One Crazy Dame

Update

Mon, 12 May 2008 20:54:56 GMT

First things first:

The winner of the funny title contest is brigidsblest with a magnificent title of Magic Blows. Please email me at ilona at ilonaland with your address and preferences for who you would like me to sign the book to.

Now regarding the signing. I consider it a resounding success. We didn't sell a ton of books, but we met several awesome people, one of whom was Horace, who is going right into Walmart book somewhere and the other two were Ericka and Amanda, who very graciously hung out with us the whole time. (They were incredibly kind for putting up with me for that long.)

I R Maketing Goddess

Fri, 09 May 2008 20:45:04 GMT

Signing: May 10, 2:00-4:00 p.m., Barnes and Noble in the mall, in Savannah, GA. Come meet us!

That's enough marketing. I think I sprained something.

Thank you

Fri, 09 May 2008 16:13:16 GMT

Thank you so much! I have sent the serious title suggestions to the editor. The funny suggestions are below. Please vote for your favorites. The author of the title with the most votes gets an autographed Magic Burns (if you already own it, I can autograph it for your friend or a library to be be donated.)

View Poll: #1185225

Magic... Does Something Wonky?

Thu, 08 May 2008 21:20:23 GMT

It's time to pick the title for Midnight Games.

Magic Fights got no love from marketing. I suck at titles, what can I say.

Current favorite is Magic Strikes. Can you guys throw some alternate suggestions for the title? It has to have Magic in it.

The author of a winning title will get mention in the acknowledgments and will receive an autographed copy of Magic Burns, just like last year. :)

Hell has no fury

Wed, 07 May 2008 16:54:27 GMT

like my BFF. That is all.

Teaser Tuesday

Tue, 06 May 2008 21:34:29 GMT

Eleonore cradled Georgie. He lay limp, his skin cold and clammy. His pulse fluttered like a dying butterfly under her fingertips. She tried to reach him again and again, but he had slipped somewhere deep, far beneath her power.

Below her the house shuddered and snapped, loud with breaking wood and heavy crashes, but none of that mattered. She focused on her hoarse whisper, pouring every iota of her power into the words. "Come on, sweetheart. Come back to me. Come back to your grandmère You don't want to leave me, do you?"

She felt only darkness.

"Come back to me, baby."

Her magic suffused her. A faint glow spread from her face to her fingertips. In the darkness of the attic and in the darkness that had swallowed Georgie, Eleonore became a beacon.

"Come back to me."

She was so intent on finding him, it took her several seconds to realize that all had gone quiet.

The trapdoor quaked. Someone or something had grasped the pull rope from below and jerked it. Eleonore began to chant soundlessly, gathering the magic around her. She couldn't flash, not like Rose, but she was no push over.

The next tug tore the latch from the wood. The ladder dropped down.

The magic swirled around her like a death cloud. Malevolent streaks shot through her glow, twisting about her like furious ribbons. It would take her life in payment for its services, but she had no choice. Anything to buy Georgie a few more minutes.

Favorite line of the day

Mon, 05 May 2008 20:38:28 GMT

"Y'all brace yourselves," Thad barked.

Alright, fine, put your sex petitions here...

Sun, 04 May 2008 23:12:29 GMT

Why am I getting "Curran and Kate must have sex" comments?

That's why.

Rose snippet

Fri, 02 May 2008 19:34:09 GMT

It's Friday, it's Friday.

Cranky Joseph, having worked the night shift, has to deliver some plants to his Uncle in Borderlands...

The Chevy climbed up the road. Joseph navigated through a one lane bridge, turned left past a bamboo thicket, then right, behind Tucker's place. He never did understand Tucker: the man's ratty double wide trailer was about to fall apart, but the vehicle parked next to it was an enormous red Dodge that had to have cost close to forty grand. Does a man spend more of his time at home or in his truck? "Fix your damn trailer," Joseph murmured.

He passed another bridge and made a sharp right onto a narrow dirt road flanked by chalk maple shrubs entangled with whiteberry. Branches scratched at the truck. Joseph swore. Uncle Morris was always a bit of a recluse, and his wife Adele was perfectly content to never leave the house except for an occasional run down to the store. They grew their own vegetables: beans, corn, potatoes, peppers, and squash, and canned a good deal of what they grew. With two horses, four cows, and a mob of chickens with whom Aunt Adele fought a never ending battle for her porch, they made most of what they needed. But it was one thing to keep to themselves, and another to let the road overgrow to impassable jungle. He'd have to talk Morris into taking a weedeater to it.

