When I pour myself a glass of red wine ...

... it means that summer's over.
I have to apologise for not updating the blog for a while, I'm surprised myself, but I was, and still am, really busy. And there wasn't much that pissed me off so much that I needed to rant. Well, maybe the subject of fake reviews, paid for or bribed in any other way, but that has been circulating for ages, no need for me to warm up the ever colder becoming topic. Don't get me wrong: I do lose all respect for anyone who cheats his or her way up with fake bought praise, and I certainly will never become one of them, but I'm a little tired of reading about it now. Besides, there are plenty of wonderful bloggers who dealt with the issue.
<------ a painting I fell in love with many years ago. It hangs on my wall.

Back to the changing seasons. It has been a summer spent in the garden or on the couch, writing, writing and writing. In between I did some gardening, then editing, writing and writing and editing and ... you get the picture. I was busy, hence the slight neglect of the blog. And it's not over yet. I'm starting a massive rewrite project; a novel I'm hopefully be able to publish in November/December. Again, a completely different genre. Probably a good thing it's not hot anymore; rewriting/editing is not so much fun on a reflective screen. It's okay to write new stuff, to just let your fingers run over the keyboard (I touch type), squinting at the screen through your tears, not so. However, I wrote a few more short stories to add to my collection, which I have just published on Amazon. The book is called 5-Minute Tea Break Stories and will be free from tomorrow to Saturday. Look out for it. The stories are all short and in various genres. If you are a long-term follower, you'll know most of them as they were posted for a long while. I did the cover image, by the way. How's that for a first attempt in photography, eh? And that with a mobile cam.

Okay, since that book is out of the way, I can now take a breather. A short one. Just this evening, after having scrumptious fish. I decided I deserve a glass of red tonight. That's right, I've bought a bottle of red as that's what I prefer when it's cold outside. I know, I know, it's not really cold yet, but you haven't been in my flat: it's a fucking fridge! But that's not your concern, I just wanted to tell you. It also means that autumn is waiting around the corner, and boy, do I love autumn. Not so much because it's colder, but for its colours. You often get clear blue sky and the trees will fight for your eyes' attention with their yellow, red, and brown leaves. It's simply beautiful to walk through the park, the low sun warming your face while it's crisp. I love it.

And then will be winter, which means lots of glasses (bottles) of red and plenty of writing to be done. I guess I didn't tell you yet that I've decided, against my former decision, to write a third book in the Branded series. Why? Because it keeps haunting me and I receive a lot of messages, asking if there will be a third one. So yes, it's official, there will be. But it maybe take me a while. Please bear with me. I don't want to rush, but want to write something that will be worth waiting for. 

That's it, I'm done! It's time to say

Goodbye

to the Branded Series, that is. I've said it in the past, after No Wings Attached sunk into the bottomless belly of Amazon, that I contemplated to stop writing the sequel and put the series to a rest. Only after readers repeatedly asked where the sequel is, I finished the book. Now, Candlelight Sinner has been released last month and performs equally: a block of concrete couldn't sink faster than the book. So I thought back and forth and decided to not write the third book.

To say or pretend I'm not disappointed would be a lie. Of course I am. Three years of my life went into the books, they have made me laugh, cry and angry. I'm proud of them and I know many of those who read them loved them and it was a rather interesting journey; No Wings Attached taught me all about the craft and I had plenty of fun writing the two novels.

I feel that part of the 'not selling' is because of the first published version of No Wings Attached was error-riddled. No reader in their right mind would buy another book by an author who can't take care of their books. Well, if only I had known. Never mind, that's something I can't reverse.

Personally, I don't know why else the books won't sell, it might be the lack of vampires, the lack of erotica, the weird mix of genres being paranormal romantic comedy, or the reviewers who keep referring to Tom as being an angel, which he isn't - at least not in the common sense - who knows? Fact is that self-publishing is a good way to find out if your book tickles the fancy of the crowd.

My Branded series doesn't, so it's time to move on to other projects, which is what I'm currently doing. So for those of you who are waiting for the third book: I'm sorry. Really really sorry. But I won't continue this series.
This is not a whiny post, in fact, I think I'm rather relieved to not have to write a third book. As much fun as it was, I've somehow outgrown the books and the style and I'd like to take other challenges. So, maybe it's a good thing because now I can just step away with a clean conscience. I see that as a positive thing. And I'll continue to love the books 

I threaten you, however, to unleash a new book at some point this year.

