I met Stephanie through Facebook, and I mean my real live person Facebook. I was just beginning to think about publishing my writing and probably asked all sorts of newbie annoying questions. I didn’t even know what Indie meant. Stephanie is a traditionally published writer and is represented by Brittany Booker of The Booker Albert Agency.
I posted on a mom board, seeking advice (indie or traditionally published and many other questions), and low and behold she was the cousin of someone I knew. She contacted me and responded kindly. She befriended me and shortly after offered to actually read a part of one of my stories (which has yet to be out). It was an eye opener and honestly just what I needed. I learned so much from that critique and I told her that. I was able to apply that to my work and in future critiquing of others. It has helped me to become a better writer—she has helped me to become a better writer. As a small token of a thank you, one my character’s in Turbulent Heart is actually reading one of Stephanie Haefner’s novels in the book. And because of her being willing to be the first person to take the time to talk to me, I'm incredibly grateful to have her be on my blog. If you want to try out a steamy little summer read I gave her Paradise Cove 5 stars friends.
GIVEAWAY!!
I have a blog event giveaway thing going on right now and goes until June 15th. I'd love it if you check it out. Here is the direct link to the post: http://thewriterscocoon.blogspot.com/2013/05/the-big-fabulous-summer-giveaway.html
I posted on a mom board, seeking advice (indie or traditionally published and many other questions), and low and behold she was the cousin of someone I knew. She contacted me and responded kindly. She befriended me and shortly after offered to actually read a part of one of my stories (which has yet to be out). It was an eye opener and honestly just what I needed. I learned so much from that critique and I told her that. I was able to apply that to my work and in future critiquing of others. It has helped me to become a better writer—she has helped me to become a better writer. As a small token of a thank you, one my character’s in Turbulent Heart is actually reading one of Stephanie Haefner’s novels in the book. And because of her being willing to be the first person to take the time to talk to me, I'm incredibly grateful to have her be on my blog. If you want to try out a steamy little summer read I gave her Paradise Cove 5 stars friends.
GIVEAWAY!!
I have a blog event giveaway thing going on right now and goes until June 15th. I'd love it if you check it out. Here is the direct link to the post: http://thewriterscocoon.blogspot.com/2013/05/the-big-fabulous-summer-giveaway.html
Suzy Ayers: What is something people aren’t likely to know about you?
Stephanie Haefner: I dance! I took lessons as a kid but eventually stopped. I started again when I was 22 and I’m still doing it! This is my 14th year! I dance in an adult jazz class with other moms. We even do recital.
Suzy Ayers: Who is a mentor or someone that you look up to/inspires you?
Stephanie Haefner: Many people. I admire anyone who dreams and goes out and makes them happen. Anyone who doesn’t give up. People like that inspire me to keep working hard. Only quitters never succeed. I will succeed someday and seeing others succeed gives me hope that it can and will happen for me too. I hope I can inspire others as well.
Suzy Ayers: What is the biggest piece of advice you find that you give most often to aspiring writers?
Stephanie Haefner: Just keep writing. Write that first book, get it out of you, and then start a new one. If you query that first one and it goes nowhere, write a new one. Keep working, keep improving.
Suzy Ayers: Tell us the book you’re excited to share with us...excerpt/cover/link
My Karma books- A Bitch Named Karma and Karma Kameleon. These hold a special place in my heart. The first was the second book I ever wrote and I loved the characters so much! That book was shelved a couple times and it’s been rewritten many times. Finally it found a home and readers loved Lexi and her story! It was my first full length publication!
Links are listed here: http://lyricalpress.com/a-bitch-named-karma/
Stephanie Haefner: I dance! I took lessons as a kid but eventually stopped. I started again when I was 22 and I’m still doing it! This is my 14th year! I dance in an adult jazz class with other moms. We even do recital.
Suzy Ayers: Who is a mentor or someone that you look up to/inspires you?
Stephanie Haefner: Many people. I admire anyone who dreams and goes out and makes them happen. Anyone who doesn’t give up. People like that inspire me to keep working hard. Only quitters never succeed. I will succeed someday and seeing others succeed gives me hope that it can and will happen for me too. I hope I can inspire others as well.
Suzy Ayers: What is the biggest piece of advice you find that you give most often to aspiring writers?
Stephanie Haefner: Just keep writing. Write that first book, get it out of you, and then start a new one. If you query that first one and it goes nowhere, write a new one. Keep working, keep improving.
Suzy Ayers: Tell us the book you’re excited to share with us...excerpt/cover/link
My Karma books- A Bitch Named Karma and Karma Kameleon. These hold a special place in my heart. The first was the second book I ever wrote and I loved the characters so much! That book was shelved a couple times and it’s been rewritten many times. Finally it found a home and readers loved Lexi and her story! It was my first full length publication!
Links are listed here: http://lyricalpress.com/a-bitch-named-karma/
EXCERPT FROM A BITCH NAMED KARMA:
I stomped down the hall, ready to raise some hell. A hand-written sign had been plastered to the door: Sheila Brown— Editor. The scent of a black Sharpie wafted into my nostrils as I pounded on the door. I heard a screechy “Come in” and found a middle-aged woman sitting behind the desk.
