Thursday, November 27, 2014

Happy Thanksgiving!

Howdy, all. I really kind of thought I'd have a post for you this week. I wrote one, but last night, looking it over, it's not something I can post. It's flat and awful, and I guess it's simply a product of having a hard time focusing these past two weeks, and the added pressure of the holiday wasn't much help.

So instead of giving you something I apparently just half-assed phoned in, I'd really rather fix it.

However, all is not lost, as I have this lovely picture of Fiona in her awesomely poofy green dress by the talented Laura Hollingsworth of The Silver Eye. I just can't get enough of Laura's work. She really does a great job of capturing the Green River gang, doesn't she?

Anyways, for the record, I read The Silver Eye up to its current point and I really dug it. My daughter's reading it right now. If you haven't had a look, you should definitely give it a go. Fun characters, engaging ensemble cast, and, of course, great artwork!

Hope you all had a nice holiday. Hopefully we'll be back on schedule next week. Take care!


Monday, November 17, 2014

Question for You

Howdy, all,

Got a question for you. I want to put Ask Wash in the back of the Anthology. I am wondering if those of you who contributed questions have a problem with me using your letters as-is. In all but one or two cases, I don't know who submitted what, and I wasn't going to use the one or two real names I have (unless you want me to, and if you do, now's your time to speak up.)

Let me know what you think,

Thursday, October 30, 2014

Halloween Special: Red

The blast of stinging, wind-driven sleet nearly shoved Storm from Blackbird’s frosty back. He hunched over against the onslaught, holding his hood on with one numbing, mittened hand, and drove the horse forward towards the tiny shanty and the attached barn that comprised Pacific Springs relay station. Not going on tonight while this is happening, that’s for sure, he thought, sputtering as a blast of driving ice crystals scoured his face and eyes. We’re both half buried and mostly frozen.

It had been snowy for most of the day, but once the sun had started to sink, and the sky turned the color of slate, the cold had become an irresistible, deadly force. Frozen rain and sleet blew across the flat plains, howling down from the distant mountains and across the empty prairie. Storm knew he and Blackbird could find themselves buried in a ten foot, hard-frozen drift in this part of the trail. I’m glad we made good time till now, because we’re really going to be scrambling to make up what we lose tonight. Damn it! I do not want to have to wait out the entire night here!

Blackbird hauled himself and Storm into the yard of the tiny relay station, and Storm jumped down to wrestle open the barn door. His boots sank into the soaking, crunchy slurry of snow and frozen rain as he pulled the exhausted horse inside. He hastily dusted the ice from animal’s coat, sighing with relief at being out of the stinging wind.

It was dim, the dismal gray light fading into shadow inside the barn. Storm fumbled around in the half-light, toweling the dampness from the horse’s coat and snugging the blanket over his back. He dried the saddle and mochila and hung them over the rail. A sudden realization hit him and he stopped, looking around and frowning. Why are there no other horses in here? He peered into the twilight shadows, his ears pricking with the soft hiss of sleet on drifted ice crystals. Not only was there no fresh horse waiting for him, saddled and ready to go, but aside from Blackberry, there wasn’t any horse of any sort in the stable at all.

This could be a problem... He settled back against the wall, pulling his hood down and flexing his saddle-stiff legs, thinking. Did this station get robbed? Merde. This could be a big problem. Especially if they’re still here.

He hastily pulled off his mittens and unholstered his pistol, feeling his quickening pulse in his ears. Taking a deep breath, he placed his ear against the door separating the stable from the main cabin.


He realized he was breathing heavily, his heart pounding. The Voice of Fear was whispering to him, telling him to be careful, that something wasn’t right, that there wouldn’t be any casual reason why there would be no horses in the stable, or why there was no warm light showing under the door to the cabin. Where the hell are Hoyt and Pulaski?

There was unsettling silence on the other side of the door. Storm stared at the darkening planks in the fading light. I can’t take Blackbird and go back out right now. Not in this. He’s exhausted, and the crew here might need help. In any case,I need a fresh horse. He took in a few slow, calming breaths, placing his hand on the door and tightening his grip on his pistol. Standing to the side of the doorframe so that anyone waiting for him wouldn’t have an easy shot, he cringed inwardly and pushed the door open.

