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Sunday, December 13, 2009

Print on Demand Publishing - The Underdog With a Big Bark.



How accepted is Print on Demand publishing?

A quick check indicates not only a bias against Print on Demand (POD) publishing, there may even be active attempts to undermine it -- and from some pretty big challengers -- namely Borders, Baker and Taylor, some traditional publishers, and maybe even Romance Writers of America (RWA). Although to the latter, I have to say, "Please say it ain't so."

Traditional publishing is hurting. Fewer people read, and of those who do, there is a steady trend toward electronic formats. It seems to me that big publishers and many bookstores may have reason to fear POD publishers who primarily release e-books.

I think Ellora's Cave made enemies in high places with its impressive sales and unexpected successes. Ellora's Cave hit the big time in 2004 with over 2 million dollars in sales. It was featured on the cover of Romantic Times Magazine and has close ties with the magazine according to several online sources. According to a post at Absolute Write, Ellora's Cave had the distinction of being the first e-book publisher to be listed by RWA as a RITA eligible publisher. At the time, a RITA eligible publisher was defined as a "non-subsidy, non-vanity publisher that has released books on a regular basis via national distribution for a minimum of one year and has sold a minimum of 1,500 hardcover/trade paperback copies or 5,000 copies of any other format of a single fiction book or a novella or collection of novellas in book form."

RWA has since changed its guidelines, and the changes appear suspicious to me. It may not be accurate or fair, but I can't help but wonder if they were deliberately designed to make it harder for POD and e-book publishers to succeed and thereby challenge the traditional publishing model.

These are the current definitions of a RWA Eligible Publisher, Subsidy Publisher, and Vanity Publisher according to their website:

“Eligible Publisher” means a romance publisher that has verified to RWA in a form acceptable to RWA, that it: (1) is not a Subsidy Publisher or Vanity Publisher; (2) has been releasing romance novels via national distribution for no fewer than three years, with no fewer than two full-length romance novels or novel-length romance anthologies published in each of three consecutive years; (3) provides advances of at least $1,000 for all books; and (4) pays all authors participating in an anthology an advance of at least $500.

“Subsidy Publisher” means any publisher that publishes books in which the author participates in the costs of production in any manner, including publisher assessment of a fee or other costs for editing and/or distribution. This definition includes publishers who withhold or seek full or partial payment or reimbursement of publication or distribution costs before paying royalties, including payment of paper, printing, binding, production, sales or marketing costs.

“Vanity Publisher” means any publisher whose authors exclusively promote and/or sell their own books and publishers whose business model and methods of publishing and distribution are primarily directed toward sales to the author, his/her relatives and/or associates.

According to elements within the last definition, most POD publishers could be considered a 'vanity publisher' and not a RWA eligible publisher. Also, because these are small publishing houses, most are not able to pay those types of advances.

It's obvious that the industry equates POD with self-publishing, and that's simply inaccurate. It certainly shows a bias, mixed with an agenda -- namely an attempt to dissuade readers from turning away from big publishing houses and struggling bookstores like Borders to these upstart POD publishers. We've seen that big money is involved. Tiny little Ellora's Cave carved off a $2 million chunk of change in one year alone. Money that most likely would have gone to the big publishing houses and traditional bookstores. I don't imagine that went over well behind closed doors inside the industry.

According to Publishers Weekly and numerous online articles, Jasmine-Jade Enterprises, which is the parent company of Ellora’s Cave, filed a $1 million lawsuit against Borders and Baker & Taylor approximately one year ago, alleging that “churning,” or “ordering more books than one plans to sell in order to create a credit balance when those books are returned” is crippling not only them but the publishing industry as a whole. The lawsuit alleges breach of contract and fraud. Jasmine-Jade Enterprises had complained to Borders that the number of returns they were receiving was overwhelming them. Borders said it would no longer receive returns from them after the complaint, and Border's promised to only order enough of Jasmine's titles to meet demand. The suit maintains that Borders misled them. According to the lawsuit, Borders then “conspired” with the wholesaler, Baker and Taylor, to defraud Jasmine by routing returns through them instead. Jasmine no longer does business with Borders or B&T and claims that both companies owe them money.

Jasmine's claims may seem conspiratorial to some, but they seem credible to me in light of what happened at Triskelion. Triskelion, a POD and e-book publisher, cited Borders as one of the main reasons they filed for bankruptcy and closed their doors. Rumor has it they were never paid money owed them by Borders for sales. I can imagine the nightmare that closure created for the writers.

