Thursday, October 30, 2014

Dystopian Bloghop Giveaway

Starting November 1st  through  November 7th you could win a $10 Amazon Gift Card so that you
can buy whichever Dystopian Novel your heart desires.

All you have to do is leave a comment in the comment section below. Tell me which Dystopian novel is your favorite or which one you hope to buy with your gift card.

Then, for an extra entry, go here to nominate my new novel, TAKERS: Apocalypse in Eden, for publication by Kindle Scout. You can read an excerpt first - and if it's published, you will also get a FREE digital copy!

Be sure to leave me your email address so I can notify you if your name is chosen. Winner will be chosen through Just make sure to tell me if you should be entered once, or twice!

To return to the main blog page go here

Bloghop co-hosted by April at and Kathy at

Want to look over a list of the most popular dystopian novels? Go here

Best of luck!
Ann Swann

author of TAKERS: Apocalypse in Eden
Please nominate this novel for publication by Kindle Scout

Sunday, October 26, 2014

A Little Horror Story for Halloween

Just a little shiver for Halloween. Originally published in Jitter Press Vol. 2

©Ann Swann
            I watched the evening news, and then went to take my bath. My husband, Andrew, was in bed already. He’d had a very physical day at work. One of the drivers hadn’t shown up so it was left to Andy, the manager, to load and deliver his route. Our freight company was brand new. Andy said he couldn’t afford to let freight sit on the dock, undelivered, not even for a day.
            I loved that about him, that drive to succeed. I was a little worried about the stress—he didn’t handle stress well—but short of volunteering to drive the truck myself, I didn’t know what else to do.
            So I spent an inordinate amount of time in the bath, shaving my legs, exfoliating with the sweet new sugar scrub he’d given me on our first anniversary (because Andy adored sweet, smooth skin). "Just makes me want to eat you up," he’d said the first time I used it.
            When I came out of the on suite bathroom into the dark bedroom, I could hear him snoring. But it didn’t sound like my Andy. It sounded like a chainsaw beneath the quilts.
            Anyone could have been in that bed.
            I suddenly wished I hadn’t watched the news before going to bathe. I became paralyzingly certain it wasn’t Andrew in there at all.  The hump of covers was too large, too lumpy. The chainsaw snores were so loud they were nearly palpable.
            The news had featured a live report about The Lion’s latest victim. The media had dubbed him The Lion because of the way he shredded his victims. The reporter said the last girl was so torn up the medical examiner had to put her back together like a bloody jigsaw puzzle.
            I shuddered and glanced at the growly mountain of covers. 
            That was my Andrew. 
             Had to be. 
             I’d tucked him in myself. He was simply exhausted. 
             He always snored when he was exhausted.
            Seriously. Even if The Lion had somehow gotten in while I was bathing, I would have heard it. Besides, the room would be splattered with gore. The Lion is the perfect moniker. What he did could only be done by an animal. He must have nothing but an empty coldspot where his heart should be.
            My breathing slowed. 
            Silly me. I’m an idiot. Can’t even watch the late news without freaking out.
            I started toward the bed.  The shape grunted.  I’d never heard my husband make that sound before.  Never. 
            I stopped in my tracks.
            The shape began to rise. 
            I backed cautiously into the bathroom and accidentally struck my heel against the half-open door.  It crashed into the tile and the husband-thing rumbled loudly. 
            Without thinking, I hit the light switch.
            “Rosie?  What the hell?” The cover fell away and my Andrew’s tawny, sleep-squigged hair stood out in the stabbing bathroom light.
            I sobbed, rushed to the bed, and dove in beside him.  “I – I watched the news,” I admitted.  “Then I heard something.” 
            Should I tell him I was momentarily certain he was the monster?
            I placed my hand on his chest. 
            No coldspots here. His strong heart beat steadily beneath my palm.
            He folded me into his bed-warm embrace.
            I was so relieved I barely felt the claws when they penetrated my flesh.

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Cool Questions from 8th Graders

I was privileged to be allowed to read to students at Bowie Junior High school a few weeks ago. Here are some things they asked:

What themes do you write about? I write about people who struggle. In the Phantom series, the two main characters struggle with loneliness and with growing up. In All For Love, the woman struggles with so many things from infidelity, to alcoholism, to abortion and suicide. And in Stutter Creek and Lilac Lane, the protagonists struggle just to stay alive.

Who inspired you to write?  Edgar Allan Poe, Stephen King, Mary Stewart (The Crystal Cave); in other words, all my favorite authors

How long does it take to write a book?  From a few weeks to a few months. Writing in first person (like in my Phantom series) is much easier than third person like my adult series (for me, at least).

How do you get over writer's block?  If I get stuck on a story, it usually means my brain is fried, so I’ll go for a walk, or go to Sonic for a diet vanilla Coke. If I write myself into a corner from which I can’t possibly escape, I put that tale aside and start a new one. I have a file of hundreds of ideas for stories.

Were you excited when your first book was published?  Yes! I was also very excited the first time I had a short story published (way back in the dark ages). I remember getting a letter in the mail and literally screaming my head off inside my truck. I think I had picked up the mail and was sitting in there to open it.

Who is your favorite author?  Stephen King — although I have to say his earlier work excited me more than his recent work. I love Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption, The Body (Stand by Me) and stories like that. I also loved The Dead Zone and The Stand. One of his newer works that I like is Joyland.

