Tuesday, February 27, 2018

7 Ways to Avoid Writer's Block (Preview)



Hey guys. I've decided to use Tuesdays to share writing tips on my Patreon on page and also here on my blog. Here's a preview of the full article from my Patreon Page. (Subscribe & sign up for the Silver Package to gain access to all of my writing tips.)












1. The Word Count Sand Trap
Stop paying so much attention to word counts! Just STOP! You want to be creative and to actually BE creative, you have to feel free. That means eliminating as much unnecessary pressure as you can. I am old school so I prefer to write with pen and paper for all of my first drafts but, whenever I’ve tried to write directly into the computer, setting word count goals just always felt like another obstacle that distracted me from what my REAL goal was…which was to write great material. I’ve had days when I’ve only written a single page but, THAT single page turned out to be incredible. Those magical single pages of prose sometimes defined entire novels because of how powerful they ended up being. 










2. Freestyle…Often
Consider free-styling as a warm-up to whatever serious writing you have planned. When you’re not feeling particularly inspired about something you’re working on, try free-writing about anything, a song, something on the television, or your day up until that point. It will get your mind working and revved up.









To read the rest of my Tips for Avoiding Writer's Block, go to my Patreon Page and sign up for the Silver Package subscription to have access to ALL of my writing tips. 


Wednesday, February 14, 2018

WRITER WEDNESDAY - Featuring Loretta R. Walls (Embue)

Happy Valentine's Day guys. Today, in the spirit of showing love, I'm going to feature one of my favorite people on the planet. I have lots of love for her and after reading about her, I hope you guys show her love as well. She is one of the most talented, inspiring and overall awesome people I know. Follow her on social media and DEFINITELY read her books. 

15 QUESTIONS
Loretta R. Walls (EMBUE)


1. When did you realize that you wanted to be an author? When I was thirteen. I knew I wasn’t seeing “me” in the books I had been reading. I wanted to write a book but never thought of myself as an author, especially not back in 1987.

2. How did publishing your first book change your process of writing? Oh, it didn’t change my process at all. I’m an outliner, first and foremost. That is the foundation of anything I plan to write.

3. How many hours a day do you write?  Time varies for me being that I work a full-time job and a family to care for. I sacrifice my lunch hour most days and write a lot in the evenings and weekends. Every so often, I’ll take a day off from work and hit my local Starbucks for that “author feel” away from home.

4. Do you view writing as a kind of spiritual practice? Absolutely! I listen to music, which drives me mentally, emotionally and spiritually, especially when the character has a moment in his or her life. Writing for me is release from the world and its pressures. Sometimes, I get more satisfaction from typing at breakneck speeds, than speaking aloud.

5. What was your hardest scene to write? The ones that cause me to cry, usually something pertaining to death, a loss of some sort or the breaking of a bond. They resonate heavy through the characters and I feel it in my soul.

6. Do you hide any secrets in your books that only a few people will find? Yes. All the time but sometimes, I’ll wait until I meet them in person to answer those questions. Book fairs are the best because I can spend more time with the readers and thoroughly explain whatever it is they wish to know.

7. What is the most difficult part of your artistic process? Ensuring that my characters are full of life, regardless of their role in the story. I’m always studying that factor when I read and write.

8. What is your favorite part of your creative process? Feeling the characters blossom inside my head. When I can see and hear them, it is amazing to me.

9. How long on average does it take you to write a book?  It depends on the story for me. If it is a part of a series (Tiffany Rivera series) I take up to six months (I used to take a year to write one novel); however, most of my short stories/standalones average about 50-60K words and take about three to four months on average.

10. Does your family support your career as a writer? Yes! My sister buys and reads my books, my husband and daughter travel with me to events as well. Other family members read my books and spread the word where they live too. I am very appreciative of their support.

11. What are common traps for aspiring writers? Following behind what other authors do! Stop that. Find your niche, your style and let the readers get to know you for you. Once you find your writing style, no one can take that away from your legacy.

12. What’s the best way to market your books? Word of mouth. Put the book in a person’s hand, let them embrace your work and see what happens. Social media is good too, but when I’m out and about in the streets, a business card is my best friend after a simple conversation. Always have those on hand; they are your global passport to reach readers.

13. What does literary success look like to you?  Awards, accolades, being recognized in the literary community by book clubs, book reviews, feedback and looking at my catalog of published works remind me that I’m successful daily.

14. What is your favorite childhood book?  I loved Dr. Seuss, Sweet Valley High series, Little House on the Prairie series, and the Nancy Drew stories.

15. What do you want readers to know about you and your writing?  I am just a woman that has a very active imagination and forms novels to escape reality. My novels reflect all the things I want to explore in some fashion, therefore, the characters I create are my blueprint to be free. To learn more about me, please visit: www.nucherte.net where all my social media is listed. Thanks so much. 


