Sound off

Is anybody out there?
Am I posting in a void?

Loyal reader roll call sound off now!

I'm going to be a writer and make millions!

Or, the actual financial side of writing.

Let me start with a quote from Poppy Z. Brite's LJ: Only 2% of authors make enough to live on. And only 2% of them get rich."

I did some counting over the weekend.
I'll have 17 things published this year. (Two are forthcoming)
So far, I've made about $1200. That's royalties for the first half of the year, plus July and August for the houses that pay monthly.

My best seller, "For Love of Etarin" has sold 692 copies.
My worst seller, "Pushing the Boundaries of Reality" has sold 3.
I average about 92 sales/title with my main publisher.


Looks like it'll be a while before I start dusting off that pipe and slippers.
My day job? I make 720/week.

Writing update

I'm buried under editing Glad Hands. But it's a good buried. Next project, whip Niko-Chan into shape.

In other news, "Leave it to the experts" has made the final round of elimination judging for Kerlak Press's dragon anthology.

Waiting on contract and edits:
"Meanwhile back at the ranch." (Torquere)

Currently waiting to hear:
Lord Withycombe and the Curse of the Pharaoh's Manicurists (Samhain)
All in the Merry greenwood (Ellora)
Ellora's Cavemen sub (Ellora)

Works in progress:
Alive on the Inside
Shell-Shocked
Nick and Corban

Wedding stories for charity

Twenty of Torquere' s great authors--I find myself somehow included among that number--have written wedding themed stories to show their support in the fight for equal recognition of gay and lesbian marriage!

Sexy and sweet, funny and dramatic, these Sips will satisfy everyone's urge for something old and something new, something borrowed and something blue!

The best part about the Sip Blitz is that all of the authors have agreed to donate the profits from their wedding Sips to charity, with Torquere Press matching their donation 100%! All profits collected from the sale of the wedding Sips will be donated the Lambda Legal Defense Fund.

Sips cost just $1.29, and you can't beat that for entertainment and a good cause! Buy them all, and get the entire twenty Sip package for 15% off! Who doesn't love a happy ending? The Sip Blitz begins Saturday evening, September 13, 2008!


http://www.torquerebooks.com/zencart/

Excerpt day

Today is Excerpt day at the Den of Debauchery's SubAnnex.
http://valarltd.livejournal.com/2008/08/17/

Go, vote in the poll, read and leave feedback, enjoy the piratey goodness...
http://valarltd.livejournal.com/846423.html


From Kestrel on the Horizon:

Of his first sea battle, Adlai would later remember little save noise, confusion and smoke. Collins had issued him a pair of pistols, powder and shot, along with a quick kiss and orders to hold his post before the door of the Captain’s cabin. Each time the cannon roared, he wanted to cover his ears and scream. He did not. He was a man, not a child to be terrified of noise.

He’d done his best, standing as chaos raged about him. He watched Tobias run a man through with a cutlass and mild-tempered Deering swearing like a screeching parrot and reloading his musket as fast as he could fire it. Stephan strode through the din and press, a giant black demon who found it easiest simply to seize one enemy head in each hand and smash them together like the rocks that martyred his namesake. Even gentle Will, the cook’s assistant who was no more than fourteen, wielded a vicious-looking cleaver in defense of the galley.

A large man gave a wicked sneer and headed for Adlai, his cutlass raised. With shaking hands, Adlai raised the flintlock and fired. The man fell back, his sneer obliterated. Adlai reloaded the pistol, his hands still shaking badly enough to drop two balls and half his powder.

“You’ll need those,” Deering said, folding the lost shots into his hand while Adlai could do no more than stand and stare at the dead man at his feet. “We’re winning.” Deering vanished back into the fray.

Nikolai is Back!

Click the Cover. It will take you straight to the order page.



For the newcomers, and those who haven't been listening to me babble about this for ages:

James Ligatos is a man with an unusual hobby. He turns promising young criminals into world leaders. His latest project is Nicholas Boyd, formerly Nikolai of the Revenant street gang. But the little killer-turned-file-clerk is much more than Ligatos and his staff bargained for. As Kentucky attempts to secede from the Confederated States of America and rejoin the United States, Nick's skills and the group's training are put to the ultimate test, and the price of failure is death.

