Created and hosted by the Ninja himself, Alex J. Cavanaugh, the Insecure Writers Support Group posts the 1st Wednesday of every month. Click the image to learn more or sign up.
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Before I bum everyone out with my insecurities, I’d just like to say that launching the sequel to my Eternal Curse Series at a local Comicon was the best decision I’ve made in a long time….
Now, lately I’ve been trying to look at myself objectively and reevaluate my role as author, blogger, and other. In my day-to-day life, I know exactly who and what I am. I’m a wife, a sister, a daughter, an aunt, and a teacher. These are roles that come easy to me, though teaching is the one that seems to stretch me the most. Working with the children is easy; working with other adults and the politics of the educational system is where things get a bit tough. Even with the challenges of my day job, I know where my place is and what my purpose it.
Now when it comes to being an author and blogger, I still feel a bit lost after all these years. Don’t worry, this isn’t a farewell statement of any kind, but to say I have insecurities would be an understatement. For the first time since I started the blogging journey I’m starting to feel a sense on synchronicity between my role as author and blogger. I actually feel as if these two roles are mutually beneficial, whereas in the past one seemed to interfere with the other, and vise versa, at all times.
While that is all well and good, I don’t feel comfortable in my mission, content, and or niche. I honestly don’t know that I fit into a niche, which is probably the root of my problems. I feel like the ideas and desires I have for reaching out to readers goes against whatever it is that readers actually want…but I just can’t seem to change my mind. I want to be flexible and free to express myself through many genres, but I run the risk of losing interested parties who are only interested in a particular thing I’ve done.
I had a silly notion of creating a You Tube presence that would connect me with other writers, which would in turn connect us all to a whole new audience of potential readers and fans. The problem is that writes don’t do anything on camera. So I’m trying to refocus my efforts to just interviewing on my blog, but many authors don’t seem to be interested in that either. I feel like I should stop reaching out to authors all together, even though I don’t want to.
I’ve tried reaching out to readers, offering pieces of myself and trying to connect with them, but not many seem to be interested unless I’m giving something away, and even that doesn’t bring in too much interest. I know that I write because I love it and I know that I blog because I love it, but unless I start addressing all my content to myself, I’m left wondering, who am I reaching out too?
I wish I could make a difference.
Need to find a niche.
Wanting to be wanted.
So, have you found where you belong?
Do you know who you’re reaching out to?
Heads would Roll… Hearts would Break… In the end, would it matter who Reigned?
Then there was Locks: Rapunzel Unhinged
Even though most girls wouldn’t fall for their captors, Rapunzel isn’t like most dames… Yet in spite of his appeal, Rapunzel must escape before she’s locked away in the Château de Immortelle’s highest tower—forever.
Now there’s Snow White Lies
Evil poisons everyone. Period. Our mouths water when we sink our teeth into what we have always craved. Surrendering to our desires by biting off delectable piece of the forbidden fruit is nothing more than a meager confession: Poison tastes sinfully sweet,”—Confessions of the Big Apple Debutante, by blogger Miss Snow White.
The Huntsman gently lifted her into his arms and kissed her softly on the lips. The residue of the apple was still fresh on her lips. When he pulled away, she gasped like she was drowning. He may never recall their memories, but he knew of her, what he’d read, what Lietz had told him about her. He’d cared enough about her that he’d given up pieces of himself to save her. That the Seven and the Queen wanted her dead deemed her significant enough to save.
He whispered her name. Her eyes fluttered open. They were as icy blue as the flickering images in his memories. When she saw him, she smiled in a way that didn’t reach her eyes. She reached up and cupped his face in her hands. Staring at his mouth, she traced her thumb over his bottom lip. The longing for his kiss was obvious in her stare. Her aspiration was eloquently familiar. She had cared for him once—all of him. Covered in evil filth, she looked upon him and found him worthy of her love.
Then all the adoration and desire vanished with a blink of an eye. Disdain replaced craving in her gaze. Yet, she still looked upon him with a sick sense of hunger.