The last of the light pooled in gray shrouds over the tiny room, and Storm could make out a lone figure sitting in a chair before the cold fireplace in the near-dark. What that... “Hoyt?”

The man seemed to startle, and he stood up, ruffling a hand through his dark, thinning hair. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Fell asleep in the chair, I reckon. You alright?”

Storm deflated, leaning hard against the door frame and uncocking his pistol. He suddenly felt every single mile he’d ridden, and the giddy mix of fear and readiness inside him rattled around with nowhere to go. “I just...” he sighed heavily. “What the hell’s going on? Where’s the horses and...and where’s Pulaski?”

Hoyt pulled his suspenders back up over his worn union suit and his thin shoulders, and rubbed his face. “One of ‘em jumped the fence and took off. Pulaski took the other out looking for her. Ain't neither of ‘em come back.”

Is he joking? He left the station with no horses? He huffed incredulously. “Hoyt, how am I suppose to make my run without a fresh horse? That’s not good.”

“No, it ain’t.” Hoyt sniffed, shuffling over to the stove. “Sorry. Reckon we shoulda thought of that.You want coffee? I can heat up the kettle.”

Unbelievable. What the hell does he think this is? Pony rides for children? “Something hot would help, thanks.” He was far too tired and far to cold to have the stomach for an argument. The cabin was freezing, and evidently, Hoyt had dozed so long that the fire had gone out. Storm dusted the ice out of his coat and reholstered his pistol. He was angry and uneasy, residual nervousness still making him jumpy. Tabarnak. Let me at least light a lamp.

He heard the scraping of flint against steel as Hoyt fumbled around inside the dark stove, and wondered how long the man had been asleep that he needed to entirely re-light the stove. It was painfully cold inside the cabin, and Storm felt his irritation flaring. With icy fingers, he quickly lit the lamp, and then moved to re-light the fireplace. I don’t expect to have to get a damned relay station up and functioning when I stop. I have enough to worry about.

He took a scrap of fatwood out of the wood bin and used it to flip over the gray ashes in the bottom of the fireplace as he looked for embers. There weren’t any. He leaned back on his haunches, downright angry. “Hoyt, why did you let the..” The stove hasn’t been lit, he realized. The fireplace hasn’t been lit. And there’s a blizzard going on outside. He turned to look at Hoyt, feeding kindling into the stove, and narrowed his eyes. “Hoyt... where have you been?”

“Been out looking for the horse.” Hoyt turned and smiled apologetically, shrugging his shoulders.

Is that so? The Voice of Logic was now whispering in his ear, urgent and suspicious. Both of them were out of the station so long all the embers have gone cold? Embers in a pile of ash in a fireplace will stay hot for an entire night. This is horseshit.

They both left their post.

Hoyt straightened up. “There you go, it’ll be good and hot directly,” he said, adjusting the burner under the kettle.

“How were you asleep in the chair with it so damned cold in here, Hoyt?”

“Aw, it wasn’t that bad earlier.”

He’s lying. What’s he hiding? Storm cleared some of the ash from the middle of the fireplace, making a place to stack some kindling. It was oppressively tense in the cabin, as if there were an arrow aimed between his shoulder blades. He couldn’t shake the feeling, and gooseflesh rose inexplicably on his arms. His heart had started to throb in his ears again. He reached for a charred piece of old wood and added it to his kindling pile and suddenly, he felt his spine become ice. His eyes fixed on the curved, blackened thing in the fireplace and he resisted the urge to react. It was the remains of a horse’s hoof. What..?

“How about some biscuits?” Hoyt went on from behind him. “They’re cold, but we can heat them up.You sure can’t go nowhere with this weather like this right now.”

“Sure.” Storm wasn’t certain if his voice was steady or not. It didn’t feel steady. “Biscuits sound great.” He didn’t know what was going on. But he knew one thing; he had a far bigger problem than he had initially thought.

He could hear Hoyt rattling a pan on the stove, and the sound was like talons scraping along the inside of his skull. A growing horror had sparked inside him, flickering to life, gaining strength.  At least while he’s fooling around over there, I know where he is...but...ah, tabarnak...I still don’t know where Pulaski is. He fought to keep his hands steady as he scraped the flint across the striking steel, accidentally skipping it across his knuckles.

