Books for LDS Readers. Tips for LDS Writers.
Just wanted to say thank you to all who have already responded to my request for sponsors. I’ll be putting a calendar together soon and getting that out to all of you.
I still have plenty of room for more sponsors, so if you haven’t responded yet but you want to, go right ahead and do it!
I’ve been doing this blog since April 2006. I’ve done 483 posts. In celebration of that fact, I’m going to list 483 things about me. (Laughs maniacally.)
Just kidding. (Sorry, I could not resist.)
Seriously, during that year and a half, I’ve held several contests, the prizes of which have been funded by me. But since I am cheap …uhm… tired of funding this all by myself …uhm… need to use that money for chocolate we’ve been talking about promotion, I thought it would be a good idea to let you do a little self-promotion via sponsorship of this blog.
To be a sponsor, you need to be willing and able to provide a prize during the term of your sponsorship in the form of a copy of YOUR book, plus the cost of shipping it to the prize winner.
There are two forms of sponsorship—sponsoring a contest or sponsoring the blog for a month.
1. Contest sponsorship. Writing contests have two prizes so each contest will have two sponsors. The sponsors of the contest will get a brief bio on the contest introduction page AND the cover of their book with link to website or blog on the sidebar. At the end of the contest, I will announce the winners. Winners will send me their mailing address which I will forward to the sponsor of their prize. Sponsor needs to ship the prize within a week of receiving the winner’s address.
2. Blog sponsorship. At the beginning of each month, I will select a new sponsor(s). Sponsor will get a brief bio on the post for the first business day of the month AND the cover of their book with link to website or blog on the sidebar. At the end of the month, I will put the names of everyone who has commented on the blog that month into a hat and draw out a winner. As with the contest sponsorship, I announce the winners and the sponsor ships the prizes. Depending on the level of response, there may be up to three blog sponsors each month.
Why you want to be a sponsor: This gets your book cover and link to your website or blog in front of a targeted audience. (Writers are generally avid readers and BUY books.) My average unique visitor count per day is around 70; some days it goes over 100.
More stupid requirements details for being a sponsor:
To win a Contest Prize: Participate in a contest, follow the rules, and win.
To win a Monthly Prize: Leave thoughtful comments. Comments like “That’s cool” or “Way to go” do not count. You need to show by the content of you comment that you have read the post and given the topic at least 3.5 seconds of sincere thought.
If you guys like this idea and volunteer to be sponsors, we’ll start the Monthly Sponsors in December and the Contest Sponsors with the upcoming Christmas Story Contest. (Look for details on Monday.) If no one volunteers, then we won’t.
What are the criteria publishers use in determining which books will be recorded as audiobooks? Who chooses the voice talent, and is there any chance of a first timer having their audiobook “read by the author?” Thanks for your helpful blog.
You’re welcome.
It varies depending on the publisher. Covenant records a lot of their books on audio. Other publishers, not as much. A lot of the time it’s based on sales. If a book sells really, really, really well, most publishers will consider an audio version.
The publisher chooses the voice talent. If you have done voice recordings before, there’s a possibility they will let you do your own but it’s unlikely.
Kristen Nelson, over on Pub Rants (bookmark that blog if you haven’t already), talked about a query she got last month that stated if she didn’t get the writer a book deal, it would be her fault if the writer died. I really wanted to laugh but I can relate too closely to that situation. Only I get threatened with eternal damnation. (Not kidding.)
I think the one that takes the cake for me is where the writer submitted a book and it was really, really horrendous. There were no less than 40 errors (mostly spelling and grammar, some misuse of words) in the first page. In his/her query, the writer stated that they had prayed about this book, that God had told them to write it, and that my company was the publisher God wanted to publish it.
I was very nice when I rejected it. Even included a personal note. She was devastated. I got a scathing reply which included insinuations about my level of spirituality and my commitment to the gospel. The writer warned me that if I didn’t repent and live righteously enough that the Spirit could speak to me that I would suffer the punishment of e.d.
About two years later, the writer resubmitted. The errors were down to about 25 on the first page. I rejected again. She cursed me again.
