Guest Poster: Author Dan Wright on Conventions and Writing!

Guest Post – Conventions as a Stepping Stone

Around the middle of February time, I attended the London Anime Con 2012 with the intention of selling my fantasy novel Trapped on Draconica. As this novel was written with the manga style in mind and included illustrations similar to this style I felt it would be the perfect change to showcase my work. This was something that I had been looking forward to for a long time – but was also dreading at the same time. It was my first convention that I had ever been to as a dealer so I didn't have a clue what to expect. Nevertheless, I knew that I had to give it a go and hope that the anime artwork in my book would be enough to win the manga crowd over.

Nevertheless, Saturday morning me and my Mum (who had kindly agreed to help me) set off for London, found the place and unloaded the gear. I had a bit of a fit trying to find a place to leave the car (London can be a real bitch to find places to park nearby!), but after that bit of stress, we were shown to our table, set it up – then sat down to play the waiting game.

I had put a lot of money into getting ready for this convention, printing off cards, leaflets, getting a banner made and (of course) printing off copies of my book. Still, as I knew most of the stuff on display here today was based on pre-existing manga, I knew that this would be a struggle.

So how did it go? Was it a success? Well, I'd be lying if I said that I sold EVERY copy of my book and made thousands of pounds (in fact I probably didn't even break even once all the costs where considered), but for me it was a resounding YES! The amount of people who brought the book seemed genuinely interested in it and thanks to my Mum (who was an amazing sales person) we got a decent number of sales to justify us being there. Not only that, but I got talking to a few other dealers there and exchanged cards and details with them, was recorded by the local camera man for the event AND I was interviewed for an upcoming documentary about fandom.

Not only that – but I gained two more fans for my book! One of them brought a copy, read 5 chapters, came back the next day and her sister brought one as well! Not only that, but they told me there and then that I was her favourite author alongside Terry Pratchett! Being that he's an author I have the upmost respect for, I was humbled by that comment! So I even let them have a signed copy each! Now they follow me on Facebook and Twitter and have visited my website a few times! The weekend was worth it just for this alone!

Do I recommend doing conventions? The answer to that is a resounding YES! They are great ways of not just promoting your work, but networking as well! Obviously, I do not recommend you going into them with the intention of selling LOTS of stuff, and you also need to pick the right convention that's best for your product. I think that any author, artist, or just a creative person should use conventions as a stepping stone for their work. You're never too sure how it may turn out! They aren't cheap, but they are certainly worth it if you work hard at it.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Dan Wright lives in Canterbury, UK with his brother and their cat – although he spends most of his time in a fantasy world! A writer of Fantasy that was strongly inspired by Manga, Dan currently is writing a series of books set in the world of Draconica, where dragons once ruled as gods! He is heavily inspired by medieval fiction, Greek and Egyptian mythology and a few RPG’s games.

He has written two books, Trapped on Draconica and The Wandering Valkyr with more planned for the year. Please visit his website for more details!

CONTACT THE AUTHOR

Website and Blog: http://www.pandragondan.co.uk/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/PandragonDanWright

Twitter: https://twitter.com/#!/PandragonDan

Purchase links:

TRAPPED ON DRACONIA

Paperback:

Amazon UK:

Amazon US:

Smashwords: 

THE WANDERING VALKYR

Amazon UK

Amazon US:

Smashwords:  

Thank you very much, Dan!

Next week:

Author Charity Parkerson Paranormal Romance, A Specialty!

Monster Mash

He was worried about him. That’s how it started.

His friend was a writer. ‘Nuff said. So he wasn’t wrapped tightly anyway. And between that and not hearing from him for ten days, well Harry just had to check.

The truth was Harry didn’t know how Jake coped as a writer. Actually he never really got anywhere. Oh sure, he occasionally sold something to like ten people at one time. Afterwards he’d ride the crest of a high for days. 

Crests were few and far between though.

Facing the day in day out reality of it all, now that was the killer. Murder as in  a slow and painful death Jake used to tell him.

“Why do you do it then, for Christ sakes?”

It was his thing, he'd answer.

Harry could understand that but he still didn’t think it was worth the pain.

"I'll do it till it kills me."

He had no doubt. That was why he was checking on his friend now.

