How about a surprise cover reveal? That’s code for: nothing I wanted for the launch of this book has gone according to plan, on top of being super delayed, I now already have the cover up on both Amazon and Goodreads, so…surprise! LOL Eh, we do what we can, right?
The artists over at Deranged Doctor Design have worked their magic again and I’ve been drooling over this bad boy since February! I’m very happy to finally be able to share it with you, even without the usual build up and fireworks. So, whattadaya think?
Hexed is the 4th installment in my Hell on Earth series and will be released on April 17th in both eBook and paperback format on Amazon. It was completely unplanned. I had never intended to give Zoe Bankes her own story, but as readers of Avarice already know, she can be quite
loud and demanding persuasive. Make sure to check out the Pre-Order & TBR links below!
Zoe Bankes is a paragon of confidence in a pixie-sized package who believes wholeheartedly in the supernatural. Not difficult, considering her best friend’s the new Queen of Avarice. Trusted with Kami and Saph’s demonic secrets is just one more reason why she loves her life. So, when all their happiness is threatened, she’ll do anything to stop it. Even if it means fighting a mysterious and alluring demon she’d rather scrap with in much naughtier ways. But if Hell thinks Zoe Bankes wouldn’t be trouble just because she’s human, it’s about to get a serious wake-up call.
Hex is Pan’s shadow, luring lost boys and girls into his grasp with the premise of granting their greatest desires. For centuries he’s been cursing desperate people by the dozens, never once considering he’d find a human he couldn’t tempt. Until he meets Zoe. Her sharp tongue and quick mind are marvelously riveting, waking things inside him he’d never known. When Wrath decides he wants her, Hex risks it all by abducting her first–upping his number of enemies from one to a Deadly Seven.
On the run from some of the most nefarious Demons of Hell, Hex must convince Zoe of her own danger before he can hope to convince her of their undeniable connection. Disastrous ambushes lead to unexpected allies, as they face down an impossible situation they have little chance of winning. Hex wants Zoe alive, Zoe wants them all free and believes the key to achieving both is buried in Hex’s forgotten past. Unlocking it could mean losing him forever, but when the stakes are raised, they’re left with no other choice. Not even Hell could predict the outcome…nor how happy it would make the Devil, himself.
I’ve officially given up trying to stay focused on one book at a time, it’s not working. My brain (aka muse) just doesn’t work that way, apparently. All I accomplish is staring at the computer screen and getting no writing done. So, I suppose that completely defeats the purpose of my DIY 30 day Challenge. However, having to be accountable for a word count every Wednesday has been helping me stay in the habit of writing every day, no matter which WIP it’s on and that’s better than not writing at all.
I didn’t gain much on my word count this past week, because I was working on the first pass of my new book, Hexed, so I could get the MS back to my editor. Below are my new counts. By March 7th, I may still get 50,000 written, it just won’t be all on one book! LOL
Fox Trot (Dark Day Isle: The Ultimate Kink Resort, Book 3): 10,624
Mistress Wanted (Revision): 25,147 (May be scrapping and completely rewriting)
Mistress Wanted (New Book 2): 5,865
Broken Toys: 17,542 (Have not added any new words to this since the beginning of the challenge but was cleaning it up a bit yesterday, which means I may be working on it this next week)
♥ Happy Hump Day!
Okay, here’s to my DIY 30 Day Challenge. Last week I mentioned that I was going to focus on one book and get the first draft done in 30 days. My muse was not impressed by my attempts to squash her fickle flightiness, so we’ve come to a small compromise.
I’m still only focusing on writing one new book, but at the same time, I’m rewriting an old, old novel that I finished like a decade ago and never did anything with. It’s just been sitting in my documents collecting cyber dust. So, below are the word counts for both the new and the revised this week…
Fox Trot (Dark Day Isle: The Ultimate Kink Resort, Book 3): 9,200 words
Mistress Wanted: 24,221 words
Revising is so much easier than writing new content, especially when the characters aren’t that talkative – but I’m really going to have crack down on Felix if I hope to reach my goal, since I’m currently stalled in his POV! Stubborn Doms…
♥ Happy Hump Day!
