologue. My thought was to use the prologue for each of the three stories to tie them together.

Uh-huh.

Well, that didn't work. The moment I set the characters on paper, they seized the story and ran with it. I never got that train back on the track despite my best efforts to wrestle it back in place. No...every time I thought I might have a way to regain control, a new character would pop up, seize a plot point and bat the entire story off in the woods or dunk it down to the dungeons.

Impossible.

Finally, I conceded. My simple idea turned into a wild romp through the halls of Camelot, peopled by offbeat characters and a cast of thousands. Dragons, fairies, firebirds, trolls...no oddity or weirdness was too much.

So that's my story and I'm sticking to it. The characters did it. In a cave. In the woods. In a pond. In the Abbey. Even in Sher Wood Forest. And so on.

Flowers of Camelot. Sexy strangeness galore. Chrysanthemum, Honeysuckle, Daffodil, Magnolia and Larkspur. Or if you prefer print, Carnal Camelot and Lust in Camelot. Available on Wednesday.

anny

Details, details...

Details. There are only so many story tropes. It's the details that make it your story--or mine. Every writer has a working style. Some do elaborate outlines as they work out the story details in their mind. Some just sit down and write and work out the details as they go along. And then there are the hybrids--the writers like me who start writing what I call a jumpstart, and keep going until the details start popping up.

When they (the details) start intruding on the writing experience, it's time to stop and work on the synopsis/outline and research how the details will influence the story.

 The series I'm currently working on has been called "Fractured Faerytales at King Arthur's Court". The heroine in this book, Gardenia, has acquired a cloak (she was cold) and a staff (a handy weapon) and a pair of boots (we won't discuss what happened to her old ones.) One of the heroes has acquired a scarlet cap and two bronze wristlets.

Suddenly, I realized my characters had all this great stuff. Shouldn't it do something? Let's see. What could the boots do. Well, my character has already decided they are Merlin's magic boots. How do they work? What faerytale/familiar story would magic boots represent?

Ahhhh. Research time. So far, I've accounted for the boots, cloak, staff and hat. I haven't run across a story for the wristlets. I'll persevere.

In the meantime, each item will serve to move the story along. Did I plan it? No. But this is not the first time my brain has apparently been percolating along on its own, just waiting for me to have that ah-hah moment. With the synopsis/outline thingy more or less complete, I'll dive back into the writing.

I seldom stick to the plan--at least not closely. But it provides a springboard for other ideas. And with the Flowers of Camelot, that's pretty much the best I can ask for.

anny

Revisiting the Vault

I'm working on a new Flowers of Camelot book--Gardenia. In the interest of smooth continuity in the series, I'm rereading the other Flower books (Chrysanthemum, Honeysuckle, Daffodil, Magnolia and Larkspur.) Like so many other authors, I rarely read my own work once it's published. It's hard enough keeping up with my to-be-read pile of other authors' books.

I'm rethinking that, though.

For months I've been in a funk, sinking in a morass of family emergencies, poor financial future prospects, and just plain discouragement about my writing. My fellow writers have been quick to support and encourage me, but that just didn't seem to provide the kickstart I needed.

Then I went to RomantiCon. For three days I wandered around, talking to fellow writers and editors. I won an award for one of my other series. I commiserated with other writers who are also sinking in their personal swamps of despair. I was both disheartened and encouraged when I realized I wasn't the only one struggling.

On the way home--an eight hour drive--I had plenty of time to mull things over. It was during that drive that the ideas came to me for two new Flower books (Gardenia and Azalea.) On Wednesday last week I started Gardenia. And immediately came to the conclusion I needed to reread the series as a refresher.

It's been an illuminating experience. There were many details I'd forgotten, of course. I have a note sheet full of scrawled bits and pieces I'll need to add to my new story.
But more importantly, I discovered something about myself.  

I can write.

Oh, there are things I would change if I was writing the stories now. Technical issues. I used the word that a lot. And in noticing the word, it occurred to me I've learned and changed in the five years since I wrote Chrysanthemum. But notwithstanding my growth, even back then I was a writer.

Due to some scheduling issues, Chrysanthemum was my first book published, though it was the fourth book I actually wrote. By the time Chrys came along, I was desperately in need of a mental break. And I was unwittingly wise enough to seize it when it came along.

Chrysanthemum and the other Flowers are pure insane fluff. That's what I needed at that time in my writing life. A while back I was critiquing a book for a fellow author. One of the things I noted was that the book seemed a little "light and fluffy" compared to her previous books. I believe I hurt her feelings though that was not my intent at all.

She wrote back that life was rough for her at that point (and it definitely was) and conceded she needed to write something light and fluffy. She needed that to help her get through the hard times she was dealing with.

I owe her an apology. I didn't realize until now just how much I need something light and fluffy. And I totally understand now that light and fluffy doesn't mean poorly written or shoddy workmanship. Actually, it's harder to write something light than write something deep and thoughtful--at least for me.

