The best thing about self-publishing is that you are guaranteed to be published, no matter what type book you choose to write. Traditional publishers often look for something not yet written about, or seldom written about; such as true life alien abductions, or what Earth might be like in the year 4000, if humans last that long.

Self-publishing allows the author more leeway with subject matter. The author can tell it like it is; unlike traditional publishers who generally follow a code of conduct, for the fear of treading on someone’s toes. Traditional publishers always have that fear of being sued for libel, whereas self-publishers tend to not care what others think.

With self publishing every detail is up to the author. From hiring a professional editor if the self publishing author is not prolific in the English language. Editing is expensive, and every book, even self publishing needs some editing to help polish the final product. Self-publishing does offer editing and marketing services, but for an additional price, that can be expensive. All that work is taken care of by a traditional publisher, which means less headaches and work for the author.

When it comes to book covers, self-publishing companies usually give the author a selection of artwork to choose from. Some of this artwork is free, but some usually cost a few dollars. The free artwork is seldom great, and might not coincide with the books material. For paid artwork at self-publishing companies, the artwork is upgraded and more pleasing to the eye, but is an extra cost, which might for some self-publishers, mean an extra dent in their pocketbooks. Traditional publishers have their own art department, which means the author is guaranteed a terrific book cover, which is included in the contract. Both self-publishing and traditional publishing companies, though, usually allow the author to use their own artwork if the author chooses too, especially if the book is about the author’s family, pet, friends, or profession. Using personal artwork adds a touch of personification and genuine sincerity to the book; which is always a good selling point.

What I discovered through Amazon, and something they did not tell me in the beginning, is that with them, the author must keep a supply of their books at the Amazon warehouse. Amazon is not a print on demand (POD) distributor as is Lulu, as I initially believed it to be. Also, with the author’s books being stored at the Amazon warehouse, the author is charged for a monthly storage fee. I don’t know what this storage fee is, but I do know, that the more books the author keeps stored, the higher the storage fee is. This storage requirement can be expensive. The author is required to pay this monthly storage fee, even if their book does not sell. When it comes to any type of artwork, whether it be books, jewelry, or candles, artwork is usually a hard product to sell. If it were easy, all artists and authors would be wealthy.

Lulu on the other hand, is a print on demand self publisher. They do not store books, but keep each title stored in a queue, at a contracted print on demand printer.

Also, what I understand is that Lulu allows 80% of the royalties to go to the author, and Amazon allows 70%, but that percentage is only applicable for books sold to certain countries outside of the U.S., such as Brazil, Japan, Mexico, and India, and only for titles enrolled in KDP Select. This in reality, means that the author receives an average 35% of the sales, and Amazon gets the other 65%.

A author can struggle with locating a traditional publishing company for many reasons. They have written a book that only they are interested in; such as their family history. I don’t believe most would be interested in reading about someone else’s family tree, unless it is as brilliant as the book Roots, was. If a author is struggling with locating a traditional publishing company, than self-publishing is for them. I for one believe that if a writer has written a book, they should continue seeking out the traditional publishing company. This only applies if their book is polished and ready for sale. If a book has many graphical errors, it will not be taken seriously by a traditional publisher. Getting away with graphical errors in a self-published book is possible, but it would be disappointing and frustrating to the reader. Whether the book is self-published or traditionally published, the final product should be free of errors, and entertaining, and pleasing to the eye. In my opinion, when it comes to Lulu versus Amazon, Amazon bites the dust. Good luck.

Blurbs for “Loves, Myths and Monsters” 11 tales of fantasy, intrigue, and mystery, entwined within the human world

Welcome To Anna
Little does 17 year old Zoe, realize, but the Chupracabra followed her to Ohio from South America. What happens next is a series of chilling mysteries, and unsuspecting friendships and love.

The Hunter’s Bride
When all game warden Daren Abram, had to worry about was which lucky lady to woo, he comes to the realization that his town is being stalked by the reincarnation of the town’s legend.

Moon People
For teenage mermaid Constance, coming to the quaint seaside town of Willowick, is heavenly, until she falls for mortal boy Drake. For the town to survive, Constance is forced to choose between her kind and the boy and town she loves.

The Pack
When young Lycan Sonny Red Blanket, a Shawnee Indian falls for mortal girl Drenda Way, he must save her from his fellow Lycan’s and stop a werewolf uprising.

