On Writing & Publishing by Robin D. Owens

Personal notes on writing techniques, writing a novel, my writing career and threading your way through publishing a book.

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Location: Denver, United States

RITA Award Winning Author -- that's like the Oscar, folks! Futuristic/Fantasy Romance and Fantasy with Romantic Subplots.

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Friday, September 25, 2015

Belated Celta Thursday: Heart Legacy review

I've been in and out today on local research trips (mostly for my contemporary/Old West ghost books, and upcoming Ghost Talker), so not much time to scroll through the decreasing amount of Celta outtakes I have, and doing this late and quick and dirty.

Saturday, September 19, 2015

Ghost Talker Day 3, Teaser About Buffalo Bills Western Roundup TAKING PLACE SUNDAY THIS YEAR, SEE LINK BELOW

Ghost Talker Day 3, Teaser About Buffalo Bills Western Roundup TAKING PLACE SUNDAY THIS YEAR, SEE LINK

"Another quick deadline?" Clare's lips pressed together.

Mr. Rickman tapped his fingers together. "You did very well last week, terminating that evil ghost before the big tourist weekend–"

"Cruisin' the Canyon," Zach put in sententiously . . . like none of them knew.

"And we also don't want to have any tourists harmed by the poltergeist at another large event."

"Really? We've really run into another important event?" Clare scowled.

Mr. Rickman nodded, glancing down at a sheet of paper centered in his blotter. "As you know, Mr. Welliam donates to the Buffalo Bill Museum. He informed me that there are only three large events in the year."

Clare plopped back against the chair. "And we've run into one of them."

Looking up at her with a steady gaze, Mr. Rickman nodded. "There's Buffalo Bill's birthday–"

"Not next weekend." She'd been dipping into the history of her project.

"No, and a music festival last month. And on Sunday there is "Buffalo Bill's Western Roundup."

"Oh, goody." The words, and the sarcastic tone, shot out before she could stop them. So unprofessional! Sitting up straight, feeling she flushed, she apologized. "I'm sorry. I'm not accustomed to cases coming so rapidly in succession and needing such a quick resolution."

Zach trailed his fingers through her hair, from scalp to shoulder, also very unprofessional, but he didn't seem to care about that. He said, "No one ever dropped nasty accounts on you at tax season?"

"Of course not! None of my clients would be so foolish, and firm I work for – worked for – was very well organized." She tilted her head to look at him. Yes, he appeared amused.

"Cops deal with messy stuff. Always," Zach said. "That's pretty much a given." He looked at Mr. Rickman, who shrugged. "Some of our cases are easy and boring. Some are . . . touchy."


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Friday, September 18, 2015

Ghost Talker Teaser, Day 2, the ghost: Texas Jack

Clearing her throat, Clare asked, "Texas Jack, are you here?"

*Yes, I am, Miss Cermak*, echoed in her mind and the tall, broad shouldered, athletic build of the phantom coalesced before her.

Again he wore leather pants with fringe on the seams, a denim shirt, a long buckskin jacket, low-crowned, broad-brimmed hat and moccasins – and he winked at her as he twirled his lasso, making intricate patterns in the air.

She studied the ghost of Texas Jack Omohundro – an affable ghost, not seeming to be despairing, nor frightened, not demanding justice, nor monstrous. Not like other spirits she'd helped transition to whatever came next.

So she got down to the business – and her new vocation *was* a job – of determining the rules of this particular ghost.

"Texas Jack, why are you here? From what I know of you and your life, I wouldn't have thought you were the kind of man whose spirit would remain." A good man, an honorable man who took life easily. One who'd lived and loved well.

The lasso faded from his hands into thin air, replaced by a cigar in long fingers. He didn't meet her eyes with his fog-like ones, but gazed beyond her.


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Thursday, September 17, 2015



Clare, Zach, and the jogger who'd called the police stood in front of the locked gate.

The two graves of William Frederick Cody and his wife lay under white quartz rocks gleaming in the last lingering radiance of the sunset. But there were holes in those mounds where the quartz stones should have set, too.

The rocks that had been ripped from their settings tumbled over the red sandstone paths around and between the graves. Dirt, dust, pine cones and needles, even coins, littered the enclosure.

