Breaking Bad-ly Formed Habits

I’d like to thank everyone who took the time to chime in regarding last week’s post. I should have mentioned that it wasn’t the quality of my writing that I was attacking, merely my habits regarding the act, as well as my feelings toward writing and the business in general.

Now on to today’s topic, which has been festering in my brain space for quite some time. No, I don’t watch the show, I just lifted the title because I think it fits. I recently read this article from Pavarti K. Tyler. In it, Pav takes no shortcuts outlining exactly why she’s taking back social media. She unfollowed me on Twitter and you know what? I agree with her and don’t blame her. Let’s dig in, shall we?

I listened to a lot of advice from people who “know” social media. Some of it was decent advice, which I’ve tried to adhere to. One major thing that I lost was the fact that nobody else manages my accounts but me…so why the hell am I running my sites like someone else wants me to? All that changes now. I’m removing people who don’t interact/post nothing but spam, as well as people I have nothing in common with or have an interest in their work. Harsh? Yeah, but that’s the new gameplan. Everyone likes my honesty, but as of late I’ve only been dishing out the positives.

I do enjoy supporting those who deserve it. Since I left DT I’ve had so many fiends ask if I’m still in the reviewing game, which I am. Just on my terms. I read/review when I have time, that’s why the widget is there on the right. I don’t make any of my literary endeavors a priority because of the stuff I wrote last post. I’ll get to your work when I can, bottom line.

In regards to Twitter – I’ve always said that I’m on there to make connections. Yes, during exams my feed was exclusively Coffin Hop recommendations, but those are all boils and ghouls I’d love to see succeed. Probably more than myself when it comes to writing. I’m not going to be a social media bat, though I will pop on more frequently now that school is out and I need some distraction from kiddo watching her infernal shows on rainy days.

I’m also cutting out the toxicity in my personal life. I don’t mean drugs (never done them) or drinking (not stopping), I mean dumbasses who I’ve held on to for far too long. I have a feeling they know who they are, so the whole process should be relatively drama-free.

I’m not abandoning the blog, I know there’s a few kinksters out there who want to know the conclusion to the Fetish Friday series…and I honestly wish there was one. I’m really done with that scene. I’ve still got friends in it, just don’t really have time for it myself. My apologies to the one or two of you who were waiting for a climax.

I’ve been all over the place with this, largely because I’m writing stream-of-conscious thoughts. Main points are that I’m culling and taking back Twitter (possibly Facebook too), I’m reviewing on my terms, I’m eliminating the toxic people, and yes…I’m still writing. Secret Project #1 is now out of my hands while Secret Project #2 is very firmly in them. My own work is on the backburner because SP#2 is a shared project, with two folks I absolutely don’t want to let down. See, I’m still nice. That’s all for today, heathens and harlots.

Folie A Moi

My dear heathens and harlots, I’ve come to a conclusion that I feel I should share with you: I’m a horrible excuse for a writer and I’m more than okay with that. I suppose I should clarify just a little bit and mention that I believe what I write is good; it’s the where/when/why/how that all suck. Royally. Hell, I almost quit writing this post after that first sentence. Let’s dig into me, shall we?

Where – Where I write has always been an issue for me, because since I’ve undertaken publishing I’ve never had a proper desk. Some people don’t need one, they can do it anywhere. I very much miss my childhood desk where all my terrible lyrics and pseudo-goth poetry once escaped. Currently, I write at a dining table in the most uncomfortable chairs you could possible write – or dine – at.

When – I don’t make time to write, not like I used to. Most of my time is spent being social or a dad, and I no longer see the value in making every free moment available for a career that isn’t going to happen.

Why – Figured I’d jump into this as well: I have almost no aspirations to do anything that any other writer/author would want to do. I don’t write for submissions, or for any other open calling. I can’t. I’m not capable of being creative on demand, and I refuse to force it. I’ve also yet to wrangle my muse, though with the addition of my ipad, I’ll be able to read and possibly review at a higher rate…though yet again I make no promises.

