Kendra Kilbourn's Blog
May 7, 2014
"ETERNAL SUN" FREE TODAY ON AMAZON
5-STAR REVIEW ***Creative, fun, and so worth the read. If you like fantasy and sci-fi, I would recommend this book to you. The Adelaide Trilogy is great.***
Haunted by dreams of a boy she doesn't know but can't seem to forget, Celeste Moon has spent nine years trying to piece together secrets to a past her mother refuses to acknowledge. To make matters worse, her mother's boyfriend Duke Starks and his son Kaleb seem to know the answers to her questions but refuse her, as well. Then unexpectedly, her dreams become reality and reality becomes deadly...
Celeste learns she's part of a mystical society that has lived in secret for thousands of years. She's the long lost princess of Adelaide, a magical country that is slowly dying under the cruel rule of Helena Cardheart. Tyson Beckwith, the boy from Celeste's dreams holds the key to getting her on the throne of Adelaide. But the truth about Kaleb will change everything...
Life and death hangs in a balance as the True Courts of Adelaide battle against the Dark Courts in order to get Celeste on the throne. She'll be pushed to the limit and be forced to make difficult choices. But when your destiny is different than your dreams, how do you choose?
http://www.amazon.com/Eternal-Sun-The...
Haunted by dreams of a boy she doesn't know but can't seem to forget, Celeste Moon has spent nine years trying to piece together secrets to a past her mother refuses to acknowledge. To make matters worse, her mother's boyfriend Duke Starks and his son Kaleb seem to know the answers to her questions but refuse her, as well. Then unexpectedly, her dreams become reality and reality becomes deadly...
Celeste learns she's part of a mystical society that has lived in secret for thousands of years. She's the long lost princess of Adelaide, a magical country that is slowly dying under the cruel rule of Helena Cardheart. Tyson Beckwith, the boy from Celeste's dreams holds the key to getting her on the throne of Adelaide. But the truth about Kaleb will change everything...
Life and death hangs in a balance as the True Courts of Adelaide battle against the Dark Courts in order to get Celeste on the throne. She'll be pushed to the limit and be forced to make difficult choices. But when your destiny is different than your dreams, how do you choose?
http://www.amazon.com/Eternal-Sun-The...
March 16, 2014
WHAT I'M DOING WRONG
It's been almost three years since I published my first book and in the three years since, I've published five more books and one short story. Combined, I've sold less than a thousand copies and garnered nearly four thousand free downloads. I have less than thirty reviews on Amazon. My Facebook fan count sits at 444--after two and a half of years of practically begging for every like. And let's not get started on all the bloggers I've approached with ARCs that have politely (or rudely) rejected or ignored me.
All of this leads me to one inevitable conclusion: I'm doing something wrong.
After consulting with a few other writers, doing countless hours of research, and eating my way through several pints of Ben & Jerry's while sobbing, I think I've figured it out:
1) PROFESSIONAL EDITING
I do not use a professional editing service because frankly, I can't afford one. My friend Kristin does the best she can to proofread and edit my books; I continually consult my English teacher cousin for advice; and I do dozens of read-throughs before I hit publish. Apparently, this is not enough.
Professional editing services cost a fortune, no matter who is doing the editing. I consulted over twenty editors for quotes: unless I plan to spend a minimum of $150, I'm S-O-L. Even though $150 is a small fee in the grand scheme of things, I have to support four kids on a tight budget. There is no wiggle-room to cover the editing fees. Writing does not pay the bills.
And let's face it: unless I know the book is going to do well and I'll recoup the cost, there's simply no point in going broke. If my current sales are any indication of what's waiting on the other side, I think I'll save that $150 for groceries.
2) PROFESSIONAL COVER ART
Again, money plays a HUGE factor in this department. Most graphic artists charge a starting fee of $200. And if you don't like the art, you still have to pay them. And you keep paying until you get a graphic that you will use. So, if you decide on the fifth cover, you've spent over a $1,000 in fees that you'll spend an entire year trying to recoup.
My cover art consists of photos that I've repurposed for covers (with the exception of For Foolish Pride and Before A Fall, which were done by the ever fabulous photographer Corey Carpenter). I wish I was savvy enough to design covers myself or rich enough to afford to hire someone to do covers for me. Again, I cannot justify dropping an entire paycheck from my day job to repeatedly pay for covers that may or may not pay off. While I'm aware that covers often lead to sales, you need money to afford the covers that will hopefully lead to sales.
3) BLOG TOURS
Blog tours are the about the only way indie authors will get noticed. I've never done a blog tour and it's not from a lack of trying. I've been rejected by several bloggers and after a while, you get the picture that you're the kid sister that's not wanted at the party.
Successful blog tours translate into strong sales and lots of reviews--positive or negative. I've never paid for a review although I've resorted to nearly bribing for a review--to no avail. I've learned the hard way that without backing from bloggers, you're not going to get very far and chances are, if bloggers don't like you--for whatever reason--your books will probably be DOA.
In short, make friends with bloggers. They're your key to the kingdom.
4) SOCIAL MEDIA
Once upon a time, I was an avid Twitter user. Then one day, I wasn't anymore. Even now, I randomly log on, take a look around, and log out. My Facebook page is another story. I actively post teasers, giveaways, questions, contests, etc. The same six or seven people participate and mostly, they're family and friends.
Which begs the question: what's the point to social media if no one is social with you?
Social media is undoubtedly the most important tool for becoming known and making sales. Without social media, you won't get far. I know of an author who wrote a book that was fairly decent and should definitely have made far more sales than it currently has; however, she refuses to do any marketing for it. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but sweetie, you won't go far.
Twitter, Facebook, LinkedIn, MySpace (does this still even exist?), AbsoluteWrite, and countless other media forums are helpful for marketing yourself and your work. Use it wisely.
THE BIG PICTURE
Why am I sharing this with you? Not for pity, I promise, but to help you. Do as I say and not as I do. Hopefully, you'll have far greater success than I did.
Hire a professional editor. Employ a professional graphic artist. Make friends with bloggers. Use social media wisely.
Seriously, do as I say...and whatever you do, don't follow in my footsteps. I'm headed towards the cliff.
All of this leads me to one inevitable conclusion: I'm doing something wrong.
After consulting with a few other writers, doing countless hours of research, and eating my way through several pints of Ben & Jerry's while sobbing, I think I've figured it out:
1) PROFESSIONAL EDITING
I do not use a professional editing service because frankly, I can't afford one. My friend Kristin does the best she can to proofread and edit my books; I continually consult my English teacher cousin for advice; and I do dozens of read-throughs before I hit publish. Apparently, this is not enough.
Professional editing services cost a fortune, no matter who is doing the editing. I consulted over twenty editors for quotes: unless I plan to spend a minimum of $150, I'm S-O-L. Even though $150 is a small fee in the grand scheme of things, I have to support four kids on a tight budget. There is no wiggle-room to cover the editing fees. Writing does not pay the bills.
