It's All About Me: Website for the UnPublished Author...Yay or Nay??

It seems like the most commonly asked question about websites among us writers is: "Should I have one?" This is most often followed by: "Is it worth it?"

If you're published--got that deal, got that book *yay!!*--then the answer to those two questions is a big fat YES! Yes you should definitely have one and Yes it is most definitely worth it. You want people to find your books right? And readers will want to know what's coming next. They'll also want to know more about YOU. So Yes, Yes, Yes...an author website is a must for the published author.

But what if you're not published yet? I mean you could be in the very beginning writing stages, the *shudder* editing stages, or even *gulp* querying every agent you can....should you still have a website? I've heard lots of different opinions on this. A lot of writers claim they just don't have the time. Some even said they think it's kinda pointless when they don't have anything for people to read yet. Not anything that they're willing to let them read, anyway.

So I browsed, read, asked a lot of questions of my already published pals. What's the deal? Is it a good idea or not?

Yes.

Ok. I'll give y'all a few minutes to shake your fist in fury at the screen....Done? Fantastic. I know that's not the answer most of you were expecting. I think deep down even I was hoping to be able to write out this blog with a sweet little answer like: Nope. It's totally fine if you don't have a website. Don't even worry about it.

But really, there are some very good reasons why the answer is still yes, even for the unpublished author. The best one? Here it is:

Dress for the job you WANT. Not for the job you HAVE.

I'm sure plenty of you have heard that saying before. Unless you're me. Then you're probably kind of lost, much like I was when someone mentioned this brilliant two liner to me. I'm a writer. Any social network that I'm on will tell you this. My occupation on Facebook, Twitter, Webook, etc...?? Writer.

Do I have a job? Um, oh you mean besides writing? Haha--of course I do. I know you might like to know what that is but I'll spare you the details and just say that I can no longer think of bagels without cringing. I cry on the inside. *giggle* No, ok, not really.
But day job aside...I'm a writer.

Are you a writer?

If you are,then of course you want to connect with other writers. With readers. With bloggers, publishers, etc... You might not have a publishing deal yet. Or even an agent. But you need to act as if writing is already your career, regardless of how little time you might actually have to spend on the writing itself.

If you have Facebook, or Twitter, or Google +, or an account on any social network....First of all, if you don't, I want to know who you are! It takes a strong person to stay away. Lol...Seriously though, if you're on any of these networks, chances are you'll have a following of some sort. Big or small. Sometimes even whether you know it or not. You will.

Having a website even though you've yet to be published shows agents and publishers alike that you are serious about this writing business. Why? Because you've put forth some effort, time, and even a little money to make this website. Which means you understand the importance of author branding.

*cough* online presence (see above) *cough*


Sure, some will say creating an author website is not AS important as creating an online presence and this is true. But what's the advantage in waiting? Very little.

Of course there is a negative side to this and time seemed to be the biggest problem. It doesn't take a whole lot to get a site up and running but sometimes keeping up with it can interfere with precious writing time. Not a good idea. If anything, let your website be static. Once it's up...leave it alone. Put up your bio, your contact info, and maybe a brief FAQs page. Yes, you can update it once in awhile but until you get that awesome pub deal, you can pretty much leave it be. Remember that writing comes first. Repeat that will you? Writing. Comes. First!

If you're really against creating an author website, however, I offer a bit of advice from one of the RWA conventions I attended. RESERVE YOUR DOMAIN NAME. You don't need big bucks to do it. Skip a couple lattes. Forgo that new foundation you wanted so badly. But get that domain name before someone else does.

So what do you think about author websites now? Think it's worth it if you're not published yet? Let the debate begin!

Happy Writing!
Ree Vera

Bits O'Wisdom: Author Branding

Hey y’all! It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to put a blog post up. I have no excuse to give except that life tried very hard to swallow me whole. Good news? I won. =)


Alright, so the last time I posted one of these Bits O’Wisdom, I mentioned author branding. And next week we’re going to cover WEBSITES. *awaits screams of horror*

But for this week, let’s talk about author branding. What is a brand? And how can an author be one?

A brand is basically the essence or promise of what will be delivered or experienced.

What does your name promise your readers?

I know! I can already picture the looks on some of y’alls faces. You’re probably groaning at the screen and saying: “I just want to finish this book! I don’t want to worry about creating a public image or building a following. Heck, I don’t have time!” Or maybe: “Once I get an agent…then, then I’ll start on the whole branding thing. Right now I need to focus on writing.”

Writing should always be your main priority. Always. And yes, creating a public image can be time consuming—I’ve recently begun to realize just how much time it takes. About the same amount of time I DON’T have. Publishing can be and is a slow business. I mean, first you have to write the book. That usually takes a while. Then send out query letters in an effort to snag an agent. That can take even longer than writing your book. So it’s easy to say you’ll worry about building your public image/following later. And that’s perfectly okay. There is no rule saying that all writers must do this before getting published, but what happens when you do get published?

Anything that you’ve attached your “name” to—is now your brand.

This means Twitter, Facebook, Google +, writing groups, blogs, websites, etc….

You may not have all of these but all of you have at least one. So…what if you’ve spent all your time posting pictures of your dog? Or blogging about how cute you think pink elephants are? Tweeting about the cramps from hell….?? Guess that leads to the next question:

What Does Your Brand Say About You?

Or better yet…What SHOULD it say about you? I know you’ve heard that you should have a target audience. If you write romance, target the romantics. If you write YA—your posts and tweets should be teen friendly. The problem with this is that it does put a limit on who you can reach and what you can say. It stuffs you into a genre box. Stifles the real…You. Of course, if you write horror you’re not going to be tweeting about how adorable fluffy yellow kittens are. Just like if your audience is YA, you shouldn’t be cussing like a sailor. Obviously. You want to be relatable but the genre you write in is only half the package. Your brand is your name and it should be YOU. No, you don’t want to scare away your target audience but you should be yourself. Readers/fans will want to get to know you as a person…not just the writer.

Now I love Twitter. If you follow me, you know that tweeting is more like an obsession than a way to build a following—haha—and I tweet about everything. Anything from snippets of my writing to rants about how the washer exploded. (that’s not totally a joke) My genre is romance, but for me to tweet only sappy, sonnet like nonsense would not be true to the real me. I’m a total romantic…but I’m also a normal person that real life happens to. My followers are not only writers but people who can relate to the things I talk about and enjoy my sense of humor. Deranged though it may be sometimes.

Not everyone you come in contact with via social networks will buy your books. That’s probably not gonna happen. But some will. Even those who may not like the genre you write in. Why? Because there’s something about YOU they like. I’ve had people tell me they don’t read romance—at all—but they’re willing to buy my writing when it comes out because they like and can relate to me. And if they’ve got things in common with me…well what the heck? Maybe romance isn’t so bad either.

