Letter to Readers

You talk.
I listen.




You move.
I watch.



You don't know I exist, but I learn from watching you. I absorb the minute details you emit.  I use them.



I write.




I take the smallest sliver from you, about you and I piece it into a character. It takes so many little slivers to create a whole, complete being.



I watch people. I hear words, individual words from many different conversations floating around. I stockpile them away. I rearrange them into to something else.



Nothing goes to waste.



There is a little of each one of you in each person I create. You are all of them and they are all of you.



Good combined with bad. Kind mixed in with evil. All the little slivers compound on each other creating something bigger.



That is how my writing works.

Contest! GO GO GO!

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Objective

by K. Larsen

Giveaway ends April 18, 2014.

See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.

Enter to win

Objective Party!

Tonight at 6pm EST.

https://www.facebook.com/events/27684...

Join the event! I want to interact with you all! 

Much Love!

Objective is LIVE!!

Objective is live ya'll! RUN, sprint, FLY... whatever, you get it- go grab your copy and start reading!

http://www.amazon.com/Objective-Bloodlines-Book-K-Larsen-ebook/dp/B00JDZNGBS


LIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE LIVE!

No... I'm not excited at all...  ;)

Objective ONE CLICK event! DO not miss this...if you like FREE books.

Hi there!

Objective will release April 1st.

I am hosting an online 1-click party. 

For anyone who 1 -clicks the book on April 1st between 6-7pm AND posts their purchase confirmation # on the event wall- I will send that person a FREE copy of Saving Caroline.

It's a BOGO folks! 

EVENT LINK: https://www.facebook.com/events/1431757307062284/

please share share share.... sharing is caring hoes! Love you all so much. Please help me spread the word!

