A.F. Stewart's Blog, page 62
March 16, 2016
Drabble Wednesday: Myth-ellaneous
Welcome back to Drabble Wednesday! This week we explore the dark depths of myth with Vikings, doomed cities, and reincarnation...
Warrior’s End
The village mourns as I watch from afar. They carry the warrior’s corpse to the pyre, and lay him to rest for his final journey. Dressed in his armour, his shield and sword rest atop his chest, and his best drinking cup is placed in his cold hand. They light the wood; flames and smoke rise to the heavens and the All-Father.I smile.With the smoke I soar, to bear the warrior’s soul upon my shield. Past mortal worlds we fly, past Asgard, and to our ending.“I am Valkyrie. Open the gates and welcome this warrior to Valhalla!”
~*~
City of Light
The stars scattered across the sky as a firmament of celestial grace, a gift from the gods to light the evening’s shadows. So it was believed in the great city, and many a poem spoke of it such.And this night, a man studied those stars.A man of reason, chased by unease, searched the heavens for answers to unnatural phenomenon. Even though his own friend scoffed at his worry.“So the earth trembles of late? It is not uncommon.”“It is more than that, the sea behaves strangely as well. It portends trouble.”“Nonsense. We are safe in Atlantis.”
~*~
Rebirth
I remember the pain.Even now, here in my warm fluid cocoon.I try to erase the memories, I try to think of the beautiful sun, the wind against my wings as I flew, but it always comes back to the pain. The all consuming agony of my death.If you could even call it such.Is it a death, if you don’t remain dead?A thousand times upon a thousand times I have “died.” Is it any wonder I cannot obliterate the memories?The cycle will continue, no matter my wishes.The Phoenix will burnThe Phoenix will rise.
© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved
Warrior’s End
The village mourns as I watch from afar. They carry the warrior’s corpse to the pyre, and lay him to rest for his final journey. Dressed in his armour, his shield and sword rest atop his chest, and his best drinking cup is placed in his cold hand. They light the wood; flames and smoke rise to the heavens and the All-Father.I smile.With the smoke I soar, to bear the warrior’s soul upon my shield. Past mortal worlds we fly, past Asgard, and to our ending.“I am Valkyrie. Open the gates and welcome this warrior to Valhalla!”
~*~
City of Light
The stars scattered across the sky as a firmament of celestial grace, a gift from the gods to light the evening’s shadows. So it was believed in the great city, and many a poem spoke of it such.And this night, a man studied those stars.A man of reason, chased by unease, searched the heavens for answers to unnatural phenomenon. Even though his own friend scoffed at his worry.“So the earth trembles of late? It is not uncommon.”“It is more than that, the sea behaves strangely as well. It portends trouble.”“Nonsense. We are safe in Atlantis.”
~*~
Rebirth
I remember the pain.Even now, here in my warm fluid cocoon.I try to erase the memories, I try to think of the beautiful sun, the wind against my wings as I flew, but it always comes back to the pain. The all consuming agony of my death.If you could even call it such.Is it a death, if you don’t remain dead?A thousand times upon a thousand times I have “died.” Is it any wonder I cannot obliterate the memories?The cycle will continue, no matter my wishes.The Phoenix will burnThe Phoenix will rise.
© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved
March 15, 2016
Cover Reveal for The Ballad of Allyn-a-Dale
It's time for another exciting cover reveal, this time for the YA fantasy, The Ballad of Allyn-a-Dale, by the ever talented Danielle E. Shipley. It's book one in her new series, The Outlaws of Avalon.
And now, may I present...
The Ballad of Allyn-a-Dale (The Outlaws of Avalon, Book One)by Danielle E. Shipley
The lovely cover art is by Lars van de Goor and Milan van de Goor
This contemporary, young adult, fantasy releases July 12, 2016
You can preview it on Goodreads
The Author’s Thoughts on the Cover
The Outlaws of Avalon trilogy is my baby, so I knew its faces had to blow me away. For Book One’s cover, there were a couple elements I for sure wanted to highlight: 1, the forest (because SHERWOOD), and 2, the lute (bec
Novel Summary
Welcome to Avalon, a Renaissance Faire where heroes of legend never die. Where the Robin Hood walking the streets is truly the noble outlaw himself. Where the knightly and wizardly players of King Arthur’s court are in fact who they profess to be. Where the sense of enchantment in the air is not mere feeling, but the Fey magic of a paradise hidden in plain sight.
Enter Allyn-a-Dale. The grief of his father’s death still fresh and the doom of his own world looming, swirling realities leave the young minstrel marooned in an immortal Sherwood Forest, where he is recruited as a member of Robin Hood’s infamous outlaw band. But Allyn’s new life may reach its end before it’s scarcely begun. Their existence under threat, the Merry Men are called upon to embark on a journey to the dangerous world Outside – ours – on a quest which must be achieved without delay, or eternity in Avalon will not amount to very long at all.
Excerpt:
Allyn would have known Will Scarlet for a relation of Robin Hood’s even had he not been introduced as his cousin. Though clean-shaven, younger, and framed by thick locks of gold tinged with the color of his name, Will’s face was patently similar to Robin’s, with the same blue eyes that sparkled cheerily at Allyn when the two were presented to each other.
“And where’d you pick this fellow up, then, Robin?” he asked blithely.
“In my tent,” replied Robin, “with Marion.”
Will’s brows leapt toward his crimson cap’s pointed brim. “Wish I were Allyn!”
“Will…”
“Joking, joking,” Will waved aside Marion’s halfhearted rebuke. He coughed. “…Mostly. So, Allyn-a-Dale — looking to join the Merry Men, are you?”
“I don’t really know,” Allyn said doubtfully. “What are the Merry Men?”
To Allyn’s heart-thudding dismay, Will answered, “We’re an infamous band of outlaws.”
“Not really,” Marion hastened to jump in.
“Not anymore,” Little John amended.
“It’s complicated,” said Robin. “But we’re really not at liberty to tell you much more about it until we’ve spoken to Merlin.”
“That would be King Arthur’s chief counselor and illustrious wizard,” Will said in answer to Allyn’s questioning expression. “He literally runs the show around here, so—”
“No,” said Little John, his gaze a grim weight on Will Scarlet.
“Oh, would you chillax, you pedant?” Will huffed, facial muscles ticking with minor irritation. “I know you think the Outsiders have been using the word with nary a care to its meaning, of late, but I know what ‘literally’ means, and in this case, I literally meant ‘literally’!”
The marginal lowering of Little John’s brow silently warned what he would literally do to Will if he said that word but once more.
“And they’re off,” said Robin, shaking his head. “Don’t worry, Allyn, they only bicker like this when they’re both breathing.”
Allyn’s lips twitched toward the beginnings of a smile, but froze halfway, his mind only just now becoming fully conscious of what he’d heard. “Robin,” he said, fighting a sudden swell of anxiety. “Did Will just say we’re off to see a wizard?”
About the Author
Danielle E. Shipley is the author of the Wilderhark Tales novellas, the novel Inspired, and several other expressions of wishful thinking. She has spent most of her life in the Chicago area and increasing amounts of time in Germany. She hopes to ultimately retire to a private immortal forest. But first, there are stories to make.
Website: http://deshipley.com/
And now, may I present...
The Ballad of Allyn-a-Dale (The Outlaws of Avalon, Book One)by Danielle E. Shipley
The lovely cover art is by Lars van de Goor and Milan van de Goor
This contemporary, young adult, fantasy releases July 12, 2016
You can preview it on Goodreads
The Author’s Thoughts on the Cover
The Outlaws of Avalon trilogy is my baby, so I knew its faces had to blow me away. For Book One’s cover, there were a couple elements I for sure wanted to highlight: 1, the forest (because SHERWOOD), and 2, the lute (bec
Novel Summary
Welcome to Avalon, a Renaissance Faire where heroes of legend never die. Where the Robin Hood walking the streets is truly the noble outlaw himself. Where the knightly and wizardly players of King Arthur’s court are in fact who they profess to be. Where the sense of enchantment in the air is not mere feeling, but the Fey magic of a paradise hidden in plain sight.Enter Allyn-a-Dale. The grief of his father’s death still fresh and the doom of his own world looming, swirling realities leave the young minstrel marooned in an immortal Sherwood Forest, where he is recruited as a member of Robin Hood’s infamous outlaw band. But Allyn’s new life may reach its end before it’s scarcely begun. Their existence under threat, the Merry Men are called upon to embark on a journey to the dangerous world Outside – ours – on a quest which must be achieved without delay, or eternity in Avalon will not amount to very long at all.
Excerpt:
Allyn would have known Will Scarlet for a relation of Robin Hood’s even had he not been introduced as his cousin. Though clean-shaven, younger, and framed by thick locks of gold tinged with the color of his name, Will’s face was patently similar to Robin’s, with the same blue eyes that sparkled cheerily at Allyn when the two were presented to each other.
“And where’d you pick this fellow up, then, Robin?” he asked blithely.
“In my tent,” replied Robin, “with Marion.”
Will’s brows leapt toward his crimson cap’s pointed brim. “Wish I were Allyn!”
“Will…”
“Joking, joking,” Will waved aside Marion’s halfhearted rebuke. He coughed. “…Mostly. So, Allyn-a-Dale — looking to join the Merry Men, are you?”