Gesturing, the man said, "This isn't how the graves should look. They're kept pristine. But the poltergeist comes as wind, a dust devil."

Celta Thursday: Snippet from Heart Search

Celta Thursday: Snippet from Heart Search when Camellia and her friends were at the starship Nuada's Sword: Camellia needed to find out how quickly the Lugh’s Spear expedition was moving. Surely they wouldn’t directly go to the breach in the starship to enter it, would they?

Now the SupremeJudge was studying her, just what Camellia didn’t want...until she was ready. She sighed inwardly. She’d been avoiding it, but she would have to get Glyssa and Tiana together and have them help her present another case. This time a lawyer would have to be involved, she was sure. Dammit.

Tuesday, September 15, 2015

Ghost Killer End: Zach's Point of View...

He strode through the building and out, stopped a minute to let a couple of cars go by and admired the lavender painted hotel a block down and across the street. The right hand door to the balcony opened and Clare came out, carrying her tablet and a keyboard. He figured she'd be writing up her notes and cross-referencing everything six ways from Sunday. He pointed to the restaurant in the bottom of the hotel and she nodded.

He had no clue what she felt for him, and his insides twisted. After he got food for the trip, he opened the door to their room.

She'd tidied it up and the place looked nearly unlived in. Unloved in. As if they hadn't experienced so much as they had when they'd been there.

She sat on the balcony, her gaze toward the gap and the upper canyon. Her hand rested against her side. When he stood at the threshold, her head turned, but she didn't smile and he'd expected one. She gestured at the chair beside her and he came, shoved it closer to her, and sat.

"I'm ready to go." She sighed. "Such a pretty town, and a historic one of my time period that I could actually experience and appreciate, since there aren't any ghosts." She waved. "Like this hotel. I should like it more."

"We can always come back," Zach said. He didn't like this depressed Clare. He was the brooding one of the pair of them and didn't like seeing it on her. He took her free hand. Her fingers were cool but not cold. With a jerk of his head, he indicated the road up the canyon. "All the ghosts from your time period are gone, right? We can come back anytime you want."

"Oh." She blinked. "You're right." A small line set between her brows and her eyes went distant once more. "All the mines up around Bachelor Loop, the site of old Bachelor, too. No one's there."

"So we can come back. We'll always have Creede."

She looked at him askance. "Are you making a joke with regard to the film Casablanca?"

He nodded. "Lame. I know. Creede isn't Paris."

There was the hint of a smile. "No, but it's still beautiful in its own way."

"Uh huh." She hadn't taken her other hand from her side. "Are your ribs bothering you?"

Her gaze met his. One of the things that first attracted him to her were the shadows in her eyes that might match his. Like she'd suffered through darker things in life and he wouldn't have to explain himself too much. Now the hazel had darkened, and there were more than shadows, there was torment. "I think she wounded me. Inside. It feels like I have a hole, or a lack . . . just some aching emptiness . . . " She shook her head. "I can't explain it."


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Monday, September 14, 2015

Ghost Killer, Day 3 Of Jesse James, Robert Ford, Soapy Smith and Creede, Colorado

Zach stretched out on the double bed and stacked his hands behind his head. It was Wednesday. They needed to keep moving on this case, and fast, wrap it up Saturday morning at the latest before a lot of tourists came to the town and got hurt. Though from the fliers he'd seen, the first event of Cruisin' the Canyon took place Friday afternoon. Having it done by Friday would be better.

And he didn't have enough real facts to know that they could do that. They had the knife, the bloody, bloodthirsty knife. The weapon was ready. The person holding that weapon, Clare, might or might not be. But Clare was determined.

The piece of the puzzle that would be the difficult one was finding the dead sucker's name . . . Zach grunted. Sucker might be a word to keep in mind. Soapy Smith had been a con man, and Robert Ford had run a gang, too. They'd clashed, and later Ford had died. Plenty of leeway for betrayal in those circumstances.

Clare came back in and Zach took the other robe. "String of betrayals," he said, without thinking about it. He could talk to her about cases, bounce ideas off her. A woman he had sex with . . . cared for . . . unique in his relationship history.