The Bidding
Apiologist 34-year-old Duncan McPherson goes to Circleville, Ohio, to investigate a series of mysterious bee attacks. What is uncovered proves to be more dark and sinister then anyone imaged.

The Agreement
Incarcerated in the abandoned Roseville jail, is the last thing rich college student and speeder Brice Conrad, needs. With an “agreement” between the town and a permanent demonic “guest”, only the unfortunate ones know the truth, but do not live to tell.

For The Love Of Ginnie
Handsome bachelor and Scientist Alex Anderson from the thirtieth century, returns to the Civil War with time serum to save his beloved Ginnie Wade from a snipers bullet, while finding a roller coaster ride of joy and perils.

Is It Only A Myth?
When 32-year-old Vinton County Sheriff, James “Jim” Connors, discovers he has a Mothman hunting in his county, he stops at nothing to save his citizens.

The Proposition
The rough and ready cowboy John Queenie gets the shock of his life, when the ad to break a “wild filly” turns out to be a fiery Quaker girl named Tess. This is a story proving love conquers all.

The House On Shady Lane
A seemingly loving family turns out to be serial killers in 1873.

Love’s Curse
When an Egypt love curse scroll is stolen from a Dean’s office, persons begin dying in bizarre and grisly ways, with the college’s mascot a Viking King statue jokingly blamed for it.

Excerpt
For the Love of Ginnie

I don’t know why I wanted to save the life of a person I never met. Maybe it was because I was tired of bachelorhood. Maybe it was because I was a chemist and the unusual, and unexplained, fascinated me. Or, maybe, it was because I was obsessed with this twenty-year-old, dark-haired beauty named Mary Virginia “Ginnie” Wade I had read about. These questions filtered through my mind as I drove to the bar to meet my best friend Will.

Will’s favorite hangout was “The Bling,” originally an old truck stop on State Route 93, in Nelsonville, Ohio. The place became a restaurant/lounge/dance hall and brothel when semis no longer became a necessity for long distance hauling. The invention of the transporter also replaced many other primitive jobs such as mail delivery and travel. “The Bling” was best known for the large flashing lights suggesting scantily clad women in seductive positions above the front entrance, and its “bulldogs,” monster-sized bouncers in Armani suits who patrolled its two-block perimeter, inside and out.

“The Bling,” just another joint with a sleazy atmosphere, like all alcohol-serving establishments, differed only in that it catered exclusively to class “A” clientele. Politely—or maybe not so politely—everyone called it the “Whorehouse for the rich and bored.” Its reputation grew. Its income grew even faster.

I pulled up in front and exited my vintage DeLorian, tossing the keys to the baby-faced valet, by-passed the doorman with no questions asked. Just an exchange of large smiles between us. Will was also part-owner.

As I entered the twenty-four carat gold, electronic doors, Will immediately spotted me and motioned me toward the bar with his diamond embellished hand.

I loved sitting at the bar. It was the perfect place to see the shows. “Two double scotches and water,” Will said, as we shook hands, and I slid into my seat beside him, just as the tall, leggy waitress produced the drinks in an instant.

I immediately recognized the “girl” as one of the latest “do-everything-like-a-wife” robotics. Robot manufacturing had become a booming business since the last war destroyed the immune and reproductive systems in most humans, especially females.

“I don’t know why you waste your time flirting with non-humans,” I said, cautiously sipping my drink. The immense emptiness of not being able to acquire a wife and soul mate, I felt at this age in my life, almost drove me to alcoholism, but my boss and mentor, Doctor Obar Gabry, intervened, saving my life and promising career.

“Because, dear friend,” Will began, “beggars can’t be choosey, and ladies are in scarce supply. Beside, these ‘girls’ are all pink inside.”

“Ugh!” I said, gulping down a large swallow of alcohol as if it could wash away my friend’s vile mental picture from my mind.

“Come on, Alex, loosen up. Live a little.” Will motioned to the waitress for another round of drinks. “You’re alive, so act like it. Don’t let your beautiful mind go to waste. This world needs people like you. People started treating me like a god once I became an entrepreneur, and I love it.”

I had to laugh. Maybe my self-pity stage had outlived its use. Only I can find a wife for myself. I certainly won’t ask Will to hook me up. His sense of values are as artificial as the women he beds.

The pain and loneliness I felt at times from yearning for a life-long partner and family wasn’t easy to accomplish. Scientific and Medical technology still could not reverse the sterilization effects on the female species.

