A.F. Stewart's Blog, page 57
August 7, 2016
Interview With Author Aspen deLainey
Today I have a delightful treat, an interview with paranormal romance author Aspen deLainey. She chats about writing and her Evermore Chronicles series, including the newest book, Howling Hearts. Enjoy!
Interview With Aspen deLainey
Why don’t you begin by sharing a little about yourself.
I started telling stories before I could read. You know those picture books little kids have? My little brother would ask me to tell a story and we'd curl up in the rocker, open the picture book and I'd keep him occupied with my imagination for hours. Once I learned to read and print, I began to write my own versions of the stories my father read to me. elementary school opened up creative writing where I found a new audience for my tales. My poor grade five teacher used to assign work by saying a minimum of a three page story must be handed in, then he turn to me and give me a limit of ten or twenty pages. He always read my stories out to the class.During my teens, watching and listening to one of my friends' mothers going through a painful divorce, I wrote a poem asking why had his love died and sent it in to one of those women's magazines. I received a cheque and a copy of the magazine. My mother was horrified that I would steal that mother's pain and brazenly write about it. What did I know about life, love or pain? I was forbidden to send anything out again while I lived under her roof. "Leave that to people who know what they're doing," she told me. I never stopped writing, though after once, years later, sending in a romance to the wrong sort of publisher, I held those stories to myself. Until...one of my grown kids told me she'd delete all my files if I didn't send just one story out to any publisher. Biting my nails, heart in my throat, I sent a short piece to a magazine in March 2010. Two weeks later I got an acceptance letter.The joy, the pride, the nervous acceptance that maybe I could write spurred me on. I write in many genres though I am only published in two so far: paranormal romance and scifi. I do believe I am a writer!
Could you tell us a bit about your latest book?
After I wrote Love 'n Lies , about an overweight vampire, I wanted to flesh out the world I started to build. I wanted to get to know her friends better. Howling Hearts is the story of Rand, a young adult werewolf who moves from the Evermore Keep down to Calgary Alberta to seek her fortune and a new life while running away from a love affair gone sour. The book starts with a hair-raising trip through mountain passes in the dead of winter during a blizzard. Because when I started the book a snow storm had been raging here for three days. Rand meets an RCMP officer on the trip who strikes her fancy as much as she whets his. Rand interacts with the various paranormal beings living just under the human radar in Calgary, gets a job and keeps interacting with her young man. Hijinx ensue when her ex shows up.
Why did you decide to write in the paranormal genre?
I worked in medicine for years, the last several in geriatrics. I got to wondering what happened to a werewolf with Alzheimers, or a troll with Parkinson's. How would a vampire age? And what kind of retirement home would house these poor creatures, how would modern medicine handle a decrepit fire elemental? What happens when subdivisions cut down a dryad's grove. I knew I had to write about this.
You write in several genres. Do you have a favourite? And if so, why?
I am caught between different genres. I cannot honestly say I prefer writing in any one of them. Depending on my mood, I write in each. When I'm angry I write murder mysteries - though none of them have seen the light of day. When I'm moody, sad or depressed I write romance as it seems to perk me up a little. The times I feel adventurous I write scifi.
Do you have a favourite author, or writing inspiration?
At least once a month I read Roger Zelany's Art of Writing. He is fairly inspirational, especially when I'm not in the mood to write. I read everything that passes by, though I do have a few authors whose books I will seek out: Anne Bishop, Jeffrey Deaver, Mary Higgins, and Tami Hoag. I reread Tolkien's books every few years, along with Ann McCaffrey's Pern series and Marion Zimmer Bradley's Darkover series. In reality, I go through my personal library every few years rereading everything that catches my interest.
How do you research your books?
Ah research...the bane of my writing career. I get lost some days in research. I write fiction. But. Even fiction has to feel real. For my paranormal romance I read legends from around the world. I research god myths. I probably spend over one hundred hours just on the research once I start a story. For my first book, Love 'n Lies, I asked a hematologist if theoretically a vampire could get fat drinking the blood from a high cholesterol victim. In theory, the doc agreed. Voila - story! During Howling Hearts I researched the equinoxes and earth's reaction geologically to this event. Not just that, of course. I have reams of information on different culture's werewolf folklore. Right now I have been reading personal stories on line about people going blind for my next book that might be called What Will Be.
Do you have any amusing writing stories or anecdotes to share?
I live in the country, fairly far from any neighbours. Sure, I can see two houses, one north west and one north east, about a mile away. That's it. To the south is a long dirt road stretching off to nowhere. About a mile from our house this road becomes an unmaintained road allowance. Another two miles and the road allowance turns, coming out at the highway in about two miles. Farmers use the allowance to get into their far fields. If I keep walking straight instead of turning, I eventually get to a large slough in a coulee about ten miles away. I know this because I've seen a map of the area. And I've driven the road down to the slough in spring to see the swans.Once, I took the dog out on her daily walk. I'd been writing that morning and got stuck on a scene. I wanted it to go one way and my muse kept interjecting lines pulling it another. So, dog nearby, I walked off thinking about the scene. I don't know how long I walked for, but suddenly I didn't know where I was! The road had disappeared, I was walking in knee-high grass and by the look of the sun I'd been meandering for hours not paying attention to anything except the scene in my head for my book. I got home about nine that evening, tired; the dog exhausted but happy. Yes, I'd resolved the conflict about the scene - my muse won.
Are you working on another book?
Oh yes. I have four books in various stages and lots of pages of notes on book ideas. I got kidnapped in July, right after I finished editing Howling Hearts. My muse would not let me take a breather. for weeks I wrote on this newest idea. My muse let me up for air about a week ago, once I'd gotten the main plot and two hundred pages of first draft finished. Thank the gods. My fingers are worn to nubbins.
Of all the books you've written, do you have a favourite?
Ok, I've only written three that have been published. But the one that is my most favourite is no longer in print, though I am trying to republish it after I get my beta readers to finish it. Te book, Moustache on the Moon, a scifi book for young adults, is about life living in space, sort of. See, these Beigorri, which are marsupial space worms, house a race of human/aliens. The Beigorri shows up in our skies, above the moon. The aliens who live inside it come to earth offering a particular genetic trait of humans a one way ticket to a new world. It will be a series, ending with their new world.I loved writing that book. I love the characters. And I loved the ideas for the alien artifacts I developed. I wrote that book under the pseudonym d.k.snape. I even enjoyed the research I had to do to get that book as realistic as possible.
You can find Howling Hearts on Amazon, Kobo, and at Champagne Books
Interview With Aspen deLainey
Why don’t you begin by sharing a little about yourself.I started telling stories before I could read. You know those picture books little kids have? My little brother would ask me to tell a story and we'd curl up in the rocker, open the picture book and I'd keep him occupied with my imagination for hours. Once I learned to read and print, I began to write my own versions of the stories my father read to me. elementary school opened up creative writing where I found a new audience for my tales. My poor grade five teacher used to assign work by saying a minimum of a three page story must be handed in, then he turn to me and give me a limit of ten or twenty pages. He always read my stories out to the class.During my teens, watching and listening to one of my friends' mothers going through a painful divorce, I wrote a poem asking why had his love died and sent it in to one of those women's magazines. I received a cheque and a copy of the magazine. My mother was horrified that I would steal that mother's pain and brazenly write about it. What did I know about life, love or pain? I was forbidden to send anything out again while I lived under her roof. "Leave that to people who know what they're doing," she told me. I never stopped writing, though after once, years later, sending in a romance to the wrong sort of publisher, I held those stories to myself. Until...one of my grown kids told me she'd delete all my files if I didn't send just one story out to any publisher. Biting my nails, heart in my throat, I sent a short piece to a magazine in March 2010. Two weeks later I got an acceptance letter.The joy, the pride, the nervous acceptance that maybe I could write spurred me on. I write in many genres though I am only published in two so far: paranormal romance and scifi. I do believe I am a writer!
Could you tell us a bit about your latest book?
After I wrote Love 'n Lies , about an overweight vampire, I wanted to flesh out the world I started to build. I wanted to get to know her friends better. Howling Hearts is the story of Rand, a young adult werewolf who moves from the Evermore Keep down to Calgary Alberta to seek her fortune and a new life while running away from a love affair gone sour. The book starts with a hair-raising trip through mountain passes in the dead of winter during a blizzard. Because when I started the book a snow storm had been raging here for three days. Rand meets an RCMP officer on the trip who strikes her fancy as much as she whets his. Rand interacts with the various paranormal beings living just under the human radar in Calgary, gets a job and keeps interacting with her young man. Hijinx ensue when her ex shows up.
Why did you decide to write in the paranormal genre?
I worked in medicine for years, the last several in geriatrics. I got to wondering what happened to a werewolf with Alzheimers, or a troll with Parkinson's. How would a vampire age? And what kind of retirement home would house these poor creatures, how would modern medicine handle a decrepit fire elemental? What happens when subdivisions cut down a dryad's grove. I knew I had to write about this.
