Jen Winters's Blog, page 19

Infernos, part 8

Concussive thunder pounded against the doors and windows, startling both breakfasters. Without either noticing, the warm rays of sun that had brought them together disappeared behind looming storm clouds. 

 Emma stood, a motion so quick, Michael barely registered her movement. “We must retreat to the cellar.” 

Her insistence gave no room for argument or delay.

Her firm grip pulled Michael into the pantry, through a hidden door behind shelves of canned goods and down a long flight of slick, mossy steps. The cavern she had called a cellar had entrances everywhere with people filing in one by one. Damp walls grew luminescent lichen; twinkling glow worms lit up the ceiling like a hundred thousand stars. A quiet flow of water created cold humidity, reminding Michael of his adventures spelunking. 

 At last secure in her surroundings, Emma stopped, settling onto a bench carved from a stalagmite. “The storms here often bring the Destroyer with them. Our protector will come and let us know when it is safe again.”

Infernos, part 7

Part 7

Michael���s chair creaked nervously under him. ���I���ve been sick for a long time.���

Years of raucous partying every night had concealed his symptoms under the mask of binge-drinking. Headaches were par for the course when living with an unending hangover. His doctor had given him a month–six weeks at the max. His life had become an unending series of medications and sympathy cards. He was dying, but he didn���t have to die of brain cancer.

A waft of lavender and rose drifted from the brunette locks flowing around Emma���s face. Her soft, uncalloused hands gripped his fingers with a life-line of hope. ���You needn���t worry anymore, Michael. Your sickness has gone and will not return to you here.���

Michael���s hands began to sweat. ���That���s not possible.���

Emma straightened and held up a huge yellow apple and a matching banana. ���These fruits do not enjoy the same climate. The apple tree bears fruit to harvest in the fall, yet it is summer and I picked this for you today. The banana grows in hot, humid climates with rain year round, and I harvested this bunch today. Is it impossible for these two fruits to grow in the same place? For most, yes it is, for us���nothing is impossible.���

Infernos, part 6

Michael’s escape from his night terrors came when the aromas of breakfast tittilated his olfactory. Emma’s welcome caught him in the chest.

“I thought I was in hell.” His voice had been claimed by sleep and he was only able to mumble the words through his cotton-filled mouth.

Emma’s laughter filled the air, echoing like the tinkling wind chimes outside her windows. “You are close enough to hell without having died.” She tugged at an ornately crafted chair. “Sit.”

Michael obliged and discovered a mug full of the nectar of consciousness. Warm coffee soothed his sleepy throat, quenching the rough hollows of his thirst. Peace settled in the kitchen, brought on by the whispers of a foreign hymn on Emma’s lips.

When breakfast had been served to him, Michael remembered his manners. “Thank you for caring for me. I am Michael.”

“I am Emma, and you are welcome.” She blinded him again with her whimsical��smile.

“How–” he stumbled at the thought. “How did I survive?”

Emma smoothed a pat of fresh butter over her bread, lips pursed, before she rewarded Michael with a glance and her answer. “A fall is easily slowed when time isn’t in control of it. You did hurt yourself, but you were already sick when you arrived here. We would have been made acquaintances several days before if you had been well.”

Infernos, part 5

Trilling robins pecked at the morning’s glories, scattering music into the air all around Emma. Their welcome songs comforted her after a long night with her guest. Fever had taken its grip on him through the night causing episodes of rampage and fear. The brilliant rays of morning light brought peace to him at last.

Assured that today he would awaken, Emma prepared herself for his arrival. Donning a billowing lavender sundress, she took a woven twig basket into the gardens. Bright red apples gleamed at her, snow peas shuffles in the breeze, a large red pepper smiled at her.

She harvested a variety of fruits and vegetables, spreading her breakfast table with the bounty of her gardens. Soon the aromatic scents of sweet bread filled her home, with fresh cinnamon and nutmeg, stewing purple blackberries, and tantalizing bacon.

As she stirred the syrup, a prickle of awareness ran up her spine. Turning slightly, she smiled at her guest.

“Welcome back.”

Review: Kissing Demons

jenwintersne:

Review for my book: KISSING DEMONS.

Originally posted on Veronica Del Rosa:

Kissing Demons by Jen Winters

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I wavered between 3 and 4 stars as this book wasn’t something I usually read. I’m more into the angst riddled, borderline psychotic paranormal. Kissing Demons was a surprisingly sweet tale considering it dealt with demons, werewolves and Guardians who fight evil.

Geneva, thankfully, wasn’t a TSTL heroine. She was smart, tough and willing to kick ass when needed. Yet she didn’t fall into the trap of smart ass bitch to get her point across. A strong woman and one I quite liked.

Alex, sadly, we didn’t get to see much of him as it is first person POV. And for part of the book, they were apart. I would’ve liked some more interaction between them. I’m a sucker for werewolves. ;)
I’ve been lucky enough to read a few snippets from the second book in this series and…

View original 13 more words

Infernos part 4

Running, searching, sweating; chills climbing up his spine. Who am I? Where am I? Who’s behind me? Trip, stumble, fall. No! Where is it? What do I need? Who’s behind me? Running again. Darkness, shadows, fear. Burning, choking, pain. Don’t scream! Who’s got me? 