Sure there were some human women to date. But most were either sterile, too old, too young, or there was just no chemistry between the two of us. I wanted that spark that unites between two people madly in love…like my parents. I never met any couple happier with one another then my beloved parents. That’s the kind of love I want…never ending.

The emptiness and frustration of not finding companionship at times made me want to die. But that was the loneliness talking. I know that now. I love life. I want to live, and I know who I want for a wife. It’s just that meeting her would be a little tricky.

Abruptly, I asked, “What do you think about time travel?”

“Are you serious?” Will asked. “Scientists have tried to conquer time travel for hundreds of years, and failed.”

“Maybe they failed because they weren’t Doctor Gabry and me.”

Will looked at me in awe. “Oh, my god, you’re serious!”

“We discovered something today in the lab,” I said, giving him an arrogant smile. “We believe this is the answer.”

“So who is to be the Guinea pig?”

“Me.”

Silence came from Will, then a gasp. “That could be suicide.”

“Or the biggest discovery of the thirtieth century.”

Author Bio:

JoAnne has been a long-time resident of southeastern Ohio, and worked in the blue-collar industry most of her life. Besides having several novels under her belt, JoAnne canvas paints.
When not busy with hobbies or working outside the home, JoAnne spends time with relatives, her dog Jasmine, and volunteers her time within the community. JoAnne is a member of the International Women’s Writing Guild, Savvy Authors, Coffee Time Romance, Paranormal Romance Guild, True Romance Studios, National Writers Association, the Hocking Hill’s Arts and Craftsmen Association, The Hocking County Historical Society and Museum, and the Hocking Hills Regional Welcome Center. JoAnne believes in family values and following your dreams. JoAnne’s original canvas paintings, can be found at: http://www.booksandpaintingsbyjoanne.com

Buy Links:

MELANGE IN PRINT AND EBOOK:
http://www.melange-books.com/authors/joannemyers/LMM.html

LULU in print
http://www.lulu.com/shop/joanne-myers/loves-myths-and-monsters/paperback/product-21546632.html

AMAZON KINDLE STORE
http://www.amazon.com/Loves-Myths-Monsters-Collection-Urban-ebook/dp/B00JL3J4P4/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1397151617&sr=1-1&keywords=Loves%2C+Myths+and+Monsters

Other books by JoAnne:

Murder Most Foul-a detective/mystery

Wicked Intentions-7 bone chilling paranormal tales

The Crime of the Century-a biography true crime

Poems About Life, Love, and Everything in Between

Upcoming Releases:

Twisted Love-a biography true crime anthology available June

Flagitious-a detective/mystery novella anthology available August 2014

Contact JoAnne:

joannetucker98@yahoo.com

http://www.facebook.com/joanne.myers.927

http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/board/forumdisplay.php?f=1990

I know we all love to read about romance and happily ever after. I know I do. A great book is my first line of defense against the insanity that is sometimes our “real” lives. Hectic schedules, work, kids, more work, sick parents, bills, sick children, laundry, cleaning, and sick pets. It’s a challenge when those we love are going through hard times. But life is messy, and that mess is out there waiting for each and every one of us every day.

My dear, dear friend is going through hell right now with an unexpected and very serious illness in her family. I hugged her, I took her daughter for the weekend, and I check in every day to find out what she needs. Most days it’s nothing more than a friend to talk to and someone to bounce ideas off of, someone to stand in the arena with her and have her back while she’s making tough decisions for the person in the world she loves beyond thought or reason.

Love is getting her through it. Her love for him. His love for her. And the love and support of their kids, their friends, and their families. What they have is the happily-ever-romance…twenty-five years later. That’s the kind of love that sticks, that really, really matters. That’s the kind of love I try to write about. The kind of love that kept my dad by my mother’s side as she battled cancer. The kind of love that is a friend opening her home to another as she recovers from unexpected surgery. That kind of love is the glue that holds the world together, and I hope you all have some of it in your lives.

Please share a story or brief comment about a spouse, child, sister, or friend that helped you through a hard time, that loved you. Let’s say I LOVE YOU today to someone that matters. Let them know.

Hoping life brings hugs and love to you all!
Michele Callahan

This month, if you sign up for my NEW RELEASE ALERTS email, you’ll have a chance to win a $50 Visa Gift Card! New Releases only – no spam!