You write in several genres. Do you have a favourite? And if so, why?
I am caught between different genres. I cannot honestly say I prefer writing in any one of them. Depending on my mood, I write in each. When I'm angry I write murder mysteries - though none of them have seen the light of day. When I'm moody, sad or depressed I write romance as it seems to perk me up a little. The times I feel adventurous I write scifi.
Do you have a favourite author, or writing inspiration?
At least once a month I read Roger Zelany's Art of Writing. He is fairly inspirational, especially when I'm not in the mood to write. I read everything that passes by, though I do have a few authors whose books I will seek out: Anne Bishop, Jeffrey Deaver, Mary Higgins, and Tami Hoag. I reread Tolkien's books every few years, along with Ann McCaffrey's Pern series and Marion Zimmer Bradley's Darkover series. In reality, I go through my personal library every few years rereading everything that catches my interest.
How do you research your books?
Ah research...the bane of my writing career. I get lost some days in research. I write fiction. But. Even fiction has to feel real. For my paranormal romance I read legends from around the world. I research god myths. I probably spend over one hundred hours just on the research once I start a story. For my first book, Love 'n Lies, I asked a hematologist if theoretically a vampire could get fat drinking the blood from a high cholesterol victim. In theory, the doc agreed. Voila - story! During Howling Hearts I researched the equinoxes and earth's reaction geologically to this event. Not just that, of course. I have reams of information on different culture's werewolf folklore. Right now I have been reading personal stories on line about people going blind for my next book that might be called What Will Be.
Do you have any amusing writing stories or anecdotes to share?
I live in the country, fairly far from any neighbours. Sure, I can see two houses, one north west and one north east, about a mile away. That's it. To the south is a long dirt road stretching off to nowhere. About a mile from our house this road becomes an unmaintained road allowance. Another two miles and the road allowance turns, coming out at the highway in about two miles. Farmers use the allowance to get into their far fields. If I keep walking straight instead of turning, I eventually get to a large slough in a coulee about ten miles away. I know this because I've seen a map of the area. And I've driven the road down to the slough in spring to see the swans.Once, I took the dog out on her daily walk. I'd been writing that morning and got stuck on a scene. I wanted it to go one way and my muse kept interjecting lines pulling it another. So, dog nearby, I walked off thinking about the scene. I don't know how long I walked for, but suddenly I didn't know where I was! The road had disappeared, I was walking in knee-high grass and by the look of the sun I'd been meandering for hours not paying attention to anything except the scene in my head for my book. I got home about nine that evening, tired; the dog exhausted but happy. Yes, I'd resolved the conflict about the scene - my muse won.
Are you working on another book?
Oh yes. I have four books in various stages and lots of pages of notes on book ideas. I got kidnapped in July, right after I finished editing Howling Hearts. My muse would not let me take a breather. for weeks I wrote on this newest idea. My muse let me up for air about a week ago, once I'd gotten the main plot and two hundred pages of first draft finished. Thank the gods. My fingers are worn to nubbins.
Of all the books you've written, do you have a favourite?
Ok, I've only written three that have been published. But the one that is my most favourite is no longer in print, though I am trying to republish it after I get my beta readers to finish it. Te book, Moustache on the Moon, a scifi book for young adults, is about life living in space, sort of. See, these Beigorri, which are marsupial space worms, house a race of human/aliens. The Beigorri shows up in our skies, above the moon. The aliens who live inside it come to earth offering a particular genetic trait of humans a one way ticket to a new world. It will be a series, ending with their new world.I loved writing that book. I love the characters. And I loved the ideas for the alien artifacts I developed. I wrote that book under the pseudonym d.k.snape. I even enjoyed the research I had to do to get that book as realistic as possible.
You can find Howling Hearts on Amazon, Kobo, and at Champagne Books
August 6, 2016
Book Spotlight: The Final Life
Today I have a book spotlight on the epic fantasy novel, The Final Life by Andrew Mowere. Enjoy...
The Final Life by Andrew Mowere
It has been 10 thousand years since Odin rose as Unchained. There have been two undead gods behind him, Sklaver and Pyro. Azrael Windslayer, it is whispered, may rise too after his demise. However, the magician's life is turned upside down. Broken and alone, the man meets a young murderer fleeing his guilt.
Glint Stryger is but a bandit brat, yet hopes to join Quicksilver and serve with honor in power driven lands. When things fall apart, the young one stumbles into one eccentric necromancer.
The two band together in a fantastical journey of magic, power, as well as discovery. The first aims to better his life, while the second looks beyond, towards a happiness for mankind that had been denied him. Both hope to do their best, yet know time runs out. After all, one life is never enough.
The Final Life is available at:AmazonGoodreads
Author Bio:
Andrew Mowere is a forty three year old man with an interest in people and worlds. A further obsession with books lead to his current decision to become a writer. He is chaotic by nature, assured he is funny by a loving fiancé, and wishes he could live next to the ocean. His current favorite author is Rothfuss, and his last known read was "Call of Cthulhu", which was absolutely fantastic.
The Final Life is an epic fantasy. There is really little backstory you need to know before diving in, except that the novel is heavy on magical systems, less so on romance. The first few chapters alternate their narration point. It follows a boy called Glint Stryger and a necromancer named Azrael Windslayer.
The Final Life by Andrew Mowere
It has been 10 thousand years since Odin rose as Unchained. There have been two undead gods behind him, Sklaver and Pyro. Azrael Windslayer, it is whispered, may rise too after his demise. However, the magician's life is turned upside down. Broken and alone, the man meets a young murderer fleeing his guilt.
Glint Stryger is but a bandit brat, yet hopes to join Quicksilver and serve with honor in power driven lands. When things fall apart, the young one stumbles into one eccentric necromancer.
The two band together in a fantastical journey of magic, power, as well as discovery. The first aims to better his life, while the second looks beyond, towards a happiness for mankind that had been denied him. Both hope to do their best, yet know time runs out. After all, one life is never enough.
The Final Life is available at:AmazonGoodreads
Author Bio:
Andrew Mowere is a forty three year old man with an interest in people and worlds. A further obsession with books lead to his current decision to become a writer. He is chaotic by nature, assured he is funny by a loving fiancé, and wishes he could live next to the ocean. His current favorite author is Rothfuss, and his last known read was "Call of Cthulhu", which was absolutely fantastic.
The Final Life is an epic fantasy. There is really little backstory you need to know before diving in, except that the novel is heavy on magical systems, less so on romance. The first few chapters alternate their narration point. It follows a boy called Glint Stryger and a necromancer named Azrael Windslayer.
August 3, 2016
Drabble Wednesday: Kings and Commoners
Today on Drabble Wednesday, we go medieval...
Warning: today’s post gets a bit icky.
Boy in the Kitchens
Turn the spit, turn the spit, turn the spit.Alfred watched the meat sizzle, and cranked the handle round and round. Day after day, he sat, stared, and spun the roast.“You boy! At the spit! We’ve a new job for you!”Alfred looked up with glee, and eagerly relinquished his place to another kitchen lad. The royal butcher ushered him into a back pantry.“Sorry boy, but the king wants special meat for his supper.”Poor Alfred never saw the cleaver fall. Come supper, another boy sat watching the sizzling meat that used to be Alfred.Turn the spit.
~*~
Vantage Point
The old room atop the temple held the perfect view of the queen’s procession route.He watched her horse drawn, open carriage meandering its way up the street.He took his time, lined up his bow, and let the arrow fly.The projectile pierced the queen’s chest, and she crumpled like a doll.The assassin patted his purse. The payment of the king's gold rattled with a beautiful sound, and he chuckled with proud satisfaction. Then he stepped over the body of the snooping priest he killed, snuck down the back stairs onto the street, and disappeared into the crowd.
~*~
King’s Decree
Arabella stared at her reflection in the mirror, tucking a stray lock of hair into place. She applied red colour to her lips and cheeks. She mustn’t appear sallow on this day. Her audience with the king.How lives turn on the will of that man.She appraised her appearance. She looked thinner than a few months ago, but not gaunt. That was good. The newest royal concubine best not look sickly.Can I do this?She closed her eyes, taking a breath.You don’t have a choice. You lost the rebellion. You become his, or die like your husband.
© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved
Warning: today’s post gets a bit icky.
Boy in the Kitchens
Turn the spit, turn the spit, turn the spit.Alfred watched the meat sizzle, and cranked the handle round and round. Day after day, he sat, stared, and spun the roast.“You boy! At the spit! We’ve a new job for you!”Alfred looked up with glee, and eagerly relinquished his place to another kitchen lad. The royal butcher ushered him into a back pantry.“Sorry boy, but the king wants special meat for his supper.”Poor Alfred never saw the cleaver fall. Come supper, another boy sat watching the sizzling meat that used to be Alfred.Turn the spit.
