Would you buy this?

I’m doing a mini-poll on Twitter, but I’d like to get answers here too, if you’re not following me on Twitter or Facebook. Simply put, I would like to release an e-book on Smashwords for $1.99. Unlike my previous books, there will be no free edition.

So, here’s the blurb for my standalone dark fantasy story, The Sole Survivors’ Club:

Having lost her parents in a tragic multi-car pile-up, Monica Harper is drawn time and again to fatal automobile accidents without understanding why. Living alone, she works next to the same section of highway where her parents were killed.
But it isn’t survivors’ guilt trapping Monica in her dead-end life.
Fred Schott is a tabloid reporter obsessed with Monica, and with other accident magnets like her. Despite her mistrust of Fred, Monica  is eventually convinced to speak with other people with the same problems. But in arranging this tiny support group, Monica has pushed for a confrontation with an invisible army of living spirits. One by one, her new friends are picked off until Monica is left alone to face an enemy she cannot see or touch.
Will Monica find a way to fight her hidden enemies, or will the first members of the Sole Survivors’ Club also be the last?

Would you buy this e-book for $1.99?

Friday Flash Challenge: The First Rule of a Successful Escape

So, um, last week the was a twitter discussion between @lynthornealder, @Inventrix, and myself about perspective. Lyn and I were talking in third person, while inventrix was talking in second. (No, really.) We got on the topic of challenging perspectives and came up with a little three-way competition to write first person present tense flash fiction for the Friday Flash round up.

It was decided that since I’ve already written in this perspective, I should wait until this week to begin planning my story. I agreed to this handicap and kept working on my other stories. (Sadly, I’m still languishing for want of a great ending paragraph.)

Then Wednesday rolled around and I recalled the challenge. I commented to my cohorts that they were going to have a major head start, and to my delight, it turned out they’d also forgotten. Huzzah! Lyn and I then sat down to plug out a flash story. Here is mine (If it blows, you can rate it low, really.):

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The quiet blog…

Given my previous posts, you might think my less frequent updates were me taking a vacation from writing, like I said I would. Um…okay, that actually didn’t happen. In fact, my plans to take a vacation lasted all of a day and a half. Since then, I’ve been writing a lot. I started a new novella, wrote a short 2K story, and added another 20K to an ongoing novel project.

All of this sounds great, until you realize that I’m incapable of resting. You’d think having a handicap would convince me to rest, but it doesn’t. I work myself into fatigue and drop all the time, but I can’t rest. I can try, but soon after I’m doing nothing, my moods crash. I don’t feel right unless I’m doing something productive.

I was actually a worse workaholic earlier in my life. I would work a regular jub for 40 to 50 hours, and then come home and work on my creative projects. Any of my old friends can tell you about the manic phases where I would disappear for weeks at a time because I was taken with a new idea and wanted to work on it on my computer.

Am I really “better” now? Well, no. I do take more naps during the day, and some days, I don’t get started on my projects until very late in the evening. But once I’m on, I’m on until fatigue shuts me off.

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An event of some interest to myself…

A long, long time ago, on a continent far away, a nerd was born later than the doctor’s predictions. This was possibly to avoid being born on April fool’s day, when people would have promised great gifts only to give pet rocks instead.

That baby’s mother wanted to name her child Spot, but this name was shot down, as were several other ideas, among them James Tiberius Kirk Whitten. (Thank God no one let that woman get away with that selection! Imagine 30 years of “It’s worse than that! He’s dead, Jim!”)

But at last a name was chosen. It was a name which perhaps they did not know belonged to a king demon of the West, a demon whose kingdom was Chaos. The mother would swear up and down that there was another meaning that she had in mind, but it was this chaotic king who ruled the child’s life for many, many years.

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It WAS the times? This IS “the times!”

Last night I was reading Devil’s Marionette, a novella by Maurice Broaddus, and there’s a scene where two colored performers are assaulted after being sent out the back door of a whites only establishment. One of the two men is doused and set on fire. He lives due to the quick thinking of his friend, but he’s badly burned, and the cops show up to arrest…the performers, for disturbing the peace.

I got mad reading that, but not for the act itself, and not for the ring of historical accuracy to the scene. I got mad because I was reminded that a homeless man in the UK was set on fire while he slept.

I was reminded that a Philadelphia swimming pool told a group of kids they weren’t allowed to swim because of their skin color.

I remembered how only a few days ago a transgender woman was strangled to death, her apartment destroyed because of who she was.

It was the SAME day that I saw this video of Phil Donahue casting blame off of child molesting priests by saying they aren’t pedophiles. Most (but not all) of the victims were boys past puberty, so this is the fault of homosexuals. AGAIN. (This is the same defense they used in the 90’s to cast blame away from the church by claiming to purge the priesthood of all gay men.)

It was only a few days ago that I saw how Juin Baize was run out of school, not by students, but by school officials, for the crime of being different. (This being the same school that shut down a prom rather than let a lesbian couple attend. She won her court case, but nothing is changing.)

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