The brush ended, replaced by a single row of tall pines. Between them Joseph saw the green meticulously cut lawn and the house, a small two story with freshly painted white siding and green roof, and beyond it a pasture running up a low hill.

To the left of the house three old, rusted cars dotted the grass. Morris hated to go out, but he liked to tinker with cars. Joseph sighed. If his uncle wanted to half of his yard into a used car lot, not much he could do about it.

He turned into the long driveway.

To his right in the pasture, a horse lay on its side. A cloud of flies swirled around the carcass.

Joseph slammed on the brakes. Morris would never leave a dead horse to rot in the pasture.

He slapped parking break on, leaving the engine to idle, swiped a shot gun from the floor, and jumped out. Gravel crunched under his feet. Joseph headed toward the wooden fence flanking the pasture.

Both mares lay belly up in the grass, their throats torn, their bodie stained with dark blood. Further up the hill, dark brown mounds marked the places the cows had fallen. Morris's entire livestock lay dead in the field, slaughtered. What the hell was going on?

A dark shape darted to the left, just on the edge of his vision. Morris turned, whipping the shotgun, but it dashed behind the house on all fours. A changeling gone mad? It was possible, he supposed, although the only changeling around now was Rose's baby brother and the kid wasn't big enough to bring down two horses and a four cows.

Joseph advanced up the gravel. It would have to be a drifter or something worse, something weird that crawled out of the depths of the Wood.

Another shape jerked to the left, behind the rusted truck. Joseph veered that way, walking slowly, his shotgun at the ready. "Uncle Morris!" he called.

The house lay silent.

"Aunt Adele?"

A bright spark in the window on the top floor jerked him back to the right – someone caught the sun in a small mirror in the guest bedroom. A signal. Someone was alive up there.

Wet clammy magic rolled down his back, slow, like a gob of snot sliding along his skin. Joseph turned.

A dark thing emerged from behind the rusted truck. It was tall like a pony and ghastly, mottled purple. Four slanted eyes stared at Joseph, full of silver fire.

Joseph cursed and stumbled back a step. That was no damn changeling. He wasn't sure what the hell it was, but he knew it wasn't anything he had ever seen.

Another set of eyes ignited under the truck.

Katie...

Fri, 02 May 2008 16:22:20 GMT

Your email is bouncing. :(

Writing

Fri, 02 May 2008 14:10:45 GMT

lilithsaintcrow does beautiful Friday posts related to writing. This is my version.

Ahem.
And now I bring you an emo play/interpretive dance titled "My Work In Progress."

:takes bat, hits writing:

Smack smack smack smack!

It's not working.

:poses dramatically, her wrist touching her forehead:

Woe is me!

:pretends to rip out her hair. Stands there like a medusa holding on to her hair:

I'm wasting my time!

:falls down on her knees:

I should have been a dishwasher!

:sits on her knees, with arms widely spread, and a desperate look on her face:

It's all over. Vaya con dios.

:falls face down on the floor:

The End.

!!!!

Thu, 01 May 2008 23:52:27 GMT

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Reece rocks!

Wishful Thinking

Thu, 01 May 2008 13:58:44 GMT

So. Money is kind of tight. Husband is kind of going to supervise the night shift. I have worked out and I've cleaned the house, and already wrote for two hours. Before I dig back in, I bring you Ilona Wishful Thinking meme.

Name five places you would like to visit.

India - It seems so beautiful and exotic. I loved Indian movies when I was a kid, and still love them, and I would terribly enjoy visiting, I think.

Japan - I would live in Japan if I could. The culture, at least what I know of it from books and movies, appeals to me very much. I like it all, from work ethic, to hot spring, to food.

Great Britain - I can't even explain one coherently, but I'd love to go.

Spain - It has almost the same draw as India for me: exotic and lovely.

Black Sea - Yep, still have the Southern Russian's stereotypical yearning for Black Sea.

I really liked this review

Thu, 01 May 2008 10:46:59 GMT

http://thebooksmugglers.blogspot.com/2008/04/book-review-double-feature-magic-bites.html

I don't usually link to reviews post first month, but this one was really enjoyable. It has an excellent plot summary and it takes a fair look at both Book 1 and Book 2, offering some well deserved criticism.

