A Beauty’s Bargain was a part of the anthology that I participated in that was released this past November. I’ve finally started reading my fellow authors’ work in more detail, and I’m super proud to be sharing some thoughts with you about them.
It Begins Here, our anthology, has been getting lovely reviews from readers, and while I plan to write blurbs about the stories, I won’t rate them unless the authors have published them independently from the anthology (like myself and Ashley did). I have a thing about not giving anything I’ve worked on a star rating, so here we are.
5 STARS
A Beauty’s Bargain is the perfect companion piece to Carlson’s The Charismatics. I wouldn’t necessarily recommend it as a standalone, and I personally don’t think it can be read before Charismatics. It really enriches the whole fictitious world, and I think serves as a great tasty treat while readers wait for the release of the second book in the series. I wish it was longer, but given it was written for the anthology I also wrote a 10K piece for, I absolutely understand why it isn’t. That being said, I can’t wait to read more on Merry’s story.
This short piece earned such a high rating from me because it really made me feel. As always, Carlson is a fantastic writer, and I feel this was one of her strongest pieces of written works to date. However, it was the very squicky (SPOILER) rape scene that sold me. It was just so awful and brutal, even though it was a fade to black, that I actually had a physical discomfort while reading it–and that to me is the mark of a talented writer. They make you feel things, good or bad. So I applaud Carlson once again for making me feel with her work, and I can’t wait to read more from her!
Check out the short story on Goodreads for more reviews and purchase links!
For those of you who have followed me on twitter, you know I mention my Man a lot. We’ve been together for almost six years. He’s my best friend in the whole wide world. Love the guy. Yeay Man.
Now, like many out there, we like to watch zombie movies. It started off as being his thing, and then slowly I became the one demanding we watch a terrible zombie flick on a Saturday night with ice cream in our sweats.
I’m not sure what my fascination is with them. Unlike vampires, I don’t find the prospect of being near a zombie in any way alluring or sexual (and please note I only consider “vampires” like that because of all the smutty smut I’ve read—and written—about them over the years). Personally, I’ve had many, many nightmares of being hounded by zombie hordes, unable to escape, stress off the charts.
And yet I still love watching them. Fear the Walking Dead? Yes please. Shaun of the Dead? Always. 28 Weeks Later? Only if I’m not watching it alone. Fast zombies. Slow zombies. Alllll kinds of zombies. They work for me.
Romance zombies? Ehhhh. I guess those are the one kind that I’m meh about.
But anyway. My Man and I like to make zombie apocalypse plans. We know the route we’d take from our apartment building out of the city. We know what we’d pack. We constantly debate what we’d do with our animals—he always pragmatically suggests we eat our rabbits, which usually earns him a smack. One night, our conversation went a little something like this:
“So if we were running from the horde and I fell behind,” I started, “would you leave me behind?”
He was quiet for a few seconds, then laughed and said, “Well, yeah.”
Cue shocked gasp. Cue dramatic jaw dropping and eyes bulging. Yup, he said he’d leave me behind to be eaten by zombies.
“I mean, do we both have to die?” was his reasoning as he tried to calm me.
You know what? I get it. Although I gave him a lot of flak for the answer, I could see where he was coming from. Allow me to paint a picture. Years ago, my Man used to jog. Meanwhile, I’m mostly like:
And:
He goes to the gym three days a week, can bench press a lot, and usually gets asked to watch people squat so he can tell them what they’re doing wrong.
Enter me. I sit most of the day. I eat whole bags of family-sized bags of chips, Salt and Vinegar preferably, and get winded walking up the hill at the mall beside our apartment. I’m not overweight, but I realized the other day I’ve adding a whopping twenty pounds to my body since my surgery last year, and the majority of my clothes don’t fit right anymore.
To be fair, I spent four months of this year on the couch with a fucked up knee, only able to get around if I was on crutches. Add that to my month or two of recovery from surgery at the start of the year and my fitness levels aren’t looking great.
So, in a way, I get it. I’d probably leave me behind too. Sure, adrenaline can get me places. If I was running for my life, I’d be trying my hardest to keep up with the group. But it isn’t just my cardio that’s meh. My body is stiff and awkward after months of sitting and recovery. I noticed it at my new Day Job, where I ref for archery tag games. I’m not limber and flexible. I’m klutzy and bulky, not entirely used to this new body—a body that has never been this big or heavy in my life.
Last month, I decided it was time to make a change. As I’ve mentioned a few times already on social media, my Man is headed home for about a month and a half today. I’m sad to be spending the Christmas holidays alone, but I realized last month that all the alone time is a golden opportunity to start improving on my fitness.
