Today, Do Something You'll REGRET

Dude, there are no words for this, and I think it fits nicely with the Insecure Writer's Support Group going on today (and every first Wednesday of the month). 

Covers can be controversial. Putting your writing out there for others to read can be enough to make you curl into the corner and rock yourself into a coma.

But there is a cover and a story, so I'll just lay it out for you.

About REGRET: Set in the world of Possession and Surrender, this riveting, original eBook reveals pieces of Jag’s mysterious past and the inner workings of the Resistance.

When Jag, the leader of the Resistance, goes missing during a mission, Indy feels like her heart might break. But as Jag’s second in command, she must put her feelings for him aside and take charge. With Jag in the Thinkers’ hands, the Resistance needs Indy’s smart strategy and calm leadership now more than ever. Indy knows that wherever Jag is, he’s counting on her to continue the fight.

But then Jag returns . . . with a girl named Vi.

Indy doesn’t know who this new girl is, or what she has to do with Jag’s disappearance, but she can see the way Jag looks at Vi, and it makes Indy’s heart stop cold. Now that Jag has returned with a new girl at his side, does Indy even have a place in the Resistance?

This eBook-exclusive story includes special excerpts from both Possession and Surrender.

That's right! I wrote that story, and you can read it on April 24! It's only available in digital format, and you can pre-order for your Kindle here and for your Nook here. (You don't have to buy a Kindle or Nook. You can download free apps for your phone, computer, or tablet. Kindle here and Nook here.)

Order today... I promise you won't REGRET it!

Also, because I can't help myself, I have to do an amazing giveaway to go along with this announcement. I have two of these, and you could win one...

I'm using Rafflecopter to collect entries, so you can do any of the following:
1. Pre-order REGRET (10 entries) Link here and here.
2. Like REGRET on Amazon (1 entry) Link here.
3. Like POSSESSION on Amazon (1 entry) Link here.
4. Like SURRENDER on Amazon (1 entry) Link here.
5. Tweet this blog post (1 entry) Click here.
6. Like the Possession by Elana Johnson fanpage on Facebook (1 entry)
7. Leave a comment on this post (1 entry)

Enter below.

a Rafflecopter giveaway
Enter for the next 48 hours only; contest closes at midnight Thursday.

Now, seriously. I didn't think I could ever love a cover as much as the butterfly in ice. But this? THIS? Yeah, I love this. (Insecure writer begone!) What do you think?

Ahh! Look at them together. *faints*

INSIDER INFORMATION

*WARNING* Only read on if you're an Insider. (If you don't know what that means, well, then, yeah.)

Yesterday the YA Scavenger Hunt began. Author's secret content went live, including an exciting short story by none other than myself!

Dustin Hansen designed the cover! Isn't he a genius?

INSIDER INFORMATION: A Possession Short Story is available for FREE in all digital formats.

Click here to get it.

Click here to see Angela Corbett's exclusive part of the Scavenger Hunt, enter to win great prizes, and follow all the hunt action.

A Wednesday Wave

I know I'm a day late and all that. But Christine threw out a topic for a short story writing exercise in June, and I didn't have time to post mine. So here it is.

Her topic: Waves

My story:

The day he met her, his hair fell in inky waves across his forehead. It shone in the weak autumn sunlight as he flagged down a cab. He caught her staring, and raised his hand in a half-wave before realizing that she was a complete stranger. For a moment, the way she watched him felt familiar. Then the cab was there and the driver was yelling at him to get in already.

Time passed. His hair went through an auburn stage. Then blond. Then back to the midnight black that came from a bottle. He'd forgotten what color his hair really was the next time he saw her.

This time, she wore a skirt that slapped at her legs in the winter wind. Her hair fell to her shoulder in gentle waves the color of ripe wheat. He inhaled, almost smelling the grainy scent from his childhood. Almost as fast as a blink, the bus crossed between them and he was left standing on 72nd Street, waving at an empty space.

He crunched numbers in a tall building overlooking the Hudson River. Christmas came. He spent most of that cold day at his desk, the white lights on the tree in the office dark. He watched the waves lap the shore of the river, and he thought of the woman.

Before he left that Christmas day, he booked a single ticket to Kansas for New Year's Eve. The wheat wouldn't be waving, but he knew it was time. With any luck, his father wouldn't be waving a gun in his face as part of the welcoming committee.

He didn't expect to find the woman in another state. But there she was, sitting in the airport with a black leather carryon, her wheat-colored hair pulled loosely into a ponytail. Her eyes mirrored his surprise, a deep blue, the color of the summer Kansas sky.

"Robert Flagstone," she said, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

He didn't know her. But she had haunted him these past few months. "I'm sorry, I don't know who you are."

"Yes, you do," she replied, the grin now taking over her face.

And that was it. She wouldn't give her name, despite his repeated requests. He offered her a ride, but she would only go if he could produce her name.

He couldn't, so he climbed into his rental car alone, flustered and wondering how this woman knew him and he didn't know her. He drove through town, noticing how the holiday flags lining the street whipped and waved in the cruel wind.

Halfway home, he realized who she was. A wave of repressed memories flooded his mind. He pulled the car next to the "Wild Waves" hair salon. With shaking fingers he scrolled through the numbers on his iPhone.

There she was.

"Nora," he whispered, "Flagstone."

When she answered, he asked, "How long has it been this time?"

"Five months, dear."

He couldn't answer. He knew he didn't have to.

"Your parents are waiting," Nora continued. "You seem to know the way."

Robert nodded to himself. He ran a hand through the waves of his inky hair, remembering the familiarity of that first sighting in the fall. He considered going back in time to make that meeting turn out the right way.

But the time travel was the reason he lost his memories in the first place.

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So did you wave it up this month? If not, I'm sure you still can. Let me know if you do! Oh, and let me know if you saw that one coming. I know I didn't as I was writing it.