“I don’t really know,” Allyn said doubtfully. “What are the Merry Men?”
To Allyn’s heart-thudding dismay, Will answered, “We’re an infamous band of outlaws.”
“Not really,” Marion hastened to jump in.
“Not anymore,” Little John amended.
“It’s complicated,” said Robin. “But we’re really not at liberty to tell you much more about it until we’ve spoken to Merlin.”
“That would be King Arthur’s chief counselor and illustrious wizard,” Will said in answer to Allyn’s questioning expression. “He literally runs the show around here, so—”
“No,” said Little John, his gaze a grim weight on Will Scarlet.
“Oh, would you chillax, you pedant?” Will huffed, facial muscles ticking with minor irritation. “I know you think the Outsiders have been using the word with nary a care to its meaning, of late, but I know what ‘literally’ means, and in this case, I literally meant ‘literally’!”
The marginal lowering of Little John’s brow silently warned what he would literally do to Will if he said that word but once more.
“And they’re off,” said Robin, shaking his head. “Don’t worry, Allyn, they only bicker like this when they’re both breathing.”
Allyn’s lips twitched toward the beginnings of a smile, but froze halfway, his mind only just now becoming fully conscious of what he’d heard. “Robin,” he said, fighting a sudden swell of anxiety. “Did Will just say we’re off to see a wizard?”
About the Author
Danielle E. Shipley is the author of the Wilderhark Tales novellas, the novel Inspired, and several other expressions of wishful thinking. She has spent most of her life in the Chicago area and increasing amounts of time in Germany. She hopes to ultimately retire to a private immortal forest. But first, there are stories to make.
Website: http://deshipley.com/
March 9, 2016
Drabble Wednesday: Kings and Queens
Today on Drabble Wednesday we hobnob with royalty. Be careful or it could be off with your head…
Dark Queen Rising
She smiled, this bride of the crown prince, and placed a finger under the wine merchant’s chin. “Would you like a kiss as reward for your service?” Without waiting for an answer the raven-haired beauty kissed him, the flavour of plum and deadly magic on her lips.The man’s last moments in the realm of the living were of bliss and a woman’s touch.The Crown Prince emerged from his shadowed concealment, clapping. “Well done, my love. You’re certain the poisoned wine’s been delivered?”“Oh yes. The king will drink his last tonight, and this fool will take the blame.”
~*~
Madness Reigns
In front of the throne, the bloodied bodies of his four sons sprawled across the marble floor, staining the alabaster crimson. The king surveyed his carnage, the sword in his hand still wet and red with mortality. The fingers of his other hand clutched an eldritch rune, the cause of this murderous rampage against his heirs.A moan broke the silence of the room; one youth clung to life. With a crooked smile plastered on his face, the king moved to his living son and drew his blade across his throat. The moaning ceased in a gurgling cry of death...
(This drabble is also a snippet from a book idea I’m working on.)
~*~
The Decision
Choose an heir. Name you successor.This was the refrain his advisors whispered in his ear.So here he sat on his throne, his family waiting patiently.The king looked upon his three sons with displeasure and regret. None of this trio could be called worthy, none had achieved, well, anything.His eldest, Eric, drowned his days in wine, his brother Karl spent his hours on his knees in prayer, and Stavros looked to bed every wife in the kingdom.Yes, his sons were disappointments.He had no choice.“I name Katarina, Crown Princess of the Realm as my heir.”
© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved
Dark Queen Rising
She smiled, this bride of the crown prince, and placed a finger under the wine merchant’s chin. “Would you like a kiss as reward for your service?” Without waiting for an answer the raven-haired beauty kissed him, the flavour of plum and deadly magic on her lips.The man’s last moments in the realm of the living were of bliss and a woman’s touch.The Crown Prince emerged from his shadowed concealment, clapping. “Well done, my love. You’re certain the poisoned wine’s been delivered?”“Oh yes. The king will drink his last tonight, and this fool will take the blame.”
~*~
Madness Reigns
In front of the throne, the bloodied bodies of his four sons sprawled across the marble floor, staining the alabaster crimson. The king surveyed his carnage, the sword in his hand still wet and red with mortality. The fingers of his other hand clutched an eldritch rune, the cause of this murderous rampage against his heirs.A moan broke the silence of the room; one youth clung to life. With a crooked smile plastered on his face, the king moved to his living son and drew his blade across his throat. The moaning ceased in a gurgling cry of death...
(This drabble is also a snippet from a book idea I’m working on.)
~*~
The Decision
Choose an heir. Name you successor.This was the refrain his advisors whispered in his ear.So here he sat on his throne, his family waiting patiently.The king looked upon his three sons with displeasure and regret. None of this trio could be called worthy, none had achieved, well, anything.His eldest, Eric, drowned his days in wine, his brother Karl spent his hours on his knees in prayer, and Stavros looked to bed every wife in the kingdom.Yes, his sons were disappointments.He had no choice.“I name Katarina, Crown Princess of the Realm as my heir.”
© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved
March 6, 2016
#B2BCYCON Interview With Author Marco Marek
I have another Brain to Books Cyber Convention author feature. Remember, this great event for authors and readers alike is coming to Goodreads this April, on the 8th, 9th and 10th.
Be sure to check out all the details and pertinent links for the event here:http://www.angelabchrysler.com/brain-to-books-cyber-convention-2016/
Now on with the main event, our Brain to Books author feature.
Today I have an interview with fantasy author Marco Marek.
An Interview With Author Marco Marek
Why don’t you begin by sharing a little about yourself.
I'm Marco Marek, I’m Italian, always liked fantastic stories and I always had a fervid imagination. I worked for a car factory for years and emigrated in England for work, learning English, and staying for two years. On returning to Italy, I tried writing a sci-fi novel but I stopped when I was in my early twenties. I like to paint, creating covers and modified photos with Photoshop (the cover of my book is my creation), music, sports, photography, fast cars especially American muscle cars.
Could you tell us a bit about your latest book?
My latest book is Angels are with me, but it’s just a short story; my novel is Hyperearth. It's a fantasy story of two teenage girls that discover a portal in a castle that brings them to an another dimension called Hyperearth. There they make new friendships, but they also meet a powerful and dangerous sorcerer to fight with the local population.
How long have you been writing, and how many books have you published to date?
It’s six years that I’ve been writing, but I’ve had ideas since I was in my twenties; I have two books in English and two in Italian
Why did you decide to write in the fantasy genre?
I like to write fantasy because for me is more simple, and I can create every world I can, just thinking a little and I have already one idea ready.
Why did you write this book? What was your inspiration?
As I wrote before, I like fantasy stories so I wanted to create one to share with readers. I went to visit a castle in Slovakia and it was of medieval era so I thought that in that castle could be kept the portal that my characters later find.
What did you hope to accomplish by publishing your book?
Well the dream of every author is that the book will be successful, all will buy it and they are happy.
Can you tell us about your writing process? Where do your ideas originate? Do you have a certain writing routine?
For writing, I must have some ready ideas and after I can start. I like to watch a lot of movies, and in every movie there are little sparks that light my ideas. It also depends on my mood, sometimes I write every day, sometimes one month passes without writing a single word; if my mind is empty of ideas or I’m stuck in a paragraph, I have to wait for inspiration.
Do you have a favourite author, or writing inspiration?
Well my favourites are Stephen King, J. K. Rowling, and JRR Tolkien.
What advice would you give beginning writers?
The most important is not to give up; if someone has a story, try to put it on paper. Everyone has something to express, who knows if it will be a best seller.
Are you working on another book?
Yes, I just finished writing a new book I’m editing myself before giving to a professional editor. It is a thriller spy story about a man that was wrongly segregated in a psychiatric hospital. When he gets out, he finds he is framed by spies that want a formula for a new medicine that has been hidden in his baggage.
What’s your next project? Any upcoming book secrets you care to reveal?
My next project is to write book two of Hyperearth; I have already some ideas and when I’m more free I will start to write.
You can find out more about Marco and his books here:
Website Facebook Twitter
Hyperearth on Amazon Hyperearth on Goodreads Angels are with me on Amazon
I'd like to thank Marco Marek for stopping by today, and be sure to check out his virtual booth at the convention this April.
March 4, 2016
Book Spotlight On Blood (Three Days of Oblenite #3)
I have a book spotlight today for the romantic dark fantasy Blood by Jean Lowe Carlson, the third book in the Three Days of Oblenite series. Plus, there's an excerpt from the book. Enjoy...
Blood (Three Days of Oblenite #3) by Jean Lowe Carlson
Brilliant surgeon Aulen Gregoire discovers by an accident of fate that his blood causes patients to survive death. His ability to steal patients from death's clutches turns into obsession, and the blessing becomes a curse as his own vitality is ripped away, craving the bliss of saving lives like a drug. Unleashed like a howling creature, his vast addiction drags him down to the deadly blue lights of the city's most desperate, where Aulen becomes the Angelus of the Catacombs.
And before his need is through, it will cost him everything; his position, friends, family, and his life.
Be advised: The book contains scenes of male rape, sexual coercion
You can find Blood at:
Amazon
Barnes and Noble
Goodreads
Smashwords
ABOUT THE TRILOGY
A darkly romantic, gothic paranormal fantasy series, Three Days of Oblenite is rife with superstition, piety, and devious mysticism. The trilogy takes place in a dark, Parisian Victorian atmosphere, and involves three characters desperately cursed with the powers of a dead saint. With torturous undercurrents, their lives collide in lust, obsession, addiction, desperation, and death.