Just recently I heard from the writer. They wanted to inform me that another publisher had snapped up their book and very much appreciated its spiritual quality and said publisher was non-LDS so what was my problem?
If any of you feel the same way about your books, you could try this writer’s publisher.
P.S. I’m all out of questions. Please send more.
It has come to my attention that we need another discussion on self-promotion because some of you (and YOU know who you are) are not very good at it.
I understand that it is hard to go around tooting your own horn. You don’t want to be so over the top that your friends and family run screaming each time they see you coming. But there are some simple and very easy ways to self-promote that are very rarely offensive. Here are a few (in no particular order).
These take minimal effort to set up and maintain yet they put and keep your name and your book in the public eye.
Do you have a simple, effective promotional idea? Please share in the comments section.
For some other good ideas on promotion, read here and here and here.
Question: how do you define “published”? If something has been published but it’s not fiction, and therefore not in the genre we’re testing waters in now, does that count as being published?
For the purposes of the Christmas contest (details to be announced soon), published means:
For the purposes of submission, it usually means anything that someone besides your mother has paid you real money for the rights print. Self-publishing doesn’t count unless you’ve sold several thousand.
Hi. Thanks for all your work on your blog. I love it. My question is how much validity do we give rankings on Amazon and the Deseret Book list? My book only sold one copy last month and yet it’s still riding on the DB list, albeit very low on the list. It doesn’t make sense. Do you know how those work?
The rankings on both these two lists are valid and give you an idea of how your book sales compare to other books in the same genre or category.
Rankings are based on sales volume as compared to the other titles on the list. I’m not sure how frequently the ratings are updated, if it’s automatic as items are ordered, or if it’s done at the end of the day but I think the rankings are updated daily. Either way, if your book is listed on the website, it’s going to show up somewhere in the rankings.
In your example, your book would be listed in the rankings above the books that sold zero copies that month, but below those that sold two copies that month.
I’m not sure how the rankings handle books that sell at the same rate. For example, if there are four books that sold one copy that month, they may be sorted alphabetically (which would not be very helpful) or by the most recent order placed (which is only marginally more helpful).
[Thanks again to all who have sent guest blogs. I will eventually post all of them. Please feel free to send a guest blog at any time.]
As an LDS author, I’ve been very intrigued by the rise of national, although LDS, authors such as Stephenie Meyer and Shannon Hale. At [a recent] literacy fireside, my fellow authors and I answered a question that dealt with our take on the Meyer books. I find it very interesting that the books came up — no other book series was specifically questioned. Why is that? Because they were written by a Mormon. That’s what puts them on the radar.
Stephenie Meyer has done something phenomenal. She went out there, got her agent, got her publisher, is selling books like crazy, and is being talked about left and right. From a business standpoint, she has done everything right. There are few people in this country who don’t know who she is. She also just happens to be a graduate of BYU.
When you look at her books and compare them to the national standard, they are very clean. The things being published for our consumption today run the gammut from slightly questionable to downright raunchy to outright erotica. Meyer’s books would land on the innocent side of the equation.
When you look at her books from an LDS perspective, they are steamy. We would never allow our daughters to snuggle up in bed with their boyfriends. We certainly would never allow them to cavort with werewolves.
There are, however, a few points I would like to make.
The first is that while Meyer is Mormon, she didn’t write these books specifically for the Mormon audience. She targeted the national market. She gave the national market something relatively clean to read. In addition, she’s not writing about Mormon characters. A Mormon character will, of course, have stricter values. A non-Mormon character might not have been taught the same values. Perhaps they’ve been taught to wait until they’re in love, rather than waiting until they’re married. We can’t judge a non-Mormon character by the same yardstick we would a Mormon character, any more than we would expect a non-Catholic to behave like a Catholic or a non-Protestant to behave like a Protestant.
Secondly, this is a fantasy. Be honest, now — how many of us have daughters who are dating vampires? We can’t say, “Well, my daughter would never be allowed to act like Bella,” because no one can. Her situation is entirely made up and I find it a little bit funny that people keep saying, “If my daughter …” Believe me, if my daughter was dating a vampire, a lot of things would be different. But this is fiction of the most imaginative kind. Trust me — it’s all pretend. You’ll never have to face this in your own life.
