Cover Artist Praise

 Danielle Fine does most of my covers. It's a good thing, too, because on those forms for authors, when cover artists ask if you have a vision for the cover, I always do.

And it pretty much sucks. 

For Damned If He Does, I'd figured on some artsy cover because the hero is a frustrated artist. And maybe because I grew up with those kinds of covers out of the 70s and early 80s with geometric shapes in once bold colors that inevitably faded by about the third year the book had been on a shelf. 

Danielle kindly led me down the path of PNR reader expectations for this cover. And even if the cover seems to promise something the book doesn't deliver (I had concerns this cover conveyed a really hot read and well - the heroine is ace so while the story has its share of flames, they aren't the sexy kind, much) this book is already one readers either love or think should have been a short story. So eh. Point of interest. Danielle found the models for the cover and she NAILED that heroine.

She found the heroine image for Emissary, too. After I'd looked and looked and looked. This heroine isn't 20. She's at the end of her soldiering career and I really wanted someone who looked like she hadn't just skipped class at the local high school. 

I think my favorite thing about Danielle's work is that whether models match my particular internal vision or not, Danielle always manages to convey the mood of the story. Every single time.

The two Nightmare Ink covers were done by someone at Berkley - I'm ashamed to say I don't know by whom. Because both books are e-only, the covers are simpler and with the first book, the editor and marketing staff chose to go against the UF tide at the time. Most UF covers at the time these came out were barely clad heroines in ripped jeans and leather. Some gorgeous covers came out of that, but Isa wasn't that kind of bad ass heroine. She has her strengths, but fighting isn't one of them. At least, not physically. The only issue we had with the covers, in my opinion, was that the first book didn't actually convey any hint of magic. I think the Bound By Ink cover does a better job of that. It's more atmospheric, too. But this is the difference between publishing through a traditional publisher and publishing your own work. With a traditional publisher, covers are collaborative to a point. Past that point, you can't ask for further changes in the cover. On books you publish yourself, you can pursue THE perfect cover to the limits of your budget. I have a dream to be able to commission original artwork for book covers. Just because I love painterly covers and if I could pay an artist whose work I love - everyone wins.

A Midsummer's Barbeque - of an Incubus

HUGE CONGRATULATIONS TO JEFFE KENNEDY!!! RITA WINNER! :D

My regularly scheduled post:

Behold my inability to offer you flash fiction whilst in the midst of migraine. The drugs are onboard and I should be okay eventually. But deadlines wait for no head-splitter. So an excerpt of a fiery scene it is.  This is from Damned If He Does. Our hero has attempted to seduce the heroine to no effect. Since he's an incubus, this is not expected. So he reports to his boss for advice. Only that doesn't go exactly as planned.

“Incubus,” Ole Scratch said when the elevator door opened. He didn’t bother to look up from whatever he was working on. “You’re here off schedule.”

Darsorin approached the desk. “Yes. I’m a little confounded.”

Satan glanced up at that, though he continued writing, his pencil shrieking against the paper.

It set Dar’s teeth on edge.

“You’re empty-handed. Even after the power I fed you.”

Nearly burst him with, Dar corrected. Not that he’d ever admit that aloud. “She’s asexual.”

“An ace?” Satan’s gaze returned to his work. “Fine. You’ve wasted enough time on that one. Leave her.”

“No.”

The pencil stopped. Ole Scratch lifted his bottomless, soot-black gaze to Darsorin’s. Scorching heat licked his skin. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to go on meeting the twin pits of endless evil.

“What did you say to me, unwise little demon?”

“I’ve upheld my part of the bargain several times a night all over the world for the past . . .”

“And you will go on doing so for all of eternity, Hugh McClellan,” the Devil noted in a flat, soft voice.

Dread shivered up his spine at hearing his true name on the Devil’s tongue.

“Or do you grow weary of your enviable task? You seduce countless women, something you embraced with relish in life.”

No match for that jab, he closed his eyes. “And sacrificed that life to it.”

Ole Scratch chuckled. Screams of tortured souls echoed behind the sound. “You were judged and damned. It wouldn’t be punishment if it didn’t pinch, now would it? You understand your options.”

“I haven’t been Hugh McClellan since the day I died. You made certain of it.”

