Where has the past year gone? It’s been a wild, crazy, circus of events with non stop action. Now, though…now things are really trucking along, and I’m excited to present the book trailer for my upcoming release of World on Fire. Be sure to take a peek and feel free to share with friends and family. I’d love to read your comments.
As promised, World on Fire released the last day of February 2016 for pre=order. Be one of the first to own this young adult, quasi-apocalyptic book. Order now and it will be delivered directly to your kindle on it’s release date, May 30, 2016.
In a world knocked off grid by massive solar flares and Earth’s thinning atmosphere, people on the ground are forced underground in a desperate fight for life.
“The smell stops me near the water’s edge. I tug the neck of my shirt up over my nose as I look around. Carcasses litter the shoreline. Animals tried to escape the fire, driven by instinct to plunge blindly into the shallow waters of the parched river. Deer. Rabbits. Raccoons. So many others unrecognizable in death. The heat was too much and they had nowhere to go. Their salvation had become their cemetery.”
It’s been a hectic month between cover reveals, editing, the World’s Best Story competition and NanoWrimo. Somehow, some amazing things have still come together. One of these “things” is the cover to World On Fire, releasing in February 2016.
World on Fire is a futuristic, young adult novel.
2043: In a world knocked off grid by massive solar flares and Earth’s thinning atmosphere, people on the ground are forced underground in a desperate fight for life.
I’m delighted to be one of this week’s featured authors on Warren Adler’s Writers of the World. Mr. Adler is best known for his blockbusting novel, The War of the Roses, which became a box office hit starring Kathleen Turner, Danny DeVito and Michael Douglas.
I recently read the sequel, War of the Roses – The Children. If you haven’t yet read the book, I highly recommend it. As soon as I picked the book up, I was transported back in time and the decades between these two books fell away as if they’d never existed.
“This darkly hilarious sequel to “The War of the Roses” will draw you into a world of domestic mayhem that carries the confrontation between the Roses into the second and third generation.”
To see my contribution to Writers of the World, and those of other wonderfully talented authors, go here. Be sure to subscribe to updates from Warren Adler while you’re there. You may also follow him on Facebook and Twitter.
Monday, Monday…so good to me. Mondays have always signaled a fresh start to a new week and I’ve never understood others aversion toward Monday.
The World’s Best Story has been announcing it’s top 10 finalists on Mondays. It was a delight this morning to discover that my YA title, Shattered, is holding strong in 2nd place. The #1 spot is held by my fabulous sister, Paige Robbins, and her apocalyptic western romance, Sacred Mountain.
Your vote counts, and prizes are being awarded to lucky winners. Make sure you register and vote so you are automatically entered.
While you’re there,check out all this years talented entries and contestants.
I was excited to wake up on this, my earth birth day, to discover my YA title, Shattered is presently in the #1 position in the World’s Best Story Contest. What a fabulous way to start the day!
The World’s Best Story is open to contestants from all over the world. If you’ve written a book and feel it might be the next blockbuster story, be sure to enter!
By day I’m a writer. By other days, I’m a beekeeper, or beek, as those in the beekeeping world would call me. One might find my fascination with bees unusual in light of my toxic reaction to their stings. Nonetheless, these beauties have captured my fancy. It wasn’t always this way. There was a time, like many others I know, when I was afraid of bees.
Several years back, an article about honeybees caught my attention. German physicist Albert Einstein once warned that should honeybees disappear, so would our global food supply. “No more bees … no more men,” he said. So when I read about Colony Collapse Disorder in honeybees, I became concerned. Huge percentages of the nations honeybees were dying and nobody knew the cause. Over the last five years, studies would show that we have lost nearly 50% of the nations honeybees. This past year demonstrates an average loss of 45%
Wanting to do my small part to help, I began researching beekeeping and joined numerous beekeeping groups. As my knowledge of honeybees grew, my fear lessened. I decided I would make my own personal contribution by keeping one small hive of bees. Little did I know what the future held for me.
My first “hands on” experience in beekeeping was working with a mentor on a bee tree trapout. An area homeowner had a wild hive in a tree near his house and wanted the bees removed rather than exterminated. I was only too happy to help. I received my first sting on the first day out. Quick action and being prepared with medical supplies prevented the day from being a disaster. My mentor and I were able to work together and set the trap in place. Little did I know it would be a long three month wait for those bees to exit the hive and settle in to their new home.
