The talented Sam Cheever had an interesting blog
yesterday on a subject I’ve heard about, but know very little—Kindle Worlds.
Today I’ll share some Sam’s blog, and also we’ll have an excerpt from her fun
book Bayou
Bubba.
Sam Cheever's Suggestion
Do any of the following apply to you?
- You’ve
always been an avid reader. You love books of all shapes, genres and
sizes. You’ve even thought you’d like to write your own book someday.
- You’re
already a writer but you’d like to branch out into an area you’ve never
written in before.
- You
have a favorite series but the author of the series can’t write books fast
enough. You’d love to read more in that author’s world.
- You
wish you could write a book, but you’re not sure you have what it takes to
do it. It would be fun to see what other aspiring authors have done.
All of these are great reasons to check out Kindle Worlds.
Amazon has formed contractual agreements with a bunch of really great Authors
so that fans can step into their worlds and create their own stories, or read
more stories from the worlds they love. It’s a fun concept and its popularity
seems to be growing in leaps and bounds.
Fan fiction (fan fic) has been around for a long
time. It’s been the genesis for a lot of aspiring authors breaking in with
their own works. Think Fifty Shades if you doubt that’s true. Apparently the
popular BDSM romance series started as fan fic for the paranormal romance
series, Twilight. Yeah, that doesn’t make sense to me either.
But it proves that fan fic can create a path for success to a hopeful
future author.
I’ve known all this for a while. What I didn’t
realize until recently was that many well-established authors were
taking advantage of fan fic to write in genres they’ve always wanted to try,
reaching audiences they might never have reached on their own. That’s what I
did. When I wrote Bayou Bubba, it was to stretch my wings into a type of
genre I’d always enjoyed but didn’t think I could sell to my readers. By
writing in Jana DeLeon’s Miss Fortune World, I’m able to introduce myself and my
writing to a large, existing base of readers who are already
eager fans of the cozy mystery genre.
I had a ton of fun writing for Kindle Worlds. I’m
really glad I did it. Will I write another book for the Miss Fortune
series? It could happen. I’ll wait and see how things play out. Or, like some
of my author buddies, will I stretch into new worlds, try out other genres?
That’s conceivable too. The possibilities are endless. And that’s just
what makes the whole thing so much fun!
Excerpt
from Bayou Bubba
By Sam Cheever
By the time we drove into Sinful, Louisiana, I’d
reconsidered the wonderfulness of spending time with the once sexy Cal Amity. A
more judgmental, stick-up-the-ass person I’d never met. I realized as he
scoured me with a look that said “you’re an idiot aren’t you?” for about
the hundredth time since we’d met at the airport in Indy, that the gulf between
him and me just might be too wide to leap…or cross with a 747.
“I made us reservations at the Backwater Inn,”
he told me as he turned left off Sinful’s wide, main street and headed
for the dirty brown strip of water in the distance.
“Of course you did,” I murmured.
“I heard that.”
“Of course you did,” I murmured more softly.
“I heard that too.”
I glared over at him. “What’s the deal with the
muddy puddle up ahead? Has there been a flood?”
“That would be the Bayou and I might need to use a
boat for part of my investigation.”
I didn’t miss the “I” in his declaration. I would
have argued, telling him there was no “I” in “me too” but the other part of his
statement iced my bowels. My eyes widened as we turned into a pockmarked gravel
parking lot, adjacent to a long building with fake logs for walls. “We’re going
out there?” I jabbed a finger toward the muddy ribbon cutting a swath along the
edge of Sinful. “Why ever would we do that?”
“Because that’s where I believe your father is.” Cal
cut the engine and climbed out of the black Jeep he’d rented for us. He
unfolded his long, lean length and stood, stretching enthusiastically before
closing the door.
Yes, god help me, I did stare at his fine, round
behind as he stretched. He might be a pain in my ass, but his was
finer than hundred-year-old Scotch in front of a roaring fire.
Or as the people of Sinful would probably say…finer
than frog hair. If frogs had hair.
Shaking my head on the question I climbed out too,
groaning and clasping my back as pain zig-zagged down my leg. “I don’t want to
sit down for a week.”
