Gina Lawless Books

August 31, 2012

Kickstarter for StoryRealms Family Adventure Game

 This is an introduction to StoryRealms Family Adventure Game by Escapade Games. This is worth taking a look for you gamers out there, and even if you’re not a gamer. They are launching their kickstarter program to get this project rolling and would appreciate your help in donating and/or helping to spread the word.

 What makes Story Realms different from any other board game or role playing game? Almost Everything! Here’s a quick look at some of the reasons Story Realms is like nothing you’ve ever seen before.

  • A complete Story Realms “Chapter” plays in about an hour.
  • Story Realms is a storytelling adventure game that the whole family can enjoy together–even little kids can play Story Realms and there’s plenty there for adults to get into as well.
  • The gameplay in Story Realms rewards teamwork, creativity, and imagination, something that kids are amazingly good at.
  • Playing Story Realms is an opportunity to build a shared family experience of adventure, fun, cooperation, and creative memories that will last long after the game is over.
  • Storm Hollow, the setting for Story Realms, is a vibrant storybook world that merges the familiar with the fantastic to provide an immersive backdrop for epic adventure stories.
  • Story Realms touches on the resonant themes of light versus dark, the power of a good story, and the boundless nature of creativity.
  • Story Realms is a game about working together to accomplish great deeds, explore an amazing world, and discover your inner hero.

That’s it folks! It’s awesome and amazing what they have done. Please go check them out immediately if not sooner at StoryRealms Family Adventure Game, and if you can, help give these folks a Kickstart.


August 26, 2012

My Biological Clock

I often wonder if other people feel the pressure of time as I do. No, I’m not talking about how many eggs I have left (not many, I don’t think. I hope not anyway) but, the pressure of how many hours in a day to get something accomplished, before the day dies off. Then, ultimately how many days I have left before the batteries of my life expire.

I believe that I push myself way too hard. If I don’t, who will? As an independent author, I am pressured to get as many books out as I can before that clock stops. And in the race, I hope I am not sacrificing quality for quantity. I think the  revolution of independent authorship has changed exponentially over the course of the last ten years. Mostly, for the good.

  • How many books can I get out in a year?
  • How many words have I written today?
  • How many blog posts can I squeeze in this week?
  • How many people can I connect with in a day?
  • Did I feed my dog today? Oops, sorry Little Pug…here’s some bits of steak for my guilt!

I love writing. I’ve loved it since I was a young girl. There were no pressures in those days feeling like you’re going to live forever. The time has passed far too quickly for my tastes, and now that I’m nearing the downhill race, my OCD tendencies are getting the better of me. I had to give myself a little pep talk to look at the big picture. If I look at it through a microscope, it seems small and menial, that I haven’t accomplished anything thus far. If I can look at it through the mirror (my husband always tells me to mirror-image myself) it makes me feel accomplished. I said accomplished! Not satisfied!

More than likely, I won’t feel satisfied…ever. That aspect doesn’t need a pep talk. It needs a slap in the head!

The last few weeks, I’ve been working feverishly on The Veil, pressuring myself to a goal of finishing it by the end of fall on top of writing a sequel to Harbinger. The pep talk I gave myself was that even though I have put this goal in front of me, I can’t let the structure of the story suffer because of the time constraint. If I don’t have it finished, edited, covered, and published by the beginning of winter, am I to fire myself? Come on! Ease up, Jeez!

I was going through some old books I had bought over ten years ago, about Book Marketing. The rule of thumb back then was one book per year. It’s changed since the evolution of e-books, and independent publishing, and sometimes alarming to see how fast paced we have become in the last ten years. That’s me looking at the big picture. Now, it’s two, three or four books per year, just to get them out there! Unless, you have an arsenal of books already written, of course, which many independent authors have had, as did I.

This is my point. It took me anywhere from eight months to a year to write the books I have out now. Now, I am pressuring myself to a few months on The Veil? So, after my pep talk, I have decided to go for the quality aspect, and slow my pace on this endeavor. You cannot rush a thriller. So, I’m taking the batteries out of my biological clock.

