Monday, May 30, 2011


Can I tell you how not excited I am to write this blog? There are very few things I would rather be doing than writing this specific blog and they go like this:

1.) Die
2.) Contract and incurable disease (see one)

So that’s that, now on to the drama. The new official release date for PIGMENTS OF MY IMAGINATION is, no later than June 25th… That is worst. case. scenario. There were quite a few reasons this happened. The first is, I got sick. I work outrageous numbers of hours a day on writing, editing, and everything that goes with that—and it’s not conducive to getting sick when I am at the wire. The second reason is, the only person who could have potentially gotten through me that and on schedule had a death in the family. My #1 does so much for me, including holding my hand. There are also a dozen other reasons I’d list but I’d burn the steaks I am cooking on the grill.

ANYWAY I hate talking about that sort of thing, now on to the good stuff.

*GOOD* Chapter 3 will be available for your viewing pleasure early this week. Soon.


SKELETON LAKE is a dark young adult paranormal romance. It will be available July 2011 (the end of July)

Monday, May 23, 2011

Chapter Two of PIGMENTS & Other Free Things

No matter how many times I post my work on the internet I am still flood with the brief feeling that I am going to vomit. I must be in to that sort of thing, because I like doing it.

Want an easy way to score yourself a PIGMENTS OF MY IMAGINATION bookmark? Tweet about the book and one is yours! Comment here and one is yours!*

*Now here are the stipulations. I will mail internationally with the understanding it will take me longer to get it out. I hate the post office and it hates me, I have stamps and envelopes standing by for US addresses. Since something INSANE could happen, people like free I am going to put an outrageous cap on the number of bookmarks I can give away. This time we will say 100

Until the book is released at the end of the month, I am also running a blog follower contest! If you invite someone here and they become a blog follower comment and let me know it was all your doing. (Honor system) and I will send you something else also very awesome.

PS- If you won a poster bare with me, the mailer tubes I ordered for them ended up being the wrong size.



     As far as dark underground lairs went, the basement of the Chateau De Mont was crowded and typical. The micro windows that lined half the walls of this coffin were shut and covered in a thick brown slime. They let in little light and were likely killing the soul of William Blake. His shoulders hunched so far over that they nearly touched his knees when he sighed. At nineteen he was far too old for this sort of thing. He was also the youngest person in the room by nearly twenty years.

He wondered idly, lips pursed in a thin line as he sketched the faces of the few men he had never seen before, why The Illusionists didn't spring for classier digs. They were rich enough. They were also evil, and this was likely as close to a dungeon as they were going to find in Galveston, Texas. As it was, he didn’t know how they got a basement this deep on an island at all, but it was always best to avoid asking questions.

Michael, who stood before the room, composed, benevolent, was less William's father and more of a tyrannical overlord. With his hair the color of a panther's and his deep set eyes, he certainly looked the part.

Wistfully, William dreamed of castles with drawbridges and moats, but his fingers never stopped their hurried slide across the paper before him. His mouth twitched upwards as his blond bangs fell further into his eyes. Then he caught himself and chomped down so hard on the inside of his cheek that blood pooled in his molars.

He couldn't laugh, he couldn't even smile. If William even looked like he had enough time to daydream his father would further pile on his assignments then demand even more, and he was almost positive that would be the end of him.

 William just wanted to think of castles in peace. He could almost smell the murky stone hallways, but that was probably just the basement. He hadn't thought of castles since he had drawn one when he was six, which was sadly one of the first memories he had. William had copied a stone fortress he had found in a book with uncanny accuracy and far more skill than a child twice his age should have. It had a red door and a tower. He had been more proud of that painting than anything in his life, and William would recall forever the face Michael had made as he put his fist through it.

A waste of time, his father had called it. Because William's only subject should be people, he should only do portraits, for then and for the rest of his life--or the rest of Michael's life, but William was starting to suspect his father was far too evil to just die.

There was no air conditioning in the basement, but it was cold and William didn't think he was sweating. So when the face below his charcoal pencil blurred as something dripped between its eyes, William assumed he had made an unfortunate error. His light eyebrows knitted together as he wiped his hands across his pants. His jeans already bore half a dozen other smudge marks.

When another drop landed mid-thigh William knew it wasn't him. His head shot up, and the ceiling sagged beneath him, bulging and dripping from its center. Swearing, he lunged for his notebook on the table in front of him. He managed to save it, but he wasn't quick enough to keep himself from being completely soaked.