“And yet it is your true name and still holds your soul in thrall. So hear me. Leave her or seduce her and bring me the curative power of her sexual energy. Your soul hangs in the balance. If you’ve lost your taste for a job in the afterlife that takes advantage of the proclivities you displayed in life, I am certain I can find some other situation for you. Perhaps you’d prefer to spend eternity the way murderers do.”

He tried to suppress a shudder. Failed. Heaven provided special dispensation to Satan for the punishment of murderers. Souls damned for killing someone – anyone – stood in for innocent murder victims time after time. The innocent souls still died, something neither Heaven nor Hell could prevent because of the freewill clause in the human/Divine contract, but the innocent could be spared pain and horror by trading in a damned soul to take the brunt. The punishment was reserved for the most violent, and insanely painful circumstances. Devilish, effective comeuppance. Dar had never had the courage to ask what Ole Scratch got out of that bargain. That Satan did was certain.

Dar swallowed hard and opened his eyes. “Understood.”

His boss’s eyes narrowed as he studied Darsorin. “What is it about this one? You’ve imagined yourself infatuated many times before now. How is this one different?”

“She has no expectation,” he said. “I’m not a means to an end.”

Ole Scratch snorted and sat back in his chair. “You imagine she values you for you? When she has no idea who and what you are? Son. You’re thinking with the wrong head.”

“It’s not like I have a heart to break,” he snapped.

“Or to give. Remember that. Don’t imagine you’re falling for her. You weren’t capable of it in life and you are not capable of it now. Make your choices going forward very, very carefully.”

Demotion hung unspoken in the air between them. Darsorin blew out a sharp breath. “I’ll let it go for a few days. Give her time to cool off. She ordered me to leave her alone.”

“Why would she do that, Incubus?”

“She caught me out. Recognized me in waking life.”

“You were staking her out?”

“Looking for a way to break her open,” Darsorin said, nodding. “She confronted me.”

Satan shrugged. “Not the first time it’s happened. It won’t be the last.”

“Though usually, it leads to a waking sexual encounter,” Dar said. “This did not.”

“What did it lead to?”

“Breakfast.”

“Breakfast.”

Darsorin shrugged. “I made her a deal. I’d leave her alone if she’d have breakfast with me and tell me why nothing I did worked on her.”

Ole Scratch sat bolt upright, his eyes wide. “You did WHAT?”

The floor trembled.

Darsorin froze.

“You. Made. A. Deal.” Satan bit out the words as he rose, his fists planted on his desk. “YOU MADE A DEAL? Show me. NOW.”

He did.

“You struck a bargain with her.” The Devil snarled. Darkness swallowed the sunshine outside. Thunder rumbled. “You swore an oath to leave her alone. To vanish from her life.”

“With no intention . . .”

“Any bargain you strike with an innocent is made in MY name! Think you that I’ll be forsworn by the likes of you? Over her? When I again do battle with the Divine, it will be on my terms and in my time. You gave your word, demon. You will keep it.”

Satan flung a gesture at him.

Fire erupted around him, slamming him to the melting carpet, consuming him. His skin bubbled and crisped, cracking. The scream ripped from his blistering lips came out a hoarse, parched croak. He became pain and smoke.

A distant shrill rattled his charring skull.

Smoke detectors.

The flames winked out of existence.

Darsorin, trapped in a body that Satan couldn’t kill, lay shuddering on the carpet that he’d become a part of. The fibers had melted into his charred skin.

The Devil uttered a guttural, ugly word not meant for human ears. It resonated through the tortured flesh and bones of Darsorin, all the way to the damned soul of Hugh McClellan, which Satan held in thrall.

Reality opened beneath him and he fell.

He moaned a protest before he plunged straight into the soul crushing gray stones of his penitent's cell and into a sadist’s lash.

Book Trailer Challenge

I know nothing about book trailers. Except that I've seen a few, and those few haven't left a good impression. There might be a way to create a killer book trailer, but I sure haven't seen it yet. Maybe if I did Claymation excerpts? But, you know, I already have a job or three. So that's not likely to happen in this lifetime.

I like video/film as a mode of expression. Not crazy about it as a means of selling. That's a me thing. I suspect I've got some prejudice about using the visual storytelling mode (video) to tell a story about a story told in a nonvisual mode. It shorts my simple brain. Right now, YouTube seems geared for the unbearably cute, the sadistically amusing, or the insanely clever.

