I Just Wanna Know…

Self-Published Authors; are you open to consignment, or is it strictly cash up front? I want my books in as many stores and locations as possible – BUT – people sure can act a fool when they get your book in their hands. Do they own your work? Do they control your destiny? Do they have a right to give you your chedda when they feel like it? And what is up with the 50-50 split? 60-40? 80-20? 100-0?

Everybody Needs A Little Luv but dayum! When does business turn into greed that makes you to hungy to starve?

I Just Wanna Know
http://www.wandadhudson.com

Awww, Baby, LuvMe Reader Reviews!

Great Book..Read it!!, March 12, 2010
By Shahara Roberts – See all my reviews

My boyfriend got this book for me from the author herself. I started reading the book in between classes and it was really hard to put it down. It leaves you salivating, fantasizing and experiencing the pain, love and confusion of the characters. I finished the book in less than two days and was ready to start on her first book titled “Waiting for Love’.
Furthermore, I have to say that this book was well put together and Wanda has all of my support.

Entertaining Read, January 27, 2010
By Tracey Mcfarlan “Diva Spice” (Hollis, NY) – See all my reviews

Luv Me is an entertaining collection of erotic short stories. It takes you to places you fantasize about going to and leaves you wanting more. It will fill you with sexual and sensual pleasure as well as comic relief. Each story gives a riveting encounter of love, lust and passion. It’s a good read whether you’re on the bus or train going to work or right before you go to bed. After reading Wanda’s first book, Wait For Love: A Black Girl’s Story, I was expecting something similar, but was pleasantly surprised when I realized how different the two books are. Well done, Wanda! You’ve done a marvelous job once again. Can’t wait for the next one.

Awww. baby, get your luv today! http://www.wandadhudson.com

LuvMe - Because Everybody Needs A Little Luv

EXCERPT – A Sheltered Life

A stressful sleep held me as we rode for a few hours. It released me when the truck came to a rushed halt. I rolled into one of the rusted sides and the jagged edges cut my skin. Small bubbles of blood began to form while I watched, waited, and hoped that I would bleed to death.

The man slammed the door and yelled, “I gos’ta relieve ma’self. You kin go round there to that tree if ya gos’ta piss. I won’t be long.”

A few minutes passed before I moved. My body was stiff and I realized that during my sleep I had urinated on myself. The back of my dress and my panties were damp. My vagina was rotten with the smell of slow death, but he would want me again. I sat up and stretched, and peered over the side of the truck looking for a water source. The sound of loud voices startled me and I crouched down again as not to be seen. Next, a sound that could be compared to thieving horse hooves trying to catch up came towards the truck. The disorder grew louder as they got closer.

“I ain’t stole nuthin’ from yo ‘stablishment! Fuck yah’ll!”

I heard the man’s heavy breathing as he ran to get back into his truck. I never noticed the sound of the keys before, but this time they jangled loudly as he fumbled to thrust them into the ignition. Godly fear forces you to pay attention to your surroundings.

The engine rumbled as his foot slammed down on the gas pedal. I fell back hard against the side of the truck and covered myself from the rocks and dirt the tires threw up as it sped off. My body was under attack again and all I could do was the minimal to protect it. A moonshine jug tried to force its contents into my brain by knocking me in my head as I struggled to keep my balance. Our getaway vehicle rode hard, swerving all over the road trying to escape. Running without reason is a reason to question your choice. The choice that I had made was today was the day that I would die; why I made that choice was the question that I could never answer. The sound of a shotgun made me realize my domino effect was in full throttle.

“Shoot his niggar ass! Hurray up…he’ll git away!”

The man cursed his hunters and I cursed the day I was born. Then I heard three more shotgun blasts. I balled my body up and began to cry.The truck’s engine let out a sound of anguish as it tried to travel at a racetrack pace. The shell from the shotgun crossed the finish line before the truck did. As my body was thrown and rolled over and over, I saw the casing enter through the small back window of the truck. It hit my chauffer, which caused him to drive into a direction that was worse than the unpaved road. I felt my body rise from the unsecured base of the back as we went up in the air. This happened after we hit a mound larger than the truck could handle.

The truck began to turn on its side and I began falling out. My hands reached desperately for the ragged edges and the blood bubbles opened up. There was no need for me to try and hold on – death was going to catch me.

On the first air flip I fell out. I slammed to the ground and rolled and bounced revolutions of pain. When I stopped blood welcomed me along with a muted throb throughout my body. My head lay to one side and through the clouded dirt I saw the truck continue to tumble over twice more and land on the roof. The wheels were spinning faster than they ever would if they were on the ground. I turned my head to face the heavens. The sun parched my half living frame and I thought that death didn’t do a good job of catching me. Then I thought who remembers how they died if they are dead.

Aww, baby! Have you read Wait for Love: A Black Girl’s Story or LuvMe yet? What are you waiting on? Get your hot chocolate today 🙂 Miss Luv’s Books – Because Everybody Needs A Little Luv
http://www.wandadhudson.com

The Big Bad Editor

  Who’s afraid of the big bad editor? Every writer with the dream of having their stories read by the masses must first play joker to royalty’s throne. In this case, royalty is the elusive editors and agents we try to impress with our ideas.

  Earlier this month I attended a local writers’ conference, where I sat in luncheons, dinners and mixers with published and wanna-be published writers. In that creative crowd lurked the editors and agents from popular publishing houses and literary agencies looking to discover the next literary money-maker.