And let's face it: unless I know the book is going to do well and I'll recoup the cost, there's simply no point in going broke. If my current sales are any indication of what's waiting on the other side, I think I'll save that $150 for groceries.
2) PROFESSIONAL COVER ART
Again, money plays a HUGE factor in this department. Most graphic artists charge a starting fee of $200. And if you don't like the art, you still have to pay them. And you keep paying until you get a graphic that you will use. So, if you decide on the fifth cover, you've spent over a $1,000 in fees that you'll spend an entire year trying to recoup.
My cover art consists of photos that I've repurposed for covers (with the exception of For Foolish Pride and Before A Fall, which were done by the ever fabulous photographer Corey Carpenter). I wish I was savvy enough to design covers myself or rich enough to afford to hire someone to do covers for me. Again, I cannot justify dropping an entire paycheck from my day job to repeatedly pay for covers that may or may not pay off. While I'm aware that covers often lead to sales, you need money to afford the covers that will hopefully lead to sales.
3) BLOG TOURS
Blog tours are the about the only way indie authors will get noticed. I've never done a blog tour and it's not from a lack of trying. I've been rejected by several bloggers and after a while, you get the picture that you're the kid sister that's not wanted at the party.
Successful blog tours translate into strong sales and lots of reviews--positive or negative. I've never paid for a review although I've resorted to nearly bribing for a review--to no avail. I've learned the hard way that without backing from bloggers, you're not going to get very far and chances are, if bloggers don't like you--for whatever reason--your books will probably be DOA.
In short, make friends with bloggers. They're your key to the kingdom.
4) SOCIAL MEDIA
Once upon a time, I was an avid Twitter user. Then one day, I wasn't anymore. Even now, I randomly log on, take a look around, and log out. My Facebook page is another story. I actively post teasers, giveaways, questions, contests, etc. The same six or seven people participate and mostly, they're family and friends.
Which begs the question: what's the point to social media if no one is social with you?
Social media is undoubtedly the most important tool for becoming known and making sales. Without social media, you won't get far. I know of an author who wrote a book that was fairly decent and should definitely have made far more sales than it currently has; however, she refuses to do any marketing for it. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but sweetie, you won't go far.
Twitter, Facebook, LinkedIn, MySpace (does this still even exist?), AbsoluteWrite, and countless other media forums are helpful for marketing yourself and your work. Use it wisely.
THE BIG PICTURE
Why am I sharing this with you? Not for pity, I promise, but to help you. Do as I say and not as I do. Hopefully, you'll have far greater success than I did.
Hire a professional editor. Employ a professional graphic artist. Make friends with bloggers. Use social media wisely.
Seriously, do as I say...and whatever you do, don't follow in my footsteps. I'm headed towards the cliff.
February 27, 2014
MARCH MADNESS
MARCH MADNESS!
For the month of March, Kristin and I have set a goal of 100 sales from all our books on Amazon and Barnes and Noble. If we reach 100 sales by the end of March, we'll give away a Nook Simple Touch or a $50 gift card, the choice is up to one lucky winner.
How this will work: You can participate as much or as little as you want. If you want to help us reach our goal, you can promote on Goodreads by leaving reviews or recommending our books to others on your friend list. You can also leave reviews on Amazon or Barnes and Noble. If you belong to any writing/reading groups, promote us there. Or promote us to your friends and families on your personal page. Your participation will help us reach our goal, but you're not obligated to help. We'll be doing our part as well.
If we reach 100 sales by March 31, we'll post the giveaway on April 2 or 3. Make sure you check back here then. As always, we'll update you on our progress. Our mission begins this weekend on March 1st.
WISH US LUCK!
For the month of March, Kristin and I have set a goal of 100 sales from all our books on Amazon and Barnes and Noble. If we reach 100 sales by the end of March, we'll give away a Nook Simple Touch or a $50 gift card, the choice is up to one lucky winner.
How this will work: You can participate as much or as little as you want. If you want to help us reach our goal, you can promote on Goodreads by leaving reviews or recommending our books to others on your friend list. You can also leave reviews on Amazon or Barnes and Noble. If you belong to any writing/reading groups, promote us there. Or promote us to your friends and families on your personal page. Your participation will help us reach our goal, but you're not obligated to help. We'll be doing our part as well.
If we reach 100 sales by March 31, we'll post the giveaway on April 2 or 3. Make sure you check back here then. As always, we'll update you on our progress. Our mission begins this weekend on March 1st.
WISH US LUCK!
January 28, 2014
No One But Us now available
My 7th novel, No One But Us, is now available on Amazon for only $0.99!
The last thing Kasey Carpenter expected to see in the newspaper was her ex-fiancé Jamie Wright’s engagement announcement--six months after he left her at the altar. Then Jamie shows up at her door, claiming to still love her and promising to end his engagement. Even though she still loves Jamie, Kasey isn’t sure she can survive another heartbreak. Confused, she finds a surprising ally in her boss Nathan Berry, who has suffered a devastating loss of his own. Two people with desperately broken hearts find an oasis within each other and discover that sometimes you have to let go of what you want to find what you really need.
http://www.amazon.com/No-One-But-Kend...
No One But Us
The last thing Kasey Carpenter expected to see in the newspaper was her ex-fiancé Jamie Wright’s engagement announcement--six months after he left her at the altar. Then Jamie shows up at her door, claiming to still love her and promising to end his engagement. Even though she still loves Jamie, Kasey isn’t sure she can survive another heartbreak. Confused, she finds a surprising ally in her boss Nathan Berry, who has suffered a devastating loss of his own. Two people with desperately broken hearts find an oasis within each other and discover that sometimes you have to let go of what you want to find what you really need.
http://www.amazon.com/No-One-But-Kend...
No One But Us
Fragile Moon- An Excerpt
Mom beckons me from the shore. I’ve been playing in the ocean, a place I don’t recall ever visiting. I clamber out of the water, the salt water dripping down my arms and onto the sand, creating tiny rivulets that slowly trickle back to the water’s edge. About thirty feet from me, out of the reach of the waves, Mom has built a sand replica of our former apartment. She’s added intricate details like the strings of garlic that hang in the window of Papa Italy’s and the striped awning that shade the sidewalk. She’s even included the wooden stairs that run up the east side of the building, the stairs that lead to the balcony of our front door.
“This is beautiful,” I tell her as I crouch down to study her work. She’s left nothing out. Everything about the building is as I remember it.
Using a stick, she points to our door, which she’s created out of a piece of driftwood and disgustingly enough, an abandoned toothpick. With the stick she pushes the tiny door open. I peer inside but all I see is sand.
“What am I supposed to see?”
She points to the door again and gestures that I should look once more. Why won’t she talk? I bite back a sigh of frustration and look again. This time, I try to see past the sand to what lies beneath. The sandwall wavers for a moment and then flickers like a light bulb fading. The moment is brief but it’s enough for me to see and causes me to gasps. I glance up at Mom but she’s gone. Shielding my eyes against the sun, I scan the beach but I don’t see her. Something warms rushes over my feet. When I look down, I expect to see the water from the high tide rolling across the sand; instead, all I see is blood as the beautiful building Mom created melts down into the thick red liquid.
