THE PLAN

Last weekend, I decided it was time to get off me arse and get back on the try-to-get-published horse. 

Yup. That, my friends, is an accurate depiction of my first journey down the road to publication. As in, it ended before it even began. Now, I could wax poetic about all the reasons for the start-stall-fail journey I landed in, but I'm not one for agonizing over the past. I'm a clean slate kinda gal. Live and learn, my friends. Or more like flounce about like a loon until ya get it right, but whatevs.

 Blah blah blah.You're bored. I'm bored. Let's get to the point of all this rambling.

I HAVE COME UP WITH THE PLAN!! 

I know. You are wowed by my ingenious (some might even say diabolical) brain-brain. Bask in the wonderment of the brain-brain, ya'll. BASK I SAY!

Oh. I know. I know.

 Any-who. Back to THE PLAN.

I've decided on a three pronged approach. Let me 'splain.

Prong #1: Brush off the good ole MS & grow a pair.

The shameful truth is I haven't touched my lovely manuscript since October. October, y'all! When I realized it had been seven months since I'd even taken a peek, I was floored. 

However, I sorta see this as an opportunity to reread my lil story with a fresh pair of eyes. Furthermore, I have been bashfully seeking out the help of some old and new friends. Two of my BIGGEST failings as a writer are a. not asking my fellow writers/book-lovers for help due to fear and b. not being vocal about what I'm working on. 

In the last week, I've had the opportunity to reach out to some amazing people, both friends and strangers. Their guidance and knowledge is a blessing. I could NEVER thank them properly. From encouragement to pro-tips to critiques, this week has been both overwhelming and awesome.

Prong #2: Learn how to write a query.

For me writing a query is beyond intimidating. Writing the novel? Editing said novel? I sorta get that. Sorta. Please understand, I'm not saying I'm good at it, just that I can wrap my brain-brain around it. 

The query? Not so much. I sent out eight queries in October. Of the eight, I received one partial request, six rejections, and one non-response. Honestly? I know they aren't the best statistic, but that partial not only shocked me, but felt goooood. Let me have my n00b moment, people! 

I know the query needs to be reworked.  Most importantly, I know I need to man-up(*puts on big girl pants*), ask for help (*gulps*), and get to work(*stares at computer screen*). 

Easier said than done, no doubt. Hand holding is going to be key to surviving this. Funny, how ya have to ask for the hand holding, isn't it? *winks*

Prong #3: Look into self-publishing.

This is a new venture for me, because frankly, I've always focused on traditional publishing. Why? Maybe the better question is, why start thinking about it now? This could open up a huge can of worms, so I will keep this as short and sweet as possible.

My reason for wanting to publish traditionally is simple: it's what you do, right? I mean, you write a book, you search for an agent, you get a publishing house to back you, and you're an author. Since I was a kid that's been my secret goal in life. It's not about money or fame or any of that other stuff. If I'm honest, part of it is about proving I'm good enough to get published, that there is someone out there willing to take a chance on lil ole me. Not sure what that says about me, but it is what it is.

Over the last year, I've had the opportunity to meet some amazing authors, the vast majority self-published, who are creating and producing high quality products that wow me. From start to finish, the buck stops at their doorstep, cover art, deadlines, you name it. My respect for them grows with each passing day. 

Financially, I have always believed self-publishing was beyond my reach. Honestly? It still is.Yet, I've decided to put the money thing aside and really give self-publishing a look-see as an option equal to traditional publishing. I mean, why not?

Because after all this musing and plotting and planning, one simple truth has revealed itself to me.

See, I don't want to be a published author for money or fame. No really. I wouldn't turn down the money, but I'm just looking for enough to buy socks. And even though it would be nice to prove myself, truthfully, who gives a damn? The real goal is to connect with someone through my stories. Just like all my favorite authors have reached out to me, I long to connect with someone, to have them fall in love with my characters-- to cry and laugh and maybe, just maybe, be a better person for it.

So, if that's the goal. 

If that's where I'm heading.

 Who cares HOW it happens? 

Just that it happens.

Right?

Whoza Married Fairy Now?!

HEAR YE! HEAR YE!

Come one, come all to the event of the century!

For the lovely fairy queenie, Anna Meade of Yearing for Wonderland

has met her fairy king and is getting married!!!

The excitement and tension has been building for months complete with

teaser tweets of the dress, 

surveys of adorable hairdos,

a Pinterest board filled to the brim with wonderment,
and running zombies(?).

Annnnnnd like all good minions
 it is time for her faithful legion
to throw her a bridal shower!
What's a bunch of writers suppose to do?
Well, write. Duh.