I’ve made the executive decision to put my #WeeklyWritables challenge on hold until further notice – if I decide to pick it up again. We’ll see how it goes.
As I mentioned during last week’s reveal, I had started this challenge to keep my muse motivated and working, but with the new challenge I presented myself (see the DIY 30 Day Challenge Here) – this one has become more counterproductive than helpful.
It’s obviously more conducive for accomplishing my goals if I focus on the variety of WIPs I already have, rather than creating more or just polishing up excerpts from them. Maybe, when I start running out? LOL Okay, not likely, but maybe another time anyway…
♥ Happy Tuesday!
Henley sat at a small, window-side table in McCallan Point’s only café and glared at the screen of his laptop. The reports staring back at him couldn’t be right. He would’ve sworn he’d dumped far more money into his offshore account than that. Just in case. Fuck, this was his just in case, and now it was worse than he’d already believed!
His fists clenched under the table and he counted down from a hundred, combating the urge to throw his laptop across the room. What the fuck was he going to do? He’d lost everything overnight. Every business, every penny and worse, every ounce of respect his name had commanded for years. Over two decades, he’d busted his ass building an empire and with one blind spot, it had all come crumbling down. It killed him that it had been someone he’d spent half his life thinking of as a brother. His best friend. The one who’d been with him through it all. To be betrayed by the only person he’d ever trusted enough to divulge all of his secrets to, was beyond crushing. It was a living hell. A nightmare Henley simply couldn’t see a way out of. He was in ruins. Even if he could start over, take what little capital he had left and rebuild, his name was dirt. Vic hadn’t been satisfied with just ripping his wealth away from him, he’d made sure Henley couldn’t even get a fucking loan!
Nobody trusted the Crane name now. That was the worst of it. The hilt of the knife Vic had stabbed him in the back with. The salt he’d maliciously scoured into the open wounds. How had he not seen the signs? Henley prided himself on his ability to read people better than he let on. He’d always known who his enemies were, both socially and professionally. Vic had never made a blip on his radar. They’d done everything together; college, startups, women. There had been nothing secret between them and nothing they hadn’t shared. That kind of bond, that level of trust…
Henley’s thoughts were just as jarred as the bells hanging over the café door, when it was thrust open and a woman tripped inside with a shocked expression on her face. Though, that was mostly covered by stylish sunglasses. Embarrassment reddened her cheeks until they almost matched her gaping lips, and Henley felt a dangerous, familiar stir low in his gut. It was a good look on a woman. One he’d personally triggered countless times.
“Wow, I’m so sorry.” She recovered quickly, turning to apologize to the baristas behind the counter. “I had no idea it would open that easily, that is…really light.”
Henley nearly sneered at the dimwitted remark and drank in her tall, statuesque form from behind. Designer jeans hugged slender legs under the pale gray sweater that draped over her ass with a rounded hem. Even from twenty yards, he knew it was cashmere. Just like he knew her over-sized, deer hide handbag was real and carried a price tag in the thousands. Her hair was layers of golden browns and blonds, salon produced, not natural and pulled into a fashionable ponytail at the back of her head. The sunglasses she perched atop her perfectly styled hair couldn’t be found in any store in America. They’d undoubtedly been shipped directly to her doorstep, along with other accessories some Italian designer wanted to impress her with. Anything to have their brand advertised on the most effective billboards in existence: famous people.
