If you are interested in blogging or want to promote your book, please contact E. B. Davis at writerswhokill@gmail.com.


Check out our February author interviews: 2/7-debut author Keenan Powell (Alaskan lawyer), 2/14-Leslie Wheeler (Rattlesnake Hill), 2/21-bestselling author Krista Davis, who unveils a new series, 2/28-Diane Vallere answers my questions about Pajama Frame. Please join us in welcoming these authors to WWK.


Our February Saturday Guest Blogger Schedule: 2/3-Saralyn Richard, 2/10-Kathryn Lane. WWK's Margaret H. Hamilton will blog on 2/17, and Kait Carson on 2/24.

Congratulations to our writers for the following publications:

Shari Randall's "Pets" will be included in Chesapeake Crimes: Fur, Feathers, and Felonies anthology, which will be published in 2018. In the same anthology "Rasputin," KM Rockwood's short story, will also be published. Her short story "Goldie" will be published in the Busted anthology, which will be released by Level Best Books on April 25th.


In addition, our prolific KM has had the following shorts published as well: "Making Tracks" in Passport to Murder, Bouchercon anthology, October 2017 and "Turkey Underfoot," appears in the anthology The Killer Wore Cranberry: a Fifth Course of Chaos.

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Friday, May 7, 2010

Introductions



I was fourteen when I attempted to write my first novel. Half finished, riddled with spelling mistakes and printed in pink, I gave it to my English teacher and asked her for her comments. A month later she handed it back to me and told me it was 'good', without having read it.


How did I know she hadn't read it? The story was about an assassin for hire who disposed of her 'kills' in her bathtub by dissolving their remains in sulphuric acid. I'm pretty sure if she had read it, one heck of a letter would have been sent home.


With the lack of constructive criticism from my English teacher, I placed my novel writing on hold. I dallied mainly with typical teenage, angst-ridden poetry until several years later, and on a romantic whim, I turned a boy I knew into a superhero. Generously, I included some of his friends and chronicled their adventures as a birthday present to him.


My relationship with the superhero version of the boy lasted the completion of a dozen short stories. My relationship with the real life boy didn't.


What writing those stories did do (other than remind me how much boys suck), was to help me rediscover how much I loved to write. I know it doesn't sound like something you'd be likely to forget, but who can think rationally when they're a teenager?


Now, a decade and a half after my first novel attempt, I've come full circle. Once again I have my novel in my hands, though this time it's not printed with pink ink, it's spell checked within an inch of its life and the content is less likely to get any letters sent home. All I have to do is a few minor revisions before I start querying. And I've never been more terrified in my life.


Jordaina

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