Monday, February 12, 2018

Sample from "The Hottest Cup: Chapter 2"

Hey guys. As always, thanks for stopping by the blog. "The Hottest Cup" is a steamy romance that I've created exclusively for the folks who've subscribed to my Patreon page . Every week I'll be adding a new chapter. Last week, I posted the chapter where and Andressa and the narrator met in a bar during a lop-sided WOrld Cup Soccer match. That meeting ended in some hot sex at the end of their evening together. (Sign up for the Patreon Page for even the BRONZE tier which is only $2 a month to read it.) Today's sample is a little tease from the next chapter where I share what happened the morning after. Enjoy.


"The Hottest Cup"
by Keith Kareem Williams

CHAPTER TWO

The next morning, I woke up and wondered if I had dreamed everything that had happened the night before until I rolled over in bed and smelled the faint, lingering sweetness of Andressa’s perfume in the soft fabric of the pillow where she had rest her head after we both finally fell asleep, completely exhausted. I buried my face in it to inhale and savor her scent, just as I had buried my face between her thick thighs to taste her sweetness the night before. Then, I rolled over to peer over the edge of the bed and saw our clothes, still carelessly discarded on my bedroom floor. Her sexy lace panties and bra lay there like Cinderella’s glass slipper but she wasn’t gone. She was nowhere in the bedroom but, something coming from the kitchen smelled delicious and I was starving. I went to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth, (and pee) before I went to investigate what she was up to.

***

“Good morning,” I said as I walked into the kitchen and found two glasses of orange juice along with two plates of perfect, golden-brown pancakes on the table and Andressa standing in front of the stove, barefoot and wearing one of my white, button-up shirts.
“Good morning,” Andressa answered in her thick, Portuguese accent. “Sit down. I’m making bacon and then we’ll have breakfast.”
I sat down at my small kitchen table and studied her as she finished making breakfast. There were many wonderful things about her that I noticed for the first time. Of course, when we had first met, I paid attention to the obvious; her hair, her curves, her eyes and her smile but there was much more that I hadn’t had a chance to study. Right before her left butt cheek which was only halfway covered by my shirt, at the top of her thigh was a dark brown birthmark that was almost shaped like a butterfly with one wing. On her right forearm, there was another dark mark but I was almost certain that it was a bruise. I hope that I hadn’t been the one to put it there. Our sex had been intense but I didn’t remember being rough enough with her to hurt her like that.

“I would have made you a Brazilian dish but you don’t have any of the ingredients I need,” she said as she walked over to the table with a skillet full of sizzling bacon. She held the handle with one of my potholders as she slid a few crispy strips into our plates, right next to the stacks of fluffy, golden-brown pancakes. “Next time, I’ll make you something from my country,” she said after she put the hot skillet back on the stove and sat down at the table with me.
“That would be nice,” I answered. “If it tastes as good as you, I’m sure I’ll love it,” I flirted.
“You’re too much,” Andressa answered and blushed.

*** I hope this sample made you curious to read more. To read the rest of what happens, subscribe to my Patreon Page. ***

Sunday, February 4, 2018

SEXY ON A SUNDAY

Here's sample from a story that I'm going to be posting on my Patreon page on a weekly basis for my subscribers. I hope you guys decide to sign up for whatever tier fits your budget and remember, even at the BRONZE tier for $2 per month you get access to all the stories I'll be posting to the page.
And now....