“This is beautiful,” I tell her as I crouch down to study her work. She’s left nothing out. Everything about the building is as I remember it.
Using a stick, she points to our door, which she’s created out of a piece of driftwood and disgustingly enough, an abandoned toothpick. With the stick she pushes the tiny door open. I peer inside but all I see is sand.
“What am I supposed to see?”
She points to the door again and gestures that I should look once more. Why won’t she talk? I bite back a sigh of frustration and look again. This time, I try to see past the sand to what lies beneath. The sandwall wavers for a moment and then flickers like a light bulb fading. The moment is brief but it’s enough for me to see and causes me to gasps. I glance up at Mom but she’s gone. Shielding my eyes against the sun, I scan the beach but I don’t see her. Something warms rushes over my feet. When I look down, I expect to see the water from the high tide rolling across the sand; instead, all I see is blood as the beautiful building Mom created melts down into the thick red liquid.
January 7, 2014
Don't Be A Jerk
Dear readers, writers, and fans~
It has come to my attention that there is a horrible trend sweeping the indie author genre--a trend that I find despicable. From reading various reviews---many, many reviews I should say--of different books written by independent authors, I have found that indie authors are writing books that have a cliffhanger, forcing people to read the next book to find out what happens. It isn't so much the cliffhanger itself that has readers up in arms: it's that there was no warning that the book wasn't a stand alone.
You see, readers get invested and they expect some sort of resolution at the end of a story. When they don't get that resolution and are forced to buy the next book in hopes of a conclusion, they feel duped, betrayed...and most of all, taken for an expensive ride.
How do we solve this problem? Simple: if your book is part of a series, INDICATE THAT in your book description. Don't dance a string in front of your reader/fan and then yank it away at the last moment. This is a lowdown marketing ploy that might make you some quick money but will ultimately turn readers against you. The whole point of a book description is to let your reads know what they're getting themselves into, and when you fail to deliver--well, let's just say it won't garner you any good reviews or goodwill.
True writers care more about the story than the dollar, more about their fans/readers than profits. Be the kind of author people love, not the kind that make them tell others how horrible you are.
In short: be upfront and don't be a jerk.
Love always,
Kendra
It has come to my attention that there is a horrible trend sweeping the indie author genre--a trend that I find despicable. From reading various reviews---many, many reviews I should say--of different books written by independent authors, I have found that indie authors are writing books that have a cliffhanger, forcing people to read the next book to find out what happens. It isn't so much the cliffhanger itself that has readers up in arms: it's that there was no warning that the book wasn't a stand alone.
You see, readers get invested and they expect some sort of resolution at the end of a story. When they don't get that resolution and are forced to buy the next book in hopes of a conclusion, they feel duped, betrayed...and most of all, taken for an expensive ride.
How do we solve this problem? Simple: if your book is part of a series, INDICATE THAT in your book description. Don't dance a string in front of your reader/fan and then yank it away at the last moment. This is a lowdown marketing ploy that might make you some quick money but will ultimately turn readers against you. The whole point of a book description is to let your reads know what they're getting themselves into, and when you fail to deliver--well, let's just say it won't garner you any good reviews or goodwill.
True writers care more about the story than the dollar, more about their fans/readers than profits. Be the kind of author people love, not the kind that make them tell others how horrible you are.
In short: be upfront and don't be a jerk.
Love always,
Kendra
December 27, 2013
Editing Services
Beginning January 6th, 2014, I will be offering editing services for independent authors. With a minor background in English and Journalism, and six books of my own available, I frankly enjoy the editing process. I enjoy bringing beautiful works of fiction into the hands of readers. If you're interested in learning more about my editing services, please fill out the Contact Us form and I will respond as soon as possible. You may also contact me at kendrakilbournbooks@gmail.com.
When you contact me, please include a short synopsis of your work, the genre, word count, and estimated publishing date. Prices are as follows (per manuscript):
$50 for short stories, novellas, or novels up to 50,000 words
$100 for anthologies, novels over 50,000 to 100,000
I look forward to working with you!
When you contact me, please include a short synopsis of your work, the genre, word count, and estimated publishing date. Prices are as follows (per manuscript):
$50 for short stories, novellas, or novels up to 50,000 words
$100 for anthologies, novels over 50,000 to 100,000
I look forward to working with you!
December 15, 2013
Fragile Moon- Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
“Alex, run!”
If it was any other voice, I would've taken a split second to assess the situation but only two voices can force me into immediate action. Without a backwards glance, I sprint across the lawn, leap over the low-laying stone wall, and take the footpath along the river. For mid-morning in Seattle, the park is inexplicably deserted. As usual, the overcast skies oppressively push down on the city. The cool October air burns in my lungs.
I still don't know whom I'm running from or why, only that I've been commanded to take flight. I'm still a good two miles from our meeting point and I wonder if I'll get there. Silence follows me as I dash out of the park and into a small crowd gathered at the corner, waiting for their turn to cross the street. I don't have time to wait. Pushing through them, with grumblings of indignation aimed at me, I dash out into traffic, dodging moving cars as I go. I feel like an actor in a movie; I move without fear. Fear is something I haven't felt in a long time and I'm not about to waste energy on it now.
Horns blare and drivers curse but I don't stop to offer apologies. Two blocks later, I'm facing a closed street torn up by construction. A detour will set me back almost another mile. Mentally, I calculate the best route while every instinct I have says to ignore the signs and just cross the street.
“To hell with it,” I mutter. I slide under the “Do Not Cross” tape and hurry across the street. It looks like a bomb went off in the middle of the road. Thick chunks of asphalt lay in heaping piles along the sidewalks. Dump trucks, backhoes, and front end loaders sit stationary down the middle of the road. Something about the setup feels sinister...like it's a hideout more than a construction zone.
The thought crosses my mind as an arrow whizzes past my head. Fighting my desire to whip out my bow and confront my would-be assassin, I take off running again. Against Duke's orders, I let the magic—or whatever it is that I possess—flow behind me, feeling out my enemies. Some fifty yards back, four Dark Court soldiers are in pursuit. Four? I'm better off evading than going hand-to-hand with them.
As I run, I take in my surroundings—tall buildings with fire escapes; dark alleys that lead to only Judah knows where; abandoned stores with boarded up windows. I have multiple options, all with positive and negative attributes. Tyson's voice suddenly whispers in my head: “Up.”
Without questioning the validity of the voice in my head, I veer to the right down an alley ripe with green garbage bins and rats scurrying about. I leap up onto a bin directly under the fire escape balcony. Using all the strength I can muster, I pull myself up onto the platform. The rusting metal bites into my palms. I foresee tetanus shots in my future.