Behind him, Hoyt drew in a sudden deep inhalation through his nose, seeming to sniff the air. Storm watched the thin, red abrasion across his cut fingers well and bead with blood. He concentrated on keep his breathing steady, on fighting the sudden urge to bolt. The Voice of Fear was reciting every single terrifying monster story Storm had ever heard, stories of madness and skinwalkers and creatures that devoured men. Of beasts who came in the long, dark days of winter and settled their hideous spirits inside people and drove them to an insatiable craving for human flesh.

He was sweating. This is crazy, he told himself. Did they eat the horse? That’s...well, it’s certainly not grounds for panic. People eat horses. His mind reeled for some other explanation. He was coming up short. I can’t seriously be entertaining the thought that stories told to frighten small children...

Behind him, he heard the sound of a knife against a strop and he froze. Hoyt went on amiably.“I’ll cut you some bacon. I ain’t et tonight, neither, so might as well.”

The station keeper was still over by the stove. Where the hell is Pulaski? The thought deeply unsettled him. The flint sparked onto the charcloth, and Storm pushed it into the kindling, blowing it to life. It flared and danced and grew, and in the flickering orange glow, he saw gleaming white glints among the ashes and he gasped, his heart squeezing hard inside him, bile rising in his throat. Teeth. Human teeth. And that’s a partially melted glass eye.Oh, merde. His mind had a hard time processing this discovery as acid roiled up the back of his throat.  I think I just found Pulaski.

The pricking feeling of imminent doom was overwhelming, and he flinched, turning his head ever so slightly to steal a terrified glance behind him.

The open door of the stove was throwing eerie red light around the cabin. Hoyt was standing over the stove, his face mostly turned away. Storm could see only a sliver of his profile. It was enough.

Hoyt was grinning, his lips pulled back in an inhuman snarl of madness over long, animal teeth. The dancing light sparkled on the ropes of drool glistening on his chin, and he held the knife down at his side. His body heaved with deep, steady breathing, and the front of his bloodstained union suit had the look of something that had been worn to butcher a deer.


The Voice of Fear had given up on him. It had gone away and gotten its elder brother, The Voice of Primal Terror, to help. Now Primal Terror, who he really hadn’t talked to very much in his life, had him by the throat and was screaming the word ‘wendigo’ into his face. In fact, Primal Terror was the only voice that would actually use this word and mean it. Storm’s hand slipped to his knife. He was lightheaded, his breath rattling in his throat. Pistol won’t work. Not for this. One bullet won’t do it...and that’s all I’ll get, if that.

He braced himself, listening to the sound of Hoyt’s breathing, his hand around the knife’s grip so tightly that his palm was slick with sweat. If he knows...if he realizes that I know...

And then suddenly it was on him, a clawed hand clamping onto Storm’s jaw, jerking his head back to expose his throat, and though he was ready for it, he screamed, twisting, blocking the would-be killing blow with his arm. He jammed his knife under Hoyt’s jaw as Hoyt’s deflected knife blow sliced through his coat sleeve. An inhuman screeching filled Storm’s ears and he screamed again, pulling forward with all his might, barely feeling Hoyt’s knife as it pierced the thick wool of his coat and scraped across his collarbone. He jerked Hoyt across his shoulder, shoving him face-first into the fireplace. He could hear impossibly long claws skittering around in the flames as the thing that was Hoyt thrashed snarled, his skin igniting like waxed paper and fluttering upwards like the ashes of burning leaves.

Storm rolled away, giving what was left of the creature a hard shove with his foot. The noxious stench of burning fur and festering death filled the room, making him cough and gag. Ah, merde. Ah...tabarnak... He sat down hard on the floor, trying to slow down his pulse before his heart exploded. He could feel blood running down the inside of his coat.

“We gotta go...” he whispered, staggering to his feet and fighting to shake off his panic, to force his brain to start working again. He realized that the storm outside had abated. Of course. Of course it’s stopped. It wasn’t a natural storm. And now this...this... he leaned against the wall, rubbing his temples with the heels of his hands, reluctant to name the thought. Evil spirit...this gone. So of course the blizzard’s lifted. waiting for me.