Even though Border's stocked Ellora's Cave paperbacks on their shelves at one time. Now, according to the clerks I spoke with, they won't even order a book if it's from a POD publisher -- any POD publisher. It appears that this fiasco with Borders is responsible for Ellora's cave severely cutting back their print section. Even if it does sound a bit conspiratorial, I'm on EC's side in this matter, and I wish them luck with their lawsuit. I know Borders motioned to have the suit dismissed, but I have not seen if that motion was successful. I certainly hope it wasn't.


This lawsuit is not new, but it only came to my attention recently after I visited my nearby Borders to order my novel, Sleeping With Skeletons. The clerks informed me that they don't carry POD books. They weren't even able to order it for me. There were some sellers who were offering it on Border's website, but those independent sellers were asking outrageous prices for it -- around $32.00. I can't imagine anyone paying that, especially since it's available at Amazon or Barnes and Noble for under $12.00.

After leaving Borders, I traveled across town to Barnes and Noble -- which is my favorite bookstore -- especially since I'm boycotting Borders -- and they were able to order the book. However, the clerk made a point of informing me that it was a Print on Demand book -- as if I should be aware of that in case I wanted to change my mind about ordering it. So, even though they carried it -- thankfully -- I couldn't help but notice the obvious bias the clerk had for my POD title.

Everyone who has attempted to find a publisher knows how difficult it is. Most big publishing houses won't accept queries from unagented writers, and most agents I've contacted haven't even answered my queries. As a result, many writers are turning to POD publishers because they accept queries from writers without agents. There are a lot of great books that never would have been published without the independent publishers. But this leads to a new problem for these writers. I have been looking for a publisher for my mystery and crime novel, SPIDERS. One of the publishers who accepted queries from unagented writers stated in their submission guidelines that they would not consider anyone who has self-published or been published by a POD publisher.

It seems to me that industry insiders have successfully cast POD in a disreputable light. The wagons are circling, trying to protect their territory. But to be fair and honest, I think many POD publishers are partly to blame for this. Many of them have published writers who never should have been published in the first place. Early on, I read some books from POD publishers that I couldn't even finish because they were so poorly written and edited. The cringe factor on those novels was so high it was staggering. But many POD publishers have become more selective. They certainly have a talented pool to fish from. As POD publishers continue improving the quality of their product, that should help remove some of the stigma. (At this point, since I am being forthcoming, many large publishing houses are guilty of this as well. I've read some atrocious books from big publishing houses. It seems the only reason those books were published was because the writer was well known and could produce sales.)

But publishing is changing, whether anyone likes it or not, and I think the ones who get in front of these changes will be the ones who survive and thrive. The ones who have been doing that are the POD publishers, but, so far, they've been getting slapped down pretty hard. Even if I weren't published by a POD publisher, I would still be rooting for the underdog. I hope they continue to rise up and take big bites out of all their pretentious detractors and underhanded insiders. I want big publishers and bookstores to do well, but not by destroying POD publishers and their writers.



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Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Oh Drabble

I belong to an online workshop for writers -- Sol Nasisi's The Next Big Writer. Sol holds an occasional drabble contest. For me, drabbling is an effective way to warm up when I have writer's block. I especially love it because it doesn't necessarily require talent. It's a lot like NaNo* except shorter and easier to complete.

If you're not familiar with what a drabble is, here is a definition from Wikipedia: "A drabble is an extremely short work of fiction exactly one hundred words in length, although the term is often incorrectly used to indicate a short story of fewer than 1000 words."

I won a drabble contest for That Snarky Woman at The Next Big Writer in 2007. It's my purely fictional explanation for why Ms. Snark, an infamous beyotch, (and I suspect the last literary agent I contacted), retired her highly successful blog to sip Sangria in Spain and loll about on her settee. Ms. Snark was loved by many writers, but she was hated by thousands more. (Well, maybe not. But even if she wasn't hated by thousands more, it seems like she should have been.)

Here's my winning drabble entry.

"It started when that Snarky woman returned my manuscript with the words 'You've got to be kidding!' written across my title page in red ink. I hate red ink."

"You ran over her for using red ink?"

"I ran over her because she walked in front of my car."

"She was on the sidewalk."

"So was I."

