4 Tips That Helped Me Get My Poem Published in a Journal

Hi fellow bloggers! I am so excited to tell you this! My haiku has been published in Haiku Journal Issue #57! I’ve worked so hard on those poems and am beyond ecstatic that one of my poems was chosen along with other talented writers. I am posting this up not to boast, but to encourage all other poets out there to keep writing and to also offer some tips that had helped me.

haiku journal 57
Haiku Journal #57, Painting by Glen Lyvers

Be Ye Organized

First, I gather all the poetry journals and contests that seem to fit me and save them in a  folder.  I make sure to provide links/addresses to each of these places because what they are looking for could give me cool ideas of what themes to explore while staying focused.

Furthermore, I have created a submission tracker to keep track of all poem titles I submit as well as those accepted, rejected and paid for. If you need a starter template, just contact me and I can try and create one for you!

Pay Attention to the Devil in the Details

Okay, so even though we are creative and want to write what we want to(that’s fine for personal journals no one will ever see), when you are trying to be a serious published and paid poet, pay attention to submission guidelines. You must follow these to the letter!(Sorry, not screaming at you). If the journal states that they have a reading period between June 1 and December 31, submitting after that cycle will get your poem tossed.

Haiku Journal actually accepts haiku as soon as the last journal entries have filled up but you can head over to their site to check their guidelines.

Submit as Much As You Can

I can’t stress this enough.

If a contest/journal says submit up to 10 poems. Then submit up to ten because one could win!

I submitted 3 haiku to Haiku Journal and two of my haiku were rejected but they took one they deemed best.

Also, side note: Some places will NOT accept simultaneous submissions. This means they will not accept a poem you’ve sent to other publications/contests. It has to be a unique one that you’re submitting only to them.

Always Hone Your Craft

I am not a genius at poetry at all.

Far from it.

But I love it, have a passion for it, read it and I practice it every day. I go online, look up old and new poetic forms and they inspire me to write.

Some people do not have time to do that every day- every now and again that is fine. In fact, when I start my new job I will really have to juggle my writing time with family time, etc.

If you are serious about being a published and paid poet at all, then these tips should help. Many of them are inspired by a book I hold dear to me and that has helped me a billion times over: The 2013 Poet’s Market(although there are newer versions).

Any questions or comments, please let me know 🙂

~The Write Web


Who Are You? Where Am I? #ShamelessBookPromo, #ShortFiction

Autumn gets a full serving of what awaits her on the “other side” after death. It is not what she expects and not what you think. Like the snippet? Read more in my latest eBook, The Fall of Autumn-FREE until Dec. 1st.

Funny how the pain you think you’d feel before dying would be the worst. The pain of a body finally fizzing out like old soda. The creaks and groans of sick bones, the sore throat that is beyond hell and just having a sheet draped over you in the hospital, hurts your skin.

They doped me up with all kinds of funny name brand medicines, the clear tubing runs through my veins and I have my thumb taped to the “pain control” monitor to allow me to “inject” more drugs into my blood stream as I lay dying.

But none of this is as painful or morbid as staring into the eyes of my boyfriend Darwin Humphrey.

I can tell by the wince in his face, the pain in his tone, that he is watching a shell of me. The true me is slowly wasting away. The rare stomach cancer has finally won. At the age of 24, I am losing the battle. Have lost the battle.

Image Credit: Pixabay


He is probably inwardly groaning right now. The day I found out I had it, I remember sitting in my mother’s favorite chair. The pink one with pink feathers and red and pink small heart pillows(gifts from dad).

Darwin was sending pics of me to his family in Germany. He called me the “hot blonde” and truthfully I was.

I stand at 5’5, long strong, lean legs, breasts that I am/was? Naturally blessed with that had very little bounce and some jiggle. Bright blue eyes and hair that was just naturally straight and white teeth to match.