With his black t-shirt now clinging to him awkwardly, William did his best to right himself. He kept his sketches at arm’s length, water sliding down no further than his wrists in wayward little rivers. The sound of the water hitting the linoleum floor with eerie little splashes was almost deafening.

Every set of eyes in the room, all of which had previously been avoiding him, were now turned his direction. All but Michael’s, who slammed his book closed and abruptly ended the meeting. Even though the leak was in no way William's fault, he knew he was only an empty room away from being blamed for it anyway.

He hung his head and desperately wished he had the power to disappear. Unfortunately, he never met anyone with that specific gift. Cold water still dripped from his neck and arms as he realized that his day had just gotten a whole lot more complicated. William hated complicated. Complicated meant bad things for him as far as Michael was concerned. Most children didn't tread through each day hoping to avoid even one conversation with their father, but for William it was best to be quiet, do as he was told, and avoid Michael's gaze at all cost.

He knew Michael was glaring at him right now. Though the basement could have doubled as a meat locker and he was still drenched, William could feel the fire that threatened to burn him to cinder. He felt it across every bit of flesh, deep into his bones.

There were flames behind Michael's eyes that smoldered like no man’s eyes should. What Michael did with those eyes was evil. So many horrific deeds has been done with that power, so many that William had lost count, and all he could remember was a lifetime of terrible, terrible things. Things all done with nothing but a thought and a glance.

William knew that what he could do was not as inherently bad as what Michael could do, but he still used it to do awful things. He had convinced himself that was worse. He had a choice between being good and being what he was, he told himself. Even if Michael gave him no choice at all, he liked to believe it was true. He hated himself for it, but he refused to admit he had no free will because no one could live without it for long, and the years under his father’s control were starting to eat away at him.

Most of the attending members of The Illusionists had immediately fled the room. They, like William, knew that even if they were innocent they would likely still feel the fire. Though it had been weeks since anyone had been completely burned alive, no one believed Michael would change, and they knew it was only a matter of time.

William flung himself back into his wet chair and waited for the inevitable. His skin still felt hot, but he knew it was unlikely he would ever totally feel Michael's special form of damnation. After all, if Michael hadn't needed him, he would have done away with him before he was born. Sometimes William thought death might be easier; it would surely be less painful.

As Michael stomped closer, William tensed. He could feel his middle starting to kindle. He tried to look away. The moldy gaping ceiling, the slime covered window slits, the blue lint on his shirt, anything was better than Michael's red eyes. Even if they didn't show scarlet in a way that most people could see, William knew what they really looked like. He could see plainly what was truly there.

William counted the seconds until words began to fly from his father's mouth, stinging words to match scorched skin and his scorched soul. He waited, but the hate and pain never came, and in a moment the heat was gone.

It felt as though the ceiling had collapsed upon him all over again. As the fire had burned him, he had easily forgotten he was still wet. But the fire had only been real in his mind, as it always was until it destroyed you. It had done nothing to dry him.

Oliver Buchanan had intercepted his father, and William loved him for it. Oliver had always been more of what William thought a father should be. He was kind, encouraging, and as a senior member of The Illusionists, he managed to redirect a fair amount of Michael’s anger. Just as he was doing right now. William suspected Oliver always knew the right things to ask.

Oliver had gentle gray eyes, and a matching gray beard. He never looked like he should belong here among the wicked, but with his easy smile, William was sure he could belong almost anywhere he wanted.

Not daring to spare another moment on the two men, William snatched up the rest of his belongings. Quickly and soundlessly he ran through the basement doors and up the narrow stairs to the ground floor. He could smell the fresh air as soon as he reached the lobby.

William knew he should be heading home. Michael, who never let him attend a real school, was many things, including a merciless headmaster. The sun beckoned now, through large and pristine windows, and William craved the company of living things. A clicking noise escaped his mouth as he weighed his decision. The hotel staff didn't even look up as he strolled by the front desk.

The revolving door whooshed with his mind as he made his final exit. The sun was even warmer than he had imagined, summer refusing to relinquish its hold to fall, as it was still weeks away. Mature elm trees lined the sidewalks in front of the hotel, their leaves a luxe green that William desperately wanted to paint. He wished that he had brought his watercolors and that the color reminded him of things besides the pigment of lying eyes.