THE HOTTEST CUP
By Keith Kareem Williams

It was summertime in the big city and there was an unusual buzz in the scorching streets around a sport that we, the pessimistic, gritty citizens of New York, usually didn’t particularly care for. We only sacrificed precious time from our hectic lives for physical contests that were hard-hitting, brutal, fast-paced and most importantly, high-scoring. Even baseball, one our beloved national pastime, was dying a slow death. (Any sport where the television commentators had the time to casually drone on about weekend fishing trips in-between exciting plays was doomed.) In a crowded sports bar in lower Manhattan, on a Tuesday afternoon, we beer-drinkers and lovers of liquor were all there to watch the World Cup, of all things. Thanks to the constant barrage of relentless coverage and promotions on all of the top sports networks, soccer, better known as Futbol in most parts of the world outside the U.S., had become the new novelty that had temporarily grabbed a hold of our collective short attention spans.
The United States had already been eliminated from contention by Germany despite a valiant effort, mostly from out thirty-five year-old goalkeeper, Tim Howard, who at times mad superhuman save after save with the full weight of America’s pride on his back. The way he defended against Germany’s skilled strikers’ onslaught made him appear as if he was thirty feet tall. Our interest could have waned after that defeat but, we were all there on that day to watch soccer anyway, hopeful that the host country’s home team heroes of Brazil would stomp the mighty Germans, the villains that had just bounced our guys from World Cup contention just a few days before.
Once the match started and it immediately became obvious that it was going to be a painfully lop-sided, old-fashioned ass-whooping, (The Germans scored THREE goals in the first seventy-six seconds of the match which is UNHEARD of), most of us turned away from the big-screen televisions, get back to discussing the off-season news stories about our favorite sports and concentrated on getting drunk. After all, we were in an establishment that’s main function was to serve alcohol…and lots of it. While we speculated about which of the big named, free agent basketball stars might end up switching teams and signing huge contracts with different franchises, I spotted her sitting at a table all alone.
In the entire bar, she was the only one whose teary eyes were still glued to the television as she watched the painful massacre masquerading as a futbol match. Even though she must have been absolutely filled with shame, she seemed unable to look away as Brazil put up zero resistance and Germany continued to score goal after goal. I was surprised that I hadn’t noticed her before because, out of all the patrons in the place, only her darker skin tone was even close to my own. I made my way towards her, past guys in European-cut business suits who were busy boasting about how much money they were going to make this quarter, all of whom were all too narcissistic to notice a beautiful woman, literally crying her eyes out right in their midst. Most of them probably spent too much time in front of mirrors admiring their own awesomeness to notice beauty in anything else. When I was only a few feet away from her, I saw how truly gorgeous she was.
The forlorn female in the yellow T-shirt didn’t notice me as I tried to make eye-contact to gauge how she felt about my attention being on her. (If a woman frowns, looks puzzled or rolls her eyes when she catches you looking at her, it is best not to even approach her to save yourself a heap of grief and embarrassment.) The Brazilian flag printed boldly on the front of her top was warped and stretched because of the size of her breasts but I tried my best not to stare. Most women hated that. Her nose was broad but perfectly fit the shape of her face and she pouted with thick, full, luscious lips that shined with whatever gloss she had covered them with. Her kinky, curly, jet black hair was styled in a wild ponytail and she stared at the TV screen with eyes that were ocean blue which was unusual for someone with her complexion. I found it extremely sad that she should sit and mourn her nation’s humiliation alone so I bought two drinks at the bar and then pulled up a chair right beside her at the round wooden table.


*** 
“Hello, my name is Andressa,” she told me in a thick, Portuguese accent after I introduced myself and offered her one of the two rum and cokes I sat down next to her with.
If she had refused I would have just guzzled both of them myself. Andressa smiled, and accepted the tall shot glass of liquor. She eyed it suspiciously at first before she eventually shrugged her shoulders and gulped it down all at once. She grimaced as it burned her throat, then turned her attention back to the match. I decided to watch it as well without hounding her with conversation that she was probably not in the mood for. It made no sense to hound her when her focus was somewhere else. As the cameras panned through the stands in the stadium, the Brazilian fans, draped in flags and varied patriotic regalia looked more like mourners at a funeral than sports fans. They might as well have been wearing black instead of their national colors as they wept from disappointment and shame. I handed Andressa a napkin as the first of many tears rolled down her chocolate cheek.
“I know how you feel,” I leaned close to her and whispered in her ear.
“How could you?” she asked. “America lost but, at least they put up a fight. This is disgraceful so how could you possibly know how I feel?”
“Oh, you’d be surprised. I’m a New York Knicks fan and THEY haven’t won a championship since three years before I was born,” I joked in an attempt to brighten her mood.
She finally turned from the television to look at the exaggerated, sad, disgusted, frustrated expression on my face and smiled. She had a grin that was mischievous and mysterious enough to inspire a burning desire to know what she was thinking. Her eyes reminded me of a tropical ocean deep and clear enough that you could see right down the depths to the sandy bottom.
“Are you from here?” she asked.
“Yes, I was born right here in New York, more specifically Brooklyn. Lived there all of my life,” I answered.
“I was born in Brazil, obviously,” she said, stretching out the front of her shirt to show me the flag. “But, I love it here in this city.”
“Have you ever been to Brooklyn?” I asked.
“No, I haven’t had a chance to. I’ve only been living here for a few months. My apartment is just a few blocks from here. I’ve been to Times Square though. It’s so nice,” she told me.
“Times Square is pretty but, it’s not really New York,” I said.
“Why isn’t it?” she asked, somewhat puzzled. “It’s one of the most famous places here. I used to daydream of seeing it one day for myself when I was back home.”
“Times Square is pretty but, it’s like a glammed up model with way too much make-up on. That part of Manhattan is what big corporations think tourists want to see…the wonder, the fabricated fantasy and all of the hype but it’s not real. It’s not authentic New York,” I explained so passionately that I seemed to spark a burning curiosity that I could see burning behind her big, bright, inquisitive eyes.
“So, what is real Mr. Brooklyn?” Andressa asked and leaned closer to me as she waited for my answer.
That’s when I looked directly into her beautiful chocolate face, swam in the deep blue of her unusual eyes and boldly said, “Let me show you.”
Five minutes and two drinks later we were out the door, on our way to my part of the town that never closed its eyes.