He felt a cold that had nothing to do with the snow and ice. Shivering, he pulled his hood back over his head and headed for the door that opened into the barn. “It’s two miles to South Pass,” he muttered to Blackbird as he put the saddle back on the horse. “We can make it if we go slow. But we sure as hell aren’t staying here.”

Tuesday, October 28, 2014

It's Halloween Week!

It’s Halloween Week, and yes, in keeping with what has become a Five Dollar Mail tradition, there will be a Halloween Special this week, posted on Thursday night, as usual. So come back, because this is not this week's post.

In the meantime, here is a recap of past Halloween Specials to tide you over: Have fun!  Please don’t toilet paper my house!


Luis gives Jesse a little something to think about on his next run.

The Land Shadowing With Wings
Saint doesn’t like things that flutter.

There are places in the Five Points even the Roach Guard should fear to tread.

Where Are You?
Sometimes when you open a door, you open more than just a door.

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

Here's A Little Eye Candy To Tide You Over

Howdy, folks,

Heading up to War of the Wings tomorrow afternoon and won't be back till Sunday.We host a big music pub scene up there, and in addition to all the packing and planning this week, I had a sick child to take care of.  She's doing much better, and we're off for an extended weekend of friends and music.

What writing I actually did do this week, I concentrated on editing Riders and Kickers. My deadline is approaching.

But fear not, I have some new artwork to tide you over. Here's Saint, by the talented Laura Hollingsworth. She captures exactly why Hester calls him "Gorgeous." Can't hardly blame the lady for having unseemly thoughts.Click here to view it in Laura's gallery.

Anyways, hopefully we'll be back on track next week. Have a great weekend!

Thursday, August 7, 2014

Late this Week, Working on Anthology

Howdy, all,

Probably going to do a chapter this week and have it up by this weekend. Spent the week working on the anthology, which is scheduled for the release the end of this year. Don't want to straight up take the week off, because I can't afford that either (go to finish up book 3, so I have to try and stay on schedule for that.

Kind of in a "fish or cut bait" kind of situation over here. ;-)

Just wanted to let you know what was up! Hope  you all are doing well! See you in a day or two!


Thursday, June 12, 2014

Luis Santana by Laura Hollingsworth

I have been working all week on the technical aspects of book three, so I am afraid I don't have an actual chapter for you this week. I am wrapping up all the story lines in book three, so it's imperative that I get the timing of the events in the story to happen on a tight schedule. That is harder than it might seem (particularly for me), and I've been obsessing over it all week, probably with smoke and the smell of overheated wiring pouring out of my ears. I didn't want to distract myself. I finished all that up today, so there will be a chapter next week. 

But I do have something to offer you this week that I hope you will enjoy as much as I have. Here is an adorable picture of everyone's favorite juvenile delinquent by the talented Laura Hollingsworth.

She did some things here I absolutely love. I love that he appears to be hiding something behind his back, and that he's barefoot. In my mind, this isn't a static picture, it's animated. I can see the movement of him clowning around and shifting on his feet.

¡Ay, caramba, Luis! You're going to be heartbreaker some day, young man. 

Thursday, May 1, 2014

Jesse by Marina Gimenes Matiazi

Here we have the "sexy thing that...grows on things" his own self, Jesse Hanson by Marina Gimenes Matiazi. I really do love the way Marina does these dark, moody black and white drawings. Just gorgeous. To see more of her work, visit her gallery at DeviantArt.

Pay attention, Flynn...he's doing The Smoulder. And he's doing it correctly.

I kind of want some peppermint now.

We will be back next week with a new chapter. Stay tuned!

Thursday, April 24, 2014

Top 10 Most Often Asked Questions and Update on Riders and Kickers

Saint having a bad day by D.Candia
This week, I am working hard on a long short story that I am writing with longtime reader and friend, Eve. We wrote this story a looong time ago, back when the original plan was to enter a comic book treatment to DC’s Zuda Comics project. Just as we were putting it together, the Zuda project folded and ended, leaving us with a half-written story and some illustrations by Diego Candia.

We never re-wrote the story as straight fiction. So we are remedying that oversight and plan to put it and the illustrations into the upcoming Five Dollar Mail anthology, Riders and Kickers.My plan is to get Riders and Kickers out this year, as a bit of a buffer while I finish up Book Three.