Now, we do know that Mormons are reading these books like crazy. I’m going to give you my absolute honest opinion here — and you all know that I don’t prevaricate. Are these books too steamy?
I actually found Bella’s advances toward Edward to be a little immature and embarrasing. He tells her no over and over again, and when she keeps pushing the issue, it becomes almost annoying. I didn’t find those scenes to be particularly “steamy,” I found them to be pushy.
Would I want my eleven-year-old daughter reading them? No. While they’ve been labeled as young adult, I would say these are books for an adult population. Just because the main character is a teen does not mean that the book is good for all teens. Take, for example, “To Kill a Mockingbird.” The main character is a six-year-old girl, and yet I would never have a six-year-old read it. The age of the character does not always equate the age of the reader.
I’ve heard many parents say, and I completely agree, that the Meyer books present the perfect discussion platform for parents and their teen readers. You can talk to your daughters about why Bella’s behavior is not appropriate and the consequences of her actions. You can discuss with them why they should be careful to avoid too much physical contact. Point of fact — there are a great many bad young adult books out there, books that encourage mast*rbation, or*l s*x, abortion, and on and on. Our teenagers are picking up these books in their school libraries. They are reading them on their own time, and we don’t know what is being introduced to their brains. We need open platforms to discuss what they are reading so we can help them make wise decisions.
This may sound like I’m 100% advocating these books for everyone. This brings me to the next point of discussion.
Every person has their own setpoint when it comes to reading. There are certain things that will offend me and won’t offend you, and vice versa. I have seen LDS bloggers recommend books that I’ve picked up only to be shocked. You need to decide for yourself whether these books are appropriate for you. Again, I submit that they are cleaner than most everything else you’ll find on the national market. I also remind you that they aren’t written about LDS characters, and that has to be taken into consideration whenever you’re reading a book by an LDS author.
I do know whereof I speak. In my first novel, my main character fathers a child out of wedlock. He was not LDS at the time and he was acting according to his teaching, which was that he should wait until he fell in love before he became intimate, and he did. Because of the limited light he had been given, he believed that he had behaved in a moral fashion. When he did join the church later in the book and came to understand the gravity of his sin, he went through a full repentance process and was baptized and then endowed. You cannot hold a person accountable for committing a sin they don’t know they are committing.
I’d like to move this discussion on to “Austenland,” by Shannon Hale. This book had a few steamy moments in it as well. For me, they were a little steamier even than the Meyer books. However, many of the same principles apply — it was written for the national market, and Hale gave the national market something cleaner than it’s used to seeing. The characters were not LDS and were not raised with LDS standards, and so we can’t expect them to behave in an LDS fashion.
Many have argued that these authors have betrayed their beliefs by writing these books. I’d like to ask, how can we judge what these authors believe? We know that they are LDS, and so we know what the tenants of their religion are. But how can we say that they aren’t living up to their beliefs when we can’t ascertain their own unique way of looking at their religion? Each of us has our own special way of relating to God and of looking at the gospel. I can’t say whether or not you’re living up to your beliefs any more than you can say I’m not living up to mine. I can’t judge your relationship with God and I wouldn’t care to. I’m certainly not going to try to determine whether or not these ladies are still “good enough” to be Mormons. That’s completely wrong and it’s not my job. I would sure hate for someone to follow me around for the day and then proclaim my level of spirituality based on how I spread my peanut butter when they can’t see what’s going on inside me. That’s invasive, insensitive, and holier-than-thou.
Another question to be posed. Let’s say you’ve decided you’d like to go on a mission to the jungles of Africa. Can you do an effective job from your living room, or would it be best for you to go out into the jungles and find the people you’re trying to reach? I’d like to plant the thought that perhaps Hale and Myers, by writing for the national market, are doing some missionary work in that market to introduce people to cleaner fiction. They couldn’t do that sitting on their couches — they had to go out there and find the people who needed reaching. That meant making a foray into the national market, playing with the big boys and showing them a whole new game.
