The ‘Illuminating indies’ series will be using Sundays as a ‘giving it up to fellow writers” day and keeping SM0D&L totally bullshit free!

So, who’s in the line of fire today then?

Well, as an ‘outed’ lover of all things urban fantasy (we just happen to be half way through the first of a trilogy ourselves) I thought I might give over BtB today to another have of mine: Vampires.

*shudders* I mean, who doesn’t love vamps, right?

Interview with a Vampire is one of my have films EVER! Lestat is also one of my favourite characters from a book (alongside Kay Scarpetta and Odd Thomas but we’ll save them for a different blog) and Tom Cruise was brilliant as him in the movie. I still watch it now. I remember coming out of the cinema after having watched it. It was a particularly dark, cold and foggy night (wouldn’t you just know it) and as I trudged through the desolate, rundown back streets of Grimsby, my home town, the sound of heavy footsteps echoing loudly on the broken pavements of Freeman Street, I couldn’t help hoping that I was being pursued by a blood-sucking night stalker. OK, I was pretty young and foolish at the time, I am not so keen now, but you get my drift

Anyway, my love affair with all things dark and mysterious started then and it hasn’t gone away. Give me a blood-curdling scream in the dead of night anytime, but please, no sparkly vampires. Vampires do NOT sparkle. You know who you are.

So, over to today’s indie writer:

Danielle Blanchard and Book 1 of her Vamp Saga: Death Wish.

Here’s the links:

Amazon UK 

Amazon DE

Amazon FR

Amazon.COM

Now, Death Wish doesn’t have any sparkly vampires, of that you can be sure. Phew, thanks Danielle! BUT, in her own words, sparks are a’plenty!

Here’s the blurb:

The year is 2020. Vampires not only exist, they control the government, the pharmaceutical industry and the world.

Manon Mourey is a Let It Ride card dealer at Transylvania Hotel, Spa & Casino in Summerlin, a suburb of Las Vegas, when Mikkel Damgaard enters her life. Sparks fly and as the body count begins to rise, Manon begins to suspect that their meeting was not entirely coincidental, and that perhaps something more sinister is at work.

As Manon accepts her position as one of the elite undead, her very existence sparks a war that begins to consume the International Vampire Council and could soon engulf the human population as well. Werewolves and warlocks notwithstanding, a new breed of vampire sits at the top of the food chain and they’re hungry for something different than mortal blood.

Sounds great right? Yeah, well that’s because it is. This is one book to look out for, so if vamps are your thing, then give it a try. You won’t regret it!

Next Sunday on BtB we’re gonna have something a little less er, blood-thirsty. In true SM0D&L fashion, we’ll be flippin’ it over to the light side and will be looking at Kaira Rouda’s ‘Here, home, hope.’ So pop back over for indie promo without the steaming pile of dung.

Ta’ta for now.

Saffi

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Der, der, duh, duh, duh, der, der!

OK, I wanted to put a massive drum solo in here that signified the beginning of a great series – but I couldn’t find one.

What was I thinking????

I am THE biggest Madonna fan in the world and have been since I heard ‘Like a virgin‘ on the way home from my dear Nan’s house on a Sunday evening in November 1984. My memory isn’t actually of hearing the song; (although it changed the rest of my life) the story is really about aliens.

Yup, you heard right, Extra Terrestrials.

This is probably one of my most vivid memories and I have no idea why.

Imagine this: 1984 right? What did we have? Erm, dial telephones, Atari and errrr… our youth. (Well, I did, being just 11 years old). Something that we will never outgrow OR get back. Hey ho.

So, Mum and Dad doing the usual banter on the way home in the car, attempting feeble slaps between the headrests and dialling up the volume on the stereo of our Sierra Sapphire. “Here we go,” my dad says in an effort to diffuse the post cocoa-chaos that was a visit to my nan’s, “let’s listen to the Top 40.”

For those of you that were never privy to the Radio One Top 40, there was a time that if you weren’t in it, you never made it. FACT. So the earlier on you were, the less likely you were to succeed. (I mean, this is a time when a band that looked like this had a hit record): 

And this was what I was made to believe would be the future of music. “Oh, oh, Figuaro.”

Can you imagine my surprise when the first beats of Madonna’s ‘Like a virgin’ came on the radio at number something like, “thirty and will never have a chance of making it EVER cos it’s too raunchy nine.” ‘I made it through the wilderness..”

OFF!

I sat bolt upright. For TWO reasons.