The story is a bit of a story inside a story inside a story. I really want to concentrate on that until it’s done, so I’m taking a break from the regular chapter posting this week. I am hoping I’ll be done with it by next week, or at least at a place where I can get back to the main tale. If not, by the following week for sure.

In the meantime, here’s something I write some time back; a series of questions I get asked a lot. Hope you find it at least a little interesting!


1. Aren’t you afraid someone is going to steal your work?
No. I have a ton of witnesses and proof that I am the creator and owner of this. Since the adoption in the States of the Berne Convention, you don’t really need paperwork to secure your copyright anymore. Furthermore, someone would have to sit there and read it and then go through all this hassle in order to copy it, re-issue it, and then lie about it.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s certainly possible and I am sure it probably happens every now and then. But in all honesty, it would be less hassle to just write a novel than it would be to steal mine. My site gets scraped all the time, and I’ve found the published books on BitTorrent and Pirate Bay. While yes, it’s a little irksome, but at the core of it, I don’t care. I’m throwing the draft out here for free, so I can hardly get too bent over it.

I’m honestly not so egotistical that I think plagiarists are champing at the bit to steal my work. Seriously. I consider myself lucky if I can get someone to read it in the first place.

2. Is George “Wash” Monahan based on Wash from Firefly?
This is going to sound like a bald-faced lie, but no. Hand on a stack of Bibles, he’s not. Back when rocks were soft...and maybe a decade before Firefly came out (again, I have witnesses), Wash was two characters: A good natured Irish coach driver named Happy Tom Ranahan, and his trail partner, a sharpshooter named George Washington “Wash” Perkins (both names came from real historical people, so I changed them when I got serious about writing). I took traits from both characters (particularly the name, which tickled the hell out of me) and created the present character of Wash Monahan.

And the reason he’s similar to the Firefly character was because I honestly didn’t think about it. I put this story down a very, VERY long time ago. Then Firefly happened. And then I picked it back up again years after Firefly ended. It was stupid of me, but I truly wasn’t thinking about Hoban Washburne when I pulled this story back out and dusted it off. It’s an awkward, irksome coincidence. And by the time I realized it, I also realized George Monahan was wildly popular among my readers. So it was too late to change him all that much.

The creative process that is responsible for this story would take more time and interest than either of us have for me to recount. Just suffice it to say the road to get here wasn’t straight and well-paved. So now I am doomed to constantly have to tell artists “for the love of all that is holy, please do not make him look like Alan Tudyk.” I think it was Angela who asked me, “Have you ever seen Firefly?” I just sent a message back that said “Curse your sudden and inevitable betrayal.”

3. How much of the story is based on real events or real people?
Some of the characters are based ideas I got from history books and then put my own creative spin onto them. All of them are original characters, but I may have had a name, or a cool story or tidbit about a real  person that set my imagination off.

Obviously, the Pony Express, the Paiute War, and the events surrounding the Pyramid Lake/Williams Station massacre were real historical events that I have incorporated into the story. And I understand Ham’s Fork really was a dump.

All the places are real, although they have been filtered through the lens of what I think they might have been like.

4. How do you feel about fanfiction or fan art? How about smutty fanfiction or fan art?
I love it. Someone sends me something like that, I cannot tell you what an absolute rush that is for me. Seeing my world through someone else’s eyes is amazing, because it allows me to sit back and be surprised by my own world. And it’s just such a gift to me that someone liked FDM so much they took the time to sit down and be creative and share something back with me.  

As for the “smutty” part of the question, my answer stands. I am not a proud woman. The reason you are not finding links on my site that lead to smut is because nobody’s written any. Because if they did, there would be. I wouldn’t host it on my site simply because I don’t want to go to an adult content rating. But I would set it up somewhere else and link to it in a heartbeat. So if any of you are wondering if smutty stories or art about my characters would offend me, the answer is no. It would not.
5. Do you have the story planned out from the beginning or do you make it up as you go?
No, it’s pretty heavily plotted out. That’s not to say I don’t add stuff here and there, but I stay pretty true to the plan as I go.