I was going to be a forensic photographer. I have always been a fan of those enormously addicting crime shows like Criminal Minds, Law and Order, and CSI but my fascination has always been with scenes.

Pictures tell a thousand words.

Right now, Darwin is breaking inside. I can feel it. His hand lightly touches mine, but instead of feeling warm and making me all bright inside, it hurts my paper thin skin. It’s like he is slowly scraping my skin with razor blades and I feel a boiling anger brewing.

At him. At myself. At no one. At God.

He sees an old woman.

Chemo will do that.

My shiny, bright California bred looks are no more. I look 65 to be honest and gaunt. I saw myself in the mirror by accident two months ago and since then, my mom agreed to buy me a veil to wear over my face.

In the hospital, I do not wear it. I do not wear it for Darwin. I don’t care anymore.

His wavy brown hair and lion gold eyes drinks me in from head to toe. Before, when we first met in college, his eyes would trail slowly over my curves causing small fires in my heart, making my stomach flutter.

Now, he looks at me as if I am a stranger. He takes me in slowly because Reality is a Beast. I look away from him and towards another rainy day. It’s true. It never rains Southern California but it is today.

“Autumn…I..love you.”

Instead of responding, my eyes water but even that hurts. Can’t even cry. It’s been a good run in this world. All 24 years of it.

“Please. Look at me, love.” His Boston accent is what always does me in. I love city boys. I love smart ones who are hot.

Darwin is all of that.

He will move on without me in six months to a year maybe. Find another beauty who will console him as he talks about his dead girlfriend, they will share Starbucks coffee a few days out the week until his heart beats a little faster and his touches on her becomes less friendly and more loving- same as he did with me.

They will trade sob stories of the monster of cancer and he will invite her over for dinner at his mom’s.

A year from now or two he may be with or he may not. He will marry someone because that’s Darwin. Hot biology major whose parents are both professors at California State University.

They will welcome her.

He may become a player. Just sleep with a lot of girls.

I look at him and that is when all of a sudden, I feel a POP! Explode in my chest.

My air is cut!

I look to him and he is holding my hand, he is yelling and I see lime green nurse suits. Mom, dad, and my little brother Manly sweep in quick as dust.

Their images blur. It is getting darker in here.

I can’t breathe!

I gasp sharply as my world turns gray and blurry, then suddenly black.



I am floating.

I am light as air and I twist and turn, darkness all around me but I feel so much at peace. It is like for the first time I am not weighed down.

In life we seek peace through religion, or helping out at shelters, using drugs or sex.

But I must say, this is better than all of that combined times 100.

Out of my skin and bones, out from psychological worry, I can float. No care in the care in the world.

“Open your eyes,” a smooth, silky, male voice says. It says something else that sounds like my name but I cannot identify it.

What is my name?

“Is that why it’s so dark?” I whisper. Why does my words sound like…music?

He chuckles. “Yes.” His words are poems too. Even a single word.

I hesitate. I nearly forget where I am and how I got to where I am. Why are my eyes closed?

I use muscle I no longer have to open my eyes.

“It takes a few tries to get used to a new body.”

“Huh?” I really snap open my “eyes” now and the plethora of color explode before me. Colors I don’t know the name of including a few common colors. Light and bright as the sun filters in and I see tall creatures before me. Their shadow advancing on me.

I take a step back.

I am standing on something lush and soft.

“She’s a new one, let us treat her as such.”

Their voices are so loud! I can hear them in my soul! “Stop yelling!” I shout.

“Yup, new body alright. Is there a reason why these people act like this? Do they not know about their transformation?”

Smooth Voice says, “They were not taught it properly. As far as I know they are the only species who can transform after expiring. You’d think they would be informed.”

I inhale a deep, cleansing breath and look down at myself. My feet are the color of bronze, they shine and sparkle. No need for polish. My nude body is positively glowing…

**As a side note, battling cancer is a serious issue. I lost my father to esophageal cancer a few years ago. I was inspired to write about the “what ifs” of the afterlife.