"Why were you driving on the sidewalk?"

"I was following her."

"Why were you following her?"

"Well, Doc, it started when she returned my manuscript with 'You've got to be kidding!' written across my title page in red ink. I hate red ink."

Now, if you really don't want to attempt writing a story in 100 words, or if you're just feeling lazy, the site below will turn out a truly horrible drabble (the incorrectly termed kind) in just a few minutes. All you have to do is slap in some adjectives, adverbs, nouns, verbs, and a couple of names, and you can wow your friends with some of the worst writing they've ever read! It's a great antidote for boredom, but it might not help you overcome your writer's block. For that, you actually need to write something.

* NaNo, short for NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writer's Month. It's where a bunch of lunatic writers congregate during the month of November in a frustrating attempt to complete a crappy novel in 30 days. It doesn't necessarily have to be a crappy novel, it just works out that way.

This Month's Winner


Congratulations to this month's winner of the Sleeping With Skeleton's contest, Lauri Coates. Lauri has won an e-book copy of Sleeping With Skeletons, and that has been e-mailed to her.

If you didn't win the drawing for the month of November, you still have a shot for December! All you need to do to enter is leave a comment on my blog. For more information about the contest, see this page of my website: http://www.doralynn.net/contest.html

Best wishes!

Doralynn

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Saturday, November 28, 2009

If you can't write a good book... just write a really crappy title... worked for these guys.


Ah, a good book title. It's a real attention getter. Many writers go through dozens before they choose the perfect one for their masterpiece. When I look at these titles, I wonder, "What the h*ll were they thinking?" Check out these titles, and you'll see what I mean.

English as a Second F*cking Language
How to swear effectively, explained in detail with numerous examples taken from everyday life.
(My favorite thing about this is the endorsement by Stephen King - "Great f*cking book!" Who doesn't want a recommendation like that?)

How to TALK About BOOKS You Haven't READ Sure, it can be done, but you sound like an idiot.

The Complete Idiot's Guide to Improve Your IQ
I think this is a companion set.

Phone Calls From the Dead
Has nothing to do with your ex.

You're Dead and You Don't Even Know It
A Book On Soul Evolution
(Can I still make phone calls?)

Do It Yourself Coffins
In case you really are dead.

101 Super Uses For Tampon Applicators
Ewww.

The JOY of Uncircumcising!
Just in case your mom saved your foreskin.

Castration
The Advantages
and the Disadvantages

Right now, I'm only thinking about the disadvantages. (Maybe they should just consider being uncircumcised.)

Are Women Human?
Most of the time. I have a feeling the men behind Castration and The Joy of Uncircumcising had something to do with this one.... which brings me to my next two titles:

Foreskin's Lament
A Memoir

Dick
A User's Guide
(Men really are obsessed with their penis's aren't they?)

Games you Can Play With Your Pussy
(I imagine the sequel will be, 'Games you Can Play With Your Bitch'.)

Don't Tell Mom I work on the Rigs, She Thinks I'm a Piano Player in a Whorehouse.
I'm sure she'll still be proud of you.

Pornogami
You gotta see that one to believe it.

Correct Mispronunciations of Some South Carolina Names
Huh? I didn't know there was a correct way to mispronounce somebody's name. What if they live in North Carolina?

Pregnancy Guide for Lesbians

Babies and Other Hazards of Sex
How to make a tiny person in only 9 months, with tools you probably have around the home.
(Not if you're a lesbian.)

Women Are From Venus, Men are from Hell
No arguments here.

Pooh Gets Stuck
I'm sure that's a 9 1 1 call.

Cooking with Pooh
I've always loved Winnie the Pooh... great books... but I really do think those last two titles could have used a little more forethought.

What Bird did That?
I'm afraid to even look inside that one.

Everyone Poops.
(Kind've a theme.)

Now, you know they sold some books. Which takes me back to the title of this post. If you can't write a good book... just write a crappy title. Imagine how well you'll do if you write a good book and slap a really bad title on it? Hmmm, that might not be the best advice. Check with your publisher. They may insist on a good title... even if it isn't any fun.


If you have any favorite bad book titles, I'd love to read them... just the titles, though, not the books.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Excerpt from The Jaded Geisha

Today is November 12th, and we're well into National Novel Writing Month. I am feverishly working on my novel entitled The Jaded Geisha, hoping to finish it by month's end.