If these books had been written by any other author, we’d be judging them based on the books themselves. If someone named, say, Jenny Smith, had written Twilight, Jenny Smith from Oshkosh who was perhaps Episcopalian or Baptist, we wouldn’t even be sitting here having this discussion. But because Meyer is Mormon, suddenly she’s under all this scrutiny. People are questioning her morals. They’re wondering if she’s a good Mormon or a bad Mormon. They’re saying that she’s trying to teach our youth questionable behavior. Isn’t it just possible that she wanted to tell a story? Isn’t it possible that all this hoo-hah has been created by us rather than by her?
Tristi Pinkston
LDS Historical Fiction Author
Media Reviewer
http://www.tristipinkston.com
http://tristipinkston.blogspot.com
http://members.families.com/tristipie/blog
Before I announce the results, I want to thank all of you very, very much for participating in this contest. While I run these contests mainly for fun, they also serve a couple of legitimate writing purposes: to give you feedback from readers (your target audience), feedback from a publisher’s perspective, and to practice getting your work in front of others. Submitting is a nerve-wracking experience for most writers and you get over the fear by doing it.
Every single entry in this contest had things in it that I really liked. I tried to mention the strongest points in my comments on each post. I also listed things you should watch out for, things that might keep me from reading more were they a “real” submission.
I recognize that I seriously crippled your writing by giving you only two paragraphs to set up your story and provide enough of a hook to entice your audience to keep reading. This is really tough to do. In many cases, I’m sure you would have taken more time, given us more depth and developed the scene more completely had you been submitting the first chapter. Therefore, if I suggested that you do that, please do not see that as a criticism of your entry, but rather an indication that I felt there was undeveloped potential there.
If you want to take credit for your work, please identify yourself in the comments section of your post.
Now for the awards.
Reader’s Choice
First Place with 7 votes: Entry #22 submitted by Patricia Wiles
Honorable mentions, a four way tie with 4 votes each (in chronological order):
Entry #6 submitted by Karlene Browning
Entry #8 submitted by Jeff Savage
Entry #9 submitted by Michael Keyton
Entry #21 submitted by Melanie Goldmund
Publisher’s Choice
(Ones I’d be most likely to ask for more…)
First Place: Entry #21 submitted by Melanie Goldmund
This one went immediately to creepy, had wonderful descriptive imagery, and could be developed into a great story/novel. Even though the paragraphs were long and it would read better if separated into more than two, this entry embodied the spirit of horror in a classic style. It gave us a great beginning and I see lots of potential.
Honorable mentions:
Entry #13 submitted by David Woolley
This is a great start to a tween horror novel. With all the inappropriate teen horror out there right now, I’d love to see something like this developed into a scary novel that I wouldn’t be embarrassed to give to my children, nieces and nephews. (If you finish it, let me know.)
Entry #8 submitted by Jeff Savage
This has wonderful descriptive language and a very strong beginning. It would make a great prologue for something really cool. I’d love to read more. (And I don’t care if you call it a prologue or chapter one, it’s still a set up to a story, not the beginning of the story itself.)
First Place Winners: Please send me your mailing address and the title of the book you’d like for your prize—a classic horror book of your choice (must be available in paperback and easy to find). If your entry is the beginning of a full story you may send the entire story to me and I will post it here and also include a link back to your blog or website. (Include the link in your e-mail.)
If you are not one of the first place winners, but you have the rest of your story posted on your blog or website, feel free to post the link in the comments section of your entry.
Advance notice of upcoming Christmas Story Contest:
I’m going to run a Christmas story contest, beginning December 1st. I will post the full stories. Word count limit is 1500 words (although you can do less). I will be dividing the entries into two categories: published authors and unpublished authors, with Readers Choice and Publishers Choice prizes in both categories. Start writing now. I’ll publish more details in a few weeks.
Okay, that’s the last of them. Start voting!
You can review contest guidelines and voting rules here.
Click the label “07 Halloween” at the bottom of this post to bring up all contest submissions.
UPDATED: Got a few e-mails asking for clarification.
1. Post vote in the comments section of the post you’re voting for.
2. Examples of a vote I will count:
“I VOTE for this one.”