“Breath” follows a woman cursed to celibacy, unable to find love because her kiss kills, all but one night a year.
“Tears” involves a man cursed to feel bliss when he is whipped, and his religious conflict as he finds himself in a relationship with the man who brings him release.
While “Blood” features a surgeon cursed with healing blood, as he descends into a desperate underworld, addicted to working miracles.
A book spotlight for Tears
A book spotlight for Breath
Author Bio:
Jean Lowe Carlson writes epic fantasy fiction, dark supernatural romance, and dystopian fantasy. Her sensual, raw worlds remind one of Jacqueline Carey, Clive Barker’s Imajica, Anne Rice, and Robin Hobb.
Jean holds a doctorate in Naturopathic Medicine, and has a keen awareness of psychology and human behavior, using it to paint vivid and emotionally complex characters set amidst the broader scope of nations in turmoil or societies with riveting secrets. Not afraid of exploring all kinds of relationships, including LGBTQ and BDSM, her genre-bending novels are exciting, passionate, challenging, and lush.
For more on the author and her books check out these sites:
Amazon ProfileGoodreadsSmashwords ProfileWebsite
EXCERPT FROM BLOOD
They had finally crossed the park and were heading across Rue Blounne in the Gypsun Quarter. Jessup took them left, and then down a broad avenue strung with washlines and colorful clothing that fluttered like flags in the light summer breeze. A dog barked, and a passel of wild curl-haired children went rushing by, shrieking and giggling. A stout grammère sweeping off her stoop yelled at them and shook her fist heartily, and Aulen’s spirits soared. The Quarter was a-bustle with life on this bright summer day, and his company was good and his tedium seemed far away.Aulen was trying, and he was doing better than he’d done in weeks. Jessup was good company, and his light demeanor was rubbing off on Aulen. Suddenly, Jessup turned left, and hustled into a little glass-fronted shop.“Let’s make a quick stop.”“Sure.” Aulen ducked into the shop behind the younger man, and found himself in a cozy little cigar-store as the bell-charm upon the door rang. The shop was cramped with shelving filled with cigars and baskets of loose-leaf tobaccos, smelling heavenly of herbal smokes of all sorts. Jessup seemed to know the young man behind the glass counter, an affable Gypsun of perhaps his late twenties, and greeted him cheerily. “Freder!”“Jess! Didn’t think to see you today!” The wiry, dark-eyed fellow ducked out from behind the counter and embraced Jessup with a hearty slap upon the back. Jessup gave a hearty slap back, then broke from the embrace to make introductions. “Aulen, this is Freder de Merque. Freder, this is Dotorre Aulen Gregoire. He works with Krystof Fausten at Saint Sommes Hospital.” “Enchanté.” Aulen clasped the man’s hand. “Likewise!” Freder was cheery and bright, much like Jessup himself, and Aulen could see how the two were fast friends. “Aulen and I are headed down to the faire. Want to come?” Jessup leaned against the glass case full of cigars and smoking implements. “Ahh… Dieu de merde!” Freder looked stricken. “I’m supposed to watch the shop today for grandpère.” He sucked his lower lip a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. “Hold on a tic. Go ahead and pick something out if you want, the both of you. I’ll be right back.”Freder strode to a set of stairs off to the left that led to upper apartments over the small family shop, and was soon gone out of sight. Jessup was already perusing the shelves, picking up cigars and smelling them idly. “You smoke, dotorre?” Aulen shook his head, hands in his trouser-pockets, leaning upon the glass case. “Not usually. I don’t tolerate substances well. One whiskey leaves me reeling, and a whole cigar…” He smiled ruefully. “Better have a bucket and a mop handy.” Jessup looked over his shoulder and grinned his very white and very infectious smile. “So that’s why you only ever have half a pour when you come to the bar! I wondered about that. But you can eat a whole bucket of Marnet’s beignets and have no problems!” Aulen patted his lean stomach. “Don’t know where it goes…” At last, Jessup selected a cigar he liked from a tall mahogany rack near the door, just as quick boots trumped down the stairs. Dark-eyed Freder was elated, grinning wide, his smile every bit as infectious as Jessup’s. He extended his arms as he jumped to the landing, like a tumbler after a trick. “Misseurs! Freder de Merque is at your disposal! Onward, to tumbling and contorting beauties! Grab your cigars and let’s go!” Jessup twirled his cigar with a grin and pocketed it inside his black linen waistcoat, but Aulen simply pulled away from the glass case with a rueful shake of his head. But blithe Freder wouldn’t have it. “None for you?” Aulen repeated his earlier admonishment. “I don’t tolerate drink or smokes well. Really not at all.” “Come, now!” Freder pushed, his dark eyes mischievous and relentless. “We’re off to celebrate and see hot little acrobat-women! Here, try this one. They’re very mild, and it has an herbal blend you’ll enjoy. Allons!” And he was shoving it into the inner pocket of Aulen’s taupe waistcoat with a feisty grin. And Aulen found he was grinning back, enjoying the fun, swept up in the joyous enthusiasm of Jessup and his riotous comrade “Alright! Alright! I give in!” Aulen held his hands up, laughing now as Freder patted his cheeks in a quick rolletunde, then turned and whisked something from behind the glass cigar-case. Freder held up a pewter flask and sloshed it teasingly, his dark eyes alight with mischief. “For later!” “You sneaky devil.” Jessup accosted Freder and wrenched it away, unscrewing the cap and sniffing, then took a swig. “Dark’s tits!” Jessup coughed, and his eyes were watering, but he was grinning. “What the Dieu de merde is that?” He threw the flask back to Freder. Freder gave a cheeky wink as he caught it. “Homemade apricot brandy. Theoretically. Dotorre?” Aulen started to protest with a shake of his head. “Come on…!” Freder tossed him the narrow pewter flask, and Aulen caught it. The day was fine, and he was out, and they were off to see blithe entertainment. Aulen’s worries and fears had been banished to the back of his mind, and he felt decades younger and lighter of heart than he had been in months. He thought briefly of Christianne, and how much she would smile to see her husband returned home after a day of revelry and distraction from his woes. Oh, how Christianne would smile for him. “What the hell.” Aulen grinned and unscrewed the flask’s cap. He took a swig, then coughed like Jessup had, his eyes burning like fire along with his poor throat, and indeed, his entire mouth. His belly seared like flame. Aulen threw the pewter flask back, still coughing into his rolled-up shirtsleeve. “Merde!” Aulen managed to croak out, and Freder laughed heartily. “That’s the spirit!” Freder reached around the glass case once more, and tossed a second pewter flask to Aulen. “Keep that one for me, huh? Jessup drinks shit too fast…” He winked. “You ballsy baiseur!” Jessup laughed and launched himself at Freder, and they wrestled a moment like young men do. But Freder was stronger, both broader in shoulder and stouter than Jessup, and managed to retain control of the first flask, shoving Jessup off and running for the front door of the shop. Jessup followed briskly, and Aulen whisked forward, making the door-charm tinkle against the glass as they whisked out of the dim shop and into the sunny, sweat-thick street. Aulen’s head buzzed nicely even from his sip of the alcohol. The day was muggy and bright, cicadas chorusing for them in the trees as the laughter of the two younger men made heads turn all the way down the laundry-choked street. Dark-eyed women admired Aulen from windows and stoops as he turned. He felt himself flush, rifling a hand through his auburn hair, not used to being attended to in such a way by anyone but Christianne. But the day was fine and the company was good, and Aulen’s worries were pushed aside. Aulen thought again of Christianne, of how she would smile for him when he came home rested from a day of distraction and in a good mood. He picked up his boots and whisked off down the avenue behind Freder de Merque and Jessup Rohalle, deeper into the Gypsun Quarter in the full sun of the afternoon.
