The Winners!

Thank you everyone who entered my contest!  I put everyone's names in a bowl and my daughter drew three of them out.

And the winners are... Kippoe... Stormy... and Linda!

Congratulations!

Now I just need your email addresses.  Just click this link, fill out the form letting me know you won, and I'll send you the .prc file of my book.

Thank you!

Vicki

Free Kindle Book Giveaway

Hi everyone!

I'm giving away three free Mobi (.prc) files of my book, Not What She Seems.  This can be read on your Kindle.  (You are not obligated to review it after you've read it.)

The only thing you have to do to enter, is post a comment on here!  I'll throw all the names into a hat and draw one out tomorrow the 3rd of August.  I'll do the drawing in the afternoon, and then announce the three winners.  You have to use your name when you post, obviously.  Then you send me your email address and I'll email you the book.

Not sure if you'd like my book?  Here's the blurb:

Steven Ashton, a billionaire from New York, and Emily Grant, on the run from the law... and when they meet he can’t help falling for her. What he doesn’t know is that interfering in her life will put his own life in danger.

Not What She Seems holds you in suspense from the moment you begin down the path of murder and romance.
Synopsis:
When billionaire Steven Ashton couldn’t stand his high society social life anymore, he left the stress of New York on a vacation for his soul. The need to meet real down to earth people lead him to a small Nebraska town he remembered visiting as a child. He didn’t want to lie about who he was, but he couldn’t exactly tell them the truth.

Emily could have easily fallen in love with Steven, under different circumstances, but her past was catching up with her and she needed a new life. If the authorities found out about her, she could lose the one thing that meant everything, her four year old son.

Not What She Seems is approximately 67,000 words long. (326 pages in paperback.)

This book is a "sweet" romantic suspense, appropriate for all ages. 

Leave a comment below to be entered into the drawing.

Thanks for participating!

Vicki

Hook Victorine #10

Here's the first 400 words from Eland Dances, not yet published, by Philip van Wulven.

I have no cover art, since it's not yet published, so I'll just jump right on in.

Chapter 1 - Welcome to the Jungle -

I froze in the chair. There was a lion right there in the room, on the other side of the table.

Hmm, interesting beginning. It makes me wonder… what kind of room? A dining room, since there’s a table? I’ll keep reading to see.

Just what I’d been warned about, but hadn’t believed.

So unlikely, even in Africa. Here, in Heathrow, in a bar that smelt of stale beer, cigarettes, and damp socks, it was plain unbelievable.

Ah, a bar. This is interesting. I’d like to see the lion a little better, does he look like he’s going to strike?

I tried not to move. Maybe he’d ignore me.

No such luck. His shoulder muscles bunched and his eyes blazed red as he looked at me.

Perfect. This is just what I wanted. You’ve got me hooked. I want to know what he’s going to do now.

Avoid eye contact. Don’t challenge them. I looked down at my beer.

Since it’s just one lion, I’d say, “Don’t challenge him,” but that’s nit picky.

“I'm in charge at the loony bin, Pete. My cabbagepatch. Like when the loonies get the s***s I take care of things. Fix 'em up. They're always so friggin' grateful.”

I’m a bit confused. Who is speaking? And why are they speaking so casually with a lion in the room? Don’t they see the lion?

I looked up and saw just plain old Big Sid hunched forward over the formica table, pint in paw, with the light from the ‘DEPARTURES’ sign outside the bar reflected on his bottle-bottom thick specs.

Ah, I fell for it. There’s no lion… only Big Sid. Well, of course I’m relieved for the MC, but also disappointed. I was hoping for a tense lion charging moment.

His shoulder length blond straggle was backlit by light reflected off the mirror behind the counter, so just for a moment his silhouette, combined with his attitudes, had shown him as what Gran called a man possessed by a lion spirit.