Bones

Wed, 30 Apr 2008 10:44:20 GMT

Bones, BONES, Bones, BoNes, BOnes, BoneS, Bones, BONES, BoNEs, BonES, Bones, BONEs, BONES, Bones, BoNes, BOnes, BoNES, Bones, BONES, BoNes, BonEs, Bones, BoNes, BoNEs, BONES, Bones, BONes, Bones, BONES, Bones, BoNes, BOnes, BoneS, Bones, BONES, BoNEs, BonES, Bones, BONEs, BONES, Bones, BoNes, BOnes, BoNES, Bones, BONES, BoNes, BonEs, Bones, BoNes, BoNEs, BONES, Bones, BONes, Bones, BONES, Bones, BoNes, BOnes, BoneSn Bones, BONES, BoNEs, BonES, Bones, BONEs, BONES, Bones, BoNes, BOnes, BoNES, Bones, BONES, BoNes, BonEs, Bones, BoNes, BoNEs, BONES, Bones, BONes, Bones, BONES, Bones, BoNes, BOnes, BoneS, Bones, BONES, BoNEs, BonES, Bones, BONEs, BONES, Bones, BoNes, BOnes, BoNES, Bones, BONES, BoNes, BonEs, Bones, BoNes, BoNEs, BONES, Bones, BONes, Bones, BONES, Bones, BoNes, BOnes, BoneS, Bones, BONES, BoNEs, BonES, Bones, BONEs, BONES, Bones, BoNes, BOnes, BoNES, Bones, BONES, BoNes, BonEs, Bones, BoNes, BoNEs, BONES, Bones, BONes, Bones, BONES, Bones, BoNes, BOnes, BoneS, Bones, BONES, BoNEs, BonES, Bones, BONEs, BONES, Bones, BoNes, BOnes, BoNES, Bones, BONES, BoNes, BonEs, Bones, BoNes, BoNEs, BONES, Bones, BONes, Bones, BONES, Bones, BoNes, BOnes, BoneSn Bones, BONES, BoNEs, BonES, Bones, BONEs, BONES, Bones, BoNes, BOnes, BoNES, Bones, BONES, BoNes, BonEs, Bones, BoNes, BoNEs, BONES, Bones, BONes, Bones, BONES, Bones, BoNes, BOnes, BoneSn Bones, BONES, BoNEs, BonES, Bones, BONEs, BONES, Bones, BoNes, BOnes, BoNES, Bones, BONES, BoNes, BonEs, Bones, BoNes, BoNEs, BONES, Bones, BONes, BonEs, Bones, BoNes, BoNEs, BONES, Bones, BONes, Bones, BONES, BonEs, BoNes, BOnes, BoneS, Bones, BONES, BoNEs, BonES, Bones, BONEs, BONES, Bones, BoNes, BOnes, BoNES, Bones, BONES, BoNes, BonEs, Bones, BoNes, BoNEs, BONES, Bones, BONes, Bones, BONES, Bones, BoNes, BOnes, BoneS, Bones, BONES, BoNEs, BonES, Bones, BONEs, BONES, Bones, BoNes, BOnes, BoNES,

BONES - You know you want it

Poll

Mon, 28 Apr 2008 23:47:42 GMT

I find that my narrative sometimes calls for the use of foreign language. Below under the cut is a short example. In this case the character, Rose, doesn't know what is being said as she doesn't speak French. (Which I might have butchered, eh.)

My question to you is, does it bother you? Should I have it footnoted? Should someone tell Rose what this means?

I'm a big fan of leaving it as is.

Rose edged her way into Grandma Eleonore's house. The clock on the wall said ten till ten. Not good.

It was worth it. Being with Morgan was effortless. They could stay silent side by side or argue with equal comfort. With him she felt...

She tiptoed into the kitchen and froze in the doorway.

Grandmother sat at a table. Her face was very pale. Across from her, resplendid in his leather and fur, sat Declan.

"Good evening, Rose," he said without turning to look at her.

Don't make a scene, she told herself. This had to be handled calmly. "Good evening," she said pleasantly.

"I've come to collect you," he said, his voice perfectly neutral.

Bastard. "Aren't the boys asleep already?"

"I persuaded Madame Eleonore not to rouse them on my account."

Grandmother said nothing.

"I suppose we should be off," Rose said lightly. "Please send the boys over first thing in the morning. Good night, Grandmother."

Declan rose and leaned forward. He gently picked up grandmother's hand and brushed his lips on her knuckles. "Je voudrais vous remercier de tout mon coeur pour votre accueil si chaleureux et votre gentillesse. Bonne nuit, madame."

