SEDUCED BY SHADOWS is out there!

Posted by: Jessa Slade
Currently working on: Celebrating!
Mood: Celebratory!

It's finally here! The release month of my first published book. Almost a hundred rejections over more than ten years on nearly a million final draft words -- rounded to the nearest heartache. When I say "finally!" I'm serious.

Rumor has it, my hero Ferris Archer has been seen racing half nekkid around bookshelves in a Books-A-Million in the Nashville area. That's the site of next year's national RWA conference, so I think it's an auspicious sign. I am tempted to set up camp in my local bookstore and wait, but I wouldn't wish to importune.


Someone asked me the other day how it feels to have a dream come true. But does it count as a dream if it takes so much work? I don't work very hard in my dreams, unless I'm running away from monsters. Not that hard work alone counts for much either. There's that pesky luck/fate/serendipity to take into account too.

So let's see, the formula I followed to get this far:
Hard work + a million words X 10 years / 100 rejections + (100% persistence/x% luck) = Book

Yeah, that doesn't seem likely, does it? Maybe I'm still dreaming. Well, don't wake me up.

SEDUCED BY SHADOWS is available (or will be next week!) at all major bookstores and online.

Read Chapter 1 on my website and check out my "Possession Prize Pack" giveaway for the month of October, or read the prequel short story introducing the world of the Marked Souls at Borders online.

Excerpt month: SEDUCED BY SHADOWS

Posted by: Jessa Slade

Currently working on: Kicking Book 1 out of the nest. Fly, little Book 1, fly!
Mood: Giddy

October is the release (finally!) of my first book, SEDUCED BY SHADOWS, Book 1 in a new urban fantasy romance series, The Marked Souls, from Signet Eclipse.

Maybe a good way to introduce you to the story is to give you the scene where the hero and heroine meet for the first time. Can you see the spark that will lead to them falling in love? (Hopefully that's the moment you'll fall in love too!)
________________________

With the traffic of Upper Wacker behind her, Sera started over the bridge, ducking her head against the wind hissing across the black water.

A quarter of the way across, she noticed the man alone in the middle of the bridge.

If she hadn’t been so wrapped up in her own thoughts, she would have seen him earlier. The matte black trench coat silhouetted his height against the slash of silvery night sky. He stood braced against the wind tugging at the hem of his coat.

Born and raised in the city, she had a healthy respect for and no unreasonable fear of downtown dangers. She worked—until recently, of course—in a job with late hours in sometimes sketchy neighborhoods and had had her car broken into only twice. Even with a cane that marked her as easy pickings, she knew her trigger finger on the can of mace was limber enough.

Still, something about the man slowed her steps and ramped up her pulse.

She couldn’t cross the street. She had less faith in traffic’s ability to avoid her than in her own ability to avoid trouble. And running only invited chasing.

She unzipped the side pocket of her bag where she kept the mace. Hell, if he had a mugging in mind, she could toss out the prescription bottle, and any self-respecting junkie would follow it into the river.

Despite her inner bravado, her limping steps ground to a halt.

He stood with his face half turned to the sky, heedless of the wind that couldn’t ruffle his close-cropped hair. Sera expected dark shades and a lot of bling, but when he finally glanced down at her, the only spark came from the violet reflections glancing off his eyes.

Not that there were any purple lights around them—just maybe some chance fusion of red brake lights and the blue-tinged streetlamps. . . .

If she was mugged, she didn’t want her description to the police to gush about the hypnotic violet lights in his dark eyes. She’d have to remember the hard edge of his jaw and the width of shoulders below the mandarin collar of his coat, which tapered to lean hips.

She jerked her gaze back to his.

He frowned in a thoughtful, not-menacing way, at least no more menacing than was necessitated by the austere cast to his features. “This, I did not expect.”

She’d be able to ID him by his voice, if nothing else—dark and rough, with a hint of mostly forgotten Southern sweetness, like pralines carelessly heated past caramelizing to burned ruination.

He drew himself up, and she thought darting into traffic might not be completely unreasonable.

“If I told you something bad was right here, right now,” he asked, “would you listen to me?”