LINK: http://michelecallahan.com

Coming June 15 – ALPHAS UNLEASHED ANTHOLOGY including CHIMERA BORN – The first of the new Chimera Series from Michele Callahan!

Excerpt: CHIMERA BORN
“What are you boys up to?” Zoey Williams whispered the question to herself where she lay sprawled across a cold boulder, careful to keep her body flat to the ground. Her forest camo would keep her hidden from the air. She couldn’t afford to create a profile for one of the perimeter patrols to see from the ground.

She’d worked too long and too hard for this story. Tracked one of the soldiers for months, followed him, stalked him, and bribed several friends to get his phone and credit card records. The man she tracked was an ex-Navy S.E.A.L.

Some “ex”. The man was still in a uniform. Still carried a weapon and gear and reported to someone at Fort Carson. And most telling of all? He still disappeared for days or weeks at a time.

But, according to the government, the man didn’t even exist. If not for her informant, she never would have discovered him or his team. Her blog had brought her some strange bedfellows, and some terrifying allies.

This time, the file her anonymous friend sent to her had led her here, to this man and this mountain. She’d tracked this soldier for the last few months. Every time something crazy hit the tabloids about alien sightings, portals, other dimensions, or UFOs, this guy disappeared for a while.

He was an asshole. She knew that much. Dropped the F-bomb like it was his favorite verb, snarled at everyone he talked to, and was one of the most self-contained and brutally efficient people she’d ever followed. He was also suspicious as hell. He’d nearly caught her twice.

And in the years she’d spent as a journalist in her previous life she’d become very good at not getting caught. Very good at being a fly on the wall, unseen and unnoticed. Unfortunately, that skill had cost her everything, her identity, her family, her ‘normal’ life.

She’d survived, and this mountain estate was her prize. There was something here, something inside the house that broadcast energy like a radio station pumping out hard metal music. Nothing shy or soft about this place. It screamed to be heard.

The energy pulsed through her body in waves, painful staccato bursts like ice needles piercing her heart.

Zoey ignored the sensation and continued taking photos of the soldiers, the house and the vehicles’ license plates. Everything she could document would go up on her blog. The more she had, the more people would believe her.

She needed the world to wake up! A year ago she’d been like the rest of them. Blind. Helpless. Safe in her dream world and ignorant of the truth.

The truth. Such a small word to carry so much power.

Setting her camera aside, Zoey double-checked the anti-reflective cover on her binoculars and scanned the surrounding hills once more. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming her way. Something powerful and very, very evil.

Movement. There! To her right and a bit farther up the adjoining swell of hillside.

She focused in and her heart froze, skipped a beat, shocked back into a frantic rhythm when she saw him.

God, he was beautiful. Dark hair that fell past his shoulders, a bare chest chiseled to perfection and abs any elite athlete on the planet would kill for. But his beauty wasn’t what stunned her.

It was the blood. And the chains. And the fact that he was moving straight toward her at an inhuman pace. That and the terrifying creatures she spotted moving like dark water down from the higher terrain behind him…

CHIMERA BORN – part of the ALPHAS UNLEASHED anthology with S.E. Smith, Carolyn Jewel, Mina Khan, and Michele Callahan – Coming June 15!

Sign Up for the NEW RELEASE ALERTS today and be entered to win a $50 Visa Gift Card! Don’t miss it!

Always a pleasure to be your guest, Cindy! I just got back from the 2014 RT Booklovers Conference in New Orleans, where authors, booksellers, publishing people and Readers all get together for about a week of workshops, book signings and other events. One of the evenings was a special Mardi Gras-themed field trip to the warehouse where the floats reside. The first items that greeted me inside the door were from an Egyptian-themed float! Since I write a connected paranormal romance series, “Gods of Egypt” I felt right at home.

In my most recent novel, “Magic of the Nile,” there’s a parade, in honor of the Crocodile God Sobek. I won’t give spoilers but my heroine Tyema is his high priestess and she’s in Thebes on a secret mission for Sobek, which also involves Pharaoh. As part of the festivities surrounding her visit, the priests from the local temple of Sobek co-ordinate a procession, providing dancers, acrobats, the ancient version of “floats” and many more amazements for the crowd of ordinary citizens lining the streets. Pharaoh provides free beer and a feast afterward. Tyema is responsible for a crocodile riding her “float” with her.