I am posting a rough blurb and excerpt for today's post. I hope you enjoy it.

****

Original title: A Dark Road Back

An old friend calls in a favor, dragging CIA operative Dan Webb out of isolation and into the strange case of a terrorized blind woman. A cryptic message left by a dying man leads to a set of eighteen Lohan which once stood guard in the Chief Hall of Buddha's Temple. But do these mystical guardians really hold the answer to a series of murders? Or does the Jaded Geisha guard that secret?

Eleanor Gray, an avid collector, lives in a world of flickering lights and darkness. But this determined advocate for the blind has crossed paths with a killer. Now her life is at stake. Does the killer fear she can identify him by his shadow, or is he after something else? Now a fierce Lohan with flesh and blood stands guard over her day and night—following her as she runs away to Japan. But Danny is not the only one in pursuit, and Eleanor Gray soon discovers that not only is her life in danger, but her heart is as well.

****

A low growl stopped her. Eleanor Gray wavered over the next step, clinging to the rail. She could see a shape outlined against a patch of light. She knew the light came from the round orb at the top of the staircase. She cursed the building’s superintendent. He should have fixed that elevator by now. She hated climbing the twelve floors to her apartment. She turned her head slightly, trying to bring the shadow into sharper detail, but he hung back as if hiding.

"Hush," she snapped, and tightened her grip on the bridge handle of Max's harness.

Her guide dog strained forward, and his low growl turned into a menacing bark, sending a shiver through her. She did a quick harness check, bringing Max up short, and slowly moved her head.

If she could catch the right angle, fix her eyes at just the right spot, she still had a narrow tunnel of vision. It was her only lifeline with the outside world. But that shifting corridor had narrowed over the years, and now it was as thin as a child's finger. Eventually it would be little more than a thread, and then it would blink out entirely, leaving nothing but shadows.

Max leapt forward suddenly, tripping her and sending her to the floor. Her knees crashed against the sharp edge of a stair and then scraped over the rough carpet. Max continued up the stairs, barking incessantly, and dragged her with him, pulling her arm until it felt as if her muscles and ligaments would rip. "Max, steady," she screamed, but he struggled forward.

Something popped in her shoulder, and she let go of the harness with a cry of pain. "Damn it, Max. Come," she commanded.

She pushed herself up with her right arm, fighting off the panic that threatened to overtake her. But she was floundering, immobilized with fear and pain. Max had never acted this way before; something must be terribly wrong. She struggled once again to find her window into the outside world, but her movements were too jerky, controlled by a nauseating fear that swept through her in hot waves. She needed to slow down, or she would never find it. She took a deep breath, willing herself to ignore the pain, the fear, and looked into the shadows and light at the top of the staircase.

Max’s barking ended abruptly in a painful whelp and she heard a thump. She pushed herself to her feet, anger replacing her fear. “You bastard,” she screamed. “You hurt my dog!”

Indignation seared her. Max was more than her guide dog. He was her family. And since the death of her brother, he was her only family. She grabbed the stair rail and got to her feet, pulling herself toward the shadow that stood in the wavering light. She swept her head slowly, back and forth, back and forth, looking for that spot of vision. Desperate to see. Desperate to know what had happened to Max. She could still hear him whimpering. His claws pawed at the carpet as he struggled to get back up.

Then she found her opening. Light and shadows gave way to sight, and she looked into the outside world. A strip of white wall. The outer edge of a fire alarm. An arm. A shoulder. The curve of a neck. The outer edges of a bearded face. A scarred cheekbone.

A gleam caught her eye, and she slowly trailed her gaze along the narrow field of vision—her attention moving past the chin, down the chest, moving slowly over the tensed arm to the fingers, then stopping.

She inhaled sharply.

Long white fingers were wrapped around the silver handle of a knife; blood dripped from its tip. She followed the relentless drops to the floor, and watched them land on an outstretched hand. Someone lay sprawled across the floor.

Fear choked her. She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Oh God, had she stumbled on a murder?

The black shape flew toward her with an audible whoosh and collided into her. She felt a sharp pain in her side, then tumbled away from him, falling down the stairs backwards. Her body tossed uncontrollably from stair to stair until she stopped on the landing, her breath caught in her lungs. Shadows engulfed her once more, and the world returned to a formless void. But now it was filled with pain.

She listened as the footsteps continued down the stairs, the sound gradually diminishing and then fading completely.

