Staying on Track: Success on Author Panels

I’ve had the great pleasure of appearing on many author panels with a slew of talented authors and wonderful audience members. The experience has been consistently gratifying; I’m so grateful to have been included in each and every one. I don’t practice for the panels. I do make sure my state of mind is high, my attitude the very best, and that I bring my “A” game to the panel, meaning I do my best to please the audience. I remember well, in my pre-author days, what life was like when the focus was on the last person it should have been on: me.

Years ago, my office moved from a dismal location to a near match for Fifth Avenue. I’d packed, unpacked, organized, and may have gone slightly berserk when I attended a meeting with new colleagues. By berserk I mean that maybe some words tumbled out of my mouth before I pulled the emergency brain brake and exercised thought prior to speaking.

I attended a noon hour meeting, in a room full of attorneys. There were two problems: no lunch was being served, and I’d not eaten anything. Everyone who knows me is aware that when I go hungry, say for a period of 90 minutes or more, my usual gentle, sweet demeanor peels away and the Attila the Hun in me is let loose. Arrrggghh! To add to my crabbiness during the meeting, my stomach growled so loudly, I shouted to be heard over the din; the hard-of-hearing didn’t stand a chance.

I was the new kid in town, thrown into a close-knit clan. After listening to idle gossip for ten minutes, I introduced myself and received a slew of disinterested stares which, along with my hunger, only enhanced my foul temper. I suddenly blurted out, “I haven’t practiced law in almost ten years, and I’ve loved every minute of it.”

Those who placed high marks on honesty and candor might have applauded my statement. As you may imagine, the room fell silent…except for my growling stomach, which competed with the ear shattering thunderstorm outside.

I immediately realized my error and tried to induce blindness and perhaps rapid onset amnesia with a dazzling smile. Alas, they didn’t fall for it.

I wiped away all traces of saliva that appeared after watching the fellow next to me devour his chicken pot pie, and forced myself to perk up. I re-focused, not on the roar of my empty middle section, demanding as it was; I ignored my Attila-like tendencies, and directed my energies on the issues being discussed. I tried really hard…and almost made it. I suddenly interrupted a discussion with,

“When I was Business Affairs Counsel for XYZ Motion Picture Studio….”

Fortunately, I was able to switch direction quickly, realizing that these lawyers cared as much about what I did in a previous life as they did about my having had a grand time staying at home, raising my family instead of working. I needed to focus on the here and now.

We all know that awareness is the first step to changing displeasing habits and/or characteristics. I am exceptionally aware of what hunger pangs do to my typically mild-mannered personality, and I usually carry around a snack or two in my handbag for that reason. Except I forgot that day. Instead, I shoved a large slice of humble pie down my throat, reminding myself that I’m a whole lot happier when I find ways to help others instead of focusing on myself.

The Two Minute Interview with Author Keta Diablo

I’m very pleased to welcome Amazon bestselling author, Keta Diablo, to talk about her latest release: COMES AN OUTLAW. a short story in the historical ghost anthology, THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE GHOSTLY. I’m especially excited not just because the story sounds spooky and romantic, but it’s set in the Old West. One of my favorite settings!

Lida: Welcome Keta. What is COMES AN OUTLAW about?

Keta: When a tragic accident claims her husband’s life, Jesse Santos must find a way to keep the ranch, the only home her twelve-year-old son has ever known. The ranch hands have abandoned her, a gang of cutthroat ranchers want her land and an ancient Yaqui Indian insists a spirit has taken up residence in the house.

After a fifteen year absence, her husband’s brother, Coy, returns to his childhood home. He doesn’t plan on staying, and he certainly doesn’t intend to settle down with a widow and her son…no matter how pretty she is.

He’s an outlaw, after all, and made a decision to put an end to his gun-slinging days long ago. Will his conscience let him walk away from family, or will his heart overrule his head?

Lida: Jesse definitely has her hands full. Tell us a little about your writing life.

Keta: I write paranormal, western romance and sometimes dabble in contemporary romance.

Lida: Love the western romances. Where’s the exact setting for COMES AN OUTLAW?

Keta: Vulture Mountains, Arizona in the Old West.

Lida: What a name for a mountain range! How did you come to write this book?

Keta: I usually write western romance so it seemed like a natural choice when asked to contribute to a Old West anthology.