Fun fact: I used to be a huge restrictive eater. It was a whole big thing, went to therapy for it, wrestled with self-esteem, blah, blah, blah. So fun. And super fun for my Man who supported me through it. Once he pointed out a stretch mark on my leg and I cried for a good hour after. Those days are gone, though I certainly have my moments, but body issues have always been a thing for me.
Weight stuff makes me really uncomfortable. Being in a gym setting, especially a busy one, gives me huge anxiety. Hell, doing crunches and squats in front of my Man, who I love unconditionally, kicks off the nervous sweats. It’s a giant mental block that I know I need to work on, but I’m hoping to fight it this month by getting my -100 fitness level to a point where I feel more confident doing physical activity just in general.
And so, the Zombie Apocalypse Preparedness Regime was born!
I’m still working on the fine print of everything, but I know the first issue I need to tackle is:
Zombieland has never led me astray, and by their rules, I’m 100% getting eaten first.
I’m introducing squats, crunches, push-ups, and lunges as a part of my daily routine. Starting small with 3 reps of 3, then steadily increasing the number each day to something that might actually impress people. In two weeks or so, I want to do arm exercises with some of the 10 and 15 lb weights we have lying around.
I’m fortunate enough to have a free gym in my building, so the bike and the treadmill are going to be my new friends. The bike was aces for my knee physio, so I’m just going to crank the intensity up a notch. Now, the treadmill stuff is throwing me. I want to try the walking-running workout where you walk for a certain amount of time, then run, then walk, then run, but really I can barely jog a full minute yet. For now, I’m starting with high intensity walking, and will hopefully integrate some running later on this month.
Now, I’ve learned over my failed attempts at working out before that exercise is only a part of physical fitness and health. Diet is a huuuuge part of getting in shape, and I’m making a vow—on the internet—to improve my eating habits. Less noodles. More quinoa. Less chips. More fish. Less chocolate. More fruit. I have no interest in following fad diets or crash diets (that basically resemble restrictive eating anyway) or detoxes. My overall goal is just to eat healthier and pay more attention to what I’m shoveling into my mouth as I watch reality TV on the couch with my meals.
I’ve tried calorie counting apps before and all they managed to do was make me feel sad when I saw how many calories I’d eaten in a day. Honestly, and I hate this phrase, I don’t need something so triggering in my life. No thanks.
I’m really excited. And nervous. Worried that I’ll fail, of course. I’ve had grand hopes for workout routines in the past that have crashed and burned a week in, so I’m hoping for the best. Although it’s not strictly writing related, I’ll probably post my progress on my blog. In a way, it’s almost like having a sense of accountability for my actions going forward.
Plus I’ll have a chance to see how far I’ve come.
As of right now, my stats:
Weight: 172 lbs
Height: 5’5”
BMI: Fuck you, BMI. You’re an inaccurate measurement of my health and basically list me as morbidly obese for my height. Please don’t rely on a BMI.
BMR: 1500 calories a day is what my body burns just being a body
Activity level: Mostly sedentary
Food intake: A lot of crap
Sleeping habits: Most nights I get 7-8 hours, but I generally wake up a lot
Heartburn: Frequent
I’ll report back on those stats at the end of December, then midway through January when my Man comes home. I’m doing this for me, of course, but I’m excited to show him I’m capable of doing something fitness related and sticking to it.
So cross your fingers and toes, folks. I’m going in.
Share your fitness journeys in the comments section! I’d love to know I’m not alone.
Enjoy a throwback post that I wrote in 2014, because apparently I’m failing at my blogging schedule already. Yeaaay.
The first book I ever sent to a publisher was a hot mess.
I spent years and years writing fanfiction, and I loved doing it. At the back of my mind, I had always wanted to be a writer, and I had a few original ideas penned, a book written—but no drive to do anything with it. So, as my university undergraduate career slowly came to an end, I decided to get my act together and look into publishing ventures. There was so much to learn, and I still feel like I’m drowning in information about an industry that outsiders think is easy-breezy.
One day, I stumbled upon an e-book provider who accepted unsolicited manuscripts from writers without agents. I thought I had hit the jackpot. At the time, I didn’t have anything that fit with what they usually published, but then I found their prompts page. It was basically a page that dictated what their editors would like to see for the upcoming year. There were deadlines to meet and a bunch of different lines for me to write to—I was thrilled.