He chugged beer, burped, and carried on. “The doctors think they know it all. Nobody else could do their job. Bloody power freaks don't want us to do medical stuff, even simple things. They keep it all complicated. Keep it all scientific and that. I mean, look at how they treat someone who's dehydrated. Simple, all they need is fluids in them.”

This is mildly interesting to me, the voice is good. I’m still not as hooked as I would have been if there were a real lion about to charge. But I do like the writing style. And of course, everything I say is just my personal opinion.

I looked down at my mug and tried to keep my face expressionless, but couldn't help thinking, ‘Power-freak yourself. Bloody predator. Everyone’s just prey, ego-food on the hoof to you.’ I wanted to say that, but I knew there was no way a guy like Sid, five years older and a foot taller, could let me score any points.

So I played along. “Go on then. Tell us, Sid. What's wrong with how they treat that, then?”

“They stick 'em in a bed, with needles and tubes and one of those drip things. Scientific. Now we all, us orderlies, we know that's not needed. Then too, we like to keep things cool, you know. There's stuff that's better kept quiet.”

“Now why would that be, in a nice place like the Hertfordshire Psych.?”

Hmm, now that part is interesting to me. What should be kept quiet? This implies that bad stuff is happening over there, and it would make me read more. Great! My only suggestion would be to move that part up. I’m not sure the whole lion fake out is needed to grasp someone’s attention. But you did hook me in the end!

Hook Victorine #9

Here are the first 400 words of Child of the Mist (Gem of the Galaxy) by Kae Cheatham.

No more running away, the young woman thought as she jogged through the dense forest. Her quiet pace was matched by a young ocsoni with silky black hair springing several centimeters over its dense fur. This time I’m running to something. My destiny, perhaps.

I’m new to this story and this world, and I like how the author plops me into it here, instead of explaining what an ocsoni is. I would like a little more description of it, but I’m sure that will come. Right now I’ve got a jaguar image in my mind, with some kind of long hair on the head like a main or something.

I’m not in love with this thing a lot of authors do, and that’s starting off with this distanced POV. Since were in the young woman’s POV, just say her name instead of ‘the young woman’. That pulls me in closer, and I like to know whose head I’m in as I read.

Leaves of saplings cloaked her while she negotiated the path around house-sized trunks of mature trees; large leaves blocked light from the late afternoon sky, keeping the forest cool. She didn’t carry much: a small pot for water, a solbey plate to cook on, a warming net for cold nights, an extra pair of leggings and boots. For weapons: a sheathed knife—the blade as long as her forearm—and a whiprod she had taken off the guard she killed when she escaped one-hundred-and-thirty days ago. Running. Hiding. Stopping long enough to have that awful baby, and then…

Oh my, she had a baby and then what? Did she leave it somewhere? She called it awful, and that’s a bit disturbing to me. I know this is fiction, and no real baby is in danger. But it’s still disturbing to me, and it makes me not like the main character. I’ll keep reading, but with a frown on my face.

Continual anger churned through her. No more running. I’ve ruined their plans, and now I’ll attend the business I was born to. This her continual thought without a concept for success.

Personally, I’d rather be shown the anger here, instead of told that anger churned through her. She could clench her fists or her teeth, or narrow her eyes. Or we could gather the anger from the other things that she’s thinking.

“We must be close to the wall,” she quietly said to her furry companion. “I don’t know what I’ll do with you when I go inside, but…” She pushed back a tendril of poorly-cut hair. When her sable locks became more than a finger’s length, she hacked them off and muttered, “For you, mother.” The childish look this gave her totally belied her intense nature.

I like how the author describes her hair here. I’m wondering why she cut her hair for her mother though.

Her pup companion slowed, neck hairs up and nose testing the wind. She stopped, also sniffing the breeze. Nothing. Fear skittered along her slender limbs. Faucrin Rudeg’s henchmen could be waiting in ambush. She fingered the hilt of her knife while studying her surroundings. In the dense foliage and shoulder-high mushrooms sprouting between trees, the only sign was of a bush fox recently passed. “They can’t possibly know where I am,” she murmured to the pup as she stroked its head. She was certain the Xirophans wouldn’t relinquish her to her government. Many tribes had hidden her from the Rudegs. The last tribe had given her a map—told her about the way in.