I always do research when my characters have to participate in events of this nature because even though my series is paranormal, I like to ground the plots in as much authentic detail as I can. There are wonderful tomb paintings of parades and of the “floats” used to carry the statues of the various gods, as well as the elaborate chairs and litters for Pharaoh and any lesser human dignitaries, like my heroine. For one thing, I discovered it took twelve to sixteen big strong men to carry the chair/throne Pharaoh would ride during the parade, depending on which elaborate conveyance he chose. (I added a few more to carry my priestess since she has a crocodile with her.)

Hollywood has done a good job of portraying parades in ancient times, especially in the 1955 epic “Land of the Pharaohs”. The parade scene there looks as if they copied directly from the tomb paintings. Oddly enough though, I also drew inspiration from a two and a half minute scene in the 1955 musical “Kismet” where the caliph is marching to meet his hoped-for bride. That scene has nothing to do with ancient Egypt (or much of anything historically accurate!) but I love the colors, the dancers, the song…the Muse draws her creativity from odd places sometimes. So the “Kismet” soundtrack provided the background while I wrote my scene but the parade itself is all ancient Egypt.

It’s interesting to me how universal the idea of enjoying a good parade is – from ancient times, to the Rose Parade where I live, to the Mardi Gras parades.

Here’s an excerpt from “Magic of the Nile”:
Nat-re-Akhte wore the double crown of Egypt today, and carried the cobalt blue-and-gold crook and flail of power. His kilt was fine linen, pleated, tinted with gold, tied with the elaborate red sash. A leopard skin was draped across one side of the kilt. He wore the magnificent pectoral depicting Horus the Falcon on his chest, gold, coral and turquoise gleaming in the sun. Pharaoh’s cloak was red, trimmed in gold and bearing his cartouche skillfully embroidered, guarded by a falcon on one side and the cobra on the other. The ceremonial braided beard adorned his chin today, although normally he was clean shaven, like most of his male subjects. It was almost painful to behold Pharaoh in all his glory. As he walked along the line of marchers, people knelt and genuflected.

Tyema’s heart beat faster at the honor of participating in a procession with Pharaoh. My astounding new cloak might be beautiful, but mere feathers can’t outshine a living Great One.

Paying the crocodile no heed, Nat-re-Akhte stopped for a moment beside her chair. “Are you ready for this, Lady Tyema?”

“Indeed, my lord. It’s all so much grander than I’d imagined, but the procession pays proper tribute to Sobek. Thank you.” She knew if Pharaoh hadn’t taken a personal interest in this ceremony, things would have been done on a much lesser scale.

He nodded. “An outstanding cloak, my dear, quite unusual. The priests of the Theban temples will have yet another reason to feel cast into the shade. And so they should.” He didn’t wait for an answer but walked to his own chair, separated from hers by heralds and standard bearers with the insignia of the Nomes of Egypt, the one for Nat-re-Akhte’s home province being foremost. The back of his chair was a glorious gilded rendition of the sun rising over the Nile. Uncut rubies set at the tip of each ray sparkled in the real sun as it rose higher. Six fan bearers took up position on either side of him as the burly litter bearers raised the chair high. In front of him soldiers stood ready to march, carrying his gold encrusted bow, shield and sword, accompanied by two handlers with Pharaoh’s snarling hunting leopards on leashes. Behind him was another miniature boat, elaborately constructed and painted, bearing an effigy of the god Horus, Pharaoh’s personal sponsor among the Great Ones. Depicted in falcon form, the statue was taller than a man, wings outspread, decorated in vibrant multicolored enamel and blue faience, with the head gold plated. Gleaming eyes, one a diamond and the other a yellow stone she couldn’t name, gazed upon the scene. Tyema knew Horus and Sobek maintained a friendly rivalry, so she could find no fault with the parade concluding on a tribute to Horus.

Pharaoh must have made some sign she missed because suddenly her litter was raised into the air. Tyema clutched the arms of her chair as the eighteen men carrying her and the crocodile adjusted their hold on the ebony poles to achieve maximum stability. Far ahead, at the beginning of the procession, she heard the blare of trumpets. From her new position, supported on the shoulders of the massive litter bearers, three men at each corner and on both sides in the middle, she could see movement in the ranks of marchers. She took a deep breath, knowing she had to stay calm to play her part in this pageant, and more importantly, to ensure the crocodile played his. So far the animal stayed locked in his regal pose, watching his surroundings with the deceptively lazy demeanor of his kind. The litter bearers closest to him exuded almost palpable fear, and she wished she’d had time to reassure the men the crocodile was firmly under her control.