“This one gets my VOTE.”
“VOTING for this.”
Notice the common thread? Put the word VOTE in it.
3. Examples of a vote I will not count (because I don’t know it’s a vote):
“Lovely images.”
“This one was really spooky.”
“This one made me shudder.”
Marsha sat in John’s recliner – head bowed, an empty jar between her dry palms. The darkness acted as a whetstone, honing her senses to a fine edge. She detected the Chanel No. 5 lingering on his sweater; his footsteps in the hall irritated her as much as the grind of a dentist’s drill. He’d stopped sneaking in a long time ago – he had that little respect for her. He didn’t care if she was in their bed or not. She knew he wouldn’t turn on the light to find out.
Marsha set the jar on the side table. John screamed and thrashed. The jar vibrated. Marsha smiled, satisfied that her husband was remembering – and regretting – the last words he’d spoken to her, the question he’d so carelessly asked this morning: “Don’t you have anything better to do than collect black widow spiders?”
Just a reminder that all submissions for the Scare-Your-Pants-Off contest must be received by midnight tonight, as indicated by the time stamp on your e-mail. I will post the last of them tomorrow as early in the day as I can.
Voting starts at 12:01 a.m. on the 30th, but you might want to wait until mid-morning to be sure all the submissions have been posted. I will post notification that submissions are closed when they’re all up.
Please review the guidelines on voting. If you click the label “07 Halloween” at the bottom of any of the submission posts, it will bring up all contest submissions.
Feel free to comment on as many as you want, but only vote for three. You must clearly state that your comment is a vote for that submission or it will not be counted.
The morning fog was thicker in the cemetary, and the only sound Claudia could hear was the purring of the buggy’s wheels as they rolled over the fallen leaves on the path. Even Tim was quiet. She wondered if he’d fallen asleep, and leaned down to check, but he was awake, sucking his two middle fingers and staring out in silence at the trees and bushes and the white haze around them. On the grave next to her husband’s, there was a mound that she didn’t remember from her last visit. Funny, it looked as though someone had arranged a body there and simply covered it with leaves. And was it her imagination, or did it smell strange as well? Claudia sniffed, but only caught the usual autumn scent of decaying leaves and moist, cool air. Parking the buggy on the path, she approached the simple headstone to lay down her chrysanthemums. There was a single rose on the stone already, another thing she didn’t remember from last time; a long-stemmed flower that had dried out completely to brittle shades of brown and rust. Trying to avoid the unusually large thorns, Claudia reached out to grasp the stem, only to cry out in pain and toss the rose away. That hadn’t just been a finger prick. It felt like something had bitten her.
The rose had landed on the pile of leaves and Claudia stared malevolently at it for a moment, then turned her attention back to her finger. It was bleeding, and she squeezed more blood out of it in a first, rudimentary attempt to cleanse the wound. Straightening up, she shook her hand so that the large drop of blood that had collected on her fingertip went flying in the same direction as the rose. The pile of leaves shuddered. At first, Claudia thought it was the wind and ignored it, leaning forward to reposition her chrysanthemums on the headstone. But unexpected motion caught her eye, and she looked again. Instead of being blown in one direction or another, the leaves were sinking. They rustled as they tumbled slowly down into the earth, and then the rustling sound changed, and the movement of the leaves shifted subtly. Something was coming up from underneath them. A violent shiver of fear shot up Claudia’s spine to the top of her head, and she had to force herself to take even one step backwards. The smell came first, a gag-inducing stench of rot and decay mixed with the metallic tang of fresh blood. Sliding her other foot backwards, Claudia felt it knock something behind her. She froze for a moment, and then she remembered. The buggy! Tim! Something black was emerging from the leaves now, vaguely human in shape but not at all human in appearance. Trying for a scream but only managing a raspy, breathless “uhhhh,” Claudia whirled, reaching out for the handles of the buggy.
I pushed the shopping cart next to the driver’s side of the car and unlocked the doors. As I opened the door, a wave of heat assaulted me. I quickly started the car and turned the air conditioner on full blast. I left my door open to let some of the heat escape and carefully reached into the back seat and started buckling Julia into her car seat. I tried to calm her protests with a rattle and she grasped it tightly in her chubby hands.