~*~
Vantage Point
The old room atop the temple held the perfect view of the queen’s procession route.He watched her horse drawn, open carriage meandering its way up the street.He took his time, lined up his bow, and let the arrow fly.The projectile pierced the queen’s chest, and she crumpled like a doll.The assassin patted his purse. The payment of the king's gold rattled with a beautiful sound, and he chuckled with proud satisfaction. Then he stepped over the body of the snooping priest he killed, snuck down the back stairs onto the street, and disappeared into the crowd.
~*~
King’s Decree
Arabella stared at her reflection in the mirror, tucking a stray lock of hair into place. She applied red colour to her lips and cheeks. She mustn’t appear sallow on this day. Her audience with the king.How lives turn on the will of that man.She appraised her appearance. She looked thinner than a few months ago, but not gaunt. That was good. The newest royal concubine best not look sickly.Can I do this?She closed her eyes, taking a breath.You don’t have a choice. You lost the rebellion. You become his, or die like your husband.
© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved
July 27, 2016
Drabble Wednesday: Bad Guys
Today’s Drabble Wednesday comes via inspiration from the Suicide Squad, and gives voice to the villains...
Not So Bad
You may have heard some horrible things about me on the news.About how I’m a insane sociopath. How many people I’ve killed. Of the threat I pose.All true. But hey, that’s not the real me. Well, mostly not.I have other qualities. I love kittens and stuff. Love walks on the beach, sunsets. You know, the clichés.The thing is, I’m more misunderstood than evil. Simply a reflection of today’s society. A walking, talking narcissistic image of humanity.Don’t be afraid because I have my finger on the button.Really, what’s a little fiery world apocalypse between friends?
~*~
Crosshairs
One human being bottled into a narrow viewpoint, lined up in the scope. The rest of the world blotted out. Just one focus. One goal.Breathe in, breathe out.Watching, waiting, one tiny helpless life caught in the crosshairs. Doesn’t know what’s coming. Never will. That’s power. That’s control.Breathe in, breathe out.Every hope, every dream, down to this moment. Immovable, suspended, transcendent infinity. Perched on the precipice of damnation.Breathe in, breathe out.Perfect shot, center mass. Steady hands. Squeeze the trigger, slowly.Breathe in, breathe out.Bang.She’s dead.Pack up and go home. With a smile.
~*~
Breaking Point
I got tired of it, you know.All the rules.Be a good girl. Be a lady. Don’t be aggressive. Don’t be such a bitch.The good old sexist double standard.Who makes up all this crap?The boys don’t play by those rules.Why should we?Why should we shut our mouths? Why should we dress the way they tell us to?They have no right.Do this, do that. Behave.No way.I say, shut up.‘Cause, I stopped playing by your rules.I hit my breaking point.And I broke some skulls.And guess what?You’re next.
© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved
Not So Bad
You may have heard some horrible things about me on the news.About how I’m a insane sociopath. How many people I’ve killed. Of the threat I pose.All true. But hey, that’s not the real me. Well, mostly not.I have other qualities. I love kittens and stuff. Love walks on the beach, sunsets. You know, the clichés.The thing is, I’m more misunderstood than evil. Simply a reflection of today’s society. A walking, talking narcissistic image of humanity.Don’t be afraid because I have my finger on the button.Really, what’s a little fiery world apocalypse between friends?
~*~
Crosshairs
One human being bottled into a narrow viewpoint, lined up in the scope. The rest of the world blotted out. Just one focus. One goal.Breathe in, breathe out.Watching, waiting, one tiny helpless life caught in the crosshairs. Doesn’t know what’s coming. Never will. That’s power. That’s control.Breathe in, breathe out.Every hope, every dream, down to this moment. Immovable, suspended, transcendent infinity. Perched on the precipice of damnation.Breathe in, breathe out.Perfect shot, center mass. Steady hands. Squeeze the trigger, slowly.Breathe in, breathe out.Bang.She’s dead.Pack up and go home. With a smile.
~*~
Breaking Point
I got tired of it, you know.All the rules.Be a good girl. Be a lady. Don’t be aggressive. Don’t be such a bitch.The good old sexist double standard.Who makes up all this crap?The boys don’t play by those rules.Why should we?Why should we shut our mouths? Why should we dress the way they tell us to?They have no right.Do this, do that. Behave.No way.I say, shut up.‘Cause, I stopped playing by your rules.I hit my breaking point.And I broke some skulls.And guess what?You’re next.
© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved
July 20, 2016
Drabble Wednesday: Welcome to Your Destruction
Today on Drabble Wednesday, the end of time and worlds await...
A Child is Born
Anya approached the dais. The All Mother gazed down at her.“The prophesized child of dread is finally born. To the royal family. You, Anya, have been chosen to kill the babe.”Anya nodded, honoured and secretly elated. “I will leave at once.”Two nights later, Anya plucked the baby from his crib, cradling him gently.“Do not worry, little one, I will keep you safe. I will make certain you fulfill your destiny. One day you will destroy the world.”With a smile, and the child in her arms, Anya slipped out of the palace and into the night.
~*~
Last Breath
The smallest puff of air, like the flutter of wings from a long dead butterfly, brushed his cheek. He touched his skin, awed by the tiny sensation.It has been so long.So long since he felt anything, any touch, caress, heard any sound, gazed upon anything but burnt earth, and the approaching black abyss.Nothing but the soundless scream of the silence and the emptiness.He smiled. And for the first time in forever he rose from the earth. He swayed, unsteady, unsure on his feet. He started wobbling forward, walking.I will go meet the end of time.
~*~
The Machine
Clack, clack noises, grinding creaks, whirs and squeaks filled the semblance of a nowhere room. A strange clockwork machine flicked and reeled and sputtered steam in a winding maze of peculiarity. Cogs and wheels spun on and on, while ball bearings rolled and tilted hither and yon, all twisted perfection of Rube Goldberg mechanics and absurdity. Each connection greased and harmonized with the next, all gyrating, puffing, wheezing life perpetually in motion.Until it stops.Until the last bit of starlight fades, and the pieces fail, and all the worlds turn to dust.And thisis how the universe ends.
© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved
A Child is Born
Anya approached the dais. The All Mother gazed down at her.“The prophesized child of dread is finally born. To the royal family. You, Anya, have been chosen to kill the babe.”Anya nodded, honoured and secretly elated. “I will leave at once.”Two nights later, Anya plucked the baby from his crib, cradling him gently.“Do not worry, little one, I will keep you safe. I will make certain you fulfill your destiny. One day you will destroy the world.”With a smile, and the child in her arms, Anya slipped out of the palace and into the night.
~*~
Last Breath
The smallest puff of air, like the flutter of wings from a long dead butterfly, brushed his cheek. He touched his skin, awed by the tiny sensation.It has been so long.So long since he felt anything, any touch, caress, heard any sound, gazed upon anything but burnt earth, and the approaching black abyss.Nothing but the soundless scream of the silence and the emptiness.He smiled. And for the first time in forever he rose from the earth. He swayed, unsteady, unsure on his feet. He started wobbling forward, walking.I will go meet the end of time.
~*~
The Machine
Clack, clack noises, grinding creaks, whirs and squeaks filled the semblance of a nowhere room. A strange clockwork machine flicked and reeled and sputtered steam in a winding maze of peculiarity. Cogs and wheels spun on and on, while ball bearings rolled and tilted hither and yon, all twisted perfection of Rube Goldberg mechanics and absurdity. Each connection greased and harmonized with the next, all gyrating, puffing, wheezing life perpetually in motion.Until it stops.Until the last bit of starlight fades, and the pieces fail, and all the worlds turn to dust.And thisis how the universe ends.
© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved
July 13, 2016
Drabble Wednesday: Lost Things
Today on Drabble Wednesday I muse on things lost: memories, guardians, children...
Waiting
I remember the days before the Great Kingdoms.Before the War and the Invaders from Across the Sea.Before we served our conquering masters.In those days we lived free. We were not governed by cruel kings, or benevolent queens, or petty warlords. We lived as nomads and farmers, each town, village or tribe ruled by Elder Councils, chosen by the people. And we had no need for mercenaries or soldiers, for we had protectors.Until their blood spilled by the betrayer’s hand. Then they left us to the Invaders.But they’ll return, one day.The Dragons will come home.
~*~
Afternoon Tea
I traced the flower pattern on the tea cup with my finger. It seemed familiar to me, a fragment of memory floating out of reach. The afternoon sun was warm, and a breeze wafted the smell of gardenia. The table in the garden is set for two, a pot of hot tea ready, and a plate of pretty sandwiches.But I’m alone.A shadow fell across the lace tablecloth.A woman sat down at the table and smiled at me. “Sorry, I’m late.”I stared, suddenly confused. I grip the table edge. “Who are you?”“It’s me, Mom, your daughter.”
