“They don’t speak English,” she said curtly. “Let’s see if there’s an alternate entrance we can use.”

​They grumbled, but allowed her to lead them back around the block, down an alley, and to a side door that was guarded by three more armed men. These men looked slightly less disreputable and Cassia allowed herself the faint hope that perhaps they wouldn’t shoot her or treat her like … well, like the others did. She approached the one man who looked more European than Asian. Perhaps he understood English. 

“Excuse me, do you speak English?” she asked, noticing that her group hung several yards behind her as if bullets shot from those ugly weapons wouldn’t travel past her. “Español? Français? Deutsch?” 

Vladislav wondered if lightning had just struck him. He felt utterly stunned and every cell in his body sizzled and sang. She is the one. His father always said he would know his soul mate when he saw her—as when the old bastard had seen his mother—and this incredibly powerful urge to claim, protect, and love this particular woman had to be a true herald. He whispered the words he had learned from his father and were engraved upon his heart, the words low and guttural and thrumming with ancient power that gathered and pulsed on the tip of his tongue. 

The woman showed no impact from his words. She merely looked at him, her expression showing a temper fraying from exasperation. The linen of her prim, navy blue dress had wilted in the heat and humidity and clung to a slender, gracefully proportioned body no professional dancer would have been ashamed to claim. Tendrils of hair the color of winter sunshine had escaped confinement from the neat coil pinned to the back of her head and curled languidly in the heavy air. Her eyes were startlingly violet and lushly fringed. A thin, almost imperceptible scar traveled the length of her left cheekbone and disappeared into the hairline. He thought her beautiful. 

“I speak English,” he replied after a moment in an intriguing accent, his cool eyes alight with interest. 

“Oh, God, not again,” she muttered beneath her breath. She took another breath to compose herself, smiled her most professional smile, and asked if someone was available to escort her clients into the hotel so they could return to their conference. 

“You don’t know what happened, do you?” he inquired with a faint grin that concealed the sudden surge of rage wanting to be unleashed at whoever had been foolish enough to insult this woman. His woman.
​

A young freelance writer posted advice on LinkedIn with which I strongly disagreed. She suggested that "freshers" (meaning those new to the profession) build their portfolios in the following manner:

1. Write sample articles for free. DON'T. Some potential clients ask for free work to demonstrate the writer's worthiness for hire. As a general rule, I advocate against that. First, many of those potential and unscrupulous clients use that tactic to acquire content without paying for it. Second, doing this devalues the work and the profession. Third, how many professions grant free work in exchange for the opportunity to be considered for hire? When was the last time a contractor offered to tile the bathroom floor for free in order to be hired to tile the kitchen floor? Or does your mechanic offer a free oil change or engine tune-up so you'll hire him to flush the transmission or fix those squeaky breaks? Does your physician offer a free check-up so he'll get your business when you're sick? Of course not.
2. Create a fake portfolio. DON'T. By this, the individual suggests the new freelancer rewrite advertisements and other marketing collateral produced by companies for which he or she would like to work and post those ersatz projects in his or her portfolio. It's an interesting idea, although I don't know how effective it would be. Honestly, it seems fraudulent, too. After all, you can't say "I did this for that company" when the company didn't hire you to do it.
   
3. Start a blog. DO. Blogging serves multiple purposes. First, it shows off your writing. Does it engage? Is it well written? Does it display your command of language and grammatical conventions? Second, it can showcase your in-depth knowledge of a particular subject or your ability to tackle an array of topics. Third, it demonstrates continued productivity, especially if you post on a regular and routine basis. Fourth, it helps to expand your network, particularly if someone reads your blog entry and shares it to his or her own social media network.
   

Better--or at least less deceptive--tactics than the first two above for a new freelance writer to build his or her portfolio are as follows.

