Mina Harker's Blog, page 2

Blog Challenge: Day 6

The meaning behind your blog name.

This is not going to be a particularly interesting blog post. My pen name is Mina Harker. I write things and do book reviews soo… yeah, fairly self explanatory. Plus, Harker Books sounds pretty official. I wish I could think of something more impressive but it was pretty much “I am Harker. I do the book things. Harker Books isn’t taken. Huzzah.” It’s a fascinating tale of whirlwind adventure, I know. Just glad I didn’t give anyone whiplash coming through those plot twists.

Blog Challenge: Day 5

Your favorite musician/band and why? (List your fav songs too!)

I don’t really have any one favorite musician or band. It all depends on my mood. Though recently I’ve been listening to a lot of Ólafur Arnalds. You can listen to him on SoundCloud and watch his music videos on YouTube. If you need some good reading background noise or just want relaxing music, I would especially recommend Arnalds’ “Living Room Songs.”

My top five tunes right now are Ágúst by Ólafur Arnalds, Broken (Ficci Remix) by Trifonic, River by Oh Be Clever, Thunder & Lightning by Azedia, Filthy Habit by Azedia. Daughter has also been popping up a lot for me in the last few months but that’s usually my sad time music.

Blog Challenge: Day 4

What’s in your makeup bag? (What three items do you use the most?)

I don’t actually own a makeup bag. I just keep all that junk in my bathroom. I’ve recently realized that most of my stuff is Revlon but I don’t actively buy from them. If I wear any make up, I pretty much go full out so there’s not really a top three. If I’m traveling though, I tend to just carry a tinted lip balm, a concealer stick, a brown mascara, and a brown eyeliner. I have noticed that a lot of my makeup is Revlon but I don’t really purposefully seek them out. I used to wear a lot of red lipstick but they discontinued my perfect shade and I haven’t been able to find a replacement. Sadness for forever.

The King Is Dead, Long Live The King

It was strange.

As the weeks passed and David watched his little girl at her lessons and training in the fields, teaching others how to defend themselves and—someday—their queen, the king found himself wandering frequently into nostalgia and long hours of reflection. The late Queen Mordith had not been so skilled with a sword nor had she had the sharp edge to her that David sometimes saw in his daughter now that she was returned from war, but the more time he spent with Gwendolen, the more he was painfully reminded of her mother. He had been pressured from all sides to marry again after her passing over twenty years ago but that was one demand David had never been able to cave under. While their marriage had been arranged, David knew in his very soul that Mordith had been the master of his heart—still was even if she was no longer by his side to command it.

He had even been having wonderful, heart breaking dreams of his long passed wife recently. They were such beautiful dreams. Dreams of simply laying his head in her lap under the shade of the red bud in spring; of riding through the wood with no guard in ear shot, having simple conversations; of those times he had tried to learn to embroider and gotten a ball of knots, five bloodied fingers, and heaps of Mordith’s laughter for the effort; that time they had run away in the storm and found a hay barn and done things they should have waited until their wedding to do; the first joust he had won for her; and so many more. Some were memories he was all too familiar with, some were dreams pure and simple, and some where in the grey between.

When he woke, he woke with a freshly broken heart for his bed was empty, her beautiful dark hair and sleepy brown eyes not there to greet him. He had not dreamed so much or so vividly of his wife since she had passed. Perhaps it was the return of their daughter that stirred her memory enough to have her haunt his dreams. It sounded right but did not quite ring true in his own mind. Mordith always parted with a smile and some words for him in his dreams. He knew they were important words but, without fail, he found the message had been washed away when he broke the surface of the dream world and was returned to the waking world.

It was from one such bitter sweet dream that the king was woken early one morning with the announcement that his brother was apparently seeking an audience. With a lot of grumbling and a bit of cursing, David hauled himself out of bed as his attendants set to dressing him. David did not quite trust his elder brother. That, too, pained him but his brother always seemed to be up to something and had never taken their father’s choice to make his younger son heir very well. David could not blame his brother for the bitterness but there had been a good many times he had needed his brother and had received only silence or the lies of a snake. He had not spoken with his brother in so long outside of royal decrees in over thirty years. The prospect of speaking face to face with the man after so long brought mixed feelings of suspicion and hope. What a blessing it would be to have both his daughter and his big brother returned to him. But, more realistically, his brother was trying to rial the courts again.

David’s tail chasing worry was brought up short by the sound of his daughter’s voice as he left his chambers, “Father?” she called down the hall, as she made her way to his side.

“Gwen, what are you doing up this hour?” He asked, a bit worried to see his daughter wandering about in her sleeping clothes.

“I should ask the same. And fully dressed at that! At least I might have the excuse of something scandalous, you look ready for proper business.”

