Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Sunday, February 26, 2012
"One Blood" Author Qwantu Amaru
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| Qwantu Amaru |
Qwantu Amaru has been writing since the age of 11. An avid reader, he has always aspired to write suspenseful page turners and socially significant literature like those of his writing influences Richard Wright, Anne Rice, Harper Lee, Walter Mosley, Tananarive Due and Stephen King. Qwantu draws his inspiration from his modest upbringing in small towns and cities across the US. In addition to his first novel, ONE BLOOD, Qwantu has published six volumes of poetry. Qwantu is an active member of the outstanding socially active poetry collective Black on Black Rhyme out of Tallahassee, FL. He has performed spoken word in poetry venues from coast to coast. He is also part owner and one third of The Pantheon Collective, an independent publishing venture dedicated to bringing high quality independent books to the masses while empowering and inspiring other authors to follow their dreams. For more information visit his website http://www.qwantuamaru.com/, follow him on twitter @onebloodbook, join his fanpage: www.facebook.com/onebloodbook, or e-mail him at qwantuamaru@gmail.com. Qwantu currently resides in Jersey City, NJ.
Author Interview – Qwantu Amaru
Q1) How did you come up with this idea?
I was originally trying to write a short story but it just kept growing and growing until before I knew it I had a 160,000-word novel on my hands! I knew that I wanted to write a story about my neighborhood in Lake Charles, LA where I grew up and I knew that I wanted to address the interesting racial dynamics I experienced living in Louisiana which was a stark difference to what I had previously experienced in Charleston, WV and Pittsburgh, PA where I was born. I wanted to write something that was different than anything I’d ever read but would not be so different that people couldn’t get into it.Q2) Please tell us about your current release
One Blood is my debut novel, a story 12 years in the making. It is a supernatural thriller, set in and throughout Louisiana in the vein of books by Anne Rice, Tananarive Due, and Stephen King. The novel is pretty epic in scope, spanning 200 years of history from 1802-2002. It’s a page-turning rollercoaster that will make you think as much as it makes you jump! One Blood is a character-driven tale that involves a group of diverse characters, all tied together through hidden connections and their mutual torment by a Voodoo curse.
Q3) What inspired you to write this book?
I think debut novels are always written in an effort to understand one’s one life and self, but the catalyst was the combination of a creative writing assignment and a powerful memory of meeting former politician and KKK Grand Wizard David Duke when I was attending high school in Lake Charles, LA. Novels I’d read by Anne Rice, Stephen King, Richard Wright, Harper Lee, Toni Morrison, Wilbur Smith, and Tananarive Due also inspired me.
Q4) One Blood has quite an extensive cast…how did you come up with the characters?
I didn’t set out to write a novel with a large cast, but as I got deeper into the tale, characters began appearing and developing on the page. In my first draft many of the characters were mere shadows and bad stereotypes. As I revised, I went very deep intoeach person’s psyche and came up with the idea to give each character a dual personality that would come out in the course of the story. Some of the characters (like Lincoln, Randy, and Brandon) ended up being composites of people I’ve met in my life, others (like Panama X, Coral Lafitte, and Jhonnette Deveaux) just came out of necessity to balance the story and create the appropriate amount of drama, suspense, and tension.
Q5) How much research did you have to do for this book?
Since a large part of the book takes place in The Louisiana State Penitentiary at Angola, I had to become very familiar with this prison which I did by reading different prisoner’s accounts, watching documentaries, and interviewing prison officials. Vodun is also a central element in the story so I had to do extensive research on the religion because I wanted to portray Vodun as accurately as possible and not do some bad Hollywood rendition.
Q6) Without giving away the ending, will there be a sequel to One Blood?
I have a desire to write the book the way I should have done it in the first place. That is to say, there are actually 3 full-length novels that form the back story for the events in One Blood, so I definitely am interested in telling those stories. As for a sequel, I don’t think there will be one, but I am planning several spin-off books with some of the surviving characters!
Q7) What exciting story are you working on next?
My 2nd novel can best be described as The Kite Runner meets The DaVinci Code! It is tentatively titled, The Uneasy Sleep of Giants and deals with a son trying to avenge the untimely death of his father, a chemist who may have cured Cancer and been killed for it.