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North Shore Author Signing I will have paperbacks of all my books available! Come visit me! I'd love to meet you! Hi all! How are you? What's new? I've been a busy little reader lately (which yes cuts into writing time but I can't help it!). So I've read Quintessentially Q, Tell No Lies, Bold Tricks and Raw. If any of you have read those recently let's connect and discuss! I've also been a pinterest nazi. It's a serious time-suck!  I love it though. I rehabbed two night-stands, an end table and a bookcase! I have no plans of stopping there either- my dresser, hutch and dining room table are now calling to me! I pin all my before and afters on my board "For The Home" go check them out! Also- all the books have boards. You probably shouldn't miss those! I had an amazingly talented lady put this together... you don't want to skip it. It is in a word- DIVINE. I adore it. You can watch here: http://youtu.be/SSNeydz5IYs . Bloodlines Series Promotion Do you want $250 to spend on Amazon? Tug Of War Currently has a promotion. Buy the book. Read the book. Post your review on Amazon (then paste the link to the review on my FB page) and you are entered to win a $250 DOLLAR AMAZON GIFT CARD and A SIGNED PAPERBACK!!! Only the first 50 reviews posted are eligible. So hurry the heck up people! I have decided that Tug Of War will be the first in the Bloodlines Series. Each book will be a stand alone but the characters will mix and mingle. The suggested reading order is as follows! Tug Of War Objective (April 2014) Resistance (Sept 2014) Target 84 (2015) All of these can be added to your TBR lists here. Objective Chapter 1 Teaser (Subject to change)   PART I Chapter 1 “No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear”- C.S. Lewis   Ezra. Ezra is going to kill me. The thought hits me like a Mack truck. I have to get out of here. If I don't get out now the chance won't be appealed. I know with deadly certainty he will kill me.  I watch Ezra cradle Cane in disbelief that mirrors my own. I will my feet to move to him, but they won’t comply. I stand frozen with shock. He wasn’t supposed to die. He wasn’t here. I don’t know where he came from. I shake my head slightly and break eye contact with Ezra’s glare. The hiker’s pack by the door has his key clipped to it. The contents of his latest errand for Ezra in it as well. I’m sure cash rests just inside the pack. All errands for Ezra revolve around cash and guns. Cane always drops his pack there when he gets home. He also has only one rule for me: ‘Never touch the backpack.’ The realization pierces my insides. I didn’t hear the door. I didn’t see him. The strangled sound of wheezing, of fighting for air, cuts through my thoughts. I need to move.  With bare feet I dart to the door, snatch the backpack and sprint as fast as I can outside. I hear Ezra’s ragged battle cry pierce the silent air from the open window but I don’t stop. I unclip the key from the bag strap, sling on the pack and straddle the Harley Sportster. I yank the helmet roughly over my head. My hands are shaking violently but I manage to crank the key and throttle the engine.  It roars to life under me and before I can truly process anything that’s happened I peel away from my apartment, our home,our life. I leave my heart behind and speed down the highway headed southwest. I feel like I’ve been riding forever. I almost turn around at one point, even though it’s now the middle of the night and I think I’m in Virginia already. I stop and pick up a pair of cheap ugly flats at a quick-stop store about sixty miles outside of town. It’s not really any better than riding a motorcycle with bare feet but at least people aren't staring at me as much anymore. I don’t want to be noticed. I continue to ride until my hands are numb and my body is exhausted. I ride until the trees and vegetation blur together in a myriad of colors on either side of me. I don’t think and I don’t let myself feel. I can’t afford to lose it right now. I don't contemplate the last few hours of my life at all. I just ride. My arms are numb like my heart.  When I can’t ride a second longer I pull off at a sketchy motel that looks like something out of a horror movie. “How many?” the unobservant desk clerk asks as his keyboard clicks and the phone rings. “Just me,” I mumble. I shuffle and keep my eyes down. “Forty-six fifty for the night then. The vending machine don’t work and the pool is closed. We call the cops here, so keep it down. No parties,” he says as if on autopilot. I hand him a wad of cash from the backpack and take my key. I walk the bike to the back of the motel strip where it can’t be seen from the street and walk back around to my room. The door squeaks when I push it open. I flick the light switch on the wall and a single lamp next to the bed illuminates the room. Cheap, dirty, smelly and home for the night. The boxy TV set has a crack in the screen. The white bathroom tiles are tinged yellow from years of abuse and the bedding has two tears that I can see from here; there’s no telling how much nastier it’ll be up close. I shudder and step inside.  