Sera thrust her hand into her bag. “I’d tell it to back off.” The mace canister felt sleek and cold and ridiculously tiny when she held it out in front of her.

The man tilted his head. “It won’t be stopped that way. Only you can deny it.”

“Consider yourself denied.”

Violet flashed again in his deep-set eyes. “I am not the threat.”

“See, that’s what all the homicidal schizophrenics say.”

Amusement curved his full lips in a way that made her finger tighten on the trigger.

Danger, danger.
__________________________

You can read all of Chapter 1 at my website.

A Promotional Fairy Tale

Posted by: Jessa Slade
Currently working on: Promoting, marketing and publicizing SEDUCED BY SHADOWS
Mood: Like a cheap whore in flipflops on a rainy Tuesday night... Why? You lookin' for a date?

Once upon a time, there were three pigs who moved to a new half built-out subdivision. Due to a lingering recession that caused a drop in property values, zoning ordinances and building codes were a bit lax. The first pig built a house made of straw and set up a home office for his freelance marketing work.

Reader Wolf, who is always hungry, came along and ate the pig and his house. She found the experience a bit dry. She wondered, idly, what sort of idiot builds a house made of straw.

The second pig built a house made of marshmallow and opened a garage/shop with his promotions company.

Reader Wolf came along and ate the pig and his house. She found the experience to be a bit too sickeningly sweet. She wondered, rather queasily, what sort of idiot builds a house made of marshmallow.

The third pig built a house made of bacon and ran his publicity department from the basement.

Reader Wolf came along and ate the pig and his house. It tasted pretty good, but she thought it was kind of sick, a pig living in a bacon house.

At least she wasn't hungry. For the moment.

The End

Why I read

Posted by: Jessa Slade

Currently working on: The last 48 hours of Book 2 revisions -- hooah!

Mood: Utterly sugared out

Once upon a time...

I love those words. They launch me in ways and to places few other words can. The promise embedded in those words makes me ignore family members, eschew sleep, even -- gasp! -- sign off Twitter.

It's not just that a good book takes me away from real life. I actually like real life quite fine. But I find reading a good book is like looking out at bright sun on the ocean. The world seems so vast and sparkling that even when I look down again, that perspective, those sparkles, stay in my eyes, changing the way I see the world at my feet.

Once upon a time...



Those words are also why I write.

I haven't quite launched into the wide open ocean yet. In fact, I'm still sort of floundering around with water wings. But I have my maps and a compass that points... Well, anyway, I have maps. I'm eager to walk new shores, meet the natives (who hopefully go easy on the spears), maybe unearth some treasure. I imagine I'll get lost a time or two, maybe sail off an edge occasionally. It happens to all of us.

And it makes a better story, you know. Which is why I write.

Once upon a time...

Anatomy: Even squishier than you'd think

Posted by: Jessa Slade

Currently working on: Revising Book 2

Mood: Working on revising that too

Anybody who had to dissect a pig heart in junior high knew relationships were gonna be a bitch. Turns out, all those grade school years of perfect paper hearts and somewhat less pefect but much sweeter Red Dye #5 frosting outlines at Valentine's Day were a lie. Hearts are actually fibrous, misshapen lumps of flesh, working way too hard and prone to far too much damage.

On the plus side, you could do fascinating things to them with a sharp scalpel and an electrode.

Lest that come across as budding psychopathology, let me assure you it was excellent advance training for a one-day romance writer. (Yes, I realize the jump from psycho to romance writer is shorter than a hopscotch square.) Not only is writing a book often a messy and blood-soaked affair, but add the element of a love story and the potential for arterial spray grows exponentially.

As a romance writer currently in revisions on my second book, I feel (or so I grandiosely imagine) all the pressure of a cardiac surgeon with the patient coding on the operating table beneath my hands. I've got a perfectly good body lying here -- the bones of story structure are solid, the muscles of the plot are well toned, the skin of words holds everything in place. Rather attractively, if I do say so myself.

And yet, without that beating heart...

Fortunately, I learned the second part of the anatomy lesson from Frankenstein, who taught us all you need is a little sizzle and you can light up that corpse to sing and dance. Sure, you still get that whole running amok thing to deal with, and then the villagers coming with torches, but you do what you must for the story.