When it comes to creating a name for yourself…author branding…be yourself and not who you think you SHOULD be. Don’t make it all about your book either. Creating a website under the title of your first book is not a good idea. But we’ll cover that next week.

So…how are you creating an author brand? What do you think comes to mind when people see your name? How do you want to be perceived as an author?

Featured Author: D.F. Matthews

FTLOW: So tell us about yourself.

D.F. Matthews: Hmmm...Not a subject I am very fond of. Where shall I start? Well, as you can tell from my author picture there I am an enigma wrapped in mystery dressed in a riddle with the socks of a puzzle and a bow tie of blatant deception and a top hat of wonderment. I'm not at liberty to speak to much as I don't want to place those I care for at risk. You see those who lack imagination desire to capture me and use my brain as a buffet...much like the ones in Vegas where you can get king crab legs for four dollars and a subsequent case of food poisoning later on.

FTLOW: What rituals do you have before you write?

D.F. Matthews: Music has been a great catalyst for me personally...although I guess it can't be impersonally for me, can it? Anyhoo, I suppose my music selections are as diverse as my writing is. From Jay-Z to Kings of Leon to Dream Theater to Bjork to Danny Elfman and many more that I choose not to mention at the moment. I switch stories the same way from evil, not female hamsters bent on world domination to being trapped in my own mind with your emotions as actual people and monsters to one eyed rabbits who takes on the role of protector for a girl who embodies the soul of a distant world's deceased princess. But then again I may have said too much already. *shiftily looks over non-descript male or female shoulder*

FTLOW: What inspired you to write?

D.F. Matthews: A lifetime of reading I guess. I read anything I could get my hands on and it proceeded to warp my spongy mind. My library growing up wasn't well stocked, but reading material was thrust upon me all the time. I read entire set of encyclopedias, and every Sunday I read the funny pages. I loved Calvin and Hobbes!! Something about a boy living out his life in pure imagination that...appeals to me. Wonder why? Hmmm...mysteries. From there it went to R.L. Stine, then Stephen King and Dean Koontz, with comics mixed in-between. I was also influenced by a lot of movies. I grow up on The Godfather, Aliens, Terminator and Star Wars all at the tender age of seven. Yes...demented...but then I suppose I've said too much.

FTLOW: When did you begin to write?

D.F. Matthews: I started writing at the age of nine. Nothing terribly eloquent, just a fake newscast set in the land of Looney Toons. You know, like police being on the manhunt for the roadrunner because he dropped yet another boulder onto the poor creature’s head. Don’t judge me I was nine. However I’ve always felt compelled to write. Too much Seuss and television I say. Not that that’s a bad thing.

FTLOW: What genre do you write? Why that one?

D.F. Matthew: Is whatever a genre?...No? Oh well, then. I write for everyone who enjoys a good story. But I suppose if had to narrow it down, for the moment I write for children, middle grade, and young adult. Still I want to create something everyone can enjoy from the parent reading the bedtime story to their children and the whole family who wants to dive into a new adventure.

FTLOW: Is there anywhere people can find your work?

D.F. Matthews: Again I really shouldn't give too much information away, but a deal is a deal and a weasel is a weasel except when it masquerades as a duck....but that's a different story. You can find my work on this blog with Plan 100. Also on WeBook. Not mention I’m about to start a new project on Figment Fiction. But the closest thing to the actual me is this handsome little doppelganger who makes a habit of posting my whereabouts and writings on Twitter and Facebook.

FTLOW: Thanks so much for your time! It's always great to meet fellow aspiring authors and thanks to everyone for reading. Be sure to check out the links above and get to know D.F. Matthews a little more.

D.F. Matthews: Well I’ve had a delightful time. So much so that I’ll entrust you with one of my favorite chapters from Beyond Here. Please, whatever you do, do not post this on the internet…unless it is for For The Love Of Writing. I have a fondness for it.

Now who is going to unstrap me from this chair? Hello? Anyone? Oh boy.

*************************************

Beyond Here: Chapter Eight

The woods to the land of Dread were as sparse and sickly as their exiled lord. Skeletal blood red trees stretched to the sky like hands reaching beyond the grave. A jaundiced moon watched over the land, casting ghastly shadows over the land. Subtle fog rolled in, mingling with the cool air.

Anger thought the crumbling ruins of the Nevagains had more charm. The sound of their pursuers nipping at their heels only added to the dreary mystique. It was more than the howling and barking; now it was the sound of their padded feet thundering along the ground. Anger was sure he heard the globs of spittle hitting the darkened soil as well.

Fear took the point on this one, this being his land it only made sense. It was hard to make out his inky figure amongst the shadows. Anger's brother strode along with a childlike glee in his step. This wouldn't be a problem if his moves weren't so noisy.

"Fear, you are a fool," he snarled. "Are you trying to bring every beast in Mother here?"

"I'm trying to hurry. Being overtaken by those things is not on my list of things to do."

Fear continued on his noisy path. For someone so frail he sure he sure made enough noise for someone ten times his bulk. With each crunch of dead leaves or a fallen branch Anger cringed. Why oh why must he be made to suffer this ignorance.

Highlighted by the yellowed moon's glare the outline of Fear's castle came to fruition through the trees. A grin played at the edges of Anger's canine mouth. Through the dark one could just make out Fear's grin as well.

"See? No problems." Fear said as he turned toward his brother.

That smile crept off his face only to be replaced with a look of his namesake. Anger halted, curved horns tingling at the sudden silence. No leaves crunched or mad howls or pounding of feet. The land was still as death.

Anger looked at the outline of the castle once more. It was still far enough away that making a mad dash in its direction would mean his demise. He sneered at the unseen lurking around him. His fists balled up and his teeth gritted together as he peered through the dark.

To his left the trees waved, and to his right the moon bleached shadows cried out a warning. He tensed his muscles, readying for an-

"Brother!" Fear called.

Steam billowed from Anger's nostrils. How could his brother be this dimwitted and still be alive? No one with any common sense would-

"Brother! We have to go while there is still time."

"Hush your mouth you ignorant whelp!" He didn't mean to shout but his rage was getting the better of him. His vision was turning red.

"My castle is right here."

"Nytemares are upon us half-wit."

"But Anger I think-"

That was all Fear managed to get out before a blur of motion swept him away. His pained screams filled the vacant darkness. Anger unleashed a beastly howl, more out of his own frustration than from the loss of his brother.

