“With each new life we breathe our souls will migrate toward one another. Our souls will carry us over land and water to be reunited again and again.”

Synopsis

Wildflower pulled out a quill. It looked like any ordinary quill. Only, I knew what she was capable of doing once her fingers finished guiding it along the parchment. She began sketching an outline of a cluster of birds with the black ink. There were at least a half a dozen in the flock.

“With each new life we breathe our souls will migrate toward one another. Our souls will carry us over land and water to be reunited again and again.” she smiled as she replaced her quill and began chanting in her native and mysterious language.

Like magic, the ink evaporated off of the paper and swirled in circles in the air until it found purchase on skin. A cluster of delicate birds were suddenly embedded at the nape of her neck. I felt tingling warmth spread over my chest. When I looked down I found one more imprint engraved over my heart.

I glanced down at the winged figure permanently seared into my skin and smiled.  They would not separate us. We would be one forever because my heart would always belong to Wildflower, in this life and every future life.

A Chapter Sample

Jordan

I shuffled my feet more quickly as the late bell rang for class. The obnoxiously, blaring sound was a rude reminder of my inability to get to class on time. Fortunately, I had Mr. Falls for Calculus this period and he would, no doubt, be attempting to flirt with Ms. Warner, the Algebra teacher, in the hallway just outside the classroom.  As I rounded the corner I confirmed that my suspicions were correct, raced through the door and slid into my seat before Mr. Falls had the slightest clue.

“Pushing it a little close again aren’t we, Laney?” a heard a friendly voice tease as I settled into my seat.

I only smiled in return, guilty as charged.

My junior year at Plymouth North High School isn’t panning out so great, not that I’d expected it to. No, I’m pretty much ignored by my peers and most of my teachers.  It’s not so much that I’m disliked, I’m just, well, not the norm.  I’m not rich, so I can’t claim any trust fund baby attention. My parents, Shane and Andrea Stillwater, are hard working middle class folk. My mom is an accountant and my dad is the Art teacher here at Plymouth North and, sadly, the only teacher in the school that acknowledges my efforts.  I have no exceptional athletic abilities. In fact, I’m pretty pathetic with any sport which requires the manipulation of a ball, which is pretty much every sport.  I’m just an average student, so you won’t find my name on the Principle’s List.  Not that I’m complaining, I don’t mind being average and blending into the institutionally drab, beige walls of Plymouth North. In fact, I prefer it that way. Unfortunately, I’m not quite average or normal enough. You see, my mom is White but my dad is Native American and apparently, at Plymouth North, the in – crowd prefers a pure pedigree. In their eyes, I’m a freak. My people believe physical wellness and spiritual wellness are connected. By alleviating injury or sickness affecting the soul you may restore the physical body to balance and wholeness. If I get sick my dad takes me to see my grandfather, our tribe’s Shaman, and he heals me with his spiritual gifts. Needless to say my peers find my tribe’s beliefs and practices to be a bit odd, so I’ve been labeled as the weird witch of the North, North Plymouth, that is. I’m not bitter, though… OK, I’m a little bitter but I don’t feel sorry for myself because that’s just pathetic and I am not pathetic.

So, what motivates me not to jump off of a cliff, you wonder? Well, first of all, my parents are pretty great. Yeah, I know, this is not exactly normal sentiment for a teenager but they don’t really bug me that much. Second, I’m pretty good at finding distractions. I love to draw and ride horses.  When I get bored I can draw myself into a world that is much more interesting than my own or head out to my grandfather’s ranch and hit the trails with Bunny, my favorite quarter horse. Third, Carly Higgins, my best friend since kinder – garden, Carly can always makes me laugh, even when I feel like crying. Last, but not least, Jordan Stone, a super hot guy. We have English and Spanish together and he sits right behind me in both classes. We talk and flirt and joke around and it subdues the monotony a little bit.

“So, do we have any plans for the weekend yet?” the friendly voice whispered as Mr. Falls entered the classroom three minutes after the bell finished ringing.

“I don’t know, Carly. I’m still kind of bummed about the last one.” I complained.

