Happy Halloween, dreamers!

Halloween has been my favorite holiday for a long time now. And who doesn't love it? It's all inclusive. You don't have to dress up to enjoy a pumpkin flavored donut. Or, if that's not your thing, you can carve pumpkins and eat candy. Or watch scary movies. Or watch funny movies. Or at the very least, watch Hocus Pocus. Because, that movie is still legitimate. 

I'm so happy I get to share this holiday with two new, and very important things in my life. 

Kindles are for lovers

In Between Dreams is on Kindle and I'm very excited about it. 

Don't you just love kindle? E-books are my favorite for these reasons. 

1) Instant reading. 

2) All your books in one place. 

3) I can take it everywhere. 

I have a paperwhite, which is like a picture of great battery life and the back light on it is awesome because it doesn't wake my husband up when he's sleeping and I'm reading. 

But, in general, reading on my kindle is my second favorite thing to do, behind writing. 

So, I'm SO HAPPY that In Between Dreams is available on my favorite platform for reading. 

Buy it here. 

In Between Dreams - Prologue

Below is the prologue for my novel that was published October 16th, 2014. So happy and excited to share these words with you.

prologue.

The girl’s breathing was heavy. She tried to hide it from her solemn yet attentive driver. The driver’s eyes shifted from the road to the rearview mirror, and he squinted slightly, examining the girl. She acted her normal timid self. She kept her expression calm as she looked out the window at the evening rain, as if it were any other day. The car came to a swift halt. The driver let out a series of sounds and sentences denoting his annoyance at being delayed. His boss didn’t like unscheduled delays, no matter what the cause.

The driver made a final grunt, mumbled for the girl to stay put, and got out of the car. She took a deep breath while looking out the window, seeing a man she had only seen once before, the one who told her the plan. He stood in the shadows of the alley across the street. The driver was arguing with a man whose car had stalled and blocked his path. The man was refusing to push the car to the side of the road.

She quickly took off her jacket, placed it on the seat, and removed a black hoodie from her bag. She pulled it over her head in one swift motion. Once it was in place, she softly opened the door to the town car, praying it wouldn’t creak. She slipped through the smallest opening she could manage. She was a small girl, so it wasn’t too difficult. She looked behind her at her driver, still arguing with the man, who, to her luck, stood strategically so her driver couldn’t easily see her slip away. She crouched down and ran toward the man in the alley. Daniel, who was now her tall Australian savior.

Just as she got to Daniel, she heard a voice. It was her driver yelling for her to stop, and he was advancing on the two of them while reaching for his weapon, which had been holstered at the small of his back.

Daniel spun the girl around, placing his body between her and the driver, and fired his silenced

Beretta into the man’s leg. Daniel grabbed the girl by the arm and abruptly turned to leave. Daniel heard the scream from his target, and a shot struck the window of the open car door, creating a spiderweb effect in the thick bulletproof glass.

The couple ran into the twilight of the evening streets, hearing shouts and sounds of panic from the onlookers.

A couple blocks away, Bailey heard what sounded like the backfire of a car followed by screams and loud voices. Not unusual for Hong Kong but unnerving nonetheless. Bailey pulled at her long dark hair furiously, nervously. She looked down the street. It was getting darker quickly. The fog was increasing, and light rain continued to fall. She strained her eyes to see if she could spot Daniel coming from any direction. He was late. Bailey was fighting to stay calm and focused. As each second passed, Bailey became more and more concerned.

Daniel had asked her to wait in this exact spot for him. He was picking up their “client.” She hadn’t moved a muscle, the seriousness in his tone let her know it was important for her to stay put. She knew they might need to rush as they met up, so she stayed alert. She could feel dampness on her brow either from the rain or sweat from her constant stress.

Cars drove past her, swishing the water around as they drove. A chill ran up Bailey’s spine as a rain-soaked breeze hit her face. She saw Daniel jogging toward her, tugging along with him a small female who was running to keep up. Bailey blinked a couple times to make sure she saw her correctly. The girl was dressed head to toe in black and hunched over to hide her face. As they got closer, Bailey saw what little of the girl’s face that was shown. Her eyes looked crazed, terrified.

Bailey gulped and backed up as they came bolting toward her. Daniel checked his weapon. He cocked a round into the chamber, gently relaxing the hammer into the revolver.

“Bailey,” Daniel called for her, his Australian accent filled the streets, making everyone seem to turn his way.

“What’s next?” Bailey asked frantically.

