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Friday, August 30, 2013

Signs You Might be a Writer ~guest post by fantasy author HR Jackson

Today, I'm pleased to share a guest post by HR Jackson about how to know if you're a writer. Be sure to check out her new urban fantasy/ paranormal romance release release, Hand of Time. Also, find a great giveaway at the bottom of this post.

Signs You Might Be a Writer

~HR Jackson

“Marry somebody you love and who thinks you being a writer’s a good idea.” ~ Richard Ford

From the time I was a little girl, I knew I was destined to be a writer. Oh, I dallied in the idea that I might be a veterinarian, or a princess, or an astronaut, but my first love had always been reading and storytelling. My grandparents and parents instilled in me a love of books so deep that it continues to shape my life to this day, one that I hope to someday pass along to my children as well.

When I met my husband, one of the things I first fell in love with was his ability to tell a story. But where my background was mostly books and comics, his was based primarily in cinema and role playing games (RPGs). He looked at the world through a different lens and that fascinated me. It still does, even now, over a decade later. I knew, then, that we would make beautiful stories together.

And we have, both published and unpublished.


Upon living with another storyteller, I started to realize that he had certain… quirks. Habits, if you will, that were strangely tied to the very thing I’d fallen in love with: his writing. And after I’d spent a good chunk of time pointing and laughing about it, it finally dawned on me that I shared some of those habits. Then I realized that they’re something of a commonality amongst those of us who consider ourselves writers and storytellers, weavers of words.

So without further ado, here are our top ten signs you might be a writer:

  1. 99.5% of the books (the ones that aren’t thesauri, dictionaries, or writing mags) on your Kindle are scattered with highlights of phrases, descriptions, and ideas that you wish you’d thought of first…and that you plan to rework to suit your own purposes.
  2. Going out in public virtually guarantees that you’re going to see a random stranger and your first thought will be, “They would make an interesting character in my story.” Your next thought is how to follow them without looking like a stalker.
  3. You never leave home without one of these three things: notebook (or post-it pad)/pen, smartphone of choice with note taking program on it, tablet/laptop with word processing program of choice. Just in case you get an idea, see someone, hear something that you think would be awesome in your story.
  4. One of those random ideas jotted in your notes is a “What if…” scenario, a nifty turn of phrase, a potential character name/description, a sudden solution to a story-problem you’ve been having, or all of the above.
  5. A “quick shower” turns into a “use up every last drop of hot water and leave family members wondering if they should call the police, it’s been so long” situation, because you got lost in your head with an idea and forgot where you were.
  6. You can’t watch a television show or movie without either silently cursing someone else for having an idea you’ve already had but hadn’t released into the public, or thanking the universe that you put your work out there first so you can feel smug at being so clever.
  7. You have a hard time using twitter because 140 characters just isn’t enough, so you have to agonize over every letter and choose, re-choose, and re-choose again your words without losing impact. And by the time you do, you forget what you were originally trying to say.
  8. You sit down to eat and find yourself trying to describe, in your head, as detailed as possible the meal you are about to consume. This also applies to rooms, clothes, people, and restaurants.
  9. You sit down to write and look at your notes, and half of them don’t even make sense anymore, appearing to be scribbles of an escapee from the nearest mental facility. And you try to work with them anyway.
  10. Your late night surfing habits reveal tabs full of phrase translations next to tabs of Wikipedia pages ranging from “famous Scottish battles” to “sex lives of the Greek gods”, with a smattering of Pinterest boards and Facebook games you just can’t stay away from.

These are just our top ten. What about you? What signs do you think broadcast to the world that someone’s a writer?

Hand of Time
The Nemesis Chronicles, Volume 2

H.R. Jackson 

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Paranormal Romance
Publisher: Geek Treats Collective
Date of Publication: April 20th, 2013
ISBN: 1484125509 
Number of pages: 352
Cover Artist: Robb Lombard 

Amazon Print   Kindle  Nook  Audible
Book Description: 
Morgan... Three months after the events of Vegas turned her life upside down, she's finding that getting back to normal is anything but easy.

Dirk... Trapped between juggling his new responsibilities and making Morgan understand his feelings, the former courtesan is discovering that letting go of the past is much harder when the past refuses to let go of him.

Nemesis... Still reeling from the Society's attack, they find themselves facing a familiar foe and a new menace hellbent on testing their fortitude.

Midsummer madness heats up Nemesis Island. It's a time of celebration and renewal, but the Society has other plans... with Dirk, Morgan, and the rest of Nemesis at the top of their list. 

Excerpt from Dirk’s POV:

“I’m fine, Dirk.” She wasn’t and we both knew it, but I wasn’t about to press the issue.
I let out a frustrated sigh. “I’ll go see if my father has a shirt or something he can lend me to wear.”
“Good idea,” Morgan said, starting a slow pace in front of the terrace doors that reminded me of a tiger restlessly circling its enclosure. She sounded distracted and the concern I’d already been fighting to keep from spilling all over her nudged its way back to the surface of my demeanor. I wanted to scoop her up and port back to my home, tuck her into bed and remind her of my stellar bedside manner. But as she made another pass across the doorway, I could see the limp in her step easing, slowly, until her strides were sure and smooth. Her body was healing.
Ah well, I thought, there’s always next time. Although, I really hoped there was a very long interval of non-injury between them full of bedside activities that were infinitely more fun.
“And shoes,” I added, curling my toes against the cold, damp hardwood floor as I glanced down and finally got a good look at the damage. My pajama bottoms were soaked through with rain and had clearly seen better days. My skin was grimy with sweat and blood, the mottled green and yellow of my healing bruises slowly fading.  “Gods. I look like a war refugee.”
“What’s wrong with being shoeless?” asked Bree, looking up from where she’d been hunched over, studying the Pithos. She stretched out one of her naked feet, her expression all ruffled feathers and huff. “I prefer it. Helps with my Credomancy.”
Opening my mouth to apologize, I was stopped when Betty strolled back into the room. She’d disappeared down the stairs after leaving us and it looked like she’d been busy raiding my father’s closet. One arm was laden in textiles, an expensive looking auburn and charcoal three piece suit on a hanger dangling from the fingertips of her free hand.
“Morgan,” Betty let the name roll off her tongue, her brogue giving it a delicious quality that almost made me jealous. “Why does that sound familiar?” she mused, stopping in front of me and thrusting the garments into my startled grasp.
A flash of black around her throat gave me pause to stare and suddenly, I understood what my father and Sam had been talking about when they’d mentioned Betty answering their call. My father had long employed a specialized group of bodyguards as his security detail, scattered all across the globe, acting as his eyes and ears. His Ravens, he called them, and they all sported the same tattoo as an indicator of their allegiance to him. My eyes drifted to Sam. She had received hers shortly after our hookup.
I wondered if my father’s interests ever conflicted with those of Nemesis.
“Why does what sound familiar?” Morgan murmured, still pacing.
“I can’t quite place it…” Betty’s eyes widened and she did a slow turn, snapping her fingers in Morgan’s direction. “Wait. Wasn’t that the name of your horse?”
“Betty.” I knew that tone. Morgan didn’t want to talk about it. Based on Betty’s delighted expression, she was going to poke the bear until it snacked on her. I didn’t know if I wanted to be present for the carnage. Betty’s grin widened and Morgan’s glower scrunched her face until I wanted to kiss it.
“What are you talking about?” I couldn’t help it. I had to know. I felt like I’d been left out of a private joke, and I wanted in, damnit.
Betty trilled out a laugh. “Och, you mean she hasn’t shared that with you? Well now, doesn’t that make me feel all special.”
“It hasn’t come up,” Morgan stilled and focused her glare on Betty. “It’s a moot point anyway.”
I knew that names held power within both our cultures, but it was the first time I’d ever heard Morgan called by an alias and I was intensely curious to know why she’d changed her name. I knew she had a history, one that I’d apparently not even scratched the surface of discovering, and I’d take Betty’s rendition of things over nothing at all.
My gaze swung to Betty. She didn’t say a word. I narrowed my eyes at her. She dissolved into a fresh round of laughter that practically lit up the room. “Fine. Since Dirk insists. Let me procure a little story for you. Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived an Amazonian Princess named Airlea. She was fiercely beautiful, fearsome on the battlefield, and more than skilled between the furs. She had this thing she liked to do with her tongue –” Morgan crossed the room in three strides and clapped a hand over Betty’s mouth as my eyebrows rocketed to the ceiling.
“So help me, Betty,” Morgan said in frosty, clipped tones, “I’ve half a mind to shove something in your mouth to shut you up. If you wouldn’t like it so much.” Betty wiggled her eyebrows at me from above Morgan’s hand and I couldn’t help but chuckle. Reaching out, I pried Morgan’s fingers away from Betty’s face and dusted a kiss against their tips. Morgan responded by pulling away and punching my arm in protest.
“Oh come now, you know how I love a good story,” I grinned, rubbing my arm. If it took a little pain to get what was promising to be an amusing-as-hell insight, I’d take my lumps gladly. “Please continue, Betty.”
“Long story short,” Betty resumed the second her mouth was free, ignoring Morgan’s warning scowl, “it appears someone decided it was time for a name change. Honestly, Morgan, if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear you were trying to avoid me altogether.”
“Maybe I was.”

About the Author:

Once upon a time, a man and a woman looked at each other and asked, “Why aren’t we writing this down?" 

Inspired by Sci-Fi and Fantasy, with a healthy appreciation of all manner of geekery, they longed to create a world where sword, sorcery, and a little sprinkling of real life could come together. With this in mind, the pair sat down and started the stories that would eventually become The Nemesis Chronicles.

When they aren’t weaving fantastical tales, they spend their time being owned by the Feline Mafia and watching the rain fall in their home city of Seattle.

Find them on the web:
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Tour Wide Giveaway:

10 signed hard copies of Hand of Time-open to US Shipping
~ ~ ~
Marsha A. Moore is a writer of fantasy romance. The magic of art and nature spark life into her writing. Read her ENCHANTED BOOKSTORE LEGENDS for adventurous epic fantasy romance: Book One, SEEKING A SCRIBE, Book Two, HERITAGE AVENGED, Book Three, LOST VOLUMES, and Book Four, STAUROLITE. For a FREE ebook download, read her historic fantasy, LE CIRQUE DE MAGIE, available at Amazon and Smashwords.


HR Jackson said...

Thanks so much for the opportunity to do the guest post! :)

Marsha A. Moore said...

Glad to have you spend a day with my readers!

Victoria Zumbrum said...

Thanks for the awesome giveaway.