If you want more posts like this, please consider joining my blog and connecting with other wonderful readers and writers!


School for Zombies: Dead Guts and Hard Abs

Fall of Autumn3a
The Fall of Autumn by Erica Jean Smith to be Released November 2017



Although brief, the stories will sweep you away. Here is an excerpt of what you will find…

Update: The Fall of Autumn(full book) is now available. Click here for details!


School for Zombies

Part 1


If anyone would have told me I would be stuck in a closet with the hottest zombie ever this side of the Atlantic, “I would have said WTF and get out of here”.

But here I am. In the janitor’s closet of all places.

Stuck with Sindrome. That’s his name for real. A  tall, well built zombie who looks down on me now like a tasty snack but because of our current and dire situation, he cannot afford to eat me.

“Explain again what you saw.” He growls, annoyed.

I roll my eyes to him.  “I said, I went back to the cafeteria to see if I left my small wallet on the floor by the cashier and I heard the noise and started running. It sounded horrific, like vomiting but, I don’t know.”

I had went into the cafeteria ten minutes earlier to retrieve my pink wallet. I knew better than to go alone.

In my dad’s infinite wisdom, he placed me in a school that was full of dead folks. On the outside everything looks normal and new, and the people look beautiful and normal. Borbon High School is a lie. A fake.

It is a  Night School. For zombies.

And guess what? I am not one.

How do I get away with it? My dad, a chemist involved with making popular perfumes for celebrities, made a special perfume for me that repels the dead. Meaning my brain which is capable of a 2.9 GPA at best, will not be morsels to these monsters.

Turns out though that my “Dad” he really wasn’t my dad though. Just a mad scientist who was using me as bait.

He knew my real dad.

Turns out Sindrome is my only ally because he has living human beings he cares for still.

A living, breathing Barbie doll of a girlfriend he wants to save and he knows I have the perfume that will prevent him from wanting to snack on her brains like a burrito.

So anyway, I walk up into the cafeteria as if I am not completely surrounded by zombies. And. No. I do not eat their food. Are you kidding me? I bring my own bag lunch. I purchase their canned drinks though because they are colder and packaged from a local factory.

I had reached down to pick up my purse when I hear the snap of something like a big chicken bone and followed by a loud shriek.

I look over the sneeze guards which previously shielded meatloaf(yeah right) and mac and cheese. Hidden beneath these dishes are brains. Just to let you know. The “real” food is placed on top to make the zombies feel normal as they once did.

But yeah, its brain squash underneath.

Beyond the large sink and stove, I saw movement in the backroom and then a large splash of red hits the window. Blood.

I bucked out of there quick, just as I heard the quick clicking of heels on my tail.

I turn a corner nearly colliding into a locker and that was when I spotted Sindrome smoking a joint -or appears to be smoking…in the janitor’s closet with the door half opened.

“Let me in!” I whisper loudly pushing him inside, not caring if he dropped his cigarillo. I bang the door closed. Confident I left the ghoul or whatever was chasing me.

“Patty,” Sindrome puts both hands on my shoulder. His whole body is ivory and cold to the touch, but it is those eyes that do me in every time.  They are- aquamarine?

Damn! I am not falling for no damn dead person. Nope! Not me! His eyes are a dreamy, kind of aqua framed by long lashes that are ebony- ebony like his hair, ebony like me and my hair.

This closet is too tiny for my fro and his body. One of us has to go.

“Keep quiet, Patty.” He says again. “I hear something.”

I scooch my body closer to Sindrome, aware that my ample booty is now pressing against surprisingly rock hard abs.

Yes. I’m officially losing it.

But I nearly lose my cookies when through the slats of the door I see some wolf-beast-dog thing with long, yellow teeth stalking the hall.

It was as big, or almost as high as five Great Danes and the smell of death followed it. Even Sindrome smelled better. Well, Sindorme always smells of water and leaves mostly. Cigar leaves. Perhaps he has a better wash regime than I give him credit for.