I'm sure someone out there can create book trailers that fit all of those criteria. That someone is not currently me.

So while I think video has some serious strengths if you understand the pros and cons of the medium. It's an excellent teaching tool. Most people in our culture are visual learners. So there's that. Silly cat videos (KittenLady and TinyKittens, anyone?), DIY projects, instructional videos, experiences travel and adventure vids, and actual performance (assuming you can handle the trolls) - those are the things that really seem to pop on YouTube. If I still had an orange cat (sniff) I'd consider doing a trailer for Damned If He Does - it would be all from the cat's point of view. But. Ship sailed.

All of that said, I do have a YouTube channel. It's pretty invisible because my video quality is crap. It's all cat videos, boat videos, and this. The Night of The Frogs.

So. Book trailers? Nope. Not unless I can come up with a way to make marketing the written word via a visual medium I can't justify the cost or time. Now. Someone come tell me why I'm wrong. I'm always interested in learning that I'm thinking about something incorrectly.

Embracing the Brand

Whelp. After reading Jeffe's excellent post about author brand, it belatedly dawns on me I have one. One I hadn't, to this point, known about, much less embraced.

Crazy Cat Lady.

Seriously. Follow me on Instagram. @marcellaburnard  Have a look at my gallery. Go back through my blog posts. How many cat photos versus photos of literally anything else? Also, who just landed a part time job as a veterinary assistant for a cat-only clinic based solely on a long history of rescue work and learning to give subcutaneous fluids to her own cats? Yeeeeeah.

Not to mention that if you read the reviews of the last book I put out (Damned If He Does) - the very first cat I've written into a story gets mentioned in reviews more than the main characters. I'm seeing a trend here.

But I'm not certain how to capitalize on that, you know? I mean, okay. 10% of everything I make goes to animal rescue (Best Friends and Big Cat Rescue, specifically).  But that's not exactly - I don't know - flashy? Visible? Easily identified?

I could wear sweaters knitted from the fur I've combed from my cats to all my events, but I have concerns about just how many readers would be seriously allergic to me . . .

Wonder if Hatshesput would consent to wear a 'service animal' vest and come to events with me. Without murdering me in my sleep for the affront of making her wear clothes.

Reports of Genre Death Are Greatly Exaggerated

Dead Genre: A genre agents and editors claim cannot be sold due to prevailing market trends and/or market glut. See also: Whatever Marcella writes.

Kidding/not kidding on that last one. It seems to be my super power - writing stuff that makes editors and agents wince when I say, "It's a [insert genre here.]" But, thing is, if you survey indie authors writing in that same genre, many of them will tell you flat out that their books are selling very well, thank you. It happened most dramatically with queries I sent out for Damned If He Does. I'd figured I'd get blow back about the heroine being asexual. Nah. It was 100% about the book being a paranormal. From the swift and terse, "Whoa, we don't do THAT." rejections I received, you'd think I'd flung dog poo over the transom. [Runs to check reviews] Nope. According to the reviews the book isn't *that* bad. I'd just fallen victim, again, to dead genre-itis.

Just because publishers declare a genre is dead, it does not mean the truly rabid fans of said genre have given up on it. It means the readers who were reading the genre because it was the 'in thing' of the moment have moved on, yes. But the readers who adore paranormal or who covet vampire porn for their vacation beach read are ALWAYS going to go looking for those things. I loves me nothing quite so much as a skillfully written SFR - which - if you take a quick gander around the paperbacks being released by NYC houses are in short supply. As in: There are zip. NYC drove one of my very favorite authors right out of publishing until recently when she came back shields up and all phasers firing. You guessed it. She went indie. And that's the lesson.

No audience ever totally evaporates. The pond just gets a little smaller until the next lightning strike of 'new and in fashion' hits and readers rush in from the last fad. Core readers of every genre have long since learned not to trust their reading pleasure to the vagaries of the traditional publishing houses. They go hunting for what they want among indie authors.

So if you have your heart set on publishing through a traditional house, you are subject to the dead genre clause - if what you write is something they believe they can't sell because GENRE, you are SOL for a few years until the pendulum swings back in your favor. But if you've written a book you love in a genre everyone tells you is dead? You certainly have the option of self-publishing that book and of feeding the core readers of that genre. Keep that up and those core readers will follow you just about anywhere.