 Michael shot out of bed, falling to the onto the hard wooden floor before he had truly awakened. Soft and firm arms gathered him up and lifted him back onto the downy bed. Blinding white light met him at the foot of consciousness, the nightmare shoved quickly into the recesses of memory. 

Sandpaper stuck to his tongue and monsters growled in his abdomen; a sharp dagger had been thrust through his cranium, rats gnawed at the fibers of his flesh, his bones had been replaced by shattered glass. 

 

I must be in hell. 

Infernos part 3

A cool breeze wafted over Emma’s skin like a thousand fairies fluttering all around her. She squeezed crystal clear water from a rag and ran it over her guest’s fitful brow. He had slept for days, but she had stayed by his side, cooling his fevers, dripping cold broth to soothe his parching throat, keeping him alive.

The tingling sensation of unseen eyes pricked her neck. Emma turned to her window where two pairs of twinkling sky-blue eyes stared at her against alabaster cheeks. She smiled and winked before they giggled at her and ran away. She returned to her guest, cooling his pink cheeks again.

He could have been one of the gods of ancient times. Baal would have been proud of this son. Curling locks of mahogany hair swirled his head in a beautiful array of tiny halos; full sensuous lips parted willingly to take her nourishment and quietly whispered memories of days gone by. His strong jaw was peppered with blacks, browns, reds, and blonds just under his lower lip. He had come to her clean-shaven; she smirked.

 

Infernos part 2

The wind whistled in Michael’s ears, piercing, cold, welcome. He fell through the atmosphere, reaching terminal velocity far more quickly than he expected. He glanced at his timepiece and realized that his calculations had been nearly exact, it was his perception that was flawed. The ground wasn’t approaching as he expected. The fall was taking too long. He glanced at his wrist again–his calculations were perfect, his expectations flawed. He just wanted to die and this was taking too long. At least it was too late to chicken out. He’d already sabotaged his parachute, pulling it would likely break a few bones before he hit the ground; not his idea of a good ending. 

Finally he could make out some details of the forest beneath him. More than just trees, vibrant colors of foliage began luminating his awareness, huts or houses appeared as if hidden before he looked, people were milling, children running, a woman looked up. 

He could see her as clearly as if he had been standing next to her. Autumn brown hair and hazel brown eyes, she was tanned as if she had never spent a day indoors, and wore a simple peasant blouse and long brown skirt. She smiled up at him and her face suddenly lit up Michael’s life. He had spent everyday in a dark cave and had suddenly seen the sun. She blinded him with her light, every ounce of hopelessness that had brought him to this fall fell away; he was filled with hope, and happiness, and peace. 

And then Michael hit the ground. 

Infernos Part 1

Persimmon and petrichor permeated the atmosphere in the small Ozark village. The inhabitants were hidden from the world by a series of natural defenses: a large forest, steep mountains, and treacherous poison oak and ivy. Gardens abounded in the natural river valley, cultivated by the peculiar villagers. Everywhere an observer looked wheat, beans, legumes, fruit trees, berry bushes, root vegetables, and more could be seen. The little place was Eden in the middle of Arkansas, a paradise lost in time. 

The people who lived in the village wore simple, timeless garb: trousers, collared shirts, blouses, fitted jackets with pearl buttons, long and short skirts. Everything both easily fashionable and easily made. Shod in sandals and boots, leather and wood were the primary sources for the village cobbler. The men were both shaven and unshaven, the women wore their hair long and short; the strangest sight among them was the absence of grey hair. Children abounded in the village, clamoring for each other’s attentions, running everywhere, always muddy or covered in dirt, joyful, playful, happy. 

It looked like utopia. It smelled like home. It felt like paradise. Its name was Infernos. 

When Reordering My Thoughts

I’ve been stuck in a moment of writer’s block for a few days, unsure how to continue my second novel without losing my characters in the format of the story. Falling Angels, book #2 of the Guardian novels, has been an up and down ride for me. My first draft of the story was lost for all time before I learned to use thumb drives. It devastated me because I was on a roll with my character and his voice. It was a beautiful project for me. When I lost it, I almost decided not to try to rewrite it. But after much encouragement from my mother and a lot of conversations with my father, I finally decided to give it another go.

When I started, I changed my plan, I decided to give the reader two POVs to get the story from: the hero and the heroine. It was much easier for me to write the heroine’s POV because I was still bummed about the loss of my hero’s voice. As I have gotten into the story, however, I’ve come to the point where I know where I am heading with the plot, but am dissatisfied with the heroine’s voice because while I love her as a character, she just isn’t the best character to tell this story.

So yesterday, while napping my son, I reordered my thoughts on Falling Angels and have come to the conclusion that half of what I have written just has to go and the story needs to be told from my beautiful, sarcastic, wonderful, self-loathing hero, Ambrose’s point of view.

Time to get to rewriting…