Reviews linked here from Rainbow Reviews, Literary Nymphs, Dark Diva Reviews, Obsidian Bookshelf and Elisa Rolle.

It's up for the Darrell Award here in Memphis.

A very productive night

Naomi and I rock.
We rock like a Cracker Barrel Porch full of cranky old men.

We got three submissions off tonight.
One for Ellora's Cavemen Anthologies and two novels.

I feel...very odd. As if I've just run off a cliff and not quite noticed it's no longer under my running feet.

Finally here!

$3
Frosted Hearts is available from Phaze!
Blurb: In this follow-up to Collared Hearts, artist Anthony and gallery owner Josh endure the trials of the Christmas holiday - from family squabbles to snowy accidents - with their passionate, kinky play to make the holidays a bit brighter.

Will Scarlet's Song

20,322 / 50,000 (40.6%)

The people craned and stretched, for in the middle of the guard was a cart. Tied to the cart, with a noose already around his neck, rode Will Scarlet wearing only a shirt and a crown of oak leaves, the mark of a traitor to the crown.

He looked at the crowd, searching each face. Although some pitied him and some looked at him sorrowfully, he didn't see the faces he sought. His heart sank like a plummet of lead, but he refused to show this.

Instead, he sang. If he was to die this day, he would teach all of Nottingham a new song. They would sing it long after they had forgotten him and it would set the Sheriff's teeth on edge each time heard it. Head held high, he sent his voice ringing over the crowd.
“The sheriff of fair Nottingham
doth tax his good folk full sore
But Robin Hood has tweaked his nose
Fie on Phillip the Fumbler!

He sets the men about the gate.
He sets them at his door.
Still he cannot catch the rogue,
Fie on Phillip the Fumbler!

He spends too much time in the stable there
Along beside the hostler
Lucky for him, the mare does not talk
Fie on Phillip the Fumbler!

He taxes folk upon their bread
He taxes them their beer
But Robin Hood will steal it back
Fie on Phillip the Fumbler!”

By the second verse, the more daring rascals were singing along with the chorus. When he finished the first time, he began again. Half the young men, already merry on beer, took it up.

Bess and Little John

10,598 / 50,000 (21.2%)

FOLLOWING is PG-13


“You're so large anyone would know you on sight. John Little, called Little John, second in command of the outlaws,” Bess turned the name over in her mouth for a moment. They strolled by mossy bank, all overhung with willows.

Little John leaned down and whispered, “Not little at all. Not anywhere.”

Bess gasped, her eyes large and her mouth a round O of shock. She smacked his arm, barely a tap. “You're naughty!”

John registered no pain, but gave her wide and merrily wicked grin. “Are you naughty, Bess?” He stopped them under a willow with wythes that grew so think none could see them.

Seeing they were curtained in, as certainly as if they had been hidden in the little anteroom of the palace with the velvet drapes, Bess beckoned Little John down and whispered. “Wicked as the day is long and more versed in the carnal arts than you can imagine. I went on Crusade after all.”

Little John scratched his great shaggy head. “What was a lady doing on a crusade?”

Bess laughed and settled herself on a tussock of grass. “Have you not heard how Queen Eleanor took a whole hoard of us? She dressed her maids as Amazons and rode topless half-way to Damascus.”

John sank down beside her, his eyes huge at the thought of the Queen and her maids riding bare-breasted across the continent.

“And how naughty are you, Johnny?” Bess teased.

He caught her round the waist again and kissed her. She opened beneath him, letting him go deep into her mouth. He crushed her closer and she only kissed him the harder, her own passions ablaze.

Bess clung to him, mindful of the job she'd done in her braes earlier that no erection would betray her to Little John until she was ready. When he let go of her mouth to look into her face, she breathed, “Yes, oh John, yes.”

He gave a lopsided grin behind his beard. “Oh, you are a naughty girl.”

Bess laughed. “Oh yes, I am. This is a fine and private place. I'll show you all my wickedness if you desire.”