The length/price of a novel … a rant by MCD

So here is a great example of something I should keep my mouth shut about, but I’m going to waste my time responding to. Ironically, I was just talking about the grief I get for the perceived length of my books, and the pressure that negative (and erroneous) feedback puts on my ability to write those books.

So instead of writing new words, I’m going to respond to the latest accusation that I write NOVELLAS and charge FULL PRICE for them. Also the exact definition of a cliffhanger.

As you can see above, this reader is incredibly disgusted by my cliffhanging, novella-length books, which I have the audacity to charge full price for.

So let’s address these accusations.

First, a NOVELLA is 17,500 to 40,000 words in length. (here is the wiki link if you don’t believe me). The average length for an urban fantasy novel is 70,000 – 95,000 (Ilona Andrews often blogs about needing to REDUCE their word count for traditional publishing).

Here are the WORD COUNTS for my FULL-LENGTH books (yes, I’m seriously wasting my time now)(in reading order):

• Cupcakes, Trinkets, and Other Deadly Magic (Dowser 1) – 68,000

• Trinkets, Treasures, and Other Bloody Magic (Dowser 2) – 82,061

• Treasures, Demons, and Other Black Magic (Dowser 3) – 85,621

• I See Me (Oracle 1) – 72,483

• Shadows, Maps, and Other Ancient Magic (Dowser 4) – 68,538

• Maps, Artifacts, and Other Arcane Magic (Dowser 5) – 73,782

• I See You (Oracle 2) – 77,029

• Artifacts, Dragons, and Other Lethal Magic (Dowser 6) – 90,548

• I See Us (Oracle 3) – 84,862

• Catching Echoes (Reconstructionist 1) – 69,739

• Tangled Echoes (Reconstructionist 2) – 75,994

• Unleashing Echoes (Reconstructionist 3) – 77,016

• Champagne, Misfits, and Other Shady Magic (Dowser 7) – 74,500

• Misfits, Gemstones, and Other Shattered Magic (Dowser 8) – 73,550

• Gemstones, Elves, and Other Insidious Magic (Dowser 9) – 91,443

• Demons and DNA (Amplifier 1) – 76,984

• Bonds and Broken Dreams (Amplifier 2) – 92,296

• Mystics and Mental Blocks (Amplifier 3) – 83,640

• Idols and Enemies (Amplifier 4) – 103,026 (also includes The Music Box – an extra 4500 words at no extra cost to the reader).

• Misplaced Souls (Misfits 1) – 91,661

• Invoking Infinity (Archivist 1) – 106,557

• Compelling Infinity (Archivist 2) – 88,680

As you can see NOT ONE of the books I charge so-called full price for is a novella. Nowhere near, in fact. The first book in a trilogy is often a little trimmer (Dowser 1, Dowser 4, Oracle 1, Reconstructionist 1, and Dowser 7) because it is the ‘first act’ aka the set-up. And is often balanced by a much longer third book (Dowser 3, 6, and 9, etc)

PRICING

Dowser 1 is FREE. Dowser 2 and 3, Oracle 1 are $3.99. All my other full-length books are $4.99.

The average price for an urban fantasy novel? (eBook, USD): $3.99-$16.99, but most indies charge $4.99-$6.99.

And, highly ironically, the two books I call novellas, The Amplifier Protocol (Amplifier 0) and Awakening Infinity (Archivist 0) are actually short novel-length but I charge $3.99 for them. I also gave away Amplifier 0 and Archivist 0 for free on my blog (serialized). And, at one time or another, the Dowser box set (three books), Oracle 1, and Reconstructionist 1 have all been available for free.

And, even more ironically, my cost to produce a novel (not including an audiobook which adds $3500-$4000) has tripled in the last two to three years and I HAVEN’T RAISED MY PRICES. It costs me (depending on what cover artist I use or extras I include, like the illustrations in the Archivist series): $5k- $7k to produce the eBook and paperback. Minimum. To be completely transparent, I earn approx $3.70 on a $4.99 book. So … just to put it all together, I have to sell 1350 – 1890 eBooks just to break even.

