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Monthly Archives: October 2019

NaNo WriMo #MFRWauthor

 

Interesting that NaNoWriMo is the prompt for this week as I was just telling someone I need to go over my notes for the manuscript I plan to write.

 

For those who don’t know NaNoWriMo is short for National Novel Writing Month. Every November writers strive for 50k in 30 days. I The few times I’ve done this it has been an exhilarating feat.

 

Nano is all about getting the writing process started and keeping it going. There are two books I actually finished during NANo. The first was ‘Micah’s Blessing’ and the second, Blue Jean Flame. The latter has not seen the light of day and the former is all pretty and shiny in its cover on Amazon.

 

NaNo is a challenge that is productive, stressful, and fun. If you’re registered with the site, there are daily emails to encourage you to reach your goal. There’s even a word count monitor, and if you make 50k they give you a nifty little bag to place on your blog or website.

 

You don’t have to start a manuscript from scratch, you can complete an existing one. The one rule is no editing. NaNo is all about getting words on the page, allow those creative juices to flow and just get the story down.

 

There will be days where you sit in front of the computer and wonder what to type ad then there will be days where the words flow like a tidal wave. Some of the prose will be magnificent and some will truly be horrific, but the point is to write, write, write.

 

I’m accepting the challenge of 50k in 30 days. Just make sure I have my caffeine and fruit okay?

 

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Forced to sacrifice… #MFRWhooks

Sin Eaters Book One: Pride by Lynn Chantale

Huemac, a half-breed, covets ultimate power, but he needs two things—access to the royal family and an ancient artifact. He attains the former by seducing the Emperor’s sister, and then steals the latter.

 

Moctezuma, the newly crowned Emperor, comes from a long line of powerful gods known as Sin-Eaters. He desires peace among his people, but an ancient prophecy warns of war.

 

Huemac discovers the incantation to activate the fabled Athame of Souls, a mythical weapon capable of entrapping souls. His quest to rule is within his grasp. Only one thing stands in his way—Moctezuma.

 


Available on

 

Excerpt

“My friend!” Huemac clasped Moctezuma’s wrist, then drew him in for a hug.

Moctezuma blocked the gesture with a flat palm on Huemac’s chest and a slight frown. “You are rather exuberant in your greeting.” Though the admonition was terse, a gleam of amusement tinted his eyes. “You must have seen your lady love.”

Huemac forced a blush, then was surprised at how easily the heat rose in his cheeks. He inclined his head. Did he really need Moctezuma’s approval? “Yes.”

Moctezuma laughed. “Old friend, you do not have to pretend with me. I have seen the way my sister looks at you. She pretends indifference when you are near, but she cannot hide her glow of love.” He turned sober. “Have a care with her heart. If your intentions are not honorable, I shall be forced to sacrifice you in the pits.”

A long silence hung between the two. Huemac was first to look away. He swallowed the angry retort that burned like acid in his throat. How dare this half-breed threaten him with a death befitting mortals. The pits were for the entertainment of the gods, suitable for those who had fallen out of favor or displeased them, and yes, even used for lesser gods, but not one such as himself. Huemac was a god to be feared, a captain in the Emperor’s army only outranked by Tialoc and his second-in-command, Xochiti.

“I intend to give her all the honor due her,” Huemac vowed. And then to keep her on as a slave. After all, she did satisfy his needs. “She has persuaded me to wait until after your celebration to announce our relationship.”

Moctezuma winced. “Yes. All this fanfare and nonsense to be named successor as leader of our people. It is so unnecessary. I have tried to speak reason to my parents, but my pleas have fallen on deaf ears.”

The other male did not want the throne? That was surprising news. “Surely, you jest,”
“No. My brother would be better suited for the task, but my father insists that as first son, it is my birthright, regardless of blood.”

Huemac was one of a select group of people who knew of Moctezuma’s lineage. He was not a full-blooded god. He was a demi, the product of a god and a human woman. Even more important, Moctezuma was the descendant of a long line of Sin-Eaters. They were an ancient sect of gods charged with removing the sin from mortals and gods alike to aid their passage into an afterlife of paradise. And even fewer people knew Huemac had aided in Moctezuma’s rescue from some overzealous villagers intent on stoning the emperor-to-be to death.

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Writing Rituals #MFRWauthor

 

Sugar in the morning, sugar in the evening and sugar at supper time. Oh yes. That was my daily ritual with writing. And don’t forget the caffeine. Did I mention music or some other background noise was needed? Without these, I couldn’t seem to write. Kids playing video games in the living room or entertaining themselves in the garage with guitars and drums. Bring it. The muses loved the noise. As a matter of fact they thrived on it and I was able to churn out some really good, if not great scenes.

 

There was also something to writing into the wee hours of the morning. The silence de-cluttered the mind and the muses loved that too. There were no phone calls to interrupt a lovely string of dialogue. No husband or children to ask what was for dinner or help with homework. No chores, just me and the keyboard.

 

That was my writing ritual until four years ago.

 

The truth behind that ritual was unhealthy. Not just from the poor eating habits. Seriously who eats candy corn for breakfast? *raises hand with smug smile* And it also hid something far more dangerous.

 

Depression. 

 

I’m not talking about the little bit sad that a pint of cherry Garciacan cure, but the oppressive, let me sleep, not interested in life, and I can’t write anymore depression. The type that requires counseling and/or medication. The type that no one wants to talk about for fear of being labeled crazy or worst a pariah. The type where the muses leave and you’re afraid they will never come back.

 

The writing ritual has changed to include exercise.  Some of the better ideas on a plot point come from sweating on an elliptical or the treadmill. Other ideas are tossed outbound while getting a pedicure and nails done. (go see my girl Christina at CJ Nails) And then there’s writing in the day time. The fan on my desk and the AC unit outside my office window provide background  noise, as well as the voice on the voiceover feature on my computer.

 

I still like writing at night for the same reasons as before. Less distractions and it declutters the mind, but it’s equally satisfying to write when the four year old is not around.

 

 

If you think you’re suffering from depression or other mental illness, you are not alone and there is help. All you have to do is ask. Writing and reading are solitary acts., finding your normal doesn’t have to be.

 

If you need someone to talk to:

800-273-TALK (8255) National Crisis Hotline

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