Cal focused his Caribbean blue gaze fringed with
thick black lashes on me and, despite the “you’re an idiot aren’t you?”
look on his chiseled features, my knee ligaments melted a little. “It was
a long trip,” he offered in only a slightly disgusted tone.
I blinked, nearly toppling to the muddy gravel with
surprise. “Um. Yeah. It was.”
I followed the intrepid Cal toward a door marked
“Office” at the center of the long building.
A ten foot long concrete alligator adorned the
narrow strip of grass alongside the door, his painted surface chipped and the
flower hat on his head faded from the sun.
Cal’s assessing gaze slid right over the gator,
seeing no entertainment value in it at all. But I just couldn’t resist a quick
selfie. Crouching down next to the silly critter, I made my eyes go wide and my
lips form a terrorized “O” and clicked a picture to send to my BFFs back in
Indy. I chuckled as I hit Send and turned, squeaking a little as I
almost ran into a man with a thin, graying ponytail and a tattoo of a gator
running up his enormous biceps. “Oh, sorry.”
The man fixed me with a glacial gray gaze. He didn’t
speak, his too-small mouth pursing a little inside the boundaries of a mustache
and scraggly beard.
“Well.” I felt like a complete fool for my selfie
antics so I laughed self-consciously and stepped around him, imagining I could
feel the sting of his gaze on my back as I hurried inside.
Cal was talking to a man I assumed to be the
manager.
“Yeah, I know him,” the manager said. “That’s Bayou
Bubba. Sinful’s most interesting homeless guy. He don’t look like that no more
though.” The manager grinned, showing jagged teeth the color of the Bayou.
Cal slipped the picture he carried of my father back
into his shirt pocket. “Can you tell me where we can find him?”
The man’s mud-colored smile slipped away. He glanced
at me…probably noting, too late, the shell-shocked aspect of my face. He
inclined his head in my direction. “Ma’am.”
“Hello.”
The man I assumed was the manager of the Backwater
Inn reached beneath the counter and pulled out a key, handing it to Cal.
One key. Oh oh. I opened my mouth to object when Cal
handed it to me. “Do you know where Bayou Bubba is living?” he asked the motel
manager.
The man skimmed me another look.
Cal glanced my way. “Miss Chance, will you go to the
room, please? I’ll join you in a couple of minutes.” Remembering my close call
with the frigid-eyed guy outside, I considered digging in my heels and
insisting that I stay, but something on Cal’s handsome face made me nod and
exit the stifling office. Despite the thick, overheated air outside, I was
thankful to leave the stale ashtray scent of the office behind me. I looked at
the key, which had a grinning alligator key chain, and noted the number nine on
the gator’s yellow belly.
Room number nine wasn’t far from the Jeep. Recoiling
at the sour, coolish air that met me at the door, I shielded my nose with one
hand. “Ugh!” The room was dark and noisy, with a portable air conditioner
toiling loudly from its hole in the wall.
There were two beds, both covered in dark green
cotton spreads, and one small table between them.
The carpet was also dark green, making the whole
room depressingly dark. I went over and yanked the heavy drapes back, sneezing
as dust bloomed on the air. Sunlight speared the room with light and heat.
The door snapped open and the delectable Cal was
suddenly backlit by the blazing sun. He stared at me for a moment and I held my
breath. My gaze followed him as he closed the door and crossed the room. He
scanned a look over the bathroom before coming back.
“Do we have enough towels?”
He didn’t even crack a smile.
“Soap?” Okay, there was a slightly desperate
sounding squeak in my voice. I twined my fingers together and swallowed. “Just
hit me with it. Rip it right off like a Band-Aid.”
Cal’s dark eyebrows peaked. “Rip what off?”
Good god!
“What did the manager tell you that he didn’t want to say in front of me?”
“Oh.” Scrubbing a big, square hand over his chin,
Cal looked me right in the eye. “He told me your father’s in the morgue.”
My knees buckled and, to his credit, Cal proved he
had excellent reflexes as well as a truly fine ass. Thank god he caught me. I’d
have hated to land on the filthy carpet.
The sun streaming across it had illuminated
something that looked a lot like dried blood.
Link to get Bubba:
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00TP4S5RC
