Artist Arthur's Blog - Posts Tagged "romance"

© Artist Arthur, 2012
Chapter 1
Useless Facts

My name is Lindsey Yi and I'm telepathic. I have supernatural powers that were given to me at birth. I'll be seventeen in a couple of months and this is the end of my junior year in high school. I know that I love cheese and absolutely hate ketchup.
I know that the diet of lady beetles consists of soft- bodied insects like young caterpillars and that giant African crickets enjoy eating human hair. That's not necessarily something I need to know, but I have a reservoir of useless trivia like that stored in my brain for some inexplicable reason.
Another fact: It's been a year since the accident-twelve long months-since I've had a full night's sleep or experienced a waking minute of the day when I didn't think about my parents. I can still see their glass eyes as they breathed the last puff of air in their lungs.
My entire body shivers as I rub my arms to soothe a layer of gooseflesh that coats my skin. As I close my eyes, I'm once again right back there, reliving the train crash one more time.
We're going to Washington D.C., Dad went there a lot. He used to be a diplomat in South Korea. That's where he and mom come from. I was born in the United States, but I've traveled all over the world with my parents. When the accident happened, we lived in a huge house in Providence, Rhode Island.
I guess we could have taken a plane. But Dad liked to travel by land whenever he could, so we were on Amtrak sitting in business class. I don't know why, since I wasn't traveling on business. But I liked to pretend that I was a very important person in the government. That's what I want to do when I grow up, work for the government in some high-level international job. Sounds ambitious and probably obnoxious, but it's what I want to do.
My parents were sitting across from me, my dad with his laptop open as his fingers danced across the keyboard, and his eyes focused on whatever appeared on the screen. Mom was reading a book. She loved to read. Judging by the cover-with a bare-chested man and a woman with long red nails razing his pectorals-it was probably a hot, steamy romance. That meant that mom won't be passing it on to me for my reading pleasure. That's okay. I prefer reading nonfiction, anyway.
My blunt-tipped fingernails-just like Dad's-drummed over the tabletop that separated us as I stared out the window. Trees whizzed by at a steady clip. Sometimes they were interrupted by water as we crossed a bridge. I was taking in the scenery but Dad wasn't, and it was his idea to take the train, anyway. I liked how the water looked like it shimmered, like there was a huge plastic coating over it that captured the rays of sunlight in a glittering spectacle. The trees made me think of shelter, of something hidden within the tall cluster of shrubbery with hundreds of outstretched arms on the sides. I didn't really want to think of those arms, grabbing, touching, pulling and tearing at me. That had always been a sore spot for me.
Then the scenery abruptly changed with such a jolt that it made me slide into the empty seat beside me. Dad's computer slid over the table, then bounced off the floor with a thud. It didn't sound good. Mom dropped her book, the pages quickly fanning out as it fell to the floor. I remember thinking, "She won't remember what page she was reading because her bookmark was still on the table." The book had fallen off the edge, too, resting on the floor beside Dad's laptop.
I grasped the armrest but the shaking didn't stop. I was quickly flipped right out of my seat careening over the mess on the floor beside us, being catapulted somewhere inside the train car that I didn't know. Screams echoed in my ears and pain slammed into my body, even though I could have sworn I was floating through the car without actually hitting anything. Still, the pain was there, it was real and it was growing.
The right side of my head hurt like it had been smashed into something and throbbed furiously at the assault. My arms ached and there was a whoosh of air as I felt like something slammed into my stomach. I heard voices in my head, screams and pleas, amid the cries for help.
Outside the window, there were no longer trees or water, but an upside-down world that I couldn't really decipher. There was smoke billowing upward over the windows in clear gray waves. There was movement all around me, but I remained still. I swallowed as my body finally began to settle, and I cringed as the stinging taste of blood coated the back of my throat.
