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SC Write--Writing, Publishing, and Harry Potter


The Writer's Tank Update

  Posted by SC_Author , 21 April 2014 · 8 views

Things are going very well. We got 14 requests from the first three agents who stopped by (Ms. Menon, Ms. Anderson-Wheeler, and Ms. Albert, thank you!) and the other three will stop by before Wednesday.

It's the home stretch! And it's going very well so far. Good luck to everyone!



TWT: ENSNARED BY YOU Adult Historical Romance

  Posted by SC_Author , 17 April 2014 · 7 views


Bred to strike hard and fast, Lysander belongs to an elite guild of assassins known as The Shadows. When their latest mission goes awry, he’s betrayed by his own and left for dead. From the depths of oblivion, Lysander awakens to a ravishing angel caressing him in the most intimate of places…and to find he’s crippled and immobile. With the police hunting The Shadows, he’s trapped with no choice but to claim he has no recollection of who he is.

Spirited country miss Lady Olivia Woodward is mortified when she’s caught stroking him down there. In her defense, she was bathing him. The enigmatic hero saved her father from a harrowing assassination attempt; the least she could do is nurse him back to health. But the man defies all rules of convalescence. He’s arrogant. Exasperating. Infuriating. And gorgeous as sin. Attraction sizzles as tempers fly, clashes of ire caving to torrid, delirious pleasure.

Drawn by her tender compassion, Lysander knows every kiss is stolen, every touch forbidden. His past will resurface, and when it does, it will destroy Olivia’s trust...for he was sent to kill her father, not save him. As the police close in on unraveling his identity, The Shadows lurk in the darkness, reminding Lysander to finish his task. But they’re not the only ones after Olivia’s father. A deranged madman is on the loose and will stop at nothing to annihilate Olivia’s entire family. With the clock ticking down, Lysander must choose. His loyalty torn, will he betray his brethren and risk everything for Olivia? Or will he stand by his allegiance, and lose the only woman he’s ever loved?


The seductive sway of her hips set his teeth on edge.

The flame-haired minx pranced atop a wooden table, shimmying to the suggestive beat of the piano. Strands of silk clung to her like floating serpents in vibrant hues of orange, purple and red. Men leaned closer, straining, greedily drinking in the sight of her alabaster skin with a lusty smack of their tobacco-stained lips. The smoke-filled joint crawled with trollops, yet the blokes were mesmerized, captivated by this voluptuous, earthy gypsy.

One male was markedly less enthralled.

Lysander glared at her.

Not that she paid him any mind. She seldom did, these days.

Not a minute ago, she’d been onstage, the platform serving a good five-foot buffer from the salivating rough-and-tumble audience. Lysander had turned away to order ale from a passing tavern wench. When he glanced back, his heart stuttered. She was no longer there. He forced down his panic, scanning the dim-lit pub. He discarded the potbellied drunkards, their tattered clothing dirtied from toiling on the wharves, fresh off a hard day’s work and out to spend their coin. The whores with their smudged kohl-lined eyes and brittle smiles, one hand pleasing a man, the other dipping into his purse.

Where the bloody hell was she? He clenched his fists, about to muscle his way through the horde when he caught sight of her. His anger pulsed.

The buffer zone was lost.

Halfway across the bar, she danced on a table, toying with a man’s neckerchief. The beetle-nosed troll gazed at her adoringly, more than willing to let her unwind the linen from his neck.



TWT: INCOGNOLIO Adult Literary Thriller

  Posted by SC_Author , 17 April 2014 · 6 views

Determined to exorcise his inner demons via writing, Muldoon embarks on a novel by giving his subconscious mind free rein. Beginning with a title—Incognolio—he enters a bizarre fictional realm that embroils him in one adventure after another, plunging him ever deeper into an identity crisis of anguishing proportions. Soon he can't tell whether he's writing a story in which his stillborn twin sister has come to life, or he is the one who died at birth and it's his sister who is writing the novel. As he blunders his way through the bewildering maze of a story that has long overflowed its narrative bounds, Muldoon must unravel the mystery of Incognolio, or die trying.