ONE, because I had just heard a beat that was going to shape the history of pop as we know it and TWO, because there was a massive saucer of light at the end of the road with a vertical, triangular beam illuminating the battered Ford Escort that was puttering around the roundabout at the time, like a microwavable toy car, and casting a glow on a street that hadn’t been in the papers for anything but robberies and assaults for the longest time.

I swear my whole family held their collective breath at the same time and any thoughts of rebellion (because I liked a pink-wigged, brazen hussy from Michigan) went out of the window with my empty prawn cocktail crisp packet (such was our disregard for the environment then).

Mum: “I’ve seen this woman on top of the pops with a wig on, FLAUNTING herself. What IS the world coming…STEPHEN! What is THAT?”

My dad actually slowed down.

The car jolted forward and we spilled our sweets and verbal assaults out onto the floor. Mouths agape at the descending discs of light before us.

It was and IS the ONLY time I can remember myself, my parents and my sisters, silent in the same space together.

It turned out to be a new (very tall) lamp, illuminating the new concrete frisbee that directed half of our towns’ traffic on its way. In the distance, that day, we thought a new life had been bourne.

In  a way, it had. Mine, and the Queen of Pop’s:

Here is the greatest version of ‘Holiday’ EVER.

I’ve forgotten more than I know, (and that’s a good thing) but some things are branded onto your heart and etched onto your brain. THAT is one of them. The other is my most favourite Madonna song EVER: Spotlight!

So, enough of me and my reason for being here:

TODAY was supposed to be tomorrow, but I remembered that I had another blog to do on eeking out the crap: AKA ‘Banning the buillshit’. So, Sarraday it is for ‘ii’. I will be shining the spotlight on worthy indies for the next 11 months. Let’s hope we get some good ones! Oh, hello, we did already! Here is Cathryn!

Drumroll, purllllleeeease!

Sarah’s Phoenix, Book 1 of the Phoenixes of Vervell Trilogy

Sarah wandered away from the camp. She tried to focus on finding something edible, but every now and then a burst of the conversation floated to her. It sounded more like a one sided argument, since Sarah couldn’t hear Jason’s voice. Sarah felt her hand clench as one man indicate that a woman’s place was in the home, not out with the Scouts. This is Jason’s world, she reminded herself, and these are Jason’s men. Women’s liberation obviously hadn’t happened yet, and she idly wondered if she could start the movement. Her musing stopped as she heard Jason’s voice.

“Trust me,” he told them, “Sarah will be more asset than hindrance.”

“How would you know?” one of the men grumbled.

Sarah edged closer.

“Believe it or not, Scout Mathew,” Jason said firmly, “I have known her since I was ten.” There was a snort of disbelief. “We’ll be nearing town in two weeks. Other arrangements for her will be made then, if I deem it necessary. Understood?”

“Yes, Sergeant Phoenix,” was the response from them all.

A twig snapped and Sarah quickly bent down to pick up some sticks for the fire. When she stood, the eldest of the group, Mathew, was watching her. Sarah raised her eyebrows, puzzled by his odd expression. The man shook his head and wandered off, so Sarah brought her findings into camp.

Smiling at Kevin, Sarah joined him by the fire. The young man, probably the youngest of the six Jason had with him, had checked her wounds that evening. He was nice, even if he kept looking at her curiously. No one said a word to her that evening. Even Jason was silent until he gave the order to turn in.

“You can sleep in the tent,” he told her while his men set up bedrolls. “We travel at dawn.” Jason’s eyes scanned her face in the dwindling light. “You have been keeping fit haven’t you?”

“Yeah…” Sarah started but Jason gave her a curt nod.

“Good.” He moved off to talk quietly with each man.

Crowded by the gear, Sarah mulled over the fact that this wasn’t her world. She felt the only logical conclusion was that she was in a coma-induced dream. After all, Jason had been her imaginary friend for nearly twelve years. Not to mention the man her ex-fiancé thought she was in love with. If this was her subconscious way of working through her issues, Sarah would have rather it chose something less medieval.

Jason woke her before the sun rose.  Grumbling, Sarah stumbled off to find water. It wasn’t coffee, but cold water was invigorating. More awake, she wandered back to camp and stopped, wide eyed. The tent was gone and each man was tying their bedrolls to their packs. Jason smiled at her.

“Ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she replied, wondering what happened to breakfast.

“Follow Mathew.” He handed her some sort of bar. “We eat as we travel.”

Mathew set a quick pace and it took all of Sarah’s concentration to keep up. Yet, little by little she fell behind, letting five men pass her. By the time the group stopped for the night, Sarah was ready to collapse. For a girl who’d taken pride in beating the boys, she got annoyed when she noticed none of them were winded.

