Because I’m giving it away! And because I’m awesome, I will also throw in a copy of Bleeding Violet as well as some signed bookmarks.

I’m going on vacation at the end of the week so I want to do this quickly. Like this week. Also, I just hate drawing things out–I’m an instant gratification kinda gal. So if you wanna win the books and the bookmarks, leave a comment, and yes it’s open to everyone everywhere. I’ll announce a winner this Friday using the random name thingy. And that’s that. Good luck!

And here’s the wrap:

Now, originally they’d wanted the cover to look more like Bleeding Violet, but my agent and I convinced them to veer away from the whole erotic romance vibe to something that was a better reflection of the content. I think they did a great job pulling together the two main aspects of, not just the novel, but my writing style, i.e. blood and whimsy.

In case you’re wondering what’s up with the teacups, in the novel, the sisters are usually sitting around drinking tea while they plan their murderous escapades. Also there’s a “mad tea party” scene that involves one of their victims, which I won’t go into because I know how delicate y’all are. Now the flowers on the back are there because of the many references to plants and gardens; the Headless Garden in particular plays a big role in the story. And all the handwritten font styles mirror Fancy’s dream diary entries that begin each chapter. Don’t you just love getting all this insider info?

Anyway, I’m really excited to see how people react to this book. I keep wondering what the mindblower scene will be. In BV, the boy at the lake is what tends to stick in people’s minds (for better or worse), so I’m curious to know what Slice of Cherry scene will freak people out the most. Cuz there’s kind of a lot to choose from.

To give you a taste of what you’re in for, I’ve included the first chapter of SoC under the Excerpts tab above. Give it a read if you want, but if it blows your hair back, don’t come crying to me about it. You have been warned, children.

And to everyone else, thanks for playing along. It has been very entertaining, indeed. Really dug the stories/neuroses (looking at you Georgia; and possibly Mallory–a rabid squirrel? xD). A few things though:

Ari – The Book of Lost Things sounds cool. I’ll have to look that one up.

Jena – What is this mysterious sexy comment of which you speak? The only time I require sex in a book is if I’m reading a romance. A romance novel without sex is like cornflakes without milk. Blerg.

Ronni – Hot mess is right, but the finished copy will be cold and tidy. And don’t I know you from somewhere? The blueboards maybe?

Doret – Apparently knives are the killing tool du jour. But in the rock, paper, scissors of life, I think bus beats knife. Hands down. ;p

Kay – Creeptastic, as usual. I’ve never felt a need to hurt a truffle bar, but I often torture candy bars by sinking my teeth into them. Repeatedly. I feel no remorse for this. I can only be me.

Sara – You definitely had the best comment. Love the image of the 60-year-old aunt sniffing crack off the bodies of hot guys. xD

And music! Forgot to do this yesterday, so here’s one from Faith No More. People mostly remember their one hit wonder “Epic”, but they had a couple of other songs that I like. Like this one. The video probably won’t make sense unless you’ve seen the movie Vertigo, so all you young’uns avert your eyes.

Happiness is a bloody knife.

Kit and Fancy Cordelle are sisters of the best kind: best friends, best confidantes, and best accomplices. The daughters of the infamous Bonesaw Killer, Kit and Fancy are used to feeling like outsiders, and that’s just the way they like it. But in Portero, where the weird and wild run rampant, the Cordelle sisters are hardly the oddest or most dangerous creatures around.

It’s no surprise when Kit and Fancy start to give in to their deepest desire—the desire to kill. What starts as a fascination with slicing open and stitching up quickly spirals into a gratifying murder spree. Of course, the sisters aren’t killing just anyone, only the people who truly deserve it. But the girls have learned from the mistakes of their father, and know that a shred of evidence could get them caught. So when Fancy stumbles upon a mysterious and invisible doorway to another world, she opens a door to endless possibilities….

I think she did a great job. I like the way it focuses on the sisters and the murder and mayhem and not the romance, which is normally what YA paranormal blurbs highlight. Now if only I had a cover to go along with the cool jacket copy, I’d be the happiest girl in the world. Hint, hint.

According to the random chooser thingy, you are the randomest thingy of all. I will mention you in my acknowledgments, and if you email your address to diathewriter at yahoo, I’ll mail you your keychain. Yay!!!

So, I’ve gone through the posts and my favorite one is Kay’s–hands down. Unfortunately Kay’s post is double-disqualified because it came too late (contest ended yesterday, kid) and because I had already decided to put her in the ackowledgments, cuz she is just cool like that.

Allison is also disqualified (of course you’re going in the acks, silly girl).

