Tuesday, February 11, 2020




PRESS RELEASE


Publisher Helping with Disaster Recovery and Relief Efforts in Australia

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE


Rochester, New York – February 7, 2020 – Local publisher, The Wild Rose Press, Inc. in conjunction with some of their authors have published a three-book anthology to support the ongoing battle of the Australian wildfires as well as the recovery efforts.  All proceeds from the sale of the books will go to Recovery and Relief efforts in Australia.

Rhonda Penders, President and Editor-in-Chief said, “The project began only a couple weeks ago. We have several authors in Australia, and one in particular, Stephen B. King (not THAT Stephen King), asked if he and a few others could donate stories and have all royalties go to help in the efforts to aid victims of the Australia wildfires.”  Within days, editors, artists, and production staff along with 48 authors had signed on to make the project happen.  “Everyone came together and set their other projects aside for a week and focused completely on this. Everyone worked around the clock to get this done. It truly was a team effort.”

The books are printed locally at Book1One, located on Driving Park Avenue

 “They’ve been our printer since the company opened 14 years ago and we have a great relationship with them.  Their print books are of the highest quality and they are great to work with.  When they heard about our project, they donated some of their services to help in this effort as well,” Pender said.

The print books, there are 3, are up for sale on The Wild Rose Press website.

While the book is available in print from Amazon (as well as in ebook format), Penders would prefer customers go direct to their site to purchase the print book.  “That way the profits can go direct to the cause and not be shared with outside distributors.”   

The Wild Rose Press, Inc. has been in business for 14 years.  Their catalog of over 3500 titles focuses mainly on adult fiction, but they also work with Young Adult Fiction on a limited basis.  They publish authors around the world and have earned the distinction of “Publisher of the Year” for over 12 years,  most recently for 2019. 



Wednesday, January 29, 2020

So, there's actually a name for this itch!



An incurable itch for scribbling [cacoethes scribendi] takes possession of many, and grows inveterate in their insane breast.
—Juvenal  [late 1st to early 2nd century, A.D.]




Cacoethes Scribendi by Oliver Wendell Holmes  (1809-1894 / United States)



If all the trees in all the woods were men;
And each and every blade of grass a pen;
If every leaf on every shrub and tree
Turned to a sheet of foolscap; every sea
Were changed to ink, and all earth's living tribes

Had nothing else to do but act as scribes,
And for ten thousand ages, day and night,
The human race should write, and write, and write,

Till all the pens and paper were used up,
And the huge inkstand was an empty cup,
Still would the scribblers clustered round its brink
Call for more pens, more paper, and more ink.








-- Cat

Tuesday, December 03, 2019

More on editing

Throughout my editing process I like to have my computer read back what I've written. I find this a great way of discovering repeated or redundant words, confusing or nonsensical prose, even entire sentences or paragraphs that aren't necessary.

It's also a good way of discovering if transitions between character's POVs are working. We  are often advised not to head hop within the same paragraph or page, the best thing is to begin a new chapter for the switch. 

I found that my chapters would be very small and very numerous if I began a new chapter each time the POV changed. Sometimes an extra blank line between paragraphs works well for switching, but for me that extra line denotes a change of scene, time, or place, not simply a change in point of view.

The important thing is to show clearly whose head we are in so as not to jar the reader. And I do think if this is the author's style the reader will get used to it.

  

Tuesday, October 29, 2019

My first edits

I came to realize, not by myself of course, but by following sage writers' advice that the first chapters of my first drafts were redundant and unnecessary. For readers.

The information contained was necessary for me though, the author, in establishing the setting, the character or characters, what made them tick.

For my first novel, I removed approximately fifty pages of what turned out to be back story for both main characters. Though these back stories were firmly entrenched in my mind, they did not move the story forward. Important elements of the past were easily summed up and dropped in when required.

In my second novel, I removed approximately twenty pages, again all back story. Was I getting better?

Not likely, but once again I had vital information about the main characters that I needed to continue their stories.

My third novel, still to be edited, is going to lose about thirty to forty pages. I created elaborate setups, not only for the main characters, but several secondary characters. More vital information that I needed to continue, but completely unnecessary for readers to know in advance.

For my fourth novel, now a nearly completed first draft, the back story is so much a part of the present story  I may leave it in. But this is sort of an experimental story, not a typical romance. I won't know until the end. But that's all right, because again I learned vital information about the character.

Many writers create character sketches for all their main characters. Other writers simply begin the story and work out the characters' lives as they move forward. One of these methods might be in my future, but at present I'm satisfied with the knowledge I get about my characters by writing their earlier stories.

--Cat

Wednesday, June 12, 2019

Release day for my new book!

I'm thrilled to announce my new book Fortune's Folly has been released on Amazon.

Women's historical fiction with elements of spicy romance.

Blurb:

In 1867, Eden Fitzgerald marries, not for love or money, but to persuade her influential in-laws to obtain her father's release from a contrived prison sentence. Cleverly evading those who believe she, like her father, is a smuggler and Fenian collaborator, Eden does what she can, what she must to achieve her goal. When legal methods are exhausted, she dons a mask, carries a pistol and, using her wiles, wits, even her seductive beauty, robs wealthy citizens to amass enough money to arrange her father's escape.

Her life grows ever more complicated by the lustful attentions of several men who profess to love her, and the one man she loves but dares not trust. As her crimes worsen, culminating in what may be treason, and her enemies grow more dangerous and determined to apprehend her, she must run for her own freedom.