“We have to keep moving,” Daniel said in a rough voice, pushing Bailey to jog alongside them. Daniel looked over his shoulder scanning for any suspicious activity. The young girl was obviously terrified, saying something over and over again in a language Bailey didn’t understand.

“We need a translator. We need Sam,” Bailey whispered under her breath. Daniel didn’t like Sam and didn’t appreciate his role on the team. There was more to Daniel and Sam’s relationship than a typical one between enforcer and translator.

Daniel’s disdain for Sam came through loud and clear, even in a moment of intensity. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch; he’ll be at the hotel,” Daniel said gruffly. “You take the girl. See if you can get her calm enough to get through the hotel lobby.”

“Which hotel?” Bailey asked. She still had no idea of which safe house they were going to use in this mission, and it put her on edge. She was aggravated and nervous all at once. They rounded the corner, an Americanized hotel came into view across the street. It was the only building with English and Chinese lettering on it. Hong Kong Embassy. Bailey put her arm around the small girl and motioned for her to duck under her arm. The small girl did as Bailey had mimed, and Daniel walked in with them. Daniel followed closely behind, stopping briefly to make sure they weren’t followed.

They walked straight to the elevator. Daniel put on his handsome smile to the woman at the front desk to avoid the clerk examining Bailey and the girl. The clerk smiled back at Daniel and twirled the end of her hair flirtatiously. Bailey continued to comfort their new young companion. A surprising

twinge of jealousy sparked in her stomach. She swallowed it down, slowly, like it was bile coming up in her throat.

Once Daniel finished flirting with the desk clerk, the trio filed into the elevator, and Daniel pushed the top button. As the door closed, he waved at the receptionist, who still had her eyes glued on him. When the door closed and she was out of view, he put his arm around the young girl. The girl looked up at Daniel, her eyes filled with tears.

Bailey had the strong urge to hug her. She didn’t know the girl, but she knew she needed comforting.

Bailey moved her hand from the girl’s arm to her shoulder, grazing Daniel’s hand accidentally. Daniel pulled his arm quickly back. The girl moved closer to Bailey, without hesitation, wrapping her arms around her. The girl sunk into Bailey, her wet tears soaking into Bailey’s shirt. Bailey looked up at Daniel, her eyes full of concern and wonder about the future of the mission all at the same time.

“This is Mei,” Daniel said softly as the elevator crawled to the top floor. “The niece of the leader of the largest Triad in Hong Kong.”

Want to read more? Click here to order the novel.

Dreams of Loneliness: The Project

In Between Dreams, for about a year and a half, was named Dreams of Loneliness. 

I was a little bit obsessed with Fleetwood Mac at the time, specifically the song Dreams, which appears in the novel more than once.

Have you any dreams you'd like to sell?
Dreams of Loneliness

So, the name of the book was Dreams of Loneliness, and though it vaguely reflects the book -- it didn't quite fit. (Though, I wanted it to. So badly.) Because Bailey, our heroine, is not lonely in her dreams. Though her life (because of her sleeping disorder) can be a very lonely existence, her dreams aren't lonely.

So, I scrapped the title and went for something new. For months I searched and searched for a new title. Scouring high and low and talking to everyone I met. Because what the bleep was I going to call this book? This book I had worked on endlessly. This book I had scarified my marriage and the ability to watch my favorite TV shows. It would never have a name. Because nothing fit.

In Between Book Covers

Got the book cover back. Thoughts? Feelings? Utter Dislike and hate for it entirely? I want to know. 

I'm so excited to share this story with you. Click below for a little snippet of what you'll be able to read about it on Amazon.

cover me up, cuddle me in

I got my book cover(s) back, and I'm supposed to pick one and go forward with it. (With one round of changes) I'm excited and terrified. Which is nothing new! This whole process is exciting and terrifying.

After a few days to think it over, I know which one I'll be going forward with. It's a really cool look/idea but there are some key points that need to be changes. I even had a dream about going through the changes, and them coming out wonderfully.

That being said, this morning, as I was reading a few articles on the best books to read and reading books that weren't worth reading, I came across this:

A book cover I (along with everyone in America) have seen a thousand times. And the simplicity of it kind of knocked me off my feet. Sure, I've seen the book a thousand times. I read the book cover to cover and went to the movie. I've posted about the book on twitter and reblogged things about the book on tumblr.