*** 
By the time either one of us realized how fast the time had flown by, the sun was long gone. When we finally did look up, only the pale moon swam in the black-as-ink skies above my beloved Brooklyn. We had stood in the shadow of the beautiful basketball arena where I made her close her eyes while I described all that used to be there before the Nets brought the team over from New Jersey. We went window shopping in a few of the unique boutiques and when she got hungry, I took her to dinner at one of my favorite spots to eat authentic, West Indian food, just like my Granny used to cook. Everywhere we went, I had a story to share, either from my city’s history or from my own rich memories. I shared with her the soul of my home, past and present. The twinkle in her eye let me know that she was falling in love with it all, just as I had always loved it from the day I was born. At the end of our adventures and tour, we found ourselves sitting outside at the promenade at the end of Brooklyn Heights, (Or the beginning, depending on how you looked at it.)
We sat on the benches and stuffed our faces with cheesecake as we looked across the water at the towering, brightly-lit skyscrapers of Manhattan.
“It looks so different from here,” she said to me.
“It IS different from here,” I answered, putting one arm around her and pulling her close. “All of THAT is the glitzy, tourist attraction,” I said as I pointed. “It’s just a mask, a front, a dolled-up pretty face but make no mistake, places like Harlem, Southside Queens, and Brooklyn are the soul of this metropolis.”
“You love your home,” she said.
“I really do. I get homesick every time I’m gone for too long.”
“It’s a beautiful thing, to love something so much, with such passion,” she sighed.
“Well, I’m a passionate man,” I said with a smile.
After that, there was silence between us for a few minutes. I wasn’t quite sure why she had suddenly gone quiet but, things still felt right, even without us exchanging a single word for that time and I wasn’t about to ruin the moment or alter the vibe. I didn’t interrupt her thoughts with clumsy questions and I let her feel what she was feeling until she was ready to share.
“Take me to where you live,” she told me and although I had not anticipated that request, I didn’t hesitate to oblige her.

*** 
We didn’t make it inside my place before we started kissing and peeling off each other’s clothes right in front of my door. I fumbled clumsily with the keys, desperate to get inside before my neighbors heard the commotion, stuck their heads out into the hallway and caught us both in heat and  half-naked. With a smooth click, the lock finally opened and we stumbled inside after I turned the knob. Andressa had already undid my belt and opened my jeans by the time I closed the door behind us. At the pace we were going, we would never make it to the bedroom.


To read what happens next, CLICK HERE to stop by my Patreon page and sign up.


Saturday, February 3, 2018

A New Platform


One thing I've learned about book lovers is that they are some of the most amazing people on the planet and they also have a ravenous appetite for great reads...stories that stay with them long after they've read the last page. Since I started on this journey, that's what I've always tried to give them. 

On most days, it's a mental and creative workout to keep up with their demands. As a full-time author, I've always had to try to find a balance between sharing new material to keep my audience engaged in-between book releases and dedicating enough time to actually write the novels that keep the bills paid. Then, there's the HUGE chunk of time that I have to dedicate to promoting the books, both online and also out in the real world, getting my hands dirty, wearing out the soles of my sneakers, deep in the trenches. (I'll get back to that in a bit.)

Recently, I've noticed that certain social media sites are purposely limiting the organic reach of creative, self-employed entrepreneurs like myself. I did a bit of brainstorming and realized that the only thing left for me to do was to adapt to what the cyber jungle is now.

By chance, or by fate, I stumbled across a site where I could share my work with folks who actually want to read much more work from me. Instead of posting to sites where I would get thousands and thousands of views but not much engagement or interaction, I can now share directly with my audience intimately and exclusively as well. One of the beautiful things I've learned about my real audience is that they're all more than willing to support my work because they genuinely want to see me win. Honestly, my goal is to have enough supporters of this Patreon page that I can spend even MORE time actually creating and a little less time hustling books hand-to-hand out in the streets.

Since the end of 2017, I've been working on a ton of new material in many different genres. I can't wait to share what I've been cooking up in my lab.

I hope you decide to check out the new page and it would be awesome if you joined. Every subscriber helps me get closer to my goals. Even at the BRONZE level, you still get access to the new stories I'll be posting.