So like any scientist, you can study. You can assemble all the requisite pieces. (And Eye-gor was right; an Abbey Normal brain is perfectly fine.) Go ahead and lay them out on that clean white paper. Then pull down your goggles and fire up the electricity.

Lab whites look a lot like writers' jammies if you squint.

Chasing trends

Posted by: Jessa Slade

Currently working on: Book 2 of The Marked Souls

Mood: Vengeful

I think watching a puppy chase its tail is just adorable and hilarious. Watching -- hell, being a desperate writer chasing trends -- less adorable and hilarious though equally futile and exhausting.

But writing the book of your heart when publishing is a cold, hard (much like frozen corn dog) numbers business is as likely to give you a coronary as a contract. So what's the desperate writer to do? Write to the market or wait for the market?

Let's contemplate some options.

1. Go ahead and be an ambulance chaser.
What? You're too proud to pit-bull-clamp your teeth around the tires of the NYC-bound bus and hang on for the ride? Trends change as speedily as anything on the freeway of the publishing world, so you'll have to be quick and agile to be a trend-chaser. It's funny how some genre writers sneer at those writing to trend with as much exposed fang as lit writers flash at genre writers. Sure, chasing a trend is likely to get you smashed into pulp -- but pulp fiction, though it was never meant to last, has a long, lusty history, and that's nothing to sneer at.

2. Don't chase; stalk.
For some, channeling your inner songbird-killer is the way to go. Chasing implies a lot a running around. Stalking is more deliberate and thoughtful. Is there something in the trend that appeals to you? How can you tweak the trend to make it your own? Or never mind tweaking. Snare that trend, tear it apart, and find your future in its rearranged guts.

3. Refuse to pursue.
If all this trending has your creative impulses warring like cats and dogs, you could just sit this round out, flying high above it all. Trends and tastes change. Maybe from your vantage point, you'll lead the next charge. Or the one after that.

Because the constant in all three approaches? You keep writing something. All the business discussion that goes on -- trends, marketing, changes in technology, consolidation of publishing houses, yada -- is irrelevant if you don't have a story. And if it's a good story, you'll make all of the rest irrelevant.

Welcome to the Big Top! (Please watch out for elephant droppings)

Posted by: Jessa Slade

Currently working on: Copy edits for SEDUCED BY SHADOWS

Mood: Bemused (Who wrote this?)

Balance. Did you know that the human body is not perfectly symmetrical? Even our faces are a little different from one side to the other.

What does this have to do with balance? It means, I think, that you can fuhgeddaboudit.

Sure, there'll be moments when I have it all together, when the planets are in perfect alignment, along with the spinning plates, plus the flaming torch, the bowling ball and the chainsaw. It's a circus life where I get to do all three rings myself: Walk the tightrope, stick my head in the lion's mouth, and go round and round in the clown car.

But, honestly, what fun is a circus where the high wire is on the ground, the lion is an overfed tabby cat, and the safety is on the chainsaw? Boooring.

What so wrong with obsession?

Okay, I might be playing a bit of devil's advocate here at the end of the month. But do you really think you can have it all? Do you need it all? Do you even want it all? Maybe now is the time to set "it all" on fire* with that flaming torch you've been juggling, watch "it all" burn. Out of the slag, you find a freakin' lot of ashes**, true. And also -- just maybe -- purified gold.***

Here's what I've given up to write:

• TV (except for Dollhouse, but hey, it's Joss Whedon, which is practically research)
• A 'Real Simple' magazine house (heh, like that was ever an option)
• Entire weekends of nothing but reading (yeah, this one hurts)
• Non-writing friends
• An honest career with financial security (sorry, Mom and Dad!)

I'm not saying everybody has to make these choices, but you'll have to make some. Don't kid yourself; the time to write is carved bloodily from the tender flesh of your life. And yeah, that's gonna leave marks.

But it's not all sacrifice. I've gained a lot too:

• Great writing friends
• A deeper understanding of who I am (yeah, this one hurts)
• A book deal!!! (er, financial security still not included -- sorry, Mom and Dad!)