CLIFFHANGERS (Wiki link)

None of my books end in an actual cliffhanger – as in the story abruptly stopping with no resolution, aka with the main character literally hanging off a cliff by their fingernails. Teasing where the story goes next IS NOT A CLIFFHANGER. Even in DOWSER 8, the main storyline is resolved. It just isn’t resolved to some readers’ satisfaction. The second book in a trilogy (so Dowser 2, Dowser 5, Dowser 8, Oracle 2, Reconstructionist 2) traditionally ends on a low note – that is the PROPER structure for a trilogy!! And even then, in my books, the main storyline is ALWAYS resolved. Hence no actual cliffhangers.

It is highly ironic, that the hate mail I got after Dowser 8 directly contributed to me not writing any more Dowser books, and no longer writing trilogies even though I love the structure. Nasty notes/reviews/etc took Jade away from me, and I will be forever bitter about it. Which is probably why I just wasted my time writing this blog post.

So … I hope whoever decided to write the nasty review accusing me of charging novel prices for novellas and ending all my books with cliffhangers is happy she got my attention. That she got me angry. And that instead of writing new words, and therefore releasing another novel sooner than later, that I wasted my time writing this blog post. I hope she also enjoyed getting (at minimum) Dowser 1 for free.

I hope she enjoys the fact that she has most likely galvanized me to raise my prices (since my own costs have more than tripled).

But one question? If you are so DISGUSTED by paying for my so-called ‘cliffhanger’ ‘novellas’, why keep reading them?

Yes, I know, I shouldn’t read reviews, but when I’ve just released a book I often pop over to see how it is being received. This was staring me in the face when I did so this morning.

End Rant.

Lunch.

And then, I will attempt to get some new words written.

Archivist 2: bad influence

T-minus 15 days!!! Are you ready for the next book in the Archivist series?

Sisu patted my cheek. “You’re always good, Dusk. That’s why I’m allowed to be … less than good.”

I snorted doubtfully. “That’s not how it works.”

“It totally is,” Neve chimed in from Kellan’s shoulders. She patted her uncle on the head, then added, “Just like Mom and Uncle Kellan.”

“Mom is the good one,” Lile added, just in case I couldn’t figure that out for myself.

Kellan growled. I stifled a smile.

“See?” Sisu said.

“Right …” I said, looking up at Kellan. “And I’m the bad influence.”

Sisu threw up his hands, then executed a flawless pirouette, somehow managing to slip out of Kellan’s grasp without damaging the backpack.

“Ta-da!” he cried, golden sparkles shooting from his fingertips. “Race you back!”

He took off toward the woods.

Neve and Lile cried out, wiggling and protesting until Kellan set both of them on their feet. They took off after Sisu.

Kellan tried to glower at me again. “I blame you.”

I shrugged, hiking up my dress to undo the sheath on my thigh.

“I’ll be right back,” Kellan said, eyeing me like maybe he wanted to wait around to see what else I was going to strip off. “Wait for me.”

“Nope,” I said, setting the sheathed bone blade to the side just for a moment.

He snarled under his breath — an interesting mixture of curse words in Irish and older Gaelic — but then he loped off after the kids.

– excerpt from Compelling Infinity (Archivist 2), Chapter 6

PREORDER NOW

AVAILABLE JAN 4, 2022

– AMAZON – APPLE BOOKS – BARNES AND NOBLE – KOBO – SMASHWORDS –


Are you new to the Archivist series? The first book is Awakening Infinity (Archivist 0). Or click here for the complete reading order of the Adept Universe.

Archivist 2 preview: chapter 1, part 1

I uploaded a preview of Archivist 2 (see below) in the back of Archivist 1 on all retailers today … so I thought it only fair to share it here for all of you who already own book one. Compelling Infinity (Archivist 2) is available for preorder on all retailers. T-minus 29 days!