The Common Centrale was one of the largest squares in the city of Julis, its four-block expanse of grey pavingstones adorned with not one but four massive white-marble fountains along its sprawling length. The hub of the Gypsun Quarter, the Common Centrale was normally choked with booths and stalls as a daily open-air market. Flanked by outdoor cafes all along its perimeter, the Common was a place to see and be seen, a place where even nobility from the highest classes of Julis came to take distraction. A site of interest for tourists, the Common was a fixture of the city, and also the starting and ending-point for the annual Rollows parade. But today, the Common was choked to the hilt with the traveling faire. Massive tents towered over the neighboring four- and five-story brick and stone buildings of the Quarter. Hawkers crowded close, crying their wares with the same blithe and raucous enthusiasm of Rollows-eve, many of them in their Rollows-masques. The square was packed with revelers gawking at faire-entertainers mingling between the booths and tents. The fountains were barely visible through the melee and a riot of colorful silk and high-arching canvas soared over it all. The traveling faire was the height of artistic mastery and phantasma. As Aulen pushed his way through the crowd after Jessup and Freder, they passed tumblers and acrobats, contortionists and sword-swallowers, fire-jugglers and snake-singers, dancing dogs and a rabbit race. And just when Aulen thought it couldn’t get any more magnificent or bizarre, they stepped aside hastily for a parade of white chargers ridden by lovely dark-haired women, aiming for the central-most of the six massive pavilions. “Ah, baise-moi!” Freder mock-swooned as the women rode by in their black corsets and dripping black lace. Their costumes sported little else to cover their muscular thighs and black riding-boots, not to mention their décolletage. All of them had dark curls piled high into luxurious cascades over back masques full of cormorant and peacock feathers. Blue and green and silver beadwork edged their corsets, dripping from the lace and accentuating their sinuous undulations as they rode their strong chargers. “Ma bien-aimée!” Freder stepped to the stirrup of a particularly buxom and healthy woman, pacing at the side of her horse to kiss her boot. She laughed heartily and set her black riding-boot to his chest, pushing Freder off with a twinkle in her eye and a wink as she guided her white stallion on. But she reined it in suddenly and made it rear, then did a perfect leap in place, her dark eyes flashing to Freder from behind her feather-masque to make sure he appreciated her efforts on his behalf. Freder swooned backwards into Jessup’s arms, making a show of it. The woman upon the charger laughed, and the crowd clapped and cheered. Freder bowed as if he were flourishing a high-topped hat. There was a ripple of laughter as the crowd dispersed, either following the horses on towards the pavilion where they would be performing, or heading off towards other entertainment in the packed square. Freder laughed his way over to a caramel-nut seller and bought them each a bag of pacanne, then whisked out his pewter flask. They all shared a round of liquor to Freder’s admonishment of, “Drink, dotorre, drink!” “Over there!” Freder pointed, and Aulen glanced through the crowd towards the sound of drums and chimes and a reedy flute. But Freder and Jessup were already pushing their way through, and Aulen followed, his head reeling nicely. Aulen made a mental note to wait a while before his next swig. The day was too bright and too much fun to be ruining his blithe time with drink. Aulen found the rakish Gypsun duo gawking at the edge of a set of red and purple rugs from Perthe, laid down over the cobbles. Occupied by a small band of musicians at the rear, a trio of dancing women paced the front of the rugs. The women were striking and half-nude, their garments little more than gossamer veils about the hips and something to cover their breasts, with lavish jewelry and semi-precious metals dripping over everything else. Their long, straight black hair was unbound, and they danced with colorful veils of featherweight silk. Winding and weaving through each other, the talented women accented the music with hips, ribcage, arms, wrists, and even head motions.It was erotic, and Aulen found himself blushing at the edge of the sinuous spectacle, his heart racing from drink. Freder had dropped to his knees, his hands in a prayer of adoration before the women. One of them laughed as she danced, her dark eyes merry at his antics. Jessup put a hand to his friend’s shoulder and hauled him up with a laugh, but sincere apologies to the dancers. But one lithe creature danced close to Aulen and wrapped him in her purple veil. She pulled him close and ran her smooth, full lips over his jaw before pulling away, her dark eyes daring him to do more.Aulen gaped, his head spinning. “Dotorre Aulen Gregoire, seducer extraordinaire!” Aulen vaguely registered Freder at his side, slapping his back heartily and rattling him by the shoulders. The lithe, dark-eyed dancer gazed over her shoulder at Aulen as she went. Sultry, she sashayed back towards the band as the tempo changed into something more brisk with pops and slaps of percussion. Aulen’s blood raged, watching her go A flask was pressed into his hands. Aulen had a long drink, wiping his mouth on his forearm.He tried to hand the flask back, but it was pressed to his hands again. Aulen took another drink. Someone hauled him backwards with a brisk laugh, and they were off through the crowd again.
Blood (Three Days of Oblenite #3) by Jean Lowe Carlson
Brilliant surgeon Aulen Gregoire discovers by an accident of fate that his blood causes patients to survive death. His ability to steal patients from death's clutches turns into obsession, and the blessing becomes a curse as his own vitality is ripped away, craving the bliss of saving lives like a drug. Unleashed like a howling creature, his vast addiction drags him down to the deadly blue lights of the city's most desperate, where Aulen becomes the Angelus of the Catacombs.
And before his need is through, it will cost him everything; his position, friends, family, and his life.
Be advised: The book contains scenes of male rape, sexual coercion
You can find Blood at:
Amazon
Barnes and Noble
Goodreads
Smashwords
ABOUT THE TRILOGY
A darkly romantic, gothic paranormal fantasy series, Three Days of Oblenite is rife with superstition, piety, and devious mysticism. The trilogy takes place in a dark, Parisian Victorian atmosphere, and involves three characters desperately cursed with the powers of a dead saint. With torturous undercurrents, their lives collide in lust, obsession, addiction, desperation, and death.
“Breath” follows a woman cursed to celibacy, unable to find love because her kiss kills, all but one night a year.
“Tears” involves a man cursed to feel bliss when he is whipped, and his religious conflict as he finds himself in a relationship with the man who brings him release.
While “Blood” features a surgeon cursed with healing blood, as he descends into a desperate underworld, addicted to working miracles.
A book spotlight for Tears
A book spotlight for Breath
Author Bio:
Jean Lowe Carlson writes epic fantasy fiction, dark supernatural romance, and dystopian fantasy. Her sensual, raw worlds remind one of Jacqueline Carey, Clive Barker’s Imajica, Anne Rice, and Robin Hobb.
Jean holds a doctorate in Naturopathic Medicine, and has a keen awareness of psychology and human behavior, using it to paint vivid and emotionally complex characters set amidst the broader scope of nations in turmoil or societies with riveting secrets. Not afraid of exploring all kinds of relationships, including LGBTQ and BDSM, her genre-bending novels are exciting, passionate, challenging, and lush.
For more on the author and her books check out these sites:
Amazon ProfileGoodreadsSmashwords ProfileWebsite
EXCERPT FROM BLOOD
They had finally crossed the park and were heading across Rue Blounne in the Gypsun Quarter. Jessup took them left, and then down a broad avenue strung with washlines and colorful clothing that fluttered like flags in the light summer breeze. A dog barked, and a passel of wild curl-haired children went rushing by, shrieking and giggling. A stout grammère sweeping off her stoop yelled at them and shook her fist heartily, and Aulen’s spirits soared. The Quarter was a-bustle with life on this bright summer day, and his company was good and his tedium seemed far away.Aulen was trying, and he was doing better than he’d done in weeks. Jessup was good company, and his light demeanor was rubbing off on Aulen. Suddenly, Jessup turned left, and hustled into a little glass-fronted shop.“Let’s make a quick stop.”“Sure.” Aulen ducked into the shop behind the younger man, and found himself in a cozy little cigar-store as the bell-charm upon the door rang. The shop was cramped with shelving filled with cigars and baskets of loose-leaf tobaccos, smelling heavenly of herbal smokes of all sorts. Jessup seemed to know the young man behind the glass counter, an affable Gypsun of perhaps his late twenties, and greeted him cheerily. “Freder!”“Jess! Didn’t think to see you today!” The wiry, dark-eyed fellow ducked out from behind the counter and embraced Jessup with a hearty slap upon the back. Jessup gave a hearty slap back, then broke from the embrace to make introductions. “Aulen, this is Freder de Merque. Freder, this is Dotorre Aulen Gregoire. He works with Krystof Fausten at Saint Sommes Hospital.” “Enchanté.” Aulen clasped the man’s hand. “Likewise!” Freder was cheery and bright, much like Jessup himself, and Aulen could see how the two were fast friends. “Aulen and I are headed down to the faire. Want to come?” Jessup leaned against the glass case full of cigars and smoking implements. “Ahh… Dieu de merde!” Freder looked stricken. “I’m supposed to watch the shop today for grandpère.” He sucked his lower lip a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. “Hold on a tic. Go ahead and pick something out if you want, the both of you. I’ll be right back.”Freder strode to a set of stairs off to the left that led to upper apartments over the small family shop, and was soon gone out of sight. Jessup was already perusing the shelves, picking up cigars and smelling them idly. “You smoke, dotorre?” Aulen shook his head, hands in his trouser-pockets, leaning upon the glass case. “Not usually. I don’t tolerate substances well. One whiskey leaves me reeling, and a whole cigar…” He smiled ruefully. “Better have a bucket and a mop handy.” Jessup looked over his shoulder and grinned his very white and very infectious smile. “So that’s why you only ever have half a pour when you come to the bar! I wondered about that. But you can eat a whole bucket of Marnet’s beignets and have no problems!” Aulen patted his lean stomach. “Don’t know where it goes…” At last, Jessup selected a cigar he liked from a tall mahogany rack near the door, just as quick boots trumped down the stairs. Dark-eyed Freder was elated, grinning wide, his smile every bit as infectious as Jessup’s. He extended his arms as he jumped to the landing, like a tumbler