Saturday, April 4, 2015
Sunday, March 29, 2015
Edna St. Vincent Millay
SHE is neither pink nor pale,
And she never will be all mine;
She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,
And her mouth on a valentine.
She has more hair than she needs;
In the sun 'tis a woe to me!
And her voice is a string of colored beads,
Or steps leading into the sea.
She loves me all that she can,
And her ways to my ways resign;
But she was not made for any man,
And she never will be all mine.
Saturday, March 28, 2015
This happened in a big way while I was writing A World Apart. Well, sort of. Technically, it was two characters. And once they grabbed me, they wouldn't let go.
Their names are Emil and Puzzle. They exist mainly in the background, doing their own thing and minding their own business. Here's the rub:
You know how some things take on a life of their own?
Emil and Puzzle did that.
I initially threw Ptolemy's Tablet up on Smashwords with little pomp and no circumstance, and what happened? The boys ended up being popular! Who knew?
Thus, while my original offer of a freebie coupon when you sign up for my newsletter remains valid, I am expanding distribution. You can now buy Ptolemy's Tablet on Amazon in both ebook and print form, as well as on the usual Smashwords outlets (Barnes & Noble, Sony, Kobo, iTunes, etc.).
Thank you for this overwhelmingly positive response!
Ptolemy's Tablet Links
Barnes & Noble
Wednesday, March 25, 2015
Saturday, March 21, 2015
Saturday, March 7, 2015
Kendall's Facebook Author Page:
Kendall's Goodreads Author Page:
Monday, February 16, 2015
A few links to whet your appetite...
Add A World Apart to your TBR list (and make my day)!
Listen to A World Apart's playlist for FREE on Spotify!
Meet The Characters
Get the stats on the cast of A World Apart and the Shades Below series!
Check out A World Apart's bitchin' cover, then hop on the blog train and read excerpts up through Chapter 2!
Sunday, February 15, 2015
Friday, February 13, 2015
It's that moment you've all been waiting for!
Okay, maybe not. But I'VE been excited for this moment ever since my lovely and talented friend and cover artist sent me her newest creation.
If you're a writer, there are all kinds of questions you face when starting a new series. Questions about characters, questions about theme and plot and story arcs. If you're a self-publishing writer, you have even more questions.
To blog tour or not to blog tour?
Pay for publicity, or try to drum up buzz on your own?
Perhaps most importantly, the cover. What is your cover going to say, not just about the book it's gracing, but about the rest of the series? The first cover in a series is arguably the most important one. It's the first face people see. It's what sells your anchor book long before readers (hopefully) fall in love with it.
A World Apart--and by extension, the Shades Below series--now has a face. And might I just say, I think it's a pretty bitchin' one.
But enough talk.
Release Date: March 21, 2015!
Sunday, February 8, 2015
You ever get the feeling some places are just, well, magic?
Chicago in the summertime, when all the glorious concrete cracks are showing and nobody cares.
New Orleans in late afternoon, when it's so hot the only sane thing to do is have another drink.
New York past midnight, when one minute you're walking down a dark and deserted alley, and the next you're in the 24-Hour Technicolor Oz that is Times Square.
San Francisco... anytime.
I don't know those other cities. I've drifted through them, a traveler at best, a tourist at worst. One of the first things you're told as a writer is to write what you know.
I know San Francisco.
I didn't always. Just a few years ago, I actually thought going to "The City" was a pain. I don't live there. The drive in was okay until about King Street. After that... chaos. Traffic, jaywalkers, one-way streets, hills of Everestian proportions- it's a miracle I survived those early trips. It's even more of a miracle I kept going back.
But go back I did, and little by little, the place grew on me. I learned how to slip in unnoticed, which streets made a modicum of sense, how to parallel-park at a ninety-degree angle (okay, not really- that one still scares the piss out of me. Insider tip: curb your wheels). I found some great places to eat, and made a few friends.
Magic can be quiet at first.