A few brave souls (*hugs Laura, Miranda, & Rebekah*)
have offered to host the Dark Fairy Queen Writerly Bridal Shower!
You can find all the rules & deets by click-ity-clicking here.
The following is my very humble offering.
I must admit, I did not use the Pinterest board for inspiration,
but I did use Anna and channeled alllll the whimsy I could muster.

---------------------------------------------------------

Title: A Moment Under The Moon*

Author: Ang Writes

E-book: Yes
Word Count: 699 (BOOM!)
website: http://www.angwrites.com/
Tweeter handle: @ang_writes

Toast: Michael & Anna, I wish you a lifetime together filled with laughter to get you through the sorrow, cookies for every rainy day, and love, the world's most powerful of magics. Congrats!

 A Moment Under The Moon

Briana’s frantic gaze scanned the forest. Her toes curled into the grass as she breathed in the crisp air.

Her head swung toward the house behind her. When her fiance, Daniel, turned onto the unpaved road leading toward his childhood home, she’d believed he’d driven into a fairy tale. Lilacs lined the lane. Tree limbs stretched out toward her in greeting. Briana had stuck her face out the window. The sun beat down on it. Her laughter soared toward the sky. Daniel’s hand slipped into hers and she’d sighed.

Now, by the light of the moon, the fairy tale shifted into a nightmare. The trees grasped at her, their intent sinister. The sweet scent of lilacs overwhelmed her, causing her stomach to churn.

From deep within the forest a voice called to her—chilled her soul. She’d awoken to a whisper in her ear, cajoling her to get out of bed, to forget her shoes, her sanity, and run head long into the night. It beckoned to her, promised her mysterious things.

Her feet itched, while her addled thoughts rebelled. Try as she might, the desire to move became irresistible. Her mud-caked foot took a hesitant step toward the forest. Just one more step and she’d be swallowed whole. She shuddered and her foot lifted.

“Briana! Stop!”

Briana froze. She turned in place and watched Daniel running full-tilt toward her. He halted in front of her and yanked her to his side. He examined the forest, his face made of stone. The roughness of his grip and the intensity of his expression shocked Briana.

“What’s gotten into you, Daniel? You’re hurting me.”

“What’s gotten into me? I think the better question is, why are your feet bare?” he asked eyes on the forest.

“They are?” she asked looking down at her feet. “Huh. They are.”

“And why have you fled the house? Have you decided to leave me stranded at the altar?”

“What if I had?” she asked. The full force of his dark chocolate eyes landed on her, melting her insides.

“You think it would be that easy to jilt me, Miss. Kelly?”

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips and she shrugged.

“Marry me,” he said.

“I already said yes.”

“No. Now.”

“What? How? We don’t have a preacher or witnesses.”

“The stars will be our witnesses, the moon our preacher.”

“What about a ring?”

Daniel leaned down and plucked a daffodil from the ground, looping it into a circle.

“Any other reasons?” he asked.

“Look at me. My hair is a mess. My feet are caked in mud. And I’m pretty sure there is drool on my chin.”

Daniel brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. A thrill raced along Briana’s spine.

“You’re beautiful, Briana Kelly, more radiant than the moon and the stars, softer and finer than a petal. I have never loved a person the way I love you. Have never wanted someone the way I want you. I long to spend my life with you, have babies with you, grow old with you, and in death, lay beside you. Please, marry me, here and now, be mine.”

Briana blinked back tears. Daniel took her left hand in his, pulling her closer to him.

“Say you’ll be mine,” he said.

“I’m yours. And you are mine.”

“For all time,” he said and kissed her as he slipped the flower onto her finger.

A screech filled the night, a whipping of the wind that slammed into Briana’s back.

“What was that?” she asked against his lips.

“An old friend.”

Briana pulled away from him, her gaze questioning.

“Come on, Mrs. McConnell. Let’s get you inside before you catch a cold.”

He lifted her into his arms and pulled her tight against his chest. Her arms wrapped around his neck.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“You wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

“One day.”

“But not today.”

“No. Not today.”

Daniel turned toward the house. Briana glanced down at the ring on her finger, now silvery in the moonlight, no longer made of steams and leaves, but pure gold.

“Daniel, the ring! But how?”

“One day I’ll explain, my fairy queen. One day.”

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*Title credit goes to The Fiction Vixen, Rosalind Smith-Nazilli. Without her help, this fic would have been dubbed: Yup. 

Make sure to follow the linky-loo 

below to find more queenly stories.

Go forth, my friends, and read!

BOOM!

The Difference A Year Makes (not so much)

Other potential titles for this post include (yet are not limited to):

Things Ang Sorta Does But Not Really
Whaaaaaat? A Year Went By?
Bloggyversary (sorta): Holla!

