#SampleSunday May 1

From Secrets:

I bought a ticket for whatever movie was about to start. It didn’t matter since I wasn’t staying. I was tempted to get popcorn. No matter what my intentions are when I go to the movies, I always end up getting popcorn. The smell is usually irresistible. Instead I got a big bag of M&M’s. I’d missed dinner and I needed something I could take with me easily.

All business now, I walked into the theater and took a seat near the back. Though it had been a popular place once, it had become run down in the last few years. Stained carpet in the lobby, wallpaper peeling in a few spots. A musty smell mixed with burned popcorn. It was a shame, since the building itself was so beautiful.

Mike came in a minute later eating popcorn and sat next to me. I waited until the lights went down and the previews started. There was no ‘hello, how have you been?’ No hugging or tears. Neither of us were the touchy feely type. Mike knew I would only have contacted him for something serious.

“I need all the information on the last deposit into this account,” I whispered, handing him a piece of paper.

“Good choice,” he said indicating the screen with a fistful of popcorn. “I’ve been wanting to see this.”

“Someone is trying to kill me.”

“From the -” he started and turned to look at me.

“No,” I interrupted. “I don’t know who or why yet.”

“I guess I’m not staying for the movie,” he sighed.

“How fast can you get this?”

“Depends on how tough the security is.”

“Should be a lot easier than you’re used to. I don’t think this person knew what he was getting into,” I smiled.

“How did you get that account information?” Mike asked.

I kept my eyes on the screen. “I asked him for it and he told me.”

“Uh huh,” he smiled. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Don’t start. I’m out and I’m staying out.”

“Whatever. How do I contact you?”

“My number is on the same paper.” I had written down the number for the prepaid cell phone.

“Is there butter on that popcorn?” I asked.

“What do you think?”

I grabbed a handful, then got up and left.

Now the hard part. I had just killed a man and dumped his body but considered my next task the hard part. I had to call Jack. Sweet, innocent Jack, who knew nothing of my past. I had to call and explain what was going on, and that meant telling him everything.
Read the first two Chapters http://piercebooks.com/
Visit my website http://piercebooks.com/

I Hate Writing I Love Having Written

Today I have a guest blogger - Barbra.  I found Barbra on Twitter when her bio phrase caught my attention.  "I hate writing, I love having written"  It struck me because it's exactly how I feel but have been to afraid to admit.  I immediately tweeted Barbra and asked her to please be a guest blogger on this subject.  Here is what she wrote:

Love and Hate: A Relationship with Writing

Barbra L. W.

The witty Dorothy Parker quipped, “I hate writing, I love having written.” She, like all writers understood that writing is hard work. Writers have to practice everyday, EVERYDAY, to perfect their talent. For me finding the time to practice my craft proves to be quite a challenge.

For one thing, I am a true procrastinator. I will put anything off till tomorrow. “After all tomorrow is another day,” so says Mitchell’s protagonist, Scarlet O’hara. To add to my “I’ll do it tomorrow” list, I hate the tedium of writing. I hate trying to get the words just right. I hate it when a story shifts and I feel like I have to start over. I hate trying to come up with ideas. I hate when none of the thirty-five ideas I’ve come up with are any good. I could go on for hours expounding on the things I hate about writing.

So, now, you may ask, “Why do you write?” The answer is simple. I love what I write.

The love/hate relationship a writer has with their creativity is conflicting. In order to feel the jubilation of a well-written chapter or a tantalizing tale, one must push through the laborious task of writing. Like most of us with the ambition to become successful writers, I have attached a dream to my efforts. For me, the dream is parties with fancy cocktails and witty people. The red carpet gala when my novel is made into a blockbuster movie or the Diablo Cody Oscar speech moment. The reality is that to get there, you have to WORK and work is a four-letter word that is hard to avoid.

Even now, I sit here fingertips at the ready. Eager to write something profound, I’m charged with electricity. But, then, the drier buzzes. The energy dissipates. While folding laundry, I start to daydream and procrastination hits. An hour later, I have to shut off the email, twitter, Facebook, or other medium keeping me distracted from my writing and responsibilities. And while I can push other responsibilities aside, my beautiful daughter will not wait until I finish my next paragraph for her afternoon snack. Which leads to the procrastinator’s favorite saying, “I’ll finish that short story later; I need to”, you fill in the blank. At the end of the day, sacrifices are made for writing.

Without the work, I don’t get to see how my story will end. I wait till the house is quiet and with six cups of coffee coursing through my veins I write. I write with purpose and conviction. When the last line has been written, it will be the most rewarding feeling. I will love having written. I will love every word that has been typed. I will love every character I have created, as I love my own child. The euphoria of its completion will wash away all the hate that once covered me from head to toe.

Still awash in the glow of my love for the completed work I will inevitably sit down in my writing space and go through the whole love/hate process again. So will you.  