So I'm ready to plunge in to the adventures of Gardenia and her twin sister, Azalea. For those familiar with the Flowers series, they are Honeysuckle's daughters...with all that implies. And a certain zest has seized my writing spirit in anticipation.

anny

Expectations

In a little over six weeks I will gather with many of my fellow writers at the Romantic Times 25th Booklovers Convention. Most of us will be meeting for the first time. There is much anticipation and excited planning going on in the background. There are several special events that the authors are invited to attend and all of them require fancy dress.

Since my idea of fancy dress is an unpressed pair of grannie jeans and a t-shirt, there's been some heartburn at my house over the entire shopping and acquiring event. I'm not much for shopping in any case, but shopping for fancy stuff is way down on my list of favorite things to do. I misplaced my girly-girl genes a long time ago.

There will be a host of workshops and getting-to-know you events. I don't do well in huge crowds but I plan to give it my best shot because there are people I need to know and things I need to learn. It amazes me that some authors actually look forward to mingling with strangers.

Perhaps the events that both terrify me and excite me at the same time are the two book signing events. One is an e-book signing where I'll be signing cover flats for three of my books, Chrysanthemum, Honeysuckle, and Cherished Destinies. I understand that the companies that market e-book readers will be there demonstrating their wares. The other event is a print book signing. I'll be signing my first print book, Dancer's Delight.

It's a scary prospect. What if no one comes to my table? What if no one wants one of my books? Will I sit alone at a table in a sea of tables crowded with eager readers? I'm a new writer. To paraphrase... "What if they gave a book signing and nobody came?"

I suspect that there are other new authors having similar thoughts to mine. At my age, there are so many new experiences that I seem to be facing every day. One side of me says, "Who cares?" And the other side admits that no one likes to suffer humiliation. There are echoes of those long ago school days when I just died because I was always chosen last. That's generally your fate when your always the new kid in class. By the time I made friends we were off, on the move again.

So I've decided to look on this as a once in a life time event--an unlooked for opportunity to meet men and women face-to-face that I've met via the Internet. We all have expectations about what the other ones will be like in person. I'm pretty sure that the others will be surprised when they meet me. To put it bluntly...I'm a grandma. People who are familiar with my work always look at me with this wounded look and moan, "But you're a grandmother!"

I know.

My pert and perky days are past. Now I'm in the rocker and chocolate chip cookie phase, seasoned with a liberal helping of support hose and Miss Clairol. I still suffer from a certain wistfulness for those younger, skinnier, whisker-free, more limber days of my youth, but they're long gone. So I'll just have to settle for not trying to scare the patrons away. And I'm reasonably secure in the hope that my fellow frogs won't notice that I'm a strange shade of blue.

Anny

Amarinda is off in the hinterlands of Australia, scouting out locations for her movies. Check out her blog anyway at http://www.amarindajones.blogspot.com/ And Kelly is contemplating her navel but we won't tell her that everyone has one at http://www.kkirch.blogspot.com/ Blessings on your day!

What's In a Title?

I spent some time yesterday offering title options to a friend. Actually, I know several different fellow authors who profess to suck at titles. I on the other hand find it difficult to write a book without first settling on the title. Strange, that.

Most authors I know start with the story and decide on a title as they go along--or even when they're finished. For me the title defines the action in the book (at least in my mind) so I need the title first. I won't say that I've never changed a title. Cherished Destinies was a title that I settled on halfway through that book as I saw that the book was changing shape mid-stream.

Recently a friend of mine was pilloried in a blog because of the title of her book. It was a cutesy/frank take off on a popular phrase and quite appropriate for the target audience. What amazed me was the sheer intolerance of the comments. Why are we still not past that point? And why are we still dealing with the title/cover/content police?

How much can you really tell from a title? I like titles that tell me something about the story or at least allude to something in the story. And since I'm a straight-arrow kind of person, I would prefer not to have to puzzle it out because it's an obscure reference to a dead poet. If you're gonna use a poet reference at least put that reference on the dedication page so I know what we're talking about.

One of my friends believes that my books Chrysanthemum, Honeysuckle, and Daffodil would sell better if they were named something like Tie Me Down, Two Men for Honey, and Spanking Daffodil. Maybe. But I was thinking this is a trilogy about three sisters named Chrysanthemum, Honeysuckle and Daffodil. So that's what I named the books. After all when Melville wrote his whale book, he didn't call it Killing a Whale--he called it Moby Dick. I was going for classy--Oliver Twist, Jude the Obscure (believe me, he was), and Tom Sawyer. Sigh.

Maybe classy was too much to expect. Maybe the titles just weren't up front enough. Maybe. I'm still kicking around a title for Bishop's book. I think it's going to be something like Finally, Love or something like that. I haven't quite found the right words, but when I do, then that will settle the book for me. That's how I work.