I eventually settled on one that I figured I could make work: historical romance. I chose the Victorian Era, and went with their prompt to write about the life of a governess. Easy. I decided to add vampires to it, because everyone likes vampires, right?
I finished the manuscript about a week before the deadline. I then scrambled to edit this massive document myself. I think I read it twice over, correcting things as I went along, and that was it.
That was it. No beta readers, no editors, no proofreaders. Hot off the presses, I submitted with a rushed query and a synopsis that was too long for anyone to care about. I, however, thought I had just handed gold over to the editors at this publishing house. Hell, I even mentioned my fanfiction in my query and just how many amazing readers I had.
So, I waited. I even told a writing professor of mine—a published author—what I had done, and he looked at me over the top of his glasses a la Albus Dumbledore.
“So, you just sent it in?” he asked.
“Yup! They said it was fine that I didn’t have an agent.”
“Oh.” A long pause. “Well, best of luck. Let me know if it gets published.”
I waited the twelve weeks it usually took for a response, and was devastated when I received my first-ever rejection. I was stunned. My work was brilliant. I had great characters, an interesting plot, and vague historical accuracy that would probably fly with an uneducated reader.
Like I said, it was a hot mess. Looking back, I realized I started my novel off with the main character in a stage-coach, where she mulled over her life up until that point. It was dreary outside. Six pages of introspection and exposition.
Cringe worthy. Never mind that I hadn’t ever read a Victorian romance before, but I thought I could get away with sending in a manuscript that no other person has ever seen except myself. Rookie mistakes across the board, and I thought I had learned my lesson.
I submitted something else to the same publishing house for a different prompt a few months later. I had a professional editor look it over, and she seemed to like it.
I waited again. I didn’t talk to anyone about it, worried that I’d get my hopes up again by sharing the news.
And… rejection. This time I was genuinely hurt; I worked really hard on the next manuscript, and I thought it was leaps and bounds ahead of the first manuscript I sent in.
But no one gives you a publishing contract for “Most Improved Manuscript”. No one cares. Once again, I hadn’t let any beta readers go through anything, and I assumed my writing experiences with fanfiction would carry me somewhere special.
It didn’t. Not even a little.
These days, I have a wonderful team of beta readers to kick my ass a little. I have people to tell me what they like, what they dislike, and what needs to be scrapped. Writers need to learn that this isn’t a solitary art. It isn’t something you should want to do on your own, even if you spend the majority of your time alone—just you and the computer/pen and notepad. You need feedback. You need your ego checked. You need help. Take it when it’s offered, you literate idiot.
Whenever I read a lot of books by the same author, I find myself bracing for that one book that I won’t like. This will be book #4 that I’ve read from Rosanna Leo, and I’m happy to announce that this is NOT that kind of book. Night Lover was a gloriously sexy, well-written, heartfelt book that knew how to tug at my heartstrings and make me laugh.
It was my first experience reading about an incubus, which is strange, given all the paranormal stuff I enjoy, and I’m really enjoyed it. Going forward, my paranormal creatures list has definitely expanded. Leo’s incubus was sexy and alluring without the rape-y overtones that I feel the creature could drift toward (given what they are known for, anyway).
Renata was a really interesting lead for me. I’ve been plotting an aspiring opera singer character, and given Leo’s background, I was really excited to read about a character in the music profession who wasn’t a rock star. It was a really interesting shift in dynamics, so A++ for uniqueness. In fact, all of the characters were unique and well-developed, and I thought the curse factor was different and new. I think that’s a great way to describe this book: different and new. Hurray for breaking boundaries and barriers and all that jazz.
My only slight negative were the religious overtones toward the end, and I don’t think that hinders the book. Faith was described as basically anything, not necessarily religiously focused, but it just wasn’t up my alley. I think it will work for others, especially those who are connected to their own spirituality.
All in all, Night Lover was a fun, interesting, and dynamic read. I’d recommend it for all paranormal romance lovers who are ready for something a little different.
Check it out on Goodreads for more reviews and purchase links!
Only twenty-eight short days until The Fool is released on Smashwords and its premium distributors. It’ll be for free until January 18th, and then it will be available for $0.99. I’d like to take the next few weeks to give out ARCs of the 19k novella for anyone who is interested in reading and providing advanced reviews. Advanced reviews help encourage readers to take a chance on a new author and give you a chance to read a piece before everyone else!
Such exclusive. Much secret. Wow.
The Fool is the prologue to the Games We Play serial, the first book of which will be available in 2016. It takes place over the course of one night, and is intended for mature (18+) readers only. Of course, full paranormal romance because that’s my thang.