1804. Luc Lafitte, pirate turned founding father, lynches a slave – Isaac, who impregnated his daughter, Melinda. Isaac is Luc’s illegitimate son. Before hanging to his death, Isaac curses his father and all future generations of Lafitte’s who live on their forbearer’s land. Three days after Isaac’s death, Luc Lafitte kills himself at the base of the same tree where Isaac was hung. 1963. Randy Lafitte seeks out a fortune teller on his eighteenth birthday in an effort to resurrect the family curse. Seventy-two hours later Randy’s father is dead. 1973. Randy is serendipitously elected Mayor, after the state’s first black Mayor is apparently assassinated by his wife, Juanita, who escapes and is never apprehended.
1992. Randy’s only son, Kristopher, is gunned down in the middle of gang crossfire, three days after his eighteenth birthday killed at the hands of his only black friend – Lincoln Baker. 2002. Randy, now Governor of Louisiana in his second term, learns his daughter, Karen, has been kidnapped on her eighteenth birthday. The ransom calls for the full pardon of Lincoln Baker. Three days after Karen’s kidnapping, an explosive cocktail of vengeance, manipulation, serendipity, fate, truth, and redemption detonates throughout Louisiana. Randy will stop at nothing to save his daughter and himself, even if it means admitting the curse is real. Even if it means committing greater atrocities.
But looks are deceiving. There is something deeper at work here. When the dust settles, the ending is as unexpected as it is illuminating. ONE BLOOD is a story about the power of suggestion and the beliefs that shape our lives. There are secrets sealed in our blood, you see. The best answers, as always, lie within.
Excerpt:
1963 New Orleans, LA During the day, New Orleans’ most famous neighborhood was a tribute to architectural and cultural homogeneity. At night, the French Quarter’s multicultural legacy blurred into an unrecognizable labyrinth; especially in the eyes of the drunk and desperate. At the moment, Joseph Lafitte was both. Joseph careened down the dark alley and absentmindedly brushed at the dried blood beneath his nose with his free hand. His tailor-made shirt and pants were drenched with sweat and felt sizes smaller. He was overcome with the sensation that he was running in place, even though he was moving forward at a brisk pace. Because he was paying more attention to what was behind him rather than what was in front of him, Joseph tripped over a carton some careless individual had placed in his path. Upon impact with the concrete his cheek flayed open, but he barely felt the sting as his priceless nickel and gold plated antique Colt Navy Revolver clattered away into the darkness, out of reach. Even now, breathing as harshly as he was, he could hear someone behind him.
Somehow they managed to stay just out of the range of his sight, but within earshot. It was the ideal moment for them to pounce, but Joseph would not give in so easily. He pushed himself to his feet, his eyes like twin brooms sweeping the ground for his weapon. He located it near a dilapidated doorway. Clutching it once again, he felt some semblance of self-control return. Until his dead wife called his name. “Joseph? Joseph, where are you?” That was all the motivation he needed. He broke into a full gallop but couldn’t outrun what he’d seen back at the hotel, or what he’d just heard. They are toying with me. Trying to make me doubt my own mind. This was New Orleans after all. A place with a well-documented history of trickery and alchemic manipulation. He must have drank or eaten something laced with some devilish hallucinogen. For all he knew, his own son—Randy—had given it to him.
Randy still blamed Joseph for the car wreck that took his mother’s life. Joseph had noted the murderous hue in Randy’s eyes after Rita’s funeral, and even though Joseph explained that it was an accident, he knew Randy would never forgive him. Was this Randy trying to get some sort of revenge? It didn’t matter. Randy was weak—always had been and always would be. As an only child, he grew up to be softer than cotton—Rita’s doing by babying and spoiling the boy. Have I underestimated my son? This thought, along with his first glimpse of light in quite some time, simultaneously assaulted him. Where am I? And why haven’t they caught up to me yet? Maybe they want me to go this way. Joseph glanced down at the revolver that had once been carried by the great Robert E. Lee.
He’d show them who had the upper hand; if Randy was behind this, he would soon be joining his mother. Rather than heading toward the light, Joseph turned left down another dark alleyway. The façade of the building was damp to the touch. Other than his troubled footfalls, there was no sound. Who knew a city nearly bursting at the seams with music could be this eerily silent? Joseph used the quiet to collect his thoughts. * * * * * He’d spent that afternoon as he spent most Saturdays, sipping bourbon and talking shop with other New Orleans power brokers inside the private room in Commander’s Palace. He knew something was wrong as soon as Randy appeared at the doorway, motioning to him. “We have to leave New Orleans right now, Father,” Randy said in a hushed tone as Joseph entered the hallway. “What are you talking about, Boy, and why are you whispering?” Joseph replied, a little louder than he needed to. Randy jerked Joseph’s arm in the direction of the exit, his eyes pleading. “Something bad is going to happen if we don’t leave here right away.”
