#TeaserTuesday: The Famous Fillette

 

Bob Boudreaux was a face she’d only ever seen in photos that were more than twenty-years-old, but she would have recognized him straight off, despite the intervening years and the graying hair, based on the way the Dogs were seated. Bob sat at the corner-most table, facing the doorway through which she and Colin entered, the front of his cut weathered from long decades of wear, and resplendent with patches. The man beside him was a good ten years younger, slight, but with a serious face, and his own impressive bevvy of patches. His VP, she thought. The others, ranged across the rest of the tables, drinking beer from tall glasses, were his killers. His honor guard. They glanced over their shoulders and flicked disinterested glances up from their hands of cards; she knew they were cataloguing everything about her, and were surprised by her presence at Colin’s side, though Bob was the only one to show it outwardly.

His brows lifted, pressing a tall stack of sun wrinkles up his forehead. “Colin,” he said as they approached the table, “not to stick my nose in your business, son, but I thought your old lady was a blonde.”

“She is.” Ava pulled off her cap and smoothed the crown of her ponytail. “I’m Mercy’s old lady.”

The VP – stone-faced in a very Walsh-like way – went blank and blinking with surprise. “Shit.”

“Shit,” Bob echoed.

“Bob, meet Ava Lécuyer,” Colin said in the voice of a man who was very, very tired of his life lately.

“Wow,” Bob said, and then folded his arms and grinned. “The famous fillette, in the flesh.”

Ava couldn’t decide how she felt about that, so she said, simply, “Hi, Bob. You got a boat we can borrow?”

 

Technically, Ava's been Lean Dog royalty since birth. Even before he was president, Ghost held a position of high esteem among his brothers, and was a legacy member besides. 

But there's a difference between holding a title and living up to it, and one of the cool things about Lord Have Mercy was the chance to write Ava as someone who's fought, and bled, and killed for the club. To see her as a living legend in her own right, alongside Mercy. I always regretted not bringing her and Bob face-to-face in Fearless, but the meeting finally happened, eight years later. 

If you haven't yet embarked upon the arduous journey that is the final installment of the Dartmoor Series, you can do so through the link below:

Lord Have Mercy: The Complete Novel

It's Not You, It's Me: When a Book Isn't Doing it for Ya

 

The most useless recommendation of any book is the old reliable "You should read it! It's so good!" To what is "good" referring here? The sophistication of the prose? The author's deft hand at subtle metaphors? The expert grammar and punctuation? Vivid and lifelike characterization? I would argue that "good" usually refers to a reader's enjoyment of the book, rather than any technical aspects of the writing, and enjoyment is wholly subjective and not at all possible to quantify. Not only is enjoyment a personal sensation, attributed to taste, sense of humor, life experiences, etc., but it can also be affected by transitory measures: a reader's current mood or mindset; a sense of community with other readers thanks to a book's popularity; trends and fashions within the industry; the correlation between a book and another popular piece of media. Sometimes the right book strikes us at the right time and earns a spot on the favorites shelf; sometimes the book holds that spot forever after, but sometimes a reread knocks it down. 

In my quest to whittle down my tbr, I started a book this week that's been on it for a while. A trad pub book from an author whose books I've enjoyed before. I won't name it, because I don't do unfavorable reviews, but more than fifty percent through it, and feeling let down, I was inspired to talk about that particular sentiment. 

It's happened to all of us: we start a book that we should enjoy: right genre, right synopsis, even the right author, one whose voice we've connected with in the past. But once we get in between the pages, we find ourselves underwhelmed. Even irritated, at moments. I'm going to finish the book, because the author's writing is still top notch, but I don't think it would be fair to write a lukewarm recommendation for it simply because I'm struggling to connect with the main character. That's why I'm not enjoying it as much as I'd hoped: the character's voice. 

It happens! In crafting this character, the author made her feel very real. That takes undeniable skill, but, in this case, it's made the character someone who I wouldn't want to spend any time with in real life. I've read books about reprehensible characters I quite enjoyed, and this character isn't even reprehensible! I'm just not "feeling it" with her. She's not dastardly, merely annoying: like rubbing a cat's hair the wrong way. 

I've seen readers write several-thousand-word, scathing reviews about characters who annoyed them in this way, and their assertions that a book was "bad," or that the author was "stupid" or "unskilled" are ridiculous. For instance: Aidan is immature, yes; that's who he is. That doesn't mean the book is "bad." Writing can be poor: when an author doesn't understand punctuation or uses improper grammar. Sloppy sentence structure, repetition, unclear meaning, or a failure to follow through on a story's setup are all signs of weak writing that reduce a book's quality. But there's always a risk that a well-drawn character, one written with keen human insight, will annoy or repel readers. This isn't a sign of poor writing: rather, it's a sign that the author has been so successful in executing her vision that audience reactions are as varied and passionate as the reactions to real-life situations.

In the case of this book, it really is a case of me not gelling with the character. It's me, not her. All that I can do is hope I enjoy my next read better and move on. And give props to the author: if she wasn't so good at this, I wouldn't feel any sort of way about the book. 