Over the summer I gained some terrific hands on experience, which to me, is much better than le
arning from a book or classes. My mind wraps itself more fully around the experience. The next bees I brought home were from a shed floor cut out. My inexperience lead me to believe I could rock that like
a superstar. I ended up calling in three other beekeepers to assist once I cut into the floor and had a visual on the size of the colony. That cut out took two full days, repeated stings and lots of sweat.
To wrap up my summer of beekeeping, I received one more call. Another homeowner, more bees. Except these bees were already in hives and had been abandoned by the previous homeowner several years prior. It seemed like I was finally going to get some bees the easy way.
I drove out to the pasture where the hives had settled into dirt and weeds. A distant study of the hive activity and the condition of the hives assured me this would be a quick and painless removal. Less than five minutes later I had a hive on the back of the truck, ready to head out. I returned the next day with another beekeeper for the second hive. That hive would be going home with the other beek.
As Murphy’s law would dictate, nothing is ever as simple as it seems. The bees had outgrown the hive they were in and needed to be rehomed. This would require me taking the original hive apart simply to get them out. Without going into all the painful, boring details, after much work, these bees were in their new living quarters and thriving. Needless to say, when I’m working a hive, I’m always fully suited up, often in layers of clothes.
By summer’s end, not only do I have three full, thriving hives of my own, I had sufficient bees to fill the hives of three fellow beekeepers. We’re all just doing our part to keep our pollinators from extinction.
I feel October stealthily creeping up, disguised in a shawl of brisk, cool temperatures. A harbinger of rain, sleet, snow and ice, of evenings spent cocooned in blankets warming toes by the fireplace. I see through October’s guise and recognize it as a portender of death, the final nail in the coffin for summer, but only a prelude to winter’s icy embrace which hankers up ahead.
Fall is my favorite time to write, when life has less distractions and the heaviness of autumn lays a sound barrier blanket over the static noise, muffling the sounds of the outside world. It’s a quiet, cozy time for me. I can immerse myself more fully into my characters and their lives and be more attentive to the stories they tell. It’s a time for creating, for breathing life into the fancies of my imagination.
I write romantic comedy, but comedy is often dredged from some of the least humorous of life’s events. In my book, Life in a Nutshell, you meet Riley Jones, a newly divorced, mid thirty-ish woman, who is trying to pull her life back together.
Beneath the sting of the shower she heard traffic grumbling by, coming to a slow rest at the stop sign on the corner, then gearing up and crawling away. If only it were as easy to wash away the memories…
Riley pressed her forehead to the shower wall, resting, just as traffic had, her thoughts slowing to a dull grind. Pulsating water melted the stress from her neck, back and shoulders, spiraling it silently down the drain. She let herself slide down the wall to form a puddle on the shower floor, melting a little herself, it seemed.
If the entire book had been written in the above context, it would have been a depressing story. That’s too much pressure to put on any reader.
She woke to the sight of her panties flying round and round, waving like a banner at the end of a ceiling fan blade, and she knew, she just knew, it was going to be a really strange day.
When you add a little levity, as I did in the paragraph above, it allows the reader to come up for air, to shed some of the weightiness of a situation.
A good romantic comedy will put the pressure on, take it off, and put it on again. Reading should be like a roller coaster ride, fast paced, with a series of high and lows to move the story forward.
What are some of the qualities you think a good book should have? Feel free to comment, I’m open to discussion.
I wrap myself in a tshirt worn by him, his fragrance tickling my senses as I curl up on the bed. This shirt that’s cut for man’s’ body is too large for me and the fabric folds itself between my legs, caressing my thighs like a warm hand. I roll over, reaching an arm across the sheets, feeling cold where the warmth of his body should be.
Nights are the hardest. Sometimes I wonder if he’s ever coming home though I know he is. It’s just that he’s been gone so very, very long. I scrunch a pillow up under my head and lay staring at the ceiling, wishing the night away.
I can hear the wind rattling the outside of the house and objects thud against the exterior. I rarely question living this far from town but then the solidarity creeps up and the emptiness I feel inside makes me restless. I try to outrun the night but I can’t hide from it’s inky chill.
I toss and turn watching shadows dance across the wall, a beam of light reflected from somewhere outside. The t.v. screen flashes a DishTV message at me. I turn my face away, ignoring it.
I press his shirt against my nose, close my eyes and breathe deeply. It’s the nearest thing I have to his touch and I revel in it…for the moment. I can almost hear the soft thudding of his heart, his slow, steady breathing, feel the heat from his flesh. I swim in a sea of warm memories.
Jeannie Palmer 2012