Tag Archives: Amy McCorkle

Guest post by Amy McCorkle for Feb. 3

Dear Daniel,amyat275


Different people have shaped me over the years. I think it should be obvious by now confrontational tones or people I don’t do well with. It just exacerbates every negative attribute I have. But some people have had a dual effect on me.

When I was seventeen years old I think I had one of the most stressful jobs ever. I worked for Daniel T. Taylor III. He is a local attorney who’d argued before the Supreme Court—and won. He hired me as a runner. I had no car. Hell, I didn’t even have a driver’s license. It was my first summer job, and honestly, as hard as it was, and as crazy (in a good way) that he was, I learned a great deal. And when he paid me a compliment at the end of the summer I was touched. But man was I relieved when I walked out of his office for the last time.

That being said, I want to say I learned what the words ‘work ethic’ meant. I didn’t know how to take shorthand. I still don’t, but I fashioned my own ‘short hand’ when he would dictate memos. I was constantly screwing them up. And he wasn’t the most patient man. But he taught me the meaning of the word professionalism. To address someone as Doctor when someone was a doctor, not as Mr. And to respect those around me.

I had me run errands on foot in an area that I was sure to get lost in. And I did. But I figured it out. He gave me enough rope to hang myself with and more often than not I was able to avoid that particular messy situation.

I answered phones. I went to court. On more than one occasion he made me want to cry. But I don’t hold that against him, he made his clients cry too.

Of course, while working for him I gained like twenty pounds. Which, at any age isn’t good, and as seventeen year old is horrible.

Which brings me to this. He taught me a work ethic is invaluable. That loyalty is irreplaceable. And that respecting those in positions of authority can be a good thing as well as something you might question your sanity over lol.

And then there’s that matter of the twenty pounds. I had field hockey practice and marching band to start with that year. It was horrendous.

Although, when I look back at those pictures now I see how pretty I really was. Funny how we see ourselves. I saw myself as this bloated, ugly, piece of shit back then. All of my sisters were thin, so I thought that equaled pretty. Not that my biological father did my self-esteem any good on that front.

So back on the wagon. I’m eating real food, not the shakes. And I plan on getting exercise. Real exercise. I’ve already built up and endurance. Not much of one. But it might make the walk to and from the Covention Center to the hotel during Fandom Fest/Fright Night easier to handle.

Talking to Mr. Taylor today (yes, the crazy old coot is still alive) made me reflect upon all of this stuff. He really was a great guy. Maybe not someone I’d want to work for again. And when I think about it I worked my first job as a server at a Derby party. The Kentucky Derby that is. He had rich people and important people there. Sometimes the same. Other times they were not.

And let me tell you, a bunch of rich, drunk people singing and playing the piano, *snicker. They went on and on about how great they sounded. From one of the few sober people at the party, the truth was anything but. However, that being said, they were all nice to me. Especially the Human Rights lawyers who took on pro bono death penalty cases. I was only sixteen years old and they listened to me like my opinion mattered.

That taught me a profound lesson. Everyone, no matter what their station in life. With money, without money, white collar, blue collar, or poverty stricken, we all mattered. I was fortunate enough to live in a house at that point. My family’s trailer days behind us. But we didn’t live in the best of neighborhoods. Honestly, I still don’t.

Of course I dream of living in a nice neighborhood. In a nice home with a finished basement. I also dream of owning a car. Of any kind. But disability and thirty-five dollar quarterly royalty check ain’t gonna make that happen.

So I do the one thing I know I’m good at. I work. I write. And I promote my brand. Eventually, if the story is good enough, I know I’ll breakthrough.



Amy McCorkle


  1. At http://letters-todaniel.blogspot.com






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Amy McCorkle is an award winning and bestselling author, blogger, screenwriter and filmmaker with 10 Amazon Bestselling titles including the #1 Bella Morte: Beginnings. A 2015 Epic Finalist with a small collection of letters from the blog. This landed her an agent and she went on to collect all the letters one large volume and receive a blurb from bestselling author and producer Joel Eisenberg. Her documentary based on the letters has gone on to screen at 5 film festivals and win awards at 3 of them.


Guest post by Amy McCorkle

Gladiator by Amy McCorkleI know in a post one usually talks about their current book and there will be an excerpt and cover art and the typical guest posts. Today I want to talk about paying it forward and finding heroes when there are none around you. Many people will talk about their families not understanding or supporting them. For me, it’s a double edged sword. My parents have always said you can be anything you want to be. And they celebrate every success right along with me. But then at lunch today my sister called my work porn. I don’t write porn, and then she had the nerve to ask for a free book. That’s family for you.

Then there are my friends. First up is my best friend and sometime co-author Melissa Goodman. We have known each other for 16 years. Been writing together on certain projects for 15 years. Been roomies for 13 of them. We have been through hell and had great adventures together. So the success we are experiencing now is especially sweet. Second on the list is Pamela Turner, her brilliant UF novel Death Sword was epubbed. For the longest time I resisted it but I finally made the decision to submit a novel that had been sitting on my computer. In part because of Pam, in part because of my best friend’s loss of her father. I knew my career wasn’t just going to happen to me. I had to make it happen. But Pam was a great example of someone who worked hard and persisted and she found success. And finally, Elise VanCise, a brilliant writer, blogger, and graphic artist and friendship and patience with walking me through the technical end of things has been invaluable to me in my career. Many thanks to all of you.