“I hadn’t expected your weapon of choice to be poison,” she said and licked her blood-stained lips.
Now let’s get to know Snow White and the Huntsman a little better by snooping through their playlists.
9. B**** Better Have My Money by Rihanna- Explicit
10. One Last Time by Ariana
Grande
1. I’m Gonna Be (500 miles) by the Proclaimers
2. Watermelon Man by Les McCann
3. Shop Around by Smokey Robinson and the Miracles
4. Buddy Holly by Weezer
5. The Rising by Bruce Springsteen
6. I Love Rock ‘N Roll by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts- You Tube
7. Clocks by Coldplay
8. I’m Eighteen by Alice Cooper
9. Young Americans by David Bowie
10. Super Freak by Rick James
Click here to listen on Spotify and also visit links in the list that apply.
Click here to listen on Spotify and also visit links in the list that apply.
Well if you like this, don’t be shy; join the tourparty for a chance to win a Kindle Fire 7 HD! Plus, try for a chance to win copies of all the books in the Twisted Fairytale Confessions series.
This series contains mature content; suitable for readers 18 and up.
Sarah J. Pepper
I specialize in dark, paranormal romance – think “happy ever after” but with a twisted, dark chocolate center. Real-life romance isn’t only filled with hugs, kisses, unicorns, and rainbows. True-love can be more thoroughly described in times of darkness and tribulation. It’s in those harsh moments where you see what a person is truly capable of – both the good and bad. Sometimes prince-charming isn’t always on time, and the glass slipper is a little snug. However, it doesn’t mean Charming is not Mr. Right, and who says every shoe is the perfect fit?
Four brothers are appealing in appearance and stature. Yet beneath the striking features, magnitude and charm, they are monsters, for each one of them have fallen to darkness and are cursed for all time. Possessed with unique power, along with the wrath to destroy, the brothers consume all in their paths …until unlikely maidens challenge them apiece.
Each of the four young maidens ventures out, vulnerable and alone, to battle unknown elements, demons, and strange magic. Risking all for the journey, they are set to find the demise of their monster. But the question of motive begins to infiltrate each of their minds. Are they really trying to save their people from the harm of the monster or redeem a heartless being for the sake of love? Because somehow, while daring, their own hearts are stolen in what could be the quickest path to destruction, the greatest betrayal of all.
Along the way, meet Lily of the Valley, Bright & Morning Star, Promise the King, and The Messenger, characters potentially aiding these impressionable young women who find themselves quite lost in the keeps of alluring yet unscrupulous brothers.
EXCERPTS
WIND’S ARIA
“Who are you?”
He pushed further back into the shadows as she strode closer. “Someone you need not know.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
When he didn’t answer, she sighed.
“What a strange, terrible day,” she mumbled. “Well, at least tell me your name . . .”
He stood, speechless, knowing he shouldn’t be there at all—conversing with a Meleyan—especially not their musical deliverer that he was set to doom the day after tomorrow.
A peculiar grumbling interrupted her insistence, to his relief.
“Sorry.” She patted her stomach. He could see, even in the blackened night, how her face turned a deeper shade of red than her hair. “I’ve forgotten to eat. I guess I’m hungrier than I realized.”
He plucked an apple from the tree he’d nearly become a part of and held it out to her. The girl approached tentatively. She reached for the fruit but recoiled when her fingers brushed his.
“Is touching me so horrible?” he asked.
Her jaw dropped open and her delicate brow furrowed. She inclined her head. “It . . . hurt.”
“How?” he asked, for her fingers felt good to him, soothing. Warm. He wanted to try again.
“I don’t know how to explain . . .”
“Hum.” Unsatisfied with the answer, he tossed the apple to her and watched as she crunched her teeth into it.
SEA GOD’S SIREN
“You’re not being very nice.” Syrena glanced in the direction of an especially loud wave that crashed against the shore, reaching to kiss the tips of her toes. She pulled her legs in and rested her head on her knees.
