Please help me welcome special guest Andrew P Weston. He has a new release out titled Kiss of the Succubus. This is a Paranormal Fantasy which promises to be a wonderful read. I love the cover, and the blurb and excerpt draw you right in.
But before we get settled in with learning about Andrew’s latest book, why don’t we learn a little more about Andrew himself. I think you’ll enjoy his guest post as much as I did.
And don’t forget at the end of the post to enter Andrew’s giveaway!!!
Take it away Andrew…
The Value Of A Good Routine
These past few weeks have proven to me the value of having an established writing routine.
As some of you will be aware, I live on the Greek island of Kos, a place governed by the summer sun. Once the holiday season has started, that’s it, its work every day from the end of April until the beginning of November…with no time off for good behavior. (Literally). If, like me, you are an author who still has to write in their spare time, you’ll appreciate what a pain this can be when you’re trying to keep up with a regular writing schedule.
Fortunately, I’m a disciplined, focused, and motivated kinda guy, and because of my background, manage to adhere to a pretty good timetable.
However – as we all know – no matter how well you prepare, life can still find a way to interfere with those precious creative moments. As I found out recently.
My wife and I love cats. We think they make great little companions, and over the years, have adopted quite a few little friends who have become great additions to our family. Sadly, only a few weeks ago, we lost two in as many days.
The first, Tiggy, a little one-eyed wonder we found after having been shot in the face by locals, was killed by a moron who swerved off-road to get him, and the second, Tia, succumbed to kidney failure after repeated misdiagnosis by a vet. My wife was distraught.
After a week or so, we decided a couple of little new friends would help us move on. I’d been feeding another pair of strays during the winter, (Barnaby and Bertie – brother’s to Tiggy from a later litter), and brought them home. Their arrival helped ease the pain of loss…until…Barnaby chewed his way through a screen door to escape after being with us for less than twenty-four hours.
We live in the countryside, and the joy of searching for him, only to end up falling down a cliff, then being bitten by spiders, and stung by scorpions, whilst bleeding and injured was a frustrating nightmare, and something I try to avoid.
Thankfully, Barnaby came home by himself the next day. (And after a few stitches, shots, and antibiotics, I’m on the mend myself).
So, you might be wondering…What’s the point of telling you all this?
Well, you can only imagine the way these recent disruptions impacted on my precious schedule. So much was happening that I simply didn’t have the time or inclination to write. As authors, I’m sure you can appreciate how frustrating this can be.
But do you know what? Habit kicked in.
The dictionary defines habit as:
1. A tendency or disposition to act in a particular way.
2. An established custom, usual practice, particular way.
3. A learned behavioral response to a particular situation.
Ever since I started to write seriously, I ensured to educate myself into a routine. Just as I would get up, go to work, and arrange my day around whatever shift I happened to be working, I did exactly the same with the time left to me.
By setting aside regular hours each day, and preparing for them with my latest story in mind, I found I could generate a satisfying amount of quality work from the reduced amount of time left to me. I suppose you could say, I ensured not to waste a single second.
(For example, although at work, I spend my meal breaks thinking of plot points, development twists, and so forth. I make notes. When I get home, I incorporate them into my novel.)
So, when the latest disruption hit us, my natural tendency or disposition was to make sure I didn’t waste the odd occasions here and there that I had to myself. No, I couldn’t write. But I could grab a few minutes to do some research. Make notes within the manuscript. Add ideas. Then, when I got back to my desk, I didn’t have to come in cold.
Think of it as going out to a car that has been sat in the garage for a year or two. Neglect it, and when you try to start it after many months, is it any wonder that you find the battery is dead? But, if you fire up the engine from time to time, let it tick over, keeps things warm. Running. Then it will be ready to respond when you need it.
We are all creatures of habit. We all know how hard a bad habit can be to break. The same can be said of the good ones. Because I’d applied myself over the last four years or so to building and established custom of acting in a certain way, even when disaster struck, my writing didn’t suffer.
The same can be said for you.
Are you teaching yourself a behavioral response when it comes to your writing? Are you making it an established custom to devote a portion of each day to your creativity? So much so that your natural disposition leans toward progress?
Carrying a notebook will help. That way, no matter where you are, when ideas come, you can do something positive with them. That will stimulate you to follow those thoughts through. Trust me. It’ll become a habit you’ll be glad you developed.
In my case, it’s helped build two great storylines, The Guardian Series and Cambion Journals, and allowed me to turn ideas into reality.
A good routine will do exactly the same for you too…no matter what comes your way.
All the best in your writing…Andrew
Having survived the double-cross planned by Samael, the demon king, and Fanon, his own spawn-father, Augustus Thorne is trying to come to terms with his lot in life. Both Fanon and Agamemnon, the king’s assassin, lay dead. And good riddance! But the only woman Augustus has ever loved in his long and lonely life is gone–driven away by the very real dangers his lifestyle brings. However, Augustus doesn’t have the luxury of dwelling on what might have been. An insidious new threat has emerged, one that exposes humanity to a danger, the likes of which they have never faced before. Surprisingly, Augustus discovers he doesn’t have to face this threat alone. Quite by chance, he stumbles upon a mysterious woman. Someone who appears to be the only other Cambion he has ever met. Has he found a true soul mate at last? Or is she too good to be true? Are other players involved who would still like to see Augustus Thorne dead? If so, what’s the connection? Find out for yourselves as the story continues in: The Cambion Journals – Kiss of the Succubus.