Great, she thought, my imagination’s trying to kill me. It was a good theory, given that the next four days were spent traveling at the same speed. Finally, when Sarah didn’t think she could take another day of it, they stopped.

“Sarah,” Jason caught her as she was about to help with the fire pit, “go collecting, please.”

For a moment she wanted to protest, but something in his eyes made her stop. Wandering in the woods around the camp, she gathered food and listened. There was nothing to hear. Bone tired she returned with some basil and a handful of wild carrots. Finding a knife, Sarah peeled and chopped the carrots, before plopping them into the pot.

Male chauvinists, she thought as they watched her. Seriously, if this was a coma dream, then what was her subconscious telling her? That she wanted to be a domesticated wife? Snorting, Sarah informed the men the soup was ready. They lined up and ladled soup into their bowls, muttering thanks. As she returned Jason’s smile she realized she’d been scowling. No wonder they aren’t talking to me, she laughed at herself. Sarah ate, resolving to be friendlier.

Soon men came back for seconds, and their heartfelt thanks baffled her. The soup was water, carrots and jerky with some basil, yet to them, as one man stated, it was ‘a taste of home’. Smiling, Sarah accepted their compliments and mentally retracted her chauvinist comment when they washed up for her.

“Sarah,” Jason whispered. Turning from the tent, she faced him. “Tomorrow, six of us will leave for five days. You and Scout Mathew will stay here and replenish our supplies.” His hand came up to squeeze her shoulder. “I have spoken to him. He will teach you how.”

Sarah nodded as she stifled a yawn.  Climbing into the tent she curled up to rest. Unfortunately, she didn’t get to sleep long. The men were up at dawn repacking the gar from the tent. In no time, they were off without a word, leaving her alone with Mathew. Bleary eyed, Sarah wished for coffee.

Finding a stream nearby, Sarah splashed cold water on her face. She went back to camp and managed to smile at Mathew. He smirked in return and she rolled her eyes. Men, Sarah snorted to herself, highly doubting that replenishing supplies included what he was thinking. Deciding that gathering anything edible was a better idea, Sarah headed into the woods. As she gathered, thoughts of home crept into her mind. Eventually, she stopped and leaned upon a tree, puzzling through her situation.

“Tell me,” Mathew’s voice startled her.  “Do you prefer the comfort of the tent,” he rested his hands on the tree either side of her head, “or the excitement of the woods?”

Sarah’s head rose and her eyes met his. “Neither.”

“Come now,” he flashed a charming smile. “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

“No.” Sarah looked away, her body stiffening. His hand touched her chin. She slapped it away and began to leave. “I said no.”

“So, you like to be pursued?”

His hand caught hold of her arm in a firm grip. Whipping about to face him Sarah scowled at his smirk.

“I don’t know what no means where you come from,” her voice was level and firm, “but where I come from it means no, I don’t want to. Understood?”

“No,” he shook his head and moved closer.

As his other hand moved out to grab her, Sarah jerked him forward and down. Then, twisting an arm behind his back, she pinned him, face to the ground. She held him down until he stopped struggling.

“If you try anything, I mean anything, of this sort again you’ll be suffering more than a bruised ego. Got it?”

There was no response, so she twisted his arm to emphasize her point.

“Yes, I got it.”

“Good.” Sarah stood and offered him a hand up. “Now that we got that settled, why don’t you show me how to replenish supplies like Jason asked you to?”

This is the point where we SHOULD be doing the links, but, we’re not. Ya’ know why? ‘Cos we haven’t got them. Ya know why? ‘Cos we’re shining the light on new talent, not making a window on the fogged- up glass of gas lanterns, that have seen many candles…

We’ll leave that to the great pretenders.

Check back tomorrow for a Sunday free of shit!

Saffi

xx

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A bit like the character that strolls into your head, announcing their presence with a wink and a smile whilst puffing away on a cigarette as they lean nonchalantly against the doorframe, amused by your surprise, BtB kinda just materialised.

So, in between my ‘Illuminating indies’ series (which, by the way, starts on the Saturday 28th January 2012 with the adorably-excitable Cathryn Mullen) I will be using Sundays as a ‘giving it up to fellow writers” day and keeping SM0D&L totally bullshit free! Which, after some of the recent goings-on on fellow authors’ blogs, will be a refreshing change!

So, there’s my promise reiterated. Nothing false or devious. I am not practising subliminal mind-control and indirectly getting you to buy one of our books, I am merely highlighting a writer or book that I feel is worthy of extra attention. Simples!

So who is in the line of fire today then?

Well, you might ask.

Today, I am indulging my own guilty pleasure that is YA fantasy.

