Rising Wolf (Book 2 of 3 of the Neon Moon Series)

I love other writers. They know that feeling when the story's going right, when their life bangs noisily at the door while another spills out from pen or cursor. If I talked to more writers and made more friends and became involved in the biz, so to speak, it could only be to my benefit. But the bald truth is that I'm not gonna.

I know, I know: it's a stubborn, stupid recipe for failure--me floating in my deep-space bubble, cut off from the richness and individuality of other writers. Never mind withdrawing from the knowledge, developments and publishing trends that are the infrastructure of the Indie industry. 

And it IS a bubble. It's been strange, putting out Rising Wolf and watching it arrive with a thud. It's a little sad and freeing and peaceable. In my introduction on thedablack.com, I speak a little more as to the reasons, and I won't repeat them here.

The Amazon reviews, all three of them! are pretty bad. I was chuffed to read someone thought my writing had improved. Unfortunately I bored them. 

The book is long. I had a lot of folks writing, back when Beneath the Neon Moon came out, about how they wanted more background and details on the boys. Boy, did I deliver. 

I mean, I get it. The book is slow. I delve into Zach and Mal's mindsets and their rather ordinary lives. I wanted to show how they're very different on the surface and essentially the same beneath. Isolated, a bit fractured.

One is popular when he wants to be, but he's learning what a lie it is to flash that effortless exterior. Smoke and mirrors, even to himself. 

The other has no family, he's alone, and that's the way it always has been. Just the facts. 

Certainly not the most exciting story, but theirs anyway. I'm sure I'm going to go back and see allllll the mistakes I made showing their profound isolation to the readers. Or problems with how I wrote the werewolf pack. Or or or, endless, endlessly. I will pick up this middle book of Mal and Zach's story again after agonizing about it for years, and, with proper distance to their story, will surely see my mistakes. Too late, but.

I fully expect to do that. Surely there was a better way. Almost certainly. Probably. I think so. 

I remember my worry as I wrote RW. I wasn't like anything else I'd written, and it was tough to write. I thought a hundred times that I should scrap it and start over. 

But Zach and Mal have both been so alone. It was essential to show that part of their story, and their ordinariness--just two guys at the wrong place, wrong time, and then that one unexpected, extraordinary thing that developed between them and saved them. 

Boring, too much detail, nobody cares about all that. Quite possibly. I hope I'm doing better in the next, last book to their story.

But true to Mal and Zach? Yes. 

short post re: After Anna

There's been a few readers who wanted the updated After Anna (a combination of After Anna and sequel, Touch Like Breathing), but not from Amazon. I've finally updated to the main retailers after I got away from Kindle Unlimited. I go through Smashwords for some of them, so the update might take longer for iBooks and some smaller retailers. Barnes and Noble, Kobo and Google Play should all be updated in the next 24-48 hours if you're wanting the new and improved version:)

You're the iPhone 11

Bill Maher, bless his blunt and angry soul, said something that I think needed saying here (cursing, NSFW).

Get yer books here! Books, get yer books here!

Well, I'm back! Sorta, kinda. I have a new book! I started it two hundred billion million thousand trillion years ago, by which I'm saying, it's been a looooong time. 

(Look out for Beneath the Neon Moon's sequel, Rising Wolf, for pre-sale at Amazon in a few days, too!)

NEW RELEASE!

Eromenos by Theda Black

Xander has no idea why his dreams have turned so repetitive, sexual and uncontrollable. They're threatening his sanity and driving his dorm-mate, Seth, crazy. Worse yet, the dreams have power. People are getting hurt, and neither of them has a clue how to stop it.

Luckily Xander has Seth, and that might be enough to overcome anything--even the commands of a god.

Check out my website https://blackbara.net

FREE for a limited time!

Hello, all. Back in 2008, I wrote a short novella, inspired by a love of '60s-'70s cop shows, and the next year followed up with a sequel.

At the end of 2018, I revised/edited After Anna and then revised the sequel, Touch Like Breathing, and combined them. The resulting ebook is currently free to download at Amazon through Saturday:) Hurry and grab it while it's free! If you like the story and find yourself wanting a hard copy, it's available for $5.99.

Description as follows:

When Will's girlfriend dies, Tyler supports him in every way he can, even when Will's increasingly self-destructive behavior endangers them both on the job. And as Will withdraws further, a desperate Tyler can't keep his feelings hidden anymore. 

But Will doesn't turn his back on him. In fact, Will might have some feelings of his own he's kept hidden. The trouble is, Tyler's kept more than one secret. He knows something about Anna's death--something that could end their relationship for good.

