May 25, 2015

So I was talking to my good friend Ysa on twitter–she’s currently on the hunt for a beta reader and/or critique partner. Now back in the day…WAY back (cuz I’m old and decrepit), there was a thread on eharlequin.com. That’s how I found mine. I even started a critique group. It still exists over on Yahoo Groups but no one’s posted anything in ages. Matter of fact, two of those authors went on to be bestsellers.

Anyway…It got me to thinking that…WE NEED A TWITTER HASHTAG!!!
So here it is #CPWL aka Critique Partner Wish List.
Use the hashtag. Post what you’re looking for, word count, genre.

Here’s an example:
Looking 4 Beta Readers 4 YA Romance, 75k words. #CPWL

Or this:

Looking for Crit Partners who write YA Dystopian. Prefer experienced writers. #CPWL

Or this:

Looking for Beta Readers who enjoy erotic romance and read fast. #CPWL

It’ll be like Tinder for writers…or #MSWL for writers :D

So go forth and hashtag people!!! Find one another, make connections, and edit like the wind!!! I’ll be monitoring the hashtag and helping out when I can.

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Oh Zander My Zander

May 10, 2015

From Redheaded Stranger (coming June 2015):
Alex sat at the worn oak kitchen table, his son perched on his lap sharing his mashed potatoes while his mother, father and wife watched. He didn’t really have much of an appetite but it was better than talking.
“Tomorrow I expect you to get up and help with the chores.” His dad stood and took his empty dessert plate to the sink and rinsed it.
“I’m not here to work,” Alex countered.
“If you’re here, you work.” He slammed the dishwasher, then reclaimed his seat.
“I didn’t come here to work. I came here to take my family home.”
His mother sighed and shook her head. “This is your home, Zander.”
“You threw me out,” he said. “Remember? You threw me out and told me not to come back.”
Maggie narrowed her eyes at him. “And you kept the fact you had a wife and a son from us. Care to explain that?”

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Saturday Snippet for the WIP With No Name

April 11, 2015

“Did you give Candy Beasley a warning on Monday?”
“Mrs. Beasley?” I thought he’d called me in his office to yell at me for being late.
“Yes, Mrs. Beasley. Did you give her a warning for driving on the wrong side of the road on Monday?”
He leaned over, propping his hands on his desk. “Yes? Or Yes!”
“Yes, sir. I gave her a warning.”
“Why, sir?”
“Yes, why?”
“Because Sheriff Townsend—“
“Do I look like Sheriff Townsend?”
“No, sir?” I shook my head for emphasis and wished I’d just called in sick.
He sighed and shook his head. “She hit a parked car—”
“Barely,” I rushed to explain, “It was a scratch and Mrs. Glenn wasn’t even mad.”
“That’s awesome. That’s fantastic but the mayor is pissed and I’m guessing the Lolly Ferguson and the utility company aren’t too happy either, but I’ve been dodging their calls!”
“But…but she hit a car.”
“Not this morning. This morning she took out a telephone phone while doing seventy through town. She’s in the hospital—” he held up a finger as my mouth opened, “—because then she … she drove…” He scrubbed his face, sighed again and pinned me to the chair with a hard, blue-eyed stare. “She drove her Caddy into the Curl Up and Dye,” he ground out.

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6 Sentence Sunday

March 7, 2010

#SixSentenceSunday blog post (from something I love):
And in that moment as I took in my mother’s red-rimmed eyes and lopsided hairdo through the smoky haze, I realized the horrible ugly truth. Those magic moments, those milestones that we so eagerly waited for, prayed for, woke up and greeted with open arms thinking how profoundly different our lives would be from that moment on didn’t mean Jack damn squat.

It wasn’t in the stupid birthdays, or the boyfriends, the engagements, the weddings, or even the birth of a child that we would find those profound changes we looked so forward to. It was in…the other things. The ugly, dark shocking things that we held to us and hid, always fearful others would find out. The Pandora’s box of horrible misguided choices made and deeds done in the name of what was good and what was right.

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