Since he wasn't answering his phone, Harry decided to go to that shitty bar Jake worked in only to be told by the owner he hadn’t been in for five nights.

“And I’m firing his ass.”

Yeah, whatever man.

“If you see him, tell him.”

A barely perceptible nod, mixed with contempt for the boss.  

Why doesn’t it occur to people someone might be sick or dead?

Jake always said nobody cared—only friends, real friends. And since Harry was a real friend he went to Jake’s apartment in order to check there.

The Sun Dial Apartments very south of South Beach on Miami Beach was the place. The halls smelled of bug spray and dead dreams. But it smelled of something else too—something like death.

Harry ran up two flights of stairs still smelling it only it got worse as he neared the apartment.

There were two men standing outside of Jake's door; the landlord, chewing an unlit cigar and another guy who was poking something in the keyhole.

“He changed the locks, the bastard.”

At last the door sprang open and the full force of the stink made itself known. It rocked everyone on their heels.

It was worse than death. It was a salty smell like blood or something.

“Jesus! What died in there?”

Jake sauntered over to greet them. He looked nuttier than usual.

“What didn’t die in here, that’s the question! But it's okay! I’ve finally created something memorable! I've done it!"

He gestured toward what looked like a corpse.  

“It’s made outta body parts, see?”

They looked to see a repulsive looking stink-filled, bloody hulk leaning against the wall.

“I sewed the parts on myself. Pretty good eh?”

Yeah, terrific. The head was composed of a few different heads, well faces really with mismatched features.

"Now, this is special. The eyes come from critics and reviewers. That mouth for instance, that comes from one person. Yeah, I tracked her down finally. She said I wasn't ready to be published! She had to have known that was a lie. People can't say things like that and get away with it!"

And there was hair, too.

“Now that white hair that’s from one publisher and the blonde, see? That’s from an agent that never gave me the time of day! Why if she had only read my lousy manuscript I’d have left her alone!"

Harry muttered. “It’s like Frankenstein.”

Jake grinned with a fierce, insane look on his face. “It’s better. Watch.”

He was holding some sort of keypad which he pressed. Just then the hulk began to move.

Jake cracked up laughing. "It’s alive! He screeched, "it's alive!”

At last the thing stopped moving. No one said anything, just Jake.

"Want to know how I did it? I used Bicore circuits. “Yeah," he said tapping his temple. “My science degree paid off. Bicore is the foundation for the mechanism factor of BEAM robots.”

Poor Jake. He was telling them all about it on the way to the nut ward. “See, It's just a simple oscillator but when grouped together it can produce complex behaviors…I made it, anyone can really!”

Yeah, great. He finally created something people would talk about like forever!

695 words

© Copyright 2012 Carole Gill

Indie Reader Mentioned My Vampire Novel!

Read it here!

VAMPIRES: HOW DOES YOUR FAVE RATE?

Interesting article discussing film and tv vampires

Then we get to this:

For some Indie Book examples of vampire stories that are worth their weight in blood, you might want to check out the following:

THE HOUSE ON BLACKSTONE MOOR by Carole Gill.

A tale of vampirism, madness, obsession and devil worship as Rose Baines, only survivor of her family’s carnage, tells her story. Fragile, damaged by the tragedy, fate sends Rose to a desolate house on the haunted moors where demons dwell. A great story, written in the style of an old fashioned Gothic novel.

Wow, thank you Pavarti K. Tyler and INDIE READER!



Ye Olde Oddity Shoppe

WARNING DARK STUFF AHEAD! READER DISCRETION ADVISED.

It was a small shop on a back street, the sort of shop you'd only find in Europe. She ran to it at once. "Oh, look!"


At first he didn't know what had caught her eye but then he did.


Puppets.

"Aren’t they wonderful?”

Charles' corns hurt like a bastard but he walked over anyway. He looked and nodded. Actually they were attractive puppets in a strange way. Strange the way puppets and dolls can look sometimes.

She was going on about how magnificent they looked. Magnificent and pricey, he thought.

He was just wondering how to get her the hell away when the door opened and an old man appeared.

“They are beautiful, no? Hand-crafted and made locally right here. The designs are based on 17th Century puppets that are in the Puppentheater Museum in Berlin. Come and look around."

She was inside in a millisecond. The husband shuffled in after her.