Nodding, Clare said, "Robert Ford betrayed Jesse James and killed him. The Ford brothers themselves were betrayed in that they didn't get the bounty amount for killing James that was promised. Later, Ford probably felt betrayed when his older brother committed suicide. Most people think that Soapy Smith set Ford up to be killed."

"I'd considered that. I need to get up to speed on the legends."

Clare glanced out the window. "It looks like another mixed weather day." She gave him an unshadowed smile. "Always easier for me to read and do research on cloudy days. We have a meeting with one of the volunteers of the historical society at the archives this afternoon."

"I remember."

Once more when he returned, he found Clare dressed and sitting on the bed, her great-aunt Sandra's journal open. He wished Clare would listen to her gut more.

"Reading the story of how your Great-Aunt Sandra defeated her evil ghost again?"

Her mouth set stubbornly. "Sometimes you see new things."

"I don't figure one page can reveal new insights."

"You're being difficult."

"Maybe." He took off the robe, wanted to throw it on the floor, or the bed, but hung it on the stand instead. "I don't want you comparing yourself to your great-Aunt Sandra and finding yourself lacking."

"I'm not."

He grunted and began dressing.

"Not much."

"And you're not regretting avoiding her, and not learning from her."

"Not much."

"Really?" His sarcasm was heavy.

"Not. Much. I'm trying to ingrain the information into my head so all the concepts feel familiar when I think of them, not something I will doubt in the heat of the moment."


Clare closed the book and tapped it with her forefinger. "Great-Aunt Sandra's ghost had consumed two others."

Keeping his voice soft, Zach slid into the next question. "You know more about the monster ghost every time you check on it, don't you? You must have gotten an idea of how many ghosts it's taken over. Think, Clare, how many?"

A line twisted between her brows. She tilted her head as if listening. Her lips moved as if counting. "Twenty."

Zach snapped his mouth shut so he couldn't shout the word, sucked in a breath and said, "Twenty."



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Sunday, September 13, 2015

Ghost Killer, Day 2, Sept 13. About That Knife on the Cover...

Clare Cermak, the heroine, is talking to her friend, Desiree Rickman, who has weapons knowledge, on a video app on their phones. Clare is in Creede, Colorado, Desiree is in Denver.

Even in the small app, Clare could see Desiree's eyes widen. "That story about the bone knife is so cool."

Clare undid the last knot of the knife's outer embroidered covering, hesitated. "Look closely and quickly because this is a supernatural knife. It will draw evil."

Desiree's brows climbed. "Wow." Her gaze sharpened.

Quickly pulling on the silk and the hilt of the knife, Clare separated the two, then yanked the blade from the metal sheath and held it in the sun. Now she saw the blade, too, carried a slight gloss that shone along it – from hands that had caressed the blade itself? From blood? From killing evil ghosts?

"Wow. Excellent," Desiree stated in a more professional tone. "Looks sharp, like it would do the job."

Clare jerked her head in a nod. "Yes, it should kill the ghost."

"Clare, it could kill almost anything else. Especially if it's supernatural."

After swallowing, Clare said, "Oh. I understand."

"And you need to soak it in blood?" Desiree confirmed.

Clare nodded...there'd been no hint of a breeze, but now she saw tree leaves dipping. "I must put it back." She grabbed the metal sheath with the mesmerizing blue and gold pattern, the silk tube, and slipped the knife in it, her fingers working to tie a knot. Not a very intricate knot. She'd have to study up.

The hair on the back of her neck, on her arms, ruffled. Yes, the ghost was headed this way but, perhaps . . . the sunshine . . . the lingering hurt from last night . . . a touch of fear slowed it.
And it stopped in a comfortable place, the spar near the information boards at the confluence of the East and West Willow creeks.

Interesting that the entity considered that spot comfortable. Clare didn't think it was coincidence that a murder-suicide had occurred there.

"Clare, honey, are you there?" Desiree said.

Clare jolted away from the sensation of being north of there. "Oh, Desiree. Sorry."

"With regard to the soaking in blood thing. Whose blood?"


Desiree nodded. "I thought so. If you want my opinion–"


"I saw that you removed the blade from a sheath. Have you considered how liquid-proof the inside of the sheath is?"

Clare gasped. "That's brilliant." She tilted her head. "I'd have to find a way to brace the sheath and get a good flow into it . . . and enough light to see into the sheath so I don't let it overflow too much . . . then I'll work on soaking the hilt. Thanks, Desiree!"