Thanks for listening. I feel better now…tick-tick, tick tock

August 19, 2012

Tweets Without Blogs

One of my favorite morning rituals is going through my Twitter followers/followings with my cup of coffee, and checking out blog sites and/or websites. I don’t pick up a newspaper anymore because 1) I can read it online and 2) I can’t see anything that’s upbeat and entertaining enough that captures my attention. It’s all about who shot whom, who went to jail for drugs, who beat up whose wife.

Anyway, one of the things that I’m running into on Twitter is that many folks don’t have a blog or website that one can go check out. No place to go check out their writing or WIP. I asked myself, “Self? Can one promote one’s work accordingly just using Twitter?” I suppose you can, but for me, I like to see someone put some real effort into their profession. Anything worth doing, is worth going all out for. Don’t you agree?

I feel like I’ve sold myself short this past month because of my obligations to the job that pays the bills, and taking a bit of time off to reconnect with people. Plus, it’s difficult to stay indoors writing when it’s so gorgeous outside. However, I still have an obligation to myself as a writer to keep plugging away at it. Guilt plagues me.

So, I guess a little advice to those that Tweet: If you do have a blog or website, please include it in your profile. Show us your depth. Give us your perception. And, I know this goes for every author out there. We’re not only writers. We are readers as well. Don’t sell yourself short by just tweeting a link to where your book is being sold. It doesn’t give me a reason that makes me want to go check out your book. I am always looking for material to read. Always! Help us be able to help you. I read anywhere from four to six books at a time and I’m running out of books on my Nook!

What’s your opinion?

August 18, 2012

Another Way To Get Your Words Out

I tried this avenue several years ago and had completely forgotten about it.

You can refer back to one of my older posts  that explains what I’m talking about.

Ezine Articles is a fantastic way to help authors get the word out and also builds your presence. They do have a few rules for submitting an article, one mainly being you cannot put links into the body of your articles to sell yourself. But, you can use the resource box at the end of your article to guide readers to your sites.

You can use some of your blog posts for articles, but again, edit it so there are no links to your sites in the body of your text, otherwise they will kick it back out and ask you to fix it.

It does not cost you anything, and I think it’s well worth the few minutes to sign up and re-post some of your great ideas there.

SEO Baby!

August 11, 2012

Instincts Part 2

The second part of my Instincts post goes along the same line as the first part. I moved to Oregon from California, in a place where the most dangerous aspect would be getting mugged in the parking lot at the mall. We were taught as young girls, to avoid certain places, such as dark underground parking lots, alley ways, always walk together in groups…etc. We weren’t taught to avoid caves, hairy bears and always carry a big gun.

Moving to the PNW was a totally new experience and adventure for me and I wanted to experience everything that my husband had grown up with. Hunting, fishing, the whole gamut. I’ve always been a good shot with a gun, having learned from my father as a child, so my husband decided it was time I go deer hunting with him. I seriously doubted that I would be able to actually shoot a deer, but having the experience of tracking, and enjoying the great outdoors as many people here do.

Hunting season didn’t open in eastern Oregon until the day after we arrived and set up camp. He wanted to take me out to teach me how to scout and track an animal, what to look for and get in tuned with my surroundings. We were not allowed to actually hunt until the next day, so we left our guns at camp and took off on a two-mile trek. I was all eyes and ears as he pointed specific things out to me. Wild turkeys calling to each other, timber tigers chirping warning of our approach. A timber tiger is a small striped squirrel approximately the size of your hand, the most adorable creature! As we meandered farther away from our camp site, I revelled in the beauty of the nature around me. The smells, the sounds, everything so alive. This was a place for animals, not humans. I felt almost like an intruder in this austere place looking out from my bubble of existence into the revered wildlife that I had only heard about, or read about in books. This ecosystem had its own clock, and its own schedule. A time for feeding, a time for breeding, and a time for rest. Here we were, as interlopers messing up their schedule. But, as humans, we feel indulgent enough to interlope at will. Because, after all, we are the supreme species on this planet. Right?