A title should intrigue the reader, capture their interest and make them want to find out what the book is about. If it makes a promise--My Dragon Lover--by golly, there better be a dragon in the book and he better be the main hero. I once read a book about a dragon...read the entire book, waiting for the dragon to appear...only to discover that the title was one of those weird dead poet references. There was no dragon! The manager at the bookstore tried to argue with me when I asked for my money back, but seven bucks for a story with no dragon in it--nope, I wasn't going for it. Eventually, she reluctantly forked over my money. I probably would have kept the book, crummy though it was, if the author had at least conjured up one measly dragon to cover the title.

I think I read somewhere that some publishers don't let the author choose the title. I don't think I could do that. Covers I can deal with the publisher deciding on. But a title? No, I think I would have a difficult time coping with that. A title is kind of personal. It says something about the person that wrote the book. While doing research, I once worked with a set of books titled "The History of the Descendents of Edward Bosworth who came to America in 1632". Well. At least you know what that book is about. And I can hazard a guess or two about the author. Can't you?

Anny

Drop by Amarinda's blog to check out the latest on the Blogga Saga at http://www.amarindajones.blogspot.com/ and then pop over to Kelly's blog at http://www.kkirch.blogspot.com/ for her latest entry.

Pansy the Tooth Faery

Amarinda, Kelly, and I have had such fun with our Blogga Saga. I hope you as the readers have enjoyed it too. Here is where Amarinda left us yesterday:

“None of you are…phut…leaving.” PJ drew out her machete.

Zoltan laughed. “Such a crude weapon will not stop me. Stand in my way and I will kill you.”

“No you won’t.” PJ smiled knowingly. “Don’t you recognize me Zoltan?” She lifted her shirt and exposed her stomach.

“Oh my…phut… god! It can’t be true!” Zoltan’s eyes widened in shock.

You see? What's poor Anny to do? Well...

Dragging Emmeline with him, Zoltan staggered away from PJ while he feverishly searched his brain for a plan—any plan—to escape her wicked machete. As he was male, he couldn’t use Emmeline’s peeler and anyway, Em wouldn’t be inclined to us the peeler on another woman unless… yes! If she thought PJ was a former lover of his that would surely do it.

If anyone found out the truth, he would be exiled on that crazy planet Avalon with all the weirdoes. No, he didn’t think he could handle the dragons and faeries and those bizarre Knights of the Round Dungeon. No one must ever know who PJ really was. No one.

“Pansy, darling. What are you doing here? I thought you were on that quaint little planet Avalon.”

“Pansy? Darling?” Emmeline straightened up to her full seven foot height and stared down at Zoltan. “Who is that woman?”

“Nobody, sweetheart. We had a brief affair while you were away playing footsie with Rafe and Shade, but it’s over now.” He paused for effect. “Really.”

“What’s on her stomach?” Emmeline scowled as she considered the merits of using her peeler.

Zoltan frowned. “Nothing important. It’s just a tattoo.”

“A tattoo.” Emmeline repeated the words thoughtfully. “A tattoo that’s scary enough for you to drag me physically across the room.” She yanked her arm free and stalked toward PJ. “I think I want to see this unimportant tattoo.”

“NO!” Zoltan shouted. “Don’t do it!”

“Emmeline ripped the shirt up to reveal a giant white tooth, glittering with fairy dust. She staggered back in dismay. What had she done?

Must I confess? Well, we do have fun slipping references to our homes, books, and even friends into the Saga. I thought perhaps you would like to meet Pansy. She's a character in my third Flowers of Camelot book, Daffodil. I'm so excited because I just received a contract offer for Daffodil from Ellora's Cave. So here's a little snippet of Daffodil wherein we meet Pansy for the first time.

Bright moonlight poured through the high narrow window, illuminating the small room where a little golden haired child soundly slept. A dull thunk heralded the less than graceful arrival of Pansy, the tooth faery as she landed on the window sill by the skin of her toes. Teetering wildly, she grabbed for the rotting window frame which promptly disintegrated, leaving her with a handful of rotten wood splinters.

Plunging two stories down, she landed in a large lilac bush. Muttered curses filled the air as she extricated herself from the prickly bush and stomped across the weedy yard. When she was far enough from the building to have a clear vantage point, she turned and sourly surveyed the high window above the lilac bush. She brushed straggles of pale pink hair back from her dark purple eyes and frowned in deep thought. No doubt about it. She was going to have to land just right. Or…

She could just blink in. Blinking was forbidden. She knew that, but some rules were made to be broken! And this seemed to be the perfect time to break the commandment against blinking into strange rooms. Surely there couldn’t be that many obstacles in the small space she’d glimpsed before falling from the ledge. With a faint shrug, she closed her eyes and blinked into the small bedroom.

And promptly fell over a doll cradle, landing with a resounding thud.

Holding her breath, she froze while she waited to see who would rush through the door in response to the noise. After long endless moments, when no one appeared, she slowly climbed to her feet and straightened her tattered pink dress before planting her hands on her hips and staring around the tiny room. What a dump! It was barely bigger than a closet. The child’s belongings were arranged with painful neatness with everything in its place, but that still left minimal free space in the room.