He turned quickly and saw a faint glimpse of a Nytemare darting through the trees. The shadow the beast cast was enormous. It had been sometime since the Nytemares and Demoni were loose. Their containment was one of the best things Mother ever did in Anger's opinion. He knew he was savage, but the Nytemares were on another realm.

A growl came from behind and Anger turned to see. Off in the distance his narrowed yellow eyes saw the monsters, three in all, stalking him. From their perch the Nytemares licked their chops. They stood eight feet tall on their four paws. Their flesh was exposed like newly hatched chicks, a muddled pink with protruding purple veins peeking under the meat. A spider like cluster of dark eyes studied Anger. Their feet were like human hands but with dark talons that gleamed in the light. Green globs of saliva gushed from a maw of devilish razor sharp teeth.

Much to his delight their masters, the Demoni, were nowhere to be seen. Still three rouge Nytemares were keeping him from the safety of the castle.

Nothing but trees were around him, not even a rock to beat them back. His fists and his horns were his only means of defense, and they had to do. Almost instinctively he faded into the shadows around him.

The Nytemares rushed in moving with the speed and power of jungle beasts. A wild hunger was in their eyes as they screeched and howled. One lunged at Anger. With speed that even surprised him Anger launched a hefty fist at the monster. His fist caught the Nytemare square in the jaw, and sent it sprawling yards away. Another Nytemare lunged and he was able to sidestep it. The final one however struck gold raking him across the chest.

It felt like fire coursing through his veins. The pain sent him to one knee, clutching at the wound. He had no time to dwell on the gaping scratches as the Nytemares were circling back. Quickly he rose to his feet letting his wounds soak in the yellow moonlight.

A Nytemare charged at full speed. Anger leaned his head forward at the last moment, his horns smashing against the savage creature's skull. He swore he heard a crack. There was no time to worry about his horns, the job was done. A Nytemare lay dazed at his feet. Two came from his sides, mouths open. He snatched the bloated purple tongue out of the Nytemare on his right. The tongueless Nytemare writhed along the ground, while the other sunk its claws into Anger's back.

Anger howled. He reached behind him and tossed the Nytemare off of him. Light blue liquid seeped from the newly opened wounds. He dropped the still wriggling tongue and went after the yowling monster. The wounded beast clawed at his missing tongue while unleashing savage cries. Anger clamped down on the Nytemare's thrashing hind legs. His back bellowed as he flung the monster into another.

He didn't know how he was still standing. His wounds were deep and raw. But he had to keep moving or end up devoured like his brother. Damn Fear...he could have at least been bait.

The dazed Nytremare staggered to his feet, looking none too happy about being put on his backside. It hurled a furious battle cry as it glared at Anger. The Nytemare clawed at the ground, spittle foaming around curled lips. Anger matched the movement ready to take the fight to the monster. As he did his horns ached as though they remembered what happened before.

Anger charged first and the Nytemare came charging toward him. Every part of Anger felt as if it had been set aflame. He had to keep moving. The castle wasn't far. His wounds could heal later if only he could reach those dank doors.

The Nytemare's jaw unhinged wide enough to swallow him whole. At the very last moment Anger launched himself into the air. His beefy hand slammed on top of the monster its head; slamming it into the ground, mouth first. There was a sickening, yet satisfying, crunch as the cavernous jaw shattered and flesh tore as it taut skin struggled to contain what had been its mouth.

No time to gloat in the minor victory, the beast was merely slowed for a moment. The other two were struggling to get to their feet. He had a clear, if brief, passage to the doors. Survival pushed him forward, making him ignore his pain that told him to quit. Those yellow eyes saw the bone littered steps, and the wrought iron doors. Cawing crows ushered in his presence as he took the steps two and three at a time.

Before he knew it he was at the door. His body crashed against the metal, yet it didn't yield to his power. Horror gripped his black heart. It couldn't be! Why would an abandoned castle be locked? He screamed at the moon, and then pounded his fist into the door. Each blow sounded like a car wreck. 'Open! Open!' he shouted, his voice growing more desperate every time.

From behind him he heard the Nytemares getting organized. They didn't have to rush; their prey was accounted for. They'd savor this meal as they tore at his flesh bit by bit keeping him alive for the entire session. Perhaps they would start at his eyes or maybe his chest, possibly they'd gnaw on his horns until he cried for mercy that would never come.

Anger turned to the stalking Nytemares who converged at the base of the steps. There was no escaping, but he'd make sure they knew they were in a fight. Their claws tapped on the stone steps as they climbed them one at a time. Anger clapped his fist together, egging the monsters forward.

Then...

He heard a loud click and suddenly he was flying backward. After the initial shock he slammed the door in the face of the Nytemares. Heart thudding against his wounded chest he saw his savior.

"I told you not to worry," said Fear holding a flickering candle.

*************************************************************************************

Sunday Poetry: Wars

by Austin Ray

Wars.
What are they good for?
Why do we want more and more?
We try to free nations.
We end up leaving broken relations.
The bombs that fall,
murder and devastate all.
The children and hurt
Left with nothing
Not even shirts.
The regimes are cruel.
They have strict absolute rule.
They must must quit.
I'm sick of this shit.

by Austin Ray

Book Review: In The Shadows

To be wrong about someone can be disappointing, but what do you do when that person is someone you love and thought you knew everything about? That is what Giselle Bergman must find out in Julieanne Lynch's book In the Shadows. The author introduces us to Giselle right from the start and it is not hard for the reader to connect with her. At eighteen years old Giselle is pretty much your average teenager and one nearly everyone can relate to. Regardless of how imperfect her family may be, Giselle really has a lot going for her. Her family loves her, she has a popular boyfriend, and is best friends with a boy who would do anything for her. What more could a girl ask for? It is soon discovered that things are not always what they seem. That some people are not who they appear to be. And that no matter how normal her life may seem at the moment, high school romance drama included, Giselle's life is about to change very suddenly. Catapulted into a life she never asked for or even believed existed, Giselle soon finds herself submerged in a world made from the stuff of nightmares and forced into making decisions that will change the course of her future in drastic ways. Her once ordinary life is filled with chaos and betrayal and a new bloodlust that rages through her constantly. She is also forced to realize that if she wants to survive in this new life of hers, Giselle will have to awaken the darkest part of her. A powerful part of herself that she never knew existed. Until now.

Typical and washed up are what usually come to mind when you hear the word vampire. It is easy to see how this could be considering the latest craze and all the hype that has come along with it. After reading In the Shadows by author Julieanne Lynch, however, one cannot bring themselves to utter such words. Readers are instantly aware of the darkness that almost flows off the pages. We are beckoned and enticed by the author who sucks us deep into her characters' world to make us see and feel as they do. The author's simple and down to earth style is refreshing. There are no dressed up words to take away from the story but there is an elegance in her writing that speaks or itself. In the Shadows is a fantastic read that will leave you breathless the entire way through. There is not one page of disappointment in this book except the fact that it ends and leaves you thirsting for more. This is one book you do not want to miss.