~*~
Night Falls
Such a small mistake, ignoring her father’s warning, running after a bird into the trees.“Stay on the path, Anna. Always stay on the path. You don’t want to lose your way in the forest.”Now the sun had set and the weather turned cold, the bitter wind made her bones shiver. The moonlight snaked through the tree cover, enough light to that the child stumbled about underbrush for hour or two before collapsing in fright and exhaustion. She leaned against a tree, her face wet with tears.She knew. She was lost in the night.Lost in the woods.
© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved
Waiting
I remember the days before the Great Kingdoms.Before the War and the Invaders from Across the Sea.Before we served our conquering masters.In those days we lived free. We were not governed by cruel kings, or benevolent queens, or petty warlords. We lived as nomads and farmers, each town, village or tribe ruled by Elder Councils, chosen by the people. And we had no need for mercenaries or soldiers, for we had protectors.Until their blood spilled by the betrayer’s hand. Then they left us to the Invaders.But they’ll return, one day.The Dragons will come home.
~*~
Afternoon Tea
I traced the flower pattern on the tea cup with my finger. It seemed familiar to me, a fragment of memory floating out of reach. The afternoon sun was warm, and a breeze wafted the smell of gardenia. The table in the garden is set for two, a pot of hot tea ready, and a plate of pretty sandwiches.But I’m alone.A shadow fell across the lace tablecloth.A woman sat down at the table and smiled at me. “Sorry, I’m late.”I stared, suddenly confused. I grip the table edge. “Who are you?”“It’s me, Mom, your daughter.”
~*~
Night Falls
Such a small mistake, ignoring her father’s warning, running after a bird into the trees.“Stay on the path, Anna. Always stay on the path. You don’t want to lose your way in the forest.”Now the sun had set and the weather turned cold, the bitter wind made her bones shiver. The moonlight snaked through the tree cover, enough light to that the child stumbled about underbrush for hour or two before collapsing in fright and exhaustion. She leaned against a tree, her face wet with tears.She knew. She was lost in the night.Lost in the woods.
© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved
July 12, 2016
Interview With Author Ulff Lehmann
Today I have an interview with fantasy author Ulff Lehmann, and a look at his book, Shattered Dreams. Enjoy.
An Interview With Ulff Lehmann
Why don’t you begin by sharing a little about yourself.
Hi, I'm Ulff Lehmann, and while I am German I have decided to write in English. Primarily because I spent two thirds of my reading-life reading English novels. I have lived in the USA as an exchange student, and while I have always been interested in story telling, it was only in my early twenties that I started to write. After a few years being unable to put the phrases I wanted to say on paper, I realized that while I was reading a hell of a lot, up to 6 novels a month, all of these books were in English. Once that realization set in, I switched from German to English and haven't looked back since.
That I am a writer and a storyteller, I think my subconscious was always aware of, but instead of following my heart, I chose a career in banking. A career which did not last beyond the 2 years of training, which I finished more or less intact. After that I tried my hand at being a college student, but dropped out after a thankfully unsuccessful attempt to emigrate to the US. I came home, and stood before the shambles of my life, so to speak. No apartment, no job, no money in the bank. I moved back in with my parents, found a job doing temp work, found an apartment, reclaimed some normalcy.
Sadly normalcy isn't all it's made out to be. Jobs came, went, until I crashed. I recovered, got another job, crashed again. During that time, my best friend finally convinced me to go to therapy. Behaviour therapy set me straight, made me realize who and what I am, and I wrote my first two novels, Shattered Dreams and Shattered Hopes, during that time.
Could you tell us a bit about your latest book?
Shattered Dreams is the first part of a trilogy, a story that I have been developing for the better part of 25 years, actually. It is a multi-viewpoint story, the style pretty much inspired by A Song of Ice and Fire, with chapters bound together by the specific dates something or many things are occurring.
How long have you been writing, and how many books have you published to date?
I think my first short story, a precursor to Shattered Dreams, was released in a German fanzine sometime in 1994. I had been dabbling before, but never on any grander scale. Shattered Dreams is my first published novel.
Of all the books you've written, do you have a favourite?
Currently I am writing the third part, Shattered Bonds, and while I will always cherish Shattered Dreams as the first creative task I ever brought to an end, I would have to say that Bonds is my favourite.
Why did you decide to write in the fantasy genre?It was the first genre I really delved into as a reader. Greek, Roman, Germanic Mythology, I've read so much fantasy, I cannot remember it all. I'm fairly certain that I will turn to other genres, eventually, once I have said all I wanted to say in fantasy for the time being.
What is the hardest part of writing fantasy fiction?
Assuring people that not only is your work no Tolkien clone, but that you have never even finished The Lord of the Rings because it bores the crap out of you.
What do you enjoy most about writing in the fantasy genre?
Fucking with people's preconceptions.
Who is your intended readership?
First and foremost I write stories I would want to read. That being said, since my tastes have changed dramatically over the past decade or so, my intended readership is basically anyone who likes a good book. The whole genre thing, the strict adherence to sticking to a specific kind of novels, be it fantasy, sci-fi, historical fiction, horror, is, in my opinion, rather narrow minded. A book's good when it's good, and if the story of a romance novel grabs my attention, I'll read that too.
Are there particular challenges in writing for your core readership?
Since my primary audience is, initially at least, myself, yes there are. I'm a tough nut to crack, I'm my own worst critic, and to read anything without my inner editor screaming blue murder at stuff I dislike is impossible. Prose has got so boring, to me at least. Show me a book that has every sentence of almost every passage begin with "He..." or "She..." and I show you a writer who never bothered to polish his prose. Fifth graders write like that, and I hate it. Beginning every sentence differently, weaving words into something exciting, that is tough.
What did you enjoy most about writing your book?
Finishing it.
What did you find most challenging about writing your book?
Finishing it.
Did anything surprise you about the process of writing your book?
The stupid characters refuse to do what I want them to! Seriously, the more I got to know the characters, the less the preconceived path I had laid out made sense. In the end, I let the characters choose.
What did you hope to accomplish by publishing your book?
My first hope was to finish what had begun during my days at therapy. Finishing the novel was a huge step for me. Publishing the book, is close second. Truth be told, I had not thought much further than that. Yes, I wanted people to be touched by it, and given that one reader has already started to read the book again, I believe I have accomplished just that.
When did you realize you wanted to be a writer?
To me there's a difference, between conscious and subconscious realization. I've always been creative, in terms of story telling. I discovered role playing games in my early teens, and lived out my natural desire to tell stories there. When I started developing my main character for the short stories (who would later become the protagonist of the novels) I think I had an inkling, but since I was so stunted in the self awareness department, I did not really follow through. When I started therapy in earnest, that's when it literally punched me in the face.
Can you tell us about your writing process? Where do your ideas originate? Do you have a certain writing routine?
A three part question, fun! I start with the routine, because the process and the routine go hand in hand. The day before I return to writing, I make sure to go to bed so that I wake up at around 8 to 8:30 in the morning. From there, I fix a cup of tea (well, tankard is more appropriate, seeing that the bugger holds 0.75 litres) switch on my TV and watch one episode of a drama and two episodes of a sitcom. I also have my breakfast during that time. When the second episode of whatever sitcom is done, I shut off the TV, switch on the stereo to blast something metallic through the speakers, loud enough that it will reach me under the shower. After that, and before I get dressed, I change the song to The Blood of CuChulainn and then get into my clothes. With the final notes of Blood ending, I open my windows, put on my shoes, grab whatever non-fantasy book I am currently reading and head to my favourite café. There, I enjoy the novel whilst drinking a large cappuccino. Then, with my mind clear, I return home, switch on my writing computer and the stereo with my "writing-soundtrack" and begin.The process is rather straight forward. I check where I left off, recheck some of the previous chapters to get my bearing, and write. I generally have a good idea of what I want to do, where the story will go, and while that first day of writing is mostly spent fixing some stuff from where I left off and before, I add another few pages before I stop. The following days are the same, only now I am fully back in the zone and new pages start flowing.Ideas... good question... I'd say the primary idea comes from somewhere between waking and dreaming, that blank space between thoughts. That sounds better than, I get some damn good ideas under the shower, or while taking a dump, or shortly before falling asleep, which is the shittiest time to have any ideas because you have to get your ass out of bed and write the ideas down. The rest is basically following these ideas with logic.
What is your greatest challenge as a writer?
Making sure everything is logical.
Do you have a favourite author, or writing inspiration?
George R.R. Martin, Bernard Cornwell, Tad Williams.
How do you research your books?
I read non-fiction.
What advice would you give beginning writers?
Read, read, read, read, and read outside your comfort zone. If you only play in your sandbox and never in the forest or whatever, you will never understand the larger world. And stop looking at fucking Twilight for inspiration! You get about the same amount of crap from staring at used toilet paper!
What do you like to do when you're not writing? Any hobbies?
Movies
How did you become interested in movies?
Best alternative to reading books.