The cries in my head grew louder and louder and were now replaced by snippets that formed a chaotic sound wave that resonated through my entire body. My mouth opened because something wanted to come out, but I didn't know what. It might have been anything like, "Help me, I'm hurt." Or, "Save me!" Or, "I'm dying!" Or maybe even, "This pain is excruciating. Please someone help me!" Whatever it was, it all came down to, "What the hell is going on?"
I couldn't say anything. It just played like a loop running through my head. I remember rolling over and coughing, since smoke was everywhere by now. Getting to my knees wasn't easy. My elbows rested on the floor, but there was glass everywhere so I lifted up my arms. I scraped away the tiny shards and saw the blood on my fingertips as it dripped down my arm and fell to the floor in red droplets. I got up off the floor and looked down to see that my knees matched my elbows, but there was no time to dwell on that.
"Lindsey!" A familiar voice called to me. "Lindsey, honey, where are you?" the woman said.
At that moment, I was thinking about how to form the words, but my mouth still wasn't working. My legs moved in a wobbly way, like I'd been thrust back to the days when I was a toddler trying to take those first steps. Lifting one leg at a time was a chore, one I needed to concentrate on. But the voices in my head wouldn't allow it.
I doubled over and suddenly felt like the glass on the floor was somehow embedded in my stomach. The pain was so intense, my eyes watered. And once again I tried to open my mouth to scream in agony. Still, nothing.
I'd been rendered mute and there was no explanation why.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to breathe through the pain but it was relentless. My chest heaved as my head felt like it was going to split in two. Even my eardrums ached, like they did when I had that rotten tooth in fourth grade.
I kept moving, because in the midst of all the noise, I heard my mom's voice coming through loud and clear.
The chaos seemed to have quieted in my head, seeping out through my ears, spilling out so that it appeared to surround me. I felt myself being pushed and jostled, but I kept trying to walk, trying to get to Mom's voice. When I finally did manage to, I stop. My legs gave out and I was back lying on a bed of broken glass on the floor.
Then I realized that my parents hadn't been thrown when my body ricocheted through the train. At the time I thought it was strange since we were sitting right across from each other. But it looked like they never moved, as their backs were still plastered to the faux-leather seats that are only in business- and first-class cars on Amtrak. Dad's laptop was definitely busted and Mom's book was gone. She'll have to buy another copy and start all over, I thought.
Her fingers were all bloody so the pages would probably get smudged when she opened the new book. Maybe she'd buy an e-reader instead, I thought. On one side of her head, the right side, there was a gash that oozed blood in thick rivulets that covered one of her eyes and trickled down to her lips. When I reached out to touch her, my arm ached so bad that I couldn't do anything but let it fall back to my side. Dad was next to her and his head looked fine. No blood. But his chest was moving up and down, in quick motions that didn't seem normal. Trailing down the bottom of his shirt was a gruesome crimson color. The blood was coming from his stomach.
I didn't reach out to him, but instead folded my bruised arm over my stomach to suppress the spasms and knife-sharp pains that were resurfacing once more.
"Dad!" The sound came from my mouth in a sick croaky-sounding way.
He moved his head slowly as the narrow slits of his eyes searched for and then found me. He did like this hiccupping thing and blood gurgled from his lips. I cringed and swallowed, and felt like I tasted the same blood.
I wanted to say "Mom", but I couldn't. My mouth was already full. I looked at her, at her long, straight, jet-black hair that was now matted to one side of her face. She reached up to touch me. The sound in my head screamed, "Stop her!"
She froze in midair, as her arm hung aloft for a second then fell limply to her side.
I looked from my mom to my dad and my dad to my mom, back and forth over and over again. The pain coursed through my body making me tremble. I couldn't talk anymore, but I kept swallowing. I hated the taste in my mouth, hated the feeling of warm blood as it oozed down my throat. I kept staring at Mom and Dad, at their eyes. They blinked in unison. Then they stopped blinking and simply stared straight ahead, that empty soulless stare.
Death is final. It's the end and there's no coming back. No resurrection. It's over and done with. My mom and dad are gone and I'm still here.
These are the facts. I don't know if they're useless facts or not, but these are the facts.