She slowly shook her head. For such a big house, it was a rotten shame that the little girl should be stuck in this broom closet of a room. Moving with cautious care on silent dusty bare feet, Pansy approached the bed. If the kid put her tooth where she was supposed to, Pansy could swap it for a coin and be out of here in seconds.

She slipped her hand beneath the lumpy pillow and felt around. Nothing. Pansy withdrew her hand and straightened up, pondering for a moment before tiptoeing around the narrow bed. She knelt down and slithered her hand beneath the pillow from this side. Nothing. She slid her hand back out and tapped her chin with impatient fingers. Where the heck did the kid put her tooth?

“Who are you?” a little piping voice inquired softly.

Pansy realized that the kid was watching her with a curiously calm gaze. The faery thought if she had awakened with some stranger feeling around under her pillow she would have been screaming blue gummy murder. What kind of kid just asked you who you were? “I’m the tooth faery,” she explained quietly. “Where’s your tooth, kid?”

“I’m not a baby goat,” the little one pointed out precisely. “My name is Daffodil and I’m a girl.”

“Good enough. Daffodil. So where’s your tooth, Daffodil?”

“Mama gave it to the witch woman.” Daffodil’s expression was too old and wise for her age, thought Pansy. Far too old.

“What witch woman?” Pansy asked calmly though her stomach was suddenly leaping about with trepidation. “Do you know her name?”

“Of, course.” Daffodil sat up in the bed and scowled at Pansy. “Her name’s Morgana. She’s the most famous witch in Avalon.”

The faery, intrigued against her will, perched on the side of the rumpled bed and pursed her lips in thought. “Did your mama say why she gave your tooth to Morgana?”

Daffodil’s springy curls bounced wildly when she shook her head. “No. But my sister, Chrysanthemum said that it was a very bad thing that Mama did. And Honeysuckle, my other sister said that she will get it back from Morgana.”

“Oh, yeah? How’s she gonna do that?” Pansy asked curiously while she absently pleated the soft filmy fabric of her skirt.

“Honeysuckle said she’s going to sneak into Morgana’s house and steal it back. She said that Mama would have to buy her love charm some other way. Anyway, a love charm won’t bring Papa back.” Daffodil’s grave explanation told Pansy more than she really wanted to know about the little girl’s mother. In effect, Daffodil’s mama had sold her to the witch for a love charm. As long as Morgana had the child’s tooth, she could control her actions.

Pansy pondered for a few moments. “Well, your sister is correct. We need to retrieve your tooth from Morgana, but I don’t think Honeysuckle’s quite old enough to battle a witch.”

“But she’s a very good spy,” Daffodil offered soberly. “She never gets caught and she knows everything that’s going on in the manor. She even saw Michael the blacksmith’s thing.”

“His thing?” The faery stared at her in confusion. “What thing?”

“You know. His thing. He sticks it inside of Mildred the cook.”

Pansy’s eyes widened abruptly and she sat straight up. “All righty, then. Moving right along now… I’ll go to Morgana’s place and see if I can find your tooth. You go back to sleep.”

“What about Honeysuckle?”

“Don’t you worry about your sister. I have a notion that she can take care of herself. I’ll try to find a way to let her know that I’m on the job.” Pansy climbed down from the bed and straightened the covers up over Daffodil’s shoulder. “Go to sleep.”

“May I ask you something?”

“Sure. Whatcha wanna know?”

“Where’s your wings? Don’t faeries have wings?” Daffodil demanded with a yawn.

“Some do, some don’t. I don’t. Now go to sleep, Daffy.”

“Don’t call me Daffy. My name is Daffodil.” Even on the verge of sleep, her high little voice was firm.

Pansy gently patted her shoulder. “All right. Daffodil. Go to sleep now. I’ll take care of your tooth. Don’t you worry.”

“Okay.” Obediently, Daffodil closed her eyes. “Don’t fall out the window this time.”

Anny

Don't forget to drop by Amarinda's and Kelly's blogs at www.amarindajones.blogspot.com and www.kkirch.blogspot.com and if you'd like more interesting reading, stop by some of the blogs on my friends list.

Serial Anny

Anny Cook’s EVERYTHING LOVERS CAN KNOW is a wonderful story of a young man and a woman who’re very much in love and who can communicate telepathically. The addition of the two families who are determined to keep them apart until the young woman is of age add an edgy element to the story....

That was what I woke up to on Monday morning. Not bad. Always a nice wake-up note when you get a nice review. And the lady was kind enough not to give the story away, while she recommended that readers rush out and buy a copy. Very nice. I want to thank Nickie at Romance Junkies for the lovely review.

Everything Lovers Can Know is the story of Baron Merlyn Llewellyn and Jade Alexander. Dancer's Delight takes up their story twenty five years later and focuses primarily on their daughter Eppie. Traveller's Refuge is the story of their next daughter Wrenna. And Cherished Destinies (coming out in November) is the story of their twin sons, Arano and Arturo. For those who have asked for a happy ending for Silence, I think you'll find it in Cherished Destinies. Currently, I'm working on the next book in the series, Bishop's Treasure. So quit picking on me, Kelly! All of the books together are part of the Mystic Valley series. There are several more in the planning stage. If you like big family style series, then these are the books for you.