  Having already sold my first work, Mismatched, I only had a rough outline and pitch for my next novel. Much advice was given that weekend. Tips such as:

  -Don’t stalk your dream editor or agent during the conference.

  – Don’t waste their time if you don’t have a finished work to pitch.

  – Don’t corner them in the restroom with a copy of your manuscript.

  -Don’t be nervous even though these demi-gods hold the future of your literary career in their grasp.

  – Do expect editors and agents to find any reason to say no, because they are busy people.

  – Do your research and be professional.

  While I admit, I did hold fast to most of these rules, I must note that this list is not all inclusive of the rhetoric that was flowing that weekend.

  I half-heartily prepared my pitch  while I watched other writers fret over their upcoming appointments. Since it was my first conference, I attended workshops and just set out to enjoy the experience. I went to an editor/agent panel where I was finally able to put an editor’s name with her face. It was another hour of writer do’s and don’ts in prep for the upcoming appointments.

  After another series of workshops it was time for lunch, where the nearly 250 attendees were seated according to their interests in various genres. 

  I joined the table for Women’s Fiction which only had two seats left and began to stuff myself with resort quality food. Once my plate was clean, I turned my chair around to listen to the keynote speaker, romance novelist Carly Phillips. A short time later, I felt a presence fill the seat next to me. It was one of the editors, not just any editor, but the editor I was to meet later in the day.

  I sat back and watched the other table mates bombard her with questions while her lunch just sat there barely eaten. I waited while the lady who sat on the other side of the editor went on and on about how smart she was for drinking from a reusable water bottle instead of the disposable water bottle I was using. I wasn’t sure if that was the most marketable trait for a writer, I let her babble without interruption. When it was time for her to leave, I was the last one sitting with the editor. Instead of bowling her over with the premise of my story I asked her questions about herself. Then I informed her that I had an appointment with her later but for that moment I would leave her to finish  her lunch in peace. She seemed surprised and grateful for the chance at a little solitude.

  At a writers’ conference, it is the editors, agents and renowned published authors who are the celebrities, because they are where we dream to be or they are the ticket to get us there .

  Having the opportunity to practice my networking skills and chat with the editor ahead of time really took the edge off when it was time for my appointment.

  Twenty minutes before, I fine-tuned my pitch and watched while the others studied their notes and paced. When it was time, we entered the meeting room which was set-up like a speed-dating session.

  I had ten minutes to sell my idea and find out what the editor was looking for. I talked so fast, I had time left and that gave the editor a chance to ask questions. We had a good exchange and by the time the bell signaled that the appointment was over, I had  a request for a sample.

  Later that night, I found out many who had appointments received valuable feedback and/or requests for writing samples. The proof of how successful these appointments were will be in how many actually follow-up and send the requests and how many of those will be offered a publishing contract if any.

  The one thing I’ve learned in this experience that can be useful in any endeavor is the importance of increasing the opportunities that support your dreams.

  In the end, it’s not one single shot that can make or break your dreams, but the culmination of chances and how we use them that help us transform our dreams into reality.

A Purpose Found in Ordinary Inconveniences

It had been a long week of doing everyone else’s work but my own. I hadn’t done much writing but had managed to keep up on my reading and the marketing of my first novel. In the back of my mind I strategized how to kick start my stalled second novel and briefly contemplated my next two online writing assignments.

                 It was an unexpected flat tire that taught me two important lessons and directed the day’s path to a situation that would give rise to my writing slump.

                 Over the last two years I have encountered several flat tires. It had been five to be exact, on three different cars. It wasn’t till the recent incident that I realized what the flats meant. While a huge inconvenience, the flats always seem to be discovered in safe locations and during a time when my life was moving in the fast lane, both literally and figuratively. The flat tires required me to slow down and take stock of my surroundings and my path.

                 This time, I had to stop putting off things that required my attention and maintenance—things like replacing my two bald rear tires, getting my cracked filling fixed and taking my car through inspection.

                 Well, Friday night found me at the Sears Auto center at my local mall. As I walked the mall’s corridors in anticipation of finding a bookstore to spend my time in wait for my car, I found many stores I had never seen before, but could not find the bookstore. I strolled along the entire top floor with no success, then I descended to the ground level only to come upon the vacant shell that use to B. Dalton Bookseller. My heart sank and I immediately went in search of the mall directory hoping there was another book establishment within the mall that I had yet to come across. Alas, there was none.

                 As a newly published author, the last thing you want to see is a mall with no bookstores. This finding or lack of one ignited the desire that had been smoldering inside me for some time.

                 The next day with two new tires and a positive car inspection report, I rewarded myself with a trip to a used bookstore. Before I knew it, I had spent three hours and $150 in the store.

                 What’s most interesting isn’t the amount of money I spent or the time it took to spend it. Most interesting was the selection of the books themselves. I picked up 19 books in all. The subjects included suspense, feminist critique, black feminist critique, African American history, erotica, writing reference, and women’s studies. The specific variety of my bounty was no mistake. I was transported to my college years where the only thing more important than studying literature or women’s studies was studying African American history. I recently finished an article on bell hooks (spelled with lower case letters in respect to the scholar’s preference). The research for that article bridged the gap between my interest in women’s studies and my interest in African American history. Being a black woman, the merging of these two subjects should have been obvious, but it wasn’t.

                 These occurrences resurrected my interest in African American studies and feminism, a platform that will give my literary voice the purpose I was seeking.

Who knew a flat tire could inflate my literary destiny.