Writing books is an absolute pain in the ass sometimes. Or at least it is when I make it be that way.
I gave out beta copies last month and promised myself I wouldn’t touch this draft until I get the copies back (which will be by the time this post goes live). That way, I could do one last run-through of the story from beginning to end before getting it ready to send off to agents and seeing where it sticks–if anywhere.
I. Promised.
Instead, the hell do I do? I add another almost 5k words in the name of fleshing things out further.
To be clear, I’m not one of those people who writes way too much and has to cut it down. I am guilty of writing too little, so that it’s barely even a draft and not just an outline, and then expanding from there so I can get all my thoughts down before they float away into the abyss. And to be even more fair, I went from having one stupidly long dark romance to wanting to break it up into three decent-sized books–namely so I would have the ability to expand enough to make it the story I want it to be.
I could have spent my time working on drafting the second book (which I have definitely done some of), but the ridiculous amount of sense of sheer wrongness won’t let me dive head first until book one is 100% good to go. Basically I don’t want my notes to mix in my notebook, and I don’t want to use a different notebook until this one is full. I don’t know, man, it’s a lot of excuses, but it’s fine.
So anyway, I guess my point is that the copy I sent out for beta is not the most current. Whoops.
I guess I just wanted to check in to say that work is being done, and I am nervous to send it out, namely because dark romance is more niche than I would have thought. There’s a billion agents taking romance, but like five who might maybe consider dark romance. At least ones I’m finding on QT.
Anyway, I’m a failure, but I’m also feeling pretty good about being a failure. š
Vincent Blaire, world-renowned masked magician and Illusionist from Hell, carries his eccentricities with him everywhere he goes, both on stage and off. No one has ever seen him without his trademark mask and gloves, not even the love of his life. He keeps a cool distance, and while he would give her the world if sheād ask for it, he is always careful to never lay a hand on her.
Vincent is a master of avoidance, whether it be direct answers to questions or accepting his own emotions. He drowns himself in a cocktail of bourbon and opium whenever he feels the world crashing down around him, content to lean back and notice the beauty in the way it crumbles. When he loves, he’s unapologetically loyal, putting them upon a pedestal where they can do no wrong and nothing can touch them.
Vincent is as pale as he is tall (very). Though he enjoys the thrill of having all eyes on him on stage, he enjoys his privacy more. His favorite place to be is home, preferably with his wife breathing the same air as him, but lately those terms seem to be happening less and less.
Vivian Blaire, former prostitute with a fiery temper, has everything sheās ever wanted, but that doesnāt stop her from craving more. While she is married to the man of her dreams, the man she fell in love with behind a television screen, itās not all she hoped it would be. When she canāt get him to meet her needs, she decides to sneak out to sleep with the very man who trafficked her.
Vivian’s mind is a mess at the best of times. She’s prone to full-on meltdowns where she will shatter everything in her path. Her favorite way to deal with past trauma is to rationalize it, jumping through hoops and leaps of logic with ease so long as she can bury it back down. She doesn’t see the trafficking she was subjected to as a bad thing necessarily–rather, it was her choice to get into the lifestyle. She was never looking to be saved.
Vivian is mixed race (Latina and white, if she had to guess), petite in height, midsize in stature. Her favorite place to be is a toss up between the kitchen (snacks are bae), the den (movies and trashy tv let her mind shut down), and her room (no boys allowed or something like that); though she will often find a reason to leave the manor for hours at a time to get her kicks.
Hey there. Quick little update. I am ohhhhhhh about two chapters away from this second draft of the first book being donezo. It’s exciting and scary all at once. At the moment, I’m sitting pretty at 45k words, and I would like to be between 55-60k for the final product. Honestly, the jump in word count is a little concerning, but my original plan was just to have her ready to go to beta by the end of this month, so there’s some buffer to go back through and add as needed as plot points spring up at random times and all that jazz. Plus, I think I can have the two chapters done by the beginning of next week if everything falls into place like I hope. So it’ll be like draft 2.5 by the time it’s out of my hands and into the hands of someone else.
I’m also going to try recruiting a couple more people for beta over on Facebook here in the next couple days. If you’re not already, you should give me a follow over there.
That’s all I got for now. I’ve been in writing mode for the past several weeks with very little time for much else. I did finish A Light in the Flame by Jennifer Armentrout a while back and that story stuck with me, so in my free time (HAHAHAHAHAHAHA) I might pop over here and rant and rave about it and representation. I have a lot to say about it. For real. It’s been weeks since I put it down and Sera and Nyktos are still residing in my mind rent free.
