Douglas Nicholas




Katie K...
1,424 books | 155 friends

Bobby
1,565 books | 152 friends

Matt To...
101 books | 113 friends

Qwill /...
2,381 books | 535 friends

Carol
390 books | 1 friend

Beth
1,359 books | 57 friends

Mark
529 books | 46 friends

Cindylou
565 books | 87 friends

More friends…

Douglas is following 3 people

Douglas Nicholas

Goodreads Author


gender
male

member since
April 2010


About this author

Douglas Nicholas is an award-winning poet whose work has appeared in numerous publications, among them Atlanta Review, Southern Poetry Review, Sonora Review, Circumference, A Different Drummer, and Cumberland Review, as well as the South Coast Poetry Journal, where he won a prize in that publication's Fifth Annual Poetry Contest.

Other awards include Honorable Mention in the Robinson Jeffers Tor House Foundation 2003 Prize For Poetry Awards, second place in the 2002 Allen Ginsberg Poetry Awards from PCCC, International Merit Award in Atlanta Review's Poetry 2002 competition, finalist in the 1996 Emily Dickinson Award in Poetry competition, honorable mention in the 1992 Scottish International Open Poetry Competition, first prize in the journa...more


Average rating: 3.62 · 692 ratings · 244 reviews · 9 distinct works · Similar authors
Something Red (Something Re...
3.55 of 5 stars 3.55 avg rating — 585 ratings — published 2010 — 6 editions
Rate this book
Clear rating
The Wicked (Something Red, #2)
4.08 of 5 stars 4.08 avg rating — 84 ratings — published 2014 — 4 editions
Rate this book
Clear rating
The Demon: An eShort Story
3.53 of 5 stars 3.53 avg rating — 17 ratings — published 2014 — 2 editions
Rate this book
Clear rating
The Old Language: Poems on ...
5.0 of 5 stars 5.00 avg rating — 2 ratings — published 2011 — 2 editions
Rate this book
Clear rating
In the Long-Cold Forges of ...
5.0 of 5 stars 5.00 avg rating — 1 rating — published 2011 — 2 editions
Rate this book
Clear rating
The Rescue Artist
5.0 of 5 stars 5.00 avg rating — 1 rating — published 2011 — 2 editions
Rate this book
Clear rating
Iron Rose: New York Poems
5.0 of 5 stars 5.00 avg rating — 1 rating — published 2010 — 2 editions
Rate this book
Clear rating
The Hounds of Hell: A Novel
0.0 of 5 stars 0.00 avg rating — 0 ratings — expected publication 2015
Rate this book
Clear rating
Story Behind the Book : Vol...
by
5.0 of 5 stars 5.00 avg rating — 1 rating — published 2014
Rate this book
Clear rating
More books by Douglas Nicholas…
Here's a page on my website devoted to my poetry books, with several sample poems from each book.
 •  flag
1 comment
like  • 
Published on September 16, 2013 16:53 • 51 views • Tags: douglas-nicholas, new-york, poetry, samples
Something Red The Wicked
Something Red (2 books)
by
3.6143497757847536 of 5 stars 3.61 avg rating — 669 ratings

Upcoming Events

No scheduled events. Add an event.

Douglas's Recent Updates

30131673
Something Red by Douglas Nicholas
" I did not notice the brief author bio on the back of the advance reader copy of Something Red until I had finished the book. Then I understood better why the story had such wonderful descriptions—Nicholas is an award winning poet. Another Goodrea... " Read more of this review »
The Demon by Douglas Nicholas
" This was a great period piece, in the same vein as the movie Brotherhood of the Wolf. Great setting and characters, even with the short length I felt I got to know some of them. "
The Wicked by Douglas Nicholas
" SM "
70821 95296
Douglas Nicholas is now following Lori's reviews
369169
Those Across the River by Christopher Buehlman
Rate this book
Clear rating
Between Two Fires by Christopher Buehlman
Between Two Fires
by Christopher Buehlman (Goodreads Author)
Rate this book
Clear rating
More of Douglas's books…
“There is nothing,” she said, and then, still looking away into the woods, reached sideways and took Ernald's arm firmly, “but be said by me, there was something hunting along our trail not a sennight since, and should it come here, see you and yours are within the gates.” She shook him gently. “Do not be slighting it, Ernald, great strong lad that you are and brave as a bear: it is something terrible, that no one should run to meet.”
Douglas Nicholas, Something Red

“Lady Isabeau was tall for a woman, nearly as tall as Molly, but slender where Molly was stout, with a smooth immobile face that looked as if it had been carved from ivory, pale and serene. Hob stared at her: glossy black hair bound about the brows with a broad white linen fillet and partly concealed by a veil that draped down her neck; dark eyes beneath dark brows plucked thin; unsmiling lips, full and well-shaped. There was so little expression on her face, and its beauty was so unworldly, that Hob had a moment when he thought her an apparition, or a graven figure. “Blanche comme la neige,” came to his mind, a song Molly had taught him, “belle comme le jour.” The thinnest of scars ran from her hairline down her forehead, divided her left eyebrow, and curved along her cheek to the corner of her mouth, and seemed at once to augment her beauty and to reinforce its carven stillness, as if some wright's chisel had slipped in the course of fashioning her visage. A linen band of the sort known as a barbette ran down from the fillet at her temples and passed under her chin, framing her face, and rendering her features all the more austere.
Her gown was a muted purple; heavy embroidery of red and blue circled its neckline, and it was gathered by a zone of gray silk, sewn with pearls, that circled her hips. From this belt depended a silver ring, as wide around as a big man's fist. On the ring was a bunch of black iron keys, of varying sizes: the symbol and reality of her standing as administrator of the household. As she spoke, she fiddled with the keys as though they were prayer beads; they gave off a continual muted clink, just barely audible to Hob above the rumble of voices, the thuds and thumps of plank tabletops settling onto their trestles.”
Douglas Nicholas

