So my plate is full today and my blog will be short. I leave you, my devoted followers with another of the music video’s that helped inspire my book. I hope it helps you get through the Manic Monday Blues! I will be back with my not so packed mommy schedule to leave you a blog post you can’t resist. Thanks for following and enjoy!
Sometimes I truly wonder if I do have what it takes. I haven't published anything worthy of being anything other than self-published and just because I have been writing for as long as I can remember doesn't mean I have can be published. So what makes me different? Well that's a great question, I believe in my stories are something different. I feel like i but out a whole new playing field. I always had a hard time finding something to sink my head into as a kid and today I still struggle to stay in it all the way to the end. So I keep the difficult readers in mind, I strive to keep your hardcore attention the whole way through. I send out a few Query's to see what I can get back in response! Wish my luck and Thanks for following!!!!
So what inspires you to write? I find I love music as much as I love writing, so I blend them. I find from time to time i have to stop and belt out a few lines of the songs from time to time and it helps me keep a clearer mind and fresh eyes. I always make sure that going into one of the important events in the story I belt out a few lines of my favorite inspirational songs. I even keep a play list for everything I write. I often wonder if anyone has ever given a recommended listening list with their work before? And would it help the reader be pulled in more feeling the emotion of the music like it does for me, or if it would be too distracting. I am all for reading but I need a little background noise too of I feel like I'm dead. However when you have kids that is only because silence means they are getting in trouble. So here is a video of one of many songs that inspire me to write my loving heart out!
I am a new writer and currently have two books available, "The Power of Thank You", and "The Power of Words". I am hopeful very soon to have the first of a children's series out as well, "The Creator and His Creations". I am in need of advice on some low cost ideas for marketing, and building a website. I have used weebly in the past and was satisfied, yet I was wondering if any one else had another suggestion. I would appreciate any input.
He didn?t mean to do it . . . Yet the shock in his victim?s eyes told David Hockey differently.
?Oh my god . . .? He whispered. And then tickling the sides of his face were the quickly morphing tears of coming madness.
?Ma??The sound of his non-emotional voice is what sickened him, not the ****-wretched smell of his mother. However he felt himself changing; he didn?t know it, but he felt evil personified. ?Mommy!? He said, trying to get more emotion into it, but all the word ?mommy? did was evaporate into the air, and hang there just before the whisper from David?s lips said: ?I killed my mother,? made the word disappear completely.
David walked over to his dear mommy, staring at the freshly sharpened steak knife sticking out of his mother?s throat. Blood tried to leak freely from where the wound would be if the knife were to be removed. Blood had navigated it's way down to her white blouse, seeping through and revealing her black sports bra, which to David now looked purple.
Dave just stood there, shadow over his mother?s body. He stared at the knife and then at her eyes, and that?s when he closed his own in terror. They stung. He closed his mother?s dead, terrified, and shocked eyes. They still seemed to have soul. God had not taken her spirit; not without getting David getting to feel at least some guilt.
Though David?s tears felt hot, along with this pounding remorse was the feel of a great and powerful?dark?high.
I killed my mother, David thought, enchanted by the words dancing through his mind. ?I killed Mommy,? he said aloud. ?And I?m only ten.?
Click.The sound of the door being unlocked, opened, and then noises of people. His sister saying something, and what? Her boyfriend too? Yeah, it was Greg?laughing at something she was saying to him; probably a corny half-assed joke?Beth wasn?t that funny, at least Dave didn?t think so; she was annoying.
At first Dave froze in fear, but then a crazy idea occurred to him. Killing his mother, though horrible, gave him the thrill of his life.
Wonderful wasn?t it? His own voice, yet somehow darker, seemed to speak to him from the front of his mind. Dave?s eyes then filled with insanity; he could hear the shallowness of his breath, the rapid beating of his heart.
?Mom?? Beth called, as Dave heard her heading toward the kitchen.