--Cat

Tuesday, June 04, 2019

Final excerpt -- The Queen of Paradise Valley

From chapter 46





He arrived in town well after sundown. The air was rife with the scent of bloodlust and greed. Packs of hunters patrolled the roads, individuals loitered along the wooden walkways. A platoon of gunslingers guarded the hotel, a restless crowd milled outside the jail. Abner Doyle's cottage was under surveillance, as was every South Street saloon.
Del prowled the back lanes, found a certain building. An unlocked window slid open without a creak. The dim chamber he entered reeked of death, embalming fluid, and something unpleasantly familiar.
He lit one of the candles the undertaker provided for his customers. A closed casket sat on a raised platform. When he pushed up the lid, Del knew at once why the aroma in the room was so familiar. It was her perfume, the scent of wilting flowers that suited her so well.
Yeah. Cinnamon curls arranged on a satin cushion, claw-tipped fingers folded upon her white-sheathed breast.
"Come to pay your final respects, Injun Boy?"
Before Del could turn, something hard slammed against the side of his head, propelling him toward the casket. The last thing he saw before he slid to the floor was Lonnie's plum-colored mouth, as lush in death as it had been in life.
When he came to, he felt something wet trickle down the side of his face. Propped in a chair, his wrists handcuffed in front of him, a rough sisal rope cinched around his neck, he couldn't see Stevy. But as the roaring in his ears abated he heard the man's breathing like he heard his own thundering heart. He reached for his boot.
“Looking for this?" Stevy stepped forward, Del's knife in one hand, the end of the rope in the other, a rifle balanced in the crook of his arm. "I figured you'd come here, and now I'm gonna get five thousand dollars for you." His grin convoluted the scars on his cheeks. "You don't need to worry none 'bout your Missus, not with Mr. Lord taking care of things. He was a mite upset when she was brung in and didn't want to see him, but he'll wear her down. He always gets what he wants. Now what he wants most is you dead."
As he spoke, Stevy wrapped the rope around his hand, tightening the noose until it bit into Del's neck. The gunslinger touched the tip of the knife to a spot beneath Del's ear. "I got an urge to test this knife. What part of you should I cut off and send to Mr. Lord?" The knife tip grazed skin. "Your ear? A finger? How about the part Miss Loretta liked best?"
He shook with silent laughter, seized Del’s braid, and with a sawing movement severed it. "You sure are quiet, Injun Boy. Well, get up now. We're going for a ride." He poked the rifle barrel between Del's shoulder blades. "Slow and easy. Horses is outside." He stopped beside the casket, dropped the black braid atop Lonnie's breast and lowered the lid. "Hell of a shame."


--Cat

Sunday, May 12, 2019

New excerpt--The Queen of Paradise Valley


From The Queen of Paradise Valley, chapter 42


They made a wild escape: dashed into the corridor past the watchman, down the stairs, and through the lobby. A mad escape: they ran into the street, leapt into Barbara's buggy, wheeled a tight circle in the middle of the road, and raced to the edge of town. Diana almost laughed out loud, but afraid she would sound hysterical, kept her mouth closed.
Several miles from town Barbara slowed the pace. She glanced over her shoulder and released a sigh. "No one followed. I was afraid he'd stop us."
“Mr. Lord? No. He wouldn't."
Barbara gripped the reins. "You've been ill, so you don't know what's happened. Mr. Lord has been using the drought to further his ends. His men have been poisoning water holes. Some children got sick last month but no one could prove who was behind it. Even on your ranch forty cows were lost. The men moved the herd high into the mountains. They guard them night and day. And they patrol the pastures because they fear another fire."
Diana’s head swam. A tiny regret that she had left the sanctuary of the hotel began to swell. She couldn't cope with any more disasters. Drought, poisoned water, fire--wouldn't it be easier to give Mr. Lord what he wanted? There would be no more troubles. And the pain would stop, wouldn't it? She'd be able to sleep, wouldn't she?
She shifted her gaze. The Sangres rose from a silken haze, towering kings with granite faces beneath glittering crowns of snow. Their shoulders were sheathed in pine mantles, their grass robes flowed like golden rivers.
Tears rose in her throat. Her mountains, her valley. There could be no truer sanctuary. The land was hers. And Del's. She couldn't let him fight for it alone.
“And mother has the payment for you."
"I don't know what you--"
"You mean he still hasn't told you?" More tsking. "Del bought mother's and six others' business loans, right out from under Mr. Lord's nose. That was back in February, and he gave them all six months before any payments were due."
Diana wiped her perspiring brow. "Any payment would go to Del."
"Diana, he put the mortgages in your name."
"My name--"
Barbara was driving past the ranch. Diana said, "Turn in. I must see what's left."
Though she frowned and shook her head, Barbara made the turn. Diana sat forward, her hands, her breath clenched. The parched earth, littered with shriveled grasses and stunted shrubs, their leaves black as if from frost, seemed to be slowly expiring. Stooped and withered cottonwoods dropped dry furled leaves like they did in late autumn.
As the buggy approached the crest of the long rise, Diana cried out in surprise. Where the house had stood, where she expected charred ruins, there was--nothing. It was gone, as if blown away by a powerful wind, gone without a trace, the hillside plowed and turned, a new field ready to be seeded.
She whispered, "Keep going." She felt disoriented. Her landmark was gone and she had no bearings, no way it seemed to tell north from south, up from down. She needed a new focus, a new starting point. She needed to find herself. She needed Del.
Ebony bounded toward them. Clem came running from the bunkhouse, as did Bullfrog, Windy, and Tag, who seemed a foot taller than when she’d last seen him. Diana stepped down and faced them, her heart tripping.
"Sure is good to see you, Miss Diana." Clem grinned, lifting his hat in salute.
Hands on hips, Windy turned to Bullfrog. "Didn' I say she'd be back?"



--Cat