“There!” someone shouts. I glance down the alley where two Dark Court soldiers are pointing my way.
“Oh crap!”
Quickly I scramble to my feet and start up the stairs. Five more platforms sit between the roof and me. Thankfully, I'm in good shape so I get through the first three sets before I start to feel somewhat winded. Below me, metal clangs against metal. Are these jackasses seriously shooting at me? Amateurs. They're just wasting ammunition. I clear the last platform and climb over the ledge onto the roof. A door, I need a door, but the top of the building is flat and inescapable.
Taking only the briefest of seconds, I study the rooftops on the buildings around me. Spotting a door two buildings over, I sprint across the roof. Luckily, the buildings are so close together I easily leap from one roof to the other. Arrows whiz past me with wild abandon. It's clear the Dark Court soldiers aren't taking the time to actually aim; they're just loading and releasing. Again, amateurs. First lesson in combat: if the target is in front of you, take aim. They've already got me on the run in front of them. I chuckle. If this is the best Helena can do, then this war should be over in no time.
The thought almost makes me pause. Why has Helena sent these jokers after me? Why didn't she send her best soldiers? My death is her victory; I'm the final stepping stone to her complete rule of Adelaide.
She doesn't want me dead, not yet. But why?
I reach the door and hit the frame. Just as the portal activates, I'm knocked to the ground. A Dark Court soldier has his arms wrapped around my calves.
“Got ya!” he shouts even though I'm close enough to smell his breath.
I struggle against him, managing to free one foot which I promptly smash down on his face. His bones break against the sole of my boot. Screaming, he releases my other foot. I dive into the portal just as the other three soldiers clear the ledge and land on the roof.
The portal spits me out into a dark living room and deactivates. Besides the hammering of my heart, the only sound is the ticking of hundreds of clocks. This isn't the meeting place but it was the only place I could think of on such short notice.
“Tea, dear?” Senita asks, waving her wrinkled hand at the cupboard. The doors swing open and two teacups and two saucers gently float across the kitchen and settle calmly on the table. If she's setting the table for two, she's not expecting Tyson.
“Thanks.” I cross the room and take the empty chair across from her. Around us, hundreds of clocks tick, beep, and chime with each passing minute. Clocks hang on the walls, sit on every available flat surface, or stand tall on the floor. Senita has collected unique clocks for hundreds of years. After all, when you can live forever, a hobby is a necessity for maintaining sanity. Although I do question how the incessant ticking keeps her sane.
“Rough morning, dear?” She drops two cubes of sugar into her cup and stirs.
“The worst. I was getting my morning coffee like I always do when I was suddenly ambushed in the park. I didn't even see them; I wasn't using my senses. Kaleb yelled for me to run so I did.”
“Where is Mr. Starks now?”
I shrug. “Most likely at the meeting place.”
“Are you worried?”
“Not about him,” I sigh as I swirl the spoon in my drink. Kaleb is the least of my worries.
“Still no word?” She furrows her ancient eyebrows.
“Not in the last three days.”
A week ago, my boyfriend Tyson Beckwith and several other True Court soldiers left on an undercover mission to Adelaide. The point of the mission was to get food to the village. Thanks to Helena Cardheart's iron fist—and heart—the people were practically starving to death. At least, the ones who chose to stand against her. Others joined her ranks simply for survival and others joined for misguided intentions. I couldn't fault those who were trying to stay alive. How could I? My grandmother is cruel bitch.
“I'm sure he'll turn up soon, dear.”
“Duke says he doesn't know what's keeping them. If he wasn't needed so badly here, he'd go to Adelaide himself.”
“How about Olivier?”
“Olivier is back in Paris—new safe house, new crew. I don't like it, Senita. Some of these kids joining our ranks are barely in their teens. So far Duke has them doing nothing but training but this war has to end sometime and it's going to be on the backs of these kids.”
“Yes, these are perilous times, dear. Horrible sacrifices must be made.”
I sip my tea and sigh once more. Senita's right but I still don't like it. I don't like that I'm asking so much of people I barely know. Then again, they're asking a lot of me.
Once upon a time, my name was Celeste Moon. I was an ordinary seventeen-year-old girl with a normal life. Mom and I lived in a small apartment in downtown Bellwood. I attended high school with my best friends Clare Monroe and Kaleb Starks—who was the son of my mother's boyfriend, Duke. I'd always been suspicious that something about my life wasn't right. For starters, I couldn't remember anything before the age of eight and Mom wasn't inclined to share. I never knew who my father was and Mom refused to talk about him. Then there were the dreams. For nine years I had recurring dreams of a dark-haired, dark-eyed boy begging me to remember he loves me, to not forget him.
The day I met him outside my dreams changed my life forever.
Tyson Beckwith is, or was, the son of Jospeh Beckwith, my deceased father King Darius Trueblood’s best friend. Tyson belongs to the Shields of the Adelaidian army. And as I later learned, so does Clare, Kaleb, and Duke. My father was killed during an uprising so Mom took me and fled to the Subject realm. There, she had Senita erase my memory. Kaleb, Duke, and Tyson were there as well. For some reason, I never forgot Tyson.
For nine years, I fell in love with a mystery, a dream and even though so much has changed, my love for Tyson hasn't—even though I'm engaged to Kaleb. Per Adelaidian custom, the magic chooses the mates for the Royals. Much to everyone's surprise, it chose Kaleb, not Tyson. However, even knowing that I'm betrothed to Kaleb and I'm expected to marry him soon, I can't let Tyson go. How do you let go of someone you've loved half your life?
One day I will have to choose but not today. And if I can beat the magic like my father did, I won't ever need to choose. Besides, I've already chosen.
“Do you think I'll be a good Queen?” The question surprises me as much as it surprises Senita.
“Of course! Your father was a great king and I like you better than I liked him.”
I laugh. “I think you're biased. You treat me like a daughter.”
“And I treated him like a son. I loved him very much.”
I sober. “Yeah, I wish I had known him.” All I have left of my father is a picture that I keep in the pocket of my shirt, just under my Kevlar vest.
“He loved you dearly.”
“Do you believe he sees me now? Do you think he'd be proud?”
“Yes. Why these questions?”
I push the chair away from the table, get up, and start pacing the room.
“The war is getting worse. My people are starving to death while I sit here in the Subject realm eating the good of the land.” I laugh bitterly. “Helena is growing more vile as the days pass.” I stop at the window and stare out at the city below. “ I don't know how to stop her. She coldly sat by while her own daughter killed herself. This is a woman who feels nothing—no remorse, no shame...nothing. I don't know how to defeat that.”
Senita waves her hand in the air and all the clocks immediately cease their ticking. The sudden silence is deafening. She approaches me. Taking my hand she lays it against my throat, against my carotid artery.
“Feel that?” My vein pulses against my fingertips. Taking my other hand, she presses it against my chest, right over my heart. The organ thumps against my palm.
