Agent Nathan Bransford had an excellent post on Tuesday about query letters, and just what things are important in them. I've said this before and I'll say it again--If you're a writer, you should be reading Nathan's blog on a regular basis. He's got good stuff over there.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Part 4
Nick came awake with a jerk, abruptly sitting upright. He heard a low gasp and then a muttered, “Oh, thank God!” and turned his head to see his mother sitting in the chair beside his bed.
His bed. He was home? How had that happened? The last thing he remembered was...getting on Laredo, preparing to ride home. Then...nothing.
“Mother?” His voice was hoarse, his throat raw.
“You’re all right, Nick.” She moved to sit beside him on the edge of the bed. Her small hand reached out and trembling fingers stroked lightly down the side of his face. “Thank God you’re all right.”
He blinked. He tried to recall what happened. He’d clicked at Laredo to go. The horse had shied. Nick had tried to calm him. Then...he woke here. “What happened?”
A look of alarm crossed her worn but still lovely features. “You don’t remember?”
He shook his head, wincing at the soreness in his neck.
“You were attacked. Some...thing bit you. When the livery boy went to make a final check of the horses at midnight, he found you lying on the ground, Laredo standing beside you. Doc Wallace said...” Her throat moved with her hard swallow. “He said you’d been drained of a lot of your blood. He wasn’t sure you’d make it through the night.”
Drained of blood? He frowned. Something niggled at him, tickling the back of his mind but remaining elusive.
“You were so pale.” His mother stifled a sob and lifted a hand to her face. She daubed her eyes. “I was afraid you...” She abruptly stood and turned her back on him, trying to regain her composure, he knew. She was the strongest woman he’d ever met, and hated for people to see her cry.
He leaned against the headboard. “Well, I managed to survive, but I can’t remember the attack.” He heard the frustration in his voice and fought to keep his own composure. He wanted to strike out until he recalled what apparently had been a near-fatal encounter. “You said I was bitten?” He reached up to feel his neck. His fingertips encountered bandaging.
His mother turned to face him. She nodded. “Just two puncture wounds. The doctor was stymied as to how two relatively small wounds could have resulted in so much blood loss, but surmised it was perhaps because they had pierced your jugular.” She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “Yet there was very little blood at the scene, apparently.”
Well, now. That was something to ponder, wasn’t it?
The Devil Inside by Sherrill Quinn - Copyright 2009. All Rights Reserved.
Harlequin has announced the launch of Carina Press(TM), a digital-only publishing house that will operate independently of their traditional publishing businesses. Carina Press will sell its e-books direct-to-consumers via their website.
Angela James, previously with Ellora's Cave and former Executive Editor at Samhain, will be the new venture's Executive Editor, so they're starting out with great experience in their editing area.
Both the contract and distribution channels are different from Harlequin's other divisions, in that:
With the advent of technology, bookstores find themselves battling the internet and cyber-book forces for customers. Publishers Weekly recognized the importance of garnering support for bookstores, and National Bookstore Day was born. “We want to celebrate the vibrant culture of bookstores,” Publishers Weekly publisher Ron Shank noted, “increase store traffic, sell more books, and create an enjoyable customer experience that will lead to return visits. Every store is doing this already, but we think there may be an opportunity to get more customer attention if many across the country band together on the same day.”
This year is the first celebration of National Bookstore Day, and in order to make it a success, bookstores nationwide need your support! The concept of National Bookstore Day is simple. To do your part, all you have to do is visit your local bookstore this Saturday. (And it wouldn't hurt if you at least buy one book!)
Part 1 | Part 2
Part 3:
Nick tightened the cinch and then patted his horse on the neck. “Well, Laredo, are you ready to go home?”
The gelding nickered and nodded his head a few times, making Nick laugh. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you understood every damned word I said to you, boy.” He stroked his gloved hand down the muscled neck and vaulted into the saddle. With a nudge of his heel he turned the horse toward the opened double doors of the livery. A gust of wind blew more snow across the opening that he’d seen the stable boy shovel ten minutes ago before he’d gone on home for dinner. Nick was the only person at the livery. Everyone else was smart and bundled up at home, which was where he wanted to be. “Let’s get back to the ranch before the storm picks up again.”
A slight noise from a stall in the back caught his attention. He twisted in the saddle, looking over his shoulder, but saw nothing. The rustle came again. Probably just a rat--or a cat looking for a tasty meal. Nick faced forward again and urged Laredo on. The horse took two steps and then stopped, danced sideways, tossing his head in fear.
Nick held on, trying to calm the gelding. He heard a low snarl and then someone, or something--it was all a blur--launched through the air, barreling into him and knocking him to the ground. He landed on his left shoulder, hard, the momentum rolling him onto his stomach.
Heavy weight on his back kept him face down in the dirt. A hand--at least now he knew he’d been attacked by a human--gripped his hair and pulled his head back. Nick bucked, trying to dislodge the man, but it was like trying to move a boulder. He didn’t budge. And then, to Nick’s shock and horror, the man fastened his teeth in the side of Nick’s throat.
Time seemed to suspend as the man--thing?--feasted on Nick’s blood. Nick’s struggles grew more and more feeble as his life was drained heartbeat by heartbeat. Soon his vision began to blacken, his lids drooping as that somber final sleep threatened to overtake him. As he faded into unconsciousness, he was vaguely aware of the weight lifting from his back and being flipped over.
A low, raspy voice full of menace whispered, “This is what your lust has brought you to. She’s mine.”
Then the man, and Nick’s ability to remain conscious, was gone.
The Devil Inside by Sherrill Quinn - Copyright 2009. All Rights Reserved.