Do you want it or not?

If not, that's fine. I'd love to play piano, but I just don't want it bad enough to -- you know -- practice. I'd love to be a vegetarian, but then there's bacon. Writing, though... That I want, and I choose it again every time I sit down in front of the computer and put my hands on the keyboard.

I'm probably biased, but I believe it's fine to be a circus freak.

*Metaphorically, speaking, of course.
**Surgeon General's warning: The lead-based paint holding together old patterns may be hazardous to your health.
***Life-altering decisions should be made for entertainment only, not investment purposes.

How to Stalk and Capture an Agent

Posted by: Jessa Slade

Currently working on: Revisions for Book 2 of The Marked Souls series

Mood: Woozy from lack of chocolate

Have you ever seen steer wrestling? Landing an agent is kinda like that. Only it's more like moose wrestling from the skids of a helicopter.

Terrifying, yes. Maybe even stupid. But it is possible to rope, wrestle and hog-tie an agent even if you aren't the secret baby of a millionaire sheik cowboy.

1. Know your prey. While most moose look a lot alike, agents are surprisingly different if you can sneak up close enough to examine them. If you want a moose, don't think you'll be happy with an elk or whitetail. Or, God forbid, a jackalope.

Speaking of God and prey, it doesn't hurt to just pray to the universal creative force of your choosing.

2. Carefully consider your bait. While moose urine and camo bikinis are all the rage in some circles (it'd be fab on you, darling, just fab) when hunting an agent, you should research her habits and hunting grounds. Agents like to eat, so baiting them with unmarketable storylines and unpalatable characters can be problematic. Instead, consider offering them just a few tempting morsels... at least until you have them hooked.

3. How big a hook? This is the time to bring out your big guns. Longline fishermen put out lots of hooks, hoping to make that catch. Dangling contest wins, or a special knowledge of your topic, even the big juicy worm of a real-life editor on the line, can catch a wary agent's wandering eye. Still, agents are wily and may nibble all your hopes down to the nub, which is why you should always have another line out with another hook and a fresh new story still dripping your blood, sweat and tears.

Admittedly, this isn't a sport for the queasy -- or for any card-carrying member of PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Agents). When you grab this bull by the horns, you'll have to be ready to wrestle 'er down for the count. And if she slips out of your reach... no worries, there's always next season. Plus, I hear there's a cute new elephant stun gun coming out in NYC basic black.

At the sign of the woot

Posted by: Jessa Slade

Currently working on: Book 2 of The Marked Souls

Mood: Late

I haven't signed my book yet, since it's not out until October, but I have already learned valuable lessons here this month:

• Be able to point out the nearest restroom.
• Bring your own chocolate.
• Seriously consider whether being a signing author actually is preferable to major dental surgery without anesthesia

But I'll have to try it, of course, if only to have my own horror story -- and hopefully an inspirational message too -- to someday share.

For now, all I have in the way of funny booksigning stories is this: I took my XY to a friend's booksigning once. (A male. At a romance booksigning. Yeah, see how that's funny alreayd?) Since my XY is a musician, we see a lot of rock shows. So at the booksigning, when they introduced my friend, my XY wooted. Loudly. Like you'd do in a dark nightclub full of half-deaf hipsters when the amps are already cranked to 9. All the romance ladies around us turned to stare. My XY asked, "Don't writers woot?"

I think the lesson here is we all need to woot more for our signing authors.

So here's your task, a literary rockstar theme song meme I ran across on the web awhile back. It goes a little something like this:

Find a song that sums up what you think it means to be a writer and post the lyrics on your blog and why you've chosen it. It doesn't have to be your favourite song, it just has to express how you feel about writing and/or being a writer. It can be literal, metaphorical, about a particular form or aspect of writing - whatever you want.

My literary rockstar theme song is Fugazi's Waiting Room. For more, click here. So what's yours?

Posted by: Jessa Slade

Currently working on: Book 2 of The Marked Souls

Mood: Hungry

Things that make me go yum:

• Trader Joe's chocolate-dipped peppermint Joe-Joe's
• English Bay double chocolate cookie dough
• Village Inn French Silk pie
• Matthew McConnaughy's character's rippling abs in Reign of Fire...