 

Buy it now!

 

On Amazon and on Smashwords!!

Sunday Poetry: Surge

by: lilith

I want to touch your immortal soul,

caress your dark heart,

drink from your well,

walk on your waves,

be submerged by your sea.

Should I dip my toes

carefully, cautiously?

Or plunge fully,

fiercely, freely;

without care should you

spit me upon the sands

or swallow me in your surge?

My wish is to hear your voice;

in my head,

flowing thru my ears,

thrumming against my palms

as I embrace your bones,

nudging your conciousness

with my need.

Yet dare I make contact,

crashing myself into

your existence,

shaking your tree

til the fruits plummet into my grasp?

I rage with insecurity,

once blown apart

by impetuous desire,

my heart no longer sure

what is lie and what is truth.

So should I suffice

with silence;

only my verse to express

my wonderment,

and be content with the presence

that haunts me ever

in my dreams?

Copyright ©2011 Spiritwind Studios Ltd

by: lilith

Sunday Poetry: E

by Austin Ray

E

I'm sick of the corruption

The fighting and wars

I just want some peace for my children who

Will walk along these shores

Why can't we just be?

We can't live happily

Our kids won't soon forget

All the devastation

All those who wept

The shores are littered

For what?

For cash?

We burn, we burn, we burn

Yet people never learn

We are polluting let and right

There is no end in sight

What happened to compassion

Understanding and trust?

What happened to all the good things which

Have been left out to rust?

I cry for my generation

This overly consuming nation

We need to do something

Before we end up with

Nothing

by Austin Ray

Saturday Shorts: House of Broken Dolls

by lilith

"You really shouldn't break your dolls."

"But I want them to look just like me."

"You're not broken, Christina, you're whole, like I am."

Libby stopped writing on her tablet and smiled at the eight-year-old, always enchanted by her long, chestnut hair and amber eyes. Her fingers twirled her pen thoughtfully, the barrel made of thick glass in alternating stripes of brown, yellow, sea green, and white - the colors Christina said reminded her of a faerie forest.

Christina sighed and continued to mangle her dolls, brushing the silken black hair of a severed head with a brush made out of the same striped glass. "I so love the stripes, Mommy."

"I know." Libby's eyes welled up, but she fought back the burning tears. "I carry a piece of you around with me wherever I go."

In the small room there was a vanity filled with objects of striped glass - hairpins, rings, beads, bracelets- as well as macabre mobiles of pieces of dolls hanging from the ceiling, small shards of glass attached, making them tinkle like chimes in the breeze of the fan. Libby's heart wrenched as she watched her daughter, knowing that dawn was swiftly approaching, knowing that time was not on her side.

"Come here." Libby streched out her arms, her hands flexing as Christina ran to her. She grabbed her into her embrace, holding tight while the tears and sobs finally broke free."I don't want to lose you again, stay with me, please. I miss you."

"I miss you, too, Mommy, but you know I have to go." Christina whined, slipping from Libby's embrace, the once beautiful child now laying among the dolls with shattered limbs, bone and blood where skin should be, matted hair and fleshless face. "See, I told you I was broken like them."

Libby's shriek of anguish rang through the empty air as morning peeked through the blinds, her child fading before her, leaving nothing but damaged dolls and mutilated memories. Dashing the pen against a wall, she barely flinched when the small shards bit her cheek, trickles of blood mixing in with her tears.

Within an instant she was composed, rising and picking up the fragments to take them her workbench, laying them among the others along with her drimmel and filament. She would see the glassblower again tomorrow, take him more ashes which he at first had thought to question, yet she paid him handsomely and besides, the ashes lent the glass an ethereal irridescence. In the meantime, she would methodically pick up the pieces like she always did, singing to break the suffocating silence.

Don't you know
I've lost my way
can't find my way
Don't you know
I've lost my way

But I'll try and I'll try
until I die....

*lyrics from Ba da da da, copyright Angel'n Irons*

by lilith

Sunday Poetry: And The World Always Turns/She Was a Dandelion Seed in the Wind

by: Tomás Ó Cárthaigh

And the World Always Turns

She walks somewhere I do not know

And I wish I was there

But love in time I did not show

That I for her did care.

It matters not in lifes scheme

That in love with her was I

That of her I did often dream

But to say so was too shy,

So I have lost and that is life

My heart with loves pains burns

She will be someone elses wife

And the world always turns.

And I surely with the coming of time

Another I shall find

Worthy to tributes write in rhyme

But still there in my mind

The lady of the sweetest smile

Who exuded such grace

For whom Id have crawled many a mile

Will always hold a place.

Others she meets she may welcome

Other men sometimes she spurns

She'll know not the love of where Im from

And the world always turns.

She Was A Dandelion Seed in the Wind

Once upon a time in a garden

There was a seed that the wind blew

Dancing, like a ballerina in the air

Up and down and round it threw

In a dance that was enchanting

The parachuted passenger seed of dandelion

In the flamenco passion of the wind

Looking like a creation devine

And chance would tell where it lay

And time would tell where it grew

Such a seed was she blowing into my life

That girl from Italy I once knew.

Sometimes you have to catch a seed

To hold it close and lose it never

But I let her blow away

And so lost her forever

I will never forget her smile

Though I forget her last name

That dandelion seed in my life

That I failed to plant and tame.

All dandelion seeds are the same they say

And true as that may be

I knew in my heart there was the chance

She was the one for me.

But if the garden of my heart

Was good for her to grow

I never had the courage to ask

And so, shall never know.

So when you see a dandelion seed you desire

Grasp it in your hand

And blow its parachute away

With love... strand by strand.

Or you will be like me

Full of regret because

A wind blew her over the garden wall of my life

And I lost a love that never was.

by: Tomás Ó Cárthaigh

Sunday Poetry: Stronger Than They Say/The Man I Am Today

by: Matthew Alexander Rodriguez



Stronger Than They Say

If you've found yourself afraid and you thought it best to run

If you've found the world untamed and you're kept from all the fun

I hope these words comfort you and you see all your dreams through

I hope these words comfort you and your wishes all come true

Because you're stronger than they say and your courage grows each day

And every breath you take, every step you make is everything but a so-called mistake

Yeah, every fear you face, every life embraced is nothing less than a scar replaced

Because you're stronger than they say

Through every road or bend your family and friends will stand by you till the end

Yeah, every time you take a stand, every time you lend a hand is a sign you understand

Because you're stronger than they say

If you've ever felt ashamed to the point of breaking down

If you've ever been betrayed and emptiness is all you found

Please understand you're not alone and it's all right to shed some tears

Please understand you're not alone and in time the skies will clear

Because you're stronger than they say and your courage grows each day

And every breath you take, every step you make is everything but a so-called mistake

Yeah, every fear you face, every life embraced is nothing less than a scar replaced

Because you're stronger than they say

Through every road or bend your family and friends will stand by you till the end

Yeah, every time you take a stand, every time you lend a hand is a sign you understand

Because you're stronger than they say

.