“What the hell is that?” He asks me.

“I don’t know?” I whisper back. “I am new here to this state, this city, this school. Virginia is looney tunes!”

The wolf monster thing pauses. I see its high black butt and three tails wagging.

My heart nearly plummets.

If Sindrome is truly evil, he could just push me out the door and be done with me. The wolf thing could then gobble me up and maybe it’ll spit out my fro- just to be nice.

I have all kinds of crazy scenarios playing in my head right now.

Sindrome has cold, dead hands on my shoulder and I am pressed up against him like we’re lovers.

We are so. not. lovers.

He hates my guts because of my “dad” and I hate his because he is dead. He has dead guts.

“I have to alert everyone else somehow.”

“Wait. You’re scared of it too? Aren’t you a zombie?”

“I have a very bad feeling about this.” He pulls out his cell phone but I remain on him, booty and all. I am scared and did I mention the closet is cramped? Full of dirty mops and thousands of chemicals I am unfamiliar with.

He texts someone just as we hear another scream and I hear that bone cracking noise again. I cringe and throw my body harder against Sindrome’s body.


“Huh?” I can’t understand what he is saying.

“I said-” he does something with my hair.

Oh. He pushes it down. I am about to swing on him and knock him out for that alone. Then he growls: “I said your hair is in my mouth.”

“Oh, God. Sorry.”

Sindrome swears under his breath and suddenly my worst nightmare comes true.

I am pushed through the door with my arms out and I stumble into a hallway that is suddenly overcrowded with zombies. Teachers and everybody is scurrying. Blood dripping from hands and faces.

Some are with a gaping hole in their chest to the point I can see the wall clearly though them and the stampede.

I am tossed and thrown about, trying to run for the exit when I am roughly pulled from the melee.

“This way”, he growls low in my ear and before I can protest, I am yanked again through the crowds.

“You have your motorcycle?” He asks.

“I do.”

“We need it.” I pull the keys from my pocket, unsure how this will all play out.

If I’m smart, I could let him get torn to shreds by the  Wolf Beast thing.

But who said I was smart?

We are moving too fast down the hall and that is when I hear the worst sound of all.

“The hell?” Sindrome pauses as the top floor, that holds the library and classrooms, suddenly wobbles as if it is made of rubber and I see some plaster fall down.

Three very big, large black Wolf Beasts stands at the top. Red eyes looking right at me and through me.

Copyright ©2017, Erica Jean Smith

*The rest of the short story will  be released November 2017 as part of The Fall of Autumn Collection for Smashwords and Barnes and Noble!


A Note About “Street Fiction”

For the last week or so, I ventured into a category I thought I laid to rest in 2006.

Street Fiction, or Urban Fiction.

It is gritty. It is real. It can be…nasty, sexually explicit, I mean.

Today I want to briefly explain what Urban Fiction means to me and why I decided to read more of it lately as well as some pitfalls of the category that should be cleaned up by now(I do this with love for black writers and their craft).

Do I Purchase These Books Because I Am Black?

This is not a tough question. The answer is that I love the books because they are just so darn good and the bonus is that the authors and characters look like me and write from a place of understanding what we as African Americans go through- or at least those from low to middle income neighborhoods. I just finished Little Miami Girl, books 1 and 2 and even though I’ve never been to Miami, the reality of aunts hating their own flesh and blood, men who carry guns on the regular and even the reality of rape is so common in some or most of the impoverished black neighborhoods that you feel as if you are reading about someone you know or even yourself.

I read Flyy Girl by Omar Tyree in high school and more of his urban fiction that I could not stop reading. Later on after college I gobbled up Zane, Eric Jerome Dickey, and even Octavia E. Butler books because it interested me. All of this during a time I was falling in love with Amish fiction and medical thrillers.

Can Urban Fiction Be Defined as Real Literature?