Until next time, when I plan to write a little love letter to myself over a glass of champagne to celebrate another step closer to publishing, whether it be by the professionals or by little ol’ me.
Well hello there, Void I Scream Into Sometimes. Just wanted to give a small update that as of yesterday evening, the first draft of my next project is complete. Now comes the fun part: fleshing out plot points and editing what’s already there. Basic structure is there; it just needs brought to life!
This whole story is out of my comfort zone for what I’ve written most recently, but it’s right up high school fanfiction me’s alley. Dark romance is the only romance worth reading or writing in my ever so humble opinion. And also in my ever so humble opinion, this will be the best thing I’ve written to date. It’s also the most ambitious. I made the executive decision to split up this story into three separate books. There’s just too much going on to have it all in one novel.
Where to go from here? I’ll write up a second draft of this first section with a tentative deadline of March 31st, where I’ll hand it off to someone to beta. Another polish, and I’ll employ an editor to polish it better. I want to shoot to get this one published traditionally, but the backup plan as always is to self pub through the company we all love to hate.
While I’ve been drafting this, I’ve been reading a lot more romance than I ever have in my life. I tried out some dark romances, but they weren’t the flavor I wanted to read. I guess they were more erotica between Person A and Person B, but that’s all they really gave me. I couldn’t find chemistry in any of them that lasted more than a couple pages. So I moved on to fantasy romance, since it’s more likely to touch on the dark themes that keep it interesting for me. ACOTAR was a good one. I’ve reviewed those books before, but the series ended, or at very least I reached the end of what’s published for now, so I delved into From Blood And Ash, fell in love, and then jumped into Shadow in the Ember, and now I’m a fan for life. Sera and Nyktos are just…ah, chef’s kiss.
What I’m trying to get at without getting too long winded is that I am striving to have that same captivating dynamic for Vincent and Vivian as Jennifer Armentrout created for her characters.
Reading this genre started as research and now I’m emotionally invested. It’s a fun time. š
In the meantime, as I rewrite this baby, do you have any recommendations for dark romances that I should read? I crave dark themes, character introspection, and morally grey to villainous leads. Sexual tension and rocky moments where you aren’t sure if they will ever forgive each other are a must. Gothic vampire aesthetic is a bonus.
The holidays have me in a slashing kind of mood. So instead of doing something illegal, I decided to slash some prices.
From now through December 24th, I’m running a sale on Zemblanity and Itsy Bitsy when you purchase from me directly!
When you buy from me directly, you’ll get a signed paperback and a bag of goodies from one candy-hungry-sticker-loving book nerd to another. Email me at mandakaywrites@gmail.com for more info!
The wedding is over, life is starting to slow down, and words are being written. I put off working on any projects for a good three months to get everything together, and just like when I stopped to move, the time away from my laptop was killing me. But now, I’m back, and more motivated than ever.
I still have some queueing up to do over here and on the socials, but while I’m padding time, I wanted to leave you something to sit and salivate over: my Pinterest mood board for my next (and, in my ever so humble opinion, greatest) work. I left you with a rough first chapter last time, and a playlist a couple times before that, so I think in a roundabout way I’m aiming to hit all the senses, but I honestly don’t know how to do touch and taste. Yet. I’ll figure it out.
Anyway, without further bullshit, here’s that sweet, sweet link to some sweet, sweet pics (there is a preview below but the good stuff is in the full version here). I hope they tickle your fancy as much as they do mine.
Just a quick little update to let you all know that I met my own personal deadline for completing the final draft of Zemblanity. It took five years and five drafts, but itās finally done! By the time you read this, I will be balls deep in sending query letters to agents.
This is treading new water. My game plan is to try to get the story to stick somewhere in a year. If after a year itās still bouncing back, I will look into a smaller publishing house to work with directly. If after six months itās still finding itās way back home, Iāll cave and look into self-publishing.
I seriously cannot wait for you to read this. Itās like nothing else Iāve written previously, unless you count Improbable, but the site that was featured on I believe went under. Now that I think about it, I might take a look at that contract and see when I can publish it on my own. How do you handle contracts when the group doesnāt exist anymore? Huh.
While youāre waiting for this baby, Iāll still be working on other projects. I have another short story in the works that will likely end up in novella territory if things pan out the way I think they will. Iāll also be working on a novel that will go in a different direction than my first. Think Phantom of the Opera (for manipulation) meets Night Circus (for magic) meets You (for modernity). Itāll be fun. And maybe a little messed up, letās be real.