after a trick. “Misseurs! Freder de Merque is at your disposal! Onward, to tumbling and contorting beauties! Grab your cigars and let’s go!” Jessup twirled his cigar with a grin and pocketed it inside his black linen waistcoat, but Aulen simply pulled away from the glass case with a rueful shake of his head. But blithe Freder wouldn’t have it. “None for you?” Aulen repeated his earlier admonishment. “I don’t tolerate drink or smokes well. Really not at all.” “Come, now!” Freder pushed, his dark eyes mischievous and relentless. “We’re off to celebrate and see hot little acrobat-women! Here, try this one. They’re very mild, and it has an herbal blend you’ll enjoy. Allons!” And he was shoving it into the inner pocket of Aulen’s taupe waistcoat with a feisty grin. And Aulen found he was grinning back, enjoying the fun, swept up in the joyous enthusiasm of Jessup and his riotous comrade “Alright! Alright! I give in!” Aulen held his hands up, laughing now as Freder patted his cheeks in a quick rolletunde, then turned and whisked something from behind the glass cigar-case. Freder held up a pewter flask and sloshed it teasingly, his dark eyes alight with mischief. “For later!” “You sneaky devil.” Jessup accosted Freder and wrenched it away, unscrewing the cap and sniffing, then took a swig. “Dark’s tits!” Jessup coughed, and his eyes were watering, but he was grinning. “What the Dieu de merde is that?” He threw the flask back to Freder. Freder gave a cheeky wink as he caught it. “Homemade apricot brandy. Theoretically. Dotorre?” Aulen started to protest with a shake of his head. “Come on…!” Freder tossed him the narrow pewter flask, and Aulen caught it. The day was fine, and he was out, and they were off to see blithe entertainment. Aulen’s worries and fears had been banished to the back of his mind, and he felt decades younger and lighter of heart than he had been in months. He thought briefly of Christianne, and how much she would smile to see her husband returned home after a day of revelry and distraction from his woes. Oh, how Christianne would smile for him. “What the hell.” Aulen grinned and unscrewed the flask’s cap. He took a swig, then coughed like Jessup had, his eyes burning like fire along with his poor throat, and indeed, his entire mouth. His belly seared like flame. Aulen threw the pewter flask back, still coughing into his rolled-up shirtsleeve. “Merde!” Aulen managed to croak out, and Freder laughed heartily. “That’s the spirit!” Freder reached around the glass case once more, and tossed a second pewter flask to Aulen. “Keep that one for me, huh? Jessup drinks shit too fast…” He winked. “You ballsy baiseur!” Jessup laughed and launched himself at Freder, and they wrestled a moment like young men do. But Freder was stronger, both broader in shoulder and stouter than Jessup, and managed to retain control of the first flask, shoving Jessup off and running for the front door of the shop. Jessup followed briskly, and Aulen whisked forward, making the door-charm tinkle against the glass as they whisked out of the dim shop and into the sunny, sweat-thick street. Aulen’s head buzzed nicely even from his sip of the alcohol. The day was muggy and bright, cicadas chorusing for them in the trees as the laughter of the two younger men made heads turn all the way down the laundry-choked street. Dark-eyed women admired Aulen from windows and stoops as he turned. He felt himself flush, rifling a hand through his auburn hair, not used to being attended to in such a way by anyone but Christianne. But the day was fine and the company was good, and Aulen’s worries were pushed aside. Aulen thought again of Christianne, of how she would smile for him when he came home rested from a day of distraction and in a good mood. He picked up his boots and whisked off down the avenue behind Freder de Merque and Jessup Rohalle, deeper into the Gypsun Quarter in the full sun of the afternoon.
The Common Centrale was one of the largest squares in the city of Julis, its four-block expanse of grey pavingstones adorned with not one but four massive white-marble fountains along its sprawling length. The hub of the Gypsun Quarter, the Common Centrale was normally choked with booths and stalls as a daily open-air market. Flanked by outdoor cafes all along its perimeter, the Common was a place to see and be seen, a place where even nobility from the highest classes of Julis came to take distraction. A site of interest for tourists, the Common was a fixture of the city, and also the starting and ending-point for the annual Rollows parade. But today, the Common was choked to the hilt with the traveling faire. Massive tents towered over the neighboring four- and five-story brick and stone buildings of the Quarter. Hawkers crowded close, crying their wares with the same blithe and raucous enthusiasm of Rollows-eve, many of them in their Rollows-masques. The square was packed with revelers gawking at faire-entertainers mingling between the booths and tents. The fountains were barely visible through the melee and a riot of colorful silk and high-arching canvas soared over it all. The traveling faire was the height of artistic mastery and phantasma. As Aulen pushed his way through the crowd after Jessup and Freder, they passed tumblers and acrobats, contortionists and sword-swallowers, fire-jugglers and snake-singers, dancing dogs and a rabbit race. And just when Aulen thought it couldn’t get any more magnificent or bizarre, they stepped aside hastily for a parade of white chargers ridden by lovely dark-haired women, aiming for the central-most of the six massive pavilions. “Ah, baise-moi!” Freder mock-swooned as the women rode by in their black corsets and dripping black lace. Their costumes sported little else to cover their muscular thighs and black riding-boots, not to mention their décolletage. All of them had dark curls piled high into luxurious cascades over back masques full of cormorant and peacock feathers. Blue and green and silver beadwork edged their corsets, dripping from the lace and accentuating their sinuous undulations as they rode their strong chargers. “Ma bien-aimée!” Freder stepped to the stirrup of a particularly buxom and healthy woman, pacing at the side of her horse to kiss her boot. She laughed heartily and set her black riding-boot to his chest, pushing Freder off with a twinkle in her eye and a wink as she guided her white stallion on. But she reined it in suddenly and made it rear, then did a perfect leap in place, her dark eyes flashing to Freder from behind her feather-masque to make sure he appreciated her efforts on his behalf. Freder swooned backwards into Jessup’s arms, making a show of it. The woman upon the charger laughed, and the crowd clapped and cheered. Freder bowed as if he were flourishing a high-topped hat. There was a ripple of laughter as the crowd dispersed, either following the horses on towards the pavilion where they would be performing, or heading off towards other entertainment in the packed square. Freder laughed his way over to a caramel-nut seller and bought them each a bag of pacanne, then whisked out his pewter flask. They all shared a round of liquor to Freder’s admonishment of, “Drink, dotorre, drink!” “Over there!” Freder pointed, and Aulen glanced through the crowd towards the sound of drums and chimes and a reedy flute. But Freder and Jessup were already pushing their way through, and Aulen followed, his head reeling nicely. Aulen made a mental note to wait a while before his next swig. The day was too bright and too much fun to be ruining his blithe time with drink. Aulen found the rakish Gypsun duo gawking at the edge of a set of red and purple rugs from Perthe, laid down over the cobbles. Occupied by a small band of musicians at the rear, a trio of dancing women paced the front of the rugs. The women were striking and half-nude, their garments little more than gossamer veils about the hips and something to cover their breasts, with lavish jewelry and semi-precious metals dripping over everything else. Their long, straight black hair was unbound, and they danced with colorful veils of featherweight silk. Winding and weaving through each other, the talented women accented the music with hips, ribcage, arms, wrists, and even head motions.It was erotic, and Aulen found himself blushing at the edge of the sinuous spectacle, his heart racing from drink. Freder had dropped to his knees, his hands in a prayer of adoration before the women. One of them laughed as she danced, her dark eyes merry at his antics. Jessup put a hand to his friend’s shoulder and hauled him up with a laugh, but sincere apologies to the dancers. But one lithe creature danced close to Aulen and wrapped him in her purple veil. She pulled him close and ran her smooth, full lips over his jaw before pulling away, her dark eyes daring him to do more.Aulen gaped, his head spinning. “Dotorre Aulen Gregoire, seducer extraordinaire!” Aulen vaguely registered Freder at his side, slapping his back heartily and rattling him by the shoulders. The lithe, dark-eyed dancer gazed over her shoulder at Aulen as she went. Sultry, she sashayed back towards the band as the tempo changed into something more brisk with pops and slaps of percussion. Aulen’s blood raged, watching her go A flask was pressed into his hands. Aulen had a long drink, wiping his mouth on his forearm.He tried to hand the flask back, but it was pressed to his hands again. Aulen took another drink. Someone hauled him backwards with a brisk laugh, and they were off through the crowd again.
March 3, 2016
#B2BCYCON Interview With Sarah Kennedy
I bring you another Brain to Books Cyber Convention author feature. Remember, this great event for authors and readers alike is coming to Goodreads this April, on the 8th, 9th and 10th.
Be sure to check out all the details and pertinent links for the event here:http://www.angelabchrysler.com/brain-to-books-cyber-convention-2016/
Now on with the main event, our Brain to Books author feature.
Today I have a great interview with fantasy author Sarah Kennedy.
Interview with Sarah Kennedy
Why don’t you begin by sharing a little about yourself?
What do you like to do when you’re not writing? Any hobbies?
When I am not writing, I spend time with family. Every Friday is family movie night. I like to play games. On holidays, my family relaxes together by having game marathons. I am the Clue champion (having held the title for several Thanksgivings now) and believe me you haven’t played Clue until you’ve played it at a Kennedy family Thanksgiving. This past year it took us three hours to play one round of clue. It’s massive. I love to read, to take long walks, and to just spend time with my fur babies. I love animals; they know both how to just let go, full abandon, and how to be at peace; to my cats I’m just one of the pride, so I’ve really gotten to benefit from that as they seek me out and include me in just about everything! They help me write too. I also play four instruments: piano, flute, feadóg (Irish whistle), and bodhrán drum. I do some cross stitch and other crafts from time to time, but I always keep a notebook and writing instrument handy because I never know when inspiration will strike.
Do you have a favorite author, or writing inspiration?