Are you working on another book?
I am currently working on the last part of the trilogy that starts with Shattered Dreams.
What’s your next project? Any upcoming book secrets you care to reveal?
Not sure yet. I want to finish the trilogy first, then worry about what comes next.
Author Bio:
German born but English writing author, Ulff Lehmann, was raised reading, almost any and everything, from the classic Greek to Roman to Germanic myths to more appropriate fiction for children his age. Initially devouring books in his native language, he switched to reading English books during a year long stay in the USA as a foreign exchange student.
In the years since, he has lost count of the books he has read, unwilling to dig into the depths of his collection. An avid fantasy reader, he grew dissatisfied with the constant lack of technological evolution in many a fantasy world, and finally, when push came to shove, he began to realize not only his potential as a story teller but also his vision of a mythical yet realistic world in which to settle the tale in he had been developing for 20 years.
Author's Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/Ralchanh/
Shattered Dreams by Ulff Lehmann
For two years the mercenary Drangar Ralgon has kept his back to his dark past. Afraid to live, afraid to die, Drangar tries to ignore the abyss that lies behind him. Now, faced with a war he wants nothing to do with, he finally turns around and gazes back.Inspired by the vigorous style of George R.R. Martin's A SONG OF ICE AND FIRE, and in the vein of historical fictioneer Bernard Cornwell, SHATTERED DREAMS brings to life a stark, uncompromising tale of a man's path to redemption.
You can find Shattered Dreams at:
Amazon (US)
Amazon (UK)
An Interview With Ulff Lehmann
Why don’t you begin by sharing a little about yourself.Hi, I'm Ulff Lehmann, and while I am German I have decided to write in English. Primarily because I spent two thirds of my reading-life reading English novels. I have lived in the USA as an exchange student, and while I have always been interested in story telling, it was only in my early twenties that I started to write. After a few years being unable to put the phrases I wanted to say on paper, I realized that while I was reading a hell of a lot, up to 6 novels a month, all of these books were in English. Once that realization set in, I switched from German to English and haven't looked back since.
That I am a writer and a storyteller, I think my subconscious was always aware of, but instead of following my heart, I chose a career in banking. A career which did not last beyond the 2 years of training, which I finished more or less intact. After that I tried my hand at being a college student, but dropped out after a thankfully unsuccessful attempt to emigrate to the US. I came home, and stood before the shambles of my life, so to speak. No apartment, no job, no money in the bank. I moved back in with my parents, found a job doing temp work, found an apartment, reclaimed some normalcy.
Sadly normalcy isn't all it's made out to be. Jobs came, went, until I crashed. I recovered, got another job, crashed again. During that time, my best friend finally convinced me to go to therapy. Behaviour therapy set me straight, made me realize who and what I am, and I wrote my first two novels, Shattered Dreams and Shattered Hopes, during that time.
Could you tell us a bit about your latest book?
Shattered Dreams is the first part of a trilogy, a story that I have been developing for the better part of 25 years, actually. It is a multi-viewpoint story, the style pretty much inspired by A Song of Ice and Fire, with chapters bound together by the specific dates something or many things are occurring.
How long have you been writing, and how many books have you published to date?
I think my first short story, a precursor to Shattered Dreams, was released in a German fanzine sometime in 1994. I had been dabbling before, but never on any grander scale. Shattered Dreams is my first published novel.
Of all the books you've written, do you have a favourite?
Currently I am writing the third part, Shattered Bonds, and while I will always cherish Shattered Dreams as the first creative task I ever brought to an end, I would have to say that Bonds is my favourite.
Why did you decide to write in the fantasy genre?It was the first genre I really delved into as a reader. Greek, Roman, Germanic Mythology, I've read so much fantasy, I cannot remember it all. I'm fairly certain that I will turn to other genres, eventually, once I have said all I wanted to say in fantasy for the time being.
What is the hardest part of writing fantasy fiction?
Assuring people that not only is your work no Tolkien clone, but that you have never even finished The Lord of the Rings because it bores the crap out of you.
What do you enjoy most about writing in the fantasy genre?
Fucking with people's preconceptions.
Who is your intended readership?
First and foremost I write stories I would want to read. That being said, since my tastes have changed dramatically over the past decade or so, my intended readership is basically anyone who likes a good book. The whole genre thing, the strict adherence to sticking to a specific kind of novels, be it fantasy, sci-fi, historical fiction, horror, is, in my opinion, rather narrow minded. A book's good when it's good, and if the story of a romance novel grabs my attention, I'll read that too.
Are there particular challenges in writing for your core readership?
Since my primary audience is, initially at least, myself, yes there are. I'm a tough nut to crack, I'm my own worst critic, and to read anything without my inner editor screaming blue murder at stuff I dislike is impossible. Prose has got so boring, to me at least. Show me a book that has every sentence of almost every passage begin with "He..." or "She..." and I show you a writer who never bothered to polish his prose. Fifth graders write like that, and I hate it. Beginning every sentence differently, weaving words into something exciting, that is tough.
What did you enjoy most about writing your book?
Finishing it.
What did you find most challenging about writing your book?
Finishing it.
Did anything surprise you about the process of writing your book?
The stupid characters refuse to do what I want them to! Seriously, the more I got to know the characters, the less the preconceived path I had laid out made sense. In the end, I let the characters choose.
What did you hope to accomplish by publishing your book?
My first hope was to finish what had begun during my days at therapy. Finishing the novel was a huge step for me. Publishing the book, is close second. Truth be told, I had not thought much further than that. Yes, I wanted people to be touched by it, and given that one reader has already started to read the book again, I believe I have accomplished just that.
When did you realize you wanted to be a writer?
To me there's a difference, between conscious and subconscious realization. I've always been creative, in terms of story telling. I discovered role playing games in my early teens, and lived out my natural desire to tell stories there. When I started developing my main character for the short stories (who would later become the protagonist of the novels) I think I had an inkling, but since I was so stunted in the self awareness department, I did not really follow through. When I started therapy in earnest, that's when it literally punched me in the face.
Can you tell us about your writing process? Where do your ideas originate? Do you have a certain writing routine?
A three part question, fun! I start with the routine, because the process and the routine go hand in hand. The day before I return to writing, I make sure to go to bed so that I wake up at around 8 to 8:30 in the morning. From there, I fix a cup of tea (well, tankard is more appropriate, seeing that the bugger holds 0.75 litres) switch on my TV and watch one episode of a drama and two episodes of a sitcom. I also have my breakfast during that time. When the second episode of whatever sitcom is done, I shut off the TV, switch on the stereo to blast something metallic through the speakers, loud enough that it will reach me under the shower. After that, and before I get dressed, I change the song to The Blood of CuChulainn and then get into my clothes. With the final notes of Blood ending, I open my windows, put on my shoes, grab whatever non-fantasy book I am currently reading and head to my favourite café. There, I enjoy the novel whilst drinking a large cappuccino. Then, with my mind clear, I return home, switch on my writing computer and the stereo with my "writing-soundtrack" and begin.The process is rather straight forward. I check where I left off, recheck some of the previous chapters to get my bearing, and write. I generally have a good idea of what I want to do, where the story will go, and while that first day of writing is mostly spent fixing some stuff from where I left off and before, I add another few pages before I stop. The following days are the same, only now I am fully back in the zone and new pages start flowing.Ideas... good question... I'd say the primary idea comes from somewhere between waking and dreaming, that blank space between thoughts. That sounds better than, I get some damn good ideas under the shower, or while taking a dump, or shortly before falling asleep, which is the shittiest time to have any ideas because you have to get your ass out of bed and write the ideas down. The rest is basically following these ideas with logic.
What is your greatest challenge as a writer?
Making sure everything is logical.
Do you have a favourite author, or writing inspiration?
George R.R. Martin, Bernard Cornwell, Tad Williams.
How do you research your books?
I read non-fiction.
What advice would you give beginning writers?
Read, read, read, read, and read outside your comfort zone. If you only play in your sandbox and never in the forest or whatever, you will never understand the larger world. And stop looking at fucking Twilight for inspiration! You get about the same amount of crap from staring at used toilet paper!
What do you like to do when you're not writing? Any hobbies?
Movies
How did you become interested in movies?
Best alternative to reading books.
Are you working on another book?
I am currently working on the last part of the trilogy that starts with Shattered Dreams.
What’s your next project? Any upcoming book secrets you care to reveal?
Not sure yet. I want to finish the trilogy first, then worry about what comes next.
Author Bio:
German born but English writing author, Ulff Lehmann, was raised reading, almost any and everything, from the classic Greek to Roman to Germanic myths to more appropriate fiction for children his age. Initially devouring books in his native language, he switched to reading English books during a year long stay in the USA as a foreign exchange student.