Wrong! As we trudged on, my husband and I squatted down low on a ridge overlooking a meadow. We were about a mile from our camp at this point, and the only dangers I could see were these small timber tigers incessantly barking out warnings to their mates. He pointed the wild turkeys out to me from our vantage point and we could see them down below slowly wandering through the brush and trees. We had been squatting for quite a while and my knees were beginning to ache, and honestly, I was getting bored watching the turkeys. I wanted to go on and see some deer, which I hadn’t seen yet. He is urging to me to be still and quiet, as he scanned the tree lines for these elusive creatures. I am poised on an old dead stump, shifting my weigh so my knees aren’t burning, and suddenly I feel a rumbling underneath my feet that resonated up through my entire body. Here is where the instincts kicked in. I knew I was in danger. My first thought was that I was squatting on top of a bear den, because the rumbling was loud, not in my ears, but in my body. It throbbed through me from my feet all the way up my spine, like an electrical shock. The hair on my head,  arms and neck rose, my heart rate rose, and adrenaline coursed through me like wild-fire. I leaned over to my husband who was still scanning the tree lines. “Do you feel that?” I whispered.
“Feel what?”
“A rumbling underneath.” He quickly rose from his position and took my arm.
“Let’s go,” he said, calmly pushing me in front of him. “Walk in front of me and just keep walking.” He ushered me ahead quietly, to the meadow below and once we got there I had almost forgotten about the weird sensation on the ridge. But, now we’re farther away from our camp site and I was getting a bit tired from the trek. He says to me that we should be safe now that we’re out in the open. Safe from what? He explained to me that we were being stalked by a mountain lion from another ridge that ran directly behind and above us. He also reminded me that we (and he cusses himself for this) hadn’t brought any weapons, and the only thing he had with him was his multi tool, which he was still clutching in his fist. All the while he’s wondering if we are pounced on by a mountain lion, can he defend us with this small innocuous tool and save our lives. My mouth becomes dry and is hanging open. The deep guttural rumble I felt…not heard…was a mountain lion directly above us getting ready to pounce on its prey. This animal outweighs me by at least 30 pounds and to a mountain lion, I would be easy pickings.

Wait! I thought WE were the predator here!

Oh no, Grasshopper.

It was my instinct to run far and fast when I felt that rumbling. The hair rising, the adrenaline pumping is animalistic and warns prey to bolt. But, my human brain wants to ask questions and analyze the situation to make sure that what I’m feeling is actually real. After all, I don’t want to look like an idiot and run for my life when I have no idea what I’m running from. Perhaps, he didn’t feel it the way I did because the mountain lion was focused on me. I shiver thinking about the scenario, and I can still feel that terrible gut feeling to this day. He tells me that the only reason I wasn’t attacked was because he was there with me. If I had been alone, it surely would have attacked. We were on her playing ground, after all. And, we were stalking her prey.

We walk back to camp via the meadow and my husband informs the rest of the hunting party…quite calmly…that they need to be careful of the mountain lion in the area, and to make sure and carry their weapons if they go out scouting.  He reminds the others that they are allowed, according Oregon Fish and Game,  to shoot and kill a mountain lion if they run across it because the lions outnumber the deer in this area.

I wonder if I have gotten myself in too deep coming to this country. I’m a city girl! I’m not used to this way of living, and then be able to take it all in stride. I’m listening to these people talk about this mountain lion as if it were nothing…an everyday occurrence. These people who I’m with on this camping trip have been born and raised in this country and it makes me feel so out of my element. I am so naive in the ways of how nature works. That was six years ago. I am still here because I love it. I can decide to be out there in the wilderness, or not. I have learned so much since then, but I know for a fact, that as a human being, I am still the stupidest creature on the face of this planet when it comes to survival. To question our instincts is a very dangerous attribute that we harbor for fear of looking stupid.

I feel lucky, as a writer to be able to incorporate these experiences I have had into my stories, and even my husband’s adventures. He can tell a story so vividly, it makes me jealous sometimes, but at least I can write about them.