She flipped through a manuscript and didn’t look up when I strode through the door. “I’ve read all your books, Ms. Marshall, including the latest.”
“Oh, I see.”
She was well prepared for only being on the job one day.
“Marisol Takes Manhattan, your newest and first in a series.” She paused to push her glasses up on her nose, and I awaited her praise. “It absolutely sucks.”
Feeling like a vacuum had sucked all the air out of my lungs, I struggled for oxygen. Everything around me went gray and the words “absolutely sucks” echoed in my brain over and over. I’d slaved over this book for the better part of six months, making every sentence perfect.
A shrill laugh blared into my ears. It sounded familiar. I couldn’t place it, but knew it didn’t come from Sheila. She sat emotionless.
“What do you mean? Are you sure you read the whole thing?”
“Yes, every boring, plotless, cliché-filled word.”
The room started to spin and a tingle radiated throughout my legs. Fearful that I might black out, I moved a box of office supplies from a chair and sat down. I breathed slowly and deeply, staring at her, wondering if I’d heard her right. How could she possibly say that? I was Lexi Marshall—a multi-published author. Women adored my books. They devoured them. This malicious statement insulted every fiber of my being.
My temperature began to rise as bewilderment changed to anger. Ms. Editor handed me my disc, then ripped some sheets from a legal pad and shoved those at me, too. They were filled top to bottom with chicken scratch.
“I made notes for you. Revise and have it back to me in two weeks.”
Finally finding the confidence and attitude I’d possessed before entering her office, I asked, “And what if I refuse?”
“Then you can try and sell your garbage to another publisher.”
* * * *
I left the office, stomping down the street with my jaw clenched tight like a pit bull’s. I expected the pressure to crumble my teeth, but instead it gave me a massive atom-bomb-like headache.
How could this happen? Women everywhere loved my books. This Sheila had no friggin’ clue. Who the hell was she to tell me how to write my novel? An archaic, styleless shrew couldn’t possibly know what today’s fashion forward woman wanted to read.
I seethed and walked on, remembering my massage appointment. The thought of hot rocks being rubbed on my skin sounded excruciatingly painful. I just wanted to go home and drown myself in a bottle of my favorite cabernet. The fact that it was only ten o’clock in the morning meant zero to me.
I keyed into my apartment and Cha Cha ran up to me, jumping around, her tiny painted nails scratching at my leg. A hyper dog was the last thing I needed to deal with. Pushing her away, I grabbed the wine from the kitchen and walked toward the bedroom. My body yearned for the high-powered jets of the whirlpool tub.
As I approached the door, high and low pitched moans sounded from behind it like a porno flick on full volume. Were Betty and Floyd screwing again? My eighty-year-old neighbor’s bedroom butted up against mine. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d heard them getting it on mid-day, but they’d never been this loud before. I walked into my bedroom and found two naked bodies on top of my velvet duvet, the woman wearing my black hooker boots. Zak’s hairless, perfectly tanned ass pumped up and down and neither of them even noticed me there. I threw the bottle of wine on the floor, shattering it on the hardwood.
“Oh my God!” the woman exclaimed, pulling a purple beaded bolster pillow in front of her. My boyfriend lay naked between her thighs and her first thought was to cover her flabby boobs?
Zak jumped off the bed. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“Oh, so you weren’t screwing this slut just now? I didn’t hear her screaming your name?”
He stood there, a bright pink condom still standing erect. He looked to the floor and I took this simple action as an admission of guilt.
“How could you?” I managed to ask, looking from Zak to the woman. “And in my boots!”
I turned and ran from the apartment, flew down three flights of stairs to the street and kept on running. I didn’t know where to go, but I had to get away.
As my feet pounded on the pavement, I heard the laughing again, this time even louder. Could everyone on the street hear it, or just me?
Surely I looked like a crazy woman as I ran down the sidewalk dodging in and around pedestrians, nearly taking a header into a produce stand. I slowed down after that—last thing I needed was a concussion. Couples walked past, holding hands, cuddling. Yeah, they looked all mushy and lovey-dovey on the outside but I bet those women didn’t know. The guys were probably getting some on the side, too. I scowled at a passing male and when I wasn’t paying attention, the heel of my favorite pair of Manolos caught in a sidewalk vent and snapped off.
“Can this day get any worse?” I asked the gods, an invitation for more disaster. As the words came out of my mouth the sky darkened and a feeling of doom enveloped me. A truck zoomed by, splashing my cream cashmere coat with the dirtiest, grime-filled muck water imaginable.
I stomped down the hall, ready to raise some hell. A hand-written sign had been plastered to the door: Sheila Brown— Editor. The scent of a black Sharpie wafted into my nostrils as I pounded on the door. I heard a screechy “Come in” and found a middle-aged woman sitting behind the desk.
She flipped through a manuscript and didn’t look up when I strode through the door. “I’ve read all your books, Ms. Marshall, including the latest.”
“Oh, I see.”
She was well prepared for only being on the job one day.
“Marisol Takes Manhattan, your newest and first in a series.” She paused to push her glasses up on her nose, and I awaited her praise. “It absolutely sucks.”