“All the more reason to put yourself back out there!” she encouraged, forever the optimist.

“Miss Higgins, do you wish to address the class this morning?” Mr. Falls interrupted.

“No, sir…” Carly frowned.

Mr. Falls nodded an unspoken warning to Carly and I and began his lesson. I was off the hook for now.

The day continued in its usual monotonous manner until fourth period English class. Jordan Stone is in this class.

“How’s it going, Stillwater?” Jordan smiled as he loped into the room and slung his book bag to the side of his painfully uncomfortable metal and wooden desk behind mine.  He was dressed in worn blue jeans and a black tee shirt. His blond hair was tousled on top of his head from the recent sprint from his previous class.  It still looked good. No, more like perfect. His green eyes pierced through me as his dimpled and gleaming, white grin took my breath away. OK, stupid, it’s time to say something. What was it that he just asked me? Crap!

“Uhm, hey, I didn’t see you at Jessica Jacob’s party last weekend. Did you find something better to do?” I teased awkwardly, at a loss for words.

Jordan laughed, not missing a beat. I have no doubt he realizes that he drives me crazy.  This can’t be healthy, still, I persist being the masochist to love that I am.

“Nah, we heard it was gonna’ be lame so we crashed Gracie’s place instead. Her parents were out of town.” he replied nonchalantly.

Great! My favorite person, Gracie Henderson, little Miss Perfect, weaseled her way into Jordan’s weekend effectively canceling me out.  Gracie’s been getting one up on me more often than I care to admit these days.

“Oh, uhm, well, how was that?” I asked tightly, not wanting to show my annoyance and not really wanting to hear his reply.

“Awesome!” he nodded enthusiastically.  “Everyone was there. Why didn’t you come? I missed you.” he said sincerely.

OK, this is an improvement. He noticed that I wasn’t there. Maybe he was looking for me. Maybe he had wished that I had been there. I looked up to see that he was staring at me and it finally dawned on me that he was waiting for my reply.

I straightened up and snapped out of my trance.

“Oh, well, you know, I didn’t want to let Jessica down.  It was her birthday and all.” I explained lamely, not wanting to admit that I had not been invited, would never be invited, to a party being thrown by the one person who seems to hate me more than anyone else in the entire world.

I’ve often wondered what Gracie has against me. For the life of me I can’t come up with a single reason. I’ve never done anything to her. Actually, that’s a lie. I know exactly why Gracie doesn’t like me, but it would not be politically correct to voice my opinion on this matter. I am, after all, already the under dog here.  My father isn’t white and this fact doesn’t sit well with some people. It really sucks and I wish everyone would just grow up and get over it.  Well, no use crying about it, I guess. It won’t change anything.

Just as the bell was about to ring the devil herself sashayed into the class- room.

“Hi, Jordan!” she squealed. “It was so great that you could make it to my party last Saturday.  It was so much fun, wasn’t it? I mean, everyone who was anyone was there, right?” she droned on.

Don’t think I didn’t catch that last jab either. She eyed me meaningfully when she uttered it so sweetly.
“Oh yeah, man! You’re party totally rocked.” Jordan nodded. “Let me know when you decide to play host again.” He winked before he shifted around in his seat to face Laura Rice. “Hey Laura,” he whispered. “…did you finish you’re Calculus homework last night? Can I copy it?” he grinned mischievously.

“Sure thing, Jordan.” she agreed easily, pulling her home work from her bag.

I bet Jordan has yet to do a single Calculus assignment this year.  As Jordan smiled at Laura, or her home work, Gracie’s expression fell. Her glance drifted to Laura and conformed into a scowl.  Laura remained oblivious, still entranced by Jordan’s charms.  Dang! Gracie must have it bad for Jordan to be jealous of Snora – Laura. We’re talking major bore – fest personality.  Get a grip Gracie!

OK, I know, that was mean and being mean isn’t usually my style. Maybe Laura isn’t so bad, maybe she’s just shy.  She’s good at Calculus.  There, I said something nice about her so why do I still feel like a total hag? I don’t mean to be cruel; it’s just that Gracie always makes me feel like a loser. She thinks she’s better than me, so much so that sometimes I begin to feel like she might be right.  She really gets under my skin, you know?