As the pressure mounts, denial, anger and pain drives one of them to do something he'll never forgive himself for. Luckily his best friend has enough forgiveness for both of them--at least until he disappears, leaving behind a grieving partner who'll do absolutely anything to save him.

Warnings for explicit sexuality, murder, drug use, dubious consent/rape, violence, painful relationships and true love. (HFN)

(about 45,000 words)

*

In April, I plan to have Eromenos available for pre-sale, to be released in July. I began writing it a long time ago, and now that writing seems doable again (an inexpressibly fulfilling, relieving, extraordinary experience at this point), I'm intent on completing my unfinished works.

Note I say "plan." I expect that plan to be fulfilled, but I won't promise to do so until the product is absolutely ready to be released; in my past, I've planned releases and didn't meet my obligations because of illness, as I've written about before on this blog. I'll post more information closer to release date.

Blurb:
 He is god, man, and devil: Pan, Baphomet and cambion, combined. In this new age he sends dreams to his chosen one, attempting to meld spirit to flesh.

The chosen one fights the god's dreams, unknowing of the power that threatens. And there's someone else, too, standing between the god and the dreamer. Someone the god would kill... if he only knew he existed.

*
In July, I'll pre-release Rising Wolf for November release. That is a guarantee, subject only to my becoming unconscious for that period(!!?) or having my ass banned from all publishing/seller sites forever (but I could still make it available on my site, I think slyly to myself, yessss) or to being DEAD at that time (which, um, do not want). Anyway. 

I disappeared, but I do have some news

To cut right to the chase, I've been writing a bit after a long period of trying several MS treatments. The funny thing is that I actually feel worse, but my mind feels a little more clear and the depression is more manageable. So there you go.

Beneath the Neon Moon's sequel is coming out, probably 2019, but no later. It's a guarantee. I'm well aware of how I've let people down on this, and I wouldn't announce if I weren't certain. Rising Wolf will be out before the end of 2019. It turns out I require three books to finish Mal and Zach's story, so be warned: if you choose to read it, know there's no resolution regarding their fate and the fate of the wolf pack. Of course you'll learn much more about them and who they are, and be further along with them on their journey, but the next novel isn't the end. It is, however, a full-fledged novel rather than a novella.

I'm currently working on two stories I started so very long ago: my first vampire novel, writing as Klaudia Bara (Becoming), and a revision of a novella called Eromenos that I never finished editing and polishing. In many ways I'm no longer the same person that I was when I started these stories, but both of them still speak to me. I feel they deserve to be finished and out there in the world, for better or worse.

I'd love to say that it doesn't matter if they do well, but of course it does. It will always matter, but the market has changed so much. It's just that what I'm willing to do and how I will push them out of the nest turns out to matter more, and I recognize that. Most of all, I'm a writer, and if they sell badly or not at all, I'll probably still be here, writing and putting stories out as I can.

I hope all is well with you and wish you the very best.

donations for displaced animals during the fire

updated, Ripley's Aquarium animals reported safe:

donations for displaced animals in the area for the Sevier County Humane Society

The Chimneys and Gatlinburg

I posted this in 2014--a hike I took with my kids to the top of the Chimneys. It had/has meaning for me. The Smoky Mtns have been a backdrop to my life. I've visited there so many times. I think of these mountains when I think of Mal and Zach.





and tonight it looks like this:


I am heartsick. We've had almost no rain for a month. The air's bad. Wind kicked up today. Gatlinburg's burning, and Ripley's Aquarium was surrounded by fire hours ago. Over 10,000 animals there, my God. I'm fixated on it, and horrified.

And my daughter's girlfriend may have lost her home there tonight, though thankfully, oh so thankfully, her family and her animals are safe.

Tonight it finally began to rain, but not enough.

it's alive (maybe. sorta)

The myriad drugs for my health (or lack thereof, she said ironically), depression and the MS itself are giving me a true run for the money, and causing frustration for me in terms of writing.

No, let me be straight. It's mild cognitive decline. I'm more easily upset, less inspired, less interested in doing and more convinced that I can't. I forget things. My head hurts. But as you can see, I haven't been robbed of words. I still move quite well, but inside my head, things are changing. I'm not me, and I hate it.

Okay, I'm still me, but I feel the changes. And they threaten me.

Probably going to start posting the first book chapters of Rising Wolf at my website. Hope that will somehow help me to finish. It's become a THING, to finish. It's a symbol. I failed deadlines, failed to deliver, failed readers, but if I can finish then ultimately I might continue on trying to do more of the same. Actually produce something. Let Mal and Zach out to play instead of just living inside my head.