Elle Strauss has written a book that ticks all the boxes for me. Time travel, school-girl crushes, young love and a bit of historical fiction thrown in. It is every teenage girls’ fantasy; find the cutest boy in school to go to the dance with and then, oh, yeah, accidentally take him back to 1860! I mean, come on, it happens all the time, right?

And guess what else? If you happen to be lucky enough to be buying off Amazon .com (which means that you might also be lucky enough to live in the States or if you’re REALLY lucky, Okanagan Valley in Canada which is where Elle lives. I’m rapidly going off her!;-)) it’s FREE! Yup, you heard right. Free. Gratis. Complimentary, costs you nada until next week. What other excuse do you have for not downloading it?

Here’s the FREE link.

Oh, and did I tell you that she charted in Germany yesterday too? Yup.

The cover also happens to be one of my personal faves. Check it out, just makes you want to buy the book, huh?

So for those of you who share the shores of good ole Blighty with yours truly, here’s the UK link.

Hmn, so where as I? Oh yeah, no bullshit! This is a BRILLIANT read!

If you like all things fantastical then you can’t go wrong. Even if it’s not your bag, try this, you never know, you might just like it!

Word has it that Elle is hard at the sequel, so pick up a copy today.

For those of you who are still not convinced by the mighty ‘zon, here’s the B&N link for you to buy a paper copy.

Either way, make sure you read it.

Me, I’m off to watch the football, but you lot out there should be checking in with Casey Donovan and following her trials and tribulations at Cambridge High as she tries to win the heart of Nate Mackenzie (the cutest boy in school). Not sure repeatedly dragging him back to the 18th Century is the best way to go about it, maybe buy him a game for his X-Box or something? But hey, she has fun trying!

See, no bullshit, just another great read. Happy (free from that steaming pile of scourge) Sunday.

Saffi

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So, today I am using my blog to celebrate the success of fellow author, Marion G. Harmon.

Today, he made #1 in ‘Super hero graphic novels‘ on Amazon Germany! Way to go Marion!

Now, Superhero novels may not be your cuppa, BUT this one is different! Check out Charley R’s review of it over on my co-writer’s site MWi.

This is one novel you don’t wanna miss, cape or no cape.

So why not read something a little different today? Go on, you never know, you might just like it!

Amazon UK

Amazon USA/.COM

Amazon Germany

Amazon France

Marion has a full collection of super hero novels for your enjoyment, check them out:

Vol 2

Episode 4

So, that’s it for ‘banning the bullshit Sunday‘, more next week! Have great day!

Saffi

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This year promises to be revolutionary for publishing, writers and e-reading in general. What will it bring? I guess we’ll have to wait and see. Make sure that you pop over to MWi regularly to read what my co-writer thinks and whether he turns out to be right or not.

It’s the time of year when most people make resolutions. Get fit, stop smoking, be nice to your in-laws etc… well, here on SMoD&L we’re no different.

So, here’s mine:

This blog will be completely free from ‘look at me’ bullshit!

As from today, I am removing all links to our books and there will be no more Saffina Desforges announcements. That kind of industry info, sales figures, book news, promo etc will be posted on my sister site Saffina Desforges.

SMoD&L will be dedicated PURELY to writing. Helping others to get their writing noticed. Showcasing new talent and talking about all things dark and light.

I am soooooo sick of popping over to fellow writers’ blogs and reading day in, day out about their new book, how many free copies were downloaded, how much money they’re making and false claims about deals that never materialise.

Don’t get me wrong. All writers do it. WE do it. But there is a time and a place and a way to go about it.

It’s scary how so many good blogs started out with great intentions and ended up being an outlet for mediocre writers egos.

Well, not here. No Siree. This blog is for writers and more importantly, readers.

I don’t want it to be a promo-fest, I want it to be a place where writers can guest post, share some of their work and talk about how they got where they did, sharing some tips and experiences along the way.

2012 will see a new monthly spot on SMoD&L for TOTALLY new writers.

I am going to give my blog over once a month to writers that have NEVER had anything published ANYWHERE before.

‘Illuminating Indies’ will give those who are just dipping their proverbial toes into the shark-infested waters of digi-publishing a virtual soap box/stage to showcase their writing talents and gain valuable feedback from fellow writers and readers.

Don’t get me wrong: authonomy or youwriteon this ain’t. Merely a place for those who want to get their names out there and meet other newbie writers etc, and start building that platform.

Alongside that, there will be the usual guest posts from SMoD&L favourites, plus some new faces and occasionally, yours truly might even post.

I might even give a helping hand to the behind the scenes guys like cover designers, editors and proof-readers.