The story design itself is intended to amuse and astonish the reader, all while poking fun at the conventions of the storytelling process.



Churn the Weasel

Without a killer opening line you’re screwed, let’s face it, since the tone and promise of the entire story depend on this sentence, add to that the fact most readers these days have the attention span of a hummingbird on crack, so unless you start things off with a bang you’re dead in the water, especially if you’re going to insist on resorting to worn-out clichés like dead in the water and worn-out clichés, relying on humor and wit to distract the reader from your second-rate prose.

Prose, let’s be honest, that remains mediocre despite years of practice, the narrative rhythm out of sync, the sense of composition askew, the sentences droning on and on ad nauseam—a phrase so overused it makes you want to puke—something with which you’ve had all too much experience lately, drinking most nights to the point of vomitous discharge.

And the concussion surely didn’t help.

The run-on sentences are a symptom of your brain injury, as are the deficits in planning, organization, and decision making, leaving you wondering whether you can even execute a coherent novel, since you’re now incapable of constructing what most people expect from a plot, so the best you can do is make up the story as you go along, placing your trust in your pinwheeling subconscious mind.



TWT: BEE STADIUM MG Contemporary

  Posted by SC_Author , 17 April 2014 · 14 views


For twelve year old Jake Evans, life without baseball is out of the question. This season, his team has a legitimate shot at going all the way to Williamsport. And at the first practice, Jake finds out he's a top contender for the traveling team playing in a tournament in Japan at the end of the summer. But when he finds out he might be benched for the season because he's failing Language Arts, he panics. He'll do anything do play.

Lucky for Jake, his teacher offers him an extra credit assignment to help him bring up his grade. Lucky, that is, until Jake finds out what it is. Advance to the school spelling bee. The problem is, Jake can't spell. He's struggled with school his whole life. In last year's classroom spelling bee, he couldn't even spell tulip right. A mistake the school bully, Kyle Filbert, still teases him about.

As Jake struggles to learn to spell words he can't even pronounce, he realizes he may not touch the mound this season, much less travel to Williamsport or Japan. So, Jake enlists the help of his best friend, and sixth grade know-it-all, Brit to help him study. Because if he doesn't hunker down and learn to spell, he'll never escape Kyle's bullying, he may not move to the next grade, and he could lose his one and only shot at little league stardom.


Harrison Templeton has a big fat head. Thankfully I sit right behind him. When I slouch, Mrs. Cooper, my seventh-period Language Arts Teacher, can't see a single hair on my entirely proportionally-sized head.

My right knee taps in time with each second - thirty minutes to go. I've been waiting for-freaking-ever for the first day of baseball practice. This year we might go all the way to the Little League World Series.

"Can anyone tell me from what point of view the Red Badge of Courage is written?" Mrs. Cooper asks, pacing in front of the white board wielding a dry erase marker like a bayonet.

Ugh. I'd rather eat moldy broccoli than read this book.

They should let us read something cool, like The Boy Who Saved Baseball or The Wild Pitch. Heck, I kind of even likedHoles. All this talk of themes and symbolism makes me want to poke my eye out with my number two pencil.

I duck out of her line of sight. She's going to call on someone to read out loud soon.

“Jake?” Hearing my name shouted shakes me out of my thoughts.

“What?” My voice comes out high, like a girl. I push myself upright and shrug my shoulders.

Next to me, Kyle Filbert snickers, his black hair flopping forward and covering one of his eyes like a pirate's eye patch. I shoot my arch-enemy a dirty look and ball my hand up into a tight fist under my desk. Sometimes I really want to punch the jerk in the face.




  Posted by SC_Author , 17 April 2014 · 5 views


Most people have nightmares about falling, being naked in public, stuff like that. Tommy's has claws, fangs, and the ability to see through his eyes. And it managed to break out of dreamland.

Tommy should have been doing something normal, like playing video games with his buddy. Even studying would have been better than standing on the cornice of a church, 50 feet above the pavement, staring at the fury, wondering which of them would die tonight.

A week ago, the monster had been a man. A man with a family. Until Tommy’s dream changed all that.