As an after thought: I did not shoot a deer that year. I just couldn’t do it. I had to psych myself up for the entire year to be able to kill a deer the next year, which I did. But, the look in the deer’s eyes right before I took the shot remains embedded in my memory. I will never do it again and that’s my personal choice.

August 2, 2012

Instincts Part 1

My husband and I took a trip though eastern Idaho into Montana wanting to go north from there via the Bitterroot Mountain Range. Beautiful and rough terrain with raging rivers, rocky landscapes and canyons. It’s August, so naturally, it’s hot and dry. We’re following the meandering river north of Salmon, Idaho on Highway 93, the Lewis and Clark Trail, and that water is looking, oh-so-good. I’m so hot, I just want to dip my tired feet in the water for a few minutes, so we can continue in some comfort. We have been stopping to read the historical land markers along the way, something we have always wanted to do, if time allowed.

Bless my husband, he stops so I can take a quick dip. I’m wearing shorts and flimsy sandals, so my descent is a bit uneasy and I need to watch my footing. I do not want a broken ankle. My eyes are on the prize! That water looks cool and welcoming, but as I finally get down there, the bank is extremely muddy and rocky, with reeds all around. Critters! Eww! So, I decide against the idea, and turn to start back up the rocky terrain to our vehicle, pouting the entire way. My husband is still up on the road having finished marking his territory and starts toward me, but he’s still about 50 yards away.

Suddenly, I am frozen in my tracks. Total and encompassing fear has wrapped its steely hand around my heart making it accelerate to approximately 130 beats per minute. The only thing I’m thinking at this point is: Stay completely still-or-run like a bat straight out of hell. Then my brain starts thinking about rational scenarios. If I bolt, I easily could trip with these ridiculously flimsy sandals and I could be dead. I might not be fast enough, and I could be dead.

The familiar rattling sound is astonishingly close, and I turn my head slowly to the left and slightly behind me. Only a foot away, are a few of the most venomous snakes in the US of A. Two Western Rattle Snakes are intertwined and I have interrupted their baby snake making fest. They are unraveling themselves and becoming poised to strike at me if I move. And, maybe still if I don’t move. They are looking right at me! I’m thinking about my bare calf and having their fangs sink in. It’s going to hurt, and then how fast can my husband get me to a hospital? Where the hell are we anyway? Out in the middle of no where.

There is nowhere for me to lunge safely without rocks in my way. Damn stupid sandals. I realize I’m holding my breath and I can see my husband walking in extreme slow motion towards me in my peripheral vision, totally unaware of my situation. So, I holler, “SNAKES!!!!”, trying to keep my eye on the snakes.

He yells at me to keep perfectly still as he turns and runs back to the vehicle. In actuality, he said something to the effect of, “Stay the f**k still! Don’t f**king move!” He’s throwing F-Bombs right and left as I remain stock still and he‘s rifling through the truck, but my legs are beginning to ache as if I’ve been standing there for hours, which has been only but a few seconds.

I know he’s looking for a weapon. My hero husband bounds down to me like Superman, and puts himself between the snakes and my body and commences trying to pound them with a shovel. And, what do I say? “Don’t kill them!” He looks at me as if I’m crazy. “The f**k I won’t,” he says in frustration.

They slither apart and hide themselves under tree roots and rocks unharmed. He is unharmed as am I.

My question is this: I know we still possess instincts that warn us of impending doom.

But, if I had never heard of, or seen a rattle snake, or was unfamiliar with the sound of their alarming rattle, would instinctive fear still have gripped me?

July 28, 2012

Battling With My Demons

I know all of you missed me out there (snicker-snicker) as you wondered, where did she go? I needed to take a much-needed mini vaca with my husband to re-charge my batteries. And his. He insisted we go to the coast for a three-day weekend to get away from our life. I went…kicking and screaming…but so glad we did. This place we went to has no phone, and no internet, so I was forced to try to make my brain  maintain calmness that it isn’t used to. I didn’t have any choice in the matter, so I had to submit.  Of course, I took my laptop knowing that while we were there, I could at least do some writing. I didn’t even do that! This place is nestled by the coastline and amid pines and rolling hills. How can anyone disclaim this natural beauty, ignore it, or take it for granted? I realized this question as I looked out from our friend’s back patio overlooking the green hills covered with Douglas Fir and Myrtlewood trees, and down into a pasture that held a herd of grazing Palomino horses. The sun behind me casting those long romantic shadows across the meadow.

