InnerGoddess is excited to welcome back Author Jennifer James. Jennifer is writing a series of guest blogs for us as she chronicles her writing career in the self-publishing world. Spoiler: this next installment will have you laughing your socks off!!!
Why Writing a Series Is Turning Me Into Something I Swore I’d Never Be
By Jennifer James
You’re wondering what the heck I mean. It must be
something bad, right. Something terrible. Something atrocious. Horrible.
Despicable to the most despicableness of despicablenessest.
I’m becoming….a plotter.
*Gasp* I know! It’s true. It’s okay though. Really.
I’m mostly fine. It’s nothing this giant container of Reeses Cups and a bottle
of Jack Daniels can’t help me through. There’s no reversing it now. Once it
creeps up on you, it can’t be stopped. There’s no inoculation. No
anti-retro-viral thingie to take.
Plotter. The disease that shall not be cured.
When I first started out, I was pure Panster. (IE:
Writer who never plans anything. At all. Gets an idea, sits down, and writes it
till it’s done.) My good friend Marcia was a Plotter to the point that she
rarely got any writing done at all. She spent all her time outlining and
cutting pictures out of magazines of models and shoes and cars for the book she
was going to write. Until she’d plotted herself right into boredom, and move on
to plotting something else.
Then I moved on to being what I refer to as a
Plantser. I Pansted, I Plotted, I danced around my office half naked while
drinking spiked cocoa and swearing at my imaginary friends. My fear was (and
still is) that I’d plot too much and pull a Marcia. Get bored with the project
and never finish it.
But then I started writing these damn books with
storylines I wanted to pursue further. Secondary characters I couldn’t leave
when I’d only just met them. Main characters who had more story and adventure
than one book could contain.
And I realized if I was going to write more books, I
had to…plot. I had to. Otherwise I’d never be able to keep anything or anyone
straight. As a reader, nothing is going to pull me out a book faster than if
I’m reading along and hit a bump in the narrative where a character is suddenly
taller (or shorter) than in a previous book. Or their eye color is off. Watch
me get up, go find the previous book, and start combing through the chapters
until I find the original description, just so I can figure out if I’m losing
my shit or not.
Plus, what about when an author gets on a plot
thread they don’t tie up, that is obviously going to continue into a further
book, and then the next book comes out, and the next, and it’s never addressed
again? I don’t mean something small. Something big. A big ole honker of a pink
elephant comprised of dead characters/evil guys and gals/corrupt
police/alligators run amok…you get the idea.
Only way to keep track of that stuff is to plot.
Plot. Plot.
So here I am. Becoming a Plotter. One more thing I
never saw coming in the craziness that is my publishing career. Can someone
hold my hand?
Covert Craving BLURB
She just stripped in front of an NYPD detective...
The glow-in-the-dark water at Camp Sunny Woods left
Chloe Saunders with the ability to disappear from sight.
Thirteen years later, she uses her “gift” to take out
criminals when she can. If she’s got to be part of a freak show, she’s going to
do some good while in the buff.
And he’s enjoying studying
every luscious curve…
Color blind detective Jacob Greiff smokes to weaken
the overwhelming messages his nose sends him. One summer camp trip was enough
for him. His priority right now is busting the vigilante leaving burglars tied
up with panty hose and women’s scarves.
He thinks he’s hallucinating when he sees a petite,
bare foot brunette in an enormous trench coat at his crime scenes because for the
first time in years, he’s seeing someone in full color.
He’s not sure he’s buying
it, but Chloe sure looks great when she’s “invisible.”
Despite his own supernatural abilities and the raging
lust between them, Greiff wonders if Chloe isn’t some kind of nut who gets off
on public nudity. She insists she can disappear from view when naked, that he’s
the only one who can see her when she’s in the buff.
Their shared past comes to a treacherous intersection
when a man shows up at Chloe’s apartment and informs them at gun point it’s
time to report for duty—or else.
LINKS:
Covert Craving EXCERPT
Chloe
looked the detective over and rolled her eyes. She paused at her apartment long
enough to chuck her purse inside. He followed her back to the elevator and she
wished she’d put on a different outfit. One with underwear and a bra. The man
was so hot most of her thoughts were consumed with taking clothes off, not
keeping them on. And he kept looking down her top at her boobs. Part of her,
the perverse part, wanted to yank up the tank top and flash him to see his
reaction. She’d been naked loads of times in front of people, but they didn’t
know she was there. It made the whole nudity thing seem mundane.
Except
for where he was concerned. Every time she felt his gaze moving over her butt
or breasts, hell, even the back of her neck, arousal curled in her belly and
set goose bumps marching over her skin.
“So,
what else do you have to get for your neighbor?”
“A
pigeon and a cheesecake.” She glanced at him from beneath her eyelashes and
caught him staring. He chuckled and shrugged. “You can buy the cheesecake as
well, since I’m providing you with a peep show.”
“Can’t
help myself.”
“Right.
Look, if you keep doing that I’m going to have to insist on tit for tat.” They
continued down the hallway, he with both hands shoved in his pockets, Chloe
with her arms swinging freely.
“And
what would that imply?” His voice dropped an octave, bringing the damned goose
bumps out in force.
“Simple.
I show you mine, you show me yours. Although, you’re in the red right now,
since the subway incident.” The words thrilled her. She’d never had the
opportunity to engage in this kind of banter. She should be on the road and
headed for a new town and existence. Instead she was here, defying protocol,
flirting with a hot-ass cop, and outright challenging him to a sex game.
“I
disagree. If I accept your challenge, it starts now. We’d have to start over
again, so technically I haven’t seen any naked body parts.” He pressed the
button on the wall to call the elevator.
She
glared down her nose at him and crossed her arms over her breasts. The effect
didn’t work too well, since he was much taller, but she gave it her best impervious-haughty-queen
bee try. His lips twitched and he stepped closer. She narrowed her eyes,
fighting the jumble of excitement and nerves in her belly before taking a step
of her own forward. The front of her flip flops bumped into his dress shoes.
“I
think you’re trying to work the system here.” The heat of his body and the
tingle of sexual arousal had brought her closer than she realized, and their
chests collided.
“Maybe.
I’m attracted to you.” He put his left hand on the wall next to her head. “I want
to kiss you.”
“Yeah?”
She ran one finger down his tie, tracing the pattern. The elevator bell chimed
and the door slid open. A few steps to the right and she could be inside. The
intensity in his eyes held her still.
“Yeah.”
He brought his right hand out as well and stroked the exposed skin at her waist
between tank top and pants with his thumb. “May I?”
BIO:
Jennifer
James hates to talk about herself in the third person and has now started so
many series books she’s wondering if she has a mental illness. A traditionally
published author who recently dipped her toes into the oceans of Indie land;
she’s finding the water quite nice and plans on sticking around. She loves
Dirty Palmers in the summer, Spiked Cocoas in the winter, and Jack and Honey
with Pepsi any time at all. Recent college grad, wife, mother, cat wrangler,
and dog belly scratcher, Jenn spends a lot of time at her computer, frowning at
the shenanigans of people only she can hear.
LINKS:
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