So spread the word. Saffi is ‘banning the bullshit’. If you know of anyone that might be interested, point them in this direction.

Here’s to 2012. A bullshit free year.

Saffi

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WOOOOOOT! It’s here! It’s Christmas Eve! Yay!

Ok, we’ve had some brilliant stories and posts over these past 12 days. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading them as much as I have enjoyed hosting them. Thank you to everyone who contributed.

I saved the last spot for someone special. Elizabeth is not only one of our brilliant authors over at MWiDP and our fabulous IT guru, but in 2012 we are going to be working on a couple of projects with her. She’s also pretty cool!

Here she is:

Christmas Under Pressure

This is my fifth attempt to write this blog post. I’ve followed the series and I’ve built up all of this pressure on myself to deliver. I’ve got THE Christmas Eve post. The last one…and I’m so afraid to disappoint.

Here’s the problem: I’m not IN to Christmas this year. In my country, the good old US of A, there are two extreme camps. One side looks at Christmas like a sport, with bargains hunted with such ferocity, don’t visit your neighborhood K-mart without pepper spray! On a completely opposite side of the spectrum, are the religious fanatics, who want to throw piety around like it’s 1692 and there’s some witches to burn. How many tiers did you make your birthday cake for Jesus?

This year, I did all of my shopping in one day. I bought a small gift for the in-laws and shipped it to them directly, as our recent move from SC to CT has put a damper on our Christmas fund. My children each had a limit placed on them, and I even traded in my hand held video game player for an extra boost so we could upgrade my stepson’s system.

My husband and I are not exchanging gifts this year, a first. And I don’t care. I’m not upset one bit. This year, my family worried about our future too, too much. My husband applied for an officer program in the Navy and if he didn’t get it, was getting out. He flew to job interviews in places that get eleven feet of snow per year. Let me say that again. Me, a girl raised in southeastern Virginia, where everything shuts down on a forecast of flurries, was going to move to a place where they get ELEVEN feet of snow!

And I would have gone. But thankfully, he made officer and we now live in Connecticut, where they average about twenty inches of snow per year. For the first two year though, it’s a slight pay cut (we’re making the same amount we made in SC, but there’s a high cost of living up here and we are renting out the house we own down south).

The bottom line is my family is healthy and happy. My marriage is in a less stressful season, despite living a little tighter to our budget. I couldn’t ask for more than that. Well I could, but I don’t want it. I’m looking forward to a new year writing another novel or two, and putting on a publisher hat once in awhile. I’m anxious for a brand new chance to make life special, whether it’s reaching out to a reader who wants to read my book but cannot because she is blind so I’m making her an audio book, or teaching my daughter how to spell her name.

This year, I just want a normal, quiet holiday. My family is finally together, without anymore Navy deployments. The lack of emotional drama is one of the best gifts I could ask from Santa Claus. And we’re building new family traditions, such as my parents visiting the weekend before Christmas. What about that extravagant Christmas dinner everyone puts on? The West family is making pizzas.

So Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas. Let your heart be light. From now on our troubles will be out of sight.

If you haven’t seen Meet Me in St. Louis, give it a chance this holiday season. And I look forward to celebrating a new year full of new opportunities with all of you. Merry Christmas!

Thanks Elizabeth! And here’s to 2012!

So, that’s it. We’re done.

All that remains is to wish you and yours a very Merry Christmas and a fantastic New Year. Here’s hoping that 2012 brings us all everything we could wish for and more.

Saffi

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Squeeeee! Only two more sleeps!

And so, to Leonard:

Haunted by Santa Claus

Leonard Hilley II

The first Christmas I remember clearly was when I was two years old.  We lived in Alabama where Decembers were usually too warm for snow.  A knock came upon our front door.  My mother told me to look outside as she opened the door.  On the front porch was a small racecar track set on a piece of plywood.  She told me that Santa Claus had left it for me.

While I stared at it, not understanding whom Santa Claus was, my father snuck back through the house and showed up behind us.  He carefully picked up the board and car set and brought it into the house for us to play.  I didn’t know Santa, but it was neat that he dropped off the gift.  But, why didn’t he stick around?  What was the rush?

My mother explained that Santa had to deliver toys to all the kids in the world and just didn’t have time to meet everyone.

The mystery of Santa Claus worried me the following Christmas.  Songs of Christmas and Santa played on our record player.  Who was this Santa Claus and how did he always know what I was doing and whether I was naughty or nice?  This troubled me.  I thought only God had such power.