Where the Writer Is

Anyone with a cat will tell you that if you sit still long enough, you are a cat bed. Trying to write with a cat on your arms is -- challenging. So whenever I write on the boat, I have my choice of spots so long as the first rule is observed: I may sit wherever I like so long as a cat is not occupying the space. I must also observe rule two: if a cat wants the space after I have occupied it, I am obligated to move or suffer being yelled at (at best) and at worst, being occupied myself by a feline indifferent to my deadlines. So it often follows that I remove myself from the household in order to write. Not only for the ergonomic benefits, but also because the distractions at home are legion. Dishes to be done. Wildlife to observe. Cats' whims to be catered to. So while I do write aboard the boat, my very favorite place to write is Miro Tea. It's in Old Ballard - which is (for the west coast) the historic district. Some of the buildings date from the late 1800s. This is an older building. If you look in the middle row of windows, you'll see an I beam running diagonally. Earthquake reinforcing to bring the structure up to code. All of the old buildings in this section of town have them. You get this semi-Victorian exterior and a post-modern industrial thing on the interior. See the two wooden chairs just outside? There's a table tucked right up against that window behind them. That's my spot. I can see the street and the passersby from there. If the sun is out at all, I catch the rays as the sun rises. All lovely reasons to camp that spot for hours at a time while getting words, unimpeded by feline 'helpers'. But the real reason to go there is that the staff are some of the greatest people I know. They've figured out how much I love tea and have started letting me in on the secrets of which teas I ought to be trying. This year's oolong crop has had a stunning array of really excellent teas, for example, and it seems like every time I go in, they have a new recommendation to make for a tea I just have to try. Once I've decided, I can sit down, start the word count, and sip a lovely tea in a warm, friendly environment that doesn't reek of stale coffee oil. Yeah. I know. I live in Seattle and hate coffee. There's probably a law. This is the tea shop that shows up in Damned If He Does and in Nightmare Ink and Bound By Ink (though in the Ink books, the tea shop is Isa's tattoo shop.) If you read Damned If He Does, there's a brief scene in the tea shop - the young woman behind the counter is real and she will make you the same tea latte she makes the hero in the book - a Fireside Hot Chocolate. Dark chocolate, steamed milk, vanilla syrup and Lapsang Souchong. It's velvety heaven. So the next time you're in Seattle, you know where to find me. And maybe what to order when you drop in at Miro.

Being Told What to Write Next

Nothing annoys me more than being deep in the guts of a story and having a shiny new idea pop up. It never fails. Never. Used to be, I'd succumb to the siren song of the bejeweled new thing. As a result, nothing ever got finished. My unfinished projects file isn't just a graveyard. It's an entire damned ecosystem.

That changed several years ago when I made a vow to finish a thing. To handle the allure of ideas popping in to seduce me away from soldiering on to The End, I instituted a policy: It takes a number, and it stands in line. This meant scribbling down the gist of an idea - just enough to be able to recapture the feel of the story, then filing it. I'd go back to hacking my way through my WIP.

Now, whether its luck of the draw, a lack of marketing acumen, or the alignment of the sun, moon, and stars, I have two abandoned series of two books each that had been contracted by a traditional publishing house that wanted nothing to do with any further books in either series. Well okay. My obligation to produce the rest of those books went up in smoke unless my contracts allow me to self-publish the follow up books in each or either series (combing the fine print on that point, with someone who speaks legalese.) Until that legal determination is made, I can't be sitting on my hands. I want to write.

No problem, though, right? I had an idea file to mine. I read through everything in that file. I weeded through my notes and incomprehensible (that sounded like a solid story idea? WTH?) tidbits of narrative with no future. I picked the one that I knew needed to be written. Big project with possible longevity. Utterly outside my skillset. Which clearly meant it was exactly what I ought to pursue. Planning, plotting, and research undertaken. Completed. Undertaken again. Completed again. Opening scene written.

And then, I'm embarrassed to say, lightning struck. I was totally sideswiped by a character who insisted his story would be told and it would be told NOW.

That's how Damned If He Does happened. I had no intention of writing paranormal romance. None. But when a hot dude walks into your head, takes up residence and refuses to leave, you either need hardcore medication or you need to write as fast as possible and get rid of him that way.