How – How did this happen? I’m a very keen observer, so when I see trends unfolding based on what’s being posted elsewhere, I take notes. My notepad isn’t very big, but I’ve got a sailboat and a toilet drawn on there. Abandon ship, here comes the flush. I promised everyone that I’d give my best no matter what, but the biggest observation I’ve made is that nobody’s best matters.

Indie authors who churn out book after book are still getting paid, and frankly that’s their goal. Traditional publishers are changing with the times, but that just means there are less opportunities to be published by those bookmongers. There’s that weird sect of publishers who act as cooperatives…I’ve seen three either flounder or implode in the year or so they’d been operating. I applaud their efforts, but sometimes the machine is just too big.

Which brings me to the machine: Amazon. I have such a love-hate relationship with them it’s almost hard to put into words. I don’t like where they’re taking the publishing industry, but again, I can’t change that. I don’t want to. It is what it is. I think I’ll just be a fan of the people who can put their heads against the grindstone and win.

Me, I’m gonna write when I want (outside of two secret projects that I am sticking with) and read when I want. Somewhere along the way I lost the fact that this is supposed to be fun. I’m gonna find that feeling again, on my terms.

Friendly Freebie – Stranger At The Hell Gate

Stranger at the Hell Gate
Ash Krafton

Genre: urban fantasy

Publisher: The Wild Rose Press

Date of Publication: March 2013

ASIN: B00C14X6SG

Word Count: 20000

Cover Artist: Debbie Taylor

Amazon

Book Description:

Jagger Sintallon, a half-demon warrior, has dedicated his existence to fighting demons who enter the world through Hell gates. A loner of conflicting ideals, he offers shelter to a troubled woman but knows he is too rough, too dangerous, and too cocky for her delicate nature.

Dedicated to Divine Will, Sonya Camael, a Seraph, is determined to discover why she is drawn to Jagger’s doorstep and the reason behind her mission. She needs the demon’s help but fears he may get himself killed before she can figure it out and the world slips into Hell’s dominion.

Sonya faces grave danger with evil stalking her every move, and Jagger shouldn’t care but realizes he cares more than he’d likely admit. Sonya knows Jagger cannot win this war alone, but will her divine intervention mean his imminent end? Or will just the right combination of Heaven and Hell set the world right once again?

Excerpt:

Jagger hung his head, looking very much out of patience. With an exasperated huff, he turned in place, his boots clomping. Cocky stance, head back, and eyes daring her to say something. But these things she only partially registered because when he turned to face her, his entire upper body—chest, face, arms—glowed with the marks of past insult and injury. And that sickle shape burned into the skin over his heart—

She whimpered, heart-sick to see him in this way. Her mother’s blood cried out at the thought of what agony he must have endured to stand here now, so marred and wounded. Covering her eyes, she dispelled the Seraph sight and fought the tears.

“Hey.” He was in front of her within moments, pulling her hands down and leaning to peer at her downturned face. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“You. You’ve been through so much. Just look at you.”

“I’d rather not. I’m not a pretty guy.”

“Jagger. These scars. You have countless hurts. I can’t see a part of you that isn’t injured.” She raised her eyes, tears brimming on her lower lashes. “Let me help you.”

“What, you’re a plastic surgeon?”

She swallowed and regained part of her composure. “Better.”

He looked alarmed and rocked back on his heels. “You don’t mean—”

“Yes, I do.” She held onto his hands and kept him from backing away. This felt right, this decision.

His eyes shifted. “Ah, I don’t think it’s a good idea, doll. Our kinds don’t mix well.”

About the Author:

Ash Krafton writes from the heart…of the Pennsylvania coal region, that is.

She is the author of the Books of the Demimonde (Pink Narcissus Press).

BLEEDING HEARTS (Demimonde #1) is a six-time RWA finalist and was voted “Reviewer Top Pick” by Gravetells.com. Ash continues the story of Sophie and her Demivampires in her latest release BLOOD RUSH (Demimonde #2). She’s hard at work (when she isn’t watching Doctor Who) writing the third book, WOLF’S BANE.

