Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Heads Up!

Tristi Pinkston is hosting an absolutely huge contest over on her blog to celebrate the release of her new book, "Dearly Departed." A new prize will be offered every twenty-four hours, and with multiple chances to win, you can't go wrong! Prizes include books, jewelry, perfume, movies - and the grand prize is a free night's stay at the Lion Gate Manor in Lava Hot Springs. Visit Tristi's BLOG for rules and more details.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

And the Winner is...

I'm so mean. Before I announce the winner, I have to say that you ladies are amazing. All the suggestions I received were worthy of consideration. It touched me how accurate some were, and how similar others were. Many of you suggested terms from Alice in Wonderland. Some of you really hit my heart.

I found myself wishing everyone could be a winner. But I had to narrow it down. To one. Oh, the humanity. But, my blog can have only one name.

So here's what I did: I narrowed it down to my top 5 (ok, 6) favorites, then put them in a hat, mixed it up, and let my oldest son draw the winner.

And the winner is:

From the Other Side of the Mirror
submitted by KRISTA.

Congratulations, Krista! You have one week to email me privately at Cheriwrites(at)yahoo.com with your address so I can mail your free copy of THE PEASANT QUEEN to you. Also, please let me know who you want to me to autograph the book to.

Thank you to everyone who submitted their suggestions. You really made this tough. :)

And, a huge shout out to ALL my followers. We hit 250!! Woohoo!!

Friday, November 19, 2010

WE have Arrived!!

I know it's not Tuesday, but I had to post. Just got an email from my editor, Megan, that said my book has arrived at the warehouse. Can you imagine? Sitting over in Springville are copies of my book, just waiting for their December release.

I'm so excited! I have to go wake up my husband now! :)

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

The Suggestion Box is now Closed

Just a quick post to remind you all that yesterday, Tuesday, Nov 16th, was the last day to submit your suggestions for my blog name. I will announce the winner here next Tuesday, Nov 23rd.

I'm so excited.

Remember, the lucky winner will receive a FREE signed copy of my book, THE PEASANT QUEEN!

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

History in Story Form 2

I’m going to tell you a second story now. This is about Alice.

Alice babysat to earn extra money. She worked for families in her neighborhood, though there were few, and mostly advertised by word of mouth. Once, she answered an ad and ended up watching the daughters of a stripper who worked nights. Then, near her 18th birthday, Alice took a job working for a family who had a home business.

The mom had a thriving business, and two young children in diapers, and definitely needed another pair of hands. She struggled tending the kids while answering phones and planning business deals. Alice loved the kids—2 ½ and 1 ½ yr old boys. They didn’t talk much, but they were great fun.

Within a couple of weeks working there, Alice met a member of their extended family who frequently visited the kids during the day. One day, this family member was visiting when the mom came home. The older boy raced to the window to watch Mommy pull in, while Alice sat on the couch next to this man with the younger one on her lap.

Without warning, the man put his arm across Alice’s chest and gripped her opposite shoulder. He pulled her toward him, and she felt him nuzzle and kiss her neck. Alice froze. What was going on? What was he doing?

He pulled away. Really it had all been over in seconds. Alice glanced at the older boy, but he didn’t appear to have seen it. Mom opened the door, and Alice went home. Shaking. Reliving the moment over and over. What could she have done? How could she have stopped it? Why did he do that?

The next time he came over to visit the family, Alice gave him the cold shoulder. She never got close enough for him to grab her again. Then he put her on the defensive. He called the Mom while Alice was working and asked if Alice was angry with him for something. She put Alice on the phone and Alice listened to him explain that he didn’t mean anything by it; that he’d just gotten overcome with affection visiting the kids because he loves them so much.

No, Alice didn’t buy it either, but she still felt stuck. Now what could she say?

So she didn’t. She kept her silence.

For over a year. Other than her closest friends, who volunteered to instruct this person on personal boundaries, Alice told no one. In the mean time, this person showed up at her work unannounced, any time of the day or night, and sometimes at the park when she’d take the kids to play. He offered her a job once. While “chasing” her across the playground while the children played, he offered to double her salary if she’d come work for him as his assistant. He was a writer, too, he explained, and had to drive out to remote desert locations to do research. She turned him down.