Locking the door behind me, I toss the pack on the floor next to the bed and lay down on top of the covers. I’m alone. The silence is overwhelming. I’m scared, and I just killed a man. My entire soul recoils at the thought. As soon as my head hits the pillow the tsunami of grief crashes through me. I break down and sob, unable to stop, for hours before finding sleep. I’m too exhausted to ride for long. I’ve never ridden this long before, not even as a passenger. It’s taking its toll on me.  Sleep was my enemy last night. It came and went throughout the night and I’d fought to control my breathing each time I woke, consciously trying to slow it down to avoid a meltdown. I pull into a strip mall somewhere west of the Virginia coastline I think, to rest. As soon as I stretch my legs and relieve myself in the public restroom my nerves take over and I can barely keep myself upright. I throw up in the nasty toilet until my stomach is empty, like my soul.  Anxiety controls me whenever I’m not riding. If I could stay on the bike comfortably for longer I would.  I wander into a couple of low-end shops and peruse until I finally settle on a cheap pair of boots, a faux leather jacket and jeans. The wind has already chapped my skin from riding for so long, and in my current mental state I can’t afford to crash the bike and tear my skin to pieces just because I didn’t dress appropriately for riding – though that would solve a few issues. The sales associate watches me warily, like I’m going to steal the clothes or hold her up at gunpoint. It’s absurd. I’m a nice girl, from a nice family. I’ve never had someone look at me like this before. Maybe I’m losing my mind.  I unzip the pack a smidge and dip my hand in, pulling out a wad of fifty dollar bills, which surprises me. I’d expectedsome cash but fifties? I shove my surprise deep inside and I throw them onto the counter before snatching up my purchases and high-tailing it out of there. I can’t afford to think about the contents of the backpack for right now. I force one foot in front of the other back to the bathroom and change. I don’t even bother keeping what I have on. The clothes are tainted, unwashable. I leave them in the stall for someone else to clean up. Washing my hands before leaving I look up into the mirror and gasp. My mascara is dripping down my face and I’m pale and puffy looking. My eyes are vacant orbs. I look like Courtney Love’s next album cover. That explains the weary looks in the store. I splash some water on my face to wipe away the mascara before walking back out to the bike. This is it. This is the moment where I can go back and face Ezra or leave forever.  Ezra’s a dangerous man; a monster, vicious and vile. When members of his crew were injured he killed for vengeance. Killing his nephew might as well be a death sentence. Decision made, I swing a leg over the seat of the bike and start her up. I pull off the highway in a little college town not an hour later.  As I ride down the quaint little main drag a tattoo parlor catches my attention. I pull off the road and park the bike before pushing through the crowd of townies to the entrance of the shop, called “Bloodlines.” I like the name of the place. I feel drawn to it. When I push through the door a little bell chimes above my head. I walk to the desk and am greeted with a tough smile. “How can I help you?” a short person says. This kid can’t be more than ten years old. I stare at her unsure of how to answer her question. She puts a hand on her hip and cocks her head at me, waiting for a response. “Um, I guess, I want a tattoo…” I start. “You guess?” she quips with irritation. “My mom says that’s a really bad reason to get one. They are permanent you know,” she states. I can’t help the small smile that forms on my lips. Who is this kid? “Alliecat! Are you being nice?” a woman calls out as she comes into view. She’s stunning, despite the strange neon green streak in her hair. Her smile is warm and inviting. She’s petite and curvy, with warm eyes and just....stunning. I immediately feel at ease near her. It’s stupid really. I can’t afford to feel at ease. I don’t deserve to feel at ease. “Hi!” she smiles. “Uhh, hi. I need a tattoo.” I blurt. She raises an eyebrow at me and stares with a smirk. Her eyes show curiosity before she answers. “You sure ‘bout that?” she counters. “I am,” I state.  