“So, Laney, how was Jessica’s party?” Gracie turned her venom on me.

Sure, her voice was friendly enough but her eyes held the paralyzing and hypnotic stare of a cobra ready to strike.

“Oh, it was great!” I smiled cheerfully.

I lied. Gracie rolled her eyes.

“Well, I heard it sucked!” she hissed, no longer attempting to hide her malice.

On that note we all shifted uncomfortably in our seats and focused our attention toward the English teacher who was beginning the day’s lecture. Yet again, I was saved by the institution of public education.

After English class Jordan walked with me to our Spanish classroom. During our stroll he remained unusually quiet for about half of the distance.

“So, Laney, do you have plans for this weekend?” Jordan voiced shyly.

OMG! He was asking me out! OK, take deep breaths and don’t pass out.

“Uhm, no?” I responded awkwardly.

I was completely caught off guard by his inquiry.
”Oh, well uhm, how would you feel about going to see a movie with me?” he continued.

“Great! What movie?” I agreed without hesitation.

Only then did I realize that perhaps I shouldn’t sound so eager. My doubt was immediately remedied, however. As soon as my words were uttered I observed Jordan’s shoulders and gate relax, and return to his normal easy posture.

“Really?” Jordan breathed with relief and surprise.

“Uhm… yeah, what movie?” I persisted, entirely surprised and thrilled by his reaction.

Surely, he knew I would say yes. What idiot wouldn’t?

“Awe, wow! I totally thought you would say no.” he continued to confound me with his delusional response. “I mean, I’m totally psyched that you want to go out with me. I’m just surprised, I guess.” he jabbered on, finally explaining his uncharacteristic behavior.

“Why?” I wondered.

“Because, you never do.” he shrugged.

I raised another clueless eyebrow at him.

“You never say yes when guys ask you out.” he clarified.

“So, what, is this like an experiment or something?” I worried.

Get the freaky Indian girl to go out with you! Were they taking bets? Was money exchanged?

“No, I promise it’s not like that at all. I really like you, Laney. The truth is I’ve wanted to ask you out for a long time, but I didn’t because all the guys said you would say no. I was too chicken. You know, afraid of rejection?” he admitted sheepishly. I smiled, both satisfied and flattered by his response. Jordan immediately relaxed again and ran his fingers through his golden locks. “So, why do you always say no… to the other guys, I mean?” he wondered.

“Because, I think they’re a bunch of creeps.” I answered honestly.

It’s true. Most boys at Plymouth North find me to be more than easy on the eyes, but I’m not easy, and I know their intentions don’t progress beyond their hormonally driven male instincts. What I mean to say is, none of them would take me home to meet their mother, if you can catch my drift. The sad and true fact is, my caramel complexion would not be overlooked or accepted.

Jordan’s shocked expression was so comical I couldn’t help but burst into laughter.  At my knowing reaction he quickly and ever so smoothly collected himself.

“You’re a handful, aren’t you?” he chuckled.

“Maybe…” I said coyly.

Oooh! I simply can’t wait until release day! What a tease!

Okay, so Amy will be hosting a give away on release day, June 1st on her blog. Just click here to enter!

Need more Wildflower? Check out Amy’s trailer here!

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Look for Wildflower June 1st on Amazon!

This is something I’d never really thought about but the topic forced me into recollection and now I find it humorous that I can learn something so profound about myself from a mere suggestion.

Because I write the cold.

I wasn’t really sure what that meant until I realized that I enjoy the idea of being bundled up, of seeing my breath in front of my face, of having a loved one press my fingers between their’s for warmth. I love winter. Not because I have the colorings of winter, black hair, white skin, although this helps. I love the crisp, cool evenings, a roaring fire, feet of blanketing pure, white snow and yet, this is not the prevailing reason. No, I mostly love the winter because it gets darker earlier. There’s only one thing I love more than the winter and that’s the moon and all that it entails. I love the night. I find it absolutely breathtaking. A moon’s glow provides just the right amount of light to see the earth’s wondrous beauty but keeps the rest mysterious.