In the years since, he has lost count of the books he has read, unwilling to dig into the depths of his collection. An avid fantasy reader, he grew dissatisfied with the constant lack of technological evolution in many a fantasy world, and finally, when push came to shove, he began to realize not only his potential as a story teller but also his vision of a mythical yet realistic world in which to settle the tale in he had been developing for 20 years.
Author's Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/Ralchanh/
Shattered Dreams by Ulff Lehmann
For two years the mercenary Drangar Ralgon has kept his back to his dark past. Afraid to live, afraid to die, Drangar tries to ignore the abyss that lies behind him. Now, faced with a war he wants nothing to do with, he finally turns around and gazes back.Inspired by the vigorous style of George R.R. Martin's A SONG OF ICE AND FIRE, and in the vein of historical fictioneer Bernard Cornwell, SHATTERED DREAMS brings to life a stark, uncompromising tale of a man's path to redemption.
You can find Shattered Dreams at:
Amazon (US)
Amazon (UK)
July 9, 2016
Book Spotlight: Mourning Dove Locket
Today I have a special treat, with a book spotlight for the paranormal novel Mourning Dove Locket by author Juli D. Revezzo. There's a peek at the book, it's trailer, and an excerpt. Enjoy.
Mourning Dove Locket by Juli D. Revezzo
For antique shop owners Caitlin and Trevor Fulmer, the intrusion of gods and ghosts is an unfortunate daily occurrence. After a young girl offers Caitlin a gold locket, however, she can’t help but notice it’s oozing with paranormal energy.
More significantly, the locket’s owner is surrounded by Otherworld spirits. Caitlin recognizes in the girl all the signs of a budding witch in the midst of a dangerous crisis.
Can she and her covenmates protect the girl and assist her in embracing her powers, before those beyond the veil extract their revenge?
Mourning Dove Locket is available at:
AmazonBarnes and NobleiTunesSmashwords
and in Paperback
Book Trailer
Excerpt from Mourning Dove Locket
“Hi,” a girl’s voice drew Caitlin’s attention away from the jewelry. Behind her, for an instant, something shimmered in the sunlight. An old woman smiled, there and gone, startling Caitlin.She’d had bad luck with fear the last year and wondered when her heart would give out from it. Ghost, another pesky ghost, she thought. Gulf Breeze was full of them, these days. The apparition already gone, Caitlin scrutinized the girl, taking in her dark ponytail, her shorts. She was about fifteen or maybe sixteen, Caitlin judged from the braided bracelet on her wrist, and her height. But more important markers interested her. The girl’s solidity, that she couldn’t see through her, the perfume-cloud around her, and the sheen of sweat on her lip and staining her blue short-sleeved school uniform shirt, told Caitlin she must be alive.“You like jewelry,” she said.Caitlin’s hand sought out her peridot and gold ingot necklace, the one she’d received from the goddess Arianrhod, an heirloom her former incarnation had left in her care. Payable on her next life.The necklace had almost come at a stiff price, very nearly the loss of her beloved Trevor. If she ever met her other self, Kate, in a dark forest, they were going to have a long, serious discussion. She wondered if the other Kate understood what “what the hell, woman?” meant.She’d seen enough of Kate’s tribulations to know she did.Caitlin scanned the store, seeking out Hofter—the evil imp who had given them both fits.Seeing that he wasn’t doing handstands near the doors of the dressing room—or anywhere else, for that matter—she turned back to the teen.“Sure. Some pieces. Why?”From her pocket, the girl produced a small, oval gold locket. “I bet you’ll like this.”Caitlin cocked her head, studying the piece.She offered it but Caitlin kept her hand firmly placed on her warm hip. She’d learned never to touch first. She’d even become wary of sniffing strange things, in the last few months. As there was no sense in jumping to conclusions yet, she met the girl’s hazel-eyed gaze. Clear and calm, yet expectant.Her fingers proved warm and soft when she laid the necklace in Caitlin’s. This girl was no ghost.“It’s my abuela—grandma’s.” She glanced over her shoulder to, Caitlin thought, a woman. “Mom doesn’t want it. She wants to sell it anyway.”“You should give it back to your grandma, then.”“I can’t.” The girl shook her head, disturbing her shining black curls. “But my grandma needs it.”Caitlin wondered how many times a year her heart could stop, and yet, keep her alive. It is my Grandma’s. I can’t give it to her. But Grandma needs it. Oh…Surely, these weren’t normal verbal slips. She knew present tense when it was used.Caitlin studied the locket in her hand. Some sort of dove graced the smooth gold cover. She flipped it over, squinting for the maker name or some sort of engraving to identify the owner. She didn’t see one.Turning it over one more time, she ran a finger over the dove, closed her hand around it. “I can’t take it from you, dear, but let me go talk to your mom.” She smiled at her. “Maybe we can work something out.”The girl shrugged and headed in the direction of a table full of pots and pans. A woman of clear Hispanic descent stood there, perusing the items. Caitlin approached her yet her daughter made the introductions. “Mom, she’ll give Abuela her necklace.”Did the teen have any idea what she said? She peered at the girl. She was no ghost.The woman blinked dark eyes. “It’s a locket, mija, and you know she doesn’t need it anymore,” she said, a hint of accent to her voice. The woman met her gaze, a sheepish smile on her face. “Don’t pay any attention to her, ma’am.”She doesn’t need it anymore. The grandmother might indeed be dead.“She has an active imagination.” Yet Caitlin had a feeling the girl was more than imaginative. Was she a budding medium?Caitlin knew how treacherous the training was. Her heart twisted for the girl. Was she too about to go through hell, as Caitlin had?She held her hand out for the locket, but a little voice whispered in her mind that it would be better if she made a deal. “I’ll tell you what.” Why can’t Trevor be here for this? Buying and selling antiques was his forte; she was still an apprentice. “My husband owns an antique shop.” She opened her purse, pulled out a Starfort Collectibles business card, and handed it to the woman. “Your daughter says you’d like to be rid of this necklace. I’m sure my husband can give you a fair price for it.”The woman took the card and studied the embossed lettering, the star sitting beside Trevor’s name.Starfort Collectibles; Trevor Fulmer, Owner, Proprietor. Caitlin was still pleased with the printing job she’d done here. For however much she hated working for Kameko’s Print Shop, they’d done good work together.Caitlin frowned at the memory of the print shop’s jackass manager, Calvin. Glad to be out from under Calvin’s thumb, she retrieved her cell phone. A quick search of Starfort Collectibles’ website gave her a good idea of a preliminary offer. Without Trevor, it felt strange to make such a promise, but then she remembered what Michela once told her: Legally, she owned half of their business. Wouldn’t any offer she made be just as valid? Still, flipping the piece over in her hand, she wasn’t sure. “Let me see what I can do.” Caitlin took a few steps away, dialing Trevor’s cell phone number.“Starfort Collectibles,” Trevor answered in two rings.“How much would you give someone for an old locket?”“What age?”“I don’t know,” Caitlin admitted.“Condition?”“It’s a bit banged up. There’s a teenage girl offering it to me, so I suppose it’s expected.”“Why would she offer it to you?” he asked.“Don’t know. But I have a hunch.”“Do you?”Caitlin glanced over her shoulder. The mother was trying to mind her own business, so Caitlin lowered her voice. “She claims her grandmother wants me to have it.”“What’s the grandmother say?” he asked.She cleared her throat. “I don’t think she cares for money anymore.”“Oh…” The tone in Trevor’s voice told her he absolutely understood in what world the grandmother currently resided.
Author Bio
Juli D. Revezzo writes fantasy and romantic stories filled in with elements garnered from a lifetime love affair with magic, myth, witches, wizards, and fated lovers and legend. She is the author of The Antique Magic series and the Paranormal Romance Celtic Stewards Chronicles series, New Adult romance Changeling's Crown, and short stories published in ETERNAL HAUNTED SUMMER, LUNA STATION QUARTERLY, among others. She is also a member of the Independent Author Network and the Magic Appreciation Tour.
To learn more about this and future releases, visit her at:Homepage: http://julidrevezzo.comFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/julidrevezzoGood Reads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5782712.Juli_D_RevezzoGoogle+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/111476709039805267272/postsInstagram: http://instagram.com/julidrevezzoPinterest: http://pinterest.com/jewelsraven/Twitter: https://twitter.com/julidrevezzo
Sign up for her newsletter at: http://bit.ly/SNI5K6
Mourning Dove Locket by Juli D. Revezzo
For antique shop owners Caitlin and Trevor Fulmer, the intrusion of gods and ghosts is an unfortunate daily occurrence. After a young girl offers Caitlin a gold locket, however, she can’t help but notice it’s oozing with paranormal energy.
More significantly, the locket’s owner is surrounded by Otherworld spirits. Caitlin recognizes in the girl all the signs of a budding witch in the midst of a dangerous crisis.
Can she and her covenmates protect the girl and assist her in embracing her powers, before those beyond the veil extract their revenge?
