Title: From
Blood to Ink
Author: Brynn
Myers
Genre: Fantasy/Paranormal
Editor: Liz
Ferry at Per Se Editing
Cover Designer:
Emily Wittig from Emily Wittig Designs
Publisher:
Indigo Ink Publications
Publication
Date: April 30th, 2021
Hosted by: Lady
Amber’s PR
Blurb:
Indigo James
was a successful author until the day she got writer's block, and everything
changed. Weeks turned into months without anything but fleeting thoughts and
half-ass ideas. That is until the day she met Mila Aeress—aka the Goddess of
Chaos. Suddenly Indigo is thrust into a world she only thought existed in
books. Now she's bound to her writing for a completely different reason. Her
life and her works are more than labors of love; they're a matter of life or
death. Each new manuscript becomes a book of sacrifice when her blood literally
turns to ink.
Brynn
Myers is a paranormal romance author. After considering writing a hobby for
years, she finally turned her passion and talent into a career. She came into
the paranormal genre later than most but has always loved fairy-tales and all
things magical. Using that love, she creates charmed worlds by writing stories
involving passionate, strong-willed characters with something to discover.
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They
should be simple enough. I mean, everything begins with them, right? A single
letter can be a word. A series of words become sentences. A series of sentences
become paragraphs: papers, short stories, novellas, novels. Sounds easy, and
yet as I sat there staring at a blank page, I couldn’t for the life of me seem
to put my thoughts into a cohesive flow.
I
was suffering from a severe case of writer’s block, and my muses seemed to be
on the longest coffee break ever. This would have been all well and good if I
weren’t under a deadline with my publisher. Naomi had been kind enough to give
me three extensions but had made it clear there would not be a fourth. I sent
her some pages in hopes she’d take pity on me, but instead, she emailed them
back to me in a bold, harsh font and told me they lacked my usual passion and
fire and to go back to the drawing board.
Nine hours later, I was still staring at a blank screen. Hope of any inspiration knocking me over was as cold as the cup of coffee and a half-eaten chicken sandwich sitting on my desk. Nothing was working—not the junk food or the caffeine. Maybe I should grab some chocolate and alcohol, I thought. Wasn’t it Ernest Hemingway who said, “Write drunk, edit sober”? Hell, what did I have to lose at this point?
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