And I suppose, when it’s boiled down to the barest of facts, I enjoy the mystery that night implies. Now, don’t misinterpret my meaning, I don’t like to be frightened, per say, I just prefer anticipation. It’s a thrilling concept, mystery, and one I think is chocked in my books, even my contemporaries. The unknown is equal parts suspenseful and invigorating.

And it’s why I write mostly in the winter. It’s the perfect backdrop.

This is our first and last conversation…ever. I was a fool to do it even once.

“Hello, Miss Amelie,” John tells me, a slight grin gracing his lips. “Nice gun.”
“What did you expect, John?” I asked him.
“You think that would stop me?” He said, laughing. “The only reason I don’t own you right now is because I choose to play this game.”
“In any case, Mister Bell, this stays here,” I tell him, patting the shiny black pistol in my lap.
John eyed me wearily. “Hmm…”
“What?” I ask, fingering the trigger of the gun in my lap.
“I just never noticed it before but you’re built a little like Harper.”
I fought to keep my hands from shivering. “I’m not. I’m taller,” I said, taking up a fool’s argument.
“That may be but the shape of your figure, Fisher,” he said, lids hooded, “just.like.Harper.”
The use of my name made my jaw tremble and I eyed the distance to the door, gauging how quickly I could get away without incident. I was interrupted by maniacal laughing.
“You wouldn’t get away,” he told me, reading my thoughts. He leaned into me, forcing me to shrink into the back of my chair.
I took a deep breath. “Why not, John?” I whispered.
“Because I’m not done with you yet.”
“You’re done when I say you’re done,” I told him more confident than I really was, polishing the handle of my weapon, desperately trying to keep myself in check.
“Right. You’re in charge here. Tell me, Fisher, are we done here?”
I gulped audibly. “No, I, uh, I wanted to ask you a few questions.”
“Ask away,” he said in a deceptively friendly manner, letting his body fall slack against the back of his chair. His hand lifted, making me start. He laughed as he scratched his shoulder.
“Uh-Um….,” I fumbled with my words. “Why?”
“Why, what?”
“Why this obsession with Harper?”
At the mention of her name, a breath whooshed from his lungs, a lazy smile plastered against his mouth, his eyes closed completely. He opened them abruptly and stared coldly into my eyes, evidence of his once satisfied expression gone.
“Harper is most extraordinary,” he offered, as if that explained everything.
“She is but she isn’t yours, John,” I told him, playing with the ultimate fire.
“She is!” He bellowed, smacking his hands down hard on the table between us. I jumped, my chair sliding back slightly at his exclamation.
“She isn’t,” I goaded him.
“She.Is.” He gritted between his teeth. He stood, looming over me and placing his palms flat on the table. “She is mine and I’ll kill whoever stands in my way. Do you understand that, Fisher? Do you know how far I’m willing to go to own her?”
“Y-yes,” I stuttered. “I’m acutely aware, John, but she isn’t property to own.”
His big body fell back into his chair, all his earlier ire vanished in an instant, the smile returning to his deceiving face. “Agree to disagree.”
“Where are the other girls, John?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, his blossoming smile saying otherwise.
I changed direction. “Harper asked me about you the other day.”
My eyes were trained on my lap but when I lifted them, he was staring daggers.
His body shot up in his chair, his hands trembling on the table top. “She did?” He swiped his hands down his face in anticipation. “What did she want to know?”
“She asked me where I thought you put those girls. She wanted to know ‘why them’?”
“She asked that? What did you tell her?” He asked, more vulnerable than I ever anticipated he could appear.
John was a dichotomous monster. One moment, he was cool, calm, collected and calculated. The next, a fumbling fool with all the appearance that he was in love…but an obsessed love, a dangerously obsessed love.
“I told her I didn’t know where but I was sure why. That devastated her. She hated knowing that she indirectly caused those women harm.”
“Did you tell her she made me do it?!” He roared, shoving his chair behind him. I gripped the pistol in my lap. “She made me!” He huffed, his neck and face growing a deep red. He was ready to blow. “She made me! All I ever wanted was Harper warm in my bed. That’s all I ever wanted.” He took deep, unsteady breaths. “She was supposed to be mine,” he said out loud to no one. His eyes lifted and focused on nothing, obviously unaware I was still in the room. “She was mine. Supposed to be mine…”

I quietly picked myself up from my chair, and walked tall to the front door, all the while listening to a psychotically repeated ‘Mine’.