Blythe and Denise are ALSO disqualified (you guys are writers–you’re already immortal, ya goofs; oh, and great blog post, Blythe).

So based on the remaining comments, the runner-up and winner of a memento mori keychain is…Shanise J! I like how she’s willing to admit to trying to communicate with the dead–you know me and my love of crazy. Plus, I dig her use of the word “bragadocious”. Nice. So Shanise, email me your address (diathewriter at yahoo) and I’ll send you your keychain!

I found it interesting that most people wrote about death instead of life. I’m wondering if that’s because I attract dark-minded people (like me), or if most people naturally  think more about dying than living. It would make sense to wonder more about the unknown than the known, right? It would make sense, but I don’t know. I think most people are like Ari and don’t want to think about death. Makes it kinda hard for people like Lucile, but there it is. It’s how the human race survives–we do whatever it takes to avoid death even to the point of not talking or thinking about it.

Btw, Lillie, your post reminded me of that Dorothy Parker poem:

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

And that’s another reason the human race survives–our ability to think up reasons to put things off until waaaay later. :p Anyway, thanks for playing, y’all!

So you’re thinking, what does Slice of Cherry even mean? Well, the murderous sisters in the story have a grandcestor named Cherry who had abilities like theirs, so they are “slices” of Cherry. Also they like to cut people. Also cherry has other, you know, nonfruit meanings. So, as all the best titles do, it works on a bunch of different levels. But to all of y’all who tried to help me out, thanks a lot. Even the lame titles–I’m looking at you Kay–were really fun. xD

Now as far as writing advice goes, this article got me to thinking about my own responses. The two things I tell people when they ask for advice are a variation of the following:

Just write it; you don’t have to ask for permission. If you do have to ask for permission, then the answer is no because if you’re that timid, you shouldn’t be writing anyway.

Believe in yourself and your work–but prepare to have your heart broken.

And that’s it. So if you’re thinking about asking me for writing advice, there you go and happy birthday. Why ask me for advice anyway? I’m a rookie, remember, not a rock star. Yet. ;p But not even the rock stars can tell you how to write. Every writer has to find his or her own way through that particular mindfield.

From Brightly Woven:

I let myself admit that he had a roguish charm about him. Some hint of softness in his eyes, at least. No, he wasn’t a soldier, but he was still a stranger, a vagabond, maybe. Even if I hadn’t seen his face, his worn boots and torn cloak would have told his story. The pressure of his hand on my arm became nearly unbearable, yet it wasn’t until I let out a gasp of pain that he released me.

I can already tell I’m gonna like this book. I haven’t read a good old-fashioned fantasy novel in forever.

From Strange Fruit:

Claudine Street looked as though it had been unzipped, bricks scattered everywhere. Cars and trucks were flipped over or teetering at weird angles as hard white water from a burst hydrant swept past the sisters’ tires in a flood.

The sisters pedaled onto the dry, deserted sidewalk and parked their bikes at the nearest bike rail. Then Kit took Fancy’s hand and lead her up the street, deftly maneuvering around the pools of blood on the sidewalk.

“What do you think did all this?” Fancy asked, clinging to Kit’s hand, passing shop windows where wide-eyed people watched them go past.

Kit only shrugged. That was the problem with living in Portero—it could have been anything.

“After we kill Franken,” said Kit as she and Fancy set the table, “I’m gone put his tongue in a jar too. Just like that old man’s. I’ll start a collection!”

“I hope you hid that thing real good,” Fancy hissed when Madda came back into the kitchen. “Last thing we need is Madda finding it.”

“She won’t.”

“And we are not gone kill Franken. How many times I gotta tell you?”

“You don’t even like Franken. All you do is complain about him. You can’t still be worried about the police.” Kit pinched Fancy’s cheek. “Not after what you did to that old man.”

Fancy slapped her hand away. “That was different.”

“What’re you girls whispering about?” asked Madda, eyeing her daughters expectantly as she fried the tomatoes.

“Nothing,” the sisters trilled in unison, smiling their brightest good-girl smiles.

And because I’m nice, here’s a teaser from BLEEDING VIOLET:

I wriggled free of the queen, covered in goo and trying not to stumble in the loose piles of animal bones, wet rock, and mounds of hardhead eggs. Wyatt bounded over to me, dodging long pillars of color where the stalagmites and stalactites had grown together.

“So how was it?” he asked.

I puked.

Wyatt and Shoko laughed.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s intense, right?”

Shoko swatted me on the back. “Especially once you get past that first stomach.”