Mesmerize

I receive a number of emails from aspiring writers asking how I started writing and how I became published. I thought it would be a good idea to start a series of blogs that would cover the long road to being published and how to stay there. So I’m titling the blog series, The Writing Life and will make a serious attempt to post bi-weekly on this subject.

The Beginning

I’ve always loved to read so early in my teen years my mother would purchase the Sweet Valley High series by Francine Pascal to keep me occupied. I think I was about fourteen when I saw my mother reading a Danielle Steele book. Now, while I thoroughly enjoyed following Elizabeth and Jessica through their high school years, I had a suspicion that what my mother was reading was much more exciting. I’ve always been a very candid individual and usually tend to just say what I want, so I asked my mother if I could read her book. I was completely shocked when she said yes. The book was Star, by Danielle Steele and I loved every single page. I remember lying on my bed for an entire Sunday reading non-stop and when I finally finished all I could think about was what I would have had Crystal Wyatt do differently or how I could imagine the scenes taking an alternate direction. From that point on when I read a book whether it was a young adult or adult book I would always think of how I would have written the characters. A useless fact about me is that No Greater Love by Danielle Steele is one of my favorite books ever.

My sophomore year in high school I was still reading whatever I could check out from the library that was age-appropriate and every book my mother kept in her bedroom. By that time I’d already begun writing little plays or story outlines on notebook paper and smiling to myself for a job well done because I didn’t have the guts to show it to anyone. My writing was a well-kept secret at that point until I heard on the intercom at school that they were having a writing contest and the topic was “My Favorite Teacher”. Now, it’s highly unlikely that a high school student has a favorite teacher, but at the moment I did. She was my U.S. History teacher and I absolutely loved her class. I didn’t talk much because high school was just not a happy time for me. Still, I jumped on the opportunity to write about the teacher and the class I enjoyed. And guess what? I won the contest! Now, my prize was nothing to write home about—lunch in the teacher’s lounge with my favorite teacher. We had grilled cheese and flat Sprite. LOL But that was the first time I began to think that maybe what I was writing was interesting.

I continued to write plays and stories and finally built up enough nerve to show them to a co-worker and my fiancé (who is now my hubby after 18 years of wedded bliss). They both really enjoyed them and asked when I would be finished so they could find out what happened. The years that followed were full of finding my professional career, getting married and having my first two children. By this time I was a Nora Roberts fanatic and read on my lunch hours and every minute I was at home that the kids or hubby weren’t demanding my attention. I didn’t begin writing another story until 1996. There was no computer in my house at that time so I would arrive at work an hour early and write then. My first completed story was a romance I titled “And Then There Was You”. As soon as I finished that story, I had an idea for another one and began writing that. In 1997, my daughter began having some health issues and I resigned from my job as a legal secretary to stay home and care for her. While I was home I bought a computer and finished my third story and began thinking about publishing seriously at that point. I think because I had more time on my hands I could really consider letting others read my work—others besides my husband because he was still the only one who knew about my writing.

I had no idea what becoming published entailed and no one to ask. The first thing I did was search the internet for everything about publishing. I began submitting my story to agents and editors and receiving one rejection letter after another. I really wasn’t discouraged by the letters because every now and then someone would say: “good story idea”, “engaging writing” or something along those lines. I figured I was still on to something and kept plugging away. In 2002, after I’d had my third child and was back to working full time in a law firm I received a call around ten on a Friday night. I wasn’t home but I listened to the message as soon as I came in. It was from a publisher who wanted to buy my book—“And Then There Was You” became Object of His Desire my first published adult romance! Excitement followed, of course. And then, the real work began.

Next Installment: The Writing Life – Editors: The evil red pen or a blessing in disguise?

A.C. ArthurObject of His Desire

The Writing Life: Waiting and waiting and waiting. Is patience really a virtue?


Of course patience is a virtue, its just one I’m still waiting to possess. 

If you don’t like to wait and not hear a word, good or bad, for days, no weeks, probably more like months, then the writing life isn’t for you. I waited for about five to six years from the time I wrote my first book, until I held that published book in my hands. And with tons of naivety that I believe a lot of first time authors suffer with, I thought the wait was over.

It was not.

Each time I submitted a synopsis for a new project, I had to wait to hear back. My first two book contracts were signed without an agent—big mistake but a necessity sometimes—and I think that may have added to my wait time. Even now, 25+ books later, I still wait. And it grates on my last nerve!

Just about a month ago my agent called me laughing. She said, “I would have never pegged you for an impatient person.” Well, I laughed right back because I don’t know why after all this time she hadn’t realized that. Could it be that possibly I’m getting better at waiting? Huh, I wonder if progress does come no matter how old you are. LOL

Here’s the bottom line, editors have a bunch of submissions on their desks, some they like, some they don’t and some they just have no idea why it’s there in the first place. Agents, have probably double the submissions because they don’t have the pleasure of saying “agented queries only”. And when you think about it logically, they (said editor or agent) only have one pair of eyes. I don’t know about you, but I like for an editor and/or agent to really read my work, not just gloss over it. So if that means I have to wait an additional four weeks (tacked on to the six weeks I’ve already waited) just so they have a semi-clear head or at the very least a great big cup of steaming hot coffee, when they sit down to look at my work, then okay, I’ll have to find some patience from somewhere. It’s still not easy, really it’s not and I wanted to be the first to warn any aspiring authors that just because you finally get to the other side, the rules don’t really change all that much.

So you ask yourself daily, “is it worth it?” The answer comes each time I’m sent a cover to review for my book. Then when I see that book on the shelves—and snap a picture because I absolutely love to do that—I’m elated all over again. It is soooooo worth it and that’s why I keep praying for more and more patience.


Next Installment: The Writing Life—Wait a minute, doesn’t the publisher handle promotion?
Temptation Rising

Here’s the thing, you get this idea to write a book. It evolves into an idea to write a series. You put these ideas on paper. Good fortune shines your way and you get a contract to publish said series. Then you write the books, they hit the shelves and butterflies begin their little party in your belly.