Friday, May 20, 2011

Writers are easily distracted, just like YOU. (ME)

I have a backlog of blogs I have set aside to share with you on days I am really needing to unplug; oddly this is not one of them. That’s because the next blog on the pile is titled “The Books I’m Not Good Enough to Write Yet.” and that is sort of epically depressing. I don’t want to share that, I don’t even want to know that, I want to stuff my fingers in my ears and tune it out LALALALALALAA of course then I’d have no fingers to tweet with so it wouldn’t be worth it.

What was I saying again?

Oh yeah, writers are easily distracted. I’d say, on the scale of distract-ability, 1 being always, adult onset ADHA like my husband distracted, and 10 being me. I can write in my notebook with one hand, while the TV is blaring, with one ear bud in playing Fall Out Boy,and dinner in the oven, all while tweeting with my other hand—no sweat. This is Angela Write Now’s natural habitat. Anxiety inducing for most, I find comfort in the familiarly of the stress. I am great under pressure, I am always under pressure, but I always preformed until this week, and I knew it was coming.

In a world where all I had to do was write, and even edit I’d never crash, I’d never burn. In real life, I made the decision to publish my books on my own (and with a few of my bestest friends) and that requires a different kind of work than I am used too, and it’s harder on me than I thought it would be. I haven’t really be all forthcoming about everything that is going on behind the scenes, that’s just me. I like it to appear effortless.

When I changed my careers game plan, I thought at first I’d try it and see how it went. It was a bit of a contest really, but the more I learned, the more I saw, the quicker I realized that wasn’t at all how it worked. So then I came up with a new plan. This plan involved putting out six books, including Pigments of My Imagination in 2011.

NOW BEFORE YOU GET ALL BENT OUT OF SHAPE I should admit that, all  but one of them is written, and all of the ones that have been have had most of their editing/revision done. So breathe. No fainting or obscenities. I work quick, I’ve written over thirty books.

The reason I chose Pigments of My Imagination for my first release was because I had long ago come up with the idea and had no plans of a sequel. Zilch, but as of this last edit I can say the possibility is now there UGH—still unlikely. The other reason I chose it, was because it was a good midway point for my writing. I think I have two modes, me, and Angela Kulig darkside. She’s a bitch but relatively harmless. She just writes books like Skeleton Lake. More on that later.

OK, what even was the original reason behind this blog? Even I don’t know anymore.

Oh yeah. I need to be completely distraction free Friday- all day, and maybe even the rest of the weekend. I am the chick who tweeted her way through the 3 Day Novel Contest and laughed about it afterwards. So not being on Twitter is going to KILL ME.You will still see me, because I will  have some auto things and maybe some things sent from my phone. I will still be checking email and coordinating with my editor Allison Ridley but that is it. Please don’t be offended if I don’t reply to your @’s till Monday.

Speaking of MONDAY that happens to be the day I post chapter 2 of Pigments of My Imagination.

Also Monday is the return of #writingatgunpoint

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Congratulations! If you are reading this; you are not a bottom dweller.

I wish that I could assure you that just by reading my blog, you will instantly become a better writer; that you will be the next Amanda Hocking or that agents will get back to you right away. I just can’t. I can’t even make those things happen for myself at the snap of my fingers, but there is something I can promise you, and it’s this: If you have made your way here, then it is likely you seek out other writers. That is good news because it means you are less likely to publish an ebook with the worlds worst cover (friends don’t let friends use clipart!) that you are less likely to write the wrong sort of query letter (YOU SHOULD TOTES REPRESENT MY EPIC MIDDLE GRADE FANTASY THRILLER SUSPENSE SOFT ERROTICA ALMOST ENTIRELY COMPLETED AT 250,000,000 WORDS. I AM AWESOME AND HAVE A DOZEN UNNESSISARY SEQUELS PLANNED) basically you are far less likely to make preventable mistakes.

Today I had some ones ebook land in my lap. I wont tell you by which means the birdie ended up there, but I will tell you this. It was that bad. The kind of book that SOME people think the indie and self service types are all writing, and I had to wonder; how did this happen? Will it happen to me? Will it happen to you? Not likely. I can’t promise we are all on our way to instant best seller status, but you would be hard pressed to make all of these errors.