Come see what’s new at the Carnival this week!

The rest of my Indie cast are all awaiting your beautiful eyes. So go…
The Amazing Dani Snell
The Incredible Patti Larsen
The Talented Courtney Cole
The Witty Wren Emerson
The Accomplished Nicole Williams
The Clever Laura Elliott
The Skillful Amy Jones
The Staggering P.J. Hoover
The Brilliant Alicia McCalla
The Resplendent Heather Cashman
The Lustrous Abbi Glines
The Polished Cheri Schmidt
The Inventive Cidney Swanson
The Radiant Rachel Coles
The Gifted T.R. Graves
The Phenomenal Cyndi Tefft
The Lovely Lexus Luke
The Sassy Suzy Turner
The Exceptional Gwenn Wright
The Stupendous Kimberly Kinrade
The Quick J.L. Bryan
The Saucy Darby Karchut
The Magnificent M. Leighton
The Impressive Madeline Smoot

I simply don’t know how anyone can write well without reading.

“If you don’t have time to read, you don’t have the time (or the tools) to write.” – Stephen King

Case in point. The guy may know a little bit about this whole writing gig I like to claim we share. Presumptuous, I know, but that’s a writer’s prerogative. And proof that most writer’s are a bit on the loopy side. Again, our prerogative. That pic is proof enough, I think. *wink wink*

Anyway, if I were to put into words what reading teaches me as a writer, I’d have to convey to you several key points.

One, it creates an imagination I wouldn’t have been capable of otherwise. Words are more powerful than visuals. Period. For instance, I can name two scenes from film and television right now off the top of my head that spoke to me deeply this year. But…I can name at least twenty, yes, twenty different scenes from books I’ve read throughout my entire life that have stuck with me and I can describe these scenes to you without hesitation and in great detail. And when you feel compelled by something of that nature, the brain goes wild with it, doesn’t it? Going off on tangents that could have only been inspired by words on a page. Nothing does that for me like reading does. (Save for music but that’s another post entirely.)

Two, it improves the vocabulary exponentially. Reading does for the vocabulary what wax does for my legs. Smooths the edges, removes the unwanted, makes it attractive. I know, what a metaphor! It’s not three a.m. where you are, is it Fisher? Why no, Fisher, it isn’t! Good, let’s continue then. Alright. Vocab. It improves with reading. E.g. advances, ameliorates, amends, augments, betters,boosts, civilizes, comes around, convalesces,corrects, cultivates, develops, doctors up, edits, elevates, emends, enhances, gains ground, helps,increases, lifts, look ups, makes strides, meliorates,mends, perks up, picks up, polishes, progresses,promotes, purifies, raises, rallies, recovers, rectifies,recuperates, refines, reforms, revamps, revises, rises,
sets right, shapes up, sharpens, skyrockets,straightens out, takes off, touches up, turns the corner, updates, upgrades.
There, I think that covers it.

Three, it creates transcendence through an all around knowledge. Reading introduces ideas to you that your mind or your environment can’t limit you by and, whoa, is it an amazing high to learn something you’d never thought of before or felt something you’d never dreamed you would. It blows the mind. To rise above your last intellectual layer and peer down at the old you is quite inspiring. Watch out, though. It’s addicting. All you’ll want to do afterwards is shed the old layers for the new, improved ones.

And all you have to do is pick up a book.

Come see what’s new at the Carnival this week!

