It seems my nephew has given my entire household the bug he caught and now we could make a fort with all of the tissue boxes and medicines we're having to use. My agent search doesn't seem to be going very well at the moment, and just the other day I had received a rather rude reply back from Writer's House after I sent them a snail-mail query. Needless to say I'm appalled that they could come up with something so rude for only wanting the synopsis. Perhaps I really should just self-publish.
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The weekend is finally here! Yay! And yet I still have so much to do that it's ridiculous. Oh well. I hope yo
I'm not a fan of Mondays... Mondays are the start of the work week, yes, but it's also start of the crazy way people think they have to rush through everything to get everywhere and run over an innocent bystander on their way. Some people even seem to look for someone to run over, it seems. With Monday comes things to do. But I can't do those things because my vehicle broke down and it would cost more to fix it than to get a new one, and with everything going on, there's not enough money to get the other vehicle I was looking at. Needless to say, it's going to be a rough week. Makes me feel like making my characters suffer with me, but we'll get to that soon Writing like crazy today! My mind is spiraling with my characters' stories and emotions for Concealing the Dawn! I can't wait to get to the big part coming in soon! It'll be so awesome to see how my characters do in
I seem to have gotten into something. It is probably triggered by my allergies, but my throat hurts and my tonsils are swelling. It feels like I'm trying to swallow a balloon. And to top that off, my sinuses are on the fritz. I'm trying my best to write, but it's hard to write anything when I'm constantly blowing my nose and keep my airways clear. It's difficult, but I'm doing my best to get it done, so wish me luck!
I managed to fix my site back up and sent out several more agent queries so hope with me that Witches Darkness will be out to read soon! I'm still working on my other books, and will get them out and about as soon as possible as well. Thanks again for the support and views!
Have a Wicked Weekend! There are some big storms surrounding us the past few days that keep me from my computer, but don't worry, I write the old fashioned way too- in a notebook! The majority of The Witches Darkness was written in my notebook, so I think it works. And Weebly... I'm trying to fix a few things that messed up like my character photos. So it gets rid of them completely. I try to switch a few pages around, and it puts them under "More" which is definitely not what I wanted! Weebly, please fix Here is the sneak peek of the second book in the Witches Darkness series. I hope you enjoy it. I Flashes from the cameras jumped in and out of Annamoura’s peripheral as she stepped under the yellow police tape surrounding the crime scene. She was almost to the body when she felt a pop of feral energy nearby and her magic began to bubble and churn in her gut, trying to break free. She looked to her left, to the alleyway of a loud, bouncing club a few buildings down. She felt compelled to go over there, so she lifted her head to look around. No one had noticed her yet, so she decided she would check it out. Palming the gun strapped to her belt, she crept over, sliding against the damp brick as she went. Five feet… Her heart was racing… Three feet… She had to remember to breathe… One… She heard a muffled scream and pulled out her gun. Annamoura jumped into the entrance of the dark alley to find an odd creature hunched over a bleeding man in the shadows. The creature looked about five-foot-seven with what looked like long, fading blonde hair. It wore a ripped purple mini dress and its skin looked like the grave, grey-blue in color. Spikes protruded the back of the dress and claws stuck out of what little there was left of white pumps. This was the thing her mother warned her to never become- a demon witch. She clicked the gun off safety and the creature turned its head to look at her with cold, dark red eyes that were anything but human. It dropped the man, barely alive, on the pavement and took a heavy, yet slithery step toward her but was stopped by a large black Ford truck barreling into the alleyway with lights blaring and almost knocked Annamoura onto her backside. It screeched to a stop right in front of the demon witch and three men jumped out and each held a knife in hand. Three large, muscular men much broader and taller than Annamoura, but only one caught her eye. He had caramel skin like an eternal tan, his dark brown hair was shaved close to his scalp, and his eyes were like melted dark chocolate. His eyes shone with such abundance of choked, deep emotion that Annamoura was taken aback. Annamoura saw melancholy, loneliness, and a guarded, wounded heart. The silver blade he held in his hand caught the moonlight as the creature lunged at two of the men, scratching and clawing while letting out a wailing hiss, showing a mouth filled with razor sharp teeth. The two men fought off the demon witch, cutting and slashing their knives at its skin between wrestling it in the small space while the third man picked up the bleeding man and brought him into the truck. Annamoura’s eyes never left the caramel-colored man, however, and with every moment she stared, her magic screamed louder and louder to burst free. She tried to fight it and push it back, but it lashed out, making the trigger of her gun pull and a bullet ricochet off the alley bricks until it lodged itself into the demon witch’s arm. Both Annamoura and the beast groaned in pain and Annamoura felt warm blood seeping between her fingers of the gaping wound she was now applying pressure to. A witch could only use magic without harm; any harm done to the receiver and the caster would gain it back times three. One of the men managed to plunge a dagger in the beast’s heart with the distraction and gave a distinctive twist, and with a fading screech, she fell to the cold pavement, smoke floating off her body as she returned to her original form. She was pretty before she became a soul-devouring monster, Annamoura thought. The woman had golden blonde hair that hung halfway down her spine, and framed a thin, heart-shaped face with what was now blank, dead blue eyes. Her frame was slender, but widened a bit at her hips. Annamoura saw exactly what the demon witch’s victim thought he was getting and suddenly felt mixed about the idea of saving the stupid man. The only brain is in the pants, she thought. “That was a risky move, witch, using magic to send your bullet in the right direction. Now look what it got you.” The tan man pulled out bandaged from the truck and began wrapping Annamoura’s bloody arm. “Who are you?” “My name is Halen, and my two friends here are Dave and Brach.” He said, nodding his head to the other two men hauling the dead body into the truck bed and slid a metal cover in before closing the tailgate. Dave was a black-haired man with stubble on his jaw line and bright green eyes. His nose was a little crooked at the bridge like it had been broken more than once and an army build. Brach was a man with fiery-red hair and a thick beard to frame a round face with blue-ish-green eyes that twinkled with mischief. He had a big, bulky build so broad that he took up the entire space between the truck and the alley wall. “And who might you be, lass?” Brach grinned. “Detective Annamoura Raven.” She replied without hesitation as Halen finished tying off her bandage. Her magic stirred more with his every breath and seemed to follow and gather at his fingertips. “Well, Detective, try not to make any reports of this. Your wound was a hit-and-run and nothing more, agreed?” Halen’s gaze grew stern. “You would have to be mad to think I would tell anyone about this! How do you think I have my job? Screaming to the world I used to be a witch?” Was that pity she saw in his gaze? “You were born a witch, Annamoura. You can’t run from your fate any more than I can run from mine. It’s who you are.” Halen climbed into the truck with Brach and Dave with a small bit of teasing thrown over his shoulder, the stern gaze replaced with a large grin. “And try not to go for anymore lucky shots; they’re dangerous.” And with that, they drove away, leaving Annamoura to go back to her original crime scene and give the officers there a fake hit-and-run report. My work is going great and my second book is flowing like a river into the ocean. It's vastly growing and coming together just how I wanted and I'm so happy for the support and views. You guys are awesome. Have a great 4th tomorrow and a
Thank you so much for everything to each and every one of you. I'm so pleased you gave the thought to look at my work. Thank yo
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AuthorDranyx Wicked Archives
August 2016
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