“Something had curdled in the atmosphere of the great hall. A further restlessness, a sense of unease, seemed to seep into the air through the walls. The cat, once more in its favored perch in the window recess, began to back up against the shutter, its ears flat and its eyes wide. After a moment even this refuge would not suffice, and it dropped with a small bang onto the table below, leaped to the floor, and scuttled along the wall till it disappeared through an archway near the dais.”
Douglas Nicholas

“There is nothing,” she said, and then, still looking away into the woods, reached sideways and took Ernald's arm firmly, “but be said by me, there was something hunting along our trail not a sennight since, and should it come here, see you and yours are within the gates.” She shook him gently. “Do not be slighting it, Ernald, great strong lad that you are and brave as a bear: it is something terrible, that no one should run to meet.”
Douglas Nicholas, Something Red

“Lady Isabeau was tall for a woman, nearly as tall as Molly, but slender where Molly was stout, with a smooth immobile face that looked as if it had been carved from ivory, pale and serene. Hob stared at her: glossy black hair bound about the brows with a broad white linen fillet and partly concealed by a veil that draped down her neck; dark eyes beneath dark brows plucked thin; unsmiling lips, full and well-shaped. There was so little expression on her face, and its beauty was so unworldly, that Hob had a moment when he thought her an apparition, or a graven figure. “Blanche comme la neige,” came to his mind, a song Molly had taught him, “belle comme le jour.” The thinnest of scars ran from her hairline down her forehead, divided her left eyebrow, and curved along her cheek to the corner of her mouth, and seemed at once to augment her beauty and to reinforce its carven stillness, as if some wright's chisel had slipped in the course of fashioning her visage. A linen band of the sort known as a barbette ran down from the fillet at her temples and passed under her chin, framing her face, and rendering her features all the more austere.
Her gown was a muted purple; heavy embroidery of red and blue circled its neckline, and it was gathered by a zone of gray silk, sewn with pearls, that circled her hips. From this belt depended a silver ring, as wide around as a big man's fist. On the ring was a bunch of black iron keys, of varying sizes: the symbol and reality of her standing as administrator of the household. As she spoke, she fiddled with the keys as though they were prayer beads; they gave off a continual muted clink, just barely audible to Hob above the rumble of voices, the thuds and thumps of plank tabletops settling onto their trestles.”
Douglas Nicholas

“Something had curdled in the atmosphere of the great hall. A further restlessness, a sense of unease, seemed to seep into the air through the walls. The cat, once more in its favored perch in the window recess, began to back up against the shutter, its ears flat and its eyes wide. After a moment even this refuge would not suffice, and it dropped with a small bang onto the table below, leaped to the floor, and scuttled along the wall till it disappeared through an archway near the dais.”
Douglas Nicholas

“Dame Aline, somewhat younger than her husband, was a short, sturdily built woman with fair hair beneath a white lace coif, small square hands, a merry giggle. She had a mask of light freckles across her face that on feast days she hid beneath a powder of rice mixed with dried white rose-petal: a faint scent of rose hung about her even tonight, when she wore no powder. Her cheeks were full, making Hob think at first of a squirrel with acorns in its cheeks. He thought her plain, especially next to the ivory perfection of Lady Isabeau. As the evening wore on, though, she seemed more appealing to him, by reason of her blithe chatter, her delight in each jest, and above all the contrast she made with the dire ominous bulk of her husband. He sat beside her and cut her meat, as was polite: men cut for women, the younger for the elder, the lesser for the greater. When he had done, she placed her hand on his arm affectionately; she smiled in his face. Her rounded cheek, her easy laugh, lent her a childlike prettiness, and Hob wondered that she had no fear of the sinister castellan, who made even the tough-as-gristle sergeant Ranulf uneasy.”
Douglas Nicholas

“Precious Christ!” cried Sir Balthasar, looking down at what lay on the floor. “Has he been torn by demons?”
Douglas Nicholas

1218 The Next Best Book Club — 13987 members — last activity 3 hours, 9 min ago
Are you searching for the NEXT best book? Are you willing to kiss all your spare cash goodbye? Are you easily distracted by independent bookshops, big...more
95296 All About Fantasy — 195 members — last activity 17 hours, 57 min ago
This group is for anyone who likes fantasy books of all kinds, whether it's magic, vampires, zombies, fairies or anything else imanginable, this is th...more
70821 SLCLS Genre Study — 132 members — last activity Jul 31, 2014 10:15AM
This group is for SLCLS staff to discuss genres and improve reader's advisory skills. Please post your suggested books on the bookshelf so we'll have...more



No comments have been added yet.