Music began, a somber march supported by the rhythmic pounding of drums and then a moment later, her litter was in motion. As she was carried through the gates of the palace road onto the wide street, the roar of the assembled crowd made her blink. The roadway was lined with excited, expectant people, at least ten deep, come to see the parade and marvel. Tyema stared straight ahead as she’d been instructed although it seemed wrong not to acknowledge the people who’d come to watch. The cheers for Pharaoh were deafening. Nat-re-Akhte was a popular ruler, much beloved. She glanced back once, and saw him sitting straight and unsmiling, the picture of a Great One come to life. She was glad she’d met him in private prior to today, knew what a kind and thoughtful person he was, despite wearing the Two Crowns and being a god walking the earth.

The procession wove through Thebes along the path they’d all agreed to, passing the large temples of other Great Ones and coming to a halt in front of the somewhat less impressive building that was Sobek’s….

The story:
1535 BCE
The standalone sequel to Priestess of the Nile…picks up about fifteen years later and tells the tale of Tyema, who was the younger sister in Priestess of the Nile…

After a childhood spent scorned and ignored by her family because of her crippled foot, Tyema was magically healed then installed as the High Priestess of his temple by Sobek the Crocodile God. But Tyema is still haunted by her memories, scarred by the abuse she endured. Despite Sobek’s protection, as an adult she’s become a near recluse inside the temple grounds…

Until Captain Sahure arrives in her remote town, sent from Thebes on an urgent mission for Pharaoh, requiring High Priestess Tyema’s help. From that moment on, her quiet, safe life is upended in ways she never could have expected.

But after a whirlwind romance with Sahure, the two part as Pharaoh orders him to undertake another assignment on Egypt’s dangerous frontier, far from Tyema’s remote town.

Heart-broken, Tyema is ready to return to her life of loneliness, official duties and, now, regret. But the Crocodile God has other plans for his priestess: she must uncover the sorcerer who threatens Pharaoh’s life with black magic. Soon enough, Tyema finds herself thrown into the chaos of Pharoah’s court, neck deep in intrigue and danger. Just when she thinks she can’t take the pressures of a very public court life and her secret investigation for the Crocodile God any longer, Sahure re-enters the scene.

But is her former love there to help or to hinder? Can they resolve their differences and work together to find the dark sorcerer who threatens Pharaoh and Egypt? Will the love between a proud warrior and a shy priestess lead them to a future together?

Available Now at Amazon Barnes & Noble All Romance eBooks iTunes Google Play Books Kobo
You can find Veronica:
Blog @vscotttheauthor Facebook

Shortly after New Year’s Day, my muse decided to go for an extended vacation without telling me. She has stopped in here and there, but hasn’t come back yet.

There have been a few days in the interim when things flowed as if she were here. Writing was fluid. I was tempted to buy into the thought she was back. My intuition was right, though. Like a child away at summer camp who returns home for a week before going off to another event, she soon left again. I’m not even trying to write a new book. My goal is to edit and rewrite two novels started long ago. I work on them even without her, but it isn’t as much fun.

So, I’m attending to all the non-writing tasks on my to-do list. I put off writing one week at a time, until I can’t stand it and delve in again.

I’m not afraid she’s gone for good. Life has been intense lately, and I have no doubt that contributed to her fleeing for lighter pastures for a while.

A wise woman once said to me, “If your well runs dry you can’t nurture others, so give yourself permission to nurture yourself on a regular basis.”

So I make time to go to lunch with friends, enjoy my weekly breakfast date with my husband, go to the part with my sons and grandson, enjoy chocolates, fancy coffees and a glass of wine. Most of all, I laugh as much as I can.

Some writers swear by music, aromatherapy, massage, exercising, and travel to coax the muse back. It seems to differ for each of us.

What do you do when your muse deserts you? And, since Mother’s Day is around the corner, I’d love to know what you do to nourish yourself.

GEMMA JULIANA is a multi-published author who lives in an enchanted cottage in north Texas with her handsome hero, brave teen son and a comical dog who is really a human in disguise. She loves making new friends and hearing from readers. Exotic coffee and chocolate fuel her creativity. She writes romance, mystery and suspense with a splash of the paranormal. You’ll find alpha heroes in the Sheikhs of the Golden Triangle series and modern heroes in To Kiss A Leprechaun and Autumn Masquerade. More books coming soon.

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