If you are interested in requesting an ARC and will be able to either post an advanced review or a review the week of the first release (December 28th), please contact me! I’d love to have you!
You can currently find The Fool on Goodreads. It is also available for pre-order on Amazon for the January 18th release date.
Please note that if you agree to accept an ARC version of The Fool, you will not distribute it elsewhere or post any extensive spoilers (without warnings).
Excerpt #1:
“You look bored.”
The observation came two hours into the night, just as Delia reached the bottom of her first drink. She’d abandoned socializing for a bit, preferring to watch the interactions between couples and groups and individuals from a safe distance off to side. Scowling, she turned on her heel to stare down the idiot who made the comment, only to find her glare losing some of its venom when she spotted him. Lounging against the wall, the man was dressed simply in a black dress shirt rolled to his elbows and a pair of pressed black trousers. He might have looked like the hotel staff had it not been for the expensive watch and the gold and purple mask. Little bells jingled with the slightest movement, and she realized he’d chosen a jester’s mask for the evening.
Who voluntarily decides to be the fool at a masquerade ball?
At least she wasn’t the only one who missed the boat on the whole “formal” shtick.
Delia raised an eyebrow at him. “Excuse me?”
His overwhelming handsomeness didn’t excuse rudeness. Delia wasn’t bored. She was working. Like a serious vampire hunter who…was sick of watching idiots get progressively drunk. And mildly frustrated that she couldn’t tell vamp from human with all the pomp and circumstance.
Pushing himself off the wall, the stranger strolled toward her, oozing casual and collected like it was his job. She tried not to let her stare linger on the sharp cut of his jawline or the tousled effect of his dark hair—or the broadness of his shoulders and the taut muscularity of his arms. Tall but not excessively wide. Physically fit without being off-putting.
“I apologize,” he offered, a hand on his chest as he bowed a little. “You look beautiful, fair creature. Fairest of all the fair creatures this night—”
“Oh my god, okay,” Delia said with a slight groan, rolling her eyes as he straightened up. His smirk did not go unnoticed. “I’d rather be bored than whatever that was.”
His mask covered almost all of his face, stopping just above his lips. The dull gold hue of the part covering his face made his eyes stand out: bright blue, almost unnervingly so. Delia’s first thought was that they were the eyes of a vamp, and her defences shot up immediately.
“What’s your name, fair creature?” He held out his hand for her to shake, and Delia quickly tucked her clutch under her arm.
“Delia,” she said as she slipped her hand into his larger one, surprised at its warmth. Vamps were cold—frigid and dead. Diseased, some said. He was definitely human, but unfamiliar to her, even with the mask—not one of the local elites, that was for sure. “And yourself?”
“What is the purpose of wearing masks if we expose ourselves, Delia?” His grip tightened.
She yanked her hand away when she realized she’d been played. Lips pressed together irritably, she turned and refocused on the masquerade guests.
Moments later, a presence hovered dangerously close, well inside her personal bubble, and she flinched when he tucked her hair behind her shoulder.
“But you can call me the Fool if you wish.”
Excerpt #2:
Music drifted languidly from speakers around the dance hall, and couples whirling around the floor barely missed a beat, moving this way and that, too wrapped up in themselves to notice when the songs changed. It was a more appealing sight than the one she was used to seeing on a dance floor: Kain and his boys grinding up on drunk girls, their sense of rhythm all but absent. Most here were intoxicated, but the costumes gave a degree of modesty, and no one, as far as she could see, was mashing pelvises.
She’d had a few conversations since leaving the bathroom, but the women flying solo were more interested in finding someone to spend the evening with, while most of the men fed her the same dull lines over and over again: Why was she alone? Where was her drink? Did she know her eyes sparkled like emeralds?
Vomit.
Delia had just barely escaped the last guy—his breath rank with alcohol—who kept guffawing in her face whenever he cracked a joke. So there she stood, hovering on the outskirts of the dance floor, unsure of her place.
Arms wrapped around herself, she watched a nearby couple as they danced. They were both young and slim, effortlessly gliding around like they’d done it a hundred times before. Maybe they had.
She blinked quickly, bringing herself out of her daze, and tightened her grip on her clutch as the jingling of bells grew louder. The Fool had found her again.
Throughout the night she’d spied that ridiculous gold and purple mask at a safe distance out of the corner of her eye. Sometimes she actually turned and looked, only to find him chatting with one or two other people.
“Delia,” he said, dipping his head cordially as he stood beside her.