Sometimes I do the strangest things.

Like now. For at this moment, I was standing on the Euclid Avenue overpass, conducting last-minute physics experiments. Why could I not instead be entangled in some typical teen escapade, like egging someone’s mailbox? Getting arrested would be infinitely better than getting dead.

The wind off the lake whipped my bangs into my eyes. This was bad. I needed to be able to see. I had to be able to see. I should have made time for a haircut. I should have made time for a lot of things. Planning. Ninja school. Finding someone, anyone, with enough common sense to talk me out of this.

What the hell was I thinking?

Actually, I had planned. Mostly. I'd gone over every other phase of my "stupidcide" mission about a bazillion times. But this part...the part about stepping off a freeway overpass, and hoping to land on a speeding truck below...


I just hope Galileo was, and my physics texts are, right. Because if they're not, then I'm going to fall a lot faster than the pennies I’ve been dropping. The last thing I wanted to do was arrive early. The second last was arrive late. I now see why stuntmen make big bucks for this kind of thing.

This morning, I went to school, in body at least. My head certainly wasn’t there. Happily, I had no scheduled tests nor pop quizzes in either high school or “higher school,” which most people call “college.”




  Posted by SC_Author , 17 April 2014 · 7 views


When the bubble pops on the real estate market, The Ellis family, although Palm Beach royalty, find themselves upside down on multiple properties and in serious need of liquid assets. Maggie Ellis is most amused when her father decides to rent their Palm Beach mansion to an L.A. band hunkering down to write their next album. Amused that is, until the musicians staying in her father’s home reconnect Maggie to her only love, her high school boyfriend, who’s proposal she once fled.


And yes, more than ten years later, she’s still embarrassed about that.

Between closing on her own first home, keeping up with the projects she’s planned for it, and managing her career as a food photographer and the food blogger behind, “Picture Perfect Recipes,” Maggie knows it’s best to stay clear of the inevitable love tangles quickly knotting between her extended family and the men staying in her childhood home. But mostly, she wants to avoid Gavin, whose part in those entanglements tear at the heart she now realizes never healed.

It’s Persuasion under the glare of the baking south Florida sun with jet ski accidents instead of sea wall tumbles, and a modern heroine who is not lifted in and out of carriages because she drives her own Mercedes.

250: (The book begins with a blog post.)

February 15, 2007
Almond Granola Bark, a.k.a. Road Trip Fuel

Recipe Box File Under: snacks, other

What do you like to eat on road trips? What if the trip begins on snowy roads and ends in 85 degree heat? What if it’s a moving road trip? A you-lived-somewhere-eleven-years but... it’s time. Chapter closed. On the road.

Is there a food for that?

When this publishes I will be winding around DC’s Dupont Circle, my townhouse of the past six years disappearing in the back window. I will weave and turn until I find myself on 395 soon to be spit out on 95, the highway that takes me to my hometown home. I’m moving back.

The Florida girl is still in me. I love the sun and the heat and the mangoes. The thick salty air. Driving past Sandhill Cranes by the dozen pecking through an empty lot or coming home to a smaller family group of the birds honking a parade down my driveway. (Yes, this has happened.) I don’t even mind braking for alligators (also true), though I’m not crazy about the giant lizards (tiny dinosaurs). We’ll blame them for my 11-year hiatus.

But you know how I am. Of course I’ve got to tie up the loose ends for work and organize the packing, but I’ve also got to plan the travel menu. No surprise - my kitchen was the final room to be dwindled down into boxes.



TWT: THE WHITCRAFT MANEUVER Adult Historical Fiction

  Posted by SC_Author , 17 April 2014 · 5 views


It’s 1829, and Dr. William Whitcraft has just had the breakthrough of a lifetime—he’s discovered a miraculous new treatment for hysteria. And it’s just in time, too, as he and his colleagues have had their hands full with the suffering, fits of rage, and coquettish behavior of its female victims. The best available treatment has always been pelvic massage, but it’s so very exhausting and unpleasant for the administering physician, often taking hours before a successful “conclusion” is obtained.