I've written things, but fan fiction. Shorter Id fic.  It's helped remind me I'm still capable, but right now I'm in a bad place. And a novel at this juncture was a mistake. It's a different animal, and I'm floundering a bit. The radio silence from my end hasn't helped, either, so I have decided to break it.

I'll post here more often, I hope. Just to speak, say SOMETHING.

Well, this was a happy post. The next one will be better. I hope everyone is doing well.
 

now in paperback! Beneath the Neon Moon

Beneath the Neon Moon, 2nd edition, in print! 

(for $6.29 and free shipping with Amazon Prime)

 

http://tinyurl.com/pp5e5kx

such a simple thing

Susanna's Pacemaker

Rising Wolf has taken me so very long to publish. Like a lot of you, I've been through seemingly unending upheavals in terms of my personal life, finances, health. It's been overwhelming. Along with other health issues, then the MS diagnosis and trying to find a course of treatment that slows the progress, next came depression - something I've got a bit of familiarity with.

But.

I'm on Rebif, three shots a week, and methotrexate once a week. I can't say they make me feel well but I've noticed, finally, an uptick in energy and the ability to complete some tasks, along with less brain fog. So now is the time to get my book done, right?

Susanna's Pacemaker is a very simple app - you plug in the words you think the project needs (okay so I'm terrible at estimating, but I plugged in that Book II needs the same number of words as Book I), the date you'd like to be finished, if you'd like weekends off, if you'd like a steady flow of words, and it spits out a chart. So I did that. And I've been following it, because it lets me see what I need to do to get this book out, plain and simple. And it's more difficult than I ever would have thought, but still, I'm hanging in.

RW is a bonafide novel, and I'm looking at a 160,000 word estimate (I did say I'm terrible at estimating word count, but seems reasonable). I have 107,000 words as of now. If I do get finished in August per my plan, I could FINALLY have a release in the fall. Oh my god, am I hoping for that.

Maybe, quite possibly there's nobody out there to read it after my extended off-time with no new releases. I really hope that's not true, but this thing has become bigger than that, even. For me it's a symbol: never say die, never give up. And, oh yes, these characters deserve to have their story told.

So yeah, a biggie for me.

I hope everyone is doing well. 

nature - let's rethink it

So much for embracing nature, even from my wide, breezy porch. I sit down to write and a spider crawls up my side. DO NOT WANT.
Try again. Sit on the porch itself, turn around and see my cat after a lizard without a tail. Oh, wait, without a tail NOW - there's the tail, wiggling on the porch. I'm guarding the lizard while two dogs and a cat try to get to it.
The dog picks the wriggling tail up in its mouth, takes it off the porch. She's back in less than a minute, and ugh, we know where THAT went. She noses interestedly around me. Cat still trying to get past me. I build a barricade because I cannot bring myself to pick up the tailless lizard (it might, oh, WRIGGLE. Or wiggle, like a tailless thing. Or a severed tail).
Yeah, maybe I'll try this another day.

mystery solved

So, what's been wrong with me for so long: apparently I have multiple sclerosis.

It's quite an adjustment, trying to understand that my damn brain is being attacked (by my own screwy self) when hey, all I've wanted is to be able to think clearly. After all, I have adventures to write. I am writing them, dammit.

I am the tortoise. Slow and steady (except when I'm not) and all that shit ... explains why I feel so damn foggy at least.

I know it's not funny, not at all, but even a tentative diagnosis of a lousy thing like MS gives me knowledge of what's happening to me, and that's power.

Dropping the Methotrexate and starting on Avonex next week. Wish me luck.

There are 24 chapters to Book I of Mal and Zach's Most Excellent Adventure(s), aka Rising Wolf. 

nowadays

A thousand words a day is a magical thing. I know there are others who write much more, but (at this point at least) I will take it:)

saw this from Gina Storm Grant: 7/7/7

It's like this: seven pages into your WIP, go seven lines down and post the next seven lines of your WIP. Which I did.


Zach shifted in his sleep, restless, back pressed to Mal's chest. Mal leaned his head closer and heard him mutter something, not words but a sound. Something fearful.

"We're out, Zach. You're home, you're safe." Mal put a careful hand to Zach's chest, knowing he'd awakened by the tension beneath his fingers.


Zach reached up and gripped his hand, saying nothing.

____


I finally managed to finish Book I in longhand, which is something I thought I'd never do again, but I can take pen and paper everywhere I go. 

I have no appointments scheduled this week and the kids are in school, so I'll start Book II.

It's really true

that in writing as in most things: KISS, or keep it simple, stupid.

Because this piece (Rising Wolf) has come to mean many things to me, including the victory of knowing I finished (when I do), there's a corresponding pressure. Which does me not one wit of good.