Next it was Olivia’s turn. I pulled her out of the cart and lugged her around to the passenger side of the car. I tried to remain calm as she cried about going to the park. “Maybe later sweetie, please stop crying. Let’s go home and have lunch.” I said all of these things as I struggled to get her buckled into her car seat. Then suddenly the car lurched forward. I cried out in pain as my shoulder caught on the edge of the door. Olivia stopped crying and her blue eyes widened in fear. I looked up and screamed as the car continued to move. A man was in the driver’s seat of my car and I watched in horror as his foot slammed down on the gas pedal.
Lonnie checked her image in the mirror, noting the dark circles under her eyes that even makeup couldn’t hide. She quickly looked away, picked up her tote bag and hurried to the car. She couldn’t be late. She was not unprepared for this ordeal, though her dreams had taunted her otherwise in various bone-chilling scenarios all last night, in between restless moments of
sleep.
As she entered the back door of the chilly red brick building, Lonnie was prepared for whatever fate was determined to hand her. Life had been good to her; she had done her best to be a good person. She had few regrets. She made her way down the hallway to the chamber with painted cinder-block walls and sat on the cold metal chair in the back of the room, erect and outwardly composed. As the clock ticked away, Lonnie did not flinch; fear would not rule her last moments on earth. She began to count her breaths: In, out. In, out. In, out. Then, her heart thumping in her throat, her mouth suddenly cotton dry, she rose to her feet, clutching the tote filled with books, pictures and homemade visual aids to her chest, as the dreaded words were pronounced: “Sister Carrigan will now present Sharing Time.”
At exactly 6:33 a.m. on Saturday, April 6, Suzette’s husband announced on his Web site the revelation that proved without a doubt that he was the Davidic servant, the one mighty and strong; that the Second Coming would take place by the end of the year; and that all previous
pretenders to the position are now counterfeits and must immediately repent or be struck down and lose their celestial inheritance.
Three hours later, when the number of e-mailed and phone in death threats hit double digits, her husband set her apart as an avenging angel (which gave her the authority to violate the sixth commandment), thrust a deer rifle in her arms, and barricaded himself in the
basement with the children and the second wife. Suzette turned on conference, adjusted the recliner so it was facing the front door, sat down with the rifle across her lap, and picked up her tatting.
The late October storm drew Samantha to the window above the kitchen sink. The new neighbor pulled into his driveway and slipped inside, but not before glancing over the hedge toward the window. He was a single man. Probably mid-thirties with a large collection of old-time Boston Red Sox baseball caps and an identical gray sweater collection. At least it seemed he had a lot caps and sweaters unless, of course, he wore the same ones everyday. Samantha shut the blinds and pulled the drain on the dishwater. The day her neighbor moved in he brought with him an antique oval wall mirror with an elegant gold frame. The moving truck brought everything else. Beyond that there wasn’t much she knew of the man who purchased the vacant Hampton estate next door except that whenever she did see him he ducked inside or quickly ensconced himself behind the tinted windows of his red truck that sported a worn and pealing Jesus Saves window sticker. Somehow the man always knew she was watching. She had the same impression whenever she walked from the kitchen to the front door in full view of the entryway mirror. Whenever she saw his red truck in the driveway she avoided the hallway for the same reason she avoided an accident on the freeway. There was something creepy about gawking at a body pulled from the wreckage.
It was odd that their new neighbor never answered the door when she went over to welcome him to Salem Heights. And when she left an invitation in his mailbox to join her and John for a welcome dinner it was returned by post and stamped: No Such Address. She put away the breakfast cereal boxes and went to collect the morning paper when the poorly-latched front door swung open on the blustering storm. She pushed it shut, got down to wipe up the rain and noticed a baseball cap lying just inside the threshold. It must have blown in on the wind. She reached for it when a movement in the hallway mirror caught her attention. Was that the flash of a gray sweater in the reflection?
Yesterday, LDSPublisher hit a milestone. We topped 100 unique visitors in one day. We’ve gotten close to that a few times–97 was the highest. But yesterday this site had 119 unique visitors, 77 of whom were returning visitors.