David did not particularly like the idea of his daughter getting up to something scandalous, even if he knew she was in jest, and the nerves of his brother’s visit did not allow him to find even an ounce of humor in her fun.

“Your uncle is here causing a bit of trouble.” He explained, “I am not yet sure what he is here for but he has said it is of the utmost urgency and will speak to none but me. So I must go greet my darling brother and hold council with him.”

Gwendolen frowned a little in worry, “That is a bit odd. The lands he cares for are not near enough the border to be effected by the invaders. But if you or he have need of me, call me with haste. I am well awake and I am always ready for a fight.” David thought she might be more serious in that sentiment than she tried to let on and this only added to his weary nerves. He did not want his daughter to be a war monger or the sort that always needed to wet her blade. He did not want to think of his delicate little girl being in constant need of a fight.

He gave her a weary little smile and a pat as he admitted, “That’s what worries me.” And then he had no more moments to spare and had to part to see what troubles his brother was bringing to their front door.

When David arrived at the audience chamber, the royal guard was already assembled, a good portion of his court was either assembled or drifting through the halls he had just traveled to make their way to this oh so important hearing. All bowed their heads as David briskly took to the less formal raised seat and gave a gruff, “What is this news you have that could not wait until a more godly hour, brother.” David vaguely wondered when even his questions had started sounding like orders.

As William spoke in serious tones, David’s eyes narrowed just a hair. It felt as if his brother was… delaying? But, as it seemed nearly the last of his court shuffled quietly into the room—he noted a few were still not in attendance, but knew they were among the number that had done some heavy drinking the night before—his brother finally got to the point.

“Your Majesty, I believe there are traitors in the palace.” William announced seriously.

David sat a bit straighter in his chair and warned, “That is a serious accusation to bandy.”

“I have reason to believe the wild men will attack the palace.” David gave a snort at his brother’s words but William continued all the same, “The wildmen hired an assassin to take me in my sleep. He was obviously unsuccessful but this act alone speaks of their great change in tactics. All we know of further plots we extracted from him. There are survivors of the war that have learned the tactics General Gwendolen used against them and mean to enact a precision attack against Ollendale. They mean to take the throne for themselves in a more… direct fashion.” William said so with such conviction, with something like worry or pleading in his pale eyes that David felt he had no choice to believe his brother.

Then, like some godly cue, the head of the wall guard came bursting in and, after a deep but hurried bow, announced, “Your Majesty, a thousand apologies but guards have been found murdered at the East Gate.”

“Guard!” David positively shouted, making the royal guard present stand jarringly straight, “Secure the Princess and double the guard. We will take no risks with all heirs to the throne in the same city. Comb these halls until the intruders are found!” David bellowed, sending armored men into a flurry of action.

William could see his brother was distracted by the danger his daughter might now be in and took it as an opportunity to come stand at his brother’s side. He was nearly surprised when David actually thanked him.

“Thank you, brother.” David hesitated before continuing quietly, “I know we have had our troubles but I am glad to know you still can stand by my side in this.”

“Of course.” William answered simply, a bit of a smile on his face a moment before all hell broke out on the other side of the doors. David stood, brow pinched, but went still when he felt the comforting, heavy hand of his big brother on his shoulder.

“They are wildmen, they will fall before Ollendale steel.” William assured and David felt the comfort of it to his core. Gods how long had it been since he had felt comforted by his brother? It was not a comfort that lasted long, however. The shouts and cries of the small battle on the other side of the door was lasting far longer than he had thought a confrontation with wildmen should. Then, to his horror, he heard Gwendolen’s commanding shouts and a beat later, the doors were cracked open and badly bloodied guardsmen poured in before quickly shutting the door again. The confusion and fear was broken by Gwendolen’s outrage.

“Treason!” She shouted viciously into the echoing chamber, “The blood of our own guard stains my hands and I will have the head of the man who forced my hand in this!” she seethed. She looked like some feral demon and suddenly David began to think there may be more than a bit of truth to the tales he head heard of enemy forces turning tail at his daughter’s wrath. She was covered in so much blood David was positively paralyzed with the fear that some of it might belong to her. But she was moving without trouble and seemed more furious than anything so he had to focus on the more immediate problem at hand. Namely, the identity of the men on the other side of that door.

“Treason? It is not possible.” He said, wide eyed as he approached his rather feral looking daughter. His people would not turn against him. This he could not believe, not even from his own daughter’s lips. It had to be a mistake, a trick.

“We have no time for this.” She cut her father’s heart broken confusion off quickly. “The door will only hold so long. We must get everyone to safety before that.”

David nodded quickly his agreement. Whether they were treasonous men or wildmen on the other side of that door, they were in for a blood bath if they could not defend properly against the situation. Already, his mind was trying to recover itself and work as quickly as his daughter’s was. They had enough guard left in the room to secure one of the smaller passages out of the room and reach the larger forces of guardsmen that guarded the walls. If they could get the alarm sounded, all would be taken care of quickly. But Gwendolen would be going first and that he would make clear to her.