After fruitless attempts to improve the process, Dr. Whitcraft almost gave up. But then he consulted Elizabeth Minnock, famous London procuress. Bemused by his pursuit, she casually showed him a five-step manual technique, guaranteed to work on every woman, every time…and in less than ten minutes.

Now, throngs of hysterical women flock to receive the Whitcraft Maneuver, and his practice is thriving. And when he publishes his findings in the Lancet, he’ll be the most celebrated physician in England.

But a dashing fellow professional has other ideas, and hatches an evil plan to make the Whitcraft Maneuver his own. Dr. Whitcraft is thunderstruck by his treachery, and can only watch as the credit for the most important medical breakthrough in recent history is stolen away. But Mrs. Minnock is a powerful ally, and together they hatch a diabolical plan of their own…a plan for revenge.


“Where is she, then?”

“Can’t you hear, Doctor? Just follow the screaming, up the hall and to the right. She’s destroyed absolutely every piece of furniture in her dressing-room and has moved on to Mr. Wedfellow’s study—”

“Good Lord,” Dr. Whitcraft muttered, quickening his pace as the butler followed closely behind. Now that he was deeper into the house, he could begin to make out the ravings of his patient in the throes of a hysterical rage. It was likely going to be a difficult morning.

“And where is Mr. Wedfellow?”

“I would guess that he has stepped out, sir,” said the butler as he rushed past and stopped in front of the closed study door. Behind it, it sounded as though a team of laborers were rearranging the room. 

Dr. Whitcraft stepped forward, flattened his palm against the door and leaned in to listen. He grimaced at a profoundly unfeminine string of curses—and then there was a monumental crash.

The two men drew breath and looked at one another with wide eyes. Dr. Whitcraft pursed his lips and placed his hand on the knob. 
It was locked, of course. 
“Is there a key?” 
The butler’s frightened countenance turned contemplative. “I believe there may be, sir. In the pantry. I’ll have to go and see.”


The butler scurried down the corridor. Dr. Whitcraft turned back to the door, pondering. What was the best way to go about managing this difficult situation?




  Posted by SC_Author , 17 April 2014 · 6 views

Desperate to escape her reputation of being easy, Charlie knows college is the perfect opportunity to reinvent herself. Her new identity, Charlotte, is a good girl who doesn't drink, party, or sleep around. In a place where no one knows her it’s easy living the lie—until she meets irresistible guitar player Dominic Hudson. Charlie would’ve eaten him up and spat him out, but he’s everything Charlotte’s trying hard to avoid.

Determined to keep up her act of good girl she refuses to sleep with Dominic, despite the sparks that fly every time they’re together. As the boundaries of their friendship begin to blur, Charlotte knows that if they cross the line she will have to tell him about her past, and risk losing him altogether.
Charlotte needs to find a balance between being true to herself and remaining a good girl.


Morning sunshine filters through the blinds, like daggers stabbing at my subconscious forcing me to waken from my slumber. My head pounds ferociously as the hangover from hell squeezes my brain like a vice.

Groaning, I roll over and freeze as my arm brushes a warm, muscular body. I crack open one sleep-encrusted eye and see a naked guy lying next to me, face down, sound asleep on the bed.

Clenching my eyes tight, I groan again as I wrack my brain for the missing details of last night. I remember the house party—too many beers and far too many tequila slammers—and there was a really attractive guy talking to me. What was his name? Shit. I have no idea. Did I even ask?

When I sit up, my head spins as I fight down a wave of nausea and panic; I have to get out of here. I’ve stayed longer than I normally do, testament to the amount of alcohol I consumed last night. The sound of mumbling interrupts my hysteria and I turn to the other side. There is another guy lying on his back. Wait, what? Still half-asleep, he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me tightly against him. I freeze, slapping my hand over my mouth to stifle the scream that rushes up inside me.

Fuck.What have I done? What the hell happened last night, and why am I in bed with two guys? Two very hot guys, but seriously what the fuck?