No. I’m not. I hate tattoos. I think they’re classless. I never wanted one. Scratch that, Cypress White never wanted one but I am not that girl anymore. I am...someone else. “Well then, come on back...” she says, waiting for my name. “Magnolia.” I offer. Pain erupts in my chest. What a stupid name to choose. Something about the pain soothes me, though, as much as it hurts, as if I deserve it. My brain slows its thoughts, as if on cue, at hearing the word Magnolia. A needed reminder of what I’ve done. “Magnolia,” she repeats, grinning, and waves for me to follow her. It’s odd to see her smiling while I’m rotting on the inside. I sit on the table as she instructs and wait. I’m not sure what I’m really doing here. Why did I come in? This is sheer craziness. I feel flushed and start to fidget in my seat. “So Magnolia, what did you want done?” she asks lightly while fiddling with strange tools I’ve never seen before. Her voice soothes me. It’s calm, smooth and soft. I want a beautiful Magnolia tree. I want to permanently be reminded of him. “I want a Magnolia tree. I want the branches to have blossoms and I want it big,” I say, still not fully aware of where this is coming from. But deep down I do know where it’s coming from. I know exactly why I am requesting this. It’s my way of keeping him with me. I didn’t have the opportunity to say goodbye, or to keep anything that was important to me. This way I can have him with me, just a little bit. “How big are you thinking?” She eyes me, surprised. “I want it to cover my back and shoulder...and arm,” I say quietly, looking down. She pauses for a moment and looks me over.  Really looks me over. I fidget under the weight of her gaze. This lady means business. My nostrils flare with my intake of breath. One. Two. Three. Four. “How many tattoos do you have?” she asks, breaking me from my routine. “None.” I admit. “Can you do it?” “It’ll be expensive, and it will take at least three sessions, minimum,” she informs me. “I have money, and I have a couple days.” I answer. “Alright then, let’s look at some designs, see what you like, and go from there,” she offers excitedly. She switches on the speakers and cranks up ZZ Ward as she makes her way to the computer in the corner. This slight little lady is bursting with energy. Her hips sway and her head bobs as ZZ’s voice rumbles from the speakers. I stay in Blacksburg for four days. The tattoo took three four-hour sessions and Clara, as I’d learned was her name, refused to see me after the first twenty-four hours, stating that I needed a break between sessions. She was right and wrong. Once we started I found that I needed the pain. I needed to feel something, anything, and pain seemed to be the only thing appropriate to feel. The buzz of the needle combined with the pain kept my mind from wandering. Whatever awaited me would still be there tomorrow. We did the tattoo in three pieces. Each day she would complete a segment from outline through color, that way, she explained, we wouldn’t be going over sensitive skin. I stayed in a cheap hotel and visited the London Underground Bar each night until they closed. Migs, the owner, was nice enough and didn’t make me talk too much.  I let Clara mar my body with a large, colorful, permanent reminder of the love in my heart. The love I slayed. The little spitfire at the reception desk was Allie, her daughter. She hung around for most of the sessions and chatted with me about music and boys. I didn’t really say much but she seemed happy to chatter on, at least until her Dad stopped by to pick her up. Clara must be a real firecracker in bed or something because Allie’s dad is honest to God one of the most Adonis-like men I have ever seen. His smile is broad and the love that radiated from his eyes when he looked at Allie and Clara couldn’t be missed. Sawyer, as he’d introduced himself, was a good hearted man, you could just tell. He had this laid back badass vibe, like he would be surfing one moment but riding off on a Harley the next. I hadn’t said much to him. I’d just nodded when he introduced himself and looked away. I couldn’t figure out why on earth she would have left that man or not done whatever it took to make it work, until at the end of my last appointment when her fiancée, Dominic, showed up with a cup of coffee for us both. Mind-blowingly handsome doesn’t even cover it. Allie’s dad had a tattooed, muscled, badass surfer look but her fiancée was dashing and cut and manly in a more refined way. I’d just gaped at him when he flashed his smile at us and openly kissed Clara with more passion than I’d seen in a long time between adults in public. How she ever had the luck to draw in two such amazing men I’ll never know. My heart constricted with jealousy at their open display of love. I had that once. I knew that feeling and I killed it.