And then there was pain.

It was so sharp and sudden it choked the orders forming in his throat. He stared at his bloody daughter’s suddenly scared, lost expression. It had been over a decade since he had seen her look so lost as that. He wanted to assure her. Everything would be well. She had not survived five years of war only to die in this room. He was king and he would not allow it. Then he was following Gwen’s gaze down and found the blade blossoming from his gut a beat before it was removed from him. He had been stabbed before. He kenw the sensation of it but never from a friend—never from his own brother. With a heavy heart, David knew it was William’s blade that had sealed his fate even before he was falling to his knees.

He thought he heard a banshee cry out and knew he would not be wriggling his way out of this one. The world felt like it was light and heavy at the same time as it began to turn strangely around him. But then he was looking up into his daughter’s face and it made things just a bit less terrifying. It pained him to see her eyes looking so frightened. He could not see the blood she wore so easily or the scars she had earned through brutal war; he could only see his precious little girl. How could so many years pass, how could see grow so much and he could still only see her as that little child he had once been able to pluck from the ground with such ease? He could remember all the nights she had spent crying and wailing after her mother had passed delivering her into the world. He could remember her infectious giggling as she insisted in being constantly under foot. Oh gods, his little girl was going to be all alone now. She was going to be an orphan. She was going to have to face his treacherous brother and whatever other traitors the snake had turned all alone.

She was murmuring panicked assurances that all would be well. She sounded like she was teetering on the edge of hysterics. He wanted to assure her in turn, wanted to advice her, wanted to tell her to run and not look back until she had an army at her back but he could not do more than choke and it was infuriating. He was going cold and could feel the Crow God’s talons gently wrapping about his soul for judgment; he needed to speak to her now for he would never be allowed another chance. His little girl was in a viper’s nest and he had not even the capacity to command her away from here as his final breath left him in a dull hiss that would haunt his precious child until the day she parted the world of mortals to join her father and ancestors in the great banquet hall to watch over their descendants together.

When he opened his eyes again, there was gentle sunlight and dark brown eyes he had not seen in twenty one years. Her nimble fingers ran through his auburn hair, his head nestled comfortably in her familiar lap. Speechless, David reached up with gentle fingers to card through her own beautiful dark hair, finer than any silk and much more loved by the late king.

“Well hello, my king.” Mordith greeted a bit cheekily.

David’s rich laughter filled the summer fields. Where, in the mortal world, there might have been tears or squeezed hearts for the regret of time apart even with the joy of reunion, among the dead there was only contentment and ease in his return to her side. No bitter, only sweet as David tasted his wife’s lips again the reunited lovers reacquainted themselves with one another, secure in the knowledge that their little girl would join them some day; just not this day. This day was theirs and they would savor every moment of it.

©Mina Harker 2016

Protected: The King Is Dead, Long Live the King

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My First Weekend Coffee Share

If we were having coffee together, I would probably ask you about your week, about your life, about what had put that crease in your brow or that slump in your shoulders or that bounce in your step. So it was, when I first learned of this hashtag, I was not entirely sure how it could possibly work. How did one dedicate an entire post to a conversation with a group of people I do not know so intimately?

I first heard about the #weekendcoffeeshare from Michelle W. I was instantly ready to dismiss it—as I am with most things these days. (Cynasism has cut a new and ever deepening chip in my craggy shoulders since 2013.) Eventually, my thick skull figured out this particular hashtag is perhaps something between an open letter and a “dear diary.” It is a piece of our forgotten community brought back to life on the internet, allowing bloggers and followers alike to support and amuse each other through good and bad times.

Sharing, community, support; all of these are not something I am quite familiar with. I don’t share with people anymore. I don’t trust anymore. I have never had a community to support me; our society has no love for single mothers much less their troublesome brats. I have known both loneliness and isolation. There is a difference that I have noted quite a few seem to mistake. Or perhaps I have only drawn the line in my own mind.

For me, loneliness can be felt anywhere. Loneliness can creep up on you in the arms of a lover, in the midst of family, even in the little gap between one breath and the next. Loneliness is a hard, cruel feeling that puts its roots into the little cracks and scars of your heart, reaching slow and deep until—like the trees that break the mountains—it pries great boulders of yourself from you, letting them fall through your soul to crush you under the weight. Loneliness is hard. Loneliness is cruel. Loneliness is usually lying to you for its own advantage. Isolation is a physical thing.