?She?s in here sissy.? Dave said, surprised by the steadiness in his voice. Dave then ran over to his mother, and quickly grabbed the knife out from the inside of her throat. Blood sprayed upward a little, like a quick leak from a fire hydrant.
?Oh my god, Mom!? Beth screamed as her own tears started to flow. And as she started to run toward the corpse of her murdered mother, she didn?t seem to notice that David still had a blood drenched knife held tightly in his right hand. Dave didn?t let her either, because with it he charged at Beth?s boyfriend, and killed him?thrusting the freshly blood-painted knife into Gregory?s abdomen.
Greg seemed to gulp the air, as little David took the knife out of his stomach. Darnit, David reflected, as Greg?s blood seemed to spill a little on David?s shirt. Greg fell to his knees and stared in disbelief at David?s wild enraged eyes; for a moment Greg thought he saw full black in his gaze instead of that adorable little brown.
?David!? Beth cried, and when her darling little brother turned around, she did not see him. She saw the spawn of Satan.
Smiling, Dave started laughing his full head off and ran toward his sister.
Beth booked it, and Dave pounced but missed, by just a few hairs.
Suddenly whatever insanity had overwhelmed Dave completed its possession. Windows then locked on their own, so did the doors. Everything sweet about David Hockey was also locked.
?All because I had top go in the corner!? David yelled. His voice was not just the cute high-pitched voice of a child, but deep and gurgling like that of a monster. It seemed a sinister, baleful creature was speaking behind him as David spoke.
?Beaaaaathhhhhhyyyyy?? David said in his most playful tone, which would make just about anyone shudder. David laughed, ?Aw, you?re such a good sissy, you never play hide ?n seek wit me.?
Dave was walking toward the door. Slow. Smiling wide enough to make his jaws creak.
It took a while?he was having fun. However soon, David stopped, his arms swung loosely in front of him, as if they were broken. He cocked his head like a dog; you could hear his neck crack as he did so.
?Found you.? David whispered and ran with arms swaying from side to side. He then ran, laughing toward the brown leather easy chair, and that?s when the door banged open.
?Freeze!? A young policeman said. Behind him was a slightly older one. Both looked shocked, but David knew that she had called them. David stopped all right, murmured something in what sounded like Latin, and then just dropped.
The younger cop ran toward the boy and to his surprise yet sickened relief that was held inside his stomach . . . ?He?s dead.?
In Autopsy, Dr. Stanley was stumped with this boy. Not only had he died of a heart failure and had virtually no physical problems, but also from the questions the authorities asked Elizabeth Hockey regarding if her baby brother showed any signs of being?well psychotic, she actually made the kid sound like a little ******* angel.
The police had also found a ouji board in David Hocky's room, and though one officer found this to be suspicious, it was immediately dismissed.
Suddenly Stanley heard the automatic door swish open, but saw no one coming through. The air felt suddenly chilled as the doctor realized the door just opened on it?s own.
Strange, Dr. Stanley reflected as he felt a jolt of adrenaline and anger coursed through him. He went back to the body and picked up one of his instruments: a large blade. Suddenly the deceased David Hockey opened his eyes, blackness started to rise out of the boy?s pours, and then for a split second . . . and the doctor's eyes turned black with insanity.
While I was attending Sheppard Hill Elementary school I had to hide my passion for writing. Whenever we had to write in our journal I'd leap with joy inside, but acted frustrated and annoyed becauseliking writing wasn't normal. It wasn't until one hot day at recess that my two friends I normally play with were in time out, and I had nothing to do . . . except write a story of course.
"May I have a notebook?" I asked a teacher, after my failure to find someone to play with.
"Yep. Just a minute okay, bud?"
The teacher got me a notebook and I wrote in it. I composed a story about a waffle named Billy who missed the bus one morning. Billy lived in a town called Syrup City, and as he is forced to walk the starchy sidewalks, he sees (inside a dark alley) a pancake named Petunia getting beat up by a gang called the French Toast Sticks. Billy puts on a cape, becomes Super-Waffle and saves the pancake.