At a department store, my mother took me to see Santa.  He gave me a piece of candy that I didn’t like, so I tucked it inside my coat pocket.  When I got home, I took the plastic wrapper off the candy and tossed it in the toilet.  The second I did this; I suddenly remember that Santa had probably watched me do this.  I quickly tried to flush the candy, but it didn’t go down.  I lowered the lid and hurried to the living room.  Now I feared Santa wouldn’t give me any presents.  Why should he?  After all, I had thrown his candy away.

Christmas came and I got nice presents.  Had Santa missed me throwing away the candy?  Or, was it candy that he didn’t like, either?  It no longer mattered.  I had toys to occupy my time.

I don’t recall how young I was when I discovered that Santa didn’t really exist and that presents were placed under the tree by my parents.  Maybe when I entered preschool someone had told me.  But the leverage that you had to be good or you didn’t get presents from Santa no longer held validity.  So, my parents played another song a LOT before Christmas.  “I’m Gettin’ Nuttin’ for Christmas.”  Not that I was a bad kid, but they still let me know that goodness earned presents and being bad had severe consequences.

Nowadays, it’s difficult to find kids that believe in Santa.  The hustle and bustle of Christmas and its commercialization has soured many people and children.  At family gatherings I have seen kids open presents and snub their noses at their gifts.  Parents run up huge Christmas tabs on their credit cards and have lost sight of what Christmas is truly about.  What happened to the days when gifts had more meaning than the cost?

Santa once haunted my youth, but seeing a traditional holiday mired by Black Friday and fist fights over gifts haunts me even more.  Give the greatest gifts ever—love, respect, and time.  Life is too short not to share these.

Leonard’s books can be found here:

Amazon page and links to books

Thanks, Leonard. I bet you’re hoping for a shiny new car from Santa eh? (judging by your author pic)

So, tomorrow is the big one! Yes, after those incredible countdown posts, it is finally Christmas Eve. It’s been fun (if not exhausting) and I hope you have enjoyed our very own take on advent here on SMoD&L. We have had an incredible year and if you missed the post explaining news of our deal the other day, then pop on over to my (new look) sister site and check it out. Finishing the countdown off tomorrow is the brilliant Elizabeth Ann West. Now where did I put the sellotape?

Saffi

Ok, just 3 days left until the big day! Now, this next post isn’t what you’d call creative and not isn’t particularly cheery, but what it is, is the PERFECT epitome of this blog’s theme AND absolutely true.

Read it and take heed. Over to Artemis Hunt.

Merry Xmas. It’s been a tumultous month for me since we last chatted on this blog. My beloved mother-in-law died of lung cancer, only to be followed by my husband’s aunt 10 days later from pancreatic cancer. This serves to remind me how fleeting life is, and how we should seize the moment.

Haven’t decided to independently publish? Do it now before it’s too late.

I haven’t regretted a moment of it.

These are my monthly sales:

Aug (1 week)             14
Sept                          44
Oct                           977
Nov                           4311
Dec (as of Dec 8th 6 am)      2700

My top selling work (a short story) is in the Top 3 Erotica of Amazon US. I’ve been on the Movers and Shakers list periodically. As of today, I have 5 or 6 works in Amazon US’s Top 100 erotica, mostly priced at $2.99. My works have been on Bookstrand’s Top 30, and I stick out like a sore thumb amidst Bookstrand’s own well-promoted Siren writers, who fill up almost the entire list. 7 of my works have earned the All Romance Ebook bestseller crown. My works have occupied the Top 1,2,3 and 4 spots of Amazon Germany‘s Top 100 English erotica list.

Erotica writers have written to me and hailed me a success.

How did I do it? Was it marketing? Pure luck?

Actually, I didn’t do a single shred of marketing for my erotica shorts/novellas other than to cite every title down on each of their Amazon pages. It’s actually pure luck.

It’s true!

I know people don’t like to hear about luck. But I made my own luck. I wrote stories in a series, and released them quickly, sometimes days after the other. I was determined to do what Joe Konrath said we must do – write until you get lucky. I wasn’t even aiming for Amazon’s Top 1000. I was just writing and writing and hoping to make a decent living without hitting a ball out of the park.

So, give yourself a gift this Xmas, and celebrate being alive. Do what you want to do. Don’t look back. This past couple of weeks have thought me that life is really too short to spend regretting things you haven’t done. If you are in doubts about self-publishing, just try it. Then you won’t be in doubts anymore!

Aphrodite/Artemis Hunt

Thanks, Artemis. A very simple message.

Tomorrow, Leonard Hilley.

Saffi

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• Merry Kindle (*or insert the name of any other generic e-reader here) Christmas! (saffinadesforges.wordpress.com)

Well, here it is; #4 on the countdown! Ooh, not many sleeps left now!