So I guess the answer to the 'how do I decide' question is this: Sometimes I choose and sometimes I am chosen. The last book picked me. No clue why. But it did. When I have the luxury of getting to choose, I pick a story out of my league. One that intrigues me and that can occupy my mind for days. Some day, when I am again under contract, I will giggle at the notion of getting to pick what I write next. But for now, I'm in a privileged position to write what sounds like fun at any given moment.

Rest assured. I've gone back to the big, scary, historical fantasy project. It's on track for a POS draft by 10/31. And yes. I do know what comes after that. NANOing book 3 of the SFR series. Cause that heroine has taken up residence in my brain and she's tapping her foot while waving her number beneath my nose. Apparently, it's her turn.

Cover Lottery

File covers under: You win some, you lose some. Sometimes all on the same cover(s). Book covers have a lot of jobs. Entice a reader to pick the book out of all the books on the shelves in order to read the back cover blurb. Convey what kind of read to expect - genre, tone, what have you. And hopefully, if you're really lucky, the cover will get the hero or heroines hair color right. Ish.

Wins on my first two covers: Really pretty. Amazing artwork. The heroines are mostly right. Ari's book (yellow one left) makes her far too put together for her particular circumstance, but oh well. Jayleia's cover (green below) gets her right.

The losses on these covers: Neither one says SFR. They both, to my eye, convey urban fantasy, instead. Compounding that problem? They were shelved in romance. Also, that background scene for Ari? Doesn't exist. No where in the books. Jay's background? Well. Maybe. There is a temple on her home world that gets attacked and she gets to be all bad ass about. So okay.

These covers came from a traditional house and when they were presented to me, there was very little room for alterations or changes.


The next two covers were also from a traditional house, but were for their E-book only imprint. Both were for urban fantasy novels, which I think they convey reasonably well.

I think you get UF from this cover. And maybe you get that the heroine isn't exactly a kick ass supernatural. She has skills, yes, but swinging swords or staking vamps might not be among them. The piece missing for me is a hint of magic - which really defines Isa's books. I do love that she's more than half dressed. But without the hint of something mystical, this could also pass as a cover for a cozy mystery. Which makes it not as cool as it could be. The only other issue is that this cover isn't all that great at conveying the tone of the story - the fact that there's some torture and overall angst. The problem is that ebook covers have to do all the work that print covers do - but they have to do it in thumbnail. That shit's HARD.
The second book in the series did a better job, I think.

In this cover, I got the hint of magic and with the background, I think you get a taste of this story not being all sunshine and roses. Maybe. So. Ebook covers - but ebook covers still presented by a traditional house with their own agendas and ideas about what changes might be made when and where. Which is to say - not many.

The really interesting cover, for me, is the most current one. It's for a light paranormal romance. The story was a complete departure for me. There are no dead bodies. Well. None that die on screen, anyway. It was my first venture into self publishing. Therefore the pressure I put on getting the cover right was enormous. I had several ideas for how the cover could look. In the end, I won a Twitter contest for a free cover from the awesome Danielle Fine. I told her my cover ideas.

She shot me right down. And explained WHY she'd nixed my cover. Her experience with romances novels and with paranormal in particular told us that paranormal readers expect the couple on the cover. Well okay. I was so relieved to have some guidance, I instantly sent over all of the particulars about Fiona and Darsorin. Danielle mocked up several different covers. We sat with them, hemming and hawing. I picked one I liked, but asked for a few changes in the hero. Discontent with the covers, Danielle went back to the drawing board and sent me a cover that made me gasp when I saw it because it was 100% right.

The characters are dead on. The single issue is that the flames surrounding them (while entirely appropriate to a theme that runs through the book) suggests this is a hot read. And it ain't. See. While Darsorin is an incubus and feeds on sexual energy, Fiona is asexual. So sure fire happens in the book...but...you know. Anyway. I hope to heaven it's not misleading. Or if it is, the story is enjoyable enough as is. Because, boy, do I love this cover.

Given my druthers which cover process do I prefer? Oh, this last one. Hands down. Getting to strive for a cover that does the matches the story is a huge win. Even if it means brainstorming several times before you finally find the right fit - that was something that simply wasn't an option with any of the traditionally published titles. That isn't to say I wouldn't work with a house again. I would. For the right book and circumstances.  But there's a lot to be said for having control over the face your stories present to the world.