“That is purpose, Alexandria. You were born for a purpose, for a time such as now. You have a mighty destiny, one created for you before you were born. Good always trumps evil—always. Helena may have the upper hand for now, but not for long.”
Cupping my face, Senita's dark wizened eyes search mine. “You have something greater, Alexandria: You have love. As long as you have love, you can overcome anything, even something as deep as Helena's hate. You do know how to defeat her, dear. It's not a matter of how, it's a matter of when.”
* * *
I leave Senita the way I came: through the looking glass. Duke doesn't find my brand of humor particularly funny and he isn't amused when I come strolling through the portal sans Kaleb.
“Don't start,” I warn as I brush past him. My head hurts and Senita has given me a lot to think about. The last thing I need is Duke raining on my parade.
In the kitchen, Kaleb is leaning against the corner, inhaling a bowl of cereal. Without exchanging a word, he pours me a bowl of Fruit Loops and hands it to me. Lately, things have been like that with us. Neither of us have to say much; we somehow instinctively know what the other person needs. It unnerves Tyson—and to be truthful, just about everyone else as well. I can't explain the connection, other than to blame it on the magic.
“When did you get back?” I ask between spoonfuls of cereal.
“About an hour ago. You go to Senita's?”
“Under pressure, it was the first place I thought of.”
He nods. “Probably the safest as well. I was able to take two down before you disappeared. The other two are in the wind.”
“Thanks. Maybe I should go somewhere else for coffee.”
“And miss Seattle's Best?” he chuckles. “No way! We should change routine for a while. We've been doing the same thing for months.”
Months. I shake my head. We've been in Alaska for almost four months. We left the warmth of Mexico for the frigid temperatures of the Northwest. We're limited on places to go in the U.S, given that Kaleb and Duke are still wanted for the murders of Mom and me. Our abrupt departure from society hadn't gone unnoticed by our landlord or my teachers.
“Probably a good idea.” I finish the last of my cereal then rinse the bowl out in the sink. “Any word from Adelaide?”
“No.” He wraps his arms around my shoulders and pulls me against him. He knows what I'm really asking and it hurts him. I hate being a source of pain for him. He's known since we were kids that we're betrothed. Meanwhile, I've only had six months to get used to the idea. And I've been in love with Tyson for nine years. That's hard to get past.
I let Kaleb hold me for a moment before pulling away. He milks these little stolen gestures for all they're worth. I try not to deny him because I don't want to hurt him. Sometimes, though, I wonder if it hurts him more that I allow it rather than outright reject him. It's not out of pity that I let him; I find honest solace in his arms. Kaleb understands me in ways that I don't even think Tyson does; after all, Kaleb was my friend for nearly three years before I found out about Adelaide and Tyson and who I really am. My love for Tyson is unbreakable but what I feel for Kaleb grows daily.
It terrifies the hell out of me.
Kaleb holds my hand, his green eyes studying my face. I feel that I should blush and look away but I don't. This is Kaleb, my friend. There is nothing awkward about us.
“When was the last time you slept?” he asks.
“I don't remember.” Days seamlessly run together. I'm lucky if I know which day of the week it is, much less when I last slept.
“Go get some sleep, okay? It's been a rough week.”
“What about you?”
He smiles sadly. “I'm a big boy. Don't worry about me.” He kisses my forehead. “You have enough concerns in that pretty little head of yours.”
“Ugh, don't remind me.” I turn to leave but stop in the doorway. Without turning around I say, “Kaleb, I have to worry about you. Because if you're not okay, I'm not okay.”
“I wish that was enough.”
“Me, too.”
* * *
Our house is a converted barn. Two bathrooms, the kitchen, dining room, living room, Duke's office, and two bedrooms are on the bottom level. The upper level has six bedrooms, three bathrooms, and a couple of closets mostly used for portals. My room and Kaleb's room are on opposite ends of the upper level—mostly because I share my room with Tyson. We tried to be discrete about it but Kaleb called us on it one morning over breakfast. Ever since then, we haven't hid our sleeping arrangement.
In our bedroom, I find Clare on the bed. One pillow is tucked between her knees, the other on the floor. Her bright red hair splays across the bed, catching the light of the mid-afternoon sun. She snores softly, her body occasionally twitching. She looks peaceful and for that, I'm grateful.
Quietly, I strip out of my clothes and head into the bathroom. I desperately need a shower. While the water warms up, I study my reflection. Hazel eyes stare back at me. My shoulder-length brown hair has seen better days. Although the color to my normally pale skin is nice, I'm still pale enough that the color I do have can scarcely be called a tan. Let's face it: I'm average. Not bad-looking but nothing that would give a supermodel a run for her money.
The hot water rinses the sticky sweat from my body. The heat eases my muscles and for the first time since this morning, I finally start to relax. Constantly being on the run takes its toll after a while. I've been running for the last six months. Somehow, Mom managed to keep us under the radar for nine years. No one looked for us. Then again, no one thought we were alive.
Thinking about Mom hurts. She killed herself to save my life. She killed herself in front of me. That leaves images no one should ever have to live with and ones that I'll carry for the rest of my life. So many secrets came to light that day, secrets that threatened to destroy me. Mom revealed that Adina Denver, Clare's twin brother Jackson's girlfriend, was the secret love child of Duke Starks and Mom. To make matters worse, Adina had betrayed us to Helena. Jackson, Sal—Olivier Bianchi's boyfriend—and several others were beheaded in the Adelaide town square. Adina claimed she didn't know what Helena was up to but when Helena beheaded Jackson, she realized just how evil our grandmother could be.
So Adina and I share a mom and Kaleb and Adina share a dad. It's a twisted triangle, one that affects everyone in the house. Clare rightfully hates Adina for what happened to Jackson. And because Clare is my best friend, I should hate Adina as well but mostly, I feel sorry for her. Duke is trying to get to know his daughter but Kaleb avoids her. The situation is uncomfortable.
Once the water runs cold, I get out and wrap a towel around me. The reflection in the mirror doesn't look so pathetic now. But I won't feel whole until Tyson is back and only Judah knows when that will be.
When I return to the bedroom, Clare is awake. Her eyes follow me around the room as I dry off and get dressed. After I brush and braid my hair, I climb into bed next to her.
“Rough morning?”
“Got jumped by DC in the park.”
“How many?” her blue eyes reflect concern.
“Four, all amateurs. They never once shot to kill or even injure. It felt like...a practice run.”
“Weird.”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “Any word from Malachi?” Her fiance is with Tyson on this mission.
“No, nothing since Sam came back three days ago.” Sam, Malachi's brother, had returned from Adelaide alone. He reported that the mission had been successful and that Tyson, the team leader, sent him back. He knew nothing more and in the three days since, he'd begged Duke numerous times to be allowed to go find them. Duke refused.
“I feel like I'm going to go crazy soon,” I admit with a half-hearted chuckle that comes out more like a strangled sob.
“Don't. If you go crazy, then I'll go crazy. It'll be madness!” Her blue eyes widen in mock horror.