The Man I Am Today

For all the hurt I caused you and the worry I infused

I apologize from my heart for the comfort I refused

For all the tears in your eyes and all the words unsaid

I apologize from my heart for ever wishing I were dead

For all the times I broke you and the tales I told untrue

I apologize from my heart for and I'm glad my mom is you

Because you shaped me by your courage and you shaped me by your strength

Yeah, you shaped me by your smiles and you shaped me by your fears

Yeah, you shaped the man am today

Because you shaped me from your heart and you shaped me from your soul

For all the days that I'd run and the privileges abused

I apologize from my heart for ever making you confused

For all the fights that we had and all the silent bends

I apologize from my heart for telling all my friends

For all the scars that I hid and the times I hated you

I apologize from my heart and I'm glad my dad is you

Because you shaped me by your courage and you shaped me by your strength

Yeah, you shaped me by your smiles and you shaped me by your fears

Yeah, you shaped the man am today

Because you shaped me from your heart and you shaped me from your soul

Whoa, you shaped me from your knowledge and you shaped me from your dreams

From the moment I was born to the first steps I walked forth

Whoa, you shaped me from your knowledge and you shaped me from your dreams

From this moment till my death you'll shape me forevermore

Because you shaped me from your hearts and you shaped me from your souls

Yeah, you shaped the man I am today

by Matthew Alexander Rodriguez

Featured Author: Matt Gannon

June's Featured Author is Matt Gannon!


FTLOW: So, Matt, tell us a little about yourself.

Matt: I'm a young guy from a small place over-run by farmers and hunters. I neither farm or hunt. I do, however, like exploring abandoned houses, writing, reading, photography, and spending time with my friends (cliche, I know, but I'd be nowhere without my friends). I love nature, but I love technology too. I love to read anything by Nicholas Sparks, but in general, I will read anything. Although, I'm not one of those people that sticks a book out till the bitter end. If it sucks, I drop it and move on. Music is a must for my writing process, and typically, so is coffee.
Apart from writing for a living, I would love to own a cafe/bookstore. Or, I would like to start up my own bar. Above all, my biggest wish is to be happy with the one I love, and to be somebody who matters.

 
FTLOW: Why do you write.
 
Matt: The writing craft is a path that can lead a person many places, all in the pursuit of something, whether it's the pursuit of self-satisfaction, or maybe money. I wish there was some way to summarize why I write, or some witty one liner I could use here. There isn't. I write because it gives me a sense of accomplishment that nothing else does. I want fame and fortune because I am vain, but aren't we all? I want to immortalize my existence in the words that I write. I want speak to the world and have them listen. I want to reach out and change people. I think most of all, I just want to be somebody. Writing is my way of becoming who I want to be.
 
 
FTLOW: What inspired you to write?
 
Matt: When I was in Grade 11, I read the poem "Ulysses" by Lord Alfred Tennyson (http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ulysses-2/), and it altered my path entirely. Up until that point, I wanted to design video games. I had did a bit of writing prior to that, and I sucked. But I loved it. When I read that poem, I realized that writing is what I was meant to do. If I were to design video games, I'd be doing the same mundane task every day, and I wouldn't truly be able to to reach people like I would if I became a successful writer. So, it was decided.
 
 
FTLOW: What genre do you write in?
 
Matt: Romance. I feel in my element with this genre, and love is a very large part of my life, so it makes sense for me.
 
 
FTLOW: What gets you in the mood to write? Music? Movies?
 
Matt: Every time I talk about Nicholas Sparks, or see his books, see a commercial for one of his movies, or anything like that, I get the urge to write. He is one of the people who inspires me most.
I am inspired very easily because I see things differently than most people, which is both a blessing and a curse.
Music is always a good enhancement to my writing. It allows me to channel my emotions and thoughts into my words.


FTLOW: How long have you been writing?
 
Matt: Almost 3 years.
 
 
FTLOW: Why should ppl read your work? Do you have a distinct flair/style?
 
Matt: I'm a different kind of guy, and it makes for a different kind of writing. I'm passionate... about everything. I'm interesting. I have heart and ambition. This is my style, or flair. I shouldn't have to convince people to read my work. If it's worth reading, it will be read.
 
 
FTLOW: What are you currently working on?
 
Matt: I've been maintaining a blog off an on for a couple years, and after writing my first novel (A steaming pile of crap, I might add lol), I moved on to my second novel, Flow. I also work for a newspaper here in my home town, so I write for them.
 
 
FTLOW: Is there a place ppl can view some of your writing/work?
 
Matt: My non-fiction ramblings can be found on my blog Matt Gannon. I don't post my fiction.
 
 
FTLOW: How can people get in contact with you?
 
Matt: I can be reached through Facebook and Hotmail: ma_ga366@hotmail.com
 
Thanks Matt for sharing about yourself and why you love to write what you do. And thanks to all of you for reading, make sure to check out the links to his page and blog! You can also view one of his poems under Poetry N Shorts entitled Though They Hold Me.

Bits O'Wisdom: Social Networks--TWITTER

**Please know that I am talking about you as a writer. If you are trying to start a fanbase or keep one..published or unpublished. NOT if you are just a twitter junkie who likes to use it for personal use. Just wanted to make that clear before I get hate comments**

Thus begins a Social Network frenzy! This Wednesday it is all about Twitter.

Oh, you know what it is. Even if you don't have one, you'd be hard pressed to live in this world and not hear about Twitter. I am the least technologically savvy person ever...I'm sure...but even I have succumb to this social network beast. :) Oh yes. It took me a while to get the hang of it but now that I know...I'm so addicted. You can find me on Twitter most of the time and I love it! I'm not ashamed to admit that.

I am a Twitterholic--hear me roar!

But as all other social networks, there are wrong ways to do it.

So yes, there are wrong ways. I have scoured the internet for them  (the Do's and Don'ts) asked fellow Twitter-friends, and added my own personal opinions. I've narrowed them down to 10.