The three sisters lingered in silence for a spell, absorbing the sun’s offering for the day.
“Well, anyway,” Steffi said. “It’s high time you got over your fear of the sea. You’ve lived at its edge your entire life and you haven’t even put your feet in.”
“I don’t have to. And I don’t need to listen to you.” Syrena didn’t budge.
Gwyn snorted. “Grumpy this morning. . . .”
Syrena stood then, brushing off sand. She took several steps into the unknown, this time without her sisters, trying to feel her way back home but stumbled over driftwood.
“Here,” Gwyn said impatiently. “We’ll help you. We always do, you know. It’s because we love you and want to see you happy.”
“I know,” Syrena whispered. “Love you, too. Thanks,” she said, as her sisters grabbed a hand each and led her up the path from the beach.
A head popped out of the water not far from the coastline. Not one of the sisters noticed the keen eyes that watched the back of one girl in particular and had done so every day for a very long time. The wave he sent almost reached her this time, pulling her into his world. When would he ever hold her again?
Syrena.
Dagon dove to the darkest, deepest crook of his domain and sulked.
TREE LORD’S ORACLE
Gaping, Arekel tried to find words but couldn’t speak—only stare. Her heart palpitated in fear, yet she couldn’t pull away from him—couldn’t move.
He cocked his head. His brow furrowed. He pressed closer as if examining her. His snarl slowly wilted.
A strange sort of languish grew on the man’s face. His mouth and jaw shifted. Evil prevailed in him, yet it seemed as if Arekel opened a door to a dark room and in its depth a flicker of light, though very small, subsisted. In an odd way, it made her ache.
With tentativeness the man finally took hold of her face . . . but then his grip began to soften. He inclined his head again. “Warm,” he said, as if he’d never felt warmth. A long, cold finger delicately traced the line of her jaw. His voice purred like silk. “Fortunate,” he said, one side of his mouth curling upward. “You will live another day.”
ICE DANCER’S HOLD
Sasha’s heart hammered against her chest. She stared at Kilian, distrusting the vampyre. But after he had lifted her hands and brushed her palms with his sensuous lips, he sat upright with a deeply furrowed brow. “I don’t want to hurt you.” She could detect the tendon in his jaw that shifted as he glanced out the window at the falling snow. “That’s what’s strange.” He released her hands and stood.
She watched him, and felt the cloud of doubt that seemed to materialize from nowhere.
“The province from where I came is in the middle of an arctic.” He sighed. “My fortress is made of ice.” He lit a candle and then moved again toward the windows, whispering, “How I miss it.”
“I’m sorry for your unhappiness, Master.”
He turned partway and said, “Yes, you’ve said that before. At the water’s edge.”
“It’s true.”
“Well, then, I thank you.” He pursed his lips. “You are virtuous.”
She bowed her head.
He exhaled what sounded like the weight of his and her worlds combined. “Walk with me, Sasha.”
“I beg your pardon, Master?”
“A stroll. Come.” He extended his arm. Around his other arm draped a fur coat while heavy boots appeared at his feet.
She didn’t question his magic, but donned the items and then took his hand. “Will you not be cold, Master?”
“I cannot be touched by what I am. I am the cold, my dear.”
For whatever reason, Sasha felt glad Kilian didn’t address her as his sweet like he had Princess Kristyana. When he’d called her my dear, the endearment sounded dipped in a degree of respect. But that couldn’t be. She rubbed the fading sleep from her eyes. She was a slave and he, her master; she a fae and he a vampyre. Vampyres and faes didn’t go well together.
Tessa Stockton is a veteran of the performing arts and worldwide missions, having come from a long line of musical arts professionals. She loved seeing the world and absorbing the beauty of other cultures . . . an enriching life full of dance, music, faith, and interesting cuisine. Over the years, she also contributed as a writer/editor for ministry publications, ghostwriter for political content, and headed a column on the topic of forgiveness. Today, she writes fantasy, romance and political intrigue novels.
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