The rest of my Indie cast are all awaiting your beautiful eyes. So go…
The Amazing Dani Snell
The Incredible Patti Larsen
The Talented Courtney Cole
The Witty Wren Emerson
The Accomplished Nicole Williams
The Clever Laura Elliott
The Skillful Amy Jones
The Staggering P.J. Hoover
The Brilliant Alicia McCalla
The Resplendent Heather Cashman
The Lustrous Abbi Glines
The Polished Cheri Schmidt
The Inventive Cidney Swanson
The Radiant Rachel Coles
The Gifted T.R. Graves
The Phenomenal Cyndi Tefft
The Lovely Lexus Luke
The Sassy Suzy Turner
The Exceptional Gwenn Wright
The Stupendous Kimberly Kinrade
The Quick J.L. Bryan
The Saucy Darby Karchut
The Magnificent M. Leighton
The Impressive Madeline Smoot

Today, you will receive the components I use to assemble my novels. Be prepared. I don’t skimp. I only use the highest quality ingredients and maybe a few unconventional elements as well.

Let’s get started. Aprons! Aprons, everyone! Alright, we’re going to start out by pre-heating thermostats to a comfortable seventy-three degrees. This will allow you, the writer, a perfect temperature to assemble your masterpiece. Moving on, ladies!

Step One, Ideas! Be choosy when picking your idea. Ideas should be firm and ripe, no blemishes. When you find one that appears to be acceptable, examine the idea. There should be no bruises and sweet to taste. Each idea should have a believable conflict, well developed characters, and a descriptive setting but above all your idea should have spunk. It should shine like a diamond in a sea of dirt.

Step Two, plotting out your idea. Personally, I use a cork board and about five hundred post its. Occasionally, I’ll need string and pins but only for the most involved plot. You may use anything that appeals to you by the way of organization but for explanation purposes I’ll assume you use my own tried method. By the end of your plotting prep, your ‘cork board’ should be a  sea of literal yellow.

Start out by developing  your characters. Each of my characters gets their own note. On every note includes a detailed description of their role, e.g A/B character and what makes them unique, any struggles that can affect them, etc. and any enemies they may have. Then, I plot out my major plot points. Several post it notes are usually dedicated to this part of the process. Starting from the beginning, each plot point leads to the next until the book is complete. I leave spaces between these plot points for sub plots as well as chapter occurrences.

Next, subplots! Much like the major plot points, these get their own notes as well and they fit quite nicely between.

Any specific occurrences I want to happen within the chapters get their own notes as well and placed appropriately.

Step Three, Chapter configuration. Okay, here, I label my corkboard with each designated chapter. I decide what I want included in each one and separate accordingly.

Step Four, Thesaurus. Keep your thesaurus at your fingertips. Personally, I use thesaurus.com but there are a few ‘old schooler’s’ out there who prefer the tangible book. Either way, keep it handy.

Step Five, ‘The No Way Process’. Before I sit at my desk, I go through the notes with an ‘aerial view’ sort of mentality. I ask myself questions that the reader may ask. Like, ‘why don’t they just use their cell phone?’ Or, ‘No one would act like that’. Or, ‘Would I be willing to give such-and-such a second chance if they did that to me?’ Essentially, I try to make it as believable but as exciting as possible. I smooth out the wrinkles, so to speak.

Step Six, Writing. From there, I sit. I open my laptop and I take my writing from step to step. I don’t go off on tangents. I stay clear on my path and use my words to make the idea come alive!

Step Seven, Completion. The novel is complete. I am ready to edit. I edit once. Then, I edit again. Then, once more. There, I feel like I’m done. Which means I edit at least twice more. I edit…a lot. Then, off to a paid editor. Then, beta readers.

Step Eight, Fin’! You’re finished! Your incredible little story is three hundred or whatever pages and it’s sitting on your hardrive. It’s shiny and new and perfect. Tee hee! But wait! There’s still one more step! Don’t stop here! At this point, you may stand from your computer, do a ridiculous dance, embarrassing yourself and whoever else is in the room. Then, you call your fellow writers and you all cry together that it’s done. You meet said authors for martinis. You all celebrate into the wee hours of the night.

And then you do that laundry that’s been sitting neglected for weeks and has been growing into a solid monster, complete with head and fangs.

That’s it. My recipe.