Chrysanthemum is the first book in the Flowers of Camelot series. It was released in May. The second book, Honeysuckle, will be released January 30, 2008. The third book, Daffodil, was finished today except for some minor editing. Then it will go off to my editor with a lot of fervent prayers that she likes it and offers me a contract for it.

The Flowers of Camelot are three sisters whose father takes them to Camelot in hopes of marrying them off as soon as possible. Of course this isn't quite the Camelot you might have read as a kid. The series is irreverent, sexy, and humorous. If you want a book that will make you smile, then my friends recommend Chrysanthemum.

Chrysanthemum is a light-hearted yet quite sensual look at an entirely new view of Arthurian legends. Readers who enjoy Light bondage will certainly tremble over this story, as Anny Cook weaves subtle tongue-in-cheek humour with fantasy, B&D, and steamy sensuality into a story that is not-for-young-historians. Anny Cook definitely has a creative way with history and legend, making Chrysanthemum an unexpected pleasure. Readers will never be able to think of Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table in the same way, ever again.--Two Lips Reviews.

In December, just in time for Christmas, Winter Hearts, the first book in the Ardent Angels series will be released. The series tells the stories of a middle-class angel family with a long term assignment on earth. They live in the back country of Tennessee. And they've been granted the ability to shape-shift into any animal, any size. It makes for some interesting situations. In the following snippet two of the brothers witness the abduction of their "assignment", Unity Brooks, and they jump into the van with her. But how to let her know that she isn't alone?

So Tate and Rack were rattling around in a filthy bucket…as chipmunks. The back door opened and Unity climbed in, sitting on the cold metal floor exactly where the man had instructed her to sit. He snapped a pair of handcuffs dangling from a short chain above her head around her wrists and slammed the door shut.

She squeezed her eyes shut to hold back the angry tears. She was freezing and wet but she was not going to let this jerk see her cry. When she was sure the tears were quelled for the moment, she opened her eyes and studied her surroundings, cataloguing every possible item that could be used as a weapon.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a small cat. When she stared directly at it, wondering why the hell her captor would have a cat in his van, the cat morphed into a tiny gray poodle which changed into a squirrel. Abruptly, it changed into something so small it was hidden by the high side of the bucket.

Tate—or Rack. Abruptly, her spirits lifted. If one of them was here, then Quill would know what happened to her. The thought occurred to her that they were using her abduction to lead them to the ringleader but as long as she wasn’t alone, she wasn’t as frightened. Help was on the way.

So there's something for everyone. Especially if you like series.

Anny

Don't forget to stop over at Amarinda's and check to see what she's done with the Blogga Saga. www.amarinda.blogspot.com Then check with Kelly for her take on e-pubs versus print pubs and what writers really want. www.kkirch.blogspot.com/

Contest winner, Word List, and the Were-Tick Story

It's Friday the day I promised a contest winner and the complete list of words submitted for the Scrabble contest. The winner (scientifically decided by husband drawing names from a hat) is Georgie! I'm offering an e-copy of any of my current releases--Dancer's Delight, Traveller's Refuge, or Chrysanthemum. Georgie e-mail me with the title and format you would like!

Word list--in no particular order--a lot of "q" words:
ai, aa, qwerty, onyx, quiz, leeward, knout, mewing, zax, qat, imp, pi, pate, spate, haj, toxic, quetzal, queazy, quartz, muzjik, onomtopoeia, plethora, pukeable, haiku, quark, zenon

If you can't confound your Scrabble competitors with some of those, get back to me. We'll run another contest, maybe.

Yesterday, fool that I am, I undertook to write a story about a were-tick. In case you don't know what a were-tick is, don't feel bad. No one else does either. Of course, that's the beauty of the thing because I get to make up the rules as I go along. Remember earlier this week I wrote about making up rules?

Well, here's where that's going to come in handy. A were is a being who can shapeshift from his animal shape to a human shape. So first of all, I've chosen for my were-tick to be a male whose name is Titus. Titus the tick. That's pretty much how far I've gotten at this point, but never fear, I have the story of Titus the were-tick percolating in the back of my brain. I should have something ready for prime-time by next week. I'll keep you up-to-date.

There is also a rumor going around that I'm probably part-alien, possibly with blue skin and pointy ears and fangs. To this, I plead the fifth. Good thing I live in America, eh? Why do you think I picked here when I beamed down from the mother ship. Imagine, I could have picked somewhere else like Amarinda. Or I could have decided to live all over the place like Kelly, but no-ooo. I settled on the ocean. My flippers are more comfortable in the water, you know?

It does make it difficult to go to the laundromat or shopping, but hey! Nothing much keeps me down. Not even dealing with a blog story that morphs with every episode. Today was Amarinda's turn. I tell you the woman has a fascination with that weird Queen. If you haven't read it yet, hop over there at http://www.amarindajones.blogspot.com/ and see what she's done now. Kelly has a great interview with Silhouette author Michele Hauf at http://www.kkirch.blogspot.com/ so check that out.