Stick around, void! No matter how this pans out, itāll be great!
Itās that time again. The fourth chapter, for better or worse, in all its glory. If you would like a refresher, hereās a link to chapter three. Otherwise, without further bullshit, hereās what you came for:::
***
Chapter Four
Sleep did not come to Allyson that night.
Under normal circumstances, it did not bother her in the least. There was plenty to do at night. Sheād balance checkbooks, wash floors, spend time touching the holes in the wood from events that seemed to happen ages ago or just yesterday, depending on her mood.
But not this time. No, all she could manage was tossing and turning in her twin size bed. She stared out in the blackness imagining different colors and shapes dancing before her eyes. Nonsense and random.
Sometimes, sheād squint until she swore she saw her again. It was a her. She was sure of it. Breasts, though shriveled, were still present. Skin like powdered latex. Some of her bones protruded in sections around her shoulders, her hips, the skin stretching almost beyond its meansāit looked as though it could split at any given moment. It resembled spiked armor. Beautiful. Deadly.
At night when the tossing and turning wouldnāt give way to rest, she would let her mind wander. No matter where her thoughts started, they would most often lead to that night. The moment everything changed. She thought it was for the better. Most days it seemed for the better. But sometimes the act got tiresome.
She tried not to think about it too much. She didnāt want to obsess.
āNot that you havenāt already.ā
The act consisted of two main scenes. First was the matter of the liquid courage her dead deadbeat relied on so heavily. There was a wall of beer cases in the living room, still full. Sheād empty it in the next couple months at the end of the year. It was easier to keep track of when it was present and ready to count. By the end of December, there should be fifty-two. It was easier to buy beer than make up stories about sobering up. Sheād bought for her old man often enough for the clerk to be okay with her purchasing alone. Everyone knew who the Alexander girl was buying for.
The second scene was a little tougher than buying underage. Keeping her father under wraps only came by keeping up appearances. Periodically she stood in front of the mirror. With an open palm, sheād strike herself on the cheek, the mouth, near her eye, her ear. It was by far the least enjoyable part of the ruse, but a necessary evil. It was easier to create self-inflicted cuts and bruises than make up stories of happy family dinners and game nights.
It was hard pretending to live in a broken home when in reality things couldnāt be better.
Maybe better.
A little better.
The night was long, and she was tired.
Allyson reached under her pillow, fingers searching for either cloth or drawstring. From practice, she was able to find the opening and grasp the tooth without removing the bag from its home. It was bumpy along both sides from years of plaque eating away at the bone. Had he been alive, this tooth wouldnāt be in one piece.
āItās funny how life works out sometimes.ā
Her words bounced off the empty walls of the room. Deafening.
If it hadnāt been for her, there wouldnāt be any teeth left in his mouth. In a way, she saved its life. The tooth rolled around in her palm over and over again while her mind jumped from one thought to the next in rapid succession until it landed on something worth pondering.
Zaquerie Aimes.
Zaquerie Aimes tomorrow.
It wasnāt as if he were inviting her to another party. Heād tried that a couple times before. She never kidded herself before; thus, she hadnāt accepted. The invite wasnāt special then. Sheād been sitting in a classroom full of people then, and everyone got an invite. Even Allyson. He hadnāt cared then; heād just wanted to be polite.
She could see though the bad-boy persona he held onto like his life depended on it. The clothes, the hair, the booze, the cigarette smile, all of it screamed villainy and violence. It was his eyes that gave him away, though. His eyes werenāt dead. Far from it. They reflected the gold in his soul. That boy didnāt have one mean bone in his body.
āWeāre the same, you and me.ā
The words didnāt feel like her own, but the buzzing in her throat said otherwise. Uncomfortably aware of her own pulse, she shoved the tooth back in its place and rolled to her side. Blood rushed to her cheeks, making her face burn. Yes, she liked him well enough. He was kind to her, and while no one was outwardly mean, no one was particularly pleasant.
Yes, she liked him well enough. He had a nice personality and he was nice to look at. It was nothing serious. Nothing life-changing.
āSo then why the butterflies?ā she asked the darkness.
And thatās it, folks. If you want to read more, you can catch chapters five and six in Voices from the Plains, which should be coming out very soon. Youāll know when exactly as soon as I do.
If you want to stay updated Zemblanity and the progress Iām making on it, be sure to subscribe to my monthly newsletter. Iāll post the sign up below if you are interested.