"Je vous en prie. Au revoir." Grandmother's voice was clipped with tension.

Declan nodded to her and stepped out of the room.

View Poll: #1179348

Dear Fan People*

Mon, 28 Apr 2008 14:38:41 GMT

Just because you can't find Magic Bites in the store does not mean it's out of print. It just means it's temporarily sold out.

Special thanks to the big fan who has posted speculation of Magic Bites being out of print and series being canceled due to "poor sales" to his book club email list and prompted 8 emails demanding to know if they should write angry letters to my publisher.

Please do not write angry letters to Ace.

Series not canceled. In fact, I have bugged my agent for Booskcan numbers and Magic Burns has sold over a quarter of its print run as of last Wednesday. Sales are very, very good.

Magic Bites still in print.

UPDATE: My lovely editor just informed me that Ace has 3,000 copies in their warehouse, so it is definitely not out of print. If you are unable to find a copy, please ask your local bookseller to order one for you.
___________
* I do mean fans, not friends in this case, as the enthusiastic guilty party is not on my friend list.

My morning

Sun, 27 Apr 2008 14:12:07 GMT

"The wheel stuck on some random rock. The acrid stench rising from the carcass would make an undead vomit. She'd thought she would be used to it by now, but no, after a third of a mile, she still smelled the dead bugger. Rose cursed at the wheelbarrow, gritted her teeth, and forced it through the trellis shrouded in tiny pink roses into grandmother's yard. She pushed it back behind the house, out of sight, and threw a tarp over it just in case.

Grandma Éléonore was in the kitchen, drinking tea. "I heard you lost your job," she said the second Rose stepped into the kitchen.

Why me?

"And I hear you have a fellow staying with you. According to Marlene, who heard it from Geraldine Asper, who heard it directly from Elsie Moore, he is some sort of looker."

Poor Rose. Hee.

I really need to finish this bugger. The Hellhounds thing is due July 1, so I've got a month and a half to nuke Rose or else. I've been putting about 3K on it every day for the past week or so, but I'm concerned it doesn't have the same forward flow as the Kate books. My crap tends to accelerate toward the end, but the romantic element in this on is purposefully pronounced* and it steals screen time from the main plot.

I need to sell this series. Oy.

Still sore about having alpha men shut down.
________________
*I want a stab at the cross-over romance market.

Post

Fri, 25 Apr 2008 10:05:04 GMT

Testing Blog It

Facebook

Fri, 25 Apr 2008 00:56:00 GMT

http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=685587844

i am a mindless drooone...

Blueblood nobles: on Competition, Great Disdain of

Thu, 24 Apr 2008 10:45:14 GMT

Declan leaned forward, his features iced over. "About Morgan: enjoy your fun while you can. I don't expect you to be a virgin. Not when you were raised here. But do take care for whom you open your legs. Some diseases defy even my family's physician and I have no wish to endure them."

"Wow. Preachy, pompous, condescending and presuming. You've managed to pack it all in."

Rose Snippet: On table manners

Wed, 23 Apr 2008 19:09:54 GMT

The fun thing about this story is that I get to take redneck and regency and bang them together to see if any sparks fly out.

She opened the door with a mock bow and a big smile. "Please, Your Majesty."

"My Lord Camarine will do."

"Whatever."

She ushered him inside. The boys had polished off the food and were washing their plates.

"Georgie, fetch his plate and drink from the porch, please. He will be staying in Dad's bedroom tonight – he paid for it. You're sleeping in my room on the floor. Just in case he tries anything funny."

In thirty seconds Rose and blueblood sat at the table across from each other. Rose tried the pancakes. They were predictably cold, but still delicious and she was ravenous.

"Slowly."

Rose raised her gaze from her plate.

He sat very straight at the table, cutting the pancake with surgical precision.

"Eat slowly," the blueblood said. "Don't cut your food with the fork. Cut it with the knife and make the pieces small enough so you can answer a question without having to swallow first."

Why me? "Right. Any other tips?"

Her sarcasm whistled right over his head. "Yes. Look at me and not on your plate. If you have to look at your plate, glance at it occasionally."

Rose put down her fork. "Lord Submarine..."

"Camarine."

"Whatever."

"You can call me Declan." He said it as if granting her knighthood. The

nerve.

"Declan, then. How did you spend your day?"

He frowned.

"It's a simple question: how did you spend your day? What did you do prior to the fight and pancake making?"