Double Release Day: Damned If He Does & Lonen's War

We're doubling down on the celebrations today aboard the SFF Seven. We have TWO, TWO captains releasing books, Marcella Burnard and Jeffe Kennedy. That's double the champagne, double the confetti, and double the chocolates.

First Up Marcella Burnard's Paranormal Romance:

DAMNED IF HE DOES

Rejected by heaven, twisted by hell, what’s a damned dead man to do when he stumbles upon a life and love worth fighting for?

Though damned for his earthly sins, Darsorin Incarri likes being an incubus. Prowling women’s dreams to siphon off their sexual energy for Satan's consumption has its perks: an array of infernal power and a modicum of freedom. Sure, Ole Scratch holds Dar’s soul in thrall, and Dar has to spend a few hours recharging in Hell every day, but it could be much worse. All he has to do is hold up his end of his damnation contract – five women seduced, satisfied and siphoned per night for eternity. So when he encounters gorgeous, bright, and funny Fiona Renee, it’s business as usual. Deploy the infernal charm and rack up another score. Except it doesn’t work. She’s immune. He has to find out what’s gone wrong or face Lucifer's wrath.

Fiona Renee has the life she’d always wanted: a career, a home, a cat with a bad attitude, and peace. Fiona’s dated. Had boyfriends. And hated every minute of it. She’s reconciled to being lonely. So when a man shows up in her bedroom in the middle of the night demanding to know why her dreams turn to nightmares every time he tries to seduce her from within them, Fiona winds up negotiating a contract with a demon that allows him access to her life. She never anticipated that it would also give him access to her heart. If she's going to fall in love at all, something she never thought would happen, shouldn’t it be with someone who’s alive? If Fiona wants to hang on to Darsorin, she has to find his true name—the one he’d been given at his birth over a thousand years ago. But Satan, himself, stands in her way. Even if Fiona can dodge Lucifer, she and Darsorin have to face the question neither of them can answer: What happens to a dead man if you manage to wrest his soul from the Devil?

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Then Jeffe Kennedy begins a new romantic fantasy series with her latest release:


LONEN'S WAR

An Unquiet Heart

Alone in her tower, Princess Oria has spent too long studying her people’s barbarian enemies, the Destrye—and neglected the search for calm that will control her magic and release her to society. Her restlessness makes meditation hopeless and her fragility renders human companionship unbearable. Oria is near giving up. Then the Destrye attack, and her people’s lives depend on her handling of their prince…

A Fight Without Hope
When the cornered Destrye decided to strike back, Lonen never thought he’d live through the battle, let alone demand justice as a conqueror. And yet he must keep up his guard against the sorceress who speaks for the city. Oria’s people are devious, her claims of ignorance absurd. The frank honesty her eyes promise could be just one more layer of deception.

A Savage Bargain
Fighting for time and trust, Oria and Lonen have one final sacrifice to choose… before an even greater threat consumes them all.

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When Your Favorite MInor Character is Evil

This releases next Tuesday. It's something a tad different from me. You can usually count on me to bring the grim and faintly creepy. Also, body count. Pretty much absent from this book.

It is possible that I attempted a bit of comedy. I'll leave that to you to decide whether or not I succeeded. This book has one of my favorite minor characters of all time - I wasn't supposed to like him. I didn't want to like him. But he is awfully charismatic in a way I hadn't expected. No. I am not talking about the heroine's cat. Of course I adore Archimedes.

In this case, my favorite minor character is Satan. Here's a bit of a scene he has with the heroine.





            Fire surrounded her. Everything, even the rocks, burned. Flames circled the jagged black surface on which she stood. Obsidian stairs rose to a dais and a throne fashioned from burning, still living, still screaming, people.

She looked away.

Hell.

“Welcome to my office.” Satan stood beside her, still in the human form he’d presented in the restaurant. “I see you’re indoctrinated well enough to expect the fire and brimstone motif. Trite but effective.”

Fiona quelled and her gaze ran away from him, too, only to find the damned souls being swarmed by serpents. The snakes buried fangs dripping with poison into the flesh of their victims. The wet, ripping sound reached her above the hiss and crackle of the flames.