What did you think? Iām really curious to know, good, bad, and ugly. Shoot me a comment, or if youāre camera shy, you can pass an email along my way.
Alright, Void. One more update after this one before I hit the no post zone. Letās make the most of it, shall we?
Allyson is a little creepy. Letās see whatās up with her now. A little time has passed for both us and for her, so who knows, maybe sheās chilled out?
***
Chapter Three
Allyson was almost certain she would never need to know the difference between one triangle and the next. Triangles were triangles. Three-sided and incredibly boring.
āMy life is a triangle.ā
Only two people took notice of her mumbling; they turned around to shoot her a glare. She looked back down at her notebook, scribbling equations she didnāt understand.
Four years. Four years since she started this faƧade, and not a single incident. And it wasnāt from lack of trying.
Yes, no one ever guessed the truth about her living situation, and that was well and all, but she was bored with it. She wanted more.
She attempted summoning up the creature from that night more times than she cared to admit, but nothing ever came of it. It took two years of staying up late and recreating the situation best she could by herself for her to finally give up and accept it for what it was: a fluke. Devil traps were drawings and Ouija boards were toys.
She might have thought it all a dream if not for the faded scars under her eyes and the speckled holes in the hall of her home. And, of course, the body. Thankfully, it was easy to keep the deadbeat under wraps.
Allyson never knew her mother. She imagined her occasionally, making up stories to go with whatever face she chose to give her. She didnāt have the luxury of family photos to use for reference. Most often, she imagined her dead. Sometimes in a car crash. Other times during childbirth. She didnāt want to imagine her alive. If she was alive, that meant that she left her daughter with a drunk. Abandoned. And she didnāt want to believe that. Otherwise, sheād be worse than him. No, her mother loved her dearly, but the grim reaper had different plans.
āHey, Allyson.ā
She was so deep in thought, so didnāt notice anyone leaning against the front of her desk. Her heart leapt into her throat, thin shoulders rising in surprise that she tried to cover up with a stretch. She furrowed her brow, feigning annoyance.
Everyone in the classroom, teacher included, was gone. Not the first time sheād zoned out during a lecture, and definitely wouldnāt be the last.
āUm…yeah?ā
Icy blue eyes traveled up the ripped jeans, up the grey hoodie hiding the lean muscle beneath. She could feel her heart pounding in her throat, her wrists, her eyes, and her lips trembled if she didnāt force a smile. Whenever Zaque talked to her, sheād stare at his eyes. One moment theyād look green, and if she blinked, sheād swore they were brown. Like magic.
āWhat are you doing later?ā
Sometimes she would envision the spelling of his name. Sheād see it in neon lights hovering over his head. Utterly ridiculous. His parents, hip and trendy as they were, couldnāt settle on a spelling that made sense. Zaquerie Aimes. She didnāt know his middle name, but it was likely just as obnoxious.
āProbably nothing? Why? What do you want?ā
She kept her half smile and annoyed expression. Sending mixed signals was somewhat of a specialty of hers. Keep them guessing, keep you safe. Besides, no one, not him, not anyone, ever asked her something like…likeā¦
āHey, hey, no reason to get upset or anything. I just wanted to see if you wanted to go to a movie or something. And, uh, if you donāt, thatās totally cool. Just offering and whatnots.ā
He held up his hands as if he could push his request on her. Sheād watched him do it hundreds of times throughout the year. It didnāt matter if the other person was male or female. It didnāt change the outcome. Zaque was a superhero, and persuasion was his super power.
She looked him over for what seemed to her like an eternity, searching for ulterior motives of the butt of the joke. If there was something there, he hid it well.
āNo.ā
Short and simple, more to see his reaction than anything, ready to brace herself against the bucket of pig blood that surely rested on an imaginary beam over her head. But nothing. Not even a smirk to prove how gullible she was. His eyebrows raised, mouth down turned even as he nodded in acceptance.
āNot tonight, at least. My father wants me to run errands for him. Um, I mean, Iām free this weekend, though.ā
The heat traveled up her neck, into her cheeks, and her mind felt fuzzy. Allyson always had a half smile plastered to her face, but it felt like ages since the right side turned up in agreement. A little less forced than before. A little more natural.
āCool. Theater tomorrow at four then.ā
It didnāt sound like a question to her ears. He walked out of the room without waiting for a response. As if he already knew the answer. As if she didnāt have a choice in the matter. How dare he. How dare he how dare he how dareā¦