A quick Googling will reveal the definition of literature meaning “a work of lasting merit”.

Who deems a book lasting or of merit?


Walter Dean Myers, Tanarive Due, Octavia Butler’s books will prove to have lasting quality in the future.

Then again, does that mean any good book can be considered literature?

I am a huge fan of Stephen King, Dean Koontz, James Patterson and most recently Julie Lessman. I believe whatever these writers write, at least half of their stories will become classic literature. But again, it depends on time, lots of it.

The “hood books” I read now are quick reads with drug abuse and sex as the main themes but there are also some which surprised me. A Dopegirl Needs Love Too and A Thug’s Love feature strong, sexy, smart women who make moves in their communities while making mistakes along the way.

But there are problems I see already with current Urban Fiction.

A Competitive, Popular Market

With self publishing being as simple as uploading your manuscript to Kindle or CreateSpace, or even Smashwords and Lulu, one can immediately send off their book.

One problem.

I have this problem too sometimes: self editing.

Many books and not just Urban Fiction included, requires heavy editing- some typos may escape and that is okay, but some Urban books I have been reading have so many hiccups in grammar, it can be trifling.  I am speaking as a bookworm though and not a grammarian.

Also, the pricing of Urban Fiction can be better. The ones I have downloaded cost Free or at least 99 cents with the highest being 3.99 but there are a couple I have seen where the Kindle version is ten bucks! I think that is way too high for a pricing model.

It burns me up badly when I enjoy a series and I find out that the final installment is ten dollars and the magic in all this is that people have paid the money and in their reviews they gripe about it, but they still paid.

All of this to say that street/urban stories has come a long way with more African American publishing companies and editors opening up their doors and the ease of buying them online is also a plus.

I will continue to read and promote these books because they are truly addicting if you can get past the language and “rawness” of the streets in these works. Their redeeming quality is that even though the bad stuff seem glorified, there are real consequences for the characters involved and the messages will be clear to any audience.

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Note to Readers of ‘Kiss of Stone’

Note to Readers!

Due to moving around a lot and losing material and technology(I know, really bad), there has been a severe delay in creating a second book to the Mark of Fortune series.

However, I am no longer in denial.

The genie romance was designed to present, simply, an idea. That’s it.

This is not to say that Sam and Stone’s story is completely over. I wrote it during a time that the world was built completely by my imagination and the direction I wish it to go continues to get stifled by the Muse.

Muse wins.

I am deeply sorry to my readers who enjoyed the work. Deeply. My heart breaks when I think of what the series can become.

However, all hope is not lost. I will be publishing great content and working on future genie books following a trajectory I think we all will be satisfied with. For now, join me in my adventure creating content in other genres I enjoy!



P.S. I am working on a serious memoir and some poems at this time. Visit me at Smashwords to find more of my writings and don’t forget to check out Write Resumes Right 2017, where I hope to collaborate with you on the structure, challenge and rewarding phase of job app writing.



Interview With Trish Marie Dawson

It’s Ya Summer continues now with the wonderful, talented author, Trish Marie Dawson! Author of The Station Series. Book 4: Dying to Know is currently out.

I am so blessed she agreed to do this. Thanks, Trish!


The Write Web: Hi, Trish! It is so nice to finally pick your brain about The Trish Marie Dawson CollageStation series and writing in general. It is such an interesting novel dealing with romance and the afterlife, and so much more- where did the concept originate?

Trish Marie Dawson: Hi Erica, thanks for having me! Working on the Station books have been quite an adventure to write; I’m happy you’ve enjoyed Piper’s story so far.

Most of my books start from a combination of strange dreams and life experiences, and the same is true for the first Station book, Dying to Forget.

TWW: What really grabbed my attention is the very first chapter when Piper is with a guy and he harms her…How difficult was it to write that scene?

TMD: The beginning of DtF is hard to read for most people, but it’s a sad fact that sexual assault is a real problem for our youth. As are the other issues brought up in the series like bullying and of course, suicide.