So, today, I have for you a very rare treat. The ever elusive, but strangely brilliant, Mark Williams (you might have heard of him before? He’s the quiet and least best looking half of the Saffina Desforges duo) has graced us with his presence. Even if it is the first time ever!

Now, for those of you who know Mark, you’ll be well aware that he wouldn’t just write a normal post. Oh no, not him! So, in true Williams stylee, he’s set you a comments challenge!

Let’s see what you clever lot can come up with.

And, there’s a prize for the best description! We’ll give the winner a FREE copy of our next anthology, just to say thanks! Here’s Mark to explain in true teacherly fashion, what he wants:

If…

It’s nearly Christmas. Even here in sunny West Africa.

And while I’m enjoying the weather reports from “back home” of grey skies and fog, howling winds and torrential rain, icy roads and blizzards, I sometimes find myself looking enviously at those lovely winter scenes of fluffy white snowflakes, cottages laden with snow, deep and crisp and even, with the Christmas fairy lights twinkling, and colourfully-wrapped children building snowmen with twig arms and carrot noses.

In the UK, of course, a white Christmas is a rarity, and as Bing Crosby knew all too well, it’s something most Americans can only dream of, too.

Here in West Africa snow is quite simply unknown. I can show the local people pictures of snow – both the delightful Christmas card idealized image, and the cruel reality of blizzards, ice-storms and hypothermia – but explaining it…

How do you explain a snow flake, or a snowman, or a blizzard, to someone who has never experienced snow? It’s white, and it falls from the sky. It’s made of water, but it’s not ice and it’s not rain. It’s soft and it melts in your hand, but in the morning it will be crisp and crystalline.

We all love stories about Christmas, and we all love snow scenes. But we take the snow for granted. We write about it with the clear assumption everyone knows what snow is. We describe it without ever explaining it.

So here’s a Christmas challenge to all you lot out there who like to think you’re writers.

Explain snow to someone who has never experienced snow before. Go on, do your best. And I’ll try your efforts out on local people who have, literally, never experienced snow.

If you can explain snow, even as the flakes float gently down about you and the children build snowmen in the yard, then you’re a better writer than I, Gunga Din.

Ok you lot, get on with it!

Saffi

Oooh, it’s getting closer! #5 on our countdown to Christmas!

Today’s writer needs no introduction (but I’ll do it anyway!). The fantastically funny (and rather handsome) Nick Spalding!

Nick Spalding on the joys of Christmas presents…

In what is a spectacularly obvious piece of lazy recycling, here’s an excerpt from my first comedy memoir ‘Life… With No Breaks’ all about the joys (or otherwise) of gift giving at Christmas. Enjoy!

 

I’ve received some extraordinarily silly presents in my time.

I seem to have one of those personalities where people think I like quirky and strange gifts, normally purchased from gadget shops.

Would you believe a friend once bought me a kite? When I was thirty two?

I’m all for staying young at heart, but do I really need to express it by running round the park on a windy day, trying to get a kite in the air for more than three seconds?

There I am, wondering how long it will be until my hair falls out of my head, grows on my arse and gets thicker in my ears – and I unwrap a gift more suited for a time when I was as hairy as a cue ball and still thought Batman was real.

The epithet written on the card that came with the kite said:

‘For when you want to get high!’

Stunning.

The kite went in the shed and I conveniently ‘lost’ the friend’s phone number for a while.

Because I’m a writer, I tend to get presents related to that pursuit. Nothing useful though, like a new keyboard to replace the one I’ve broken the letter B on, or a book telling me how to write a best seller.

No, I get bought quirky things.

Like a pen with a radio in it.

Yes… a pen with a radio in it.

How desperate for friends have you got to be before that sounds like something you’d actually want?

Small earphones extended from the pen on a cable, which was slightly too short to be used without bending your head over to one side, looking like you were a tad mental.

I gather the person who bought it for me – a relative this time, so no chance of severing ties – thought I might enjoy the chance to write flowing script and listen to the radio at the same time, all from one convenient device.

And who could blame them? After all, it’s not like it’s possible to do those things easily and efficiently any other way, right?

Hmmm…

Singing socks.

They were a good one.

You put the socks on, pressed a button on the side and they warbled a tune at you. The song in question was ‘Tiger Feet’ by Mud (which is available on Spotify, I believe).

The socks had a badly stitched picture of a tiger on them. The small electronic device that controlled the whole thing rubbed irritatingly against your skin.

I wore them – once – for the delight and edification of my wife, who found the whole thing hilarious.