1.) Don't NOT put anything in the 'About Me' section...
Um yeah. No. If you have nothing there, then how am I supposed to know you and I are compatible? I don't. Exactly! Are you a fellow writer? Are you an artist? Actor? Blogger? Mom? Dad? Loving grandma? I have no idea. So why should I follow you?

2.) Don't protect your tweets....
You might have a good reason to do this, but if you are trying to build and/or keep a fanbase--there is NO good reason to do this. Nothing turns away a follower faster than a person who privatizes their tweets. I mean, what is it you are tweeting that I can't see? Really?

3.) Don't NOT respond to @ messages...
Ok. So you're not Conan O'Brien or Kim K, or the friggin Rock. You also have the option on Twitter to check out who has @ you lately. Therefore you should respond accordingly. Seriously guys, followers are always overjoyed when someone they follow tweets them back. Celebrity status or not. You might not be there yet but you know what? You WILL be there someday. So start now. And don't ever lose that personability.

4.) Don't just promote yourself/book/site/etc...
You are not an infomercial. So don't imitate them. It's perfectly fine to advertise your book/blog/etc...I mean, that is why you are on this social network right? Durr. But when EVERY tweet is about just that--you are going to drive ppl away. Same thing with ONLY promoting your stuff (book/blog/etc). There a LOT of people who do this. Mainly because they've been told that they should be on social networks such as Twitter, but then they only do that promotional tweet. The 'Once Every Two Month' tweet. My book is coming out soon! My book is on sale! But then they disappear and aren't heard from until the next release date.

5.) Don't Direct Message new followers...
Nothing makes followers more nervous--or just annoyed--than someone who DM's them saying: Thanks for following and please check out my website/book/etc..at boring-my-butt-doesn't-care-.com. LOL. Just saying...

6.) Don't constantly be negative or hatefull...
Ok. As I have written about before--venting is good. But you need to know when and where it belongs. It's just fine at times but if that is all you are tweeting about then you really need to rethink your approach.

7.) Don't just follow everyone who follows you....
I know you want to be nice and stuff but really? Can you really follow 10k followers? Kudos if you can! But realistically, it's just not possible. While most celebrities have thousands if not millions of followers, it doesn't mean that they are engaging with anyone. They could just be in to it for the promotion. So I'm telling you--don't just follow anyone and everyone who follows you.

8.) Don't only Tweet or reTweet inspirational quotes...
Life is not a pocket of sunshine so don't make it seem like that.

9.) YES be personable and approachable...
We're not perfect. Our lives are not always glamorous. So what makes you think your readers want to read such tweets? They don't! They would much rather see real, every day people tweeting about thier lives. Personable. Make sure you are someone your followers can relate to.

10.) YES to the lists!...
Lists are a great way to select a great group of your followers whom you can follow yourself, while still following X-amount of other followers in the other group. Lists can be used for only your best followers at first, but as time goes on, adding anyone else in (lets say a new follower who has a deep connection w/the main hero or heroine in your story) your followers group can be added as easily as typing her name in the message bos.


We are authors. We want people to buy our books, read our blogs. So let's not alienate them. :)

Make sure you follow us! :D

Madelaine Bauman @MadBauman
Raven Clark @ravenclark1
D.F. Matthews @dfmatthews32
Minerva (Ree Vera) @ReeVera7

Happy Writing!

~Ree

Sunday Poetry: Love Letter

by: Lucy R.

When you feel like you are drowning

And don’t know for what you live

Know that you can do the taking, and it’s my love that I give

When the voices fill the silence

With their lies and absolutes

I will rescue you, my dear, with dreams and wilder truths

So let them say you can’t fly

I see the light in your eyes

Sometimes you felt, like what’s the use

There is no hope of love for you

Just a sad routine, and healing scars

But you keep sight on that bright star

And in time you’ll see, what I just knew

You were meant to win more than you lose

For every piece, of broken heart

Has led my way to where you are

When you feel like those who listen

Just don’t seem to understand

Every hope that you will speak, I hold it in my hand

When the riddle you with speeches

Of how your list of faults is long

I will take you in my arms, and show you that they’re wrong

Don’t get down, don’t get sad

They don’t know what we have

In this tight embrace, feel my heart melt

It’s how you know that all is well

Don’t be afraid, to let it go

I’ll be the one that you can show

Every single tear, every beaming smile

You can rest your heart from all those miles

I won’t ever leave, I won’t say no

I’ll be the one you call your own

by: Lucy R.

Saturday Shorts: Bedtime Ritual

by: Michelle4Laughs

Smiling at his reflection in the mirror, Jorge raised his toothbrush. Brooks and Dunn blared on the radio as he slid in socks and not much else across the floor, toothbrush flying.

Marguerite came in and wet her toothbrush. After applying toothpaste, she pointedly held the tube high and shut the lid before putting it in the drawer and closing it with one hip. Then she spun the dial on the radio passing Lady Gaga and stopping at a Nickleback classic. Brushing away, she closed her eyes and absorbed the love song with a sigh.

Jorge frowned in disgust before reaching around her and returning the station to its origin.

Toothpaste running down her chin, Marguerite’s eyes popped open. She twitched the dial back and then blocked the radio with her body.

Jorge released his toothbrush to attack the ticklish spot along her ribs.

Spraying toothpaste, Marguerite ducked wildly away from him and, still giggling, spat in the sink.

He caught her in a hug from behind, bending to place a wet kiss on one bare shoulder. Their eyes met in the mirror. Smiling, Jorge raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Marguerite’s own eyes sparkled as she switched off the radio.

by: Michelle4Laughs

Sunday Poetry: Burning Bridges

by: Madelaine Bauman

Teetering on eggshells again and again,

Skating on the blades of lost opportunity and broken trust

I’m just waiting for one of us to slip and fall

We’ve tripped each other long enough

But you’re never satisfied with just bruising an ego

You want to rip out dreams by their roots too.

The roaring of blood in my ears

Is like the cradle of the sea

This place I’ve returned to isn’t home

But, instead, a proverbial Brazen Bull

You’ve soaked the brain in petroleum

With the misdemeanours of my mind

So I must pray for my anger to still

Before verbal fireworks, from an overworked tongue

Push me over the edge, into the fire.

I’ve slowly blazed trails through my subconscious

That you will never find

The map is lost, though I’ve tried to give you a hand

You slapped it away, determined to reach the endpoint

And, instead, I watched, as you carved a path of destruction

Trying to cross a bridge I’d already set on fire. 