One morning, she broke. Alice called her employer from her bathroom floor to quit her job, because she was too overwhelmed with emotion to move. Getting up and going to work made her physically ill. The stress and constant fear of this person showing up when she was alone with the kids was more than she could stand. They called Alice back and offered her a raise if she’d come back to work for them. The kids trusted her; they needed her, but Alice had to say no for her own sanity. She never confessed the real reason she quit. She never felt like they’d believe her word over his.

But who did her silence truly protect?

History in Story Form 1

It occurs to me, as I talk about my past, I don’t talk so much about what I wrote during this time. Let me say that in high school I wrote my first novel, started the second, and wrote a handful of deep, dark, depressing poetry (as well as some nice things). I wrote rants, also. One in particular involved a horrendous Valentine’s Day.

Today, I’m going to favor you with two posts. They say confession is good for the soul.

Now I’m going to tell you a story. I’m going to tell you about Abbey. Abbey was a teenage girl growing up in Phoenix. She had a mom and several brothers. She walked a lot. One day, while walking to the store, she saw a car drive by her slowly. This was not unusual. Pretty enough to get attention, Abbey dealt with stupid boys whistling and hollering at her regularly when she walked.

But this was different. The car came by again. Abbey felt cold shivers of dread on that warm, spring day. Again she saw the car. By then Abbey knew something was wrong. Fear gripped her. She bent down and picked up a large rock she could barely conceal in her hand. Why? She couldn’t say; her thoughts were not clear.

The car came by one last time. The driver slowed, and the man asked her if she knew where this particular street was. Abbey thought she did, and gave him directions, all the while careful not to get too close. But the man didn’t seem to understand. As he started to ask her if she’d just get in and show him, a police car appeared at the end of the block. The man glanced in his mirror, spotted the cop car, and hurriedly thanked Abbey and drove off.

She dropped the rock a while later, still shaking. What Abbey wanted was to flag down the police car and ask them to take her home. Somehow, going to the store had lost importance. But she didn’t. She continued with her plan and reached home safely.

A few weeks later, she was sitting on the edge of the couch reading the newspaper over her brother’s shoulder. On the cover of the paper was the photo of a man. Sick dread filled Abbey as she recognized him. He looked so much like the man she’d met on the road. She was certain they were one and the same, but time made her wonder.

The man in the paper had been arrested for rape and murder.

Sunday, November 7, 2010


This is a friendly reminder of my ongoing contest. We're nearing the last week I'll be accepting entries, so get commenting! :) I've gotten some great suggestions so far. Here are the details:

My author blog needs a cool name. An incredibly brilliant author friend of mine suggested "Author Blog" might be a bit boring, but I literally had NOTHING--so I just put up my name. Equally boring.

I'm opening up the floor to suggestions. But, remember, keep it clean. I am a wife, mother, blogger and author of young adult romantic fantasy novels. I'd like to keep to this theme, particularly with emphasis on the writing--since this is my author blog (even if I want a better name for it).

How do you enter? Simple. Just leave a comment on my blog with your suggestions between NOW and NOVEMBER 16TH. On TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 23RD I will announce my choice.

And now you're wondering what you could win, aren't you? How about a free, personalized, autographed copy of my debut novel THE PEASANT QUEEN? That's what's up for grabs. So get brainstorming, my friends!

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

History, continued

Before I delve into the past, here's a reminder about my ongoing contest. My blog needs a name! Click HERE for more details. Just a couple weeks left to have your say!

I mentioned, at the end of my last post, how writing saved my life. At the risk of sounding dramatic, this is too true. Things at home hit their lowest point while I was in high school. I was the kid who thought all the other kids my age who worried about regular things--dates, prom, grades--were stupid and trivial because I was fighting for my life every day.

I tried to escape. Truly. All I wanted was $100 from the social security check that came in my name to my mother so I could give it to my friend's mom for rent. Without that, though, I was stuck.

And I didn't get it.

At my lowest point, I wrote a suicide note. I still have it. (Note**Some authors are crazy and keep EVERYTHING) But, because I had spent a solid year sharing everything I wrote with my friends, when my friend walked into the room I handed her my note. I didn't even mean to. It was automatic. And we talked. And cried. And I lived another day.

And another. And another. A few months later I admitted I could not fix me without help, and we sought outside counseling. With therapy, and medication, I was able to live a much more normal life.

Until...well, we'll talk about that next week.