I am a big reader. It is not easy to name a single favorite author, however, because I read a lot and across genres. It’s mostly about the story for me anyway. Recent favorites have included: James Butcher’s, The Aeronauts Windlass and Andi O’Connor’s, Silevethiel. Old favorites include J.R.R. Tolkien’s Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings Trilogy… to name just a few. My favorite genres are fantasy and mystery but tell me a good story and genre doesn’t matter either. Overall, I would say the greatest inspiration to my writing is not of a literary nature. The greatest inspiration is a personal one and is in fact three-fold. First, I write because doing so is a vital part of who I am. I started writing at the age of four. My first book had a red construction paper cover and yellow yarn binding. It was about a dog and his bone. I both wrote and illustrated thatstory. I have since given up on the illustration part. I still write what comes naturally to me. I don’t write to hit it big, though if it happens it happens and that would be awesome! I’m just saying that is not the focus, or the purpose, or the driving factor behind my work. I write for me first and foremost. I write because I must to be true to myself. That being said, I would love if others loved these stories as much as I do! Second, I was first introduced to the fantastic as a young child when my mom would read to us. She read us all kinds of books even what many would view as above our level of comprehension. She awoke in me a love of story, a love of reading, and a love of writing too. My mother always encouraged my talent and has supported this artist’s life of mine, which is difficult for many parents to do and I thank her for that unwavering support from my very first “book” at the age of four. Thirdly, I would have to name my brother, Isaac, as a vital inspiration. Without him, my character Sgarrwrath would have literally never found his voice and therefore my debut novel, Sgarrwrath, Prequel to the Prophecy of Hope would have never been written and published, nor would it have since received three Honorable Mentions, nor would the Prophecy of Hope Saga be forthcoming.
When did you realize you wanted to be a writer?
Quite frankly I didn’t, not for a long time. The thought of being a writer full time never crossed my mind growing up. There have always been stories in me that have wanted to be told for as long as I can remember but writing was a very personal and private thing for me. For a long time it was a means of survival. You will forgive me if I do not give any more details than that. I think needing to survive is something many people can relate to, however. Life is sometimes very hard. Writing has helped me deal, heal, stay sane, yet even so I reached a point where I nearly gave it up for guaranteed success. Fortunately, I was placed in a Creative Writing class in college and the rest, as they say, is history. Today, I know writing is more than a hobby; it is my talent and more than that I believe it is my calling.
Could you tell us a bit about your latest book?Excerpt from Arising:
“Must you go?” Lorshin asked softly. Cadclucan glanced down at him. “To every season there is an added sorrow. Consider, nephew, the beautiful flowers of spring that wither in the heat of the summer sun; the trees that bring forth buds only to have those garments fall and rot upon the ground; the ground that freezes in winter locking up its bounty, but to every sorrow there is a purpose. There is always the promise. There is always Hope,” he answered cryptically. Lorshin shook his head. “I don’t… I don’t understand this. How can you think of leaving? We need you here to lead us!” “This world has had us to lead them from the beginning,” Cadclucan answered quietly. “Look around you, Lorshin, Darkness is everywhere and yet can anyone see it? They fight, but the One Whose Name is Not Spoken comes in many forms and they resist only in the ways that please them.” He shook his head. “No, this world has blinded itself, and now they must face their choice.” “Not all have forgotten!” Lorshin cried. Cadclucan sighed and the other Guardians with him. “I know.” “Will you leave those who still desire only Light?” Cadclucan held out his hand to Lorshin. “Will you come out of the Darkness?” Lorshin hesitated. He glanced toward his sister. “In good times, the world grows and prospers, but it is in the darkest of times that all living things find what is really inside themselves,” Cadclucan said. Lorshin looked up into his uncle’s piercing eyes. “I know what is inside me.” The Guardian smiled. “Do you, nephew?”
Arising, Prophecy of Hope Book 1 at its very core is a story about the rottenness that can be hidden (or not so hidden, as the case may be) inside a person’s heart and about how choices and actions affect not only that one life but those of everyone around them. However, for me this novel was really just another step in the healing process. Arising, is a very dark story. Some have described it as “apocalyptic” but I have never agreed with that label. Perhaps because I know what is coming. Arising is not an end of the world story rather it is a beginning…a world being broken, yes, but more important are the lives that are being broken. Broken, but only to awaken a need… a hunger… for what is promised. It is a matter of perspective as is explained to my character, Lorshin, in the partial passage above. Each supposed “ending” leads to a “beginning.” You can see that in the character arcs flowing between the prequel and Arising. You can see that in the storylines within Arising itself.It is true my character, Sgarrwrath, has intentions that are very dark and destructive, but the Prophecy of Hope stands against him. As long as the prophecy stands the end cannot come. The Prophecy of Hope Saga, as a whole, is like a game, or a dance. Darkness moves; Light counters. Arising is a story of darkness, but things grow and change so expect that to be countered by Light, and so on as the series continues. I mean, what would be the point in planning a series if everything was ended in the beginning?You can read a free chapter from both Sgarrwrath, Prequel to the Prophecy of Hope and Arising, Prophecy of Hope Book 1 at www.sgarrwrath.com
Are you working on another book?
Absolutely! I know it has been a while in coming, but hang on because I think it will be well worth the wait! And let me just stave off the question that quite often follows this one. No, this is not going to be a classic trilogy. There is much more to come. From the very beginning, I knew that the Prophecy of Hope Saga would be told over the course of 7-9 books depending on how it all flows together. I am leaning closer to nine (counting the prequel) these days.
What’s your next project? Any upcoming book secrets you care to reveal?
My work in progress is titled, Mhorag, Prophecy of Hope Book 2. This return to the saga weaves a tantalizing tale of supernatural forces increasingly embroiled in a war older than time. The story picks up where Arising ended. One throne for the world is the price of the ill-fated Empire of Light. Their Mark of the Promised riven, the Royal House of Caladrius is weakening, and the throne stands in Darkness. Sgarrwrath has risen but the deepest foundations of Light remain unscathed. Thus Sgarrwrath’s quest for domination of the world is interrupted by his growing obsession with the object of his eternally forbidden desire. The name of Mhorag is whispered in every land. For some there is no greater dread. For others there is no greater hope. But in this Age of Rage and Wonder, what is hope? Through the annals of time all have felt the godling’s presence. All have desired him, most without realizing what they are truly seeking. His existence alone endlessly pits the forces of Light and Darkness against each other for this thing called hope. Now, Sgarrwrath knows the Source of everything must fall if his Void is to stand.But soon, one boy, conceived on the night Flame falls from the sky, is caught in the middle of this brooding war. Upon his shoulders rests the fortune of all. His name is Drakon Caladrius, to him both Men and Guardians bow, but will he even survive his mysterious infancy to become the Promised King that is destined to save the world from Sgarrwrath’s evil? Or will the name of Mhorag and all hope die with him?
This book contains some firsts for me as an author. Most notably among them is warfare. Some of my most pivotal characters in this book are royal bodyguards. When I started with them, I wasn’t prepared for the fight that ensued. This proved to be a real problem as I was working on a scene in which the life of my main character was at stake! With some quick research on my part, we survived. Anyway, I went on to sit in on a sword fighting class and took detailed notes on the basics of defense and attack. I have also spent time actually practicing the moves since then. Hopefully it helped. I think it has, but I also hope to improve upon this as the series moves forward. As far as secrets go, well, I will say this. Mhorag, Prophecy of Hope Book 2 is going to reveal secrets and create new ones. This book in conjunction with the next two that are planned to follow it will together form the decisive core of the series. They fuel everything that will follow and everything that came before. I am very excited about this book. Writing it has been insanely fun! It has also been a journey. For the latest updates on my work please feel free to join me at either my series page or my author’s page.www.facebook.com/prophecyofhopesagawww.facebook.com/fantasyauthorSarahKennedy
Why did you decide to write in the fantasy genre?
I’ve always loved fantasy. I was shy as a child—and today I remain a private person—so writing has always been my way of expressing myself while still protecting my essential nature. I write fantasy because that is what comes most natural. My personal history has driven me to build walls, to protect my heart. When I write, those walls come down. I have found there is so much freedom in writing fantasy, yet there is truth too if I am willing to let it out and really that is the most important part. By writing these stories, I learn about myself; I deal with things on the page in fiction so that I can also deal with life. Sometimes when I write, I let it all out on the page and move on. Sometimes it is just another step toward gaining a different perspective.
What is your greatest challenge as a writer?
Honestly, the greatest challenge is me. My figurative walls and my very tangible fears to be exact. My decision to give up guaranteed success, while supported by my immediate family, was one that few others thought was right. This can really wear a person down, and when you work and work and work and see nothing happening, well those doubts can really begin to creep in. I have really struggled with self-doubt and depression and to be blatantly honest I really started to believe I had made a mistake, but instead of giving up I held on, barely, and not by my own strength. The stories just refused to die. I had to write. It wasn’t easy. It still isn’t sometimes. I still struggle; I still have to deal with doubts and fears, but what it boils down to is that even on the lowest day I have this confidence that even though I can't see it now there is a purpose for this handiwork and it helps me hold on...to hope...
Author Bio:
I am a writer down to the very core of my being, which for me basically means that every word is a beat of my heart. I love the spilling of ink which connects the two. My favorite part of the process is that sense of euphoria that comes when my characters surprise me. It is then I know the story is truly alive. I have been writing since the age of four and my passion for the story has largely been fostered by my mother. To hone my craft, I have taken courses with the Institute of Children’s Literature and Long Ridge Writer’s Group but ultimately I write because that is what I was born to do.