Bits O'Wisdom: Venting

There will come a time when something pisses you off. Whether it's a bad review, mean critique, or a rejection letter you don't feel you deserved. Anger and resentment will boil beneath the surface until you can't hold it in any longer.
Then what happens?
Explosion!
Oh yeah. Big time.
Which is fine. There is a time for everything and that includes venting. Stometimes you just gotta let it out. It helps you feel better. Well, it certainly helps me feel better :)
But just as there is a time for everything--there is also a place for it.
WRTIERS! The internet is NOT that place.
Oh, I understand how much social networks can be. I probably enjoy twittering more than I should heh heh and I'll say pretty much anything and everything that is on my mind. From how my writing is going to what I ate for dinner the night before. And yeah, at times when I'm having a dumpy day I'll let everyone know that too. I've also seen plenty of other people, writers included, tweeting or fbing about how suckish this or that was. Which is just fine. A little complaining never hurt anyone.
But there is a difference between complaining and publicly bashing someone.
For example:
"So and So is such a bastard. His reviews suck. Don't ever read them."
"I can't believe So and So made that remark about my writing! What does she know?"
"Stupid agent So and So...don't ever query them."

It's comments such as these that I'm talking about. DON'T DO IT.
Naming names is not only uncool--it makes you look unprofessional.
Yeah, I know. You may want to humiliate the ppl who 'wronged' you but in reality the only one you're going to end up humiliating is yourself.
Critics are a dime a dozen and let's face it...Crap happens.
So take it in style and be gracious.
Then grab a good buddy and (in private) let loose all those angry emotions.

May's Featured Author is AlinasVoice!

FTLOW: So Alinas, tell us a little about yourself.
AlinasVoice: I’m about as ordinary as you can get, I married my teenage sweetheart, celebrate our 20th Wedding Anniversary on 4th May and turn 43 (how OLD?) on 8th May, I have two teenage children and a job at the local village shop – it is, on the face of it, a bland and boring existence. But then… there’s the other side of me, creative me, who indulges in art, decorating cakes, and writing stories. I’ve been writing since ‘about’ the age of 12.

As a child, I was shy, spent a lot of time on my own and was far from academic - my reading and spelling skills were appalling. Then a wonderful American lady called Nancy Blake, who was a friend of my parents, offered to help me with my reading, and it proved a turning point in my life. She introduced me to Dr Seuss, sat reading with me for hours on end and then, when my love of reading turned into a love of writing; she and my English teacher were the only ones who read my stories and encouraged me to continue.

I’ve been continuing (for them and me) ever since… I just turn up the music (Rob Dougan, Muse, Take That, Owl City, The Feeling, 30 Seconds to Mars or Josh Groban, depending on my mood), shut myself away and write… mainly fantasy, with a strong hint of romance and Sci-fi elements. Oh yes, and occasionally, I write some extremely BAD poetry!



FTLOW: Why should people read your work?
AlinasVoice: You should read my work if you enjoy stories that deal with aspects of the paranormal, fantasy, sci-fi, and romance. I take my inspiration from music and the things I see around me, and I enjoy twisting facts about science and nature into people or situations that are definitely NOT ordinary and species that I would love to be real.



FTLOW: What are you currently working on?
AlinasVoice: Currently, I’m working on Lifelights, the first story in a series, about a species that was created from energy during Earth’s formation. The other books in the series (so far) are Light Revolution (formerly Butterfly Days), which is almost finished but also needs serious editing, 21st Century Light, Chemical Light and New Age Light. I hope to have Lifelights ‘Amazon ready’ for the kindle soon.



FTLOW: Is there a place where people can veiw your writings or contact you?
AlinasVoice: Some of my writing (including the BAD poetry and a few short stories) can be read by visiting www.thelifelights.co.uk (this address takes you to the latest revision of the first 8 chapters of Lifelights on WEbook, as I’m still waiting for my hubby or son, the computer geniuses, to sort out a ‘proper’ web-site!)

You can also contact me through WEbook or by e-mail at sue@thelifelights.co.uk


Thank you Alinas for spending time with us. And thank you so much for reading about this incredible aspiring author!! Make sure to check out her other writing. You won't be disappointed. :) So without further ado, here's something to get you salivating.

Lifelights – Chapter One

Slamming the front door behind her, a cold slice of toast gripped between her teeth, Mara hurtled down the driveway, slipping, as stones skittered underfoot. In the near distance, crows whirled skywards; startled by the rattling and sputtering echoing across the Yorkshire Wolds. It was, pretty much, the same as any other morning.
Late again she thought.
That was the trouble with having your own ‘private’ bus stop only a minute from your door; timing was all too easy to underestimate. Thank God the bus was such a relic, announcing its approach with plumes of black smoke, followed by the occasional cough from its exhaust; otherwise, she’d easily miss it, frequently.
The bus driver greeted her in the same way he’d done for the last four years, his mood ever cheerful, and infectious.
“Good morning pretty girl. You okay today?”
“I am Mr. Thompson… and yourself?” She asked.
A rotund man, who appeared well past retirement age, he shrugged, giving a noncommittal grunt as he took her fare.
Taking a seat, Mara sighed; this was the low point of her day, evening and the company it offered, a long way off. She leant her head against the cool glass of the window, staring out at misty, chalk strewn fields; it was an artist’s dream, hedgerows crisscrossing the landscape, adding to the impression of a giant patchwork quilt. The bus’ racket faded, becoming nothing more than background noise, the journey an oasis of calm within her day, over far too quickly.
As a white sign welcomed them to Beverton, Mother Nature succumbed to suburbia. New buildings encroached outwards all the time, further and further from the medieval heart of the town, with its twin market squares and mellow stoned Minster, in stark contrast to the glass and steel of its descendants. The Tea Cosy Café, as its name might suggest, also came from another era, its Victorian opulence a stone’s throw from the town’s major attractions; Mara knew she was lucky to be working there.