Ah, a pup. So this is more like a dog creature. I like the descriptions here. Nice job.

The ocsoni, still tense, whined and strained to dash forward as she tied the pup’s shoulder harness to a thick sapling. She removed her pack and secured it out of his reach. “Stay, Ton,” she ordered. With whiprod fastened to her purple jerkin, she stealthily climbed fifty meters into the dense canopy and leapt from one tree to the next, barely ruffling the huge leaves.

I am interested in what she’s going to do here, but I still have a bad taste in my mouth from the woman talking about her baby in that way. I assume since she was in prison, she was mistreated and that’s why she is talking this way about her child. But a baby is innocent and shouldn’t be punished for whatever happened before it was born.

I think the descriptions flowed nicely, and the beginning had no boring back story, so I applaud the author for this. My one big concern is that the baby got left somewhere to die. And if I were to guess, that child would show up again somewhere later in the book... probably angry. Overall, the writing is fairly clean with only a few nit picks on my part. I think the author did a good job.

Hook Victorine #8

Here are the first 400 words from The Gazelle, by S. Wolf.

The final colors of the day were draining over the horizon, as the pair watched through the smattering of tiny sand fly corpses dotting the windshield.

I like the colorful language, but personally, I’m not a huge fan of the distanced POV. But that is just me.

Their conversation had been engaging since she had joined him in the car several hours ago, but when the evening sky blossomed into a fiery display of reds and oranges, they shared it in silence. Now, all that remained of the majestic show was a thin ribbon of fire that snaked its way behind the looming mountains.

Nice descriptions. I’m not very hooked yet... but I’ll keep reading.

Thomas glanced over at his lovely passenger, her obvious delight in the spectacle adding to his attraction towards her. Her being here, watching it with him, enhanced his own enjoyment. What made it especially poignant for him, was knowing that this would be the last sunset she would ever see.

Oh, here we add in some ominous feeling with that last sentence. Is he a killer? A vampire? This does make me want to read more.

I’m also glad we pulled out of the distanced POV to Thomas’s POV. Personally, I would rather just open in Thomas’s POV. He’s the more interesting character here anyway, and I don’t think it adds anything to create this narrated beginning, only to switch into Thomas’s mind in a few sentences. But I do tend to like starting in third person limited, so you can take this with a grain of salt.

One thing that I think would strengthen this would be to take out the ‘telling’ and change it to ‘showing’. I’ll give you an example. ‘Her obvious delight’ is telling us she is delighted. I’d rather see this. How does he know she’s delighted? Maybe her eyes light up and she’s smiling. Let the reader come to their own conclusion about her delight.

After the last colors faded to gray, Thomas said, “I'm getting some water, would you like another bottle?”

“Love some,” Kat replied, and then asked, “Don’t you have anything stronger?” She leaned forward and resumed her preoccupation with the car radio, which she had been fussing over since they had driven out of range of the San Antonio stations two hours ago.

I like her fussing with the radio. This tells me she’s kind of flighty like that. I can also see him coming up behind her with a pistol as she fiddling with the dial. *Evil grin*

“Nope, just water,” he replied as he reached between the seats to the cooler in the back. “Besides, you’re a bit under the drinking age anyway.”

“That’s cold Tommy,” she said as she rotated the tuning dial, the radio responding with varying levels of static. “I thought we were friends.”

I wonder if there’s a knife in the cooler.

“Nice try,” he grinned as he held the steering wheel in one hand and groped behind him into the cooler with the other. “But we're in the middle of the Texas desert, and the last thing I need is some redneck state trooper tossing me in jail for giving alcohol to a teenager.”

