Black Aggie cover reveal.
Talk about exciting. My third book to be published is another step closer. I’m loving the cover. Loving the spooky, wild feel of it. The bookmark is so cool. Think I’m gonna have to print me some.
Last week I gave you the opening lines of a new work in progress. I’ve decided to put the entire first chapter up over the next while. This is from Slit Mouth, Sentinels book 2. The first in the series, Black Aggie, has been accepted by Totally Entwined Group. I’ll let you know when it’s up for sale.
So here is paragraph two.
Dave fingered his ring finger, still not used to the missing wedding band, although the divorce had been finalized last week. If only his cheating ex wife, Sarah, could see him now. Screw her and her muscled gym instructor. That bastard didn’t have a patch on his sweet little geisha. He may have had a body any man would envy, but with those ears he gave Dumbo a run for his money. This Asian beauty was flawless. A wet dream on legs, sex on a stick. What had she said her name was again? Onna, wasn’t it? Man he couldn’t wait to be on her. Dave smiled at his private joke.
These are the opening lines from a new horror/urban fantasy I’m writing. This is not my hero, but the first murder victim that triggers the story.
Daylight fades the evening darkness falls
Dave had always had a thing for Asian women. Like the petite beauty walking beside him. Man, she was a stunner, way out of his league. Tiny, childlike body swaying gently at his side. Pale shapely legs, bared beneath a short, flared skirt and long dark hair hanging in a thick ponytail down her spine. A schoolgirl fantasy made flesh. Why she’d picked him out at the bar was beyond him. He wasn’t anything special. A forty something, slightly tubby, slightly balding desk jockey.
This is the opening lines from one of my WIP’s, book 3 in the Dominion series. Books one and two have been published by Evernight Publishing. Buy links are in the side bar. 🙂
Matthias clamped his lips down in the ragged end of his hand rolled cigarette and sucked back a lungful of aromatic smoke. The nicotine did shit all to relax his tight muscles. He shifted uncomfortably and cricked his neck from side to side, trying to stretch the tension out of his body.
Cold metal of the fire escape cut a frigid pattern under his butt and the backs of his thighs, even through the heavy canvas of his uniform black fatigues. He leaned forward and laid his forehead on the wet railing and sighed. The city spread below him, glistening under street lamps and a steady drizzle of rain.
Jesus, when was he going to get over this shit? Any other male would have been thrilled to be in his boots tonight.
I was filling out a questionnaire for a woman who is hosting me on her blog this morning. One of the things she wanted to know was where do my characters come from. This got me thinking. They become so strong in my mind, so vivid, so where do they come from? What springs them to life?
After brewing that for a while I realized that it’s usually a single image that gives birth to them. This makes sense. In my life before writing I was a visual artist, so it’s not surprising that my characters are conceived visually.
While a single image may spark the character, it’s not often about what they look like, so much as an energy, a sense of who the character is that is portrayed within the photograph. I thought you might be interested in the images and what it is about them that have given birth to my characters.
So here they are.
This was the seed image for the Heroine of Lunacy and the Vampire. It was a combination of her regal air and the cool distance in her posture that is at the root of Luna’s personality. Her dark boho style didn’t hurt either and gave birth to the general look of the Beanne Sidhe species.
And here is the hero of that book. It was totally the teasing, arrogant look on this boys face that gave me Aveon. Well that and those cheekbones.
Another snippit from the work I currently have submitted, Black Aggie.
Raph strode up the shallow steps and rapped on the glass paned door. A silhouette appeared an instant before the door swung open. Raph took a step back. Holy shit.
Trouble, big fucking trouble. From the top of her sun-bleached auburn curls to the tip of her bare toes. The woman who answered the door was trouble with a capital T.
“Can I help you?” she asked in a raspy, bedroom voice.
Oh shit, oh shit. Her eyes were the yellow green of sunshine through through a glass of 110 proof chartreuse and they stole the breath from his lungs.
Excerpt from the manuscript I have currently submitted. My heroines first impression of my hero.
Bette wasn’t buying the sales pitch. No way was he FBI or homeland security, not dressed like that, not looking like he did. There was an edge about his raw boned face, a hard set to his stormy gray eyes. This guy was on the other side of the law, without a doubt. What was he doing asking about Jason? Did he know something about her nephews death and was here digging to find out how much she suspected?
Her heart banged in her throat and she had to work not to let her nerves show through her facade of niceness. The need to know what had happened was the only thing stopping her from throwing him out on his scruffy ass.
“How come Jason lived with you?”Agent Jameson asked. Like that was his real name.
I’m on the hunt for a few people to give Scar Tissue an honest review. I’ll provide an e-book copy free of charge and the links to post the review. Leave your email address in the comments and I’ll contact you.
PS; look what I found on Pinterest this morning. 
Is he the ultimate gargoyle or what!
Why do I write sex scenes in my books? Is it really just smut?
NO!
I found this this morning and it captures in essence why I don’t draw the curtains.
“If you don’t feel comfortable writing about sex, then don’t. By this, I mean writing about sex as it actually exists, in the real world, as an ecstatic, terrifying and, above all, deeply emotional process. Real sex is compelling to read about because the participants are so utterly vulnerable. We are all, when the time comes to get naked, terribly excited and frightened and hopeful and doubtful, usually at the same time. You mustn’t abandon them in their time of need. You mustn’t make of them naked playthings with rubbery parts. You must love them, wholly and without shame, as they go about their human business. Because we’ve already got a name for sex without the emotional content: it’s called pornography.” STEVE ALMOND (Author)
I’m sorry I didn’t get this posted on the day. I visited over at Grey’s place and had a great interview with her. Pop over to find out a little more about me.
http://www.barenakedwords.co.uk/2014/10/saturday-spotlight-scar-tissue-by-evie.html
eviejayne 