6. Why would you give away all this work for free?
Why not? It started it out as a fun thing to do for myself, to force me to keep writing on a schedule, and to practice and hone my craft. That it became popular was a very pleasant surprise! And anyways, I have no delusions of grandeur. I am an unknown indie writer in a vast ocean of same. And it’s a Western, the hardest genre to sell. Simply getting someone to read a single, free chapter was and is a challenge. You cannot sell what you can’t even give away. I want people to discover the world of Five Dollar Mail. If they have have so much fun here they want to buy a book, great! If not, well, I still hope they have fun here, and maybe pass on some good word of mouth.

7. How’s that working out for you?
It’s actually working out great, believe it or not. I realize it sounds counter-intuitive, but it’s a whole lot easier to plunk down .99 cents and read this book, cleaned up, edited, and polished on your Kindle (or for a little more, as a trade paperback ) than it is to slog all over this huge, messy site and have to deal with my mistakes and typos. So I do not believe it’s hurt my book sales one bit.

8. How can I donate?
I don’t have anything set up for donations, but you can support the Five Dollar Mail by sharing this around to people who might like it, leaving comments, and giving out some good press. And, of course, you can buy a book and get something to keep for your money. I’ve priced them as cheaply as Amazon will let me!

9. Can I have a spoiler?
No, indeedy.

10.  Do you ever get writer’s block?
I don’t know. I’d be more inclined to call it “not feeling like writing” or “inability to focus” or just plain “stress causing my brain to empty out”. Usually, I can fix it by writing something else (which is where all these backstories came from, at least at first.) Do I go through long periods of not being able to write? No, because even if I’m having a hard time getting serious about the story at hand, I don't seem to have any trouble banging out something else. So my muse doesn’t fail to inspire me, but he does want what he wants and can be kind of a jerk about it.

Monday, April 21, 2014

Blog Hop

 So, I got invited to participate in a "blog hop", which is where a bunch of indie authors write a little bit about their work and the creative process, and link to another author who they are "following." I am following R.A. White, of the Kergulen Series, a fantasy tale of friendship and freedom.

Give her a visit on her blog and see what she's up to! 

As for me, here's my own contribution.

What am I working on?

Right now I am beefing up the Five Dollar Mail anthology, Riders and Kickers, that is set to come out this year. At the same time, I am steadily working on the third and final (for now!) book in the FDM trilogy. Those of you who are regulars here know I’m roughly a third of the way through that.

How does my work differ from others of its genre?

This story is actually several stories, and told from the points of view of many characters. Each chapter is short...easy enough to burn through quickly...and experienced through the eyes of one of many viewpoints. It’s a western adventure first and foremost, with a heavy dose of romance, and features an interesting variety of realistic female characters who are heroes in their own right. Aside from straight-up romance novels, I haven’t seen any western genre books that were not mostly male-centric. This one gives the ladies equal time.

Why do I write what I do?

I have always loved westerns. I love them so much that when I was a college girl watching soaps after class with sister, I found myself thinking “It would be so cool if there was a western soap opera.”

Indeed it would. Enjoy!

How does my writing process work?

I write on a tight schedule. Write, rough-edit, and post about a thousand words a week. I can write more than my quota, but not less, unless there is some sort of really compelling excuse.

As I’ve said, I tell the story from multiple points of view. And I have everything plotted out very carefully. So I start out mulling over my options. I know what has to happen to advance the story at whatever point its at, so I ask myself, “what information has to come out in this chapter?” Then I have to consider what character would be best to tell this part of the story?

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Erastus by Lauren

Here is a fun sketch of the Old Man himself, Mister Erastus Lynch, by the talented Lauren. 
She's got some cool stuff on her site, Pink Avenger Prime. Check it out!

I love this sketch, mainly because I picture Mister Lynch looking exactly like this in that jailhouse scene where he threatens to kill Rob Yarl without ever issuing any threats of any sort.  I think the Old Man got his point across.

Thanks, Lauren! 

Thursday, April 3, 2014

Art by Laura Hollingsworth: Jesse

Hi, all. There will be a regular post this week, and I am hoping to have it up by late Friday night. Had my laptop pretty much self destruct, and had to spend half a day trying to migrate files off it. And then I lost today to a migraine. So being on schedule this week was evidently not in the cards. 