"Wait, Clare–"

But Clare flicked her finger against the app and Desiree disappeared. Clare had a deep suspicion that if she even flickered an eyelash that Desiree construed as Clare needing help, the woman would be on the next private plane here. Clare didn't need to watch out for her, too. Regardless of all Desiree's martial arts or street fighting training and experience, Clare was pretty darn sure that Desiree would be helpless in the face of this threat and more a hindrance than an asset.

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Saturday, September 12, 2015

Ghost Killer Day 1, Enzo the Ghost Dog and the Knife

Enzo, her ghost Labrador dog, awaited her when she got home. He sat in the large entryway next to the stairs with cocked ears, though his cheerfulness seemed slightly subdued. His tail wagged a couple of times, but she heard no swish, just felt the standard chill radiating from her ghostly pet.

**You are really going to do this, Clare?** he asked.

She inhaled a quick breath, let it out choppily. "I am not going to let a boy be eaten by an evil ghost."

Her phantom dog rose and trotted up the stairs. **You will need the big knife, then. I will show it to you.**

"Knife!" For one brief instant, courage blazed inside of her. A weapon, she'd have a weapon! Then her stomach jolted and her throat closed again. She had no clue how to use a big knife.

But her lover, Zach Slade, would. If the knife was, say, a long dagger, it might be used as a sword. Zach used his cane was a weapon, he could teach her cane moves, couldn't he? She was sure he knew how to use a regular knife.

"Is the knife . . . supernatural?" she asked Enzo, following him up the stairs, turning right toward her bedroom. Perhaps if the weapon was supernatural, all she'd have to do was hold it and let it lead her to the evil ghost and dispatch it. Like the fairy tales great-aunt Sandra had told her as a small child. Fairy tales. Fiction.

Of course it wouldn't be that easy. And in fairy tales, the prince or princess had to overcome great obstacles. And if you weren't the right princess, you could die. Clare bit her lip.

**Clare! Focus! You can't daydream! We can do this. The knife will help!** Clare shook herself to find she stood in the tiny office she used for her ghost seer cases. Atop the battered desk lay her old laptop from two years ago. She'd tacked maps on the walls: a huge one of Denver that she'd shaded the worst areas for ghosts of her time period; one of Colorado; and one of the United States. Some smaller maps were reproductions of old ones, Denver in 1887, 1890, 1893, 1903, that last three years later than the last year of what she hoped was her sensitivity to ghosts, the American West . . .

**CLARE! You MUST pay attention.** Enzo had hunkered down near great-aunt Sandra's large carved chest, a gorgeous piece of various woods fanned out on the front around a small half-circle that had always seemed like the sun and rays to Clare.

Enzo pointed his paw at the chest. His eyes appeared to be more liquid . . . and he hadn't been as much of a cheerleader this morning.

He seemed to have recognized the danger and mixed a too-real determination in with his optimism. That was so not a good sign. He'd always been a happy dog, even when she'd been going insane . . . even when she'd been dying due to refusing her gift.

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Friday, September 11, 2015

Ghost Layer Day 5, Zach TOMORROW DAY 1 of GHOST KILLER

Zach is at Clare's house....

He opened the gate and went through, descended the three steps, and walked to his truck, ready for a lonely journey, because something twisted inside him couldn’t share.

He’d had no idea he was crippled inside, too. That he might be able to straighten.

Zach went to the place he’d be most comfortable, where strong people would surround him—a cop bar where a friend of his on the DPD hung out. Nobody would care if he talked or not, and would expect him to keep mum about hurt, his past, his lost brother, and especially, his strange psychic powers.

He was welcomed . . . with reservations. Some conversations stopped and some young police officers didn’t look at him because his disability stirred fears of the same in them. His friend was there, but preoccupied with a case he couldn’t talk about.

Though the atmosphere untangled a thread in Zach since he was among his tribe, it also emphasized his differences. He was more like an honorary member of the tribe, shoved to the side. Maybe consulted now and then about a piece of knowledge he might have that the warriors of the tribe didn’t, but he was no longer a warrior.

And this evening, some of these men and women were here in the bar because the alternative was an echoing empty apartment.