1) Error One Book Cover: This particular number had a completely unrelated stock photo (landscape) it did not even fit across the whole virtual cover, and it was BORING. Some people will fight me tooth and nail on this, but if you want to sell your book to more than just your friends and a hand full of other writers it needs to be in a pretty, or at least intriguing package. I don’t care how rich and creamy the center is. Keep preaching that people should be able to see how awesome your book is through the crap, I’m done listening because no matter how well you did, you would have done better.

2) Too much dialogue. Sometimes people should have just written a script. The book I read today made me need to double check I hadn’t stumbled into reading bad fanfiction by an 8th grader from another country. Dialogue is a great way to break up action, or so I have been told. No where do people discuss those who just write conversation pieces.

3) Failure to hook the reader from the beginning. The first sentence of this book contained a lot of words, and they were all written in English yet somehow they didn’t seem to go together in anyway that made sense. It was run on, it confused me. Give me crap, and I go looking for crap. Give me magic, and I look for magic. I wont tell you which side of that you should be on, but I read the thing six times and it made less sense each go.

So now the lesson: Today make friends with writers! And remember: Friends don’t let friends use clipart!

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Blogger Fail= YOU WIN!

I have made a decision to just give everyone who commented on the first chapter of PIGMENTS OF MY IMAGINATION an awesome bookmark. That being said, I know there are still some comments missing, so even if you don’t see yours there you still won. Honor system!

To claim your prize, please send me an address where you would like your bookmarks mailed. Please allow a little longer for international deliveries, post offices hate my soul and you actually have to go for there for that. Send your info to angelajkulig at gmail dot com


Comment here so I know to look for you!

I Can Has BLOG awards now!

I am what some bloggers would call a “Spill my guts” blogger.

I’m Angela, and I am addicted to telling you the complete truth as it randomly slides into my brainwaves. I’m OK with that. Oh darn I just dropped a Ritz sandwich on my keyboard.

Anyway, I do the blog for me. I know I should be doing it to promote my books—or some other far worthier cause but I do it because I like it. So I was a bit shocked to find out other bloggers wanted to give me shiny things for it it~~

Melanie McCullough who can be found here: Gave me the VV Award, and Kayleen Hamblin who can be found here: gave me the SB award THANK YOU THANK YOU the pretties and the rules do follow:


Here are the rules of this award:

1. Thank and link to the person who nominated you.
2. Share seven random facts about yourself on your blog.
3. Pass the award along to five buddies whose blogs epitomize said theme.
4. Contact those buddies to congratulate them.

Here is who I have picked to receive this next: (I will be contacting you soon!)
1. VB Tremper
2. Billie Jo Woods
3. Rhiannon
4. Ash
5. Jen


This award comes with a few rules:
1. Thank and link to the person who nominated you.
2. Share seven random facts about yourself.
3. Pass the award along to 5 new-found blogging buddies.
4. Contact the winners to congratulate them.

Here is who I am passing this on too:
3. Patrician Lynne
5. Jamie McHenry 

If you will notice, they have the same rules, you will also notice they both require seven random facts about myself. Well, you are in luck! I could think up random facts about myself every day for the rest of my life, so I decided I’d do 14! If none of these make you laugh or think, then you are DEAD to me.

Fact 14: All facts about me are completely random.

Fact 13: I make giant poster board progress charts for my WIP’s because I like it always looming over my head, and not because I like the smell of permanent marker. I swear.

Fact 12: I have 147…148 books in my house I have not read yet. NOT including reference books, which I rarely read anyway.

Fact 11: I have considered starting virtual witch hunts for people who slam anyone who does not traditionally publish. Yes, we would all love to be JK Rowling, but if you are screaming at the non legacy authors from a mountain at the top of your lungs you, on some level, feel threatened. If they were so inconsequential that they don’t even register as a BLIP on your radar then you wouldn't be talking about them at all.

Fact 10: I will read the blogs of authors who are more successful than I could ever dream of being, to motivate myself when I have all but given up.

Fact 9: Since I discovered Amanda Hocking’s blog I pretty much stalk it. Not in a creepy stalker fangirl kind of way, but she intrigues a different part of me than most writers do. I will preface this by saying most of my friends are writers, but most of them do not listen to the same kind of music I do and she does. SO I find myself wishing she weren’t the most famous writer on the interwebs so that I could drop her a line. Though I would still probably be way to shy to do it.