I’m currently riding the high that is my ‘The 25 Day Tour of Bad Aces’! Come visit today’s host, the amazing, Patti Larsen! Thank you for hosting me, Patti! Read my post about the tour here. Also, at the end of every post on the tour is a giveaway link for a signed copy of my newest novel, Callum & Harper!

Come see what’s new at the Carnival this week!

The rest of my Indie cast are all awaiting your beautiful eyes. So go…
The Amazing Dani Snell
The Incredible Patti Larsen
The Talented Courtney Cole
The Witty Wren Emerson
The Accomplished Nicole Williams
The Clever Laura Elliott
The Skillful Amy Jones
The Staggering P.J. Hoover
The Brilliant Alicia McCalla
The Resplendent Heather Cashman
The Lustrous Abbi Glines
The Polished Cheri Schmidt
The Inventive Cidney Swanson
The Radiant Rachel Coles
The Gifted T.R. Graves
The Phenomenal Cyndi Tefft
The Lovely Lexus Luke
The Sassy Suzy Turner
The Exceptional Gwenn Wright
The Stupendous Kimberly Kinrade
The Quick J.L. Bryan
The Saucy Darby Karchut
The Magnificent M. Leighton
The Impressive Madeline Smoot

In fact, it was the most pleasant surprise I could have possibly imagined and I am enchantedly happy for its unexpected results.

This week’s YA Indie Carnival poses the question, “What has been your biggest Indie surprise?”

Walking into the realm of Young Adult was more than a little exciting and only slightly less than a lot of scary. I was trudging through the final revisions of The Understorey with little to no idea of what exactly I was supposed to do with it. Granted, I’d read every agent blog imaginable, followed a few of my favorite authors, that included a list of Indie’s as long as the ocean is wide and was still incredibly naive to the inner workings of the industry.

I told myself to dive in. I steadied my footing on the side of that jagged cliff and disappeared into the unknown. It was exhilarating, the wind whipping through my hair, the salty air biting at my skin. I readied myself for an invigorating swim but got something else entirely. I wasn’t prepared for the depth or the chilling temperatures. The instant shock of it all had me scrambling for one of those ridiculous red and white striped life preserver rings. I screamed out, called for help, feeling my voice muted beneath thousands of other author’s voices and just when I felt myself beginning to slip under, to surrender myself to the icy expanse, I suddenly become aware that I wasn’t just surrounded by preservers, I was surrounded by about thirty women, all pushing and prodding me back to the surface, with life jackets in hand.

Them

That was my biggest Indie surprise. Not the obvious things like, ‘Oh my, is it normal to only sell a book a week?’ Or ‘Egad! Am I really one author in a literal sea of hundreds of thousands?’ I could not wrap my head around the unprecedented and absolute selflessness of the other authors around me. One word to them that I was a newbie earned me a soft blanket around my shoulders and wise words from those more established around me. I couldn’t believe how welcoming they were, how sincerely interested they were in seeing me succeed. I kept thinking, ‘I’m their competition. Why are they doing this?’ And the answer was simple, it’s because they are just some of the most wonderful people I’ve ever met. It’s possible that an author’s character is based solely on kindess but I think it’s more than likely that, coupled with something a little more profound. Something like this,

“Keep away from people who try to belittle your ambitions. Small people always do that, but the really great make you feel that you, too, can become great.” 

-Mark Twain

Truer words have never been spoken.

The men and women within the Young Adult Indie community were the most shocking  yet wonderful surprise I could have ever gotten on this ride into authordom and I couldn’t be more confident. I am armed with the fact that though I may swim in dangerous waters, I have the most astounding set of preservers floating all around me, ready to pounce when I say the word. And because of them, I’d give up my own vest to save another. We are a rare breed and that is the most gratifying thing I’ve said all day.

Thank you fellow Indies. You are my lifelines.

And just because it feels appropriate. I dedicate this to you,

Meet my fellow bouys,

Welcome to our Friday posts about all things YA Indie for authors, readers and reviewers!

We are a group of YA Indies that all post on the same theme each Friday. Binge on all the cotton candy and popcorn you want and get set for a thrilling ride! At today’s carnival we want to know who you are and share a little bit about ourselves.