However, I haven't looked at it as someone who is publishing their own novel. I remember Looking For Alaska as well. For those of you who haven't see the cover, depending on what version you go, it's a line of smoke coming up and blackness behind it. On many book covers their is a candle under the line of smoke, but I prefer the one without the candle. It's simple, it's to the point.

And I love it.

Simplicity is (can be) elegant. Extravagant is (can be) tacky.

I'm blissfully excited to get the updated cover back so I can share it with everyone.

What type of book covers draw you in?

publishing, accent fonts, and writers block... oh my!

I think it's time for a little writers block. 

I've been having writers block the past few weeks, which isn't unheard of for me (or anyone). But the timing is pretty ideal. I don't need to focus on unfinished projects or something new! I have a finished project that needs my full attention.

In Between Dreams, the début novel is complete. Now what? Now, it's time to publish!

I'm working with CreateSpace to put the finishing touches on the novel and to design the cover and all of the dull behind the scenes things that make a published novel. (Dull to you, awesome for me!)

I had my first consultation with the cover designer. We went over what I want, and they're going to get to work! We also designed the inside of the novel. (Body copy font, accent font, fleuron, format.) Besides being super riveting, it's so exciting. Seeing examples of what my book will look like when it's complete.

Feeling grateful, excited, and the intense urge to never write again. Kidding about the last part. I give this writers block maybe two more days before my fingers find the keys again. 

Au Revoir: See you Sunday

Au Revoir:

a series of vignettes about the many ways we say goodbye

Austin and Anthony

See you Sunday

“Austin,” Anthony said and burst in the door to his parents house. “Please tell me you’re all packed.”

Anthony rounded the corner into his brothers room. There was no sign of him. There was plaid shirts and jeans strewn across the room.

“Does mom and dad just let you trash this room?” Anthony asked, his nose scrunched at the smell. Anthony kicked the empty pizza box by his feet.

“Austin!”

“What?” Anthony heard his brothers voice. Austin walked past him into his room. His face and hair wet from a shower, a white towel wrapped around his waist.

“Are you seriously not ready?” Anthony groaned motioning to his half naked brother. “I assume you’re not wearing this to the train station.”

“There will be other trains, Tony. Relax,” Austin said in his soft and easy soft voice.

“I think the rank smell in this room is going to seep into my suit,” Anthony said, backing out of his room. “I’m leaving in five minutes. With or without you.”

“My brother, the hardass,” Austin called after him. Anthony threw himself into the puffy chair in his parents living room. Anthony and Austin’s parents were away on a cruise for their fortieth wedding anniversary, so he was in charge of making sure Austin got to his interview in New York City.

Austin had been painting for as long as Anthony could remember. He went from finger painting to drawing cartoons. Now his parents home, as well as his apartment, was cluttered with beautiful abstract paintings. Landscapes. Cityscapes. Paintings of little girls and dogs running in a field of wildflowers. They were breathtaking.

Now, Austin, at twenty-six years old would soon be putting on his very first art show. But, he couldn’t do it without interviewing with the gallery first. Anthony rubbed his bearded cheek. Beards were a family tradition. Everyone since Grandpa Henry needed to grow theirs.

Anthony’s was trimmed and thin. Austin’s was long enough to hide his neck. Their fathers was thick, white and short. Facial hair was a big thing for the Kennedy’s.

Anthony looked up at the clock. His blue eyes burned holes into the clock hands as he watched it tick. His impatience was growing with his obscenely talented little brother who seemingly couldn't tell time. He pursed his lips and decided to give Austin one more minute.

“Tony,” he heard his brother call for him.

“Coming...” Anthony said as he walked to the bedroom. As he rounded the corner he noticed Austin’s eyes were red and his face blotchy. He was sitting on his suitcase and trying to zip it close simultaneously.

“I can’t--” he trailed off and jumped off the suitcase in frustration. “It won’t close,” he grumbled. "It would fu--"

“It’s alright,” Anthony stated calmly, cutting his brother off. It was suddenly clear to him. Austin wasn’t being his normal aloof, careless self. He was nervous. “I’ll get it. Just go get your shoes on.”

“We’re going to be late,” Austin said as he sprinted out of the room. Anthony, with a half smirk on his face, tucked the clothes that was poking out of the suitcase and zipped it up with relative ease. His brother cared about something. He cared a lot.

It was refreshing.

Anthony walked out with the suitcase in his hand and saw his brother trying desperately to tie his shoe.