A cop’s life wasn’t easy, and often dangerous, and Zach hadn’t been ready to settle . . . before. Especially for a woman who didn’t understand the difficulty and danger. A woman who wasn’t strong enough to manage the wait while he was on duty and the dread of a knock at the door giving her terrible news.

He’d been in that situation of waiting for terrible news with his brother, Jim. He’d never forget that knock on the door.
He was no longer a warrior of this tribe.

Yet as he drove through the city bright and dark, he felt that despite their different pasts, Rickman and his men were accepting him into a different tribe. As a warrior, an integral part, not a man on the fringe.

He and Clare had taken turns in growing in fits and starts; occasionally he was ahead of her in the acceptance of their new lives category.

He’d dealt with the lack of respect others would give him in his new job first. He’d had no good opinion of private investigators in all of his career. And his cop friends pitied him because he had to step down into private investigations since he couldn’t cut it as a deputy sheriff anymore.

But in the depths of his heart, being disabled had always been a possibility in his career, and he’d known that.

Yeah, he and Clare had talked the “respect” thing out and he’d helped her there.

This evening, he wasn’t, quite, ready to let her help him.

Because if he did have some sort of gift in the past, it had failed him in his deepest need.

He didn’t want another one if it would fail him when he needed it . . . to protect Clare.

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Thursday, September 10, 2015

Ghost Layer, Day 4: Ghosts and Accidents and Romance

Clare is at Laurentine's ranch in South Park, ready to help a historic ghost move on. She suffered an "accident" last night and Zach came to join her. (Note, this is an abridged excerpt).

“I think Laurentine is just about ready to nab you for a tour of Curly Wolf, and whatever you can tell him about the ghosts who haunt his precious town,” Zach murmured in her ear.

She said courteous good-byes and walked with him back upstairs. Since the morning was heating up, Clare went to the sliding door and opened it, letting brisk fresh air into the room as she stood out on the balcony.

“Don’t lean against the rail until you check it,” Zach said.

She’d been about to do that, and flinched.

“You told people at breakfast that I was staying in my room this morning. You’re pushing me, Zach.”

“You’re in danger and staying in your room is reasonable.”

She stared at him. “Perhaps, but you don’t make my decisions for me.”

“I’m here to help you.”

“Thanks for that, but I don’t want you taking over.” She paused and revealed a fear. “And I don’t want to become dependent on you.”

“You can trust me, Clare.”

“That’s not the point. I’m used to making my own decisions, but you muddy my mind, Zach.”

He came to her and put his arms around her, held her in the sun, and the whole moment condensed to one she’d recall forever. Murmuring in her ear, he said, “I’m glad I muddy your mind, because you do the same.

“You’re trying to get around me.”

“Maybe, but it’s the truth. And I believe you’re in danger and hurting and should stay in. Just for the morning, lover.”

She sighed. “I happen to agree.”

“Good, and we’re going to get you a little insurance.”

That piqued her interest and she let him draw her back through the sliding glass door. He sat in the large chair facing the view of the mountains in back and drew her into his lap, so gently she didn’t bend wrong and hurt her ribs. Then he settled her as he wanted, wrapping his arms around her. She ignored that her bottom rubbed across his groin and he hardened, since he seemed to do the same.

“What insurance?” she asked.

Zach raised his voice. “Enzo.”

The ghost Labrador leapt onto the balcony, solidifying atop the rail, then hopped down and ran through the glass doors.

**Hello, Zach! You called me, Zach! I am happy to SEE you. You’re holding Clare so you can see me easier, too!**

Zach’s arms had tightened around her when the dog had materialized. Now he cleared his throat and said, “Yes, I can see you, Enzo.”

Clare wondered just how much he could see the ghost. Enzo was pretty gray-and-shadows solid to her. His tongue draped outside his muzzle as he gave them a doggie grin. He tilted his head. **What do you want, my friend Zach?**

After a little cough, Zach said, “Okay, the human who hurt Clare, is there any way you can help her?”

His ears raised slightly. **If I saw a bad person, I could tell her.**

“Could you come and tell me if something has happened?”

Enzo barked. **I could! I could! I can run fast!** He zoomed around the room until he blurred, then disappeared. An instant later he sat in front of them again, looking more chipper.