I just wanted to take a moment and say thank you for the support you’ve all given to me and this endeavor (even Jeff Savage and David Woolley who keep trying to weasel my true identity out of me). I appreciate your comments and the way you’ve jumped in to help each other, answering questions, and pointing out to me when I’m way off base.
When I started this blog back in April 2006, it was on a whim. I thought I’d do it for a few months and readers would get bored and that would be the end of it. It has surprised me that questions keep coming and participation has continued to increase. I have taken that as a sign that my intent to be helpful has become a reality. I hope I can continue to help you on your journey to publication. As long as you continue to send questions, comments and queries for critique (yes, I’m still willing to do that), I will continue to respond.
Thanks again for visiting.
LDSP
PROVO, UT—OCTOBER 23, 2007
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
WHITNEY AWARDS COMMITTEE ANNOUNCES LARGE CASH AWARDS
The Whitney Awards Committee announced today that they will be offering seven large cash awards to be presented at the upcoming Whitney Awards banquet in March 2008. These cash prizes are due to the generosity of the Whitney Awards’ marquis sponsor, ExclusivelyLDS.com.
Founded earlier this year, the Whitney Awards program is a non-profit organization dedicated to rewarding excellence among LDS authors. With the new sponsorship of ExclusivelyLDS.com, winning authors will receive up to $1000 along with their trophy.
The Whitneys offer a total of seven awards. The five genre awards (Best Romance/Women’s Fiction, Best Mystery/Suspense, Best YA/Children’s, Best Speculative Fiction, Best Historical) will each be accompanied by a $500 cash prize. The two overall winners, Best Novel by a New Author and Best Novel of the Year, will each receive $1000.
“We’re very excited about the sponsorship with ExclusivelyLDS.com,” Robison Wells, president of the Whitney Awards Committee, explains. “There is enormous talent among LDS authors, and every year seems to produce better and better novels. This is an exciting time to be part of the LDS fiction industry. Our hope is that these awards will raise awareness about the high quality fiction available from LDS authors, and to draw in new readers.”
Over a hundred years ago, Latter-Day Saint Apostle Orson F. Whitney declared “We shall yet have Miltons and Shakespeares of our own. . . . In God’s name and by His help we will build up a literature whose tops will touch the heaven, though its foundation may now be low on the earth.”
Anyone can nominate a novel published during the previous calendar year in any of seven categories, and a final academy of industry professionals will vote on the final ballot. Nominations are being taken for books published in 2007 by LDS authors at the Whitney Awards website: www.whitneyawards.com
###
CONTACT:
Robison Wells
Whitney Awards President
www.whitneyawards.com
A large mass of cosmic debris fell from the sky and plummeted deep into Lake Hi-Land, located in southeastern Michigan. The water mass that was displaced by the asteroid plumed high in an enormous fountain as waves with tsunami strength dispersed in all directions. The rolling water swept over bridges, drenched farmland and washed over the whole land. It was like a dam had broken and all of the water streamed towards the one city located on low ground on the eastern edge of the lake. Tendrils of water frothed over the banks, soaking all within reach. The wave seemed to move in slow motion as it crested over the town, packed with tourists for the annual Festival. Then time resumed its normal pace as water swelled into the town, drenching every nook and cranny until it subsided in a sodden mess that permeated every inch of ground.
The old-timers felt the chill in the air that made frail bones creak and noses run. It was time, once again, for Hell (Michigan) to freeze over.
*Title changed by request.
Emi prayed it was only the pulse of dense rain against her bedroom window that had wakened her. That the noise, the whispered slide of someone opening the bureau in her mother’s bedroom, wasn’t real. But she knew, knew with all the instant terror that coursed through her veins, it was real. And when she saw a beam of light flash across the wall just outside her doorway, she guessed what it was. A thief.
I awoke with a start and rolled over so violently that I screamed out as pain blossomed in my leg. I sat up and massaged my cramped leg and looked around to see what had yanked me out of a deep sleep. I swung around and tenderly put pressure on my leg, and that’s when I felt it.