If I’m looking down all of the time, how can I acknowledge this spectacular vision before me? How can I write about it accurately? How can I write about it at all? After all, I didn’t create this landscape. Then and there, I knew I would never be able to escape from writing. Never. Instead of just enjoying the view, here I am staring at a vision and trying to describe it in my head. Trying to make poetry out of this tangible sight, and trying to describe the colors, the smells and the feeling it gives me. I am cursed with this as was my father’s family before me. I simply can’t enjoy the breathtaking view that nature has created. I must make it into words that can convey what is burning into my retina.

So, I take a deep breath in, then exhale. Trying again to let go of the gnawing angst of molding thoughts, sensations, and visions into words. I take a drink of my crappy cup of coffee which has turned cold. The chill reaches the back of my neck and grips me hard, even shakes me a little. You will never be rid of me. I will ride with you until the day you die, little one!  This voice scares me sometimes because it seems more like a demon than something good and creative. Realizing this, I cry a little right then. I am alone, watching a herd of horses, one of them rolling in the grass like a dog, scratching his back, and the demon is scratching my cervical column with its sharp fingernail. That spot right at the base of my skull. If I tell it to leave me be for a time, it laughs hideously and mocks me.

Who is in control here? Certainly not me, I realize.  This curse makes me feel like an outcast among these Oregonians whom I have come to love and respect. I came here from California, where everyone pretty much lived in their own preformed cocoon.

Here, in the Pacific Northwest, people are kind and giving. They are thoughtful in ways I was not accustomed to. They come from a very long line of hardworking families whose hands bled forging this countryside. The landscape is dotted with homes that have been here for one hundred plus years, but still the beauty of this place remains untouched. There are still, to this day, trails that the native Indians formed and used, then the white man came and claimed them making roads for wagon trails. Living here is like stepping back in time. The people who were born and raised here are not naive in any way. Saying that they are “down-to-earth” is putting it mildly. They hunt, they fish, they love to shoot guns, they drink lots of beer and they love to laugh. The men are truly men.

Even though they don’t give themselves away too easily, the thoughts they maintain about living here are so bred within them, they don’t have the need to speak about it. I don’t think they understand me very well because of my lineage and upbringing, but they accept me. I am as curious about them as they are of me, I think. The friend who we were staying with asked me, “Gina, where did your learn to write like that?” His small library is full of books about the history of Oregon, families that settled here, logging, timber species, and even a handbook for Boy Scouts that was old and worn. My answer was, “I don’t know.” I don’t know if it’s a learned thing, or a genetic thing, or both. These people are not into meditation. If you live here, one can’t help but be in a reverent state of mind. They are not into religion, but they believe in God. This magical splendor is their church. Simply looking around is their history, their heritage and their story.

I can’t explain to them about this demon. I don’t want them thinking I’m crazy. So, I only give away bits and pieces of myself when asked. This place that I have chosen as my permanent home is so magical, and chocked full with stories, it’s hard not to write about it.

I am blessed with these people, and this place. And I am cursed with the demon that won’t let my subconscious sleep peacefully. I must learn to integrate the two hemispheres to coincide and insist that they learn to get along together in such a way that it gives me peace.

When it came time to go home, I didn’t want to leave.

July 8, 2012

Writing From the Gut

There is so much information out there in the blogosphere on how to become self-published the proper way. So much of it is good, sound information. And if anyone is getting into the business of writing, it should be read, top to bottomuss. Any information you need is out there for the reading. Such as:

  • The importance of editing your work before it’s published.
  • The proper book cover design.
  • Marketing and advertising.
  • Using social media.