Ash Krafton’s poetry and short fiction has appeared in several journals, including Niteblade, Bete Noire, Abandoned Towers, and Silver Blade. She’s a member of Pennwriters, RWA, and Maryland Writers Association. She lurks near her blog and contributes to the QueryTracker blog.

Ash lives with her family and their German Shepherd dog deep in the Pennsylvania wilds, awaiting the day the TARDIS appears in the driveway (the dog most likely keeps the Doctor away. What a beast.)

Until then, she writes.

Find Ash at:

The Demimonde blog

Facebook

Twitter

Goodreads

RantyBlog – Kick in the GoGo

Welcome to a new feature here at The Abode, the RantyBlog. Sadly, it’s not the in depth analysis of some funky new position that you and your depraved lover can try; nor does it have anything to do with some weird building supplies. I’ve decided to pick apart something that needs picking, and I hope to do one thing per post per week. This is basically the Friday Fred without the aid of my former sidekick.

Recently I saw a tweet from Clive Barker asking fans whether or not they’d be interested in crowd funding a new horror film. Hmmm…I like Clive Barker and I like horror films. Yet my answer was a resounding no. Answered similarly when Scott Hall needed money for surgery. I said the same thing when Amanda Palmer asked people to fund her latest tour. How did that work out for you, by the by?

Notice a pattern? If you’re into horror, wrestling, or music, you know at least one of those names I’ve written above. Clive Barker is the man who created Pinhead, one of the icons of horror film. Scott Hall is probably best known as one half of The Outsiders from wrestling’s most recent heyday in the mid-late ’90s. Amanda Palmer is one half of punk cabaret duo The Dresden Dolls. On some level or another, these folks are household names. On some level or another, these folks have all made more money than every indie writer (and many traditional writers) reading this combined.

Kickstarter and IndieGoGo are wonderful when used by artists who actually need them: actual starving artists who create quality but are painfully unrecognized. Crowd funding should be a growth step, not a backup plan. I make no claims to know anything about anyone I’ve mentioned except for what is public: Clive Barker lives in an artist’s paradise, Scott Hall posted YouTube videos of his expansive home, while Ms. Gaiman owns property on three continents. Do any of these folks seem like they have trouble finding money?

Didn’t think so. There are countless other examples of millionaires asking people for money to produce something that they very well could afford themselves, which is why I say leave crowdfunding for those who are in need of it. Heathens and harlots, rant over.

Officially Unofficial

This post was meant to be written yesterday, but sadly I’ve become a horrible manager of time over the past month. So, we get to work a day late. At this point, I’m accepting congratulations on a personal level. Why? Because as of 1pm on Thursday, April 18 2013, I successfully completed two years of college. That’s right, I could have graduated.

Could have? The hell am I talking about? While it’s true that college is typically thought of as a two-year sentence with intermittent breaks for drunken debauchery, my program has the option of an additional third year. It’s kinda like those sports contracts you hear about, “two years with a team option for a third.” Except that would make school the team, and I seriously doubt administration wants me back. Which is part of the reason I’m sticking around. I love making waves.

I am going to be getting what’s known as an advanced diploma, because not only do I now have all the requirements for a finance graduate, I’m getting half of the requirements that an accounting graduate would get as well. That means I’ll be able to do your taxes and tell you the quickest way to blow your refund all at once.

In case you’re wondering, I celebrated by having two croissants and a chocolate milk. Oh, and by writing. Secret project #1 is in full swing, and I have kept things painfully behind schedule thanks to studying. With that out of the way, I’m enjoying catching up on all the words I should have written.

Reviews will still happen, I’m adjusting my schedule to best accommodate everything that I have to do in these next four months. As the bumper on the right says, “if I have your book, I’ll get to it.” For now, my heathens and harlots, I delve back into the office of The Abode to write a scene with content I’ve never attempted. Be good, or be good at it.