Odds and Ends, Etc.

Okay, so I've slacked off on several things here at Mindless Musings. The first is the dialog contest thingy I did on my blog, um, gulp, almost three weeks ago.

The winner gets to send me their query letter or their first chapter (up to ten pages) for a complete shredding aka, a critique.

And the winner is...Scott!

Email me the Word document to elanajohnson at gmail dot com. I'll do my best to get back to you in a reasonable amount of time, which may mean something different to you than it does to me. *wink, wink*

Moving on.

Point two: I love these "motivational posters" like the one above. I've put one on my blog every day this week. They're really demotivational posters and you can find them at Despair, Inc. Hilarious!

Next. Books I've read since last time I blogged about it.

8. The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. This was brilliant. Absolutely brilliant--and it combines my two favorite things: reality TV and dystopian YA fiction. I only wish I had thought of it.

9. The Hourglass Door by Lisa Mangum. Seriously, people. This is what Twilight should have been. Read it. Love it. Can't wait for more.

10. Wintergirls by Laurie Halse Anderson. I'm a lover of all things LHA, and she didn't disappoint here. Like at all. Fantastic read.

What I'm currently reading: The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman. City of Bones by Cassandra Clare. Ink Exchange by Mellisa Marr. Yes, all at the same time. Deal with it. Hey, I'm in the double-digits now. That's something right? Right?

And up next...

Flower short stories for the month of May (here's mine). These are the ones I read and know about. I'm pretty sure Christine is going to be throwing out the next topic, so be ready for that any day now.


KLo Abby Eric

Lisa and Laura Christine

Windsong (Danyelle) Rebecca

Melissa Nisa Mandy


If you posted and I missed it, let me know! I'll edit this post for ya.

One last thing: IT'S THE LAST DAY OF SCHOOL!!! I now have the next 2 1/2 months off--meaning I will waste copious amounts of time laying by the pool, watching my kids play sports and / or spending time with family and teenage girls.

Ah, the life.

Phew! I think that ties up all the loose ends. Have a fantastic weekend!

Call For Shorts!

Okay, people. Here's the deal. Several of the awesome blog chainers and I have teamed up to write a short story according to a prompt. We're doing something similar to this post. I'm going to pick the topic this time, and the goal is to get this, write! This is a call for writing from anyone, anywhere, any time this month.

May's topic: flowers. You know, that whole April-showers-bring-May-flowers thing. Well, where I live, the weather in April has been uber-crazy. Snow, rain, sunny, cloudy, you name it, we had it. And holy wind, Batman. So I don't have many flowers as of yet, but that's the topic none-the-less.

Rules: It's a short story. 100 words, 500, whatev. Post it on your own blog sometime this month (inviting others to write according to the prompt) and come back here and let me know when you post so I can read yours. Your story has to have flowers in it somehow. Any which way.

Here's mine to get you started. (<600 words)

There's no link salad, but if you want to link to mine, that would be awesome. I'll collect the links and post them at the end of the time frame.

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I see the rose from down the hall. A red rose. Of course. Xan always gives me a red rose on Fridays. It used to be sweet, but now it’s just old. At least if it was yellow or pink it would show that he’s given it some thought. As it is, it’s just Xan stealing from his dad’s florist shop once a week.

“Thanks,” I say, taking the rose by the thorny stem. I twirl it, wondering how I’m supposed to put my backpack on while holding the flower.

“Where do you want to go?” Xan asks.

I shrug, imagining stabbing myself with the pointed stem. “Wherever.”

He smiles and lifts my chin so I’m forced to look into his dark eyes. “I hate deciding.” That’s Xan-code for hurry-up-and-pick-somewhere-or-I’m-not-taking-you-out-tonight.

“Olive Garden?” I say it like it’s a question.

“Sure. Let’s go.” Xan walks down the empty hall. I guess it is sweet that he waits after school while I go to my debate meetings.

In Xan’s car, I lower my window in the April evening. Reds and oranges color the sky as the sun sinks behind the mountain. Xan rolls down his window and turns up the music until it blasts above the rushing air. He puts his hand on my leg just as I set the rose on the floor in the car.

He asks me something I can’t hear above the music and wind. I glance at him. See something silver just before it slams into the car.

Something electric buzzes around my head. Allergic to bees, I jerk away. A hot pain shoots through my neck, making my throat burn. I try to lift my hand to swat the bee away, but it only gets louder, and I can’t move my arm. Something very heavy weighs it down.

The heat mixes with the floral scent of the rose, radiating off the ground in waves. New smells mingle with the fear and sweat and dust.

Blood. And smoke.

Flashes of light beam through the darkness. Red then blue. Red then blue. White light stays still, focusing on one spot. Sounds exist far away, shouts and cries. I feel the ground beneath my back. Hard and sharp, with lots of little bumps. Warm. Too warm. And sticky.

The white light shines on me, blinding me, even though my eyes are closed. I feel nothing else.

Red then blue. Red then blue.

A white, hot poker enters my head.

Voices argue around me.

The pain recedes as I stand up. Everything is black and white or shades of gray. Xan’s on the ground, his beautiful skin pale, deathly white against the black asphalt. He doesn’t look solid.

Two very solid men work around him, plunging tubes and checking vital signs. Pools of blood flow in black, oily puddles. Smoke still wafts from the demolished front end of Xan’s car.

I look for myself, but my body is already gone. Dark stains litter the road. I look up, wondering if the sky is always this black after death. The sun hangs just above the mountains, an orb of bright white. There is no color here.

I am dead.

I turn, and there stands Xan. His dark hair falls across his transparent forehead in inky streaks.

He’s holding the red rose. The crimson of it stands out against his alabaster skin and black clothes.

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And go!