So, Theda: keep your stage direction to a minimum. You don't have to convey every single visual. Nobody cares if he turns right, scratches his head, belches, squints and goes to the bathroom. I mean any of those things can be pertinent, but likely not so much.

I realized this when I wrote a fan fiction, short but just breezed it out, and it was *easy.* Cuz I kept it simple, stupid (not you, me).

I do hope I will never stop learning things about writing.

I'm also laughing at a post I made here where I had a cute little writerly progress bar for Rising Wolf. Something like 20,000 words out of 50,000 done. Go me! Except I'm at 80,000 now and nope, not done.

Thought Book I was pretty well edited, but there's a problem, I realize. Too much back story in the ms where maybe it should have been things I need to know, but not necessarily the reader. So I'll have to go check that out, reducing word count but hopefully flowing better.

Yeah, I haven't written in a while. But I'm currently back at it, hoping to keep at it.

Life. She's a mountain to climb, right?

birthday

My best friend sent me this for my birthday. I love her. She scares me.

follow-up to the hike: took me a week to recover. It was worth it.

Chimney Tops, Great Smoky Mtns

Today I hiked. I love the mountains so much, but I've not walked the trails for a few years mostly due to the health issues. However, I had promised my oldest and her best friend that we'd go hiking in the mountains before the summer is over.

At one point I didn't think I'd be able to keep my promise, but I was prescribed some meds that helped me be get moving after waking up, so I grabbed my two girls and Johnny and we headed up into the Smokies. Only a 30% chance of rain for later in the day according to the forecast - good odds, I thought. Which, like many of our local weather forecasts, turned out WRONG. A steady rain all day.

We still went. Johnny wanted to try a more difficult hike (well, difficult for us - we've none of us ever been regular hikers) because he'd had surgery recently and wants to regain his strength. (He's sixteen.) I agreed to go for the Chimney Tops, which I hadn't hiked in about twenty years! (It's not a long hike, but as this article will tell you, it's quite steep).

I frankly figured I couldn't make it, but if that were the case, I'd just sit and wait for the kids while they finished. I wanted to try. I hate owning up to being unable to do things I used to be able to do. I already do that so much, and it kills the spirit.

It was the hardest thing I've ever done, physically. My body just didn't think it could do it, and I tended to agree with it. I'm a stubborn cuss, however, and for the last half mile up the trail I sent the kids on ahead and took the climb as I could (talked to myself a lot). As I climbed higher, the wind began to blow, cold and crisp. It was rejuvenating, and really, by the time I made it to the foot of the rock climb, I was exhilarated. What a gorgeous view: clouds rolling over the mountains, wind hissing and rocking the tree tops.

Though I didn't quite make it to the top of the final 50 foot (wet, slippery) rock climb as I did twenty years ago, I got most of the way there. Only my thirteen-year old got higher than I did. My sixteen-year old got a bit freaked by the height, and Johnny didn't climb without her.

(This photo isn't mine - the others are)

 

my view, if a little blurry - see my daughter's red hair? :)

I can't say I didn't overdo it. I did. The walk down was kind of horrible, and my stride became very awkward and shambling (my left side drags). The legs almost gave out on me. I did a sort of crab-leg thing part of the way. But whatever works.

I'm my father's daughter - too much spleen to be good for anyone - irritable, stubborn, but determined. The last mile was pretty much stubbornness, pride, and mumbling to myself through gritted teeth about a bottle of wine at home if only I could get the fuck off the damn rock.

Not pretty, but what the hell, I did it, and I wanted to do something I know I used to be able to do.  It makes me sad to think I'll probably never do it again.

One of many reasons I love my husband: he'd just gotten off work when we came back. He immediately noticed my gait. I told him where we'd been and said, I'll probably never be able to do it again.

He said, "You might." He believes it, and makes me consider the possibility.

Cone flower by the side of the trail

just write

Just write. It doesn't matter if it's shit, or if your brain's not clear. Just put down words. You can fix them later.

It's not a performance. It's not an epic tale. You don't need hours, don't need your desk situated just right, or a trumpeter to mark your performance. It's just words. If you have a few minutes, put them on paper.

it's been a long time

I've been hiding out, so to speak, determined to say nothing, make no promises about writing.  I can't even pretend to engage or do all the things authors are supposed to do. Testing regarding health issues continues, currently for MS. I've had an irregular MRI, blood work irregularities and been crushingly tired. Floundered for months with Rising Wolf. 

But the amazing thing is how today, through all the brain fog and the body pain and discouragement, their voices came through so perfectly clear as I was writing. I didn't expect it.

It's so nice to listen to characters speak and put words down.