That’s about where I am today, on the release day of MESMERIZE.

This group of gifted teens have become like a part of my family. As if I needed more kids. LOL But I think about them as much as I do my own kids. I worry about Jake, shake my head at some of the things Sasha says, pray for Krystal and now, wait with bated breath for Lindsey to walk her own path. That’s what the MYSTYX stories are all about, young adults finding their own way in a world that changes drastically for them.

Of course it’s my hope that every one who purchases any of these books will read them with this thought in mind and enjoy the journey with them. But I recognize the right to one’s own opinion, if they do not. That’s another thing a writer must get used to, accepting the opinions of readers who read your work. When I scan books on Goodreads or Amazon and see really good reviews or there’s a buzz about a certain book on Facebook or Twitter, I’ll sometimes purchase that book. Because, really, the last thing I want to do is miss out on a great story. But I’ll tell you, sometimes I don’t share the opinions of the reviews. And that’s okay. Every story is not for everyone. I’ve accepted that. Not that it was easy, but I’ve been writing for a while so I figured I either had to find a way to deal or get out of the game. And last time I checked, I was no quitter. 

So today, I’m asking readers to purchase a copy of MESMERIZE and to read the story. If you like it, yaaaayyyyy!!!!! If you don’t, it’s okay, I wish you happy reading elsewhere.

I’m having a Twitter contest today. All you have to do is re-tweet my tweet about the MESMERIZE release day and you’ll be registered to win a $100 B&N or Amazon gift card. So if you aren’t already following me on Twitter @YabyArtist, do so! And re-tweet as soon as possible and as many times as possible.

Thanks for your support.
a

His name is Ryder and he’s everything a hero should be, except he doesn’t want to be a hero.

Ryder met a girl. He fell in love. The girl had a secret and she died and Ryder's heart was broken.

Now Ryder's going to high school at a creepy old boarding school with kids who have no clue about anything beyond trust funds and designer clothes. He's bored out of his mind and counting down the days until graduation. Then the first dead body surfaces and all the days and nights of watching his workaholic homicide detective father pay off.

Now Ryder's a crime solver.

His roommate thinks crime solving's a fun hobby, and Ryder inherits a partner. The most popular girl in school who previously thought he was a geek, just asked him to the homecoming dance because apparently crime solving is also hot. Another girl offers her technology assistance to help find the killer and subsequently spends all of her free time following him around.

Ryder just wants to go to class and get this school thing over with. He doesn't want to be a crime solver and he doesn't want to make new friends and he definitely does not want to fall in love. Not ever again!

Unfortunately, Ryder has a history of things not going his way.

THE RYDER MACK CHRONICLES - Coming 2014
Artist Arthur

If there's one thing I learned long ago it's that change is good! If you're not amenable to change, you'll never experience growth. With that said, there are lots of changes coming in my books in 2014!

Staying firmly in the paranormal world, I'm taking a dip into the New Adult pool with three heart wrenching and nail biting romance novellas. These books are a spinoff of the world created in my adult paranormal romance series and will be published by St. Martins Press, under the pen name, A.C. Arthur.

What is a New Adult novel and
how is it different from a Young Adult Novel?

New Adult (NA) is the hot new category that everyone's talking about. NA is a coming-of-age story that focuses on a protagonist embarking on a new phase in their life, i.e. college, moving into adulthood and away from home, etc. It's the excitement of starting on a new adventure and it's full of possibilities. NA protagonists typically range from ages 18 to 26.

Introducing The Shadow Shifters
The Amazon is known for its rainforests, as well as the often reported sightings of strange animals, or new species. The Shadow Shifters are just that-a new species of part man, part cat shape shifter. There are currently five known species of shifters originated from the Gungi rainforest and now spread out across the world, namely: The Topètinia (jaguars); The Croesteriia (cheetahs); The Lormenia (tigers); The Bosinia (cougars); and The Serfins (white lions). Years ago Shadow Shifters migrated to the United States, opting to live amongst their human counterparts in harmony. This harmony only exists because of their silence, once the humans find out about their distinctly different DNA the Shadows are sure to face a problematic future.

Shadow Shifters: Damaged Hearts Stories

New Adult eBooks

Be there as this Brazilian born trio of Shadow Shifter brothers not only grapple with the idea of being shifters in a human world, but navigate the life of a college student and a young man about to fall in love.

April 2014
MINE TO CLAIM
Aidan & Grace

May 2014
PART OF ME
Brayden & Lidia

June 2014
HUNGER FOR YOU
Caleb & Zoe