Pop in tomorrow to see what new twist I put on the blog saga. Until then,

Anny

The Fan Letter

Hello, I have just read Dancers Delight, wow! I have also read Chrysanthemum, made me feel good. I am hooked on both. Writing is such a gift and you have it. Thank you. Regards, Jennifer **

I loved Dancer's Delight and can't wait for Travellers's story! Oh what a wonderful thought to escape to Mystic Valley. hmmmm... Jamie **

Just another person telling you how much I enjoyed your book. In fact, I enjoyed it so much I came to your website to see if you had any other books out. Sandy **

Normally, I'm not one to post fan letters. It almost seems like the worst form of narcissism. "Look at me--I'm so wonderful!" I post these excerpts to make a point, however. Fan letters don't need to be long or complicated or detailed in order to get the the author pumped. Just a simple sentence or two will do it.

Fan letters are far more important than formal reviews because they're from readers--real everyday people who paid good money to buy your books, enjoyed them, and then took time from their day to write to you and say, I like your work. Because they are strangers, their words and approval are powerful. They provide the impetus to go back to the computer and work on that difficult scene, to wrestle with that impossible character, to finish that never-ending chapter. That short little letter provides inspiration when the temptation to quit is almost over whelming.

Approval from your peers is a different thing entirely. They are looking at technical aspects of your writing. After a while, almost every book an author reads is analyzed somewhere in the back of their minds for grammar, punctuation, sentence structure, and story line. It's almost impossible for a writer to read a book any other way.

The average reader on the other hand is looking for entertainment and enjoyment. My readers are teachers, secretaries, stay-at-home moms and nurses. They're young, older, and live in cities and in the country.

I don't aim my books at a particular type of reader. I just write. So when I receive a fan letter, it's a thrilling experience for me. I'll tell you a little secret. I have a special file that I keep all my fan letters in and when things are tough for me, I open that file and re-read them. They are my validation that I'm doing something right.

I suppose that there are authors out there that receive a lot of fan letters. Maybe they receive so many that the excitement palls. I can't imagine ever reaching that point. So if you read a good book this last week--a book that touched you or made you laugh or cry--take a few minutes to send the author a short note telling her or him about it. It only takes a minute. After all, didn't your mother teach you to say, "Thank you"?

Anny

End of Summer and Episode Thirty Five

Summer is nearly over. Where did it go? It was only yesterday when I was looking forward to warmer days and maybe, just maybe some time at the swimming pool. This last week was the final week the pool was open and guess what? It rained all week. Next week with the beginning of school, the pool will be closed. I bet it's hot all week.

And then it will be open Labor Day weekend. Done. Does anyone else remember when school didn't start until after Labor Day? Am I the only one? And school used to be finished by Memorial Day. Summer was June, July, and August. Now the kids get out of school in late June and go back in August. Early August in some states. What happened to summer?

Soon the shift over to year round school will be complete.

I used to work for a school district so I know the back story of summer. Summer is when the custodial and maintenance staff have time to paint, remodel, repair and all those other things that need to be done to make schools safe and clean places for our kids. If there are never any summer breaks, when will that be done? Floors are stripped and cleaned, sometimes rooms are rearranged or relocated. And there was never enough time to finish all the work.

Well, I wish all of the teachers, staff, and parents good luck this coming year. Summer is over.

Anny

It's my turn for the Emmeline saga, so here's episode thirty-five. Enjoy!

There was a low booming roar followed by a tremendous explosion in the Galactic Dimension Port. As the dust settled, Reginald bellowed, “Emmeline, where the hell are you?”

Rinalda peered at the pilot’s desk. “Rafe and Shade are gone, too. What happened?”

Floyd straightened up and pointed at the picture revealed through the huge hole in the wall. “That’s what happened! Queen Zahara’s been playing with the Universal Remote Buttons again!” he stalked over to the hole and glared at the queen. “You idiot! What have you done with them?”
* * * * *

Emmeline writhed helplessly in the soft gelbed as Shade moved around the small dimly lit cell, soft whistling through his teeth. Rafe sat in the control room monitoring the perimeters for unwanted visitors while he intently studied Emmeline’s peeler. At last, there would be no more waiting. The bonding was assured.

When all was ready, Shade joined Emmeline on the gelbed, cuddling her in his strong arms against his broad chest. The golden quills running down her spine rippled wantonly beneath the gentle caress of his hands.

She brushed her mouth over the hard contours of his chest, licking and nibbling at the flesh, savouring the delicious scent of chocolate that oozed from his pores. Yes! This was what she needed and wanted!

Holding her close, Shade rolled with her until she was sprawled on top of him skin to skin with her soft green quills cushioning his scaly phallax. She moaned. He groaned. The barbs on her quills pierced his phallax.

With a final bellow of pain, Shade fainted.

As you know, Amarinda is out of town, but she'll be back tomorrow at http://www.amarindajones.blogspot.com and if you missed yesterday's episode introducing Queen Zahara, go right over there for a squizz.