The shop was unique, crammed as it was with all sorts of eye-catching items. Everything from puppets to dolls to a variety of knick knacks.  There were ashtrays and vases, clothing too, like retro stuff—hats, gloves--the works.

“I’ve never seen anything like it!”

She didn’t want to leave, but her husband kept telling her they weren’t budgeted for a big spend.

At last she smiled and turned to go, but that’s when the old man said what he said.

“I have a special room in the back.”

 If they had been lucky, if they had been just the least bit careful…but they weren’t.

It was her fault. She was an effusive, excitable creature who always reacted on impulse.

“Oh darling, I just have to see it…! Please?!”

      

                                                      *

  

The door was behind a bookcase. It was a real hideaway, like a speakeasy or something.

“It’s strictly for connoisseurs like yourselves--people with very special tastes and requirements.”

This was different than anything Charles had ever seen. There was an aura here of something strange, even sinister.

It made him want to shudder but not her. She was prattling on about everything and how awesome and amazing it all was.

It did seem unusual. There were shelves full of jars and what looked like stacks of old parchments. Along one side of the room there were doors lined up one next to the other. Magnificent old studded doors right out of antiquity it seemed.

She was looking at the jars. “Whatever are those up there?”

The old man had her climb up to get a better look. She did but she screamed. “Those things! What are they?”

 The proprietor sighed proudly. “They are eye balls and there on the other shelves, those are wombs and fetuses. Dried out they make make lovely belts and..."

She rushed down the ladder steps and made for the door but tripped.  The husband half carried her toward the main shop, but the old man shot him in the neck.

 “I would have drugged you. It would have been better. No pain.”

 The pain didn’t last long for he was soon dead.

"There now," the old man urged. "I'll just give you this." She winced when she felt the sting of a needle. "You're very lovely, in an old world way. I will really enjoy working with you. Meanwhile, why don't you just rest. There's no reason to be upset."

He helped her to a loveseat. "You will be comfortable here. Now, do permit me before you lose consciousness to tell you about my shop for I am most proud!”

She heard his voice—but it seemed far away as though she were dreaming.

 He was telling her things: fragments of incredible information—terrifying stuff which was barely understood because she was beyond understanding.

  
“There are dead infants and children in the puppets…it’s amazing what can be done with mummified cadavers. You see. The plaster of Paris is put on last and painted of course…and as for the doors, the studs if you look closely are teeth, well fragments of teeth. I personally like these best. No they are not parchments though they look like they are. Here let me show you…”

 She shuddered when it touched her.

“This is made from skin, madam. Yes all sorts of skin. Skin from a variety of people. They make the most amazing ornamental art and things!”

She was moaning and twisting herself, trying so hard to get up but she kept falling back.

“Please rest. It will be over soon. I tell you what! I shall bring you a pillow for your comfort.”

He lifted her head, placing the pillow underneath.

“This is a special pillow, stuffed with human hair. Nice don’t you think?”

She tried to scream but nothing came out for she was really sinking fast.

“Now the loveseat you are reclining on—that is special too for it isn’t wicker that frames it.” He tapped it. “Bones, madam. Yes bones from all over the world, from wherever there is carnage…of course now that I am elderly I must obtain my wares more close to home. And so I come to you and your husband. Truly it was so nice of you to come into my shop, for now I shall have yet more items to eventually sell after they are fashioned of course. I do sell things, I mean there is a market for everything and for grisly things business has never been better.”

“But--!”

“Yes,” he said. "My grandfather really got it going with all the things he brought back with him from the war. You see he was a doctor on the Eastern Front in one of those camps…and well, there were so many raw materials from which to choose…”

She was dead before he finished but he didn’t care, in fact he hardly even noticed.

© Copyright 2012 Carole Gill

972 words

Guest Post: Pararnormal Author, Marissa Farrar

Writing from Reality

 Marissa Farrar

As authors, we’re often told to ‘write what we know’. Of course, if we’re paranormal, fantasy or sci-fi authors, writing what we know isn’t always that easy. Not many of us—if any—have had real life experience of the paranormal and I can probably make a pretty good bet that not a single sci-fi author I know of has any kind of space travel experience.

So how do these types of authors keep it real in their fiction?

