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Arlene Lagos Author Website

Hello to all of my wonderful friends and fans!

Thank you so much for following me on this blog!  When I first started this blog, I never imagined that I would write more than one book!

Now I have four books and fourteen short stories published and I’m about to release a new children’s novel in December, “Outside The Circle”!

In an effort to place all of my work on one website, I have created an Author site.

Please follow me at http://www.authorarlenelagos.wordpress.com

for updates on new releases and projects!

I also have a new facebook page:

http://www.facebook.com/authorarlenelagos

Thanks!

Butterflies Wake 99 Cents Kindle Deal!

BWFCSMALL

September 28th-October 4th

Butterflies Wake- an underground female mafia who rights the wrongs of an unjust society.

For seven days, you can download a kindle copy of Butterflies Wake via Amazon for only $0.99 in honor of my upcoming birthday!  Be sure to take advantage of this opportunity. 

If you already have a copy, feel free to post a review on Amazon and Goodreads.

http://www.amazon.com

http://www.goodreads.com

“Butterflies Wake” Novel Packs a Punch Without Chipping a Nail

Butterflies Wake

Butterflies Wake

 

The highly-anticipated novel, “Butterflies Wake” launches this June, and may very well find its way to the bestseller list before the end of the summer. The novel is about an underground female mafia that rights the wrongs of an unjust society.

Along with the book, I have put together a photo campaign that depicts vigilante women in positions of power, in an effort to go up against the mainstream depictions of women as victims of a domestically violent and rape-excused culture.

The messages the photos send are very clear, “We are not afraid” and “You are not alone”. For a fiction novel it seems to hit home, with many women often asking me, is it real? If so, can I join?

While my usual reply is that it’s just a tongue-in-cheek fiction novel, it does raise the question about whether or not its time for women to become more vigilant in their own protection against a culture that excuses such violence towards them.

Want an exclusive on the Butterfly Project with all the photos? Contact me at butterflieswake@gmail.com

Guest blog: Author Arlene Lagos shares her NaNoWriMo 2013 success story

Here’s a link to a guest blog I did for the Helium Network about my 2013 Nanowrimo experience writing “Butterflies Wake”.

Guest blog: Author Arlene Lagos shares her NaNoWriMo 2013 success story.

Butterflies Wake

Camille and Ron

“Fairytales always start with once upon a time and end with happily ever after. Somewhere in the middle there’s a prince, an evil queen and a distressed maiden, a victim of her own beauty. Gallantly, the prince rides in, saving his true love, proving his manhood and once again restoring balance to the universe. My fairytale, however, was not like that at all. Let’s take for example my ex-husband Ron. In our fairy tale, Ron was no prince. Don’t get me wrong; I truly believe he started off with good intentions. But, then he lost his job, started drinking and I became his personal punching bag. After the third miscarriage I was told I could never have children. At that point, I really didn’t care if I died.

But, on one particular evening back in 1977, something happened that would change my life forever. I had come home from the grocery store to find Ron sitting on the front steps of our house with his usual can of beer suctioned to his left hand as if it were an extension of his fingers. I could tell he had been drinking all day and was itching for a fight, so I didn’t even bother asking for help with the groceries. There was still the idea that I had to walk up the steps and past him to get to the front door. I prayed he didn’t attack me with the groceries still in my hand. I walked at a slow pace, avoiding eye contact and carefully slinked passed him hoping not to hit the back of him with the screen door as I squeezed through. I made it into the kitchen and managed to at least put away the frozen food, eggs and milk before the first punch was thrown.

When it was finally over, I found myself lying on my back on the front lawn covered in blood. I thought for sure I would be dead any minute judging from the amount of blood pouring out of my nose and the severity of the pain coursing through my body. But then something happened; I saw out of the corner of my eye a little boy standing in the street staring at Ron as he sat on the front steps drinking his beer and watching me die. The boy’s name was Patrick; he was around ten years old and he lived in our neighborhood. He stood there holding his baseball glove and ball and just stared at Ron for almost two whole minutes. I wanted to scream for him to run away but no sound would come out of my mouth. Then he turned and ran as fast as he could towards his house. I was happy he was safe, I didn’t want Ron to hurt him and I didn’t want that poor boy to be the witness to my death.

I blacked out again for a while and waited for death to take me. But it never came. Instead, two women from the neighborhood had come running towards me and were picking me up off the front lawn. I don’t recall much at the time but I do remember some words being exchanged between Priscilla and Ron. I didn’t know Priscilla that well, other than that she was a nurse at the local hospital and had a son named Patrick, the boy who saw me on the lawn. He must have run to her for help. I feared Ron might hurt them too, but I couldn’t speak or move. I was a rag doll, lifeless in their arms as they carried me back to their house. That was the last time I ever saw Ron. I don’t know what happened and I didn’t ask questions. I was just grateful that they found me when they did because they not only saved my life, but they changed the course of it forever.