“Probably a smart choice,” she said, still focused on the radio, but then turned and looked at him with a grin, “Your cellmates would just love a pretty boy like you.” She pursed her lips and blew an exaggerated kiss in his direction.

“You got that right,” he said, returning the smile. He pulled his arm back, holding two bottles of Evian still dripping from the ice in the cooler. Taking a moment to examine them, he placed one in his cup holder, and handed her the other.

Awe, no knife. The thing keeping me going here is the one sentence about this being the last sun set she will ever see. I’ll keep reading to see what he meant by that. The rest wasn’t too interesting, but I can cope with the mundane stuck in with the eerie feeling that he’s going to chop her into little pieces at any minute. Nice job!

Hook Victorine #7

Here is the first 400 words from Dead Forever: Awakening by William Campbell.

WE REMIND: Events depicted in this record occurred during the use of language systems other than English. In consideration of the reader, all representations of character thought and speech have been translated to the nearest English equivalent in use at the time of transcription.

Fun beginning! I do like how we jump right into this strange world with this simple notice. Nice way to get the reader’s attention.

One


Blackness, crashing, every touch is a searing impact. Extreme motion without purpose or destination—chaos. Up and down have become mere concepts in this nightmare of heat and confusion.

Interesting... I’m not sure what’s going on but I’m intrigued by this. As long as it’s not a dream. Please, don’t start your book with a dream. Waaaaay too many people do it. Literary agents blog about it all the time... don’t start with a dream or someone waking up. Alright, off my soapbox now.

A flickering glow bleeds from the void—flames.

I’m still confused by this, but it’s okay because I want to know more. If I don’t get grounded in a scene pretty quickly though, I’ll get bored and move on.

“Put it out,” a woman shouts.

Yes, thank you, I hope we’re going to get grounded in a scene now.

My skin is burning. Snapped alert by a blistering surface, I spring up only to tumble over and smack the floor. Or was it the ceiling? The two have traded places, and again, flipping end over end.

Boy this sure reads like a dream. I suspect it is. The funny thing is several of the previous authors confessed to me that their beginnings were dreams too. I don’t want to say that you’re totally sunk if you start with a dream, just be aware of what is out there. (And what is out there are a lot of books starting with dreams. A lot.)

From thick smoke, flames snap out like whips, steel panels glisten white-hot, creak and moan, melting conduits dangle and sway. The upending eases but the compartment is spiraling—we’re falling. A warm flow trickles down my forehead, into my eyes. I reach for my scalp and the wet mess leaves my fingertips bloody. Something hard and I became far more intimate than we should have.

Ha ha ha, funny. I actually have a line in my book that is quite similar to this last one. I guess great minds think alike.

Someone darts through the smoke. Then back again, and she stops to look at me.

“Put it out.”

Since the main character keeps mentioning heat, I’m assuming the “put it out” is about a fire. I’m getting glimpses of what is going on, and despite the fact that many books begin with dreams, I will admit this one is well written. The reader gets the feeling of a dream, and I can’t find any nit picky things about the writing.

She is strangely familiar. Rusty hair in a high ponytail, determined stare, her cheeks are heated rosy. A woman of such beauty she may be a goddess, casting a disapproving glare as if provoked and contemplating wrath if I don’t get up and . . . do what?

I like this description of her.

Dread strikes. Something bad is going to happen, and worse—it happens to her.

There’s a change in tense here that I might reword. I might say: Something bad is going to happen, and worse—it will happen to her.

“Hurry!” she cries.

The fire. I came here to put out a fire. An extinguisher is here somewhere. In a cabinet, but the door won’t budge. The hinges are melted, the handle is hot, now my palms are charred.

Failure obscures all fear. I don’t know which is worse—the fear, the failure, the dread—or knowing that I’m completely useless.

Towering flames rise at her back. She rushes to reach me, her arms outstretched. The goddess is drained of wrath, stricken by sorrow, streaming tears and hollow. Her hopeless stare won’t let go, yearning for a last embrace, and testament to our fate—there is no tomorrow.