The gallery hummed with energy. Magic generated by dozens of elaborately masked Adepts coated the marble floors and corniced walls as I wove my way through the tuxedo-and-ballgown-swathed crowd that lingered along the edges of the room. The guests all appeared thoroughly entertained, watching those dancing, nibbling on hors d’oeuvres, and discussing the artwork and artifacts on display.

The meticulously curated exhibit.

Even if I said so myself.

Witch lights twined around the smooth marble columns that supported the mosaic ceiling. More lights were strung along the casings and moldings. Every surface glinted and twinkled with pinpoints of magic. To my sight, at least.

Crystal insisted on referring to those tiny points of magic as fae lights or fairy lights, which was slightly too fanciful for my taste but perfectly on theme. And since it had taken the acting head librarian over three days to set all those pinpoints in place, each marked with an inked personal rune, she could call them whatever she wished. 

She had also used witch lights to frame the artwork, to curl like tendrils around the podiums, and to line the benches set within the niches. Pine witches accessed their power through the written word — or the scribed rune in the case of this particular casting. And Crystal had invested so much of her magic into the setting and the ambience of the gala that she’d been exhausted each night that week.

I’d been doubtful at first about all the extras the librarian had decreed necessities, thinking that the art and the artifacts on display were all that would be needed to make a fundraising gala a success. But the finished effect was stunning. Breathtaking.

With Crystal’s guidance, the gala was a fairy tale that had been brought to life, then filled with magic and music and laughter.

And the crab cakes were utterly delicious as well.

My silk chiffon dress brushed against my ankles as I passed a masked couple I didn’t know. Dressed almost identically in shimmering shades of deep green, the pair of witches crossed onto the small dance floor that Crystal had also insisted on.

The librarian had looked resplendent in blue silk herself when I arrived. Her blond hair was curled into tight swirls pinned to her head with more pinpoints of glistening magic. She’d replaced her typical wide-framed glasses with an intricate black-lace mask that covered most of her face, leaving her ears strikingly exposed. Then she’d deliberately emphasized that effect by lining each ear with tiny diamonds.

I’d done three circuits of the room in the first hour, greeting guests and not-so-subtly directing them to the silent auction set up at the back of the gallery, just off the hall to the kitchen. The tickets to the gala had been expensive, limited to seventy-five guests, and had sold out in under a week. Though the gallery connected the nonmagical National Museum of Ireland to the offices of the magical antiquities section of that museum, Brady had informed me that the space hadn’t been used or open to the public for as long as he’d worked at the archive. The Adept public specifically. The entrance was hidden from anyone nonmagical under multiple layers of masking and distraction spells. Crystal and James had reinforced all those spells over the last week. 

Crystal was still standing sentry by the collection of ancient journals and letters we’d put on display for the evening. Some of the more delicate tomes were sealed under glass, with the rest set on shelves crusted in glimmering crystals. I was surprised that the librarian was still on her feet, given the time and energy she’d put into setting up the displays and everything around them. 

I was more than capable of selecting and hanging the artwork or shuffling the display cases — Crystal had changed her mind three times about the ‘flow,’ as she called it. But delicate, precise witch magic wasn’t a talent of mine. I was the complete opposite when it came to casting, tending toward the destructive end of the scale even with something as simple as a cleaning spell.

My brother, Sisu, and I had called Dublin and Wilding Manor our home for nearly two and a half months. But when it came to pretending to be a witch when I was actually a dragon in disguise, practice apparently didn’t make perfect. As such, I leaned into my strengths, focusing on collecting and containing magical artifacts and creatures, while avoiding the more basic, exceedingly useful aspects of magic. So even though I might have been the head curator of magical antiquities at the National Museum of Ireland, and I might have proposed the idea of the holiday gala as a fundraiser, it was Crystal who’d put it all together and pulled it all off. 

Beautifully. I felt like I was gliding through magic with every step I took. 