“Oh, not madness!” I giggle. Clare always calms me. “Seriously, though. I haven't been away from Tyson for more than a few days in months. This is excruciating.”
“I know.” She reaches across the bed and entwines her fingers with mine. “We just have to hold on a little longer. It'll be fine, you'll see.”
I smile wanely. Famous last words.
“Alex, run!”
If it was any other voice, I would've taken a split second to assess the situation but only two voices can force me into immediate action. Without a backwards glance, I sprint across the lawn, leap over the low-laying stone wall, and take the footpath along the river. For mid-morning in Seattle, the park is inexplicably deserted. As usual, the overcast skies oppressively push down on the city. The cool October air burns in my lungs.
I still don't know whom I'm running from or why, only that I've been commanded to take flight. I'm still a good two miles from our meeting point and I wonder if I'll get there. Silence follows me as I dash out of the park and into a small crowd gathered at the corner, waiting for their turn to cross the street. I don't have time to wait. Pushing through them, with grumblings of indignation aimed at me, I dash out into traffic, dodging moving cars as I go. I feel like an actor in a movie; I move without fear. Fear is something I haven't felt in a long time and I'm not about to waste energy on it now.
Horns blare and drivers curse but I don't stop to offer apologies. Two blocks later, I'm facing a closed street torn up by construction. A detour will set me back almost another mile. Mentally, I calculate the best route while every instinct I have says to ignore the signs and just cross the street.
“To hell with it,” I mutter. I slide under the “Do Not Cross” tape and hurry across the street. It looks like a bomb went off in the middle of the road. Thick chunks of asphalt lay in heaping piles along the sidewalks. Dump trucks, backhoes, and front end loaders sit stationary down the middle of the road. Something about the setup feels sinister...like it's a hideout more than a construction zone.
The thought crosses my mind as an arrow whizzes past my head. Fighting my desire to whip out my bow and confront my would-be assassin, I take off running again. Against Duke's orders, I let the magic—or whatever it is that I possess—flow behind me, feeling out my enemies. Some fifty yards back, four Dark Court soldiers are in pursuit. Four? I'm better off evading than going hand-to-hand with them.
As I run, I take in my surroundings—tall buildings with fire escapes; dark alleys that lead to only Judah knows where; abandoned stores with boarded up windows. I have multiple options, all with positive and negative attributes. Tyson's voice suddenly whispers in my head: “Up.”
Without questioning the validity of the voice in my head, I veer to the right down an alley ripe with green garbage bins and rats scurrying about. I leap up onto a bin directly under the fire escape balcony. Using all the strength I can muster, I pull myself up onto the platform. The rusting metal bites into my palms. I foresee tetanus shots in my future.
“There!” someone shouts. I glance down the alley where two Dark Court soldiers are pointing my way.
“Oh crap!”
Quickly I scramble to my feet and start up the stairs. Five more platforms sit between the roof and me. Thankfully, I'm in good shape so I get through the first three sets before I start to feel somewhat winded. Below me, metal clangs against metal. Are these jackasses seriously shooting at me? Amateurs. They're just wasting ammunition. I clear the last platform and climb over the ledge onto the roof. A door, I need a door, but the top of the building is flat and inescapable.
Taking only the briefest of seconds, I study the rooftops on the buildings around me. Spotting a door two buildings over, I sprint across the roof. Luckily, the buildings are so close together I easily leap from one roof to the other. Arrows whiz past me with wild abandon. It's clear the Dark Court soldiers aren't taking the time to actually aim; they're just loading and releasing. Again, amateurs. First lesson in combat: if the target is in front of you, take aim. They've already got me on the run in front of them. I chuckle. If this is the best Helena can do, then this war should be over in no time.
The thought almost makes me pause. Why has Helena sent these jokers after me? Why didn't she send her best soldiers? My death is her victory; I'm the final stepping stone to her complete rule of Adelaide.
She doesn't want me dead, not yet. But why?
I reach the door and hit the frame. Just as the portal activates, I'm knocked to the ground. A Dark Court soldier has his arms wrapped around my calves.
“Got ya!” he shouts even though I'm close enough to smell his breath.
I struggle against him, managing to free one foot which I promptly smash down on his face. His bones break against the sole of my boot. Screaming, he releases my other foot. I dive into the portal just as the other three soldiers clear the ledge and land on the roof.
The portal spits me out into a dark living room and deactivates. Besides the hammering of my heart, the only sound is the ticking of hundreds of clocks. This isn't the meeting place but it was the only place I could think of on such short notice.
“Tea, dear?” Senita asks, waving her wrinkled hand at the cupboard. The doors swing open and two teacups and two saucers gently float across the kitchen and settle calmly on the table. If she's setting the table for two, she's not expecting Tyson.
“Thanks.” I cross the room and take the empty chair across from her. Around us, hundreds of clocks tick, beep, and chime with each passing minute. Clocks hang on the walls, sit on every available flat surface, or stand tall on the floor. Senita has collected unique clocks for hundreds of years. After all, when you can live forever, a hobby is a necessity for maintaining sanity. Although I do question how the incessant ticking keeps her sane.
“Rough morning, dear?” She drops two cubes of sugar into her cup and stirs.
“The worst. I was getting my morning coffee like I always do when I was suddenly ambushed in the park. I didn't even see them; I wasn't using my senses. Kaleb yelled for me to run so I did.”
“Where is Mr. Starks now?”
I shrug. “Most likely at the meeting place.”
“Are you worried?”
“Not about him,” I sigh as I swirl the spoon in my drink. Kaleb is the least of my worries.
“Still no word?” She furrows her ancient eyebrows.
“Not in the last three days.”
A week ago, my boyfriend Tyson Beckwith and several other True Court soldiers left on an undercover mission to Adelaide. The point of the mission was to get food to the village. Thanks to Helena Cardheart's iron fist—and heart—the people were practically starving to death. At least, the ones who chose to stand against her. Others joined her ranks simply for survival and others joined for misguided intentions. I couldn't fault those who were trying to stay alive. How could I? My grandmother is cruel bitch.
“I'm sure he'll turn up soon, dear.”
“Duke says he doesn't know what's keeping them. If he wasn't needed so badly here, he'd go to Adelaide himself.”
“How about Olivier?”
“Olivier is back in Paris—new safe house, new crew. I don't like it, Senita. Some of these kids joining our ranks are barely in their teens. So far Duke has them doing nothing but training but this war has to end sometime and it's going to be on the backs of these kids.”
“Yes, these are perilous times, dear. Horrible sacrifices must be made.”
I sip my tea and sigh once more. Senita's right but I still don't like it. I don't like that I'm asking so much of people I barely know. Then again, they're asking a lot of me.