I don’t think mental health is discussed nearly enough, nor the topics brought up after Piper naively drinks from that red cup. Those scenes were very difficult to write, but unfortunately, they happen to others like Piper every day.

My hope though, is that readers will take away something positive from the read, which is also heavy on humor.

TWW: After reading Dying to Forget, I had to buy the second book immediately! Piper seems to be the “Every Girl” type who experiences a lot in high school, including tragedy.  But the book does focus on some serious issues: Rape, suicide, cyber bullying…What kind of research if any did you have to do for this work?

TMD: There’s a bit of a cliffhanger at the end of Dying to Forget, so it’s a good thing that the second is out there and ready to read! lol Research on the topic of suicide and assault is pretty depressing, which I did online, and chatting with others, on top of my own life experiences.

A staggering amount of teens and young adults are depressed, or suffer from clinical depression, which is something that shouldn’t be taboo, but is. Since I write about the subject, I wanted to make sure I did my homework and got the stories right.

Yes, I cried. A lot. I still do, even for the fictional characters I created and tortured, but the upside is that people can heal with the right support system. I want readers to know they are never alone.

TWW: I am beyond excited for the next books in this series! But for those who have not read the book, how would you describe the series in one or two sentences?

TMD: I can’t wait to hear back from you after you’ve continued reading! Please let me know what you think. 🙂 Piper Willow is an ordinary girl who dies the summer after she graduates from high school, but wakes up in an extraordinary afterlife place called the Station. She’s offered the chance to make amends for her choices by helping others in need, but not without a price.

I like to tell people that though this story addresses some heavy issues, I want them to walk away from it with a little more hope than they may have had before.

TWW: I have to admit. I am a Sloan fan(swoon much?). It takes incredible talent to write the way you did when Piper was in Sloan’s mind. It felt real.  Was the twist in the end of Book 1, intentional?(wink, wink)

TMD:  I love Sloan Nash! He’s a sexy, yet damaged young man that I think most of us just want to see heal and move on to be a happy person. The ending of the story was intentional and necessary for both characters, but really all of the characters have a reason for being in the books. I won’t say more, because you know…spoilers! 

TWW:  I read on your website you were inspired after reading Stephen King’s The Stand, which is a powerful movie/book by the way. What other writers influence you and who are your favorite authors?

TMD: Oh, Stephen King. He’s a master storyteller and I love his classic work. Most of what I read in the 90’s was a combination of King and Koontz books, so I do love the darker arts.

I’m not really a horror writer myself, so it’s funny that most of what I write now is primarily YA or Dystopian. lol I think everything I’ve ever read has made an impact on my own writing, and writing something unique in your own voice can be hard, but I try my best to do so.

I’m an avid reader, so I know what it’s like to pick up a book and put it down because you feel as if it’s already been done before. The afterlife is nothing new in the book world, of course. But I created the Station out of my mind and put it together over four books sort of like a puzzle. I’m proud of that, and love when I hear from readers that they’ve not read anything quite like it.

Since publishing my first book, I made it a point to start reading outside my normal favorite genres, which means I don’t have a favorite author anymore, but several. And, being an Indie, I try and read as much of my writer friends’ works as I can. 

TWW: What is your writing routine like? And are you a morning or night writer?

TMD: Writing routine, what’s that? LOL Just kidding. Kinda. After I research a book and begin the actual writing process, I need to do so with relative quiet and little interruptions. But I’m married with two kids and three dogs and a cat that thinks he’s a dog, which means my house is never quiet.

If it weren’t for early bedtimes, headphones and lots of wine and chocolate, I wouldn’t be able to finish one paragraph. Once I’m in the groove though, when I write doesn’t matter. I finished the fourth Station book (Dying to Know) at a Starbucks just shy of closing time, but if morning time works, and I’m left alone long enough to finish a thought, I’ll do my best to knock out some serious wordage till life intervenes.