Again, this is well written. I am interested in what will happen after the main character wakes up.

“We won’t survive,” she says. “Don’t get lost. Remember, I’ll find you. I’ll find you!”

I can’t tell if she’s mad here, and is saying she’ll find him to harm him, or if she is saying this out of love. I’m guessing she isn’t mad, but I can’t quite tell.

Rapt by her mesmerizing gaze, I am spellbound, the threat of incineration a distant concern. Her eyes—so clear, so light, so blue.

Tender blue eyes, that may never forgive me.

I’m wondering if this is a dream about the future, or the past. I admit I would read on, even though I’ll keep telling authors to not start with a dream. Not that you can’t get published with a book that opens with a dream. A very popular series opens with a dream in the second book. I was surprised by this. And I don’t want to say anything bad about the book because I did enjoy it. I’ve just seen dream openings so much that I tend to get put off by them.

Hook Victorine #6

Here's the first 400 words of Erich's Plea, by Tracey Alley.

Slade could feel the warmth of the rising sun on his face. The subtle scent of the sacred oak trees filled the air. All around him was the slow chanting of the druids who made this forest their home. Opening his eyes Slade saw his druidic mentor standing before him, a guide to this sunrise initiation ceremony. Karel’s wise, heavily lined face was hidden by the coarse linen cowl he wore but Slade could sense the gentle smile underneath the rhythmic chanting.

Good beginning here. I get a great feel for the setting and the genre. I like the descriptions, and feel like they’re not overwritten. It’s a slow start, but I don’t mind that too much as long as I get something to grab onto soon.

Karel had once been a mercenary soldier, selling his skill with a blade to the highest bidder. Then Karel had turned his back on his former profession and joined the ranks of those who served the gentle woodland goddess Freyita. After years of service he was now her high priest and Archdruid of the Sacred Grove.

I’m not a huge fan of back story in the first chapter. I’d rather gather some of this through dialogue or in small bits. I’ll keep reading though, we’re barely in, and I’m interested in the ceremony.

The other male and female members of the Grove, who represented virtually every race in The Kingdoms, formed a chanting circle around Slade and Karel as they welcomed Slade into their circle.

Ah, yes, back to the ceremony. Good.

Once the ritual was completed Slade would be presented with the druidic ring with its wide, silver band engraved with oak leaves and begin his new life.

This is just my opinion, but I’d rather read what is happening at the moment, than what will happen in a minute. So, if it were me writing this, I’d describe this as it happens.

Slade felt as though his heart would burst with pride. Joining the druids of the Sacred Grove had been his dream for more than a year. Finally he had succeeded and it was a triumph he had earned solely on his own merits, owing nothing to his birth.

“Owing nothing to his birth” sounds like maybe Slade is of royal birth, or of some importance. This is a good thing to stick in here. Just a hint, with not too much explanation.

From this day on Slade would renounce his former life. He would give up the right to continue the training he had begun with the warrior-monks of the Black Lotus and dedicate his life instead to serving Freyita. Slade’s decision involved more than just giving up an old profession. He had also given up his name and his birthright. No longer would he be known as Einreich Gudmundson. No longer would he be the Crown Prince of the vast northern kingdom of Vestland. He would no longer be Erich’s designated heir, in spite of his position as a second son, to the centuries old High Throne.
 
Slade knew he had disappointed his father, High King Erich, in his decision to leave court. Nevertheless his father had allowed it, would even have attended this ceremony had protocol allowed. Knowing he had hurt his father pained Slade deeply but he knew it was the right decision for him.

Well, we do get some explanation here... which I would love to come out later in the story. I’m just a huge fan of ‘hook me first, explain the whole background later’. As it stands right now, I’m curious to know more about Freyita and why he wants to serve her, but I wouldn’t call it a strong hook for me. I probably would keep reading for a little while, hoping that the action would take off.

Thanks so much for submitting your first 400!