Once upon a time, my name was Celeste Moon. I was an ordinary seventeen-year-old girl with a normal life. Mom and I lived in a small apartment in downtown Bellwood. I attended high school with my best friends Clare Monroe and Kaleb Starks—who was the son of my mother's boyfriend, Duke. I'd always been suspicious that something about my life wasn't right. For starters, I couldn't remember anything before the age of eight and Mom wasn't inclined to share. I never knew who my father was and Mom refused to talk about him. Then there were the dreams. For nine years I had recurring dreams of a dark-haired, dark-eyed boy begging me to remember he loves me, to not forget him.
The day I met him outside my dreams changed my life forever.
Tyson Beckwith is, or was, the son of Jospeh Beckwith, my deceased father King Darius Trueblood’s best friend. Tyson belongs to the Shields of the Adelaidian army. And as I later learned, so does Clare, Kaleb, and Duke. My father was killed during an uprising so Mom took me and fled to the Subject realm. There, she had Senita erase my memory. Kaleb, Duke, and Tyson were there as well. For some reason, I never forgot Tyson.
For nine years, I fell in love with a mystery, a dream and even though so much has changed, my love for Tyson hasn't—even though I'm engaged to Kaleb. Per Adelaidian custom, the magic chooses the mates for the Royals. Much to everyone's surprise, it chose Kaleb, not Tyson. However, even knowing that I'm betrothed to Kaleb and I'm expected to marry him soon, I can't let Tyson go. How do you let go of someone you've loved half your life?
One day I will have to choose but not today. And if I can beat the magic like my father did, I won't ever need to choose. Besides, I've already chosen.
“Do you think I'll be a good Queen?” The question surprises me as much as it surprises Senita.
“Of course! Your father was a great king and I like you better than I liked him.”
I laugh. “I think you're biased. You treat me like a daughter.”
“And I treated him like a son. I loved him very much.”
I sober. “Yeah, I wish I had known him.” All I have left of my father is a picture that I keep in the pocket of my shirt, just under my Kevlar vest.
“He loved you dearly.”
“Do you believe he sees me now? Do you think he'd be proud?”
“Yes. Why these questions?”
I push the chair away from the table, get up, and start pacing the room.
“The war is getting worse. My people are starving to death while I sit here in the Subject realm eating the good of the land.” I laugh bitterly. “Helena is growing more vile as the days pass.” I stop at the window and stare out at the city below. “ I don't know how to stop her. She coldly sat by while her own daughter killed herself. This is a woman who feels nothing—no remorse, no shame...nothing. I don't know how to defeat that.”
Senita waves her hand in the air and all the clocks immediately cease their ticking. The sudden silence is deafening. She approaches me. Taking my hand she lays it against my throat, against my carotid artery.
“Feel that?” My vein pulses against my fingertips. Taking my other hand, she presses it against my chest, right over my heart. The organ thumps against my palm.
“That is purpose, Alexandria. You were born for a purpose, for a time such as now. You have a mighty destiny, one created for you before you were born. Good always trumps evil—always. Helena may have the upper hand for now, but not for long.”
Cupping my face, Senita's dark wizened eyes search mine. “You have something greater, Alexandria: You have love. As long as you have love, you can overcome anything, even something as deep as Helena's hate. You do know how to defeat her, dear. It's not a matter of how, it's a matter of when.”
* * *
I leave Senita the way I came: through the looking glass. Duke doesn't find my brand of humor particularly funny and he isn't amused when I come strolling through the portal sans Kaleb.
“Don't start,” I warn as I brush past him. My head hurts and Senita has given me a lot to think about. The last thing I need is Duke raining on my parade.
In the kitchen, Kaleb is leaning against the corner, inhaling a bowl of cereal. Without exchanging a word, he pours me a bowl of Fruit Loops and hands it to me. Lately, things have been like that with us. Neither of us have to say much; we somehow instinctively know what the other person needs. It unnerves Tyson—and to be truthful, just about everyone else as well. I can't explain the connection, other than to blame it on the magic.
“When did you get back?” I ask between spoonfuls of cereal.
“About an hour ago. You go to Senita's?”
“Under pressure, it was the first place I thought of.”
He nods. “Probably the safest as well. I was able to take two down before you disappeared. The other two are in the wind.”
“Thanks. Maybe I should go somewhere else for coffee.”
“And miss Seattle's Best?” he chuckles. “No way! We should change routine for a while. We've been doing the same thing for months.”
Months. I shake my head. We've been in Alaska for almost four months. We left the warmth of Mexico for the frigid temperatures of the Northwest. We're limited on places to go in the U.S, given that Kaleb and Duke are still wanted for the murders of Mom and me. Our abrupt departure from society hadn't gone unnoticed by our landlord or my teachers.
“Probably a good idea.” I finish the last of my cereal then rinse the bowl out in the sink. “Any word from Adelaide?”
“No.” He wraps his arms around my shoulders and pulls me against him. He knows what I'm really asking and it hurts him. I hate being a source of pain for him. He's known since we were kids that we're betrothed. Meanwhile, I've only had six months to get used to the idea. And I've been in love with Tyson for nine years. That's hard to get past.
I let Kaleb hold me for a moment before pulling away. He milks these little stolen gestures for all they're worth. I try not to deny him because I don't want to hurt him. Sometimes, though, I wonder if it hurts him more that I allow it rather than outright reject him. It's not out of pity that I let him; I find honest solace in his arms. Kaleb understands me in ways that I don't even think Tyson does; after all, Kaleb was my friend for nearly three years before I found out about Adelaide and Tyson and who I really am. My love for Tyson is unbreakable but what I feel for Kaleb grows daily.
It terrifies the hell out of me.
Kaleb holds my hand, his green eyes studying my face. I feel that I should blush and look away but I don't. This is Kaleb, my friend. There is nothing awkward about us.
“When was the last time you slept?” he asks.
“I don't remember.” Days seamlessly run together. I'm lucky if I know which day of the week it is, much less when I last slept.
“Go get some sleep, okay? It's been a rough week.”
“What about you?”
He smiles sadly. “I'm a big boy. Don't worry about me.” He kisses my forehead. “You have enough concerns in that pretty little head of yours.”
“Ugh, don't remind me.” I turn to leave but stop in the doorway. Without turning around I say, “Kaleb, I have to worry about you. Because if you're not okay, I'm not okay.”
“I wish that was enough.”
“Me, too.”
* * *
Our house is a converted barn. Two bathrooms, the kitchen, dining room, living room, Duke's office, and two bedrooms are on the bottom level. The upper level has six bedrooms, three bathrooms, and a couple of closets mostly used for portals. My room and Kaleb's room are on opposite ends of the upper level—mostly because I share my room with Tyson. We tried to be discrete about it but Kaleb called us on it one morning over breakfast. Ever since then, we haven't hid our sleeping arrangement.
In our bedroom, I find Clare on the bed. One pillow is tucked between her knees, the other on the floor. Her bright red hair splays across the bed, catching the light of the mid-afternoon sun. She snores softly, her body occasionally twitching. She looks peaceful and for that, I'm grateful.