The carpeted floor was warm under my bare foot and it was never this warm in the middle of the night. I could see flickering light under the door and knew that I was encountering my worst fear. I felt that if I touched the doorknob, my fingers would be scalded. Sure enough, a finger of flame stretched above the lower hinge, hungrily reaching for me. The room seemed to close in on me as I realized I had nowhere to escape. The fire sucked all of the air from my bedroom and my breathing became labored. It was like an evil presence, biding its time on the other side of the door. Soon it would enter and take me unwillingly into its smoldering embrace.
“Mr. Skelton?” Jenny stepped through the weather-worn wooden gate and inside the yard. “Is anyone here?” A critter ran through the nutgrass without showing its head above the unkempt overgrowth. Jenny pressed the plate of double chocolate chip cookies against her red sweater. Why did she ever agree to deliver these for mother? No one in her right mind ever stopped by the Skelton place. The broken windows in the estate’s towers, the black crows nesting on the electric wires and the rumor of what grew in the garden patch were more than enough to scare her and her seventh grade friends from lingering very long on Hollow Street this time of year. What a bother, these cookies. Jenny hurried through the weeds, up the porch and softly said, “Mr. Skelton, are you home?”
There was no reason to knock and risk stirring the old man. She laid the treats in front of the door, mumbled a happy Halloween greeting her mother insisted she leave with the man and hurried back through the yard when she saw it half-hidden among its own leaves that twisted in and out of the crosspieces on the redwood arbor. It was true, but none of her friends would ever believe she’d seen the wart-skinned fable that appeared in the garden patch each October unless she brought home the vine top. She inched closer, reached past the greenery and when she plucked the prickly vine from the top of the fire-red pumpkin the crows took to flight and the door to the estate flew open. Mr. Skelton chased down the porch with the help of a cane, cursing her and telling her to, “get back girl, get back,” but it was too late. The leaf covered arbor opened like a door to a dark, cold world and a monstrous gust of wind pushed her inside.
Ragan rocked on the old porch pondering his nightmares from the night before. He had hoped the sunrise would have calmed the fearful feeling within him, but so far the morning dawn had only served to make his mood darker still. Some men had normal grandmothers. Ones that baked them cookies and made sure that their bootlaces were tied. They were love and perfection personified. They had kind winkled hands, happy smiles on their faces, and short gray hair that was always well kept. He wasn’t one of those men. His Grandmother was far from the welcoming stereotype. He wondered at the reasons fate would bring her to his memory now, of all times. When he was in later life and far to old to need the influence of any kind of motherly figure. Not that his grandmother had been the mothering type. He was happy with his job. Perhaps he was alone but that didn’t bother him either. He was just fine. He had the boys at the old club where he went golfing every Friday. He was perfectly content to lay all memories of that old witch in the past where they belonged. He shuttered as flashes of his dream came to him, and a picture of the hideous woman he was forced to spend a week of every summer with filled his mind.
She had knarled hands with huge lumps for knuckles–hard, bony, fierce hands that always had something or the other underneath the fingernails. His grandmother had been an avid gardener, but sometimes he could swear that she had dried blood beneath those fingernails. He reminded himself that those were childhood suspicions. Something he had merely dreamed up in a suspicious fit of horror late one night in that atrocious country cabin that hardly held together anymore. Perhaps the fear of the roof falling in on him had permanently damaged his tender childhood soul. He liked that lie. It was a good one. The memory of her visage loomed before him meancing, she had thin gray hair. Oh, how it had reminded him of cobwebs and shadows. It was stringy with grease and sometimes food. It lay plastered onto her skull and dangled dangerously close to the floor. Ragan had loathed it when his grandmother came close enough to let her straggly hair brush against him. Her face, oh mercy, her face was the most hideous thing he had ever seen. It was lined deep with wrinkles that seemed cavernous to his young mind. Like her face had been taken between two large hands and crunched like a piece of paper. Her nose was too small and her lips too large. When she smiled one had a feeling that she would be able to eat you if she opened wide enough. Then he heard her voice just as he had heard it in the dream: Count the crows, my boy, count the crows.