And then of course there are my heroes who are on the silver screen. Number one, I can honestly say this actor’s openness about his own struggles with bipolar disorder help save my life. Maurice Benard, General Hospital’s mobster with a heart of gold, Sonny Corinthos, is good to his fans. I had the opportunity to meet him on a few occasions and talk to him at length on one. I got to thank him. And when I approached him about doing an audiobook version of my book he expressed interest in doing so. Number two, George Clooney. If you’re going to talk smack about this man don’t do it around me. He’s Missy’s Hollywood Husband 😉 and when she was feeling down I wrote a letter to him on her behalf and he wrote her back on pages of ER script with a scene about friendship on it. So as far as I’m concerned he’s the bee’s knees. And finally, my hero of heroes, Daniel Craig. When I can’t sleep at night it’s his movies I watch and it is his attitude and work ethic which inspires my own. That and he’s easy on the eyes 😉

And to my publishers and editors, you know who you are, I’m a better writer for having been under your instruction. I hope you’ll take a chance on the first book in my trilogy, enjoy the excerpt below.


Back Cover: Ten years ago Tristan Shane had failed to pick sides and he paid with the ultimate price—his family.  Enslaved as a post-apocalyptic gladiator, he is now faced with a similar dilemma, serve the despot  Queen and murder her innocent sister, or face certain death himself. What will he choose?
Tristan Shane was a moderate before the nuclear and economic crisis which plunged the world into darkness. While his sister Aidia ran off to fight the rebel’s war he desperately tried to hang onto normalcy and lost his wife and children in the process. Spending the next ten years as the Crown’s favored and the mob’s favorite Gladiator, he never expects to meet the Queen’s sister, Alexandra, a Healer.
She claims to be the much whispered about Savior sent to heal the wounded Earth and oceans, the one who would bring about her cruel sister’s dethroning. But is she? Or is she just a fraud? But he quickly learns her erotic touch has the power to heal his heart and his to save her life. But as the passion heightens and the danger increases will they have forever or will he have to give up everything to save the planet?
“What is it you want, Veronica?”
She leaned in close and whispered seductively, “Why, you know I only want you, Tristan.”
He snatched her up by her throat, pinned her against the wall and kissed her passionately, brutally, and without clemency. When he pulled away she was smiling with a darkness that made him angry. She was a power-hungry mongrel who played on her husband’s weaknesses and jealousies. Tristan hated her. And he hated himself for f***ing her. But this was his life. He let go of her and walked away.
“Is my poor Gladiator jealous? There’s really no need for that, is there? You know you’re my favorite.”
“What is it you really want, Veronica?”
She came up behind him and seductively began to ease off his armor. He was covered in sweat and blood and he felt her shiver against his body. And as always there was a twinge of nausea that would precede the raw animal aggression.
She turned him around. He looked at her. There was no doubt about it; she was beautiful. But she was poisonous—a rattlesnake with crystal green eyes and flaming red hair. Her father had promised peace and a return to normalcy and democracy in the wake of economic and nuclear disaster, and instead this was what had become of the world. And she was no doubt always enjoining her father to maintain her life in this fashion. He loathed her. He detested her. And every time he had sex with her his intense hatred for himself deepened a little bit more.
“My dear, sweet Gladiator, as much as I’d like to celebrate your victory with you tonight, my husband wishes me to share his bed. But fear not—I do have a consolation prize for you.”
His skin began to crawl. Veronica had a twisted way of looking at what constituted a consolation prize; it was usually just a groupie who wanted to watch what the queen did with the equivalent of rock stars of the former United States of America. And he usually did the dog and pony show. But sometimes Veronica required something to prove his loyalty to her. That would be more complicated.
“What is it this time?”
She smiled. His response had given her the mistaken impression that he cared.
“The rebels have been restless. And it seems there is a young woman we have in our prison whom they want terribly. Well, frankly, they are in two minds as to what to believe. It is rumored she is the mythical Healer. The one meant to find her soul mate, so together they will lead our Nation out of the so-called darkness into which it has plunged itself.”
“And what do you want me to do?”
“Oh Tristan, why are you being so defensive? I just want you to find out whether she really is the Healer, and report to me if she is.”
“And then, what?”
“And then you let me handle it,” Veronica said, sliding back into the evil skin that was her natural state. “The rebels have no idea what it takes to run a country.”
The image of his wife being raped and murdered flooded him and it was all he could do not to throttle the queen right then and there.
“So can I count on you to do this for me or do I need to find someone else who can?”
He was no one’s hero. But she had said young woman. And he couldn’t just allow his wife’s fate to be visited upon some other unsuspecting girl. “I’ll do what I can.”
Veronica ran her index finger down his cheek and whispered, “Good boy, Tristan,” she purred. “Guard! She’ll be delivered before the night is over. I don’t know when I’ll be able to return to you, but I expect that you’ll have had enough time to gain her trust by then.”
Tristan’s stomach churned. The Healer? In the beginning there had been whispers of it. But he had never believed in such a thing. It had been years since the crown had feared anything. And now this. He said nothing as the queen was escorted away. He was left to think about the young woman he might be forced to turn over in the end.

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