1. Contribute to other blogs. You may even wish to reciprocate with the blog's owner. Contributing content to other blogs gives the writer "publishing credit" for having his or her content posted (published) on another site. Make sure you get the byline for your own work when doing this.
2. If you're a member of a professional, trade, or charitable association, then submit articles to that organization's member newsletter or magazine. In this way, you'll share your knowledge, expertise, and insights with colleagues and have publishing credits.
3. Write stories and essays and post them on your website for free download or distribute them to your social media network(s). Many authors do this with the first book in a series. That free first book is considered a loss leader, given away with the intent that readers will enjoy it enough to purchase the rest of the books in the series. For freelancers, a similar idea may be to post short stories or articles as a gift to readers. When submitting proposals for freelance gigs, these stories help build the freelancer's portfolio with creative demonstrations of writing expertise.

Terminology matters. Giving a potential client a free article shows nothing more than a writer is willing to work for free. This begins a race to the bottom when it comes to negotiating pay. However, giving an article as a gift carries an entirely different connotation. A gift has value. It represents a generous donation of time and skill.

As for those potential clients out there looking to hire a freelance writer, please don't ask for writers to compose original content without compensation. Not only is that unprofessional, it's exploitive and bad business. Refer to the writer's portfolio where he or she will showcase his or her best work. Open those writing samples and determine whether that writer's skill meets your needs. Then go from there.

​#henhousepublishing #freelancewriting #freelance

​Nearly a century ago, Rowan Nemed died by lightning strike. The divine bolt ignited something magic and she was transformed into something rare, powerful, and fey: sidhe.

Sidhe survival depends much upon one’s ability to remain hidden from other supernatural creatures and magic users who would exploit them. Rowan has lived for several years in the pressure cooker of Hollywood as a set designer, carefully staying away from the camera. However, a spontaneous act of recognition for her work brings Rowan to the notice of Los Angeles’ supernatural community and her freedom is threatened.

Lion shifter Adrian and vampire Simon are best friends and business partners. When they discover Rowan, each wants her for his own. Rowan does her best to dissuade them, for a supernatural matebond means the end of her freedom.

Then demons begin hunting sidhe and Rowan is a prime target. She agrees to exchange her freedom for survival. But which male will Rowan accept? And can she survive when one of them dies in a battle to keep her?

This is the first of three books in The Tree of Life trilogy. The book can be read as a stand-alone novel.

“Something besides being shot is tormenting her,” Adrian said. “Her every muscle is vibrating with pain.”

“It’s the steel,” Simon said after a brief moment’s consideration. “Elves can’t tolerate iron and the bullets are probably steel clad.”

“That must be it,” Adrian agreed. “The steel is poisoning her.”

“Look at the edges of the exit wound,” Simon observed, pointing at the back of her shoulder with the finger of his free hand. “The edges are cauterized. The iron burned her.”

Adrian cast an ironic look at his partner and added, “Like silver burns you.” He pondered that a moment and then said, “Since silver burns you and her blood burns you, it’s a good bet that she has silver in her blood.”

A knock on the door captured their attention.

“That must be Elena,” Adrian said. “I’ve got my arms full. Would you mind answering your own door?”

Simon was loath to leave his partner alone with the unconscious and bleeding elf, but saw no other good option since he could not hold her while she still bled. At least the bleeding had become sluggish and thick. He rose and dried his hands and left the bathroom to answer the door.

“Hello, you must be Elena, the nurse,” he said brusquely. “Please come in. We’re having a bit of an emergency.”

The nurse looked him over and suddenly went very still.

“What are you?” she demanded coldly.

“I’m Adrian’s business partner Simon,” he responded equally coldly.

“Is that Elena?” Adrian’s voice carried from the master bath.

“Yes, she’s coming,” Simon called back and stared into the woman’s eyes. “I will not harm you. Have no fear and do as we ask.”

The nurse’s shoulders relaxed and she agreed to assist in a somewhat distant voice. Simon bade her enter and she did, her movement wooden. He closed the door and led her into the bathroom. Adrian glanced up, his automatic and charming smile fading immediately.

“Let her go, Simon.”

“She’ll panic,” the vampire warned.

“Try using charm for once, instead of compulsion,” Adrian said snidely. “Now release her. She can’t think properly if you’ve got her mind and body locked down.”

Simon shrugged and released control over the nurse, who immediately opened her mouth to scream. As she inhaled, Adrian sharply called her name to grab her attention.

“Elena! Calm down and help us. This woman’s been shot and needs healing,” he said sharply.

“That’s charming?” Simon murmured dryly.

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