She pursed her lips, noting the barely-there gap between their bodies.
“Fool.”
She returned her gaze to the dancing couple. So elegant—hypnotic, even.
“Did you find who you were looking for?”
It took her a second to process the question, and she glanced his way curiously.
“What?”
“Earlier,” the Fool continued with a nod in the direction of the garden. “You ran after someone. Did you find them?”
“No.” Delia squared her shoulders and let out a small sigh. “Just a look-alike. I don’t think the person I want to see will show tonight.”
“Pity.” The Fool sniffed, his gaze wandering the dancing couples. “Fortunate for me, however.”
She almost laughed. “Why?”
“Because now I can enjoy the pleasure of your company… uninterrupted.”
Delia forced away the incredulous look that flashed across her face, her lips threatening to turn upward in a smile, and finally faced him.
The Fool, however, continued to study the dancers, ignoring her narrowed stare.
“Does this usually work on girls?”
“What?” he asked innocently, sparing her a quick glance, a few of his bells jingling.
“This faux-formal crap you’re spouting.” She cocked her head to the side as she waited for a response.
Slowly, a smile spread across his face, lips pulling back to reveal a set of perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. “I don’t know. Does it?”
“No,” she replied quickly, turning toward the dance floor again just before their eyes could meet. “It doesn’t.”
“Shame. And here I was thinking I’d been doing so well.”
“That’s presumptuous of you,” Delia remarked, her head tilting to one side again, mimicking the slow way the man dipped his female partner. Her fair blonde tresses tickled the floor, and they grinned at one another. Despite herself, Delia suddenly found herself grinning too.
“Hmm…”
Her skin prickled at the deep rumbly quality of his voice, but she was determined not to react to it.
“… Perhaps I can remedy that.”
She almost told him it was unlikely, all the while feeling a little guilty for her rudeness. After all, he had scared off that psychotic Donovan vamp earlier. Even if he didn’t realize it, she actually owed him. However, before she could get another word in, the Fool snapped at a passing waitress, and the woman hurried toward them with a tray of drinks in hand.
“You seem to have lost the one I brought you earlier,” the Fool noted as he handed her a glass, which Delia took almost begrudgingly. He then looked to the waitress and gently touched her arm as he said, “And if you can manage, perhaps a red wine for myself?”
“Of course, sir.” The woman gave a small nod before hurrying away, moving with more purpose than any of the servers Delia had seen all night. She raised an eyebrow at the Fool again; he wasn’t a vamp power-player, but he had to be someone important in the human world.
He caught her studying him, and then flashed a charming smile as Delia pretended to be admiring his bells.
“Champagne gives me a headache,” he told her, as if that explained the drink request.
Delia shrugged. “Sucks to be you.” The new glass of bubbly liquid, tinged with a rose-gold hue, slid down smoothly, but she vowed that this would be the last of the night. “I love champagne.”
“I know.” He then reached up and brushed his fingertip over her cheek. Delia flinched back, nostrils flaring in alarm. Even after his arm fell back by his side, she felt the warmth of his touch on her skin. “You get a little blush every time you drink it. Quite endearing.”
“Well, that’s some extra-close attention you’ve been paying to me,” she forced out, her breath catching at the intensity of his stare. She cleared her throat as she stepped back, flustered. Genuinely flustered. Because a hot guy in a stupid mask was doting on her, and Delia wasn’t accustomed to men doting on her. The guys in her history weren’t exactly the doting type.
But then again, there really was only one reason a man would dote on her…
Her blush darkened at the thought.
Toasting him with her champagne glass, she took another few steps back, alarmed that he followed slowly.
“Thanks for the drink… again,” she told him. Then, without another word, Delia turned on the spot and cut across the dance floor, not stopping until there was some distance between her and the Fool.
For a short time, she tried to distract herself with the sea of dancers, the swirl of fabric and the flash of masks slowly blending into one living, breathing organism.
Through the fleeting gaps between couples, she saw him. The Fool. Watching her from across the room, he stood quite still amidst all the twirling and whirling, through the swishes of fabric, his glass of red wine in hand. She wasn’t sure why she decided to stay there, directly across from him. Maybe it was the fact that after a night in sultry, but painful, heels, her feet finally decided enough was enough. Time to stay in one place for a while.
Delia chose to ignore the fact that every time she did try to move, her feet were like heavy stones, keeping her in place, in the Fool’s line of sight.
Interested? Contact me literally anywhere to receive your ARC!
Liz Meldon - Romance Author 