Mourning Dove Locket is available at:
AmazonBarnes and NobleiTunesSmashwords
and in Paperback
Book Trailer
Excerpt from Mourning Dove Locket
“Hi,” a girl’s voice drew Caitlin’s attention away from the jewelry. Behind her, for an instant, something shimmered in the sunlight. An old woman smiled, there and gone, startling Caitlin.She’d had bad luck with fear the last year and wondered when her heart would give out from it. Ghost, another pesky ghost, she thought. Gulf Breeze was full of them, these days. The apparition already gone, Caitlin scrutinized the girl, taking in her dark ponytail, her shorts. She was about fifteen or maybe sixteen, Caitlin judged from the braided bracelet on her wrist, and her height. But more important markers interested her. The girl’s solidity, that she couldn’t see through her, the perfume-cloud around her, and the sheen of sweat on her lip and staining her blue short-sleeved school uniform shirt, told Caitlin she must be alive.“You like jewelry,” she said.Caitlin’s hand sought out her peridot and gold ingot necklace, the one she’d received from the goddess Arianrhod, an heirloom her former incarnation had left in her care. Payable on her next life.The necklace had almost come at a stiff price, very nearly the loss of her beloved Trevor. If she ever met her other self, Kate, in a dark forest, they were going to have a long, serious discussion. She wondered if the other Kate understood what “what the hell, woman?” meant.She’d seen enough of Kate’s tribulations to know she did.Caitlin scanned the store, seeking out Hofter—the evil imp who had given them both fits.Seeing that he wasn’t doing handstands near the doors of the dressing room—or anywhere else, for that matter—she turned back to the teen.“Sure. Some pieces. Why?”From her pocket, the girl produced a small, oval gold locket. “I bet you’ll like this.”Caitlin cocked her head, studying the piece.She offered it but Caitlin kept her hand firmly placed on her warm hip. She’d learned never to touch first. She’d even become wary of sniffing strange things, in the last few months. As there was no sense in jumping to conclusions yet, she met the girl’s hazel-eyed gaze. Clear and calm, yet expectant.Her fingers proved warm and soft when she laid the necklace in Caitlin’s. This girl was no ghost.“It’s my abuela—grandma’s.” She glanced over her shoulder to, Caitlin thought, a woman. “Mom doesn’t want it. She wants to sell it anyway.”“You should give it back to your grandma, then.”“I can’t.” The girl shook her head, disturbing her shining black curls. “But my grandma needs it.”Caitlin wondered how many times a year her heart could stop, and yet, keep her alive. It is my Grandma’s. I can’t give it to her. But Grandma needs it. Oh…Surely, these weren’t normal verbal slips. She knew present tense when it was used.Caitlin studied the locket in her hand. Some sort of dove graced the smooth gold cover. She flipped it over, squinting for the maker name or some sort of engraving to identify the owner. She didn’t see one.Turning it over one more time, she ran a finger over the dove, closed her hand around it. “I can’t take it from you, dear, but let me go talk to your mom.” She smiled at her. “Maybe we can work something out.”The girl shrugged and headed in the direction of a table full of pots and pans. A woman of clear Hispanic descent stood there, perusing the items. Caitlin approached her yet her daughter made the introductions. “Mom, she’ll give Abuela her necklace.”Did the teen have any idea what she said? She peered at the girl. She was no ghost.The woman blinked dark eyes. “It’s a locket, mija, and you know she doesn’t need it anymore,” she said, a hint of accent to her voice. The woman met her gaze, a sheepish smile on her face. “Don’t pay any attention to her, ma’am.”She doesn’t need it anymore. The grandmother might indeed be dead.“She has an active imagination.” Yet Caitlin had a feeling the girl was more than imaginative. Was she a budding medium?Caitlin knew how treacherous the training was. Her heart twisted for the girl. Was she too about to go through hell, as Caitlin had?She held her hand out for the locket, but a little voice whispered in her mind that it would be better if she made a deal. “I’ll tell you what.” Why can’t Trevor be here for this? Buying and selling antiques was his forte; she was still an apprentice. “My husband owns an antique shop.” She opened her purse, pulled out a Starfort Collectibles business card, and handed it to the woman. “Your daughter says you’d like to be rid of this necklace. I’m sure my husband can give you a fair price for it.”The woman took the card and studied the embossed lettering, the star sitting beside Trevor’s name.Starfort Collectibles; Trevor Fulmer, Owner, Proprietor. Caitlin was still pleased with the printing job she’d done here. For however much she hated working for Kameko’s Print Shop, they’d done good work together.Caitlin frowned at the memory of the print shop’s jackass manager, Calvin. Glad to be out from under Calvin’s thumb, she retrieved her cell phone. A quick search of Starfort Collectibles’ website gave her a good idea of a preliminary offer. Without Trevor, it felt strange to make such a promise, but then she remembered what Michela once told her: Legally, she owned half of their business. Wouldn’t any offer she made be just as valid? Still, flipping the piece over in her hand, she wasn’t sure. “Let me see what I can do.” Caitlin took a few steps away, dialing Trevor’s cell phone number.“Starfort Collectibles,” Trevor answered in two rings.“How much would you give someone for an old locket?”“What age?”“I don’t know,” Caitlin admitted.“Condition?”“It’s a bit banged up. There’s a teenage girl offering it to me, so I suppose it’s expected.”“Why would she offer it to you?” he asked.“Don’t know. But I have a hunch.”“Do you?”Caitlin glanced over her shoulder. The mother was trying to mind her own business, so Caitlin lowered her voice. “She claims her grandmother wants me to have it.”“What’s the grandmother say?” he asked.She cleared her throat. “I don’t think she cares for money anymore.”“Oh…” The tone in Trevor’s voice told her he absolutely understood in what world the grandmother currently resided.
Author Bio
Juli D. Revezzo writes fantasy and romantic stories filled in with elements garnered from a lifetime love affair with magic, myth, witches, wizards, and fated lovers and legend. She is the author of The Antique Magic series and the Paranormal Romance Celtic Stewards Chronicles series, New Adult romance Changeling's Crown, and short stories published in ETERNAL HAUNTED SUMMER, LUNA STATION QUARTERLY, among others. She is also a member of the Independent Author Network and the Magic Appreciation Tour.
To learn more about this and future releases, visit her at:Homepage: http://julidrevezzo.comFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/julidrevezzoGood Reads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5782712.Juli_D_RevezzoGoogle+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/111476709039805267272/postsInstagram: http://instagram.com/julidrevezzoPinterest: http://pinterest.com/jewelsraven/Twitter: https://twitter.com/julidrevezzo
Sign up for her newsletter at: http://bit.ly/SNI5K6
July 6, 2016
Drabble Wednesday: Time Askew
Today on Drabble Wednesday we turn back the clock, and push it forward. Come travel the darker lanes of the time stream...
That Competitive Spirit
Rivalry can make a man do peculiar things.It can devour you, especially if it’s over a woman. That type of rivalry can drive one to madness.I know. I fell over the brink some time ago when Seymour Danvers married my beloved Emily.That’s when I first felt hate for the man. When I turned that rage to my pursuit of science.The best decision I ever made.For my great achievement in science undid Seymour.Literally.“Dinner’s prepared, Henry.” I smile at the sweet sound of my wife’s voice.“Coming, Emily.”My time machine was very useful indeed.
~*~
Wrong Turn
Wasteland.Looking out the capsule window, I see devastation. Torn black earth, crumbling stone ruins, falling ash, grey skies cascading with streaks of lightning.How did I get here?I remember. I’m the first Time Astronaut. I was sent forward ten years, to record our fate.Surely this is not how we ended a mere decade from now?No. Something went wrong. There was—there was...A storm. A time storm.I look at the chronometer. It reads 30, 879.No! It’s too far! They can’t get me back!I scream.But no one else is alive to hear me.
~*~
Descent
My race are the Keepers of Time. We record eons as they pass, hoards of annals tucked away in dimensional pockets of universe. Generations given to writing the histories of the planetary cosmos.As I was given.At the heart of our world swirls the Well of Time. It is what we breathe, how we see. We are connected to it through smaller portals, but are forbidden to gaze upon the Well directly.I did not listen.I stared into its unending black depths. I felt its ruthless pull, balanced at its edge.Then I fell.Into my eternal scream.
© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved
That Competitive Spirit
Rivalry can make a man do peculiar things.It can devour you, especially if it’s over a woman. That type of rivalry can drive one to madness.I know. I fell over the brink some time ago when Seymour Danvers married my beloved Emily.That’s when I first felt hate for the man. When I turned that rage to my pursuit of science.The best decision I ever made.For my great achievement in science undid Seymour.Literally.“Dinner’s prepared, Henry.” I smile at the sweet sound of my wife’s voice.“Coming, Emily.”My time machine was very useful indeed.