My brown silk dress helped, cinched at the waist, then gradually flaring over my hips, with its subtle plaid patterning and sweeping boat neckline. Yes, I felt like a princess. Even if I’d had to practice walking in heeled gold sandals.

Crystal had also insisted on the event being masked and formal, because it suited her theme: Fated Mates.

I’d had no idea a gala needed a fanciful theme, other than selecting an era or a specific branch of the magical world as a focus for the artifacts and art we’d unearthed from the archive — in the most literal sense. Every magical item that had ever been collected in Ireland was housed underneath the gallery in a cavernous but completely inviting archive space — according to me, anyway — that stretched out under the offices and the entire footprint of the main museum.

“Seventeenth century, England,” Crystal murmured in a hushed, reverent tone to my right as I continued toward the back of the gallery. Her American accent stood out in a room full of Irish and British intonation.

I wanted to check on the silent-auction items. Okay, fine. I was looking for more crab cakes. I was fairly certain it was the red pepper and a touch of cayenne that made them so perfectly tasty, but I needed to test at least two or three more to know for absolute certain.

Crystal settled her hand gently on the display case she was showing to a brown-haired sorcerer in a black mask and a subtly brocaded tux. “Fated mates, yes. But doomed to never wed, never see each other beyond mere glimpses years apart. But their letters …” She sighed dramatically, splaying her fingers across her chest. “Oh, their letters. I’ve selected a few beautiful passages …”

Crystal was a self-proclaimed romantic, and had been insistent that the Adepts of Dublin would adore dressing up and being visually beguiled. Clearly, she was right.

I’d had to get my own dress made, not just because I didn’t actually own any formal wear, but because I needed pockets. Specifically, I needed a slitted pocket so I could reach the bone blade strapped to my right thigh. Not that I was planning to stab anyone — I would have hated to accidentally splatter blood on any of the collection. But we’d gone from severely tightening security for the archive after the incidents with Rook and Ayre Byrne not even two months ago, to opening fairly widely for this event. The entrances and exits were all heavily warded, of course, and each artifact, book, and piece of vellum was tagged. 

Not only had I not owned any formal wear before last week, I’d never even worn any. Not once in my twenty-five years. So I was a little … out of my comfort zone. Again. Ravine had done my hair and makeup, along with her sister River’s, over three hours ago back at the manor. Things were still a bit chilly with the scion of the Byrne coven, but River and I managed to be polite. When forced to do so. Mostly for the sake of her daughter, Rook, who was spending the night with Sisu and the twins at the manor.

Ravine had insisted that I borrow the simple gold mask I currently wore, a series of thread-thin strands of yellow gold that outlined my eyes and swept up over my brow. The metal mage had created it, along with the gold masks worn by her and River, which were even more intricate pieces of art. The product of years of work and additions, laced with Ravine’s unique magic.

Sisu, despite vehement protests, remained at home with Rook, and with the shapeshifter twins, Lile and Neve. Before I’d even left for the gala, the kids had already collected every pillow and cushion to be found in the manor and created a huge, comfy fort in the living room, with the TV in easy view and multiple movies queued. The twins’ father, Len Murphy, had chosen to supervise the younglings, apparently not interested in dressing up or mingling with the Adepts of Dublin. Though according to Ravine, that had more to do with the fact that Gitta, the twins’ mother, was currently dating someone else. At the same time she was seeing Len.

Apparently, Ravine knew who everyone with even a mote of magical power in the city was ‘riding’ at any particular time.

Her word, not mine.

Metal magic and that honed sense for people’s entanglements were the earth witch’s self-declared specialties. Since we’d met, she had continually teased me about who my first conquest among the Dublin Adept should be — and had practically pushed me into the arms of three witches and one sorcerer in the last hour.

Unfortunately, my interest was stuck on someone else. Someone entirely unsuitable. Someone who wasn’t actually available.

I’d been relieved when Kellan Conall had begun limiting his hours at the estate last month, leaving the overseeing of the ongoing renovation of the upstairs bedrooms and bathrooms to his sister Gitta, and simply dropping in to build and install woodwork and cabinets as needed. Mostly when I was at work myself.

