Here’s the new back cover copy for Hope Dawns Eternal. I’m reformatting the interior to increase the size of the font and width of the margins. That results in more pages, which requires adjusting the cover as well. While it’s being tweaked, I decided to add an author photograph and some review quotes as well. Since some of my blog readers may not know what the book’s about, this will give you a good idea. I hope you’ll order it on Amazon, either in print or on Kindle.
It’s hard blowing my own horn, and I hate it when people come up with excuses for not buying my book. I wrote a poem about it which I read at “Poets Speak Loud,” the monthly open mic at McGeary’s in Albany hosted by Mary Panza. I thought of posting it on my blog but decided it was too vitriolic to float around the Internet in its entirety. But if you’re curious, below the book description, I’m including a censored version.
CAN SOAP STARS LIVE FOREVER? IF THEY’RE VAMPIRES, ANYTHING’S POSSIBLE.
“A fascinating twist on the vampire romance theme takes you on the set and behind the scenes in the world of soap operas. This well-crafted page turner was hard to put down.”
—Robb Smith, author of Granny Porn
“Lomoe’s witty, playful and thrilling novel, like the daytime dramas it depicts, entangles its characters in a mysterious web of murder and passion. Fans of soaps and the supernatural should be captivated by this fast-paced read.”
—Alison Armstrong, author of Revenance
Jonah McQuarry is the new cop in town on the soap opera Sunlight and Shadow. Tall and slender, with dark good looks and blazing blue eyes, he has millions of fans thanks to his years on Hope Dawns Eternal, so the showrunners bring him along when the QMA network cancels Hope and replaces it with Brand New You, a self-help reality show. When he meets the raven-haired beauty Abby Hastings, he suspects he knew her when the actor who plays him was a vampire on a long-defunct soap and she was his leading lady.
When the host of Brand New You turns up dead and drained of blood, Jonah becomes a prime suspect. Even worse, he begins to suspect himself. Could Mark Westgate, the actor who plays him, be suffering from dissociative identity disorder, and could Jonah truly be a vampire?
Watch for the sequel, Sunlight and Shadow, coming in 2016.
Okay, now here’s my shadow side, coming out in an expurgated version of the poem I read at Poets Speak Loud. No words have been altered but some content has been deleted because I don’t want to identify or diss the people involved.
THE ANGRY AUTHOR
“Julie, if you mention your new book one more time,
I’m going to walk away whenever I see you coming.”
Thus spake a respected elder of our church,
In front of a dozen others. Raised an obedient girl,
I followed orders and stayed mum thereafter
^&*($* Bragging’s bad, and so is pushiness.
Just ask poor Hillary, being pilloried for strengths more seemly in a man.
My &*()%$ group’s no better. &*(#& they meet
To coffee klatch and tell each other how great their writing is,
&*()#% You think they’ll buy my book?
Maybe a couple will, if I beg and wheedle, swallow my pride
And gulp down bile and anger, all for a measly ten bucks, plus
Palpitations and dangerously spiking blood pressure.
Hand selling, they call it—I call it shit. I’d rather dirty my hands
With poop when I scoop my dog’s turds on our morning walks.
Compared to the stench of personal rejection, his shit smells sweet.
Besides, he gives me unconditional love.
Then there’s the Internet, Facebook and the fan groups
That count me as a member, showing just how low they’ll go
But bristling if I try to guide them to my blog. I know they’d love my book,
But blatant self-promotion’s frowned upon, could even get me banned.
The moderators issue dicty warnings—one more transgression,
One more step over the invisible line in the cloud,
And I’ll be forever blackballed.
And what about the friend I asked for a review, at least a measly quote.
“I’ll blurb your book,” I said, “if you blurb mine. A win-win for us both.”
She’d read it but turned me down, claimed she had nothing to say.
And all the friends and relatives, with all their lame excuses:
“I just don’t have time to read anymore.”
“I’ve got too many books already.”
“I still haven’t read your last one.”
“I don’t like vampires.”
HOPE DAWNS ETERNAL: it’s yours for a measly ten or eleven dollars,
The same as a half-way decent glass of wine, and I could really use the money,
Though it’s beneath my dignity to admit it.
F*(% you, I want to scream. You crappy tightwad! You lousy piece of shit!
Instead I smile politely, paw through my purse for another Tum
And turn away before I trash what used to seem like friendship.
What happens to all this anger? Strangely enough, I find it energizing,
higher up the tone scale than depression,
the deadly black hole that could really do me in.
I’ll channel it into SUNLIGHT AND SHADOW,
the next in my vampire soap opera series.
Hmm, whose blood should I drain first?
Writers, can you identify with this rant? Readers, have I totally turned you off? I’d love to read your comments.