But who was she? Henley couldn’t draw a name, not that he always expected to. Contrary to popular belief, not all rich people knew each other. There were still cliques among the elite, and they rarely overlapped. He’d spent all of his time rubbing elbows with other wealthy businessmen and women, networking among the corporate moguls and Fortune 500 tycoons. He hadn’t dabbled in the realm of celebrities, and the only time he’d entertained conversation with a trust-fund kid, was when they were actually in the game, getting ready to take their place as a rightful heir to a throne within his world. More than her name, though, Henley wanted to know why she was there. A sudden feeling of distrust settled atop the other nonsense he was struggling with. McCallan Point wasn’t a tourist destination for the wealthy. It was better known for local artists, crabbing, fishing, boating and people who just wanted to be left the hell alone. Like Henley. That’s why he’d chosen it. So, why was someone from his old life there and why so soon? He hadn’t even had the chance to lick his wounds yet.
With half an ear, he listened to her order some fancy latte to go. The moment she asked for directions, she had his undivided attention.
“Would you know how to get to White Rock Landing?”
Henley rolled his eyes to the ceiling and barely managed to keep his groan checked. She had to be joking. It was just more cruel punishment to dump on the head of someone already down and bleeding. Because fate hadn’t gotten its rocks off yet, or what? Fuck.
“Yeah, of course, I do, I mean sure.” The teenage, pimple-faced boy behind the counter grinned, causing Henley to smack his lips dryly.
Keep dreaming, kid.
Torn between prolonging his misery and just getting it the hell over with, it took Henley a few minutes to shut down his laptop and polish off the rest of his coffee. Now that he knew his nest egg was more the size of a chicken’s than an ostrich’s, it would undoubtedly be the last espresso he’d be splurging on for awhile. After standing and shoving his laptop into its carrying case, he scraped the chair in with enough noise to get everyone’s attention. He hadn’t been prepared, when the woman turned and their gazes collided. Her eyes were as undecided as a storm cloud, hovering somewhere between gray and blue. Too light to be called slate, too dark to be anything else. Her stunning features were mostly sharp, yet delicate. It was her mouth Henley was instantly drawn to. Lush and glossed with that wet sheen women knew how to use to their advantage, her top lip was a little more pronounced than her bottom. It gave her the sexy parted lip look used in almost every commercial and magazine ad, except she wasn’t posing. She was just staring at him.
“I’m headed that way. You can follow me.”
Something shifted almost imperceptibly in her eyes, but she quickly smiled to cover it up. “You sure?” she asked with fake politeness, obviously not expecting him to retract the offer, since she didn’t wait for an actual confirmation. “You’re a lifesaver, thank you.”
Henley didn’t respond. He slipped his own sunglasses into place and stalked out the door, letting her scramble to catch up. Exactly when he’d turned the proverbial whip on himself and became the masochist, he couldn’t say, but apparently he felt the need to be punished for that joke of an offshore account. With a single glance at the pretend, beaming smile molding the sexiest set of lips he’d ever seen, Henley had to admit his own sadism was outlandishly worse than he’d ever believed possible.
If we can participate in NaNoWriMo, then why aren’t we challenging ourselves to write a novel in 30 days at the beginning of EVERY month?
This is the question I just asked myself, as I’m looking at my goals for 2019 and realizing I don’t have as much time as I’d like to think. My list of books to publish this year total 3 and 1 is already done, so that’s nothing, right? But I’m staring down the barrel of February toward spring with less than a chapter written on one of those books and sweating bullets over how little time I have to get this done, because finishing the book is just the first step. In order to publish when I want to, I need to make sure it’s done in time to order a book tour in advance, get it through my editor and off to beta readers before launch day.
I don’t even participate in NaNo every year, but the last time I did, I was successful at getting more than 50,000 words written on a novel. So, why can’t I do that on my own? I’m an Indie Author, aren’t I? I’m used to doing everything myself, so there is absolutely no reason why I can’t. It’s all a state of mind. Which, is why I’ve decided that I’m going to challenge myself DIY style and will dedicate Wednesday as my word count accountability day. Granted, it’s not the first of the month any more, but in all fairness, I already have a word count going, so I think that makes up for it.
Here’s my first DIY 30 day challenge to myself: Get the first draft for Fox Trot (Dark Day Isle, Book 3) done by March 7, 2019!
Current word count is: 3,668
Wish me luck…