TWT: THE COLD DISTANCE Adult Sci Fi/Space Opera

  Posted by SC_Author , 17 April 2014 · 7 views


Mistrustful of authority, full of resentment and prejudice, Dee escapes offworld with a pair of master thieves. She learns the trade and becomes friends with Heughee, the self-aware quantum computer, but keeps some distance from the enigmatic Alu, an alien of the same race as the madman who murdered her parents.

When the galactic police-for-hire close in on them, Dee is forced to question everything she thinks she knows. With only one friend, Dee must prevent a doomsday machine’s completion and save the universe from a new Big Bang.

It’s Bonnie meets Clyde to save the universe from a hard reset in THE COLD DISTANCE, a 108,000 word space opera in the same vein as Firefly.


"I can't breathe, Mama!"

Dee squeezed her mother's hand. Eight years old and short for her age, each breath she took was hot and stale with the sweat of the crowd and it tasted foul. Her father was ahead of them, just out of reach

Panicked and irrational beings filled the narrow hallway of the apartment blocks past any reasonable approximation of capacity. Hundreds of people on each floor pushed and shoved and crushed the smallest and weakest to the sides. Dee and her parents were in the center of the throng but it had been forever since they'd moved.

"ATTENTION, ATTENTION. AN EMERGENCY HAS BEEN REPORTED ON THIS FLOOR. PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION TO THE NEAREST STAIRWELL AND EXIT THE BUILDING." The warning repeated twice in each of the seven Standard languages. That didn't make the frenzied crowd trying to get out of the apartment block any more cautious or careful. In school they had regular fire drills that were quiet and orderly. Such a thing as quiet and orderly does not exist when people's lives are in danger. Dee made a note to share this with her teacher on Dipri.

Her mother picked her up. "Is that any better?"

The awful noise in the tiny space made it so that Dee had to shout. "Yes, Mama!"

Dee wrapped her arms around her mother's neck ("Not too tight, punkin'") and saw her father pull them through the madhouse and into the stairwell, shouldering aside people she'd seen in the halls.



TWT: I'M IN LOVE WITH A ZOMBIE (...) MG Urban Fantasy w/ zombies

  Posted by SC_Author , 17 April 2014 · 6 views

When thirteen year old Bridget’s crush since the first grade---Ronnie---dies, she casts a spell and brings Ronnie back to life. Sort of.

As a zombie.

A covert government agency disguised as a rehabilitation clinic takes Bridget and Ronnie prisoner so Bridget can turn dead soldiers into zombies. The agency wants to test their newfangled Zombie-Activation Chip. And the first zombie they want to test their military weapon on is Ronnie.

Bridget has to stop them before the dead are turned into zombie killing machines, unleashing the zombie apocalypse.

And save her boy zombie in the process.

I'M IN LOVE WITH A ZOMBIE BUT HE DOESN'T KNOW I'M ALIVE is Zombieland meets Warm Bodies but with thirteen year olds.


Hiding in the back of the mausoleum where Ronnie is interred I venture inside. I run my hands along the wall until I get to his crypt.

“Ronald Michaels—beloved son and friend.” I assemble materials for the spell Great Grandmother Bridget listed in her Book of Shadows I wrote on the palm of my hand.

*Do not use if dead more than a day.
**Cannot guarantee a full return of faculties even if person has been dead less than 24 hours.
***If spell is used, the witch must find and feed said Returnee and thereafter be known as the Returnee’s Keeper.

The herb Leustean—I have Basil.
Oil of peppermint—peppermint extract.
Mallard duck’s pin feathers---feathers from the inside of my pillow.
Black candle---mine is green.
White candle---yes. 

I light the candles as instructed. I sound out the words. They’re in Latin or some other language. “Ver ee sah ma ide em. Zo bee zam leev um. Ko leev zo bee um. Leev.” I chant the words three times, toss the ingredients into the flame of the white candle and wait for Ronnie to appear.

Where is he? Why didn’t the spell work? I consult the Book of Shadows and read by the flickering candle. No, I did everything right. So, why doesn’t he wake up?

I bang on the outside of the crypt. “Ronnie? Ronnie, its Bridget Miles. Can you hear me?” I put my ear to the crypt, but I don’t hear anything.


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