I can’t really blame her. There I was, standing in my new socks, with a seventies rock song wafting from around my ankles and a green flannel dressing gown covering my modesty.

The expression on my face could best be described as perplexed.

At this point, it’d be nice to launch into a tirade about the companies who produce this crap.

I’d like nothing more than to vilify the fools who sit in product meetings and decide upon the latest crazes to fill our shops from floor to ceiling and drain our bank accounts with frightening rapidity.

But I can’t do that because it’s not really their fault.

It’s ours.

The simple fact is, if we didn’t keep buying this crap then they wouldn’t keep making it. If we didn’t keep buying pens with radios, singing socks, cardboard moo machines – or any one of a thousand other completely useless items you’ll find in the shops – then these people would stop producing them. They’d then find more constructive things to do with their time, like inventing flasks that keep the contents hot, or office chairs that don’t make your arse numb.

Have you noticed the kind of stores that sell this stuff only exist for a short period of time before disappearing into the ether?

They usually spring up at Christmas in otherwise disused shops, promising quality presents at rock bottom prices. They’re generally manned by people who are on day release from minimum security, or haven’t been caught by the police yet.

They tend to get out of town long before you come back, wanting to complain about how the novelty indoor fountain you bought for your auntie Jenny has stopped working and started making disturbing farting noises in the middle of the night.

There are many reasons why we keep buying these weird and wonderful gifts, but mainly it’s because they make Christmas shopping a whole lot easier.

Unless you’re buying for children – who are happy with anything, provided it’s plastic, brightly coloured and incredibly expensive – it’s hard to come up with gifts that aren’t as dull as ditch-water.

I’m as guilty of it as anybody.

My father is the kind of man who’s always had the money to buy what he wants and the sense to know what he doesn’t. Therefore, purchasing presents that elicit any kind of positive or heart-felt appreciation is next to impossible.

This makes the Christmas Eve shopping trip even more of a nightmare.

The amount of time I’ve stood in front of the gifts section at Boots, wondering whether to buy dad a ceramic miniature garden gnome or bathroom set – you know, the ones that invariably contain shower gel, talc, deodorant and an amusingly shaped bar of soap – doesn’t bear thinking about.

I’ve settled for the fairly stress free option of buying him a bottle of whisky every year. He may not appreciate it, but he’s normally so pissed by the time I talk to him, it sounds like he does.

A small, guilty part of me thinks I’m turning him into a raging alcoholic. I’m convinced at some point he’s going to decide I’m trying to kill him in order to get my hands on an inheritance.

I might swap to cigars in the next couple of years. Give his liver a rest and his lungs a wake up call.

My mother, bless her, is grateful for whatever I buy and I love her for it. She keeps everything.

There’s a dusty box in her bedroom closet that contains Christmas cards written by me at the age of seven.

I had a look through them once. It disturbed me that my handwriting hasn’t improved much.

Much like my father, I have a distinct inability to show gratitude when I receive an unwanted or ridiculous gift. I have a big problem with what I like to call the post-unwrap pause.

This is the time when you’ve successfully unwrapped the present enough to see what it is and registered the fact it’s the worst present in history. You then have to fake a look of gratitude at the wizened old carbuncle of a grandmother who bought it for you.

It’s very difficult.

I find myself making a rather high-pitched keening noise, accompanied by my face twisting horrendously into something approximating joy and surprise.

I’ll then come out with a comment along the lines of:

‘Oh! Thank you, Gran! I was just thinking the other day it’d be nice to write and listen to the radio at the same time.’

To me, I sound about as convincing as Hermann Goering’s defence lawyer at the Nuremberg trials, but she seems to take what I’m saying at face value, concludes the festive transaction with a kiss, and a short anecdote about how she was passing The Gadget Shop, saw the offending item in the window and immediately thought of me.

It’s a lot easier to open presents when the giver isn’t in the room with you. You can safely express your feelings about the quality and suitability of your new possession by swearing at it, or burying it at the bottom of the garden beneath the miniature gnome.

Bearing this in mind, I’ve resolved to open my annual Christmas haul from now on in the toilet with the door locked.

___________________

Enjoyed that, did you? Then why not buy the whole book? Available on the Kindle and in paperback at AmazonUK:

If you want more Spalding in your life (and who doesn’t? …well, my ex-wife for one), why not buy the rest of my books here

They all make excellent Christmas presents.

…for every member of your family.

…buy them two copies each just to be sure.

Merry Christmas everybody!

Tee hee. Oh, Nick, you are a one!

Come back tomorrow for a FIRST for SM0D&L! The one and only Mark Williams (yes, my partner in crime) will be popping across to entertain you!

Saffi