Feeling like a vacuum had sucked all the air out of my lungs, I struggled for oxygen. Everything around me went gray and the words “absolutely sucks” echoed in my brain over and over. I’d slaved over this book for the better part of six months, making every sentence perfect.
A shrill laugh blared into my ears. It sounded familiar. I couldn’t place it, but knew it didn’t come from Sheila. She sat emotionless.
“What do you mean? Are you sure you read the whole thing?”
“Yes, every boring, plotless, cliché-filled word.”
The room started to spin and a tingle radiated throughout my legs. Fearful that I might black out, I moved a box of office supplies from a chair and sat down. I breathed slowly and deeply, staring at her, wondering if I’d heard her right. How could she possibly say that? I was Lexi Marshall—a multi-published author. Women adored my books. They devoured them. This malicious statement insulted every fiber of my being.
My temperature began to rise as bewilderment changed to anger. Ms. Editor handed me my disc, then ripped some sheets from a legal pad and shoved those at me, too. They were filled top to bottom with chicken scratch.
“I made notes for you. Revise and have it back to me in two weeks.”
Finally finding the confidence and attitude I’d possessed before entering her office, I asked, “And what if I refuse?”
“Then you can try and sell your garbage to another publisher.”
* * * *
I left the office, stomping down the street with my jaw clenched tight like a pit bull’s. I expected the pressure to crumble my teeth, but instead it gave me a massive atom-bomb-like headache.
How could this happen? Women everywhere loved my books. This Sheila had no friggin’ clue. Who the hell was she to tell me how to write my novel? An archaic, styleless shrew couldn’t possibly know what today’s fashion forward woman wanted to read.
I seethed and walked on, remembering my massage appointment. The thought of hot rocks being rubbed on my skin sounded excruciatingly painful. I just wanted to go home and drown myself in a bottle of my favorite cabernet. The fact that it was only ten o’clock in the morning meant zero to me.
I keyed into my apartment and Cha Cha ran up to me, jumping around, her tiny painted nails scratching at my leg. A hyper dog was the last thing I needed to deal with. Pushing her away, I grabbed the wine from the kitchen and walked toward the bedroom. My body yearned for the high-powered jets of the whirlpool tub.
As I approached the door, high and low pitched moans sounded from behind it like a porno flick on full volume. Were Betty and Floyd screwing again? My eighty-year-old neighbor’s bedroom butted up against mine. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d heard them getting it on mid-day, but they’d never been this loud before. I walked into my bedroom and found two naked bodies on top of my velvet duvet, the woman wearing my black hooker boots. Zak’s hairless, perfectly tanned ass pumped up and down and neither of them even noticed me there. I threw the bottle of wine on the floor, shattering it on the hardwood.
“Oh my God!” the woman exclaimed, pulling a purple beaded bolster pillow in front of her. My boyfriend lay naked between her thighs and her first thought was to cover her flabby boobs?
Zak jumped off the bed. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“Oh, so you weren’t screwing this slut just now? I didn’t hear her screaming your name?”
He stood there, a bright pink condom still standing erect. He looked to the floor and I took this simple action as an admission of guilt.
“How could you?” I managed to ask, looking from Zak to the woman. “And in my boots!”
I turned and ran from the apartment, flew down three flights of stairs to the street and kept on running. I didn’t know where to go, but I had to get away.
As my feet pounded on the pavement, I heard the laughing again, this time even louder. Could everyone on the street hear it, or just me?
Surely I looked like a crazy woman as I ran down the sidewalk dodging in and around pedestrians, nearly taking a header into a produce stand. I slowed down after that—last thing I needed was a concussion. Couples walked past, holding hands, cuddling. Yeah, they looked all mushy and lovey-dovey on the outside but I bet those women didn’t know. The guys were probably getting some on the side, too. I scowled at a passing male and when I wasn’t paying attention, the heel of my favorite pair of Manolos caught in a sidewalk vent and snapped off.
“Can this day get any worse?” I asked the gods, an invitation for more disaster. As the words came out of my mouth the sky darkened and a feeling of doom enveloped me. A truck zoomed by, splashing my cream cashmere coat with the dirtiest, grime-filled muck water imaginable.
Suzy Ayers: Where are you going next? What is your next project/book?
Stephanie Haefner: My agent currently has two manuscripts she’s trying to sell and I’ve started two new manuscripts!
Well we cant wait! So glad to have you on my page. And glad to show people that Indie or Trad pubbed we can all support each other. We all have the same love of writing, books, and the want to give our readers the best product.
If you want to Find Stephanie or her books look no further:
Twitter | Facebook | Blog/website
Goodreads Pinterest
Stephanie Haefner: My agent currently has two manuscripts she’s trying to sell and I’ve started two new manuscripts!
Well we cant wait! So glad to have you on my page. And glad to show people that Indie or Trad pubbed we can all support each other. We all have the same love of writing, books, and the want to give our readers the best product.
If you want to Find Stephanie or her books look no further:
Twitter | Facebook | Blog/website
Goodreads Pinterest
RSS Feed