You can follow Sarah Kennedy and her writing on Twitter: www.twitter.com/@Sgarrwrath or at her website: http://www.sgarrwrath.com/
Arising can be found on:
Amazon
Goodreads
Sgarrwrath can be found at:
Amazon
Goodreads
I'd like to thank Sarah Kennedy for stopping by today, and be sure to check out her virtual booth at the convention this April.
March 2, 2016
Drabble Wednesday: The End Of All
Today on Drabble Wednesday we walk in the valley of the shadow of Death…
Descending Petals
A bloom plucked, wilted on its stem, dried petals tumbling to the earth. Age and time called Death’s hand, and turned a rose to dust.“So beautiful, once.”The desiccated petals scattered to the wind, bits of mummified life, of membrane and skin peeled off and abandoned to generations.“So lost, so alone.”Little more than a husk, shrivelled, thorns still clinging, next to a fragmented blossom speck or two not yet gone. That tiny spark of life, refusing to accept the inescapable.“Come with me. I am all you have left.”Last petals falling, into the embrace of Death.
~*~
War
Death comes on swift wings, swooping towards the battlefield like a dark sheathed Valkyrie. It walks the blood soaked earth, its touch indiscriminate, in that final illustration of fragile mortality. It is inevitably drawn here, to the best of feeding grounds.Death’s shadow stalks every breath, civilian and combatant, the bystander and the blood-stained. It flies with every bullet, and strides in every footstep. It consumes in fire, in ruin, in rivers of blood, with no mercy, no preference. Death cares not for ideology, politics, religion, nor race. It simply comes.It comes for us all… why help it along?
~*~
The Price of Fear
Them, Us. Us, Them.Drawn the lines, build the walls. Keep the danger out. Keep it out. Keep Them out.Is your neighbour the right kind? Be suspicious. Voice your suspicions. Suspicions constructed on fear.Should you be afraid? Fear the difference. Difference is bad.Bad must be destroyed. Bad can hurt us. Keep the traditions, keep everything pure. Get angry. Should you be angry?Time to take back. Speak up. Rise up.Violently.Scream, Kick, Punch, Lynch. Riot, Bomb, Terrorize.Kill Them all.Lay waste to human lives.Lay waste to the world.Because that solves the problem.Never.
© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved
Descending Petals
A bloom plucked, wilted on its stem, dried petals tumbling to the earth. Age and time called Death’s hand, and turned a rose to dust.“So beautiful, once.”The desiccated petals scattered to the wind, bits of mummified life, of membrane and skin peeled off and abandoned to generations.“So lost, so alone.”Little more than a husk, shrivelled, thorns still clinging, next to a fragmented blossom speck or two not yet gone. That tiny spark of life, refusing to accept the inescapable.“Come with me. I am all you have left.”Last petals falling, into the embrace of Death.
~*~
War
Death comes on swift wings, swooping towards the battlefield like a dark sheathed Valkyrie. It walks the blood soaked earth, its touch indiscriminate, in that final illustration of fragile mortality. It is inevitably drawn here, to the best of feeding grounds.Death’s shadow stalks every breath, civilian and combatant, the bystander and the blood-stained. It flies with every bullet, and strides in every footstep. It consumes in fire, in ruin, in rivers of blood, with no mercy, no preference. Death cares not for ideology, politics, religion, nor race. It simply comes.It comes for us all… why help it along?
~*~
The Price of Fear
Them, Us. Us, Them.Drawn the lines, build the walls. Keep the danger out. Keep it out. Keep Them out.Is your neighbour the right kind? Be suspicious. Voice your suspicions. Suspicions constructed on fear.Should you be afraid? Fear the difference. Difference is bad.Bad must be destroyed. Bad can hurt us. Keep the traditions, keep everything pure. Get angry. Should you be angry?Time to take back. Speak up. Rise up.Violently.Scream, Kick, Punch, Lynch. Riot, Bomb, Terrorize.Kill Them all.Lay waste to human lives.Lay waste to the world.Because that solves the problem.Never.
© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved
March 1, 2016
#B2BCYCON Book Spotlight on The Thirteenth Hour
Today I have another great Brain to Books Cyber Convention author feature. Remember, this fabulous event for authors and readers alike is coming to Goodreads this April, on the 8th, 9th and 10th.
Be sure to check out all the details and pertinent links for the event here:http://www.angelabchrysler.com/brain-to-books-cyber-convention-2016/
Now on with the main event, our Brain to Books author feature.
Today I have a great book spotlight for the fairy tale fantasy, The Thirteenth Hour by Joshua Blum.
The Thirteenth Hour by Joshua Blum
“The ancient clock in the Land of Dreams struck thirteen, and the dreams, now free, soared back to Earth under first vesper’s light …"
And so begins The Thirteenth Hour, a tale about dreams and wishes, wild hearts and childhood promises, and the quest to find the unsung hero that lies in all of us.
When a young boy falls asleep during school one day, he is transported into a fantasy world of wizards, dragons, quests, and the tale of Logan, who has come of age and must leave his sleepy village to be a soldier in King Darian IV's Imperial Army. Although he finds himself immediately at odds with military life, Logan’s tour is surprisingly extended when he is picked by the King’s wizards to be specially trained as an Imperial Ranger for a mysterious quest to find the secret to eternal life, catapulting him into an epic adventure he had previously only thought possible in books, daydreams, and fairy tales.
Combining the adventure of The Princess Bride, the irreverent humor of The Hitchhiker's Guide to The Galaxy, and the feel of 1980s science fiction and fantasy films such as The Neverending Story and Labyrinth with a healthy dose of introspection surrounding the journey teens experience on the way to becoming adults, The Thirteenth Hour is part adventure yarn, part fairy tale, and part introspective narrative that can be enjoyed by both teenagers and teens in remission.
The Thirteenth Hour contains over 35 illustrations, music written specifically for the story, and rich world both on and off-line that was sixteen years in the making. Check it out today, and let the adventure of The Thirteenth Hour become your story!
Amazon link: http://amzn.to/1SBaQtQWebsite: 13thhr.wordpress.comWeekly podcast: apple.co/1S3FBWiMusic inspired by the book: https://joshuablum.bandcamp.com/Free demo copy (with about 25% of the book): http://eepurl.com/bf2kdLFree standalone prequel: http://amzn.to/1TLwGtsFree standalone epilogue: http://amzn.to/1TLwOJu
Book Trailer
Author Bio:
In 1998, Joshua Blum wrote and illustrated an early draft of his first novel, "The Thirteenth Hour," inspired by his love of 1980s fantasy and science fiction movies, fairy tales, archery, and martial arts. He finally had the time to publish it sixteen years later. In the interim, he graduated from Princeton and Penn State Universities. He is grateful to his parents for instilling in him a love of learning, his brother for keeping him young, and his wife and daughter for their love. He is currently working on his next novel and hosts a weekly podcast.
I'd like to thank Joshua Blum for sharing his book with us today, and be sure to check out his virtual booth at the convention this April.
February 26, 2016
Book Spotlight: Hell Holes: What Lurks Below
Today I have a book spotlight on the paranormal fantasy novel, Hell Holes: What Lurks Below by author Donald Firesmith. This book is the first in the Hell Holes series. Enjoy!
Hell Holes: What Lurks Below (Book 1 in the Hell Holes Series) by Donald Firesmith
A geologist, his climatologist wife, two graduate students, a local newspaper reporter, an oil company representative, and a field biologist travel to one of dozens of huge holes that have mysteriously appeared in the tundra of the North Slope of Alaska. Their mission is to research these strange craters that threaten financial and environmental catastrophe should they open up under the Trans-Alaska Pipeline or any of the many oil wells and smaller pipe lines that feed it. Unfortunately, a far worse danger lurks below, one that threatens to destroy all of humanity when it finally emerges. Some will live and some will die on Hell Day and the day after as the survivors flee south towards Fairbanks.
Hell Holes: What Lurks Below is available at the following retailers:
AbeBooks Amazon Apple iBook Store Barnes and Noble CreateSpaceGoodreads KoboScribdSmashwords (Ebooks free during February)
Author Bio:
A geek by day, Donald Firesmith works as a system and software engineer helping the US Government acquire large, complex software-intensive systems. In this guise, he has authored seven technical books, written numerous software- and system-related articles and papers, and spoken at more conferences than he can possibly remember. He's also proud to have been named a Distinguished Engineer by the Association of Computing Machinery, although his pride is tempered somewhat by his fear that the term "distinguished" makes him sound like a graybeard academic rather than an active engineer whose beard is still slightly more red than gray.By night and on weekends, his alter ego writes fantasy novels and relaxes by handcrafting magic wands from various magical woods and mystical gemstones. His first foray into fiction is the book Magical Wands: A Cornucopia of Wand Lore written under the pen name Wolfrick Ignatius Feuerschmied. He lives in Crafton, Pennsylvania with his wife Becky, and his son Dane, and varying numbers of dogs, cats, and birds.