Oh wait, this month's topic was 'things that make me go hmm'? Too late. I'm stuck on yum. We have days yet before our resolutions kick in, so I'm going to make the most of yum until then.

What was your 2008 pleasure? It needn't be food. More rippling abs are always welcome though.

Why write when you can clean bathrooms?

Posted by: Jessa Slade

Currently working on: Finding friends on Facebook
Mood: Scattered

OMG! You're reading this when you should be out Christmas shopping?!? Or deboning the turkey to roast it down for soup? Or cleaning the bathroom?

And you call yourself a writer?!?

For me, there's always something more important/urgent/interesting to do than write since I'm one of those annoying angsty writers. {Insert swoon here} We all have different reasons, many of them listed in this month's earlier posts, for writing in the face of endless potential distractions. Dreams... Determination... Contractual obligations... Rabid wolves threatening to rend & devour us if our word counts aren't met...

Wait, what? You aren't beset by wolves? Well, aren't you lucky.

Then here're a few other things I use to get me "in the mood" to BICHOK:

1. Read somebody else's stuff. Yes, I know this LOOKS like procrastination. But I am often inspired by the words of other. Either they got a 6 figure advance and totally suck and I'm, like, heck, I could've written that -- who cares if I've never circumnavigated the globe in an inflatable dinghy... backwards? Better yet, I read an awesome story that challenges me to rise above. Right now, that book is Night Keepers from Jessica Andersen. I'm only 100 pages in because I'm rewarding myself with chapters, but so far I'm thoroughly enjoying it.

2. Listen to the right music. Since I'm easily distracted, I am sometimes helped by a guide into the creative zone. I found a weird CD called Hypnotic Om (the link takes you to some interesting articles by the guy who made the CD) that uses a slowing click track to lead you into theta waves, the place of dreams and The Zone. Don't know if I believe in any of this stuff -- hey, I write paranormals but I'm not crazy. Still, back to whatever works...

3. And finally, because I am a micro-achiever, I maintain an Excel spreadsheet. I'm still refining it since I recently learned I should be struggling toward scene goals, not word goals, but if anybody's interested in getting a copy contact me through my website. (And maybe somebody can tell me how to post a file on the interwebs so that anybody can access it.) I update my output every... well, pretty much every paragraph. These aren't baby steps, people, these are zygote steps. But again, whatever works...

And finally finally, just because this made me laugh (and remember not to take myself too seriously, which is one of the ways I ease myself into filling up that scarily blank page):

Hope y'all had a wonderful Thanksgiving. And I was kidding about the turkey bones. The bathrooms are your call.

My life as America’s Next Top Author

By Jessa Slade

Current working on: Writing FORGED OF SHADOWS; brainstorming novella; lining up promotions for SEDUCED BY SHADOWS

Mood: Potentially dangerous, like a cat with blown pupils



Culled from reality television files

(Fade in)
A writer hunched at an ugly desk, pounding on a non-ergonomic keyboard. Crap lighting.

{{Note to producer: Chiropractic tie-in? Lasik? Check with PA about ad potential}}

Voice over: {{Confirm James Earl Jones}}
Last week on America’s Next Top Author, Jessa scooped out her roommate’s eyes with a limited edition commemorative long-handled tea ball just – as she put it – to “get some @*&^ quiet writing time around this #%&* hole.”

Jump cut: Confessional booth:
Jessa (at keyboard): He knows not to sneak up on me when I’m that close to the end of a scene. But I did kinda feel bad. I won’t be able to use that squealing sound until chapter seven. I shoulda waited on the tea ball.

Boom shot: Outside writer’s garret
Strike writer’s garret. Windows are too damned filthy to shoot past.
Relocate to cabana.

Pool boy: Jessa is so talented, not to mention lovely. She can extend a metaphor even longer than it takes me to wax my chest. I tried to put the moves on her, but she said her heart belongs to her hero. I’m devastated, truly. I may not recover until next week when we have the writing challenge where the authors have to write a consummated love scene without using gaze, glance, breath, turned, shrugged, or growled. Still, my money’s on Jessa to do away with the eyeballs.