Anyone interested in a little Sawyer??? **subject to change**   Chapter 1 S.U.C.K.E.R. I adjust myself a little to the left to go deeper. “Please. I need this.” she whines. Good Lord this woman is going to kill me. I push in deeper making slow deliberate circles. Her skin is like silk, it feels so good. I stifle a groan and continue on. One hand grips her shoulder firmly and the other where her shoulder meets her neck. Heaven. It’s one of my favorite spots on her. “Ohhh, shit Sawyer, don’t stop.” Clara breathes heavily. As if. “Yeah?” I grunt out. It takes all of my effort to control my breathing. “Yeah, that’s good. Don’t. Stop.” Her breath come in short puffs of air as I stroke long and deep into her. I have no intention of stopping until it releases. I move a wisp of electric blue hair out of the way gently and watch as goosebumps breakout across her skin. She’s radiant today. I’ve never seen her more stunning than she is right now, even with her face scrunched up with tension. This is going to be the hardest day of my life. “Yes! That’s it! Right there!” She moans. I shake the thought away and continue my plight. I never could say no to her anyways. I push harder and deeper until she lets out a feral sounding groan and lets her body relax completely. I smile at myself for a job well done as her head hangs limply. “Thanks for working that knot out Sawyer, I wouldn’t have made it ten feet with a neck cramp like that.” She works her neck back and forth and rolls her shoulders testing my work. “Ready?!” Allie squeaks pushing the door open. I’m thankful for the distraction. This day sucks. “WOW! Mum you look awesome!” Allie squeals. The two of them are stunning. My girls. “Most beautiful bride there ever was.” I say sincerely watching Clara’s face in the mirror. Pure joy and excitement billows off her in gusts. You’d have to be dead not to feel it emanating from her, she’s glowing. I wish it was me who made her look like that, feel like that, but it’s not and I’ve accepted that, kinda. No. That’s a lie. I haven’t. Maybe a little but not completely. She motions for Allie to come to her, which she does, and then turns to me with Allie under her arm. “Family hug?” The look in her eyes should kill me. Stop my heart from beating. Pure love, but not the kind of love I want from her, the kind love that screams familial, friendship, but nothing more. I swallow the lump in my throat. Gutted. This hurts. I don't have to be here. I willingly agreed to attend today, and more than that, to walk her down the aisle. I am such a sucker. I lift my arms and spread them wide plastering a smile on my face. When my two favorite girls wrap their arms around me tightly I do the same and hold them as close as possible to me, relishing in the feeling. A perfect moment. Clara pulls away first. Then Allie. And just like that my perfect moment is gone. Allie beams up at me. “You look pretty dashing.” she compliments grinning a wide toothy grin. I wonder briefly when her face will finally fit her adult teeth now that she has them all. “Dashing huh?” I arch an eyebrow, smile back at her and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She pulls the soft curl back out and makes a face at me. “Sawyer. It’s supposed to be there.” she scolds exasperated as only a ten year old girl can be. “We should go. It’s time.” Clara directs wringing her hands together. Her skin looks creamy, almost giving off an aura of peace. Much like when the sun hits it first thing in the morning. I nod my head and watch as Allie bounces with excitement towards the door. I can’t help but notice the exposed skin of Clara’s shoulders and back. The dress drops down open, to the small of her back leaving it all exposed. Her tattoo. My tattoo, is proudly on display. My name written permanently in the veins of the butterfly. I suck in a wheezy breath through my nose and follow Clara out. Allie is standing up ahead with Marg and Amanda when Clara stops short causing me to shuffle my feet to avoid stepping on the short train. “What the...”I grind out. She places both palms on my chest and stares up at me tears welling in her eyes. Suddenly she’s terrified. This woman will never stop surprising me with her instantaneous mood swings. “I’m not good enough. What the hell am I doing?” she breathes staring at me wildly. She looks like she’s going to bolt. My moment. This is my chance. She blinks twice at me waiting. I run my hands up and down her arms softly. Silky goodness. I take a deep breath and speak. “Clara, you love him. He is crazy about you. You can do marriage.” I grimace at my own words. So much for my chance. Sucker. She tucks herself tight against me and I wrap my arms around her, careful not to screw up her hair or dress. She sucks in a few steadying breaths and I take the time to do the same. “What the hell would I do without you?” she sniffles. I asked myself that like a fool, many times, but it seems as though she does just fine without me. Steeling myself I stand her up straight and turn her around. With a swat to the ass, she's moving in the right direction again. Toxic. This whole day is poison to my soul. I'll be lucky if I don't cry like a little bitch, drink myself into a stupor and vomit all over the reception hall. Really lucky.   April is coming... I just wanted to give a shout out to all the blogs who took part in the Tug Of War blog tour/ media blitz! Thank you so much for reviewing, promo-ing and spreading the word! Means the world to THIS gal. <3 BLOGGERS: I have this little idea for an Objective Virtual Scavenger Hunt...if you are interested in partaking please email me ASAP ;)