All of which should be studied profusely in today’s writing markets. Way back in the stone ages (when I was in school) my teachers would pound it into our heads, grammar, spelling, and punctuation! But, the really good teachers would tell us to reach into our gut for our stories. Pull out that piece of you which no one else knows about and write about it. Spill your emotions onto the paper and grab the reader’s attention. Let it ooze out of you like puss from an opened wound. (Directly from Mr. Neihoff, in heavy german accent) What a great teacher he was.

At that age, I was not tuned into my inner turmoil. Even if I had been, I dare not share it with anyone else! I seriously don’t think that I was mature enough to let it ooze until I had lived enough of a life, that I couldn’t hold the ooze any longer. By then, it wasn’t an ooze, but more of a gusher.

I wrote the short story, The Last Year and a Half  in a span of four days, altogether probably eight hours. I had no idea at the time where that story came from, except for the fact that cancer made me  angry. I have known twenty people in my life that have had it, or have died from it, my mother being the first in a long series of family and friends, my dear sister included. Yes, it made me furious!

When I wrote the story, I cried. I cried me a river. I still had no idea why. I wrote it in the first person POV as if I were experiencing this myself. When I was finished with it, I felt such an emotional regurgitation. What I had done was combine my sister and I into this one character. My sister’s battle with cancer, and my inept communication skills and unwillingness to let people in too far. Perhaps, that came from being weary of losing so many people in my life to this wicked disease, that I found it simpler and emotionally safer to keep the door closed tightly.

I think that’s what Mr. Neihoff was talking about. So, this is in honor of those that have lost the battle, and to those that have fought it hard and won. Thanks to this story, I have been able to reopen that door.

Go grab a copy for free at Smashwords, using this coupon code.   HB46F

Love and Peace.

July 7, 2012

WIP for Harbinger of the Light Book Two

The second book in the Harbinger series is coming along in leaps and bounds, my fingers flying across the keyboard at super-human speed! Really? Maybe not super-human speed, but it is coming along and I expect its coming out by the end of this summer if I stay on course.

This book will be geared more toward adults (not sexually explicite and no foul language…sorry!) and will be more graphic. I’m enjoying doing the research on this book as much I love writing it. Here is a snippet of Harbinger of the Light (sub-title yet to be decided). If anyone can help me come up with a sub-title for it, I would love to give you a free copy of  Harbinger of the Light, Sage’s Legacy.

Once out of eyesight, she came upon Rian patiently waiting for her. “I knew you were watching,” Morrigan said tactfully. “Is spying on your list of duties for your queen?”

“Aye, it is,” he replied bowing respectfully. “As she has not given me the charge to do so herself, I take upon myself to act in the manner as her guardian to keep her safe from all harm no matter what form it may come.”

“Then, I feel protected and safe to be sure.” She smiled taking his hand. She settled on an old fallen tree trunk and motioned Rian to join her. “Come sit with me for a while, Rian.” He didn’t like the look on her face, the look that he had come to know as something unpleasant was about to be spoken. She didn’t speak for a time, only looking out to the meadows and rolling green hills of the landscape. Whatever it was that was vexing her, Rian knew it had something to do with the young man Myrllin, and Gwen, and all of the unusual events that had occurred since they had returned to the island.

“Yes, since we have returned, all things have changed, have they not?” she said with sadness knowing his thoughts. A sadness which Rian saw in her as more of a physical attribute than a mood. He nodded taking her soft hand in his own.

“What is it, Morrigan? I ask this question because I see it within you, and it frightens me.”

“The Royal Guardian is frightened?” she looked at him and tried to smile cajolingly. She lowered her eyes and the smile slowly dissipated. Rian simply stared at her as he waited for the ax to fall. “You deserve the truth, Rian, I know. I cannot put it off any longer.”

“Whatever it is, I know we will endure it,” he said taking a deep breath. “As long as we remain together as a clan.”

“Ideally, we live carefree for the most part, and keep our distance from the humans to preserve our lineage. It has always been this way since time began, and even before that. Before there was ever time to count the passing of days and nights. Before humans were put upon this earth. They have become so numerous in these days, that we cannot hide from them any longer. And even if we could hide from them in secret, they will destroy everything in their path for their own sake, not realizing that they are destroying the very thing that sustains them.” Again, she looked outward to the horizon and seemingly beyond to a vision of the future, to something he could not see.