Fact 8: I am the most social, antisocial person you will ever meet. I am a Libra and that makes me occasionally want to be the center of attention which I do on an occasional whim, crave, but I don’t want to be everyone's best friend. I don’t want or need to have something to do every weekend (unless you count writing) I’d rather just sit around with ink all over myself and read.

Fact 7: Somehow I have Word in Spanish which sucks because my Spanish is worse than my English, and French.

Fact 6: I am half Hispanic, don’t be confused by earlier post, or my whiteness.

Fact 5: I walked away from an internet fight I want to start last week, and I have regretted it ever since. Someone, said last week that 99 cent ebooks were RUINING American Literature. She said it to a blog full of literary types, and was bigger and badder than sad little Angela with her <70 be them AWESOME blog followers so I just let it be BUT I AM GOING TO TELL YOU! You know what is ruining American Literature? The fact that it’s UNCOOL and UNACCESSABLE to people who would be a fantastic market for it! Here is a news flash for the people who think they are only worth something with an outrageous dollar amount attached to their name. People can’t afford food and a roof over their heads, if you think they can afford to drop $25 on your hardback book you are BLIND and an asshole retracted. Winking smile

Fact 4: I could talk about that last subject all day, one day there will be a blog post about it here.

Fact 3: I tend to write in SUPER run-on sentences when I am upset or excited about something.

Fact 2: I listen to Arcade Fire so the hipsters wont beat me up. I listen to PANIC! At the Disco because they are my favorite band.

Fact 1: I am deathly afraid of failure, but I strive for it anyway. It keeps me going with out getting my hopes up.

Sunday, May 15, 2011


While we are waiting for blogger to put back everything that is missing—and thus conclude our last contest I have a new one! I wanted to post and awesome give away for Friday the 13th but as Blogger was down most of the day, that was a no go. Here is me making up for it.

I need your help! Help me pick my new Twitter Icon and Win! I took updated photos of me with my atomic turquoise hair, which one do you think is best?

Comment on which one you think I should pick, and 3 lucky winners will Receive PIGMENTS OF MY IMAGINATION bookmarks, and everyone who picks will be entered to win the PIGMENTS OF MY IMAGINATION grand prize.

I will throw something extra in, if you win a book mark AND manage to guess my age! Here is a hint, legal and less than 30. ;) If you know me in real life you don’t get to blurt it out either ;)




Yes, I am a strange one. Thanks for playing!

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

So, what about that grand prize?

Remember how I said if you won a prize in my other contest (and even more contests TBA) you were entered to win THE GRAND PRIZE?

Well here it is:

DSC03272 DSC03274

I should really take a picture of me sporting mine. ‘Cuz it’s AWESOME! Now some back story. There are only 3 of the bad little birdies in existence. One for me, one for my number one, and the third one THE GRAND PRIZE. They are hand crafted by Patricia Lynne at AND best of all, on just like it makes an appearance in PIGMENTS OF MY IMAGINATION.

If you missed out, yesterday I posted a wave of new contests and they are just the beginning! You can catch them on the post below, as well as the first chapter of PIGMENTS.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011


It’s Monday! Usually, like the rest of the world, I loathe them. Not today!

I have been waiting so long to be able to share Chapter One with you.

PIGMENTS OF MY IMAGINATION is a YA Urban Fantasy Romance, and will be available by the end of the month

Contest: Comment and win! 3 random comments on this post will receive an awesome PIGMENTS OF MY IMAGINATION bookmark. Those three winners will also be entered to win the grand prize! What is the grand prize you ask? Well, I am going to tell you on Wednesday. It’s awesome, take my word for it.


In addition to commenting to win, you can tweet and win! Make sure you @angelakulig but if you tweet my blog link you will be entered to win a PIGMENTS OF MY IMAGINATION POSTER! Also, I hate to have to say this but you do need to be a blog follower to win.


All entries for this give away must be in by Friday the 13th at 12:01am Que the Twilight Zone music



Chapter One


It was hard for Lucia to see around the boy that stood before the easel, but she swore the birds on his canvas just moved. Large white birds with feathers so detailed she was convinced if she stroked them they would be softer than in real life. From her position in the doorway the feathers shone in the classroom lights like they were the summer sun.

They were swans, she realized as she bent her neck to get a better look.

This boy, she thought, must not be a student. He hardly looked older than her, but he painted with all the skill of a master. No ordinary boy could paint a pool of blue that would really ripple below flawless webbed feet.