“No, Son,” Joseph said. “Something bad is going to happen if you don’t remove yourself from my sight this instant!” And that had been the end of it. Randy left, looking back only once, as if to say, Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you. Joseph returned to his drinks and colleagues. Afterward, he went downtown for a little afternoon rendezvous with a beautiful Creole whore. She came as a recommendation from his regular mistress, Claudette, who was on her cycle, and the girl certainly fit the bill. He made it back to the hotel just as the sun set and settled down for a drink or three after taking a steaming hot shower. In the comfort of his armchair, in the privacy of his suite, his thoughts returned to Randy. It was Randy’s eighteenth birthday and the boy had been acting oddly ever since he’d arrived in New Orleans two days earlier. In truth, he’d been acting strangely much longer than that. Joseph would never forget the revulsion he’d experienced when the maid in their Lake City mansion had shown him the pile of bloody rags at the bottom of Randy’s hamper. That disgust tripled once he found out the source of the blood. One night, Joseph waited until Randy exited the bath. The raw pink and black slashes across Randy’s forearms, thighs, chest, and abdomen were all the evidence he needed. Apparently Randy had taken to cutting himself in the wake of his mother’s death.
Randy was barely a teenager and there was only one thing Joseph could think to do to keep from locking the boy up in a sanitarium. He sent him away to a French boarding school and commissioned some distant relatives to keep an eye on him until he graduated. If he survived that long. * * * * * This weekend was supposed to be a celebration of sorts. Randy had returned from France a distinguished young man, and Joseph was ready to bury the hatchet. But what if Randy doesn’t want it buried? What if he wants my entombment and has been patiently waiting all these years to get his revenge? Joseph grabbed hold of a lamppost to steady himself. A statue of a man on a horse loomed over him. His feet had brought him to Jackson Square. Surely, nothing bad can get me here, right?
He’d believed the same to be true of his hotel room and that had definitely proven to be false. * * * * * Joseph had been cleaning his prized revolver before sleep overtook him. The sound of the door opening brought him back to consciousness. Even though all the lights were still on, his bleary eyes could barely make out the two figures—a young black male and white female—standing in his doorway. Joseph sat up in his seat. “Who are you? And what the hell are you doing in my room?” His hand quickly found the revolver on the table next to him. The man and woman looked at each other and Joseph heard a deep male voice in his head say, “Don’t worry, Joseph. It will be ova’ soon.” He felt the voice’s vibrations in his teeth and jumped to his feet. The young woman reached out to him and he heard her voice in his mind as well.
“Don’t fight us, Joseph. It is so much better if you don’t resist.” Joseph felt wetness below his nose and when his hand came up blood red, he bolted around the woman, out of his room, and out of the hotel. * * * * * Now he stood in the shadow of Andrew Jackson’s immortal statue, exhausted and nearing the end of rationality. A sudden thought occurred to him. Maybe this is all a nightmare. Maybe I’m still sitting in my chair snoring. He latched onto the idea. Hadn’t he heard recently that the best way to wake from a nightmare was to kill yourself? Where did I hear that? Ah yes, now he remembered. The Creole whore had mentioned her grandmother’s secret to waking from a bad dream.
What an odd coincidence… Joseph stared down at the revolver as if it were some magic talisman. If this were a dream, it was the most vivid of his life. He could feel the breeze from the Mississippi River, the cold bronze of the statue beneath his hand, his sweaty palm wrapped around the hilt of the gun. And he could hear footsteps nearing. Rita’s voice rang out across the square. “Joseph, I’m here to bring you home.” His mind showed him an image of what Rita must look like after six years underground. He hadn’t cried at her funeral, but petrified tears streaked down his face as he gritted his teeth. I have to wake from this dream! The footsteps were getting louder and closer. He didn’t have much time. To offset his fear and still his shaking hand, he thought of how good it would feel to wake up from this nightmare.