Up to then, there's always my short story collection Excuse me, where is the exit?

The end is near-ish

If you are anxiously awaiting the sequel to No Wings Attached, you might be delighted to hear that the sequel is coming along rather well. After a few hiccups, I'm presently at word-count 63k -- Chapter Sixteen -- with an aim at 82k words in the end.
Interestingly, quite contrary to my expectations, it took much longer to get to the point I'm now; I planned a meager 2.5 months to write the whole thing and it started off rather well, but -- somehow -- I got thrown off the rails with the rather unpleasant surprise of my first book's state (I've posted about it here). I take my job as an author seriously and thinking about how many readers I've lost because of that, my good reputation I've worked hard for and still try to build up, ruined, had me almost throw the towel. But I gathered that I can't live without writing anyway, so I put on my fight-back-hat and continued with the sequel. Readers asking me when it will come out, of course, was a big motivator and my longing for perfection -- for independence -- did the rest.
Recently, I've blogged about my improvement, meaning, it's less obvious I'm not native, which was really great news. I've got to admit, I almost cried when I got the excerpt I sent back. I'm working hard on learning grammar and seeing how much it paid off was mind-blowing. The more I'm in control, the better. And it'll benefit my editing-business, too. since I only offer editing on plot- and character-development, with the occasional grammar I'm familiar with. (If you are interested in a quote, please get in touch, using the address to the right.)

Back to the sequel: I can promise you I'll have surprises in store. The second book leans more into the paranormal world, but it's still urban. Guaranteed no vampires or werewolves, only demons, humans from the dark side, as we have humans from the good side. Celia's risking everything, so is Tom. It will still have the 'chatty and funny' tone, which means it's not a dark read. There is love, friendship and hate. An emotional roller coaster, like the first book.

Here's another short excerpt I've recently written:
Celia's training in the cave.

I nod, close my eyes and concentrate. When I open them again, I reach out my right hand, palms up and think of the rope. It moves a tiny bit and falls off his hand.

�Shite!� I say.

He picks it up and motions me to try again.

I repeat what I've done before, but this time with my palm towards him, imagining to open the door that's stuck. The feather moves away from me, twirling in the air. I hold my breath.

�Is that me who's doing it?�

�Yes, keep concentrating.� But it's too late, the feather softly floats to the ground.

With a tut I go and pick it up, then place it on my hand and look at Sam.�You do it!�

He chuckles and before I know it, the feather disappears, just to appear � a fraction of a second later � in his hand.

I stomp my foot on the floor. �That's unfair! You make it look so easy.�

�Give yourself some credit, lass. You've only started with training, and let me tell you something, you're doing better than most of my trainees.�

�Really?� I ask, hopefull, but feel stupid immediately. Of course he's only saying it! My cheeks become hot and I rearrange my top.

�Trust me. You have a lot of fire behind your moves, but release them best when you're angry or hurt. What you need to do is fine-tuning. That's what we're trying. Only controlled powers are real powers.�

It makes sense to me. �In that case, let me try again.�

We repeat the 'pulling' a few more times and apart from a couple of feather-droppings, it gets better with every single try. From the way he smiles I can see he's delighted and so am I.

�Okay, let's see if you manage the balloon.�

I get into position and push; the balloon moves slowly, then stops. Confused I look at Sam who smirks at me.

�So what are you going to do now?� he asks.

With gritted teeth, I push a little harder, the familiar tingling I had when fighting against Boldie almost distracts me, but I keep up with Sam. When the balloon bursts, I shriek. The noise is almost unbearable in the tiny cave.

�Very good. You've reacted without applying too much pressure. Your progress is remarkable.�

I can't help but to smile proudly. �What's next?�

�A girl who loves a challenge, eh?� He grabs the pen. �Let's see if you can move this one here.�

Both of my hands are hurting, the right from the strain of moving objects and the other one from digging my nails into the flesh, a result of making a tight fist. When Sam sees me shaking them out, he lowers his arm.

�Maybe we should take a small break.� He puts the pen down and walks over the corner where he's, again, neatly folded his jacket, then produces a bottle of water from a tattered looking rucksack. I squint to make out the faded print on it. Iron Maiden?With some effort, I hold it together. Somehow I find it hard to imagine him, head-banging along the rock dinosaurs' music.

�Oi, lass. If you have enough energy to laugh at me, you'll not exhausted enough. Time to carry on.�

We get back to our places across each other and he holds out the pen.