My name is Camille Waters and a lot has changed since 1977. On the surface I appear as an ordinary southern woman in her 50’s, sitting on a porch swing sipping sweet tea or reading trashy romance novels down by the pier. But much like a fairytale, nothing is ever what it seems. The year is 2013 and I’m not that same woman anymore. Now I work for an underground society of women with one purpose; to right the wrongs of society where the justice system has failed. Some call us modern-day Iron Jawed Angels, others call us extremists, but we like to call ourselves, The Butterflies.

 

Our organization started out as more of a neighborhood watch, keeping an eye out for predators, drug dealers, or in the unfortunate case of many couples; domestic violence. If someone in the neighborhood were having a problem, we’d find a way to introduce ourselves; let women know that they weren’t alone. Some folks think we ought to just mind our own business and let the authorities do their job. Well guess what? We did that already. Women have been sitting in silence for centuries, and it sure as hell didn’t get us anywhere. Men beat their wives, girls get date raped, family members molest their young and the burden of proof lies on the shoulders of the victims, every time.

In the past few years, our organization has grown and become more sophisticated allowing us to tackle larger issues. We started recruiting women who needed rehabilitation, giving them the option to better their situation.  As we continued to grow, we branched out past our neighborhoods, our towns and now have teams in ever major city in the world. With national growth we have access to more resources and our recruits range from students to billionaires, athletes to politicians and everything in between.

Our purpose still remains the same, to remove the greedy, relocate the violent and reform the misguided. Now with unlimited resources at our discretion, we are able to not just beat the system, we are able to change it entirely. Statistics show that women are more likely to leave a bad situation if they have a strong support group to turn too and that’s exactly what we strive to provide. Life is hard enough without having to constantly watch good people get hurt. It’s time for a change, time to wake-up and smell the revolution; time for us to close the door on the old way of doing things; time to find a system that works for everyone involved. It’s time for the Butterflies Wake.”- Camille Waters

 Butterflies pic

Butterflies Wake: Coming Soon

An underground society of vigilante women has been growing for many years and is starting to surface. They keep a low profile but their actions are strong. They right the wrongs of society, leaving no stone unturned, taking matters into their own hands where the justice system has failed. 

Butterflies Wake was originally written for television, then turned into a short film, and now it is being converted into a novel set to be released in January 2014. Check out an excerpt of the novel below as well as the trailer. See you in January….we’ll be watching.

butterflies-wake-poster-11x17

Fairytales always start with once upon a time and end with happily ever after. Somewhere in the middle there’s a prince, an evil queen and a distressed maiden, a victim of her own beauty. Gallantly, the prince rides in, saving his true love, proving his manhood and once again restoring balance to the universe. My fairytale, however, was not like that at all. Let’s take for example my ex-husband Ron. In our fairy tale, Ron was no prince. Don’t get me wrong; I truly believe he started off with good intentions. But, then he lost his job, started drinking and I became his personal punching bag. After the third miscarriage I was told I could never have children. At that point, I really didn’t care if I died.

But, on one particular evening back in 1977, something happened that would change my life forever. I had come home from the grocery store to find Ron sitting on the front steps of our house with his usual can of beer suctioned to his left hand as if it were an extension of his fingers. I could tell he had been drinking all day and was itching for a fight, so I didn’t even bother asking for help with the groceries. There was still the idea that I had to walk up the steps and past him to get to the front door. I prayed he didn’t attack me with the groceries still in my hand. I walked at a slow pace, avoiding eye contact and carefully slinked passed him hoping not to hit the back of him with the screen door as I squeezed through. I made it into the kitchen and managed to at least put away the frozen food, eggs and milk before the first punch was thrown.

When it was finally over, I found myself lying on my back on the front lawn covered in blood. I thought for sure I would be dead any minute judging from the amount of blood pouring out of my nose and the severity of the pain coursing through my body. But then something happened; I saw out of the corner of my eye a little boy standing in the street staring at Ron as he sat on the front steps drinking his beer and watching me die. The boy’s name was Patrick; he was around ten years old and he lived in our neighborhood. He stood there holding his baseball glove and ball and just stared at Ron for almost two whole minutes. I wanted to scream for him to run away but no sound would come out of my mouth. Then he turned and ran as fast as he could towards his house. I was happy he was safe, I didn’t want Ron to hurt him and I didn’t want that poor boy to be the witness to my death.

I blacked out again for a while and waited for death to take me. But it never came. Instead, two women from the neighborhood had come running towards me and were picking me up off the front lawn. I don’t recall much at the time but I do remember some words being exchanged between Priscilla and Ron. I didn’t know Priscilla that well at the time, other than that she was a nurse at the local hospital and had a son named Patrick, the boy who saw me on the lawn. He must have run to her for help. I feared Ron might hurt them too but I couldn’t speak or move. I was a rag doll, lifeless in their arms as they carried me back to their house. That was the last time I ever saw Ron. I don’t know what happened and I didn’t ask questions. I was just grateful that they found me when they did because they not only saved my life, but they changed the course of it forever.