Today Kelly is posting an excerpt from my book Chrysanthemum on her blog. Trot right over to http://www.kkirch.blogspot.com for a look-see.

What do you want?

Word Count - 1,261
Previous - 7,523
Total - 8,884

On the author chat loops this last week, there has been much discussion regarding the differences and similarities between being a print author and an e-published author. I suspect the most passionate of all the debaters are those authors that hope to one day make the leap from e-publishing to print with a NYC publisher. I wish them the very best. Yes, I do.

I, on the other hand, don't have any such ambitions. Perhaps if I were younger. Perhaps if I were hungrier (literally). Perhaps then I would have deep seated ambitions to grab at that shiny brass ring.

But the truth is much simpler. I'm perfectly happy doing what I'm doing where I'm doing it. I like writing what I'm writing. And apparently, I have a knack for it. On one author's blog, she discussed how erotic romance wasn't really "her" so she had decided to withdraw a book from the publishing schedule and would write something that was more "her". Lucky woman to find herself and her niche. Even luckier to realize it and have to courage to stick to it.

That's what I'm going to do. It seems that I do fairly well writing funny erotica. What an oxymoron. But it seems to work. I wrote another book that was just as good...just as creative...just as interesting--to me. Readers hastened to tell me the book was really, really good. But as my friend told me bluntly, "It's no Chrysanthemum. It's not funny." Heh.

Let us hope a lot of readers read it anyway. And maybe those readers who found Chrysanthemum just a tad over the top will, like the baby bear, find that Dancer's Delight will be just right. If those series don't quite do it, I also have a series about a bunch of shape shifting angels...

The beautiful thing about writing for Ellora's Cave and Cerridwen Press is that there is room for all my weird crazy oddball ideas. So far, my editor, bless her heart, hasn't fired me back an e-mail asking if I've lost my tiny mind. That's exactly why I'm content to hang out where I am. It's my niche. My place.

I don't begrudge anyone with greater ambitions. Every single writer has to assess their own goals and plans. Without a long term plan, they won't reach their goal. Part of the rise to success is just plain luck. But most of it is hard work and planning. That's something most of the newbie authors are only now understanding. Writing is the least of the career. It's the easiest part... it's the rest of it--promo, website, blogging, chatting--that takes careful planning so that the writer has time to write!

I have my hands full doing what I'm doing. Thank goodness!

Anny

Failure to File

Word Count- 1,313
Previous - 6,310
Total - 7,623

Think I'll begin this on a cheerful note. Love Romances and More reviewed Chrysanthemum this past week. They awarded it four hearts.

"Anny Cook’s debut Ellora’s Cave book, CHRYSANTHEMUM is rollicking hilarious story set in Came-a-Lot. This is truly one story that will have the reader giggling like mad at all the wild escapades Gareth, Chrysanthemum, Arthur and the rest of the Avalon legends have. With exceptional characters that play off each other like a fine tuned symphony, Anny Cook delivers a wild, sensual ride into the King Arthur legend.

This author captivates the reader with her wit, prose and subtle comedic turns that mesh well with the sensual passion that is sprinkled throughout the story. With some light bondage involved, this reviewer was alternately giggling and wishing for her own Avalon lover to come calling. CHRYSANTHEMUM is a delightful tale that will leave you breathless-either from laughter or passion. With just the right amount of both, Anny Cook delivers a story that is destined to be read over and over again."...Dawn from Love Romances and More.

And believe it or not that wasn't all the good stuff they said. So that was a really wonderful ending to the week.

Yay! Moving along! Not as much writing as I wanted to get done, but better than I had any reason to expect given the amount of time I spent on writer's housekeeping. Paperwork, paperwork. I do detest doing paperwork and that's a major requirement for being "self" employed. Taxes, contracts, receipts, all the paperwork that seems to multiply like rabbits.

And of course, when you have paperwork, you must have some type of filing system. Now, my favorite type filing system it the vertical pile system. That system doesn't work very well when you're dealing with small pieces of paper like receipts. Sigh. So I broke down and started an actual filing system. I loathe filing.

You need to understand something. I spent thirteen years as an executive secretary type so I'm quite experienced at setting up and using filing systems. That does not mean that I like it. It just means that I know how to do it. Kind of like dishes or cooking. Just because I know how to do either one of those, doesn't mean that I want to waste time doing them. I have considered denying that I know how to do laundry at all.

In any case, as I flipped through the receipts, it occurred to me that I should have marked the receipts when I bought the items. Now I'm stuck peering at receipts with faded ink, wondering what the item was. Of course, I was able to discard the receipts for fast food, slow food, uncooked food, fresh food... sure seemed to have a lot of those. I don't suppose the tax man or woman would be amused if I hauled them in for their inspection.

I now have vertical files stacked on most of the flat surfaces in my office (which was the living room in another life). That means that tomorrow I will spend the day filing, tossing, and putting away so that the cat doesn't get a chance to amuse herself by playing with important papers. There is some method to my madness. By the time I get a chance to sit down and write, there's no time to goof off. So I actually accomplish quite a bit.