Close up: Pool boy’s abs

Jessa (at keyboard, glaring at monitor): It’s all in my head. Why can’t I get it on paper like it is in my head?

Split screen: Writer (still at keyboard); Celebrity psychologist in comfy chair
VO: (Psychologist)
As you can see from the electrodes implanted in Jessa’s brain, there’s a firestorm of activity through the first three chapters that almost flat lines through the sagging middle. What we consider normal cognitive function doesn’t return until almost a month after typing The End. We’re arranging for hourly doses of Ketamine for when the first reviews start coming in. Unfortunately, we’ve had difficulties medicating her before. While she was waiting for The Call, we had to rely solely on buckets of raw cookie dough. Who could’ve anticipated the effect a bucket of raw cookie dough has on a writer’s butt?

Vignette: Feather quill and parchment paper
CG morph to: Dead moth on unvacuumed carpet

Jessa (still at keyboard) {{Note to in-house script team: Can we really not get another shot of these writers that doesn’t involve the freakin’ keyboard? Booooring.}}: Yeah, it’s not quite as easy as I thought it’d be. Somebody told me there’d be a pool boy. But I’ve got this new idea for the next book...

Sunset through filthy windows. Writer at keyboard, staring into the middle distance, faint smile on her lips.
(Fade out)

VO: Next week, our writers take a break to work on revisions...

Jessa (not at keyboard): You want shorter, punchier dialogue?

End shot: Fist in camera lens.

Go to commercial.

Post bond now for my future memories

Posted By: Jessa Slade
Currently Working On: Editing out "snorted"s in SEDUCED BY SHADOWS
Mood: Horrified by sheer number of "snorted"s

I have no conference memories since I missed San Fran. Yeah, I’m bitter about it. In order to move on, I’m plotting… uh, planning how I’m going to get to D.C. next year. This is exceedingly important to me because I will be eligible for a First Sale ribbon. I plan on stapling it to my chest. Possibly forever.

But first I need to get to D.C.

Here’s what I figure I need to do to amass the approx. $1,000 needed for registration, airfare, hotel and foo-foo drinks in the hotel bar for my editor and agent, CPs and random conference attendees, any passing male romance cover models, and myself.

In retrospect, let’s make that $1,200.

I found a local medical research company. If I could qualify, it would still take three different studies, one for $700 and a couple for $200. And I might have to fake symptoms for the first one. Is my First Sale ribbon worth skewing years of important data that could cure someone’s fatal disease or at least reduce the appearance of zits? Okay, let’s check the next option before I reveal things about my personality that I’m not too proud of.

Still in a “give my left lung” frame of mind, I also discovered that I could sell my blood plasma. However, I've traveled to China where malaria or hepatatis or something is an issue, so my innards may be worthless. Still, my sweetie and my dog are willing to help. (They don’t know they’re willing to help, but I have a supply of beading needles that should do the trick.) If I start now and drain my CPs too (it’s not like I don’t do that anyway)... Hey, where's everybody going?

Fine. What else? Sell my books to Powells? Never! Give up my monthly bucket o’ cookie dough? Impossible! How important is electrical service to the house? I suppose I need to run my computer, so that’s out.

Crack ATM… Too illegal.
Start pyramid scheme… Too math-like.
Invade Pipelineistan, set self up as petty dictator, corruptly funnel kick-backs to conference kitty… Been done.
Get real job… Shuh, right.

It’s looking like maybe the cover models will have to buy us drinks. But as God is my witness (clench hand dramatically here) I will be in D.C. next year. Too bad I don’t have green velvet curtains; I’m gonna look right peculiar in a ball gown of polyester sheers. Ah well, the First Sale ribbon is big enough to cover anything that could get me arrested, yes?

Hmm, this has the makings for next year’s best conference moment blog.

Please be sure to post here with all your big cash opportunities not directly associated with lonesome Nigerian bankers or Friday-night streetwalking on Sandy & NE 82nd. See you at the bar in D.C.!