My name is Camille Waters and a lot has changed since 1977. On the surface I appear as an ordinary southern woman in her 50’s, sitting on a porch swing sipping sweet tea or reading trashy romance novels down by the pier. But much like a fairytale, nothing is ever what it seems. The year is 2012 and I’m not that same woman anymore. Now I work for an underground society of women with one purpose; to right the wrongs of society where the justice system has failed. Some call us modern-day Iron Jawed Angels, others call us extremists, but we like to call ourselves, The Butterflies.

Butterflies Wake: The Novel

An excerpt from my upcoming novel

Butterflies Wake

Adult Fiction

Release Date: September 2012

Fairytales always start with once upon a time and end with happily ever after. Somewhere in the middle there’s a prince, an evil queen and a distressed maiden, a victim of her own beauty. Gallantly, the prince rides in, saving his true love, proving his manhood and once again restoring balance to the universe. My fairytale, however, was not like that at all. Let’s take for example my ex-husband Ron. In our fairy tale, Ron was no prince. Don’t get me wrong; I truly believe he started off with good intentions. But, then he lost his job, started drinking and I became his personal punching bag. After the third miscarriage I was told I could never have children. At that point, I really didn’t care if I died.

But, on one particular evening back in 1977, something happened that would change my life forever. I had come home from the grocery store to find Ron sitting on the front steps of our house with his usual can of beer suctioned to his left hand as if it were an extension of his fingers. I could tell he had been drinking all day and was itching for a fight, so I didn’t even bother asking for help with the groceries. There was still the idea that I had to walk up the steps and past him to get to the front door. I prayed he didn’t attack me with the groceries still in my hand. I walked at a slow pace, avoiding eye contact and carefully slinked passed him hoping not to hit the back of him with the screen door as I squeezed through.

I made it into the kitchen and managed to at least put away the frozen food, eggs and milk before the first punch was thrown. I could feel him coming up behind me and so I instinctively blocked my body with the bag of groceries since he usually struck me in the stomach where nobody could see the bruising. But this time he caught me off guard with an elbow to my throat and as I fell to the floor he kicked me in the face sending me smashing into the corner of the table, which dislocated my jaw. Everything got distorted and I felt a piercing hum coming from my ears. I couldn’t hear what he was saying and I was pretty sure my right eye had swollen shut so I tried hard to move into the bathroom using the sight of my left eye that only had a little blood dripping in it. I was able to catch my breath for a minute before he began round two.

When it was finally over, I found myself lying on the front lawn covered in blood. I thought for sure I would be dead any minute judging from the amount of blood pouring out of my nose and the severity of the pain coursing through my body. But then something happened; I saw out of the corner of my left eye a little boy standing in the street staring at Ron as he sat on the front steps drinking his beer and watching me die.

The boy’s name was Patrick, he was around ten years old and he lived in our neighborhood. He stood there holding his baseball glove and ball and just stared at Ron for almost two whole minutes. I wanted to scream for him to run away but no sound would come out of my mouth. Then he turned and ran as fast as he could towards his house. I was happy he was safe, I didn’t want Ron to hurt him and I didn’t want that poor boy to have to witness anymore than he already had. I blacked out again for a while and waited for death to take me. But it never came.

Instead, two women from the neighborhood came running towards me and were picking me up off the front lawn. Their names were Priscilla and Sally. They lived a few houses down from us. I never got a chance to get to know them on account of the fact that we didn’t have many visitors and Ron would never in a million years let me have a life outside of him.

I was scared for them but I couldn’t say anything. I could barely even move. I don’t recall much about what transpired at the time but I do remember some words being exchanged between Priscilla and Ron. I didn’t know Priscilla that well, other than that she was a nurse at the local hospital and had a son named Patrick, the boy who saw me on the lawn. He must have run to her for help. Thank God for him. I feared Ron might hurt them too but they didn’t seem scared of him. They picked me up and carried me away. I was a rag doll, lifeless in their arms as they carried me back to Priscilla’s house. That was the last time I ever saw Ron again. I don’t know what happened and I didn’t ask questions. I was just grateful that they found me when they did because they not only saved my life, but they changed the course of it forever.

Butterflies Wake is an experiment that took to life in August of 2010 originally as a TV pilot. We shot a short 25 minute “pitch concept” but had little to no budget to make it how it needed to be made. Now I am turning it into a novel, letting it unravel the way it was intended too, without constraint of budget to interrupt the flow of idea. I look forward to sharing it with you soon. For more information on the short film made about it you can visit the website and catch the trailer while you are there. Stay tuned for more updates!

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