Thursday, 26 July 2012

#WriCha Finale Giveaway (CLOSED)

Giveaway starts at midnight tonight, A.K.A July 27th.

It's a rafflecopter giveaway, so nothing complicated. The giveaway ends on August 16th at 12:01 am EST.

There are a total of thirty entries maximum per person. Thirty being if that one person decided to come back and tweet about the giveaway every day until the 16th.

Winners will be selected using rafflecopter.

Below are the cover images to each book, if you click on one of the covers it will take you to the description for that book.

If you find one you like, then enter the correct giveaway widget! There are eight; one for each book.

Monday, 23 July 2012

Interview: H.K Taylor

Another post for today - this time an interview. H.K. Taylor is a young man with an exceptional amount of ambition and drive. He may be new to the writing scene, but he sure is here to stay. This also happens to be the first interview he has done, so it's a privilege to have him here as a first-timer. You can follow him on twitter, where his username is @hajitaylor

Me: Tell us about yourself.
Haji: My name is Haji Taylor, pen name H.K. Taylor, I am seventeen, soon to be eighteen, and my dream is to write for the rest of my life, I want no other career. I was born with Cerebral Palsy and I also had a stroke. Those obstacles have only made me more determined to follow my dream.

Me: You haven't always written, what were your ambitions before you decided to pursue writing?

Guest Post: Mohanalakshmi Rajakumar

Today I have romance writer, Mohanalakshmi Rajakumar, writing about the long journey her novel Love Comes Later took her on. It lasted nearly three years. Read on to find out what happened:

What would you do for love?

Movies, books, and television are full of scenes where parents ask to be substitutes for their children. Husbands for wives, friends for one another. We have come to see the ultimate act of love as surrendering one’s life for a lover, child, or co-worker as the ultimate in heroism. The Hunger Games begins with Katniss taking the place of her sister Primm in the despotic Games lottery.

Sacrifice is at the heart of all these grand gestures. And sacrifice is what is required if you want to become a writer. I’m not exaggerating. You may not live up the right to living but you might miss out on a few movies, birthday parties, dinners, hours of sleep.

Wait – you WILL miss out on social events, current events, personal hygiene. There’s not maybes about it.

Friday, 20 July 2012

Cover reveal: Shift

Hi guys!

So, today I have a cover reveal for you! Do you remember Raine Thomas, author of the Daughters of Saraqael trilogy? If you need your memory refreshed then click this link for her interview with me.

As well as the Daughters of Saraqael trilogy, Raine has started on her spin off trilogy, Firstborn trilogy. The first in the trilogy is Defy, and you can read it's description below:

Seventeen-year-old Tate is about to make her parents’ dreams come true. Unfortunately for her, their dreams foretell her death.
Eager to explore more of the Estilorian plane and prove her abilities, Tate goes against her parents’ wishes and leaves the area of protection surrounding her home. Her choice puts her on a deadly path…one that leaves her alone, severely injured and battling for her life.
Her possible savior arrives in the form of Zachariah, a male who has removed himself from Estilorian society for more than fifty years. Fighting an unexpected connection to Tate, he must decide whether saving her life is worth destroying his.
As Tate struggles to find a way home, she ends up drawn into a dark Mercesti plot involving multiple murders and a powerful ancient artifact. With the unpredictable Zachariah as her only source for aid, she’ll soon find out if her abilities are strong enough to help her defy her Fate.
Shift is the second in this trilogy, and without further is the cover.

Wednesday, 18 July 2012

#WriCha: The Perfect Stranger

This is the last #WriCha story of 2012. It's been great reading the work of different writers, and putting it all together for readers on this blog. The Perfect Stranger is my own short story. I only found it fair that wrote something if I was expecting others to dedicate their time. It's a 4,762 word romance. Not my usual thing, but I enjoyed writing it. 

Write about someone who has just bumped into a beautiful stranger in the supermarket. Do they see each other again? What happens next?

The Perfect Stranger 

The automatic doors whoosh open and Melissa steps into the store. The air vent above the doorway blows cold air down on her scalp, causing her to shiver. She waves at her friend on the nearest till, who pauses to wave back before continuing to serve a customer.
The silence in the shop is eerie. A drunk stumbles down the nearest isle, his clothes soiled from years of living rough. The doors open behind her and she hastens to move out of the way. Three figures clad in black slink past. Melissa shivers again
She grabs a basket from the tower and sets off down the freezer isle. Melissa remembers she hasn’t   eaten, and scans the freezers.
 I can’t believe mum and Jeff broke it off again! Why do I always have to mop up her tears? Melissa rolls her eyes at the recent memory of her mother’s tear-stained face.  No wonder dad was glad to see the back of her.
She slows down, her heels clack against the tiles, and browses the microwave dinners. The temperature of the isle gives her goose bumps. She runs a hand over her left arm as she debates whether to get lasagne-for-one or a chicken curry. Melissa picks up the curry and tosses it into the basket hanging from her forearm.  
After picking up a bottle of red wine, Melissa heads for the fruit stand. She places her basket on the ground by her feet and begins to pick apples. She holds them against her stomach with an arm, determined to get to the bottom ones – the ones that haven’t been handled by countless shoppers. A hand touches hers as someone else reaches for the same apple.