Waaaaaaait for it:

this is my new favorite thing in life

That's right, ladies and gents, just shy of 14 months ago I closed up shop on a wee blog I'd been running for three years (give or take), quit my two year stint as a bookworm, said goodbye to the cuters (*bows head in a moment of silence, pours a shot of Jack on the ground*), and started out on a new endeavor, one in which I threw off my super secret ways and attempted to be less... well, super secret.

I was pumped, a ball of nerves ready to take on the world one story at a time.

And then life was all:

 And I was all:

And this lil bloggy took a backseat.

Honestly, rightly so. I regret nothing. In the last year, whilst I've been emo in the corner on the world wide web, I've been focusing on being here not just for my family and friends, but for me.

However, as I crawl out of the corner, dust myself off, and blinking step into the sun I realize just how much I've missed alllll the kool kids in my puter and this wee little blog.

Despite the silence over the last year, I *heart* blogging and I *heart* YOU. To those who've just signed on (*fist-bumps*) and those who've stuck by me throughout the last year or years (*extra big squeezy hugs*)  I'd like to say:

Thank you for stopping by, reading my silliness, 

commenting, emailing, tweeting, emoting, lurking, and allll the thing-ings. 

Your kindness and thoughtfulness over the last 14 months 

is not only appreciated but detrimental

and I am ever so grateful. 

*huggers*

In summation:

HAPPY (sorta) BLOGGYVERSARY TO ME!!!

p.s. Mayhaps next year I shall remember on time. On second thought, that would break with tradition, so I'm thinking naw.

Five Sentence Fiction -- WORDS

Five Sentence Fiction is hosted by Lillie Ferrin.
Here's the stone skinny:

Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week I will post a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on the prompt word. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just use it for direction.

Easy. Peasy. Lemon. Squeezy. Am I right?

You can find Lillie on Twitter here & follow all the Five Sentence Fiction happenings here.

This week's word is: WORDS.

And the following is my humble offerings.
---------------------------------------------------

 Stay

The sound of her voice trickled into his ear-- soft, pleading, broken.

He struggled against the fog that stole her from him and pain greeted him, sharp, cruel pain that poked and prodded him.

“Please stay,” he finally heard.

He became aware of the feel of her hand in his, the rough crisp sheets beneath him, the persistent beeping of a machine, the sharp smell of ammonia and sickness.

Stay, he chanted pushing past panic and fear as he attempted to squeeze her hand, just stay.
---------------------------------------------------

Annnnnnnnd scene!
*dramatic bow*

Make sure to check out this week's participants here.
And don't forget to write your own fic.

Go forth & do good, my friends.

Peace out!

Clueless & Relieved

There are times when all a person can do is admit they don't know jack. As in, I am clueless. I am overwhelmed. I have the fail.

It's cathartic. It's freeing. It's a flipping relief.

Here's the deal:

Me and the writing, we get along. I'm not saying I'm good at it. Truth be told, I'm this side of barely decent. What I am saying is for me writing is like breathing. It's a joy. A joy that makes me want to gouge out my eyes and stab baby pandas, but a joy nonetheless.

What I don't understand is all the other madness: betaing, editing, querying, agenting, publishing, self-publishing, ebooking, promoting, other-thingings.

I've read the tweets. I've watched the vlogs. I've followed the agents. I've stalked the writers. I've taken the classes. I've studied the blog posts. I've sent out the queries. Annnnnd oh so much more. Yet, I'm still a huge fail at understanding what I should be doing.

One professional will tell you write all the time and query all the peeps, while the next professional will tell you don't start trying till you've written at least five books. One agent will hand out helpful advice on Twitter like candy, while sacrasim will drip from the fingertips of another leaving acid burns on all who come in contact with them. Some agents will tell you to write what you know, what comes natural, while at the same time ordering genres and gimmicks on social media as if they were at a McDonald's.

It's a madness that makes my head even more swirly twirly than normal. A chaos that's pulled me into its undertow. I've been so focused on what I don't understand and on screwing up, I've been hesitant, dare I say, afraid to move forward. I've been so worried about fitting in and if people will like me, that I've been scared to say what I think and write what I love.

That's right. I said scared. And it's the truth. Fear gnaws at my insides. My short comings mock me. My hands shake. My brain screams. My heart quickens (and not in the smexy romance novel kinda way).

Yet, as I write this, things fall into place. Once again, I remember it's not about all the things (the agents and publishing). It's about writing. It's about sharing. It's about taking part in the great debate. It's about telling a story that will touch a life the way all my favorite books have touched mine. It's not about being fearless, but being brave in the face of fear. It's about growth and passion, dreams and reality. It's accepting my limitations and pushing myself further. It's about living. And I'm not living if I'm worry about all this crap.

Thusly.

My name's Angela. I'm a writer. I suck at grammar. I use made-up word. I'm afraid and I'm clueless. And I'm okay with that.