A memory came into his mind and for a moment he was engulfed. A six year old Austin not being able to tie his shoe in front of the double doors at his elementary. Anthony walked up, put his hands on his brothers back. “What are you doing, kiddo?”

“It came untied on the bus...” Austin whined. “I can’t-- I can’t get it,” he suddenly sobbed. Anthony had bent down, wiped his brothers tears and tied his blue converse shoe laces.

“There we go. All better.”

Austin wiped his nose on his arm. “Don’t tell Dad, okay?”

Anthony smiled and nodded. “It’s between you and me. Now get in there.”

Anthony shook his head and shaking himself out of the moment. He looked at the shoe rack by the door and picked up a pair of slip on dress shoes. He threw them towards Austin. “These will look nice.”

Austin took a breath, slipped off his shoes and slid into the shoes that Anthony had given him. “I think I’m ready.”
“Got your phone? Keys? Wallet?”

Austin checked his pockets and nodded.

“Let’s go.”

The ride to the train station was relatively quiet, with the exception of the sound of Austin biting his fingernails.

“Thanks for driving me,” Austin said at the stoplight a block away from the train station.

“Anytime,” Anthony said. “You’re lucky that no one in New York drives. Or else you’d be screwed.”

“It’s not like a moving there,” Austin said under his breath.

Anthony nudged Austin’s arm. “Hey,” he said forcefully. “We’re not doing this. We’re not going to pout and assume that it’s not going to happen for us. We’re going to get it.”

“Why are you saying ‘we’ like a weirdo? It’s just me. It’s my dream. Not yours. And when I fuck up, it’s my fault. All mine.” Austin’s chest was noticeably rising and falling as he shouted this.

Anthony whacked Austin on the back of his head. “Are you on crack? Yes, it’s all you. But, all of your paintings are all you. And they are superb. They’re going to love you. When it all works out, that’ll be all your fault too.”

“How do you know it’s going to work out?” Austin said, his voice still loud. “I’m not good enough.”

Anthony pulled into the closest spot to the train station and looked over at his brother, his eyes soft. “You’re great. Your stuff is amazing. You’re going to do amazing. Believe in yourself for once.”

“And if I don’t? If it doesn't work out?” Austin asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Then it's their loss. You’ll find another gallery that wants you. It’s only a matter of time.”

Anthony opened his door signifying they were done with the conversation, as he turned to get out of the car he stopped. “I’m really proud of you,” he said to the asphalt.

Austin smirked. Those were strong words coming from his brother.

They both got out of the car. Anthony grabbed the suitcase and followed his brother to the station.

The station was loud, crowded and smelled like processed food. Austin went to the window, purchased his ticket as Anthony waited. Austin was fidgeting and nervous. It was so unlike him. Seeing his insecurities had been a huge eye opener for him. Austin wasn’t as confident as he seemed.

Austin walked back to Anthony. “This is it,” he said in one breath.

“You know we don’t believe in luck,” Anthony said. “We’re the Kennedy’s. We believe in beards and dollars signs.” Austin laughed. “You have one,” Anthony said and patted his brothers face. “Now, go get the other.”

“Thank you,” Austin said and grabbed his bag Anthony. “I’ll see you on Sunday.”

“See you Sunday.”

Ernest Hemingway was a drunk

I've always been under the impression that severe unhappiness created writers. 

This has not been my experience. The angst and fight and overall argumentative attitude that my characters have does not reflect inside of my life. In fact, when I feel the tension of an argument coming on, I go to the keyboard. I type it out. Bailey and Daniel fight until their lungs are tired. And my husband and I, we're happy. 

My characters suffer because I am happy. 

Ernest Hemingway was miserable, and a drunk, but he was an incredible writer. Should I develop addiction to create amazing works, and then be found dead in a hotel room before I'm 40? No? Okay. Fine. I'll stick to my glass of wine a night, I guess. 

I believe that unhappiness and angst draws people in, but what gets them to stay is the kind moments. The uncharacteristic moments. When people surprise you. When the hero turns dark, and when the bad guy says he's sorry. If he feels remorse even for a moment, I'm hooked. 

My name is Erin, and after four years of consistently writing, I've decided to consider myself a writer. Or an aspiring writer. I write everyday, but still feel like I'm striving to become something. Which I love. I love a challenge. I love having something to strive to. It's what makes it fun. 

All you self-publishing authors out there: what do you think? Are you happy? I'm about to go down the journey myself and I'm a little terrified. I've worked for so long on my novel, so it's kind of... heart-wrenching to see it actually play out.