Goodnight, Lily

It's been a sad week around here. After a sudden, swift decline, we said goodbye to my mini, Lily, on Monday. That's her on the right in the photo. "Lil' Chocolate Chip," as a friend at my old barn called her on her very first day. She joined the family when she was just three months old. Tiny, and feisty, and way too big for her little britches. She was exactly eleven months her brother, Spoof's, junior (that's him on the left), and for twenty-three-years they shared a stall, and a pasture, and every moment, waking and sleeping. By the end, both of them suffered from Cushing's Disease, and struggled to maintain a healthy weight. Excessive coat growth coupled with tooth loss, and a host of other struggles left them tired, but still very much them. That will forever be one of the saddest parts of horses aging: their minds stay sharp and active long after their bodies begin failing them. 

Spoof passed on this day last year. It was a blessedly peaceful affair: I went down to feed one evening and found him lying still in the shade of his favorite napping tree, already gone. 

Not quite twelve months later, I had to make the decision to let Lily go, too. My vet suspects she had some sort of cancer, based on her symptoms. She was ready. Now she's with Spoof again; she missed him so terribly. 

She was buried Tuesday morning. (Thank you, David! You did a wonderful job.) In the days since, everyone in the little Riddermark herd is adjusting to the new normal. I had hoped that Max might be able to go out with my big girls, but between KitKat's pestering and AB's incomprehensible studdish reaction, I don't think that will work. I guess I'm in the market for another mini or small pony, now. In the meantime, I'm trying to shower him with reassurance, pets, and extra cookies. 

I'm hoping to get back into my reading/posting routine in the days to come. I'm actually taking on some freelance work - yay! - and considering doing some commissions. I don't have an official interest form worked up yet, but I'm curious if anyone's in search of ghostwriting services? You can drop me a line if so. I might be able to squeeze in some indie jobs on weekends.

Take care, everyone. Hug your pets. ❤

A Book For Autumn Sundays

This book released back in February, but it takes place in autumn, and I think it's the perfect snuggle-up-with-a-coffee binge read for a day like today. 

College Town began as a writing exercise: a way to keep my writing "muscles" engaged and responsive while I slogged through Lord Have Mercy. It quickly grew legs, and became not one, but two writing challenges I was excited to meet: a present-tense narrative, and a standalone novel, one not limited by the actions, storylines, and style of books that came before it. I ended up enjoying the heck out of it. In fact, upon reflection, it's my favorite project of 2024. 

Aside from loving Lawson and Tommy, which I do, College Town gave me the chance to step outside the comforting, if limiting boxes of my ongoing series, and proved to me that I can write standalones. It was a necessary creative push, one that's given me the confidence to push some more. 

I've made (purposefully) vague mentions in some recent posts about taking a step back, and reimagining what my writing future looks like. I am doing just that, and waiting to hear back (fingers crossed) about some work opportunities. I'm not currently working on an original project, but I don't see myself ever not writing; hopefully, I'll have the time and energy to still write for myself on weekends or holidays in the near future. But as to what I'll be writing...well, let's just say that spending six months to a year on a massive book like Lord Have Mercy is not a wise investment financially. Maybe somewhere down the line my series will enjoy renewed interest and a renaissance of sorts, but for now, I'm enjoying Instagramming, blogging, reading, and sharing books with you all. It would be fun to explore smaller, self-contained standalones when I get back to sharing my writing. The new format is still in flux, but I'm definitely not going anywhere, and I'm really hoping I can use my writing in new and exciting ways. (And hopefully some that are good for my wallet, too!)

College Town, and it's novella follow-up, A Cure for Recovery, are available now at Amazon, B&N, and Kobo for all your fall afternoon reading needs!  

#ReadingLife: Released

Indie Author Alert: my latest read was Released by Julie Embleton, and it's book two in her Turning Moon series. It's a fated mates wolf shifter romance, between Michael, a wolf who fled his pack because of the crushing guilt he carries thanks to what happened in book one, Bound, and Genna, a human living with guilt of her own. Two burdened souls destined for one another, faced with a villain who is truly evil, and a twist at the end that I didn't see coming. You will need to read book one first, and last I checked, it's free to download for Kindle! 

This book left me ruminating on something. Obviously, fiction is fiction, and we read it with the understanding that unlikely and fantastic things will unfold between the pages. But even with the wildest and most imaginative stories, readers still demand a certain level of realism: they want characters to feel like authentic humans with authentic reactions to all big reveals and plot twists. 

But...do they? Do they really? Because how adaptable is the average person? How trusting of strangers? How accepting of the shocking and the unexplained? 

In Released, when Genna learns that Michael is a werewolf, and witnesses him shift from wolf to human, she freaks out. Rightfully so. Her doubt and panic over realizing the supernatural forces of storybooks are real and now a part of her life sends her into more than one tailspin, and I appreciated the reality of that. Because I believe that, though we all love a vampire, or a werewolf, or even a human killer/criminal, like an outlaw biker or a mafia don, in fiction, if we met or fell in love with one in real life, we would freak out, too. In fiction, that process often gets expedited or glossed over; the heroine adapts quickly and sometimes even effortlessly, and while readers might like that, might enjoy that head-first fall into the unknown, it isn't realism. 