He put the gun in his mouth, tasting the salty metallic flavor of the barrel as his mouth filled with saliva. God, this feels real. But he knew it wasn’t. He attempted to gaze at the statue of Andrew Jackson riding high on his horse. The statue was gone. As was the rest of Jackson Square. It had been supplanted by that damnable live oak tree in front of his Lake City mansion. He should have chopped that thing down long ago. Joseph let out an audible sigh of relief. It is a dream after all. “It’s time, Joseph,” Rita whispered in his ear. Knowing what had to be done, Joseph squeezed the trigger.
Okay this is a real roller coaster ride of a read....can't wait to read this book!!!!
Bev Thomas-Brewer
Friday, February 10, 2012
2012 AAMBC LITERARY AWARDS FOR "READER'S CHOICE"
aambcgroup.wordpress.com
Submit now for the 2012 AAMBC literary Awards for “Reader’s Choice” AAMBC Awards sets off to honor African American writers again for the fourth year. With over fourteen categories.
AAMBC Awards sets off to honor African American writers again for the fourth year. With over fourteen categories we will honor those who have made great strides in 2011 and have released novels and stood out from the rest. The only category open to the public for nominations is the Reader’s Choice Award. It’s that time again to send in your names for nomination.
Authors please start your campaigns and solicitations to be nominated in this category;
Simply take to your social networks and have your fans and supporters submit the following to aambcvoting@gmail.com
Author Name
Book
Simply state to your fans and supporters that you wish to be nominated for the AAMBC Literary Awards for “Readers Choice”
Submissions end Feb 29th
For more information on the awards visit
http://2012aambcawards.eventbrite.com/
Authors please start your campaigns and solicitations to be nominated in this category;
Simply take to your social networks and have your fans and supporters submit the following to aambcvoting@gmail.com
Author Name
Book
Simply state to your fans and supporters that you wish to be nominated for the AAMBC Literary Awards for “Readers Choice”
Submissions end Feb 29th
For more information on the awards visit
http://2012aambcawards.eventbrite.com/
Abnormal Lives: A Novel By Rae
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| Rae |
Chapter 1
It was ten o’clock on a Friday night. Simone sat inside of the fitness center, entertaining her client, Mason. Mason was the director of the center and usually planned their meetings there after-hours. Simone sat on the edge of the hot tub wearing a pink G-string and Mason stood inside the encircling pool with Simone’s thighs resting on his shoulders.
“My wife saw the present you gave me a few weeks back,” Mason announced proudly, as he walked his fingers up Simone’s thighs.Simone sighed. It’s not like it’s the first time and it won’t be the last, she thought. “Well, what did she think of it?” Simone tried not to disclose how humored she was by her remark.
“Let’s just say she didn’t like it as much as I did.”
The present Mason referred to was the hickey Simone had placed on the shaft of his penis. That was her trademark. Men from all over the Tri-City area contacted her to see could and would the pretty, petite, wavy-haired, fair-skinned doll baby pucker up her plump pink lips to perform the act that all of their friends and colleagues bragged about.
Once she proved that she could and would, if they were willing to pay her fee for the priceless experience, they became loyal customers that contacted her on a regular basis to have the “O”-shaped bruise on their genitals that they held with the same regards that bikers and gangsters held their tattoos, retouched before it faded away. It had only been three weeks since she had last provided Mason with her services and there he was, standing in front of her waiting to be retouched, among other things.
Simone liked dealing with Mason. She understood what to expect from him. He never showed up drunk or flying off of the handle as a result of hallucinogens. That was behavior she’d tolerated from the petty, low-class criminals she’d started out servicing. They would beat, belittle, and refuse to pay women in her profession after they’d romped around with them on old, pissy mattresses. Simone had paid her dues to earn the status she now held in her profession and refused to deal with that nonsense. That was one of the reasons why most of her clients were upper middle-class whites; the few that were black held the same social status. The other reason for that was they were willing to pay more money. Money that the lower-class troublemakers couldn’t afford to let leave their pockets.
Mason also referred a lot of his friends to Simone, which was good for business. Simone also liked the fact that Mason wasn’t long-winded. She could get it down as fast as she could get it up and when it was over, it was over. Mason didn’t try to stall to keep her around while he tried to have another erection. Her terms of service were, once her client ejaculated while she performed the service he’d requested, her job was done. Some of her clients had her perform one act, some paid for two or three, but after they ejaculated as the result of each service, or lost their erection, whichever came first, she was off the clock. Mason stuck to those terms. Being that Mason wasn’t what she considered to be endowed, after she finished with him, she would still be in adequate condition to service another client before calling it a night.