Every city has its ghosts, but San Francisco's are so close to the surface you almost feel like you could sit down with them and have coffee--an organic, fair-trade, artisanal roast, of course. History isn't just history there. San Francisco is a city of layers. Literally.
During recent excavations for a new downtown subway system, trash heaps were discovered dating back to the area's first Ohlone settlements. Symbols marking the long-defunct electric and telegraph lines can still be found on Market Street. A few blocks down, a Dogpatch park festers quietly as a monument to the bygone days of punk. Head the opposite direction to Chinatown and take a pleasant stroll down Ross Alley, once the most infamous street on the Barbary Coast.
There are monsters, too. It's not difficult to picture The Haight as a witch's stomping ground, not a stretch to imagine vampires stalking Marina co-eds as they stumble home after last call. A boat trip out to the Farallon Islands might reveal a wayward mermaid fighting for its life amid the sharks.
Most of San Francisco's monsters tend to be of the human variety, however. Certain names still echo through the ether: Milk. Capone. Jim Jones had a congregation on Fillmore. The Zodiac Killer still sends chills down the spines of those who remember.
San Francisco is good at forgetting.
I'm still a stranger in this town. I don't have the same perspective, the same love-hate relationship with it that locals do. I'll never have a neighborhood market within walking distance of my apartment. Muni routes are a mystery to me. I don't have to pay a cool $3k a month to live in a broom closet because of those GODDAMN TECH YUPPIES AND THEIR FUCKING GOOGLE HOUSING SUBSIDIES.
I'm an outsider, a fact I'm constantly, almost painfully, aware of.
But while I'm not a local, I'm not quite a tourist, either. I've done "the knowledge." I know how to get from the freeway to the waterfront, and from there how to get to North Beach. And once I get to North Beach, I have this great little Italian place where the staff actually know me and my husband. Every time we visit, they exclaim over how big our son is getting.
Next door to that little restaurant is an empty lot. Its original inhabitant was a small Orthodox cathedral, destroyed in the 1906 Quake/Fire. For years afterward it was the site of a vaudeville theater. Now it houses an extraction shaft for the subway project I mentioned earlier.
Said shaft may or may not have a ghost problem.
Not quite a local. Not quite a tourist. Now when I go to San Francisco, I go as a writer.
Like I said. Magic.
Sunday, February 1, 2015
Edna St. Vincent Millay
"THIN Rain, whom are you haunting,
That you haunt my door?"
--Surely it is not I she's wanting;
Someone living here before--
"Nobody's in the houe but me:
You may come in if you like and see."
Thin as thread, with exquisite fingers--
Have you seen her, any of you?
Grey shawl, and leaning on the wind,
And the garden showing through?
Glimmering eyes--and silent, mostly,
Sort of a whisper, sort of a purr,
Asking something, asking it over,
If you get a sound from her.--
Ever see her, any of you?
Strangest thing I've ever known--
Every night since I moved in,
And I came to be alone.
"Thin Rain, hush with your knocking!
You may not come in!
This is I that you hear rocking;
Nobody's with me, nor has been!"
Curious, how she tried the window--
Odd, the way she tries the door--
Wonder just what sort of people
Could have had this house before ...
Sunday, January 18, 2015
The Haunted Palace
Edgar Allan Poe
In the greenest of our valleys
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace—
Radiant palace—reared its head.
In the monarch Thought's dominion—
It stood there!
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair!
Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow,
(This—all this—was in the olden
Time long ago),
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
A winged odor went away.
Wanderers in that happy valley,
Through two luminous windows, saw
Spirits moving musically,
To a lute's well-tunëd law,
Bound about a throne where, sitting
In state his glory well befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.
And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
And sparkling evermore,
A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty
Was but to sing,
In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.
But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch's high estate.
(Ah, let us mourn!—for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him desolate!)
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
And travelers, now, within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows see
Vast forms, that move fantastically
To a discordant melody,
While, like a ghastly rapid river,
Through the pale door
A hideous throng rush out forever
And laugh—but smile no more.