I feel better, but migraines leave you with a hangover afterward, and I can barely keep my eyes open. So I'm going to give you the new artwork I was planning on posting with the chapter, and then give myself an extra day to edit the chapter to make it presentable.

Here is Jesse by artist and writer Laura Hollingsworth of The Silver Eye webcomic. I love the clean lines and wonderful detail she adds to clothing. I can't wait to show you the other work she's done. In the meantime, here's her DeviantArt link, if you'd like to see her other work.

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Free Times Article On Serialized Publishing

Here is the direct link to the Free Times interview with me about Five Dollar Mail and the serializing of my books via this blog called:

Publishing Your Book One Chapter At A Time

- Gina

Book 2: Lynch's Boys Now Available

Howdy, all!

The Five Dollar Mail Book 2: Lynch's Boys is now officially available for Kindle and in trade paperback on Amazon. It features illustrations from the site by Liezl Bueneventura and Diego Candia, five work sketches that Angela Taratuta did when we were designing the cover, and, of course, the gorgeous cover painting from that same artist, and a guest chapter by our own Jenna Reid. Also, relevant back stories are included in the back.

It will be followed up later this year (hopefully) by an anthology (Riders & Kickers) which will contain the holiday specials and prequels that didn't make it into the trilogy. It will also contain a never-before-published story by myself and longtime reader Erin, and illustrated with unpublished artwork by Diego Candia.

Book three is still in the works, and is currently being written, so lots of FDM goodness coming your way in the coming year. 

Also, here's a link to the Free Times interview I did several weeks ago. Been looking forward to this for a while! I had a lot of fun talking to Mr. Charlie Nutt, the owner and publisher over there. Hopefully, this might get me some local exposure, which is always nice!

Thanks for your support, as always. This one is for all of you. See you Thursday!


Monday, February 10, 2014

Kevin Shi's Rasa

Howdy, all!

Discovered this awesome web serial some time back, and wanted to share it with you. It's called Rasa, and is a dark, epic fantasy set in a original world.

Author Kevin Shi sends this description:

Free will, family, individuality: here, these are not rights, but commodities. 

Every living thing in Albumere is born with a tabula, a disk that grants its owner complete control over the person linked to it, and it is in this brutal world that a young boy will do what no one has ever done before. He has found the tabula of a girl he has never met, and without knowing who or where she is, he is going to find a way to give it back. Following his journey, Rasa is both a simple romance about the power of a stranger’s generosity and a fantastic political epic spanning the breadth of a richly detailed world built entirely from the ground up.

It is gritty and dark, and reader discretion is advised. But knowing that you all have a taste for adventure, romance, and sprawling stories that don't follow the norm, I thought you might enjoy giving it a look.

Have fun, and see you later this week!


Monday, January 13, 2014

Ask Wash! HELP!

Q. Dear Wash,

My wife is going into labor! I don't know what to do! We live all the way out here in the country, and only have this internet connection, and I don't know anything about doctoring or being a father! Your advice would be greatly appreciated! 


A. Dear HELP!

Jaysus, lad! Don’t panic! The first thing you have to remember is not to panic. See, I know this because back in the Points, we all lived in a crowded building with paper-thin walls, so if anyone was in the family way, everyone within earshot knew about it. And the one thing I kept hearing was “don’t panic!”

The other thing I kept hearing was orders for the lads to boil water. I’m not sure what that was for, but I suspect it was to keep them busy so they had something other to do than panic.

Having said that, me boyo, I should probably go ahead and tell you that you have every reason to panic. I’m a bachelor, so I am, and me ma’s been long done with that sort of thing. So if it's sodding terrible advice you need, then you've come to the right place. I’ve heard a hell of a lot of panicking through the walls in me life. But since it’s just you and your lass, you can’t do that. So don’t. So keep things as clean as you can, hold your lass’s hand, and hope for the best. If all goes well, you’re going to end up with a baby whether you do or you don’t, so you might as well spare yourself the trouble.

Near as I can tell, that’s the easy part. The hard part is what comes next, where you have to be a da. The stuff you have to do and know to be a da are a lot harder to get right. Your wee bairn will think you keep the sun and the moon and the stars in the sky, and just for them. And in a way, he or she will be right.