Lida: Do you have a favorite character in your story?

Keta: Jezebel Santos, aka Jesse. She’s a strong heroine, trying to fend off cutthroat neighbors trying to take away her ranch. She recently lost her husband and is trying to make it in a rugged, sometimes unforgiving land with her twelve-year-old son.

Lida: I’m partial to strong heroines, and Jesse sounds like she’s in a vulnerable spot where to survive, she needs to be strong. Why should I (or any reader) read your lovely creation?

Keta: Well, number one, COMES AN OUTLAW is available right now in a boxed set with seven other fabulous stories. You can’t beat the price of .99 for eight alpha cowboys novellas.

Lida: Sounds like a bargain for a fantastic anthology. Who can resist romance in the Old West? Thanks so much, Keta for joining me and best wishes for many book sales and happy writing trails!

SET-UP AND EXCERPT: Jesse’s been talking to her late husband since his death. Is she going crazy or is her husband lingering between two worlds, desperate to help her and their son?

Arizona 1885

Dawn caressed the homespun curtains in the cramped bedroom, rousing Jesse from a restless night’s sleep. A delicate breeze rustled through the two-inch gap between window and sill, doing little to motivate the damp, heavy air in the room.
She tossed back the blue and white quilt, slid from bed and crossed the room to the pitcher and bowl on the bureau.
Gonna be another scorcher today, Jezebel. Might want to tie your hair back.
For a brief moment, she closed her eyes and willed the voice in the room to leave. He wasn’t there, not in a real sense. Like every other day since his death, he invaded her thoughts, spoke in her head. She opened her eyes and fought the overwhelming urge to turn around, prove once and for all ghosts didn’t exist.
“Are you set on driving me crazy, Cain? Don’t I have enough to deal with without you tormenting me? Besides, I don’t like it when you call me Jezebel, and you darn well know it.”
That’s why no one calls you Jezebel except me.
She spun around and glared at the rocking chair under the window. “Ah, another one of your tricks to make me think I’m losing my mind—call me something no one else does.”
Yes, I’m in the rocker, the one my mother always sat in beside the hearth. You remember after she died, we brought it into our bedroom?
“Stop…you must stop.” Her hands went to her temples. “If you were real I would see you sitting there.”
If only I could show myself. You have no idea how hard it is to project my voice. Takes so much energy. I’m working on it though, have high hopes I’ll get better at this spirit realm thing.
“I don’t want you to get better at it; I want you to stop speaking to me entirely.”
We talked about this, agreed that if something happened to one of us, we’d do our best to come back, watch over the other one.
She paced a small area at the end of the bed. “I only agreed because I thought it would never happen, could never happen. I wanted to please you, knew how much you loved your line of work, believed in it.”
Nonetheless, Jezebel, it happened. I’m here and I mean to look out for you. I didn’t want to leave you so soon but we must deal with what is now.
Stopping her harried pace, she looked to the chair again. “You don’t think I’m doing my best to deal with what is now? And stop calling me that!”
You’ll always be my precious Jezebel.
She heard a contented sigh filter through the still air.
My Jezebel with the tangle of long, copper hair, eyes the color of Robin’s eggs and the lovely bowed mouth. I recall the first time I saw you. Slop bucket hanging off your tiny arm, you walked from the back room of Two Bits, skirted the bar and dropped to your knees to scrub the floor. Do you remember?
She hung her head. “How could I forget the day you saved me from a life of…well, destitution, offered me safety, security?” Looking up again, she fanned an arm over the room. “Offered me a home.”
And I want to make sure you keep that home, our home, Grange’s home.
“That’s why you’re here?”
For the most part. I always said this is a unforgiving land. People aren’t careful it’ll swallow them whole and—
“Kill them.”
Yes, and I aim to do everything I can to make sure it doesn’t take you and Grange.
“I don’t think I can do this, dark forces are at work, conspiring against your son and me. Lord knows I’ve tried, Cain, but how can a woman and a boy fight against the harsh elements, the day-to-day struggles without a man? Hard enough when you were here, but now, most days I think the land is going to win. Every morning I walk out onto that porch and think I’m walking into the fires of Hell. There’s more…someone’s been cutting the fence lines, scattering the cattle. Takes us days to get them back again.”
Not someone, Jezebel. Search your heart; you know who’s behind it.
She walked back to the bureau, opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of leather trousers. After pulling the nightshirt over her head, she grabbed Cain’s flannel shirt from a hook, slipped her arms into the sleeves and pulled the trousers over her hips. “I know who the varmints are, all right. Domingo and Benito. Am I right?”
The Torres brothers.
“Yeah, and the low-bellied snakes they ride with, Mutton-Chop Walsh and Digger Newly.” She blew an exasperated breath and looked over her shoulder to the window. “How do you expect me to stand up to that, Cain? I can’t do it, I tell you. Let them have the land because it ain’t worth dying for, or God forbid, losing Grange over.”
You can’t give up the land, love. Been in my family for generations. Ma and Pa will be turning over in their—
“I don’t care. I’m not sacrificing my son, our son, for a piece of scorched earth in the middle of nowhere.”
You’re talking foolish now. You love the land as much as I do, I mean did. You’re tired, worn out; I get that, but….
“But what?”
I never thought I’d hear you say you want to give up the land, give up on life.
“It’s different now that you’re gone. You might as well face it, I’m leaving, Cain. And you should leave too, find that white light you always talked about and forget about this place.”
Help is coming, Jezebel.
“Yeah, and so are monsoon winds, dried up creek beds and taxes. Or did you forget taxes are due…again?”
I’m asking you to hang on for a little while, that’s all.
“You expect me to believe a knight on a big white horse will be riding in soon to save us?”
He rides a Piebald.
“What?”
I said he rides a Piebald with black and white spots, sixteen hands tall.
“Who…who rides a spotted horse and how do you know he’s coming here?”
I’m fading, Jezebel. Used up everything I got this morning.
“No you don’t! You can’t waltz in here, drop your innuendoes and disappear like a snuffed out candle.”
Trust me. Hang on…please hang on.
“Cain, wait…don’t go! You can’t leave like this!”
Hang on, Jezebel…hang on….