Quietly, I strip out of my clothes and head into the bathroom. I desperately need a shower. While the water warms up, I study my reflection. Hazel eyes stare back at me. My shoulder-length brown hair has seen better days. Although the color to my normally pale skin is nice, I'm still pale enough that the color I do have can scarcely be called a tan. Let's face it: I'm average. Not bad-looking but nothing that would give a supermodel a run for her money.
The hot water rinses the sticky sweat from my body. The heat eases my muscles and for the first time since this morning, I finally start to relax. Constantly being on the run takes its toll after a while. I've been running for the last six months. Somehow, Mom managed to keep us under the radar for nine years. No one looked for us. Then again, no one thought we were alive.
Thinking about Mom hurts. She killed herself to save my life. She killed herself in front of me. That leaves images no one should ever have to live with and ones that I'll carry for the rest of my life. So many secrets came to light that day, secrets that threatened to destroy me. Mom revealed that Adina Denver, Clare's twin brother Jackson's girlfriend, was the secret love child of Duke Starks and Mom. To make matters worse, Adina had betrayed us to Helena. Jackson, Sal—Olivier Bianchi's boyfriend—and several others were beheaded in the Adelaide town square. Adina claimed she didn't know what Helena was up to but when Helena beheaded Jackson, she realized just how evil our grandmother could be.
So Adina and I share a mom and Kaleb and Adina share a dad. It's a twisted triangle, one that affects everyone in the house. Clare rightfully hates Adina for what happened to Jackson. And because Clare is my best friend, I should hate Adina as well but mostly, I feel sorry for her. Duke is trying to get to know his daughter but Kaleb avoids her. The situation is uncomfortable.
Once the water runs cold, I get out and wrap a towel around me. The reflection in the mirror doesn't look so pathetic now. But I won't feel whole until Tyson is back and only Judah knows when that will be.
When I return to the bedroom, Clare is awake. Her eyes follow me around the room as I dry off and get dressed. After I brush and braid my hair, I climb into bed next to her.
“Rough morning?”
“Got jumped by DC in the park.”
“How many?” her blue eyes reflect concern.
“Four, all amateurs. They never once shot to kill or even injure. It felt like...a practice run.”
“Weird.”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “Any word from Malachi?” Her fiance is with Tyson on this mission.
“No, nothing since Sam came back three days ago.” Sam, Malachi's brother, had returned from Adelaide alone. He reported that the mission had been successful and that Tyson, the team leader, sent him back. He knew nothing more and in the three days since, he'd begged Duke numerous times to be allowed to go find them. Duke refused.
“I feel like I'm going to go crazy soon,” I admit with a half-hearted chuckle that comes out more like a strangled sob.
“Don't. If you go crazy, then I'll go crazy. It'll be madness!” Her blue eyes widen in mock horror.
“Oh, not madness!” I giggle. Clare always calms me. “Seriously, though. I haven't been away from Tyson for more than a few days in months. This is excruciating.”
“I know.” She reaches across the bed and entwines her fingers with mine. “We just have to hold on a little longer. It'll be fine, you'll see.”
I smile wanely. Famous last words.
August 22, 2013
Bygones (A Short Story)
Next week I'll be releasing my sixth book, Bygones, a short story. You'll find it on Amazon. Here is the book description:
~Alice Anderson vowed to never return to Allendale after her heart was broken, but the unexpected death of her father forces her to return. She must confront not only her father's death but the boy who shattered her faith in love. Can what was broken ever be fixed?
Brandon Brooks knows he messed up when he walked away from Alice in his pursuit to find himself. When Grant Anderson's unexpected death forces Brandon to stay in Allendale longer than he planned, he'll have to face Alice and the consequences of his actions. Will he find redemption or will he be condemned forever?
Bygones is a short story about love, loss, and finding yourself. Can you ever really be whole without the one you love?~
This is my first short story and it was a treasure to write. I hope you'll pickup your copy next Thursday!
~Alice Anderson vowed to never return to Allendale after her heart was broken, but the unexpected death of her father forces her to return. She must confront not only her father's death but the boy who shattered her faith in love. Can what was broken ever be fixed?
Brandon Brooks knows he messed up when he walked away from Alice in his pursuit to find himself. When Grant Anderson's unexpected death forces Brandon to stay in Allendale longer than he planned, he'll have to face Alice and the consequences of his actions. Will he find redemption or will he be condemned forever?
Bygones is a short story about love, loss, and finding yourself. Can you ever really be whole without the one you love?~
This is my first short story and it was a treasure to write. I hope you'll pickup your copy next Thursday!
August 13, 2013
Pull Up Your Panties
Let me start off by saying that I support indie authors. I respect their work and what they're trying to accomplish. I have been in this "business" for five years and I've been writing even longer. I've gone the agent route only to fall flat on my face. I've gone the "indie" route and have found a sliver of success. And I need to address this issue:
At Kendra Kilbourn Books (my Facebook author page) we follow many many independent and agent-represented authors. The one thing that really gets under my skin is authors crying or complaining over bad reviews, rejection letters, and/or books being returned. If you want to survive in this business, get a thicker skin.
NOT EVERYONE WILL LIKE YOUR WORK!
I've been accused of ripping off Stephenie Meyer (never mind that I don't write vampire fiction). My work has been called both "talented" and "talentless". I've been told to not quit my day job (on the same day I received a wonderful piece of fan mail from the UK). I've had both good and horrible rejections from agents. I've had my books pirated and returned many times. If I get upset and cry about this every time it happens, I'd be fifty pounds lighter. The point is, if I let the bad press get me down, I'll miss out on all the amazingly good press that I do get.
Being pirated sucks. Rejection sucks. Bad reviews suck. But this business will chew you up and spit you out if you can't handle a little bad press. So, I lovingly implore you to pull up your big girl (or big boy) panties and get over it. Let the rejection roll off your back like water.
Because let's face it: You're living YOUR dream. Don't let anyone take that away from you.
At Kendra Kilbourn Books (my Facebook author page) we follow many many independent and agent-represented authors. The one thing that really gets under my skin is authors crying or complaining over bad reviews, rejection letters, and/or books being returned. If you want to survive in this business, get a thicker skin.
NOT EVERYONE WILL LIKE YOUR WORK!
I've been accused of ripping off Stephenie Meyer (never mind that I don't write vampire fiction). My work has been called both "talented" and "talentless". I've been told to not quit my day job (on the same day I received a wonderful piece of fan mail from the UK). I've had both good and horrible rejections from agents. I've had my books pirated and returned many times. If I get upset and cry about this every time it happens, I'd be fifty pounds lighter. The point is, if I let the bad press get me down, I'll miss out on all the amazingly good press that I do get.
Being pirated sucks. Rejection sucks. Bad reviews suck. But this business will chew you up and spit you out if you can't handle a little bad press. So, I lovingly implore you to pull up your big girl (or big boy) panties and get over it. Let the rejection roll off your back like water.
Because let's face it: You're living YOUR dream. Don't let anyone take that away from you.