It was times like those that made her wish Stefan had come along. He had a way of nipping things in the bud. Although Mason was a huge fan of anal sex, he wasn’t one of her bisexual clients. She often heard him bash gays that attended the fitness center. He would go out his way to express how sickened he was by them.
Simone thought Mason might have been nervous. They had been together numerous times but, for some reason, he always seemed scared to touch her.
Simone’s legs shivered as a result of Mason’s jitteriness. She looked down at him and sighed.
“What’s wrong?” Mason asked.
“Nothing.” Simone removed her legs from Mason’s shoulders. “Come up here with me.”
Mason lifted himself up on the wall of the hot tub and sat beside Simone. Simone stood up, grabbed Mason’s hands, and pulled him closer to her. She knelt down in front of him and blushed at the sight of semen seeping from his partially erect organ. “You mean to tell me you’ve been in the pool hiding this from me all this time.”
“I wasn’t sure if you were ready for it.”
“Oh, is that right?” Simone drooled on his shaft and gently stroked it with her hand.
Mason stood up and began to slide his dick back and forth in her mouth. “That’s right; get it nice and wet.”
That’s a first, Simone thought. Usually, Mason would lay there lifeless, not uttering a single word while she did all of the work. Simone slid her hands up Mason’s thighs and onto his hips. She thrust him forward, taking him entirely in her mouth. She could feel Mason’s " "explicit" pulsate as she secured it in her mouth and gathered saliva to create a massaging motion.
Mason pressed his lips together and looked up at the ceiling. He hoped Simone wouldn’t notice the ugly faces he was making while she pleased him.
Simone slid her index finger inside Mason’s "explicit". His knees became weak and he plopped down on the wall of the hot tub. Simone followed his motion, never releasing her grip. Mason tugged on Simone’s weave and moaned at the top of his lungs as he reached his climax. He squirmed, unable to tolerate the overwhelming sensation he was being subjected to.
Simone stroked his organ with her hand to quicken his release. She almost laughed when Mason stood on the tip of his toes like a ballerina and cried out with pleasure.
“Whoo,” Mason cried out in between a series of pants. He looked back up at the ceiling and ran his fingers through Simone’s hair. “You’ve got my head spinning. If you can do all that with your mouth, I can’t wait to see what the "explicit" is like.”
Simone was puzzled. For as long as she had serviced Mason, he had never asked for "explicit". Ass was his thing. Mason loved the way she slid her hips down on his "explicit" until he fully occupied her anus and rode him like a jockey. He would want it tonight when I’m on my period; just my luck, Simone thought.
She sucked on Mason’s lip as she reached between her legs and freed her tampon into the hot tub. She straddled Mason and pushed herself down on his tool. It wouldn’t be long before he reached his climax. Simone could hear Mason’s breaths quicken as she pressed herself down on his dick harder and harder, lingering for a few seconds so he could feel the softness of her walls. In less than two minutes, Mason clutched Simone in his arms and called on the Lord.
Stefan lay in the bed with his man, Eugene. He threw his arm over Eugene’s chest and kissed him.
“Could you move over?” Eugene asked.
Stefan was fed up with Eugene’s attitude. Eugene had changed since he’d landed a job. When Eugene first came home from prison, things were wonderful. They would make love all night and sleep late into the day. Eugene would beg Stefan to let him take the condom off so he could feel his flesh. But now he didn’t even want Stefan to hold him. It was blatantly apparent that their relationship was only a ploy to help Eugene get on his feet. Now that Eugene had found a job and saved some money, he didn’t need Stefan anymore and he was ready to free himself from their relationship.
Stefan wondered if Eugene modeled the clothes he bought for him for some female when he wasn’t around. Stefan was sure Eugene was having sex with a woman in the apartment he paid the rent for. The thought of Eugene trying to impress some random chick with the things he had purchased for him made Stefan sick to his stomach.
Eugene liked females. Stefan saw the way he looked at them. Not only did he admire their beauty, he wanted to be entangled in it, he wanted a piece for himself. He’d noticed Eugene checking out the curves on his cousin, Simone, when he’d introduced them. He never brought them around one another again. He could not trust Eugene and he realized that Simone was weak.
Stefan attempted to kiss Eugene again.
Eugene pulled the covers over his head. “Come on with that. I’m tired,” he grumbled.