Copyright © 2014 K. Larsen Author, All rights reserved.

Ranking, Writing and Random things

I got an email from an author who was wondering about going with a publisher versus not. 

It made me A. Google the person and B. realize that I wanted to dish out advice... 

Instead of dishing out the advice I figured I would write this post.

Ranking (we're talking Amazon only here) 

People seem so flustered by this. How do they come up with their numbers, what do they mean as far as sales? Are they trustworthy?

Here's what I have discerned thus far.

Take your books rank (not your author rank) and divide it by 100,000. That's about the number of books sold in a day that you can expect to see. 

ex: Sales Rank #2,000

100,000/2,000= 50

So 50 books sold a day at that rank. It's not science so it could be more like 40-60 a day but its a dang good guideline.

 

Let's take this further, if you are self-pubbed, and you opted for the 70% royalty and your book is priced at $3.99 your payment is about $2.79 per book sold. I'm not even going to get into the international exchanges.

So if you can maintain a #2,000 rank you're looking at $4100/ month paid out. Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep a book above a #10,000 rank for more than a week or so?! Really hard. 

Of our hypothetical $4100 a month you'd need to deduct 40% of that for self-employment taxes. You're "paycheck" then ends up being $2460 a month. 

If you are with a publisher and let's say you have an excellent publisher who offers you 50% royalties... using the same figures above your cut is $1.39 per book sold. 

At rank #2000 your royalty payment for a month would be $2094 and after taxes $1256/month. 

Most people don't get to hang out in the #5000 and above rank for long. 

So as you can imagine  at a rank of #10,000 you are taking the numbers above and reducing them by more than half! Now notice that many of the books you've been looking at are probably ranked anywhere between (on average) #20,000 -#100,000. It's tough out there! That's definitely not a full time income. But it is something! ;)

On to the next phase of my spiel. 

I am always flabbergasted when I see posts, articles, etc. posted by aspiring writers complaining about their sales when they don't have an online presence at all or are inactive in their online endeavors.

Point Blank Advice: 

It takes more time marketing and networking your books to spread the word and make a name for yourself than it did to write your book. If you don't like to connect with readers, or do the research to find out where, how and when to market yourself, paid or not, it's going to be hard to reach people and gain exposure.

It's a digital world. People want to be able to see you in social media, on a website, Goodreads, a profile page on whatever platform they are buying their book and then... in real life too! Connect with people! Bloggers are seriously the lifeblood of word of mouth. Make friends with them. I've met some of the most amazing people through my writing adventures thus far. Authors, Bloggers and Betas that I'm really happy and lucky to call my friends now!

You can never giveaway too many free copies of your works for giveaways. Donate your book to giveaways. It puts your name out there. It puts your work out there. People start talking and reviewing. It's worth it.

Basically it works out to be the same adage as you are what you eat. You reap what you sow. The more you put into it, the more you will get out of it. 

Writing!

If I could stay home and write 5 days a week I could probably write 3k-5k words a day and still get housework done and other 'duties' (ha, I said duties). Most books are 80-100k words long. Minimum I could have a book a month written (should the ideas be there in my head) !!! Sadly, I get an hour here, a sick day there and emails to myself randomly to write. I work full time, am a mom and a wife so I am lucky if I get a thousand to five thousand words written a month sometimes. 

Here is what  I aspire to though... 

 "It's doubtful that anyone with an internet connection at his workplace is writing good fiction." — Jonathan Franzen

Truth. I get so distracted by notifications of updates of things. I need to eliminate that distraction.

"Don't panic. Midway through writing a novel, I have regularly experienced moments of bowel-curdling terror, as I contemplate the drivel on the screen before me and see beyond it, in quick succession, the derisive reviews, the friends' embarrassment, the failing career, the dwindling income, the repossessed house, the divorce . . . Working doggedly on through crises like these, however, has always got me there in the end. Leaving the desk for a while can help. Talking the problem through can help me recall what I was trying to achieve before I got stuck. Going for a long walk almost always gets me thinking about my manuscript in a slightly new way. " — Sarah Waters

This happens to me EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. I. WRITE. I just sent my sad very first draft of Resistance to a trusted friend to have her read through it and make sure I'm not losing my mind. *Note* Keep that kind of friend around- always.

My goal is to write 800 words a day. Just 800. It sounds doable. Right?!

Through all this, no matter where it leads me... I just try to remember to

Dream big and always believe in myself!