Bio:

Barbra L. W., originally, wanted to be an English teacher. After earning her B.A. in Literature she decided to pursue her passions for writing and photography. She lived in Okinawa, Japan as a child. The experience left a lasting impression on her and she returned to the island as an adult. After four years abroad she returned to the states. She spent a few more years as a nomad before settling in Virginia. She now lives in Richmond, Virginia with her husband and one year old daughter.

“When I take a picture I immediately make up a story for it. When I’m working on a story I look for scenes to photograph that represent it. My passions are so intertwined it is hard for me to do one without the other.“

You can see her photos and scribbling’s on her blog  http://puddwonphoto.tumblr.com/

  

You want how much for a paperback?!

I know there has been a lot of discussion of ebook vs hardback vs paperback pricing so I'm not going to get into that today. What I am going to vent about is the 'new' paperback. What is with the change in size of the paperback and then charging 9.99 for it? Or even worse, I noticed yesterday, yet another size and a 14.99 price tag.

Are you serious? Fifteen dollars for a paperback?!

I discussed a topic similar to this with several people last year when the price of gas went up. Yes companies are entitled to make a profit. That's the point of having a company – making money (except nonprofits of course who just help people). But there is a difference between profit and gouging. Gas companies get away with it because we need gas. But publishers? Be serious. Why would I pay 10-15 for a paperback book? I can find any even semi popular book for a few dollars used.

If someone can make sense of this, please, help me.

Book Goggles: Check it Out: S.L. Pierce

Book Goggles: Check it Out: S.L. Pierce


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It made me laugh so I stole it

I was perusing the internet yesterday and I found this post:
http://ticklecityaward.com/2010/09/e-books-ways-to-make-them-better/#comment-22119
and thought it was so funny I had to share.
I especially like number 1.  Who doesn't have book like this?  Luckily, I don't think anyone is working on making this technology a reality.  Well, maybe there's an app for that:)

Sample Sunday April 24

THE HATE (Amazon, Smashwords, Barnes and Noble)

First, you should know some things about me.

I hate people. I hate small talk. Trying to find something to talk about with a bunch of strangers I’ll never see again. No thanks.

I like being alone. I’m happy alone. I don’t want to be married and pop out a couple of whiny, germ filled kids. I don’t want anyone around telling me what to do or making me feel bad about what I am doing; i.e. a husband or boyfriend.

If I want to stay up till three in the morning eating double stuff Oreos while watching St. Elmo’s Fire then that’s what I goddamn well am going to do. If I want to lay in bed till noon or not shower for a couple of days, well, you get the idea.

If I feel the need for some companionship i.e. sex, I go pick up a guy at a bar. It’s pretty easy because, in all modesty, I’m hot. Not just attractive. An actual stone cold fox, at least to enough of the population to matter. I can say that because I had nothing to do with it. All genetics. All big blue eyes, full lips, blond, tall, and lean. So sex, no problem. And since I don’t really like people or small talk, I pretty much scope out the bar for an attractive unattached guy and ask if he wants to go to my place. I’ve never been turned down.

No one spends the night. Last thing I need in the morning is some smelly guy with bad breath bothering me for something I had plenty of the night before.

Also, I’m filthy rich. I hadn’t planned on ever working for a living, but who knew I’d find something I enjoy so much. What do I do? I kill people. For money. I know what you’re thinking, but who gives a shit. Not me, that’s for sure. If it makes you feel any better I don’t kill kids, no spouses just because a divorce will cost too much (selfish bastards), but other people.

It’s not hard, partly because of because of my looks. I can get into a lot of places with no questions asked. And partly because I’m ahead of the curve on intelligence. Not a genius, but pretty damn smart.

Maybe it goes without saying that I don’t have any friends, but I’ll say it anyway. I don’t have any friends. And I don’t mean I don’t have any close friends. I don’t have any. I think it’s because I’m rich and beautiful and that intimidates people.

Or, it’s because I’m a bitch. I don’t care about people’s petty problems, I don’t take shit from anyone, and I don’t tell people what they want to hear.

So, why am I telling you all of this and why do you care? Because, I just killed the President of the United States.  

Watching the Numbers

So my sales are going alright.  I average 2.5 book sales a day between the US and UK.  That's great, right?  I've only been published for about two months.  A month ago, when I was waiting and waiting for one sale, I would have been thrilled at 2.5 a day.  So why now do I want so much more (besides the obvious money answer)?  Why are we always wanting more?  I know it can be a good thing.  Wanting more has led to countless inventions, progress, etc.  But does that mean we never take time to say 'look what I've done'?  Never sit back and just enjoy an accomplishment?
What if I sold ten books a day?  Twenty a day?  Would I sit back then and say, 'Wow, I wrote something people like'?  Probably not.  Because I would be thinking about how to get more people to notice.  Or thinking about that next book.

But I will tell you, it's a question I would like to be able to answer from experience:)