She might have stood there forever, her mind going numb from the sheer impossibility of it--eyes wide, watching the taut muscles of his back. He moved his arm quick and precise, making one stroke after another, his light brown curls falling to the base of his neck, shaking with the effort of his work. She needed him to turn around; she needed to see his face. She needed to know if he was real.

He couldn’t be.

She opened her mouth to speak to him just as one of the swans gave a loud squawk. Lucia gasped as it pulled itself effortlessly into the starry sky of the painting.

At first, she was convinced she had caused the boy to ruin his masterpiece, but that was not the case. With odd control, and a loud sigh, he raised his arm and sliced a large Midnight blue line across the whole of the canvas, stilling the birds in one stroke.

"It's not nice to stare," he said without turning around.

His voice sounded cold, but it was pleasant, and it hinted at how nice it would sound if he weren’t furious.

In Lucia's mind a nice apology was forming, but those were not the words her mouth wanted to say.

"How did you do that?" she asked.

The blue diagonal line that had ended the dance of the swans dripped from the weight of the thick paint. He did not answer.

"I thought," he finally said, "that this was an advanced art school. Clearly, you should be familiar with how one paints."

He was antagonizing her, and it made self-doubt creep up through the floor and back into her heart. Of course she knew how to paint, and as far as she was concerned what he had been doing was impossible. She huffed. A burst of hot hair shot out from her chapped lips, and she swore the boy chuckled before turning around.

He stared at her with his light blue eyes just like the reflective bits on the pond he had just painted. She couldn't look away. She never wanted to.

"No." Lucia breathed. "how did you make them move?"

This time the boy didn't bother to conceal his laughter, which was every bit as icy as his voice. Whatever the joke was, Lucia knew she wasn't in on it.

"I know what I saw," she muttered.

The boy frowned. His watery eyes searched hers for something. For what? She had no idea, but she felt the desire to back slowly out of the doorway. Instinctively she braced herself there instead. Her hands reached out to grasp the cold industrial metal frame.

"I know," she repeated, "what I saw."

And this time, she said it for him.

The boy's smile returned, but his lingering gaze didn't feel any warmer. He laughed again, and slung a paint splattered messenger bag over one shoulder.

"Look, kid;" he said, "I'm good, but that is impossible."

He strolled to the doorway where Lucia still stood. Suddenly he was so close she could smell what she assumed was his soap. It mingled with the smell of oil paint and was oddly comforting.

Cocking his head to the side, the boy said nothing as Lucia stood there obscuring the only exit.

Finally, he asked, "Am I being held hostage? Or are you planning on letting me go anytime soon?"

Lucia felt her face flush as a bell clanged loudly behind her, saving her from any further embarrassment. She took a step back, willing herself to not gawk at him as he sped down the hall.

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

What do you want from life?

So, I had this lovely poll to see what you guys found important in regards to book promotion. I talked about my marketing background, and thus I have a few ideas.

Well blogger keeps eating my polls, so while I avoid work on that issue I wanted to show these off:


They are pretty awesome. These are not cheap-o plain cardstock bookmarks Spot UV, silk laminated printed and of course LOVELY thanks to @JenBrookman over on twitter. Seriously guys I am starting to think she can do ANYTHING.

Anyway there will be all sorts of awesome ways to score yourself one of these in the next few months so stay tuned!

And don’t forget PIGMENTS OF MY IMAGINATION will be out at the end of the month!

Sunday, May 1, 2011


Are you holding your breath?

Are you turning red with anticipation?


I knew you would be!

The winner is:

JEFritz for her post:

“Skeletons do regret. Drowning was the easy part. The beautiful but ghastly bones of broken boys & false flesh are now Marlow's whole world.”
Ooh, this does sound dark. The only thing that bothers me is the mention of regret when there isn't a specific mention of what Marlow actually regrets--dying? Also, I'd like to hear more about the story and what Marlow is up against. Overall,great writing and voice.

I’m sorry I can’t give you everything you want to know about my book SKELETON LAKE in 140 characters or less, but I can give you this AMAZON gift card!

I got 56 followers on my new blog meaning the gift card should be worth $28 but since that is totally lame, I am going to round up to $30

Feel free to DM me your email address on Twitter to @angelakulig or comment here for the best way for me to contact you!

Come back Monday when we get going on our pre PIGMENTS OF MY IMAGINATION spectacular. There will be way more things given away, really awesome totally unique things, and books.