“What does this mean for us, and all like us?”

“It means that if we do not share our lives with the humans, teach all we can of the Ancient Ways and to preserve its sanctity, we will lose the battle which we have not chosen to fight. They are killing each other in the name of their God.” She chuckled after saying this, but large tears welled up in her eyes. “Ironic, is it not? To kill, spoil and steal in the name of the one who gave life only because they know not of the old ways. We are not of their flesh and blood, or of their minds or hearts and never will be. We will always be set apart from them in all ways. Now, comes the time that we must become as much like them as we can only to survive, and also for them to survive.”

“What do you mean, become like them?” The fear on his face was evident.

“We must lose all physical aspects of the fey.”

“What has Lilith brought down upon us, Morrigan?”

“It was not Lilith’s fault. Not at all. She was merely a pawn to what had to come to pass. It could have just as well been you…or me that came upon the child. No, this had already been intended to happen long before any of us came to this plane of existence.” She stood and paced before Rian stretching her beautiful wings. “I will miss these. When I am in human form, I feel so heavily burdened with weight. It will take a long time for us to get used to it.” Rian started shaking his head violently.

“No! We cannot live that way all of the time. Cannot we change only when we need to?”

“No. In time, humans will live on this island of ours. Here they will be taught to honor the Blessed Mother and be given gifts to enhance their humanity. That is not all though.”

“Well, I ask you! What could be worse than that?” Rian stood, his face contorted in fury.

“Calm yourself, Rian. I am still your queen.”

“Forgive me, Morrigan. This news is too terrible, and I am sure that the rest of clan will not tolerate it well. You have given me the task of being your advisor as well as guardian. Should I not speak my mind and tell you of the possible rebellion that you may face?”

“Those that choose not to conform may leave with no ill will.” Rian faced away from her with his hands on his hips 

“If they choose to leave?” he asked whipping around to face her. “Morrigan, they will leave in droves! There will be nothing left of our clan. Nothing!” Rian was so angry, the veins in his neck throbbed.

“Then, so be it. This is my destiny, Rian. I cannot change it,” she said then placed her hands over her face and wept. Rian rolled his eyes up the sky in exasperation.

“Oh, Blessed Mother,” he said putting his arms around her. “I hate it when a female cries.” She pushed his arms away forcefully.

“I cannot be a female. I have no choice but to be a leader. I do not have the luxury of just being a leisurely female of the fey.” She wiped her tears away stubbornly. “You must realize that I hate this probably more than you, but it must be done!”

“What is the rest that you must tell me?” he asked as Morrigan tried to compose herself.

“Well…you’ve heard the stories about how humans?  How they produce more humans,” she asked fumbling for words. Rian looked at her with a disgusted glare.

July 1, 2012

Are You Going To Put This On Your Blog?

When I read someone’s blog posts, I love to see a part of their personality interjected into it. To me, it makes whomever is writing the blog, more of human being. Informational posts go a long way when I can see a piece of their life mixed in. After all, we are human beings behind our keyboards. We don’t all need to be comedians, but having genuine thoughts as opposed to blathering on about how we should buy your stuff, is irritating to a reader, and will most likely cause them to click off quickly. Say that five times, fast!

What I love seeing in a post:

  • Personality
  • Humor
  • Information/Advice
  • Achievement
  • Goals
  • Interaction

What are some things you can say inside your posts that might attract someone? Think of something hilarious that happened to you that you can relate to your post. Try to step away from the force of having to write something, just to have a post. Make it poignant and original. We want to know you have a beating heart behind our monitors.

What I don’t like seeing:

  • Sell! Sell! Sell!
  • What your cat ate for dinner, unless it was the next door neighbors dog.
  • More selling.
  • Sympathy junkies.
  • It’s All About Me!
  • No connection, or interaction with other bloggers.

There it is. I’ve said my piece, and I feel vindicated.

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