Find out more about the author at these sites:
About.Me, Facebook, Google+, Twitter, Website
To check out his handcrafted magic wands see these sites:
Etsy, Facebook, Wand Shop
Hell Holes: What Lurks Below (Book 1 in the Hell Holes Series) by Donald Firesmith
A geologist, his climatologist wife, two graduate students, a local newspaper reporter, an oil company representative, and a field biologist travel to one of dozens of huge holes that have mysteriously appeared in the tundra of the North Slope of Alaska. Their mission is to research these strange craters that threaten financial and environmental catastrophe should they open up under the Trans-Alaska Pipeline or any of the many oil wells and smaller pipe lines that feed it. Unfortunately, a far worse danger lurks below, one that threatens to destroy all of humanity when it finally emerges. Some will live and some will die on Hell Day and the day after as the survivors flee south towards Fairbanks.
Hell Holes: What Lurks Below is available at the following retailers:
AbeBooks Amazon Apple iBook Store Barnes and Noble CreateSpaceGoodreads KoboScribdSmashwords (Ebooks free during February)
Author Bio:
A geek by day, Donald Firesmith works as a system and software engineer helping the US Government acquire large, complex software-intensive systems. In this guise, he has authored seven technical books, written numerous software- and system-related articles and papers, and spoken at more conferences than he can possibly remember. He's also proud to have been named a Distinguished Engineer by the Association of Computing Machinery, although his pride is tempered somewhat by his fear that the term "distinguished" makes him sound like a graybeard academic rather than an active engineer whose beard is still slightly more red than gray.By night and on weekends, his alter ego writes fantasy novels and relaxes by handcrafting magic wands from various magical woods and mystical gemstones. His first foray into fiction is the book Magical Wands: A Cornucopia of Wand Lore written under the pen name Wolfrick Ignatius Feuerschmied. He lives in Crafton, Pennsylvania with his wife Becky, and his son Dane, and varying numbers of dogs, cats, and birds.
Find out more about the author at these sites:
About.Me, Facebook, Google+, Twitter, Website
To check out his handcrafted magic wands see these sites:
Etsy, Facebook, Wand Shop
February 25, 2016
#B2BCYCON Guest Post from Author Massimo Marino
Today I have another Brain to Books Cyber Convention author feature. Remember, this great event for authors and readers alike is coming to Goodreads this April, on the 8th, 9th and 10th.
Be sure to check out all the details and pertinent links for the event here:http://www.angelabchrysler.com/brain-to-books-cyber-convention-2016/
Now on with the main event, our Brain to Books author feature.
Today I have a wonderful guest post from science fiction author Massimo Marino
Dystopian, Utopian, and Cacotopian
The word dystopian comes from the ancient greek with δυσ-, "bad", and τόπος, "place." Alternatively it can also be called cacotopia, or anti-utopia. The word dystopia represents a counterpart of utopia. Many dystopias described in fictional works present a utopian society, where good-life seems to have been achieved, but suffering by at least one fatal issue. Whereas utopian societies are founded on aspiring to the general well-being, a dystopian society’s dreams of improvement are overshadowed by a repression of any sort and origin, at times even one benevolent repression. These kind of society appear particularly in stories staged on a speculative and visionary future. Dystopias are often characterized by dehumanization, totalitarian rules, ecological and environmental disasters—post-apocalypse scenery, like in my work “The Daimones Trilogy”—or other events associated with a cataclysmic decline in the society fabric.
A famous dystopian novel is Fahrenheit 451, in which the Authority burns all books out of fear of what they may incite in the individuals, and the more recent The Hunger Games, where a government holds control of its people by maintaining a constant state of fear through annual fight to the death competitions, the Hunger Games, where two young members of the various districts the world is divided in—after a global war that brought the planet on the bring of annihilation—are selected as ‘tribute’.Dystopias have taken the form of a multitude kind of speculations and create very compelling stories that touch on issues of our own society: corruption, poverty, violence, pollution, political repressions. They offer their writers lots of freedom and inventive. Even if placed in the future, technology may, or may not be more advanced than in the present. In some cases, humanity has been brought to face a total collapse of the world as we know it and the fights for survival set in. Some dystopian fictions emphasize the pressure to conform to a flattened society, as a requirement not to excel. In these fictions, the society is ruthlessly egalitarian, in which ability and accomplishment, or even competence, are suppressed or stigmatized as forms of inequality. Again, in Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451, the dystopia represses the intellectuals with a particular brutality and subverts pillars of our society like the concept of family, a clear case of dehumanization dystopian organizations. Both the principles of utopian and dystopian societies can be idealistic, with the goal of attaining positive stability for its members, but on dystopian fictions the foundations have such defects that ultimately result in oppressive consequences for the inhabitants of the planet. The oppression and repression can be subtle and the perception of a utopian society lingers instead, at least for a certain duration of the story, until a Hero becomes aware of the flaws and decides, against all odds, to intervene. Some fine examples come from such films and stories as Fritz Lang's Metropolis and Brazil.
In dystopia, characters are at the mercy of the controlled society even if, at epidermic level, they might have the impression to live the good life; people enjoy much higher material living-standards in exchange for the loss of other qualities in their lives, such as independent thought and emotional depth. Humanity lives in a glorious state of comfort, but has given up what gives life its meaning. The fictional society construction often has a backstory of a disaster, a war, a critical global climatic change, or an encounter of the third type, introduced early in the narrative and that create the stage for the story evolution. The historic events triggered the shift from previous systems of society organization and social norms to a changed society and new, often disturbing, social norms. Unlike other fictions where an improbable, outcast main character evolves through the typical Arc of the Hero, often dystopias feature a prominent personality of the new society as the protagonist who senses, sometimes intuitively, that something terribly wrong is going on, despite the ‘utopian’ outlook. The hero's point of view clashes with the others' perception, and reveals to the readers that concepts of utopia and dystopia are tied to each other and the only difference between them lies on a matter of opinion. The hero attempts to either change the system or bring it down. The story is often—but not always—unresolved even if the hero manages to escape or destroy the dystopia. That is the individual who are unsatisfied, and rebel, ultimately fail to change anything. Dystopian works may convey a sense of hopelessness in contrasts with much fiction of the future, in which a hero succeeds in resolving conflicts or otherwise changes things for the better.
All we said about dystopian, and its duality with utopian fictions and visioned societies, can also be told about my work in progress, “The Daimones Trilogy”. Book one, “Daimones (Daimones Trilogy)
”, is released in both ebook and paperback, and the volume 2, “Once Humans (Daimones Trilogy)
” has hit the virtual and real shelves in July 2013. The Trilogy ends with The Rise of the Phoenix
, where a new order, and a new power rises and controls the galaxy.
The trilogy describes a post-apocalypse world whose dystopian roots are million years old. Ancient aliens, a galactic struggle, the control of unique resources, meld to dictate the fate of the humankind. “Daimones (Daimones Trilogy)” places a few survivors in a world having experienced a planetary culling of humankind, one with no immediate or apparent cause. The Apocalypse has arrived yet the 'why' and 'how' remain unknown in a frustrating and fearful reality for Dan Amenta and his family.Dan and his family awake one day in a world where everyone is dead but no evidence points to a cause. Initial searches for survivors yield nothing and, in panic, the family turns their house into a stronghold. Eventually, they find Laura, a survivor who manages to win their hearts...and leads Dan to temptation. Laura reveals her panicking encounter with strange entities which Dan recognizes in his childhood hallucinations. He forces himself to find and confront them: An older power controls the fate of men.
The story, on purpose, starts with the confusing life--and manifest lack of information--of characters that, as with the vast majority of us, live their life focusing on a very little world around themselves. Then something happens, and the "heros" arch starts :) The novel describes what our world is: we focus on money, we are not looking at what happens around us, we already live in a spiritual apocalypse. The trilogy will explore the apocalypse from the physical death of humankind, the rebirth of the society, dystopian or utopian, and a larger conflict tensions with the second and third volumes. Our real life world though tells us we have a spiritual death apocalypse already in place.
Massimo Marino is a scientist envisioning science fiction. He spent years at CERN and The Lawrence Berkeley Lab followed by lead positions with Apple, Inc. and the World Economic Forum. He is also co-founder of "Squares on Blue", a Big Data Analytics service company, and of BookGarage, a publishing service brokerage company.Massimo currently lives in France and crosses the border with Switzerland multiple times daily, although he is no smuggler. As a scientist writing science fiction, he went from smashing particles at accelerators at SLAC and CERN to smashing words on a computer screen. Is is now an author with Booktrope Publishing, LCC, and Active Member of SFWA - Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America. He's the author of multi-awarded Daimones Trilogy. His novels have received the Seal of Excellency from both AwesomeIndies.net and IndiePENdents.org
• 2012 PRG Reviewer's Choice Award Winner in Science Fiction • 2013 Hall of Fame - Best in Science Fiction, Quality Reads UK Book Club• 2013 PRG Reviewer’s Choice Award Winner in Science Fiction Series• 2014 Finalist - Science Fiction - Indie Excellence Awards L.A.• 2014 Award Winner - Science Fiction Honorable Mention - Readers' Favorite Annual AwardsHis novels are available from Amazon, Barnes and Noble (Nook), iTunes Apple Store, and many other retailers around the world.Join his mailing list for new releases, or follow him on Facebook, Google+, and Twitter.
I'd like to thank Massimo Marino for stopping by today with his post, and be sure to check out his virtual booth at the convention this April.