“Max,” she whispered, and pushed herself up, screaming at the agony that stabbed at her side. Max’s soft whimpers sounded from overhead. She leaned against the wall, resting briefly, struggling to catch a breath through the howling pain that seized her lungs. She reached forward, her hand finding the first stair, and crawled toward it; moving slowly, inching toward Max and the motionless figure she had seen on the bloody carpet.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Writing Justice for the Dead - One Veteran's Story

Why do we choose the subjects we do when we write? Some of us have political, social, or religious agendas. Some of us just want to educate, entertain, express ourselves, or cope. But I believe all writers have a reason for writing what they do.

When I first began putting stories on paper, I was a child, so I wrote children's stories. Naturally my subjects have changed over the years. I tend to write from experience, and my life usually shows up in my stories. I'm not writing my life, but my life definitely affects everything I write.

Over the last several years, I have written stories that primarily center around justice, and I tie that to incidents that I experienced in law enforcement. Justice is rarely served, and sometimes, the only way to achieve it is to write it into a story. It is so often lacking in real life. The first time I truly encountered this was when I was stationed in Frankfurt, Germany with the Army's 284th Military Police Company.

It was foggy that night, impossible to see beyond the beams of our patrol car. I began the shift with a lie of omission -- and a new partner in a bad mood. Confessing to being the source of Beheng's anger wasn't an option at that moment, and I decided to save the necessary moment of truth for later, preferably as much later as possible.

The 284th was one of those assignments that everyone wanted, and we were the lucky ones to get it. We handled military-related law enforcement for Frankfurt and all of the surrounding cities. It was like being a cop in New York City -- only we covered more territory. I listened quietly as Beheng ranted about his pre-shift detail, which had been the laundry room of our barracks.

We all had pre-shift details. We worked twelve-hour shifts, but before and after each shift, we had Army-related duties. Our twelve-hour shifts usually worked out to be about eighteen. After that, we did our personal chores: laundry, ironing, cleaning, and whatever else we needed to do to get ready for our next shift. It left us with no time, and we were usually functioning on two to three hours of sleep a night. There were times when we worked up to three months without days off. We were all on the verge of snapping. That night, Beheng had snapped.

And it was my fault.

He just didn't know it yet.

I had been running late and needed to get the trash out of my room. I shared the room with Janelle Bebo. Janelle was gone, and I couldn't ask her for help, so I took our trash and put it into the trash can in the laundry room. I was too tired to think about the consequences for whoever was responsible for the laundry room. I was just thinking about getting the trash out of my room and still making it to guard mount on time.

As I settled into the patrol car with Beheng, he began his rant. Bebo had left her trash in the laundry room. There had been a pizza box with her name on it in the trash, and he was going to let her have it the next time he saw her. Literally. He had saved the trash and was going to bury her in it. Since I was her roommate, he was taking it out on me. I debated telling him the truth right then, but I ended up deciding to save the confession for later. After all, we were both armed, and I didn't want to get shot.

Like I said, Beheng had snapped.

It wasn't a very busy midnight shift, so we met up with other MPs throughout the course of the night. Each time we did, the 'trash' subject was brought up by Beheng. He would rage on about what he was going to do to Bebo next time he saw her, and I just stood by in guilty silence, waiting for the best time to tell him. I decided that would be at the end of the shift after we'd turned in our weapons to the arms' room.

Since we weren't busy, we were able to do all of our security checks. There had been several terrorist bombings on military bases in the area, so we did frequent checks of those compounds to watch for suspicious activity. But we also patrolled civilian apartment complexes that housed large numbers of military personnel. We were patrolling a German apartment complex around two A.M.. Beheng was driving, and he cautiously maneuvered the different streets in the complex. It was so foggy we couldn't even see the buildings, much less the sidewalks or the grass.

After we finished, we called in our check, and Beheng pulled out of the complex back onto the street.

We had no sooner called it in than dispatch called us back. A soldier, who was walking his dog, had discovered a dead body lying in the grass beside one of the buildings of the apartment complex. We had just driven by it but hadn't even seen it because of the fog. We turned around, drove a few hundred feet, and parked -- quickly finding the man, his dog, and the deceased.