Monday, 16 July 2012

#WriCha: Pulse by Carlyle Labuschagne

Write about being stranded on an island with someone. Write a scene for each of the following: 3 hours after the shipwreck/plane crash, 3 weeks after the shipwreck/plane crash and 3 months after the shipwreck/plane crash.
Carlyle has used the same prompt as Jean Booth, but their stories have turned out completely different. Pulse is 4,894 words.


Pulse quickening, heart racing, feet pounding, sweat dripping, my throat burning until I can’t run anymore - I have to get away! I turn one last time before I head into the thick of the forest. Slowly my feet carry me to the blue-gray shrub on the brim of the forest. I brush away the thick branches with one hand so I can watch intently from a vantage point as the bow of the ship is swallowed by the fierce waves. I reinforce myself with one single thought – I can never go back. I start to shake at the revelation that it is real; that it is really happening. I have escaped. My face drains of all color as my next thought is one of dread. Because of my selfish act I had done so at the cost of other lives. It is not usual for me have these thoughts. Staring down at the white sand scrunching between my toes I wonder if I truly know where I am heading. All I want is to be left alone. I am sure my disease will keep my company for the remainder of my life.

3 hours after

Friday, 13 July 2012

#WriCha: Secret Diaries by Charlotte Blackwell

Follow a rumour around a high school/secondary school. How does it develop? What happens to the victim(s)? Write about it.

Secret Diaries 

The first day of school is always difficult, but when you’re the new girl it’s even harder. It’s been three years since I’ve been to “traditional” school. Mom thought home schooling was the best option for me, she was right. With all the doctor appointments and illness, home schooling gave me the flexibility I needed to succeed. I went from barely passing to an honor student winning awards. Today is when thing will change, I’m going back to school. This is my first year of high school and I know it will be hard, but I want the full high school experience. I’ve dreamt of home coming and prom for long enough, now it’s time to live it.
My name is Brooklyn Summers and this is my first diary entry as a freshman. I’ve never kept a diary before, so I don’t really know how this works, but I don’t want to forget a thing. These are supposed to be the best years of my life and I will have them documented forever.

Monday, 9 July 2012

#WriCha: Do Not Open by Claire Smith

A man in a trench coat, hat and sunglasses has just walked up to you and handed you a briefcase. You have never seen him before but he knows who you are. What is in the briefcase? Who is the man? Write about it.
Claire's story has a twist to it that I never would have considered doing myself with this prompt. Her story is 4,996 words long and amazingly written from a male point of view, not a female. Enjoy!

Do Not Open

Shit Happens
IT MAY HAVE taken me thirty years to fully understand what it means to be a loser, but now I finally know. I know there are people who have it worse than me. Right now, at this very second, someone is dying of cancer. Another just got hit by a bus … you know how them bus drivers drive. Another may have decided it was finally time to end this bag of crap we call life and jump of a bridge. I know I shouldn’t be moaning just because I had the worst birthday in my life. But if you hear what happened, you might cut me a little slack instead of saying I need to grow up.
So here it goes.
It still hurts to talk about it, so I might skip some details. Forgive me. I’m on my fourth … or fifth, perhaps sixth glass of whisky. I might have forgotten a few of the important details. But what I do know was it began here. As in Chicago. On Wells Street to be precise. At this very Irish pub. A hole in the wall type bar. There’s lots of those kinds of drinking establishments in the city. But I know why I choose this one.
Reliving heartache is why I came back here tonight, against better judgment. My inner voice was screaming at me never to step foot in this pub again. But if there was one thing I learned from girlfriends of the past was you can’t hide from the places you used to go on dates and stuff. Sure, Chicago is a big city. This makes it easier to hide from the places that bring back happy memories of the people no longer in your life. But even a city as big as Chicago has its limit. No, I’m not talking about the edge of Cook County. I’m talking about being a coward.  That is to say, if I ran away from every place I ever took a girl I dated in the last thirty years … I might as well move to a new city. Because the places that are “safe” for my heart to visit are few and far between.

Friday, 6 July 2012

#WriCha: The lawn guy is coming on Thursday by Reggie Whitley

The lawn guy is coming on Thursday

The lawn guy is coming on Thursday.
            "Do you have your ID?" the ticket agent, bag checker lady asked looking more like a diner waitress than anybody working at airports in a movie.  Those women were beautiful to him.  They were young, brunettes or blondes, didn't matter really.  To him they were pretty things.
            "Yeah, here you go," he said handing his ID across the counter.  He'd never really thought about passing that little piece of plastic across the counter, but today he did.  All so that the plane was safe.
            The woman took the ID, looked at it, looked at him, looked back at it.
            What the hell could you be looking for now?  You think I'm a threat to the plane?  Seriously?
            "Chee... Cheel?" she said making a face like it was the strangest name she'd seen.  That with all the Africans and Indians she'd worked with whose names probably needed seven lines to spell.  He hated this kind of bullshit.
            I bet she works really hard to pronounce their names.  Heaven forbid she offend somebody with 45 letters across two names.  Send them through this part feeling all nice and happy and then the guys at security would do all but shove their fingers in their asses to make sure they weren't carrying a bomb.  Just give me my shit Flo.
            "It's pronounced like shell -like a sea shell," he said smiling at her.  It was a face that he knew didn't translate to his eyes.  Normally it would but he hadn't taken his medicine.
            The lawn guy will run over half the girl's toys before he realizes they're there.  That guy's really not worth the fucking $45 I pay him.  Who could miss chopping up a bunch of ...
            "Chel Grey?" the woman said.