 Just because the setting is in some mystical country, or the characters all happen to be half-fairy, doesn’t mean the author still can’t draw on some personal experience in order to give the characters life and three dimensions. Perhaps you’re the victim of a broken home, something that affected you later in life? Maybe you or someone close to you has suffered with a debilitating disease – you could use the emotions and strengths needed to deal with that.

Of course not everything has to be negative or angst-ridden. If you’re writing romance, you could look back at the time when you first met your other half and try to draw on how you first felt when you met him or her. Or if writing Young Adult fiction, focus on how it felt to be a teenager yourself (never an easy time).

One of the biggest influences in my writing has to be my love of travel and the number of different countries I’ve been to and places I’ve lived in. I’ve lived in London, Australia and Spain, and I spent a couple of years of my life backpacking around Europe and then later, South East Asia.

It was during this time backpacking in Thailand and Cambodia that the idea for my latest novel, The Dark Road, came to me.

 While much of this book is fiction, some of it is based on my real-life experiences. From the cold behavior of the Cambodian officials at the border, to the lack of decent roads, to the old tin-can of a bus we were made to ride in hour after hour—all of these things were true.

 I experienced the same terrifying lightning storm my characters witness, the sensation of total isolation, and even the driver and his young assistant stopping at regular intervals to check beneath the bus (for what, to this day I have no clue!). But the idea for The Dark Road hit me, when, as the lightning storm continued around us, I was sure I saw something running alongside the bus.

 As for the rest of the story, well you, the reader, will have to decide which is fact and which is fiction.

                                             BIO                                            

Marissa Farrar is a multi-published horror and paranormal author. She was born in Devon, England, loves to travel and has lived in both Australia and Spain. She now resides in Devon with her husband, two children, a crazy Spanish rescue dog and four hens. She has a degree in Zoology, but her true love has always been writing.

Her dark take on a vampire romance, Alone, was first published in 2009 and has now been re-launched as book one in the ‘Serenity’ series. The second book in the series, Buried, is now available to buy. The third title, Captured, will be published March 2012. She is also the author of the horror novel, The Dark Road, and two short story collections.

Her short stories have also been accepted for a number of anthologies including, Their Dark Masters, Red Skies Press, Masters of Horror: Damned If You Don’t, Triskaideka Books; and 2013: The Aftermath, Pill Hill Press.

If you want to know more about Marissa, then please visit her website at
www.marissa-farrar.blogspot.com.

You can also find her at her facebook page, www.facebook.com/marissa.farrar.author or follow her on twitter @marissafarrar.

She loves to hear from readers and can be emailed at marissafarrar@hotmail.co.uk.

 
Thank you so much, Marissa!

Next Week:
Keira Kroft Author and Senior Editor of Hellfire Publishing

One More Night

“It is very old this thing. You might think it strange looking but truly it is the most amazing artifact!”

The buyer was skeptical. “If it’s so amazing why is it not in a museum or in some private collection? Why have I not heard of it?”

“You have not heard of it for it is cursed with the curse of temptation!”

The buyer, turned to go. “Please! If you think you will get my interest piqued by such a silly lie as that--!”

“But truly sir, it is cursed. It has always been so…! Are you not interested? I understand you have varied tastes and are always seeking out the unusual. Please come, I pray you, come and see for yourself. You will be amazed.”

He didn’t really like the old man, but he had provided the most amazing entertainment for him, so unique was it and so enjoyable he felt he could not say no to him now.

And he didn’t. Instead of leaving he found himself stepping into a darkened room. “How did I know this room would be dark?”

The old man merely shrugged though his customer was growing more impatient by the second.

“Where is it? What are you showing me? I don’t see anything!”

Just when it seemed the customer was going to leave the old man pleaded: “Please good sir, permit me to show you the one thing I wish you to see. It is like nothing you have ever seen!”

“Very well, let’s get on with it.”

He soon found himself gazing upon a shrouded figure. And because there was something about it—he found he could not look away. “It is a woman…” He declared, for he just knew it was. “Who is she?”

The old man took rather a long time to answer but then he finally did. “She is a famous lady, a countess.”

“You don’t mean—that one, you know!”

The old man nodded. “The Countess Erzebat Bathory…”

“The one who bathed in blood! Draw away the shroud for I would like to see her! Do it now.”

The shroud was drawn away. But what was revealed was horrible. For the thing was all dried out and rotted away.