At first, I thought I was looking at a dead child -- a boy of about twelve. Here was someone's baby. I walked as close as I could without disturbing anything and bent down, checking the child's neck for a pulse. There was no pulse, and the skin was still warm and supple. The death had recently occurred. The child's head was completely caved in on the right side. It looked like someone had taken a baseball bat to it. There was no blood on the scene, so it was obvious that the death had occurred someplace else, and this was a secondary crime scene. The boy had been laid flat, and his body was neatly arranged. His hands were in his pockets. He wore clean white socks. The ground was soaked from earlier rains, but those socks were pristine. They had not even touched a floor -- much less the wet grass.

I stood and moved back, hoping I hadn't contaminated the crime scene. We secured the area and started talking to apartment residents. We soon discovered that the 12-year-old boy was actually an adult woman. She was so small and boyish looking that her appearance had been deceptive. We also discovered that she was a German national, so we called in the German police.

While we waited for them, we spoke with her neighbors. She was a lesbian and a prostitute. She worked in the red-light district in Frankfurt. She and her girlfriend shared the apartment, and apparently they were involved in a lovers' triangle. There had been a loud argument in the apartment shortly before she was found murdered. We had a general idea of what had happened, and when the polizei arrived, we attempted to tell them what we had discovered. They brushed us off and told us it was obviously a suicide.

The woman, according to them, had jumped.

I'd been with the 284th for over a year, and I had worked with many German police officers during that time. These were the first German police officers who had not impressed me.

The woman's body was removed without any investigation, and Beheng and I were left with our mouths hanging open. We could barely believe what had just taken place. Apparently, the murder of a lesbian prostitute was not high on the priority list of these particular police officers.

Beheng had forgotten about the trash.

We were both devastated by what had just happened. The story soon spread like the flu. Everyone on duty with the 284th that night was sickened by the lack of justice for this murdered woman. Though Beheng and I had primarily been just acquaintances when our shift began, we were now bonded by this experience. We ended up our shift completely somber.

After we returned to the police station, I told Beheng the truth about the trash. He barely commented on it. A few minutes later, he asked if I could do him a favor. Would I go out to the patrol car and get his briefcase? He needed some paperwork in it. I went out, but when I came back in, he told me he didn't have the right paperwork afterall and asked if I'd check my briefcase. Perhaps I had the right paperwork. At this point, all of the MPs who had been on duty that night had returned, and many of the MPs who were coming on duty were present.

I went to my briefcase, opened it

... and it was filled with trash.

I almost fell down laughing. Dozens of people were there when I opened that briefcase -- the MPs coming on duty, and the MPs going off, the desk sergeants, and the patrol supervisors -- and every one of them was laughing.

God, we needed that laugh.

I dreamed about her several times after that -- the woman discarded like trash. In my dreams she always had my sister's face. It still haunts me to this day. Very few people cared. Those who should have sought justice, didn't. A heartless murderer walked free.

My writing changed after that.

I always make sure justice is served in my stories.

It's so often lacking in reality.


Doralynn Kennedy

Today is Veteran's Day, November 11, 2009. So thank you to all vets and all active duty military personnel and their families.

Friday, November 6, 2009

You Gotta Read Review for Sleeping With Skeletons

I've received another great review for my debut novel, Sleeping With Skeletons. This one is from Roberta at You Gotta Read Reviews. It was given the highest review they give. It was given a 'You Gotta Read' review, and here is the definition for that particular review:

You Gotta Read - Our highest rating - very few books will earn this award.

Review: This is one of the best romantic suspense books I've read in a while. You not only have the romance of two wonderful characters, Margaret and Aidan. There is enough action and suspense to fill two books instead of just one. It is so fast paced you won't even realize you are at the end of the book. Plus, it has short chapters which most people know I love.

What impressed me the most were the depth of the characters. Margaret is a fascinating heroine who learns to show her true self through this story. She is one remarkable lady. Aidan is a hero I'd like to meet in real life. He showed Margaret what true love is all about. However, the one character who stole my heart is Katie. She is a feisty and stubborn little girl who had me in tears in one section of the book.

I can't say enough about this book, except, it is definitely staying in my ebook keeper file. I can't wait to read more of Doralynn Kennedys' work in the future. She is an extremely talented author. Go pick up this book, you will not be disappointed.

Here's the link for the review:

My first review was at Long and Short Reviews (LASR). They gave Skeletons a Best Book review. It was also voted Best Book of the Week by LASR readers. Here's that review as well:

Thanks,
Doralynn

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