Tuesday, 3 July 2012

#WriCha: The Island by Jean Booth

Write about being stranded on an island with someone. Write a scene for each of the following: 3 hours after the shipwreck/plane crash, 3 weeks after the shipwreck/plane crash and 3 months after the shipwreck/plane crash.

Jean used her imagination to create unusual creatures, read for yourself. This story is 2,805 words.

The Island 

"Oh my God! Chad! What's happening?" The panicked notes in my voice echoed dully in the headphones Chad and I were both wearing in the small plane. It wasn't the first time I'd asked that question and I was certain it wouldn't be the last. Chad's voice echoed in my ears but he wasn't talking to me.
"Mayday, mayday! This is Enchanted Airs, Zoolo-Four-Seven-Niner-Delta. Can anyone hear me? Is anyone listening?" Chad repeated the longitudinal coordinates into the empty airways, hoping someone would hear and be able to locate our failing plane. He continued to ignore my panicked questions.
I placed my palms against the window as I looked out again. I stared out the tiny plane window as it quickly descended toward the Pacific Ocean. The oceans' waves were closer than I'd ever wanted to see them out of a plane, and getting closer - fast!
"Oh my God!" I repeated to myself as if that phrase would change everything.
"Kaitlin, do you see that island over there?" Chad's calm voice barely registered in my head. I was getting used to him ignoring me, so it took me a minute to pull my face away from the window to look at what he was pointing at. In the distance, getting larger with every beat of my heart was a small island. "I'm going to try to angle the plane as close as I can to that island. I don't know how close we'll get, but we're going to have to swim. I need you to focus and not panic when we hit or you'll die. You can swim, right?"
"Yes," I whispered, ignoring my trembling limbs and the need to slug him in the face. I didn't need the reminder that we were about to die.
I clenched my backpack until my knuckles turned white. I couldn't blink as the plane smacked into the oceans' waves. The water rushed quickly into the cockpit, eager to devour the tiny plane and claim it for its watery grave.
Two days prior

Sunday, 1 July 2012

#WriCha: The Hunted by Jessica Wentz

The Prompt:
You have just been turned into a werewolf/vampire/immortal; what is the first thing you do? Are you pleased with your new existence? Write about it.
Jessica wrote about Angels - which are immortal and, therefore, valid. Her story is 3,316 words.

Please leave your thoughts in the comments! :-)

 The Hunted

        Seeing her reflection in the window, Gwen Forrester sighed deeply at the sight of her brand new wings.  She had only been awake for a day since the change, and she still wasn’t sure how she felt about it.  She knew she was in Colorado, somewhere, but just didn’t know where.  
        How had she gotten here? Gwen thought confused, as she stared at her wings once more.  She didn’t remember much of what happened, but did remember walking to her sister’s apartment and then nothing.  It was a black hole in her memory.  Hearing a sound from behind her, she turned around slowly.
Michael.  She should have known he would be responsible for this.  
        Why oh why couldn’t he have left her alone? She thought looking away from him.  They had never actually been involved; the fact that he was an angel had always stopped her.  She knew people wouldn’t understand them being together.  Even one as beautiful as Michael was.  
       He had told her she had been asleep for five months.  That was such a long time, she thought miserably.  Was her family worried about her?  Where did they think she was?  Did they even know what had happened to her?  Seeing her wings in the reflection on the window made her more confused.  She should be happy having wings, but she wasn’t; she should be happy they were so beautiful, but she wasn’t.  She was angry.  She didn’t particularly care at the moment they were her two favorite colors.  Looking at them, she saw the soft pink at the top blended into the soft blue at the bottom.  At that moment, she hated them.  
       Sighing, she finally turned and looked at Michael; he hadn’t moved from the chair by her bed.  He was wearing a tight black t-shirt and faded blue jeans; his dark blonde hair fell over his forehead, and she almost went and brushed it back with her hand.  
       “What happened?” she asked, hoping he would tell her the truth.  
       “You don’t remember?” he asked her, with surprise in his voice.  His green eyes stared into hers with such intensity she had to look away.  Why did he think she would remember anything?  Why did he sound so surprised that she didn’t remember anything?  
        She watched as he got up from the chair beside the bed, his beautiful wings tucked tightly behind him.  She hadn’t noticed before that his wings were a different color underneath as they were on the outside.  They were a soft grey on the inside, and she ached to run her hand along them, just to feel the softness.  How had she forgotten how beautiful Michael was?  She thought looking into his green eyes.  How had she forgotten how completely drawn to him she was?  
       “Am I supposed to remember?” She asked him, looking at him through worried blue eyes.  She wasn’t surprised when she was met with silence.