Speaking of housekeeping...I have one other thing to note. Tomorrow is MONDAY! That means it's time for my Mini-Review and Interview. My guest author tomorrow is Cindy Spencer Pape and I'll be reviewing Dragon in the System. Now see, that's probably what's wrong with my filing. There's a dragon somewhere in there messing things up. Maybe she'll have a solution for me.

Until tomorrow...

Anny

On the Balance Beam

Word Count 1,133
Previous - 5,177
Total - 6,310

I did a little better today. Went shopping. Saturday junk at Sam's Club and Wal-Mart. Then we made a run to the Office Depot where I had several copies made. I'm developing a relationship with the young lady that runs the copy department. She's the one that made all the prints of my covers for me so that I could frame them. By this time, she's taking a proprietary interest in my work. Always good to have your copy lady on your side.

Came home and wrote for a little while. Then we went downstairs to my friend's place and I autographed the cover sheet for Dancer's Delight for my friend, Jane. She seemed to be especially pleased because part of the dedication is for her.

Back upstairs and we had dinner. More writing. More puzzling over the way the story is careening off the trail. Went back and read the relevant parts from Chrysanthemum and Honeysuckle just to make sure that they all mesh together.

Wrote some more.

Checked e-mail and posts for anything that I needed to answer. All are DEAD quiet. So probably everyone else is actually writing.

Wrote some more. Husband made me coffee to keep me awake. Getting late so I'm taking a break to write my blog and then I'll go back to writing. I'm annoyed that I can't get the cast of characters to get with the program...any program. Pansy's acting like a ditz. Bart can't seem to keep his glasses on. And Gerald is...being Gerald.

Tomorrow I have to spend some more time cleaning my "work" room which is actually a catch-all room until we finish with the rearranging in the apartment. You know that room--"what should I do with...?" "Put it in the workroom." Except we are fast approaching the point where there will be no more room in the workroom.

Such is the glamorous life of a writer. Work, write, write, eat, write, work, sleep, write. That's how it gets done. Nothing exciting there except when you finish a chapter that seemed to take forever or when you re-read it three days later and realize that it's really good. Or the very best is when you re-read a couple weeks later and say to yourself, "Did I really write that? Wow!"

So tomorrow will be another day. Sleep well, my friends.

Anny

What's Your Style?

Someone asked me what kind of books I write. I have to admit that I'm sorta stumped. I think they're pretty sexy, of course. But they're also exciting, tender, funny, and uh, odd. Yep, odd. For some strange reason my brain seems to have a kink in it. I can just hear it now. What do you mean, odd?

Well, for one thing, in Dancer's Delight, part of the Mystic Valley series, the valley people are blue, have pointed ears and short fangs. The thing that makes it odd is that I feel like they're just normal people. They live, love, eat, hunt, and do all the stuff that normal people do. But my editor insists that blue people that routinely use telepathy are part of the "paranormal" sub-genre. So...odd.

Then there's Chrysanthemum, part of the Flowers of Camelot series. "Why flowers?" my friend Cindy asked. Well, here's the way it was. In the beginning, this was supposed to be the first of a serious trilogy about three sisters that go to Camelot (yes, the one with King Arthur) and find husbands among the Knights of the Round Table. Then something went wrong.

Not sure what happened there, but in the first few paragraphs the characters hi-jacked the story and quicker than you could say Lancelot, the plot went with the wind. Now I have this odd set of books that seems to be taking on a life of its own with a wild cast of characters with names like Nanny Anny (yes, Janet, I'm working on her book!) and Percival the Dragon and Gerald the Giant. Uh, that's the ones I can put in a G rated blog. Oh, yeah. There's dragons and unicorns and trolls and faeries...

So, I thought I would try one more time--really, how difficult can it be to write a serious story? I have a lot of author friends that do it every day. Maybe if I think about sad things?

I started off with a serious suspense story about a girl that takes the dog out for a walk and witnesses a possible body disposal so she's kidnapped and ends up as part of a white slavery ring, but she's rescued by a family of angels that are also shape shifters... you see? Do you see what happens? Pretty soon, the story just leaves the tracks and heads for the cliff. Sigh.

Well, I finished it (Winter Hearts) and of course there are more books to write because the other family members want me to tell their stories, too. I foresee a string of books about Cage and Rack and Zipporah. And I have to wonder what kind of trouble they'll get up to.

My friend Jane has been agitating for me to finish a story about a group of middle-aged women who belong to the Dead Relatives Club. You would think that there couldn't possibly be anything funny about a bunch of middle-aged women. We'll see. I'm only on page eighteen and already they're misbehaving. I don't hold out much hope for them. Especially when this little voice in my head keeps chanting "Myrtle's girdle, Myrtle's girdle" and I just know it's gonna show up somewhere in this blasted story.

I tell you what. If you can think of a way to describe my style, you let me know. Maybe I'll have it printed on my business cards and magnets.

Anny