Conall Construction had multiple projects on the go, but thankfully, they had prioritized getting me a kitchen and two working bathrooms when we’d first taken occupancy. Wilding Manor was so massive, though, that it would take years to revitalize the entire estate.

Shoving thoughts of ridiculously sexy, unexplainably powerful shapeshifters out of my mind, I distracted myself by glancing around for Ravine, finding her on the dance floor in the arms of a female werewolf I didn’t know. She was sheathed in layers of black chiffon — sleeveless and practically backless — with intricate Celtic-inspired bands of gold twined around her pale-skinned arms. The metal mage’s sleek, dark hair slipped and shimmered around her neck and shoulders as she moved, blunt ends barely brushing her collarbone. She winked at me, but appeared to be offishly ignoring her dance partner. Or perhaps she was just allowing herself to be admired in silence.

Gitta was also on the dance floor, wearing a green sheath that was so dark it was practically black. As she spun toward me, the fairy lights brought out hues of red from the dark-brown hair that cascaded in a shiny waterfall around her shoulders. Her spiked heels added to her already impressive height, and her lively shifter magic brushed across my upper arm as she passed. She was in the arms of an imposing Nordic-looking werewolf in his midthirties — Thurston, a newcomer to the Conall pack, and her current object of interest.

Again, all according to Ravine.

An enchanted grand piano, a cello, and a harp on loan from the Byrne coven for the evening all occupied the far corner near the hall to the kitchen and bathrooms. The silent-auction items were displayed along the same wall on the opposite side of the doorway, and I was pleased to see numerous Adepts slowly making their way along the table to bid on the items I’d collected from local Adept artisans, shops, and restaurants. Putting together the auction had given me an excuse to meet other magic users who worked and lived in the city.

The current song the magical trio was playing might have been some sort of waltz, but I honestly knew nothing about music. Or dancing. Hence my having kept to the edges of the gallery all night. 

I slipped, hopefully unnoticed, behind a murmured conversation between Mesa Byrne and her son, Ridge, who were discussing an oil painting by an eighteenth-century Irish sorcerer. Tiny fairies hid among the ruins of a stone tower in the expansive landscape, whose color palette was dominated by blues, greens, and golds. According to Crystal, the archive held three of the artist’s works, but the landscape was the most appropriate thematically.

Though it was rare that a piece of art appealed to me, I found myself itching to take the oil painting home and hang it in my library. Crystal had great taste. Or at least her taste apparently aligned with my own.

A ruddy-haired man stood slightly apart from Mesa and Ridge, his back to the wall and an untouched glass of champagne in his hand. Dillon Garvey, Ridge’s guest. According to Ravine, again and always, their relationship was new enough that the gala was the first social function they’d attended together, and the first Adept function that Dillon had ever set foot within.

Dillon, in his midthirties, was an investigator for the Garda Siochana, the national police service of Ireland. But despite his Adept heritage — his grandmother had been a necromancer affiliated with the Byrne coven — when I’d shaken his hand at the beginning of the evening, whatever magic might still simmer within Dillon Garvey’s blood had felt completely dormant.

I skirted along the silent-auction display, secretly coveting at least three items — a handblown glass vase that had been donated by a pack werewolf, a spellbook donated by Mesa Byrne, and a gift basket curated by Cove Byrne, who ran the cafe I frequented for lunch on Tuesdays, and who had also catered the gala.

I paused by my own donation — a tour of the archive and a two-hour chat with the head curator. Namely, me. Crystal had suggested it, with her, Brady, and James each offering something relevant to their own specialties as well. I’d been surprised that Crystal thought two hours of my time would be worth anything to regular Adepts. Then I’d been flummoxed when the bid had surpassed five hundred euros within thirty minutes. It was currently sitting at a bid of fifteen hundred euros.

Kellan Conall was the current top bidder.