TWW: The Station Series deal with more than just “earthly” issues. Since none of us living folk know about the afterlife, we rely on stories, movies, others accounts and sometimes our beliefs intermingle with it. I will not ask your beliefs about the afterlife, but what do you hope audiences take away from these books?

TMD: One of the most amazing things about reading is how each reader creates their own interpretation of the story. I’ve had readers send me messages thanking me for the Station, because now they imagine their child, a victim of suicide, out there somewhere helping others. Obviously, the Station is a fictional place, but for some readers, it’s very real.

For this story, there is no need to bring any religion into the plot, which was intentional. I want everyone to be able to read it and form their own opinions and thoughts, regardless of what they do or do not believe in. We are all energy, of course, so even for the hardcore Athiest, I think they can read through Piper’s journey fulfilled. There’s no harm is walking away from a story asking, ‘What if?’

One of the most amazing things about reading is how each reader creates their own interpretation of the story.

TWW: Which character was most fun to write? The least?

TMD:  All my babies are fun to write, but some are definitely harder than others. Piper Willow is a complex and beautiful mess. Bringing her full circle through the last four books was a challenge, so I’d say that writing her took the most work.

But the toughest characters to write are the children, though brief in the stories, because their tales are the saddest and most gut-wrenching. A close second would be Andurush, or ‘Rush’; a character that shows up later in the series, because you know, he’s not human. I’ll say nothing more about him. There’ll be spoilers. 😉

TWW: Quick. What comes to mind when I say “Before”?

TMD: Before ‘bed’. Because soon my kids will need to go to bed and I’m sure they’ve not yet brushed their teeth or done anything else they need to do beforehand. lol

TWW: For writers out there who wish to be published, what advice would you give them?

TMD: My initial advice for prospective authors would be to do their research about the writing and publishing industry before choosing which route to go. I’m self-published, which is different from being signed with a traditional publishing house.

Essentially, I’m my own boss, which means I’m also responsible for all the work! lol There are pros and cons with both ways. More advice would be to start sharing their work with their friends and family NOW and learning how to take constructive criticism and feedback before releasing a full book to the public, so they have a great plot, greater characters, and fantastic editing. With those things, they will find a group of readers eager for more.

Finally, writing is a creative process, different for each of us. I tell my readers that writing is for me, but publishing is for them.

It’s my dream job, but not often ‘easy’, and can be isolating. A support system of friends, beta readers and other writers can help greatly with success. 😉

Conclusion: I am so happy Trish Marie Dawson took the time to answer my questions. If you have not read her books, I will put links at the bottom of this post and I encourage you to comment here and share on your networks as well.

Books in The Station Series

Dying to Forget(Station Series, #1)-FREE on Amazon Kindle

Dying to Remember(Station Series, #2)

Dying to Return(Station Series, #3)

Dying to Know(Station Series, #4)

*Grab the Station Series bundle!

Go to Trish Marie Dawson’s site to learn more about her other books and more!

Easy Navigation Links for The Write Web(Mobile Users)



Sometimes, mobile phones do not display all the home page options unless you scroll down ridiculously long posts, then you’ll see all the goodies down there(you know what I mean).

So here are some links to help you navigate around my blog.

  • First, is the Currently Reading section. I am reading  the YA novel, Melt With You: A Totally 80s Romance, by Addison Moore. It is FREE to download!  melt-with-you-cover
  • If you are a writer needing your book formatted for Smashwords, please head over to Eurekajean’s page for more information! A great service for you!
  • Don’t feel like paying for a book you may want to read? Next, is the Loan Book Rangers Club where I offer books I can loan from Loan Book Rangers3my Kindle. Keep checking back for updates!
  • Finally, and importantly- Contact me if you have questions, suggestions, and comments! Go the Contact Page.

Please Note: There are review gems after this post, so don’t stop here! Please keep reading and share what you see. Sharing leaves a good feeling. Promise!