Posted in Articles

2018: Never Give Up, Never Surrender

With the spectacular dumpster fire I was left with at the end of 2017, my usual goals were a lot more difficult this year. So much is unpredictable, so much is wavering. The master plan I had even one month ago is completely gutted, so I had to find an entirely new plan, and new goals to go along with.

However, I’m not one to back down.

2018, I can promise three releases minimum, though my hope is to get more on that roster:

Of Tinkers and Technomancers (After Glows Publishing)

A Reflection of Ice (Opal Moon Press)

and The Airship Also Rises (Final Take to the Skies book!)

My goal is to get at least three more contracts too, and once my rights are released mid-May, to find new homes for my Philadelphia Coven Chronicles and my Tribal Spirits series.

As for the writing plan, once Airship is finished, I hope to continue a series, whether that be one of the books I’m pitching to agents and publishers, my Tribal Spirits series, or another Cupid’s Cafe book. I also want to dive into my new pet project, a YA urban fantasy that started percolating this year. On the editing front, I’m going to get Airship ready for release, and I’m also going to finish editing my YA Fantasy from 2017.

Submission-wise, I’m launching a full-scale attack with Outlier Heir and Chasing Fate come January. Wish me luck.

I have realistic goals for next year, but as always, I’m shooting for the stars. Stick with me, and I can promise new reads and one hell of an interesting ride. I hope for my dreams every year, but year end is where I refill my well of optimism for the new year. I’m going to fight with everything I have to make 2018 my year.

 

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Posted in Articles

Weekly Word Count #75

Word Count: 9,011

What story I’m working on: Waking for Winter!

What I’m editing/marketing: Editing Chasing Fate because my lovely beta readers have gotten crits back to me!

Line of the week:

He’d never managed to separate game days from the memories of his dad watching Eagles, Flyers, whatever got his blood pumping as he crushed back cans upon cans of stale beer, and he’d scream his voice hoarse. And then of course leveling all that adrenaline-fueled aggression into beating the everloving shit out of him. Days after games he’d head into school with black eyes, grazes, and cuts, until he learned to be scarce on those days. Until eventually he’d left altogether.