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Celta Thursday, Peek into Files

Celta Thursday: peek into files. I'm all about customization and you could set folder backgrounds in XP, this is from my old (offline) computer, Heart Fate files. I still pretty much set the folders up like this now...but like XP time is passing and I'm moving on to Scrivener with Lost Heart.

Wednesday, September 09, 2015

Ghost Layer, Day 3, A Snippet of Conversation With a Historic Ghost

*Good morning, J. Dawson,* she sent mentally.

*I can’t hear you, Clare,* the phantom said roguishly with a side glance at the housekeeper, who’d paled.

Clare stopped a sigh. “Good morning, J. Dawson,” she said aloud. “I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t leave your bones as a gift anymore.”

He smiled, tilted his head. *I do not recalling agreeing to that.*

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Tuesday, September 08, 2015

Ghost Layer, Day 2 Enzo and Clare on the Way to South Park

After a last, sizzling kiss with Zach, Clare departed for South Par,. Enzo popped up in her passenger seat before she got down the block.

He panted cheerfully. As usual, strings of ghostly drool hung down from his muzzle. Whee! WE ARE GOING TO THE MOUNTAINS!

“I know. I’m driving.”

I have never been TO THE MOUNTAINS!

“I guess not. You’ll find it cooler.” Would he notice? “It’s coming up on autumn, though I don’t think the aspen leaves will quite have turned gold yet.”

There will be MOUNTAIN GHOSTS.

“Yes, a lot of them.” She wondered if she dared visit some of the mining towns. They’d be as thronged with ghosts as downtown Denver. “Many people lived in the mountains during the time period I’m sensitive to. Miners, prospectors, and everyone who could make money off of them.”

This will be FUN! Enzo stared out the windshield.

“It will be business.” She hesitated. “Did Aunt Sandra enjoy her business?”

. Enzo turned his head. Sometimes helping ghosts is sad.

“I’d imagine so. Thank you for coming with me, Enzo.”

You are welcome. I am your companion helper.


Enzo stuck his head out the window. WHEEEEEE! Thank you for taking me to the mountains! You are THE BEST! He didn’t just stick his head out; he put his paws on the sill and stuck his body out. Not a hair on him moved, but he appeared to feel the wind and his expression was pure bliss.

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Monday, September 07, 2015

Ghost Layer, Day 1, September 7

Ghost Layer Day 1, Zach has returned from Montana and is meeting Clare at Rickman Security and Investigations.

A quick double buzz came from the door lock as the receptionist opened it.

Clare walked in and Zach had the novel experience of having his heart jump in his chest. Damn, she looked good.

Rickman stood and so did Zach, automatically moving toward her. Just a step or two and he scented the exotic fragrance she wore that reminded him of more than kisses. He fought to control a hard-on. Did the damn multiplication table.

Still, she looked good, better than he’d last seen her the morning he’d crawled out of her bed and headed to Montana. Better than he’d ever seen her.

She’d come into her own and was done with the worry over closing out her great-aunt’s estate, moving into her own home, and dealing with a gunfighter ghost. The peach sundress she wore accented her golden skin and hazel eyes. Her brown hair with red tints was rich and glossy. He thought he made a noise in his throat.

She smiled like she was glad to see him and all his irritation at the wearying day vanished.

Wednesday, September 02, 2015


News. The Random House/Penguin merger took a while to impact my career but it has. I will be doing one more Heart book, FOR NOW. We will renegotiate in 2017. Yes, 2017. Due to the delay in contract negotiations, my next book will be out in 2017. It WILL be Vinni's and Avellana's book. After that, I don't know.



So, what I'd like from you: 1) Title for the 2nd Heart novella, featuring St. Johns and a Healer.

2) Title for Vinni and Avellana's story.

Thank you all for your support.

Tuesday, September 01, 2015

Of Ghost Seer matters

Ghost Talker, #4, was due at the end of August (yesterday). I've been running behind for some time, so instead of posting the doings everyday in Ghost Seer, etc. I concentrated on finishing the book. It remains rough, but will, of course, be revised. I am hopeful to start up the daily excerpts tomorrow and WILL continue teasers from Ghost Talker. :)
Thank you.

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