My heart paused for a breath, then sped up for a few beats before leveling out.

I liked Kellan’s handwriting. Well formed, readable, but not fancy. The thick, steady strokes indicated a firm …

What was I doing?

Who got turned on by handwriting?

Other than me, obviously.

Kellan had been bidding against Mesa Byrne and someone named Brendan Prince for the last six bids. They’d had to flip the card over.

A small plate holding three tiny crab cakes appeared under my nose. He’d approached silently. Surrounded by the energy that teemed from every surface and every one of the eighty-plus people in the room, I hadn’t picked up his magic.

Kellan.

I took the plate without thinking, then actually steeled myself before turning my attention to him. I’d already caught sight of the imposing shapeshifter multiple times in the last hour, tearing my gaze away and altering my direction each time.

Kellan leaned in to read the silent-auction card. His voice was a soft purr next to my ear, his breath whispering across my exposed neck and collarbone. “Who,” he murmured, “is Brendan Prince?”

His deep, playful tone did all sorts of mushy things to my insides. I met his golden-green eyes, their color vibrant and pronounced next to his light-brown skin and darker-brown hair. He wasn’t wearing a mask. I forced myself to smile even though my heart had started hammering in my chest.

Because Kellan Conall might have been imposing in construction gear. Maybe even ruggedly handsome wearing a sweater and jeans. But in a tuxedo, he was devastation. Utter wanton devastation. 

According to my hormones.

Even though rationally and logically, I knew he was off-limits. For multiple reasons.

Grinning, Kellan straightened to his full height, still towering over me despite my heels.

I popped a crab cake in my mouth, making appreciative noises. Even though I’d been avoiding him all evening, he’d apparently noticed how much I liked them.

His grin widened, magic sparking in his eyes as his gaze fell to my lips. And suddenly I was the one who felt utterly wanton. And exposed. 

Compelling Infinity (Archivist 2)

PREORDER NOW – AVAILABLE JAN 4, 2022

– AMAZON – APPLE BOOKS – BARNES AND NOBLE – KOBO – SMASHWORDS –


Are you new to the Archivist series? The first book is Awakening Infinity (Archivist 0), Or click here for the complete reading order of the Adept Universe.

Archivist 2: cover reveal, etc

Book cover by Damonza.com

Releases January 4, 2022

PREORDER NOW

AMAZONAPPLE BOOKSBARNES AND NOBLEKOBOSMASHWORDS

I was a dragon. Dragons didn’t run from any situation. Not even a dragon disguised as a witch. Well … at least not from any situation that involved the archive or my duty, because apparently I fled before anything even remotely personal. Including surprise double dates.

Synopsis: A masked gala. A solstice celebration with the werewolves. Broken relics and doorways leading not only to other realms, other mythical and magical creatures, but to other possible futures. For me. And maybe even for Kellan.

And, well … that’s all just another day at the office for me.

Though my witch disguise really wasn’t going to hold up for much longer. Because even though I’d accepted my role as head curator at the magical archive of the National Museum of Ireland, and all the duties that came with being the Archivist of the Modern World, apparently I didn’t like the restrictions that came along with that. Because I couldn’t build the life I truly wanted — the dream unfurling in the dark chambers of my heart — on lies and half-truths.

Which meant that a moment was looming when I’d be faced with a choice that I couldn’t bear to walk away from. A choice that I might be willing to lose everything else to obtain.

Compelling Infinity is the second book in the Archivist series, which is set in the same universe as the Dowser, Oracle, Reconstructionist, Amplifier, and Misfits of the Adept Universe series.While it is not necessary to read all the series, in order to avoid spoilers the ideal reading order of the Adept Universe begins with Cupcakes, Trinkets, and Other Deadly Magic (Dowser 1). 

Archivist Series reading order:

Office dog, attempt #2

I’ve been working out of the cabin for the last two weeks, bringing Molly for office visits (in case you didn’t know, my pretty little office and workout space is in a converted garden shed) but not attempting to do any significant amounts of work. Yesterday, we attempted a regular work day. Molly napped for the morning but then tried to climb on the treadmill three times (with her bully stick) in the afternoon so we had to retreat to the cabin in order to get more new words written.