Something I've noticed in the response to my own work: characters who begin on the outside of a closed system - be it club or supernatural pack - are the ones least liked by readers. If a woman takes a beat or two to come to terms with her new normal, she gets picked apart. Characters like Ava, in Dartmoor, don't ever have those attacks of conscience with regard to the club's illegal or even murderous activity because she was born into the club, and it's the only normal she's ever known. This streamlines that drama in a pleasing way: we dive, instead, straight into the drama of her romance, her struggles with the bad guys, etc. But characters like Emmie, like Sam, like Whitney have to work through that "holy crap, these guys are scary!" stage, and it pushes the character, and the audience, further outside the inner workings of the club by necessity. 

It comes back to - as ever - perspective. Characters inside the system will view it differently and react to it differently than those outside of it. Props to Julie for giving Genna that realistic struggle. 

NaNo Starts Now

 

If you're a writer, or have a writer in your life, you've likely heard of NaNoWriMo, or, my preference, NaNo. It stands for National Novel Writing Month, and it takes place in November, during which the goal is to write a complete novel (or 50,000 words of a long-form novel) in the span of thirty days. That breaks down to roughly 1,700 words a day, which sounds like a lot, I'm sure, for new writers, but which is a pretty typical daily wordcount for anyone who writes for a living. When I'm working on a project, I give myself a daily minimum of 2,000 words, and try to shoot for 2,500-3,000. 

There's as many ways to participate in NaNo as there are reasons for doing it. You can keep track of your word count progress by yourself, or in a group of writing friends, or by signing up with one of the websites that helps keep you on track. It can be a social thing, or a solo one. It can be a fun way for a new author to stick with a project for the first time, or a chance for an established author to try and knock out something new in a concentrated format. 

I've only participated "officially" once, when I started writing Walking Wounded on 11/1/16, and ended up with a 60,000 word complete novel by the end of the month. But I usually manage 50,000 on whichever WIP I have going. This is the first time since 2012 that I haven't been working on anything in November. It feels strange! 

There's been lots of talk in author circles about the inconvenience of NaNo falling in November, when holiday prep is ramping up, and finals are looming for students, and life seems to get much busier as the nights draw down sooner and sooner. There are summer NaNos for this reason; really, you could pick any month to challenge yourself to 50,000, but for the social butterflies, there's much more support - and commiseration - in November. 

Anyone out there participating this year? As I mentioned, I'm not, for maybe the first time ever. Given that Lord Have Mercy is more than 460,000 words, I'll say that counts for nine NaNos. Ha! And I'm also stepping back to focus on finding more reliable work. Good luck to everyone tackling the challenge! 

#ThrowbackThursday: Happy B-day to White Wolf

Two monsters studied one another, and for them, the war was over.

White Wolf released on this day six years ago. How has it been that long? 

The road to the first Sons of Rome book was long and paved with self-doubt and heaps of necessary patience. It was an idea that first germinated when I was still in high school. Its first characters were Fulk and Anna, and Val and Mia. I didn't then know how those four characters fit together within the larger narrative, but when I played with them on paper, I was running two parallel storylines that I hoped to some day converge. Val was always a vampire, and always Vlad's brother, but in my earliest drafts, Fulk was a demon instead of a werewolf, though always the First Baron Strange of Blackmere, a delightfully real nobleman listed in the annals of British aristocracy. 

I never managed more than a page or two; mostly, I was jotting notes, daydreaming, and collecting aimless plot bunnies in spiral notebooks. After I graduated college, and started my blog, I attempted several times to begin the series, in a variety of ways: efforts that all stalled out before I'd made anything like progress. Something was missing. Some vital piece of the puzzle that would click everything into place. The project had become monstrous in scope in my mind, and I couldn't figure out how to attack it. I needed an order of operations. 

White Wolf, and all its characters, chiefly Nik and Sasha, proved to be that missing piece. Not only did I quickly fall in love with them, and feel the need to tell their stories, but Alexei and the Romanov/Muscovite/Third Rome storyline proved to be an essential and galvanizing building block of the overarching plot of the whole series. By the time I was halfway through the first draft of White Wolf, my vision for Sons of Rome was complete, if daunting, and I knew I had something special on my hands. 

This series is my intricate and convoluted love letter to vampires, to wolves, to magic; to Gothic romance, and Classic horror, and epic fantasy sagas. It's bloody, and violent, and spans literal centuries. Not just a "few of my favorite things," but all of them.

The first four books are available, and book four ends on a positive, uplifting, satisfying conclusion, opposed to a cliff hanger, which is a good thing because I don't know when I'll return to this world. One day, I tell myself. After all, I haven't had the chance to introduce Richard, yet. And there's a certain pantheon of old gods waiting its turn as well. 

One day.

Until then, Happy Birthday to White Wolf, and Happy Halloween, everyone!