~*~
Wrong Turn
Wasteland.Looking out the capsule window, I see devastation. Torn black earth, crumbling stone ruins, falling ash, grey skies cascading with streaks of lightning.How did I get here?I remember. I’m the first Time Astronaut. I was sent forward ten years, to record our fate.Surely this is not how we ended a mere decade from now?No. Something went wrong. There was—there was...A storm. A time storm.I look at the chronometer. It reads 30, 879.No! It’s too far! They can’t get me back!I scream.But no one else is alive to hear me.
~*~
Descent
My race are the Keepers of Time. We record eons as they pass, hoards of annals tucked away in dimensional pockets of universe. Generations given to writing the histories of the planetary cosmos.As I was given.At the heart of our world swirls the Well of Time. It is what we breathe, how we see. We are connected to it through smaller portals, but are forbidden to gaze upon the Well directly.I did not listen.I stared into its unending black depths. I felt its ruthless pull, balanced at its edge.Then I fell.Into my eternal scream.
© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved
July 1, 2016
Brain to Books Indie Pride Day Book Blast And Blog Tour: Author Tiffany Apan
Today is July 1st, and celebrates both Canada Day and Indie Pride Day. So I wish a Happy Canada Day to my fellow Canadians, and give this post as part of the Brain to Books Indie Pride Day Book Blast and Blog Tour!
As part of this indie pride extravaganza my blog will be featuring the horror genre.
And for this event, I have a great spotlight featuring author Tiffany Apan and her gothic horror novel Descent, part of her Birthrite series. Enjoy...
Descent (The Birthrite Series, #1) by Tiffany Apan
Visions of infant twin boys, clouds, a young woman taking her own life, and a collision of space, time, and realms...
On the eve of Summer Solstice in 1844, four men in different areas of the world share an experience that impacts not only their own lives, but those of the future generations. The first man is Nicolae Ganoush, a young Romany fugitive from a slave village in Wallachia. The second is Jonathan Blake, an eighteen-year-old Irishman in the American Midwest who finds himself falling in love with a young woman from a nearby Sioux village. The third is James Livingston, a prominent figure in colonial America, and the fourth is Hector de Fuentes, a sixteen-year-old from Tuxpan, Mexico with special gifts and visions enhanced by a mysterious and wondrous cave. Each man carries his own inner battle, unbelievable ancient truths deep within their lineages, and demons that are much closer to home than any of them would like.
Later in 1931, seventeen-year-old Dorothy Blake, a descendant of Jonathan and his Sioux wife, is living in Plains, New York, the town founded by James Livingston. The notorious Fleming Orphanage has long fallen into disuse but kept by the town as a landmark. The buildings loom high on a hill, overlooking the town, taunting the townsfolk with its lore. On Halloween night, Dorothy ventures up with friends, and the group of six expects nothing more than a good time along with a few laughs. But they fall into a dark, brutal evil; one that extends beyond the orphanage and town of Plains, far back into history. Their descent is only the beginning…
The Birthrite Series is an epic journey into the vast unknown, plunging deep into the dark crevices of the mind, begging the question of what sanity really is and if the insane truly are. Are we really shown the whole truth of what surrounds us or is it an illusion? It also tells of deep-rooted love, planted centuries ago and a story of family, forgiveness, and redemption.
You can find Descent on:
Amazon Barnes and Noble Smashwords
Goodreads
And you can check out the Birthrite Series here:
Birthrite Facebook Page
Book Trailer
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Tiffany Apan grew up among the thick forests of the Appalachian Mountains in Northeastern Pennsylvania. It was there she began honing artistic abilities and received much of her creative inspiration. A misfit among her peers (she was the only one in her fifth grade writing class obsessed enough with Vikings and Norwegian mythology to write poems about them), Tiffany was highly active in the artistic community in Wilkes-Barre, PA, involving herself in all music, theater, visual arts, and writing. Eventually, she settled quite comfortably into a role as “that artsy kid in black” who sits in a coffee shop, drinking endless amounts of coffee and tea while writing furiously in a journal or sketchpad.
After graduating high school, she left the Northeastern PA ghosts for the Southeastern PA zombies (Pittsburgh). Upon the move, Tiffany became involved with the indie film scene, landing supporting roles in a couple films. This also gave way to the release of her music with partner in crime, Jason English. Since then, she has gone on to act in several films and theater productions with starring and supporting roles, release music to critical acclaim, and receive accolades for her writing and producing.
The Appalachian Mountains serve as a backdrop for many of her stories, including The Cemetery by the Lake and The Birthrite Series. You can check out more of her work (writing, music, film, etc) on her website, blog, Amazon, and other social media.
You can find out more about the author and her writing at these sites:
WebsiteBlogFacebookTwitterYouTubeCDBabyAmazon ProfileGoodreadsSmashwords Profile
~*~
For more genres and tour stops check out these blogs:
Ani Manjikian - Right the Writer: https://rightthewriter.com/
Heidi Angell: http://www.heidiangell.com/blog
Tabitha Barret - The Throne Room: http://www.thethirdthrone.com/
Rainne Atkins - Just Books: http://rainnes.blogspot.com/
And Angela B. Chrysler for the main Book Blast event: http://www.angelabchrysler.com/blog/
As part of this indie pride extravaganza my blog will be featuring the horror genre.
And for this event, I have a great spotlight featuring author Tiffany Apan and her gothic horror novel Descent, part of her Birthrite series. Enjoy...
Descent (The Birthrite Series, #1) by Tiffany Apan
Visions of infant twin boys, clouds, a young woman taking her own life, and a collision of space, time, and realms...
On the eve of Summer Solstice in 1844, four men in different areas of the world share an experience that impacts not only their own lives, but those of the future generations. The first man is Nicolae Ganoush, a young Romany fugitive from a slave village in Wallachia. The second is Jonathan Blake, an eighteen-year-old Irishman in the American Midwest who finds himself falling in love with a young woman from a nearby Sioux village. The third is James Livingston, a prominent figure in colonial America, and the fourth is Hector de Fuentes, a sixteen-year-old from Tuxpan, Mexico with special gifts and visions enhanced by a mysterious and wondrous cave. Each man carries his own inner battle, unbelievable ancient truths deep within their lineages, and demons that are much closer to home than any of them would like.
Later in 1931, seventeen-year-old Dorothy Blake, a descendant of Jonathan and his Sioux wife, is living in Plains, New York, the town founded by James Livingston. The notorious Fleming Orphanage has long fallen into disuse but kept by the town as a landmark. The buildings loom high on a hill, overlooking the town, taunting the townsfolk with its lore. On Halloween night, Dorothy ventures up with friends, and the group of six expects nothing more than a good time along with a few laughs. But they fall into a dark, brutal evil; one that extends beyond the orphanage and town of Plains, far back into history. Their descent is only the beginning…
The Birthrite Series is an epic journey into the vast unknown, plunging deep into the dark crevices of the mind, begging the question of what sanity really is and if the insane truly are. Are we really shown the whole truth of what surrounds us or is it an illusion? It also tells of deep-rooted love, planted centuries ago and a story of family, forgiveness, and redemption.
You can find Descent on:
Amazon Barnes and Noble Smashwords
Goodreads
And you can check out the Birthrite Series here:
Birthrite Facebook Page
Book Trailer
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Tiffany Apan grew up among the thick forests of the Appalachian Mountains in Northeastern Pennsylvania. It was there she began honing artistic abilities and received much of her creative inspiration. A misfit among her peers (she was the only one in her fifth grade writing class obsessed enough with Vikings and Norwegian mythology to write poems about them), Tiffany was highly active in the artistic community in Wilkes-Barre, PA, involving herself in all music, theater, visual arts, and writing. Eventually, she settled quite comfortably into a role as “that artsy kid in black” who sits in a coffee shop, drinking endless amounts of coffee and tea while writing furiously in a journal or sketchpad.
After graduating high school, she left the Northeastern PA ghosts for the Southeastern PA zombies (Pittsburgh). Upon the move, Tiffany became involved with the indie film scene, landing supporting roles in a couple films. This also gave way to the release of her music with partner in crime, Jason English. Since then, she has gone on to act in several films and theater productions with starring and supporting roles, release music to critical acclaim, and receive accolades for her writing and producing.
The Appalachian Mountains serve as a backdrop for many of her stories, including The Cemetery by the Lake and The Birthrite Series. You can check out more of her work (writing, music, film, etc) on her website, blog, Amazon, and other social media.
You can find out more about the author and her writing at these sites:
WebsiteBlogFacebookTwitterYouTubeCDBabyAmazon ProfileGoodreadsSmashwords Profile
~*~
For more genres and tour stops check out these blogs:
Ani Manjikian - Right the Writer: https://rightthewriter.com/
Heidi Angell: http://www.heidiangell.com/blog
Tabitha Barret - The Throne Room: http://www.thethirdthrone.com/
Rainne Atkins - Just Books: http://rainnes.blogspot.com/
And Angela B. Chrysler for the main Book Blast event: http://www.angelabchrysler.com/blog/