***
Download THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE GHOSTLY

About Keta Diablo
Keta Diablo lives in the Midwest part of the United States on six acres of woodland. When she isn’t writing or gardening she loves to commune with nature. A lifelong animal lover, she also devotes her time and support to the local animal shelters.

Keta’s a bestselling Amazon author who writes in several genres, including western romance, historical romance, paranormal romance and the occasional gay romance. Her books have received numerous Top Pick, Book of the Month and Recommended Read reviews.

You can find her on the net at the following places:
Author home: http://ketaskeep.blogspot.com
Amazon Author page: http://www.amazon.com/Keta-Diablo/e/B002BODURI/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/KetaDiablo.Author
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/ketadiablo
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/ketadiablo
Buylink: http://mybook.to/GoodBadGhostly

Writing: Forcing It Out

It’s Saturday morning, and I’ve got the whole day ahead of me to do nothing but write. A perfect opportunity to pound out a thousand or more words and make some real headway on that second novel. So why don’t I do it? Because I need to exercise, water the garden, hang with the critters, catch up on email, do some heavy duty online shopping, and eat something that I make from scratch because I tend to feel powerfully hungry when I’m distracting myself and I want to eat healthy…all before I can hunker down over the computer and do what I love. Really.

I love the feel of words as they spill out from my fingertips and onto the page…even when they don’t make sense or feel clunky. When I engage in other activities, I tell myself it’ll only take a few minutes. I’ll get to my writing soon, and suddenly hours whiz right past me. After which, I shuffle around with broken promises settling over my shoulders. I make myself incapacitated for no good reason. What to do?

I don’t sweat it anymore. I get through the morning, knowing that I will write. Just before noon, I take out my ball and chain made of industrial strength iron, secure one end to my ankle and the other to the table leg where my computer sits, and write. Usually the first attempts are feeble, but an hour or more later, it’s not so bad. Until gradually, a zombie invasion can’t pull me away (I keep a chainsaw nearby).

Even when I take breaks, the writing doesn’t stop. Physically, I can be seen washing dishes or walking with the dogs, but on the mental front, I’m with my characters, on a college campus, at a pig farm or wherever their adventures may lead me. I’ve accepted my inability to start writing as promptly as I’d like, but knowing how awful I feel when I don’t write at all is a mighty powerful elixir that forces me to glue my back end to the chair. Eventually anyway.