Molly Millions wedged between the treadmill desk and the Pilates reformer. [She doesn’t really like to be behind me, so this space has to do].

Today is attempt number two. She was restless at the beginning of Pilates but then settled. And now, after a hot chocolate break (for me, not Molly), we are going to attempt to get some new words written.

Wish us luck!

Or at least, a smooth flow for me and a heavy nap for Molly.

Amplifier 5: coven witches , sharks, and surfing

It’s happening!!! #AmWriting #AmplifierSeries #AdeptUniverse

Another exclamation erupted from the backseat of the convertible, drawing our attention to the left again. For the briefest of moments a view of a gray sand beach broke through the trees. If not for the roar of the wind already buffeting my ears, the sound of the pounding surf would no doubt be impressive.

“Surfers!” Opal exclaimed, picking out black dots among waves that had to be at least four meters high. Even in June the water was cold enough that surfers wore wet suits if they wanted to be in the ocean for an extended period of time.

“But no sharks, right?” Ocean howled over the wind.

“You know there is!” Opal huffed, exacerbated. “We looked it up!”

“But not near shore.” Ocean muttered, reassuring herself. “Not man eaters.”

“Don’t worry,” Opal crowed gleefully. “The orcas will eat you before the sharks.”

I glanced at Ocean in the rearview mirror. The eighteen-year-old potions specialist looked utterly aghast. Aiden’s youngest sister had returned from the Academy with Opal last night. She was a member of the Myers coven but interested in apprenticing with one of the Godfrey witches for the summer. Hence, joining us for the retreat. 

“But not near shore, right?” Ocean repeated, brushing the dark brown, blond tipped hair that had worked free from her loose bun away from her light blue eyes.

Lani laughed. “You don’t have to surf, Ocean.”

The Myers witch huffed, crossing her arms. “You don’t know witches. Show any weakness, and they’ll freeze me out.”

– Instincts and Imposters (Amplifier 5), chapter one, scene one, first draft


New to the Amplifier Series? Start reading with The Amplifier Protocol (Amplifier 0). Or click here for the reading order of the entire Adept Universe (so far).

Amplifier Series: brainstorming oracle cards

With Compelling Infinity (Archivist 2) off for line/content edit, I’m turning my attention back to the Amplifier series. I’m actually brainstorming/outlining book five and six at the same time, because I’m seriously contemplating wrapping up the series at book six (technically seven, if you count the prequel). Which means, you should get two Amplifier books back to back, which is always fun.

I already had book five all outlined, and partly written, but if I intend to finish the series with book six then I need to make sure that book five sets everything up that must come full circle for a satisfying ending. And part of that is working out what oracle cards reflect the key plot points for the books.

I’m also digging through the book cover photo shoot to select the photos that I want to use for the last two book covers – fun! fun!

Brainstorming the oracle cards that will mentioned/featured in Amplifier 5 and 6.

The editor always has your back.

Just in case you ever wondered what the editor aka SFG aka Scott Fitzgerald Gray does for you specifically, my lovely readers, I stumbled across this seven year old Facebook post that exemplifies his power for good perfectly:

A screenshot of MCD’s Facebook post about adding a final scene to Trinkets, Treasures, and Other Bloody Magic (Dowser 2).

And how was the book going to end (had SFG not intervened)?

[massive spoiler for Dowser 1 below, just in case you haven’t read it yet!!]

I gazed at the golden god of a man across from me. My mind was reeling and my thoughts unfocused. He looked maybe thirty-five if I attributed the crinkles around his eyes to age, rather than to sun and laughter.

He let me look at him. His sword had returned to wherever he pulled it from. His arms were at his sides, palms open to face me … in surrender or acceptance?

“I have my mother’s eyes,” I said, releasing the breath that had been blocking my ability to speak.