A background thum-thum, thum-thum, thum-thum, pervaded the tranquil serenity of her thoughts. A muffled throb that somehow coaxed her along the current of sublime melodic reverie that was her entire world. Everything was as it should be. She was safely cocooned within a web-like tracery of scarlet and rose warmth, and her senses were soothed by the rhythm to the point of rapture. She had changed. Of that there was no doubt. The disconcerting other within her heart was making its presence felt. And yet, the metamorphosis it had generated caused no discomfort. No anxiety intruded upon her perfect existence. Thum-thum, thum-thum, thum-thum. Something encroached at the very limit of discernment—static noise, a sharpening of mental focus. Awareness impinged, and her head swarmed to the echo of a thousand whispers on the edge of perception as she blinked her eyes open. At first, her sight refused to cooperate, and it took a moment before the liquid silver of her vision cleared. Lucidity, the likes of which she had never before witnessed in thousands of years of existence, struck her with a hammer blow. A darkened chamber illuminated only by a handful of Bale-Lights greeted her. Plain walls welcomed her return to coherent thought, their clinical frigidity a stark contrast to the bank of high-tech medical equipment surrounding the single bed upon which she lay. That unfamiliar sound intruded again. Thum-thum, thum-thum, thum-thum. What the . . . ? “Are you all right?” a disembodied voice asked. “I . . . I think so. . . .” Her thoughts turned inward, scrutinizing the presence within her. “Are you in pain?” “No, not at all. It was just . . . different than what I expected . . . than what I’m used to.” Turning, she recognized the source of the questioner. “Lamia?” “Welcome back, Mahlat-essa. How have the last three and a half months been?” Mahlat-essa felt her breast and the newfangled steady rhythm that beat incessantly within her. “I feel . . . different.” “That’s the effect of the Bloodstone. Is it freaking you out?” Lamia placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “No, it’s just . . . not what I’m used to.” She sensed that inward scrutiny again, and wondered what to call it. “What’s happened to me?” “Your memories haven’t returned yet?” Lamia appeared concerned, her brow furrowing. “Well, I recognized you, didn’t I?” “I suppose we have to expect this. The Bloodstone is bound to mix things up for a little while yet.” “So what’s it done?” “It’s changed you at the molecular level, Mal. Altered what you are—” “What I am?” “We talked about this. Don’t you remember?” A soupy mishmash of jumbled thoughts tumbled through Mahlat-essa’s mind. Slowly, they began to coalesce into a structured, recognizable form. Comprehension dawned. “So the bloodline was puissant enough then?” Lamia’s relief was obvious. “Yes, it certainly was. Only two lines still exist today, as you know. We were able to extract sufficient vitality from our subject to imbue the stone with enough potency to trigger the transmutation.” “And there’ll be no lasting side effects?” She touched her chest again, with its disconcertingly loud beat. “Not so far as we can determine. The stone contains sufficient potency to hold the change in stasis for about six months. It’s gradually leaking that essence into your heart at a steady rate. Once it’s depleted, you’ll either revert back to normal or have to undergo a fresh infusion.” “Lamia, do we have a mirror here?” Mahlat-essa sat up, the speed of her sudden movement causing both shock and delight to course through her veins like an electric charge. Smiling, Lamia fished one out of her handbag and handed it to her friend. Mahlat-essa was slow to raise the vanity mirror to her face, and was stunned by the reflection staring back. Gone was her devilishly beautiful and angular looks which had taken the breath away from the most resolute demons. She had been replaced by a vision of even greater exquisiteness. How? “I look . . . I look . . .” She gasped. “Perfect, eh? Just right for your goal.” “My goal?” Mahlat-essa mumbled, momentarily confounded. “Remember.” Lamia hugged her close, gushing, “You can’t recall much about your past, my dear. Your poor mother died when you were born, and you were left all alone in the world, wondering who and what you are. You grew up with the awful burden of knowing you were rejected by others for being different. For having a hunger you could barely control. The only relief you’ve ever felt is when these supernatural things are present. These demons! Venting your fury on them provides the only opportunity you have of appeasing the hunger inside. And you’re very, very good at dealing with demons. It’s something that comes naturally to a freak like you, yes?” Memories began to unravel within Mahlat-essa’s mind. “Yes, I’m starting to remember now! I’m different than other girls. Stronger than other humans, faster in some ways, nastier. Although I want to protect them, they shun me. I’m all alone without anyone to share my sad and solitary existence with.” “Which is a shame of course, because our one woman execution squad just so happens to be incredibly highly sexed and armed with killer looks too. The perfect bait, eh?” Raising the mirror again, Mahlat-essa grinned. That smile failed to reach the cold depths of her eyes. Yes. The perfect bait. He won’t know what hit him!
- Andrews’s Website | Blog | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads
- Buy Links: Amazon | Amazon UK | Barnes & Noble
- Genre: Paranormal Fantasy
- Length: 285 Pages
- Release Date: June 15, 2014
- Published by: Pagan Writers Press
Andrew P Weston is a military and police veteran from the UK who now lives on the beautiful Greek island of Kos with his wife, Annette, and their growing family of rescue cats.
A criminal law and astronomy graduate, he is a contracted writer of both fiction and poetry for several publishing houses and a growing number of well established magazines. In his spare time, Andrew assists NASA with one of their research projects, and amazingly, still finds the time to submit regular educational articles for Amazing Stories and Astronaut.com.
When not writing, Andrew enjoys holding his breath, being told what to do by his wife, and drinking Earl Grey Tea whilst dressed as Captain Jean Luc Picard.
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