“Ah, I see it in your face, the same look I see on the face of each soul who lands at the foot of my throne for the first time. Awareness that settles so rapidly into despair. Don’t make the mistake of thinking Hell is about despair,” the Devil said. His voice crashed down, crushing her beneath derision. “Despair is useless to me. Everyone adapts to it. I am about hope.”

He shifted, peeling back the illusion of civility. Of humanity. His skin reddened to crimson. His eyes turned black. No irises. No pupil. Just the endless depth of evil. He grew horns. A tail. A vicious, razor-toothed smile of triumph split his multi-planed face.

“I am the hope that sucks the marrow from your bones. The hope that shatters souls. I am every futile, dashed dream lying in broken-winged tatters at your feet,” he said, obscene relish in his tone.

Fiona snarled at the towering creature. “You’re the reason my mother couldn’t survive that heart attack?”

His laughter stoked the flames surrounding them higher. Screams shoved her to the ground, cowering with her hands over her ears while her skin charred and crisped. Her shriek mingled with the cries of the damned.

“Do you not pay attention?” he demanded. “No. Your pathetic mother’s death was never in my hands. But that tiny, flickering flame of hope that burned you to the ground before she died, that was me.

“No one resists hope. No one adapts to its lies. Futile hopes bring me more souls than any torment ever devised. Get up, you stupid mortal. You’re cooking alive. It’s against the rules you believe you know so much about.”

 

            A fetid wind, slimy and cold, oozed across her skin. Shuddering, she climbed to her feet. From the way she gulped for breath, from the shattering weariness dogging her, she might as well have climbed Mount Everest.


As you can see, Satan, in this book, has no issue with being bad. He actively enjoys it. He loves twisting everything he can get his hands on. And there's just something about that unabashed love of being evil that's appealing. Yet there's no danger that Satan would get his own book. He can't. Not the way the rules of the world work in this book. So he truly is a minor character who gets a few bits of stage time, and who cannot graduate to being the star of his own show. At least, not until he's ready to go to war with heaven again. And we all know how that ended last time.

The Editorial Paragon

It's once again that time of year in the Pacific Northwest - amazing shows as the light dies at 10PM. We don't always get killer sunsets, but when we do, they make up for lost time. Entire showy epics crammed into a half an hour. It's one of the things about this latitude that I value - the between times last for damned ever. Twilight is measured in hours in the summer. So is dawn. The fact that I love that probably means I fall on some kind of pathological scale somewhere.

This week, (since I missed last week - I am SO sorry) we're talking up editors. I absolutely advocate for finding and clinging to a good editor. Because:

1. A good editor will call you on your bullshit. Let's be honest. When I write, I am so close to a story. It's my baby. I am incapable of objectively looking at it and saying aloud, "Man, you ugly." So I pay someone who will point out the misshapen arc. The half-formed character. The utter and appalling lack of conflict in that scene near the end.
2. HOWEVER. A good editor will also point out what's good in my work, what's working. This isn't just me needing ego stroking. Though pets are nice. The markers of what works gives me sign posts by which I can fix what doesn't work.
3. A good editor will occasionally make suggestions - "Hey, I think you knew what you meant in this scene, and I think this scene is complete in your head. It just didn't make it to paper. I could see adding x, y, and/or z. What do you think?"
4. A good editor communicates in a way that I can process (now, granted, it is incumbent upon me to be professional and easy to work with - no histrionics, no diva-ing. Everything is in service to making a story better.) This requirement is 100% subjective. Only you know when you're in the communication groove with someone, but it is worth pursuing. You should never wonder what it is an editor wants when you're going through your dev edit notes.

So how do you find such a paragon? Ask who edits the books you like. I found the developmental editor for Damned If He Does (did I mention that's available for preorder and comes out July 19??) via Jeffe. I'd seen the editorial work this editor had done on Jeffe's books and I liked the things she called out. So when the time came, I asked for a referral. Author loops are another great place to get suggestions for editors who know your genre and your market. Then it becomes a question of checking websites, emailing back and forth, and getting a sense of how well you understand one another via the written word (since 99% of all communication will be in email or in an editorial letter.)

And once everything is said and done, don't forget to credit your editor. It's often a thankless job, telling writers the baby needs a makeover.