“You charlatan! How can I be certain it is who you say?”

He would have to take his word for it, he was told. And though he wished to leave he found he could not for there was something about the thing that spurred him on and he soon asked: “How much do you want for it?”

“100,000 Euros."

“Here you are though I know you are a thief and this is nothing but a fake. Still, you may deliver it here to my hotel so that I may examine it!”

The seller looked delighted when told the name of the hotel. “You are a rich man! That is a most elegant place! I shall bring it by later.”

*

He waited all evening for the old man. He finally rang up the shop. He even walked over to it and banged on the door though he could see no one was inside.

Then he stormed back to his hotel. After smoking incessantly he went to sleep.

It was during the night that it happened. Someone came into his room, he heard the rustling but that was all he heard for he had been drugged. Whatever it had been was in the mint left on his bed. The mint he had just before retiring.

When he opened his eyes he saw a woman covered in blood. Her back was to him but she turned and smiled at him, her teeth becoming as red as the rest of her.

It was when she reached for a cloth to wipe her face that he recognized her. "You're--!"

He wavered for he felt weak. It was then that he looked down to see he was in his bath.

How red the water looked! He screamed for he understood what had happened.

He was cut all over. There didn’t seem to be much of his body that hadn’t been sliced open.

“In life it was maiden’s blood I bathed in, now in death it is anyone’s I fancy and I fancied you as a matter of fact. And now I shall show you how much!”

She moved to caress him and as she did, she kissed him, “You will die now with a kiss and the lips of Countess Bathory upon your dying flesh…and you will know that you have given me life for one more night at least. One more night to love you as you deserve.”

She smiled then and moved ever closer to him, closer and closer and closer…

800 words

© Copyright 2012 Carole Gill

        

Meet Lorelei Bell, Horror Author! Vampires a Specialty! Get her latest book for $2.99!

About Lorelei:

In her teens and adult years, Lorelei has always rooted for Dracula to be the dark romantic hero, but was often disappointed. She was considered odd because of her interests in the macabre, horror/vampire movies—before it was 'cool'.

When not at her day job, Lorelei works on her novels, inventing new characters and places/worlds where they dwell. Her writing has been compared to Anne Rice's more gritty novels, but with a humorous twist in the tradition of Charlaine Harris.


Writing and Lorelei:

I began writing in high school, and because I am dyslexic, it took me a very long time to work on my craft. Thank goodness when spell check came around, it saved my day.

In 1983, I joined a writer's group that met in an author's very large house where I was surrounded by very talented writers, mostly un-published.
I used to think I could never write like they did. But I strove toward that goal. I wrote “horror,” and still I lean toward a bit of horror, but I don't read horror as a rule.

My reading tends to be eclectic, and I have favorite authors. I enjoyed the Harry Potter books—they brought me back to fantasy.

As for the Twilight series I didn't much care for Meyer's brand of vampires, and couldn't get past the second book—actually I didn't like the second book.
When I took up the pen and strove to put down my vampire stories, there was no such genre as “urban fantasy” or “paranormal romance” where vampires were hunks and women sought their attentions.

Vampire works went under the general heading of “horror”. Eventually, though, Anne Rice came to the rescue and brought a different type of story to the vampire genre--whether she intended it or not, we all began to look at vampires differently.

My vampires have different personalities and their own motives and desires— you may think you want to like or trust one of them, but then they turn around and bite.

When it came to developing my heroine I was not going to go with the all too familiar kick-ass heroine.

I don't care much for these types of heroines—I really don't think that women in general can relate to them. I also did not want her to work in some sort of newly created bureau (as in Karen Chance, Keri Arthur, and Kim Harris novels).

I didn't want to do a lot of back-story—which is what these novels have to do. So, I begin the story at the beginning with Sabrina Strong, a sometimes quirky twenty-one year old that has this unique problem where she can't hold a job because she is a Touch Clairvoyant.

Thus, when her father dies, she is forced to take something she can actually do. So when she answers the ad for a clairvoyant, she isn't expecting to work for vampires. However, she is quite aware that they exist—even though most people don't believe it, or know that vampires, shift changers, werewolves, and demons do exist right alongside them.

Vampire Ascending & Vampire's Trill can both be found on Amazon.com

$2.99 special offer ebook Vampire Ascending!

