nThis week’s blog #MFRWAuthor challenge asks participating authors to discuss whether writers should or should not enter writing contests. Frankly, I’m ambivalent on the topic.
n
nThe “experts” often advise writers, especially unknown authors trying to build name recognition, to enter writing contests. Doing so, they say, puts their work in front of influential readers (the judges who are often writers and editors themselves). Winning brings accolades that authors can use to promote their books. For instance, in the romance genre one can easily find “RITA Award” in a book’s description as a way to convey to potential customers that the writer produces a darn good story.
n
nMeh.
n
nI don’t put a lot of stock in these contests. Most, I think, are a waste of money (by way of entrance fees). But good reviews from contest judges can be used for book promotion, and it’s always a shot in the arm to get an award.
n
nMy take? If you want to, then go right ahead. Be my guest and have fun. If you don’t want to, then I won’t gripe at that, either. That’s okay, too.n

n

Rowan: Branch 1 of the Tree of Life 
nby Holly Bargo  ​

n

n

n

n

n

n

n

n

n

n

n

n n nn n n n

n nLion shifter Adrian and vampire Simon are best friends and business partners. When they discover Rowan, each wants her for his own. Rowan does her best to dissuade them, for a supernatural matebond means the end of her freedom. n nThen demons begin hunting sidhe and Rowan is a prime target. She agrees to exchange her freedom for survival. But which male will Rowan accept? And can she survive when one of them dies in a battle to keep her? ​n n n nn n n n

n

n

n

n

Excerpt 

n

n​Everything hurt.
n
nConsciousness arrived slowly, making me dimly aware in disjointed fashion that I was naked, that I was bandaged, that I was not lying in my own bed, and that I hurt. I opened my eyes slowly, the lids felt heavy and crusted. Reflexively, I raised my hands to rub the sleep from my eyes and winced and hissed with pain from my left shoulder. Wounds front and back throbbed. I gently eased my left arm back down and rubbed my eyes with the right hand. Eyes clear of sleep, I opened them fully and looked upward at a white ceiling in a dark room. The air on my face was cool, but not cold, so I decided that someone had the air conditioner running. I delicately sniffed. There was a trace of vampire, a trace of something else, and a whole lot of beeswax and lemon oil. Someone kept a tidy residence.
n
nLowering my right arm, I attempted to lever myself into a sitting position. With a grunt, I quickly lowered myself back down. I’d found the wound in my belly. The screaming pain incited by movement informed me as nothing else could that the damage was severe and my body was going to be several more days in healing. I wondered when it would be safe to eat and immediately felt nauseated as my damaged stomach rebelled at the very thought of trying to digest food right then.
n
nThe door opened; I heard it before I was able to turn my head to see who came through. There was a crack of golden light, temporarily blocked by the tall, muscular form of the man who poked his head into the room.
n
nNo, not a man. A vampire.
n
nShit, I cursed mentally. I was in no condition to fight off a vampire.
n
n“How is my guest doing?” he asked quietly in a perfectly civil tone.
n
n“I’m alive,” I answered hoarsely, realizing my throat was horribly dry and raw. “I’d prefer to stay that way.”
n
nThe vampire sighed as though disappointed with my assumption that I hadn’t long to live. Then he answered, “I didn’t bring you here and bandage you just to kill you.”
n
n“That’s reassuring,” I whispered as though I truly believed him. Within my head, I felt the brush of thoughts not my own. With a mental snarl, I closed off my mind and blocked him out. I might be physically incapacitated, but I refused to relinquish mental control.n

n

Tree of Life Series 

n

n

n

n

n

n

n

n

n

n

n

n Branch 2: Cassia  n n nn n n n

n Branch 3: Willow  n n nn n n n

n

n

n

n

n

nn

n

n

n

nn

n n

n

n

nMondays are usually packed. I work without much in the way of breaks throughout the day and never feel as though I accomplished anything. But that’s just Mondays.
n
nClient work generally fills my weekdays, with occasional segues into unpaid work such as this blog, my LinkedIn blog, website updates, my own writing, hunting for new work, and so forth. In short, my days are busy. When the happy occasion of someone contacting me with regard to a project occurs, I have to find a way to slide that project into an already busy schedule.
n
nSome weeks it’s easier than others.
n
nI’m lucky to have a few regular clients who entrust their work to me. I try to put what I can on a predictable schedule, as that helps me to budget and prioritize my time. Not so unlike my elder son who claims to possess the time management skills of a carrot, all too often I find myself working 12-hour days. Sometimes longer.
n
nAlthough my husband teases me about being retired, there’s nothing “retired” about the hours I work.
n
nStill, I wouldn’t trade freelancing for going back to a corporate career.
n
nAll work and no play makes Jill a dull girl, so I do take time off. Usually weekends. I just had a particularly active weekend. Friday evening, I went to an art class with a friend. We painted pumpkins. The picture below shows what happens when someone sticks a paintbrush in my clumsy hands. Saturday, I drove up to Defiance, Ohio to visit with Diva and her new trainer. Visible progress is being made. Sunday, I went trail riding with my artsy friend. She lets me ride her gelding, Henry. Over the past year, if it weren’t for her, I’d have no opportunity to ride. I really appreciate her generosity.
n
nEnjoy your week. Play a little.n

n

n

nn

n

n

n

n

nn

n n

n

n