********************
Warmth and the scent of baked sugar, vanilla and cocoa greeted Jennie, the owner of the Tea Cosy, as she backed through its door, carrying a tray of bread and sandwich fillings. She looked as cool and fresh as Mara felt hot and sticky.
“Hmm, smells good darling.” She said, sniffing the air.
Possessing a near encyclopaedic knowledge of all things Beverton and a genuine interest in people, Jennie made working at the Tea Cosy a pleasure and could easily convince its customers to sit a while, eat more than they intended to and, most importantly, keep coming back. Business was booming, and Mara wondered if the owners of the franchise coffee shops, in the centre of town, knew what they were missing.
Rushed off her feet, as the demand for full English breakfasts flowed seamlessly into orders for morning coffee, the first break of the day didn’t arrive until 10.30. It was a chance for them to sit across from each other and catch up; Jennie constantly chatting, trying to coax Mara out of her shell, her employee listening in silent admiration.
It was difficult to tell, but she supposed that Jennie was about ten years older than her, taller and a natural beauty, though she played it down, a simple ponytail showcasing her elegant features. She exuded the sort of confidence that only comes with age, and to top it all, had an innate thoughtfulness that never failed to surprise, especially now. Reaching under the table, Jennie drew out a long, brightly wrapped present and an envelope, pushing them across to Mara, meeting her look of shock with a sly smile.
"I've told you before; I've got a good memory. Bet you thought you'd gotten away with it didn't you?” Jennie said, “Happy Birthday Mara."
Mara continued to stare at the present, blinking back tears. She should have expected this. Why didn’t I? She wondered; she always does remember.
"Go on then, open it. I’ll let you save the card for later, but don't do what you usually do with presents and stare at it for ten minutes, we don't have time this morning." Jennie teased, “After all, Tommy Tourist will be back before you know it, and Pious Pete and the rest of the Church council are booked in for lunch.”
After struggling with the tightly knotted ribbon, Mara carefully peeled back the wrapping paper to reveal a necklace, nestled within layers of tissue. It was something she would have picked for herself.
"Oh Jennie, it's beautiful." She said.
"I thought so." Jennie agreed, "Come on, let me put it on for you and see what it looks like. I thought it perfect for your colouring."
It scintillated against Mara’s pale skin, as Jennie fastened it in place, after handing her a mirror. Sparkling beads, in varying shades of blue, were strung onto a darker blue cord, picking up her eye colour exactly and bringing out the blue tones of her thick black hair.
"Thank you Jennie." She said, their hug feeling somewhat awkward, her emotional barrier in danger of collapsing completely now.
But then the café door opened, ending the moment, as Jennie went to get an order pad, leaving Mara to clear up their break-time debris. The man who walked in was tall with a lean frame and dark brown hair. Nothing out of the ordinary, except, for a moment, she thought she recognised something about him as she made her way back to the kitchen.
"Did you see that gorgeous man?” Jennie said, fanning herself with his order slip as she came through a minute later. “I didn't think they made them like that any more. He's enough to make my knees go weak." She giggled.
"No, can't say I did.” Mara said, “But then, I didn’t get a good look at him; I was too enamoured with my new necklace. And anyway, I've never met a man who weakens my knees, so I'll have to take your word for it."
"Oh, no you don't." Jennie said, "You really have to see this one for yourself. You, darling, can take his order out."
"Okay, but I warn you now; men in general don’t impress me." Mara said, rolling her eyes. She knew it was pointless to argue, and anyway, she was curious.
Expertly balancing the tray in one hand, she carefully placed the tea and cake in front of him; feeling shy, as if he knew exactly what she was doing; she still couldn’t get a good look at him though. His face was angled away from her, bent towards the newspaper he was reading. He barely acknowledged her presence and her pathetic attempt to ogle him wasn’t helped by her eyes choosing that precise moment to blur over; the effect disorientating. All she could see was an out-of-focus face that seemed to shift around oddly in front of her.
Thankfully, the irritation was fleeting, all thought of their new customer disappearing as the lunch time rush began.

******************
By the time she got home it was gone 8pm. Once through the front door, Mara locked the rest of the world out, before kicking off her shoes. She didn’t bother with the lights as she hung up her coat, and anyway, the Lifelights would arrive in a moment, flying towards her from every corner of the cottage, transforming the darkness with their effervescent light.
Vivid balls of energy, the size of two pence pieces, they appeared, moving with graceful speed, always in groups of four. Red, blue, green, silver and gold, their colours glowed, fluctuating as they swarmed around her, teasing her with their gentle, heated touches, fizzing against her skin, re-energising weary nerves. She could feel the day’s tension draining away from her, as she basked in the sense of belonging they offered. Arms outstretched, love swelling inside her, she let the moments slip by, before picking up the carrier bag of goodies that Jennie had given her and heading into the kitchen, the Lifelights moving alongside her. It was on days like this; special days, that she was most thankful for their presence; they were the closest thing to a family, and friends, she had.
Jennie had excelled herself. The bag she’d sent her home with contained a bottle of red wine, a homemade lasagne, a green salad and a chocolate cake; complete with fudge icing, a candle and the number 22 marked out in white chocolate drops; delicious.
Smiling, even as tears once again threatened, Mara dutifully lit the candle, making the customary wish as she blew it out again, before going to put her feet up. The Lifelights fussed, arranging themselves around her, along the arms and back of the sofa, some nudging at her hands, pushing them aside, so they could nestle in her lap.
“You’re very persistent tonight, aren’t you?” She whispered reaching for the envelope Jennie had given her earlier; she expected the usually bawdy card, deliberately picked, in the hope of causing maximum embarrassment or, perhaps, a hastily smothered, wicked laugh.
A moment later, sharp pain sliced across her right index finger. Mara cursed. Paper cuts stung far more than their size warranted; instinctively, she sucked on the wound.
“Mara.” She heard the man’s voice clearly; it sounded urgent.
Freezing, her heart raced with sudden fear, her gaze darting to every corner of the room.
“Mara…you’re hurt.” The voice persisted.
The Lifelights shifted now, behaving strangely, their lights flickering; as if they too could hear the voice. Mara sat bolt upright, looking around the room, moments stretched out, and she knew there was no one there, she could hear where the voice came from; it was in her head.
“Answer me Mara.”
Were the Lifelights finally communicating with her? Mara gasped at the thought, the idea sending her pulse rate higher, adrenalin spiking, sending shivers of excitement racing along her spine and raising the hairs along her arms. It has to be, she thought, at last.
Closing her eyes for a moment, she drew in a slow, steadying breath, before focusing her attention on the Lifelights again. Their movements appeared graceless, their colours flashing. They’d never behaved like this before.
"I'm fine thank you. It's just a small cut, it will soon heal." She said, trying to swallow saliva that wasn’t there. She held her finger up to study the paper cut, trying to pretend that she didn’t feel silly, talking to herself. “Who are you?” She asked, perhaps too casually, all things considered.
“A friend.” The voice said, its pitch lowering, definitely friendlier.
"I don't have friends." Mara whispered before she could stop herself.
“Oh, I think you do. You just haven't opened your eyes to them yet.” The voice said.
It sounded amused, she thought, aware of an indistinct accent, but it was more than just a voice; she could feel it somehow. His words were layered with a confusing mass of emotion, brushing against her mind; her skin tingled; there was something almost physical about it.
"What do you mean?" She asked, not quite knowing what to do, enjoying the strange sensation of his voice and yet completely freaked out by it at the same time.
“Only that you needn’t be alone any more; that part of your life is over Mara.” The voice said, “I’ve found you again.”