Amazon Vampire Ascending
And are available as eBooks, and paperback.

Publisher: Copperhill Media

Lorelei's Muse (blog)


Vampire Ascending website


Thank you, Lorelei!

~*~

Next week: Horror Author, Marissa Farrar

End of Story: A Vampire Tale

The housemaid saw her and thought she looked beautiful in the moonlight like a young goddess come to earth for some purpose.

“You there. Are you hungry, would you like to sit by the fire?”

The girl backed away into the shadows for she feared showing herself. She frightened people with her teeth.

She was born with tiny, sharp teeth. Teeth her mother felt every time she nursed her.

As she grew older the teeth became too noticeable and the villagers started to talk; one day the mayor came with priests and others to take the child away ‘for her own good.’

The mother agreed, not intending for a moment to go along with any of it. Instead, she took the little girl to the woods.

“If God sees fit for you to survive you will, my child. Forgive me.”

She left the child there and since she could not live with what she had done, she killed herself. The girl, barely five, wept for days. She wept until she was rescued.

Ironically it was a coven of vampires that saved her, taking care of her, eventually telling her that they would never force their world upon her nor their way of existing.

“If you decide to enter our world, it will be your decision.”

And so it was, for when she was no longer a child but a young woman she allowed herself to be created. When she tasted the master’s blood, she saw his entire existence. And she was moved and wept for she saw savagery and persecution.

“We are hunted down and always shall be, for what we are. I regret you are one of the afflicted now…”

She said she didn’t mind for she loved her coven and him and they returned that love.

But all was not well for one day vampire destroyers came and they wiped out those she thought of as family.

She hid in the forest, frightened lest they find her, for she had seen what they did--the staking and beheading and she feared for herself.

A year went by with her hiding in caves and feeding on whatever small animals she could find.

Yet this could not last for she was lonely. She missed her coven and yearned to be a part of something again.

When she could no longer stand the solitude she wandered some distance, and came in sight of a village. It looked like a small settlement.

She still feared destroyers, but her lonely heart pushed her forward and so she went, stopping at a small cottage just on the outskirts.

It was dark and she could see light from within. How inviting it looked to her, for in the far recesses of her mind she did recall such a cottage. Actually she was remembering the one she was born in.

This was when the housemaid saw her.

“Are you a wood spirit?” she asked, for she was a simple girl with a good heart.  “Whatever you are, I should like to offer you some food.”

The maid’s voice startled the girl. “I cannot,” she called out, slipping back into the shadows.

But the housemaid was persistent and the girl acquiesced and walked toward the open door.

It wasn’t until she smiled that the housemaid gasped. For her teeth were truly frightening—worse than they had ever been. Still, she insisted the girl have soup and bread.

“Come in and eat. Sleep by the fire if you wish, my master is not here…”

The girl thanked the woman and fell into a deep sleep, only waking later to find the housemaid dozing too. She was so overcome with gratitude that she hurried to her, to thank her.

She was surprised at how sweet the housemaid’s skin smelled.

She only meant to kiss her hands, but she did more. She began to feed gently, moving up her arm and beyond. When her lips found the soft, white throat she wept with joy and began to feed there. Yet, her teeth did not tear the flesh; it was a caress if anything.

The housemaid opened her eyes and smiled. And because she had never been with anyone in this way or any other, she gave herself up there in the light of the fire and the two became one. And the night passed and their affection grew until passion came to claim both their hearts.

The door opened at dawn. The master of the house stood gazing at the two recumbent figures, one feeding quietly upon the other.

“What is this?”

The housemaid was startled and apologized but she needn’t have bothered.

"No it’s alright, for I know how I shall end my story! You see it is something I have been working on for ages! And now, suddenly—I find you and know that I will be able to finish my writing! Who are you?” he asked the stranger. “What is your name?”

The girl, with the housemaid’s blood upon her face and breast replied: “I am Carmilla and I come from another place.”

“Have no fear little one, I am Le Fanu and you may stay here as long as you like.”

~*~

Carmilla is a Gothic novella by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu. First published in 1872, it tells the story of a young woman's susceptibility to the attentions of a female vampire named Carmilla. Carmilla predates Bram Stoker's Dracula by 25 years, and has been adapted many times for cinema.

916 words

© Copyright 2012 Carole Gill