What is the hardest part of writing a book? Staying off Facebook and/or other social media. I also spend hours just reading articles on MSN, etc. I’m a very nosy person.

How do you decide on titles?  Sometimes the title comes right away, but sometimes it’s later, in the story. And then sometimes, it doesn’t come at all and I depend on friends and readers to help me find it.

Do you have other people help you with ideas?  Hmmm, no. I’m sort of close-mouthed about my ideas, but I do have a writing group (eh, Ms. Harris?) to help with rough drafts.

Do you have places you go to write?  No. Just my computer (s). Or if I get an idea away from them, I write in my iPhone notes or my handy dandy mini spiral that lives in my purse.

How many kids do you have? 2.5 (I inherited a beautiful daughter from my husband’s ex, but she isn’t actually my husband’s daughter. It’s complicated. LOL.)  I also have 5.5 grandchildren ;-)

Do you use symbols? Yes. And I usually don’t even know it until later, when I read it through.

What method do you use to brainstorm? Free writing — I just write without stopping and without thinking. It works best when I’m really tired. Which is most of the time.

What is your writing process? Catch as catch can. I love to write in the morning with a cup of coffee. And I always write the best parts first. I don’t outline, but I do write the ending as soon as possible. It’s like my goal, to get to the finish.

How do you choose your words to create a better mental image? The muse does that. My very best work doesn’t come to me consciously, but subconsciously. I really loved this line from ALL FOR LOVE, “The moonlight was seductive, it lay across the water like a transparent veil across a woman’s hair.” But I have no idea where that line came from. I wrote it out just like that, without stopping. And then I thought, well, I like that.

What is your favorite type of figurative language? Oh, I love metaphors, but similes are easier and they often pop into my work unbidden. I have to cut them out frequently. I also love onomatopoeia. Poe was the expert at making up his own sound words like susurration and tintinnabulation—I try to do that from time to time. I also fall into the alliteration trap sometimes—I love it, but it has to be seeded into sentences sparingly or it sort of starts to suck.

Why did you write Chems?  Awesome question! Chems came from an image of a boy finding a zombie in his dad’s toolshed. But I didn’t want just any old zombie—I wanted a zombie hero. So that’s what I wrote. I decided the government could make one using chemicals. Funny thing is, my cousin and I wrote an entire novel based on this blue pseudo zombie. We wrote every night sending the pages back and forth via email (she lives in Washington DC), but alas, the book somehow devolved into a zombie romance (I know, I know, it really was a horror story then) so it’s now simply lurking about in my Mac seeking asylum from the land of the dead novels.

Thanks for the cool questions kids. Take care and thanks to  your teacher for allowing me to come and invade your classroom!

AfterthoughtThank you, ToysRUs for coming back from the dark side. And thanks to the mom in Florida for helping them see the light. 

Monday, October 20, 2014

ToysRUs Has Gone to the Darkside

And I don't mean the Darth Vader darkside. If only life were still that simple.

Nope, this time the toy giant has gone plumb overboard.
Have you seen this article? 

It says ToysRUs is now selling Breaking Bad characters complete with pretend bags of crystal meth and cash.

They admit they are doing this because sales have been lagging. So yes, it is true Virginia, there is no Santa and the all mighty dollar is the anti-Christ.

My question is, how did we get from Mickey, Minnie, and Barbie to this?

I'm not going to preach long. I just want to say one thing about this ridiculous ploy to make money. My niece is in jail. She, too, thought crystal meth was the ticket to the ball. She will probably not get out of prison until she's in her forties or fifties. This is her second or third time. She once told me meth is so addictive it makes heroin look like candy cigarettes. My once beautiful niece has not only lost twenty plus years of her life, she has also lost custody of her three year old daughter. That sweet baby can't understand why her mommy won't come and pick her up from her dad's house. She says she's visited him long enough, she's ready to go home now. But she no longer has a home with her mommy. Meth took care of that.

Wonder what that sweet girl would say about these wonderful new toys?

Afterthought: What's your opinion? 

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

Time and Bitty

It's Fall. I love this season - allergies and all. But this year it's especially poignant because I'm privileged to be in charge of the last grandchild not yet in school. Yes, I'm that old, but don't tell my inner child, she thinks we're still in our teens.

Bitty is three. He wants to go to school like his Mama, the teacher, and his two big brothers and big sister. On the other hand, he loves being the only one let out of the car at Audie's house in the cool-dark of predawn each weekday morning. Makes him feel oo-oo special (that's super-special in Bitty speak).

He has a slight speech imperfection if you hadn't noticed. We think he's simply imitating his older brother, Dawson, who has a major speech imperfection. They both call their Grandpa, Ah-ha. Do you see the pattern? Audie is Granny, Ah-ha is Grandpa. There is a technical name for this problem, leaving off the front sounds of words, I believe it's called Apraxia. It seems to be inherited. We'll blame it on Ah-ha.

I can't believe time has gone by so quickly that out of the four grandchildren who live nearby, this is going to be my last school year to keep one at home. Technically, he could go to preschool, he actually attends a speech class there twice a week, but I'm going to be selfish. I'm going to keep him with me so we can play and take walks and gather acorns and pine cones, read books and collect tiny black beetles and have paper airplane wars. It may be our last chance to act like children before the world gets us in its immutable grasp.

Afterthought: Thank goodness he's such a good napper. I wrote this while he was sleeping. Now, on to my book.