“Yes,” Yazi, the warrior of the dragons, answered. “But every other inch of you is me.”

He was right. I was his spitting image.

Half-witch, half-dragon. Well, that was one mystery solved.

I smiled, hitting him with one of my best efforts ever.

“Hi, Dad,” I said.

Trinkets, Treasures, and Other Bloody Magic (Dowser 2)

Editing and Allsorts

After nine weeks, I dropped the latest round of off-label headache meds yesterday – Candesartan, actually used for blood pressure regulation – because the side effects were becoming too detrimental and the constant/daily headache was completely undaunted. Already feeling slightly better, I happily spent the day working through the story editor’s notes on Compelling Infinity (Archivist 2).

Slowly but surely, I will get the next book in the Archivist series in your hands! Along with the first collection of the Moments of the Adept Universe stories. More info and release dates TBA!

But, more importantly, Michael bought me a treat to aid the editing/story pass.

On MCD’s desk today – editing Archivist 2 with the help of some liquorice Allsorts.

Liquorice (aka licorice) Allsorts!

Allsorts are definitely on the edge of too sweet for me, but I still enjoy the chewy texture. And the childhood connection/memory – one set (of four) of my grandparents always had a bowl of Allsorts on their coffee table when I visited in the summers.

I hope to get Archivist 2 back in the editor’s inbox by the end of next week. Wish me luck!

Moments of the Adept Universe: Audrey 0.5

Anchored in the Moment (Moments of the Adept Unvierse 0.7) aka Audrey 0.5 – First draft. Done. 🙂

Set after Dowser 1, and featuring Desmond, this ‘moment’ turned into a fun and sexy short. I was just going to share it on my blog, but I might also put out a random newsletter next week. [subscribe or check your subscription here] October is usually my fav month – Thanksgiving, my birthday, harvest, and halloween – but things are really rough around here right now – we think we’re losing Leo all of a sudden, because he won’t eat – and I needed something short and sweet to focus on. A distraction that would also help me feel productive.

Snippet below:

A handwritten page from MCD’s notebook

“You have a position open, in your pack,” I said without further preamble.

“The beta position is Kandy’s,” Desmond said, pointedly looking out the side window. It was a beautiful day, sunny but not hot. “It has always been Kandy’s.”

“Yet Kandy is in Vancouver.”

He glanced at me then, narrowing his eyes. “Fulfilling a temporary need.”

I eyed him for a moment, trying to figure out how much Desmond Llewelyn liked to be pushed. “She won’t take it,” I said evenly. “Just like she’ll let her inheritance rot, just like she won’t step up and take the Assembly seat.”

“Those are her choices.” Desmond frowned — I was getting to him, finally.

“Exactly. And you have a hole in your pack. An imbalance.”

He half grimaced, half snarled. “And you will be alpha when your father steps aside.”

“He’ll never step aside. He’ll wait for someone to take the pack from the Rothchilds. And you know —” I laughed bitterly. “You know, he hopes that’s going to be Kandy. A Tate.”

Desmond looked at me then. Really looked.

Finally.

I’d thought about how to approach the cat, already knowing that seducing him wouldn’t get me what I wanted. Though many alphas preferred to fill the position of beta with a lover or a family member. I had no doubt that the sex would be vigorous and as rough as I wanted it to be, but Desmond would never fuck his beta.

“He’s broken,” I whispered, though my voice was still harsh, hard-edged. “Justin’s death broke him. Like it broke Kandy. And me.”

“Kandy isn’t broken,” Desmond snarled, automatically defending his wolf. Like a true alpha.

I smirked. “I’m not saying that she isn’t strong. Fierce. And loyal. But she’s not your beta. She’s not the beta you need.”

“It’s not a post for a princess,” he snapped, shards of green magic flickering in his eyes.

“Test me,” I purred. “I can take anything you throw at me.”

He shook his head. “The answer is no.”

– Anchored in the Moment. First draft.