"I rested from my journey," he said with a sudden regal air.

"You took a nap."

"Possibly."

"I spent my day scrubbing, vacuuming, and dusting ten offices in Broken. I got there at seven thirty in the morning and left at six. My back hurts, I can still smell bleach on my fingers, and my feet feel flat like these pancakes. Tomorrow, I have to go back to work, and I want to eat my food in peace and rest. I have good table manners. They may not be good enough for you, but they're definitely good enough for Borderlands, and they are the height of social graces for this house. So please keep your critique to yourself."

Declan recoiled as if from a slap.

She smiled at him. "Oh and thank you for the pancakes. They are delicious."

E-publishing

Tue, 22 Apr 2008 11:38:51 GMT

This is going to get me flamed, but I can't help myself. I tried not to blog about it for five days now and it's bugging me.

I browse e-publishing and occasionally buy books from e-presses and very often buy books from Fictionwise. I eventually would like to work with Samhain, whom I consider to be the most professional e-press out there at the moment, so I'm not a print snob. Let's get this out there right now.

I've noticed a pattern from the excerpt and my purchases. A talented author with some promise puts out a book that has beginner's issues: uneven pacing, weak character development, poor understanding of scene structure, etc. But this author has a compelling voice. It's painfully obvious that this person is just that much short of producing a quality manuscript. And then I see the next book by this author and the next, and they are all just that short. There is no improvement. The writer stagnated. She is being published and that is all that matters. And I see this again, and again, and again.

I want to grab those writers and shake them, "What the hell are you doing? You've strangled your career before it started!"

Rejection is traumatic. But it forces you to improve. Look, it took me forever to get into print and you know what, I still get rejected. The first draft of Magic Burns sucked and my editor simply didn't want to put it out in that form. We had a conversation on the phone when the NYT thing happened, and I told her, "Thank you for not letting me put out my first draft." And she said, "You rewrote it! A lot of writers wouldn't have." Who are those writers, I wonder? I don't know about them, but my first draft was crap. Had I not rewritten it, my readers would be tearing me to pieces right about now.

My spy fantasy? Rejected. It has a terminal flaw of the first 100 pages being awful. I will rewrite it and I will get it into print or into e-form. However much work it takes.

Rejection motivates you to improve on the original. Too much rejection obviously makes you a bit crazy, but fact remains: there is inertia involved here. You write something, and you do your best, and you don't really want to mess with it after that. It takes another person rubbing your nose into the flaws of your manuscript to make you realize that you could make it better. It takes a small amount of pain to break through the happy high of having a completed manuscript and to reexamine it again, in a critical light.

Now then, back to e-presses and print presses. If New York rejects you and EC rejects you and Samhain rejects you and Subterranean rejects you, don't you think there is something wrong with your manuscript? If you can't find an agent after you queried 80, don't you think that you need to reexamine your work?

Why are you turning around and giving you manuscript to a press that looks like its website was made in the early nineties with one of those Internet-for-Dummies web editors? Look at the website, look at it! It's their store front. Would you buy anything from it? Have you ever bought anything from it? Before submitting to them, how about checking out their list of bestsellers? Do you see quality writing that makes you want to buy more? No? Then why in the name of all that is holy are you submitting to them?

Aaaah! Don't sell yourself short! Go back to your computer and join a workshop or find a crit partner, and look at your damn manuscript again. Don't sell it for a cheap high of being able to say, "I'm a published author" if you're going to be published by a two bit press who wouldn't know good writing if you glued it to their noses.

I tried throwing my manuscript at Hardshell, who at the time was a quality e-publisher and they rejected it. I knew at that point that it was not good enough. It took another year before I could recycle the idea and produce a decent manuscript. Could I have sold it to a low quality press? Yes. But I didn't want to. You've got to aim higher.

There. I have ranted.

Need Help

Sun, 20 Apr 2008 21:37:56 GMT

A couple of my friends, wedschilde and goth_huntress, are trying to rescue a dog from Shelbyville County Shelter . They need help transporting him from Shelbyville, Kentucky to Cookeville, Tennessee.

Can anybody help?

Monster Workshop?

Sat, 19 Apr 2008 13:40:35 GMT

Image courtesy of Reece, who is awesome.

A while ago my BFF complimented my monster making skills. I thought monster creation might make a fun series of posts. I probably spend too much time making them, but at least I'm thorough. So, if I were to do a short series on how I make my monsters, would you be interested?

View Poll: #1173686