This was my first story, and when I showed it to my teacher she said the content was like someone in a eleventh-grade level. Nothing anyone has said since, has made me feel any happier. So from there, my one and only dream has been to become a writer.
AND NOW that dream is coming true. I wrote that waffle story when I was nine; I'm twenty now. I've read countless books over the years on writing (some of them should have never been published)andon editing your own work. Therefore I'm not just a writer, I'm my own self-editor. For years I have fought with joining CreateSpace because I had no clue if I was good enough to be writer, no matter how enticing the wholefreepublishing experience may be . . . But I did work hard, reading a lot and writing a lot until I had enough confidence in myself to become a writer (getting a short story published in my school's literary magazine--Hybrid--helped as well).
Now I have countless short stories (first collection soon to be published September 1, 2013) that I want to share, and hope to get some feedback in reviews for some of them.
Now that all 9 of my Cordero saga novels are "out there," I've returned my attention to 2 earlier books that were first published in 2005,
Floyd and the Traveling Yardsale: stories of the Blue Ridge Border, second edition (with 2 new stories) is available via links to Create Space on my website http://www.rlbhartmann.com, and I'm awaiting the proof on the second, also a second (slightly revised) edition, I Rode with Cullen Baker.
Check all the news on my site, and while you're there, watch the 4 short videos I made for Tierra del Oro through links to YouTube.
If your one who enjoys poetry, one who wants a better understanding of it, one whose looking for ideal poetry to speak for today's generation, or someone who just enjoys a great book; then, purchase
The World We're From for only $6 at www.createspace.com/3992996, amazon.com (type in title in the search box), or amazon kindle for $4.00 which includes a look inside feature for a reasonable sample of the book. The book is also available at these estores and outlets: Barnes&Noble.com, Book Depository, IndieBound, Albris, Books-A-Million, and Barnes & Noble ($7.22) Get your copy today and don't miss out on something extraordinary!
(One of the poems in the book)
It's a contradiction
To know what's on your mind.
It's impartially illegal, to change the hands of time
And it's a blessing
To not pay for your crime.
Can you read between the lines?
You took what isn't yours
When I offered you what was mines.
Are you actually ahead of what's behind?
You survey your premisce
Like there's someone to find.
I say this out of sincereity
I'm not trying to be kind;
But close your eyes because your obviously blind,
Look at this from a new angle
Yet still do the math.
Have you always traced the steps in your own path?
I was staring at the book rack at the market when a particular book cover caught me eye. Most of the covers were dark and dangerous looking, but this one was white with a very sexy pair of legs and a swishing skirt. It was so lovely, I couldn't help but pick it up. John Locke had just recently released "Wish List" and once I thumbed through it, I couldn't help but buy it even though I had a pile of unread books at home.
Apparently, Locke has made a big name for himself in a very short time (about three years). He is really an insurance agent who decided to write at night. He focuses on quality work which, I'm sorry guys, but people in self-publishing really need to be aware of. Not everybody can write a block buster, but for the most part, the previews I've seen would be considered poison by the average editor.
Locke claims to be the first self-published e-book author to sell a million copies. He is also a businessman and a salesman which I'm sure counts for a lot of his success. He's promotes selling e-books for 99 cents. The 35 percent, he says, is far better than what you'd get dealing directly with a publisher.
He also says that he spends most of his marketing time sending e-mails and tweeting and does less of it once he settles down to write.
According to one source, he's getting as many as 35,000 downloads per day. But his work is hilarious. I was captivated before I even left the store. And when he tweets, I haven't seen him promote his work, I've seen him making friends. "My friend Shelley has just written one great book" is typical of what you see.
He has about 68,000 followers and people he is following. His tweets are relatively few at about 4,000. So I guess the name of the game is "who you know." And make sure the books you write are hot.
MARIAH'S MOST WANTED will be available in the spring.