Life is too short for shit like this, Stefan thought. If Eugene was willing to throw away the security that Stefan provided him with over a female, then he could go right ahead. He was sure Eugene would run into some shabby whore that would fool him into believing that she was a lady. She’d be a little girl who had no clue where she was going; only what she wanted from him. She’d convince him that she was high-class when she was extremely high-maintenance. Eugene would exhaust his little savings trying to keep up with her and, when his money was gone, she would be also.
Stefan got out of bed and put on his clothes.
“Where you going?” Eugene asked.
“Home.”
“You’re not gonna fix me nothing to eat before you leave?”
“No.”
“Come on with that; a nigga’s hungry.”
“You’ve got two hands; fix it yourself,” Stefan said as he opened the bedroom door and made his way down the stairs.
“Don’t forget the rent is due next week!” Eugene yelled.
“And don’t forget you’ve got a job now and you can pay it,” Stefan said as he slammed the front door.
© 2011 Rae
As a child Rae ran across a copy of James Baldwin’s novel Giovanni’s room. It was James Baldwin’s stirring and provocative writing style that fueled her with the passion to write. Rae spent the hours she wasn’t at school or doing household chores writing short stories and poetry.
At age twelve Rae abandoned her pen and pad and became engrossed in the drama of her hood. By age sixteen Rae was a single mother and dropped out of school to raise her newborn child.
Rae spent her twenties hopping from one job to the next, disgusted with the lack of ethics and integrity in her work environments. After resigning from her umpteenth job, receiving the news of her fiancé’s death, and awaiting a criminal trial, after not being in trouble with the law since she was a juvenile, Rae laid back in her bed replaying the events of her life over in her mind.
Feeling like she had no one to turn to, Rae turned back to her pen and pad. She decided no matter what she would accomplish her goal of being an author. But this time her writing wouldn’t include rescues and fairytale endings. She would write about the drama of urban life and incorporate scenarios regarding social and domestic issues that plague urban communities. Soon after Abnormal Lives was born.
Get to Know the Author:
1. When did you start writing, and did you always envision being an author? I start writing when I was eight years old and I’ll tell you, more than a decade has past and I still enjoy how a story can excite, shock, and expand the minds of readers. I knew I would be an author ever since the day I finished reading Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin. I laid across the bed thinking about how emotive the novel was and that’s when the thought of being an author entered my mind. From that day forward I knew I would be an author I just didn’t know during what phase of my life it would occur.
2. Where do you get your ideas? Life, that’s where I get my ideas from, things happen in our families, personal lives, and communities every day that we are uncomfortable discussing and those are the topics I like to focus on in my writing.
Are there any particular authors that have influenced your writing? I would have to say James Baldwin and Iceberg Slim. James Baldwin’s stirring and provocative writing style instilled me with the passion to write and Iceberg Slim’s raw unadulterated voice gave me the valor to express myself freely as a writer.
4. If you had to go back and do it all over, is there any aspect of your novel or getting it published that you would change? As far as my novel goes it was originally written in the first person viewpoint after I finished writing it I read through it and realized the story would read better in third person. I wish I would have realized that from the start but if nothing else it was a learning experience. The only thing I regret doing when I was searching for a publisher is not submitting my work simultaneously instead of sending a copy of my manuscript to a publisher and waiting six months or more for them to say yay or nay before I submitted my work to another publisher. When you don’t submit your work simultaneously it gets to be a bit daunting.
5. What was your favorite chapter (or part) to write and why? I enjoyed writing the scene in chapter twelve when Paris exposed Michael by airing his dirty laundry in front of the police. Michael was a lying conniving dog and I couldn’t wait to write the scene where Paris called him out.
6. Did you learn anything from writing your book and what was it? I learned that writing a novel takes dedication, not only to your work but to your readers also. When writing a novel you want to produce an enjoyable product without jeopardizing your voice. If you’re constantly going back over your work changing things because you’re worried it will rub someone the wrong way your voice will fail to shine through. When you’re writing be yourself readers will appreciate you for it.
7. Do you have any advice to give to aspiring writers? I’m new to this so the only advice I feel confident giving is, don’t let self-criticism or the criticism of others prevent you from pursuing your dream.
Find the Author:
Web links: http://www.facebook.com/DomainRae
http://www.facebook.com/AuthoressRae
http://twitter.com/Itsjust_Rae
Email: itsjustrae@ymail.com
Link to buy at Barnes and Noble:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/abnormal-lives-rae/1102568444
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