Isolation does not and cannot lie. Isolation is no one knowing you’ve died until the scent of your rotting body rudely intrudes into their lives. Isolation is having no one to speak to—not because they would be too close to the situation, but because you have five numbers in your phone; your mother who is ill and hard to talk to at the best of times, your sister whose intentions are not always clear and who you owe a lifetime of apologies too, your friend who makes you wish for your old enemies back, and two suicide emergency hotlines and this isn’t an emergency. Isolation is going to parties only to be surrounded by drunken fools that think domestic abuse and rape and “hobos” are funny; having lived all their lives under roofs that didn’t leak, with fathers that did not threaten them with beatings and death and darker things no words can be put to, driven in cars that functioned and always had a full tank, and surrounded by food always within easy reach. They aren’t bad people because they’ve had stability, just careless. They don’t know about demons wrapped in human bones. They don’t know about the shadows that eat the people no one will look for. They don’t know what it’s like to have nowhere to go when the sun goes down. They know what it is to be the wolf in the night, not the lamb. That vast ocean between what it is to have and what it is to have not isolates more people than many would know because to be among those that have, those that have not must wear a veneer to cover all the chips and cracks and pains we sharpen into weapons that our foes might fall upon.

My diaries have all been read. My letters to myself have all been mocked. My voice has been choked out. I am a writer. I once put my soul into the blank spaces of every scrap of paper I got my hands on—wrote on my arms and in the earth when there was no paper. But it is hard to put your soul and heart where people can find it, in a language people think they know. It is hard for a writer to be read. My sloppy hand writing, my horrible spelling, the artistic liberties my dyslexia takes with letters; all have been laughed at, all have been made fun of. It is par for the course, I think. It’s what I tell myself anyway. That makes it bearable. That lets me shrug the hurt away, lets me roll my shoulders like a boxer after a blow, lets me keep going. We’ve all taken hits. We’ve all been hurt. We’ve all been mocked and wounded by friends and foes alike. We can all survive these blows.

It’s the apathy that kills me. It’s the way the page I have filled with characters I love so dearly is picked up from its pile without my permission, without my bracing for reaction. It’s the way eyes carelessly skim over things I am both bursting with pride for and eternally shamed of, not even bothering to read the words I have so carefully picked and agonized over. It’s the way the wandering pair sometimes reach the end but usually don’t. It’s the way the entire world I have created from the white void of the page is set back on its pile and before it and its fellows are moved without a single word to me and put aside without care.

Somewhere between the apathy and the mocking that I lost faith in the page. I lost faith in putting my heart into the white void to color it with more than black and white. Naively, when my heart grew too heavy to hold in just my own two hands, with no void to pour it into, I placed the heavy, bleeding thing into the hands of other naked apes. I do not think I need to tell a single one of you that this was a mistake. But I learn quickly and told myself no one gets it right the first time. So I tried again and again and again until, in my darkest hour, I was named “burden.” I had not realized that, somewhere along the way, that word had been planted in my heart and with that final cruelty, it sprouted, its roots already running deeper than I could have imagined. I have not tried to lighten my load since.

I smile often when I am in conversation now. It is polite and if you do not smile, people ask what’s wrong. No one truly wants the answer and the burden is so heavy now, there is a piece of me that is always so desperately eager to answer the full truth of a lifetime of paper cuts. Instead, I found some solace in caring for others. I don’t get out much and I have no social structure to speak of so even that is hard to come by. I suppose that is why I read Michelle’s post anyway; even the idea of simply being allowed to ask a friend “how was your week?” sounded like a great relief.

And now that I have begun to write again, to share the characters I love with all my heart, I think I will try again to share. I will search out community. And if I cannot be supported, I will gladly support because there is healing in that. There is hope in creating the sort of world you would desire for your children and for yourself when you were a child. And while I hardly think this post will change the world, it is a step towards changing myself and that is a step in the right direction, I think.

Nocturnal Voyeur Release Sale just $2.99! — JD Carabella

A Dark Paranormal Romance by JD Carabella * Free on KU * I’m excited to announce the release of the final Nocturnal Voyeur book – Oath of the Warbear and the complete bundled collection of all of the Nocturnal Voyeur stories! If you haven’t started Fiona and Mack’s journey into dreams & nightmares, get the […]

via Nocturnal Voyeur Release Sale just $2.99! — JD Carabella

I’ve read Carabella’s Arrested by Passion and I have to say, thank god it’s my birthday season so I’ve got an excuse to take advantage of this sale!

April Blogging Challenge: Day 2

As in real life, I am a fashionably late to the party. But here’s day 2 of the Happy April Blogging Challenge; a photo of something you ate. Cue nervous laughter.

So… pretty much the minute I plated my food, I forgot completely about anything but eating my burger and mashed potatoes, and guarding it from The Dickster himself (my cat). But before I inhaled it, it was a burger seasoned with salt, ground black pepper, and garlic powder (I haven’t been able to cook regularly enough to keep fresh garlic around which gives me a sad). I skipped the bun (because I forgot we were out of bread) and topped it with Stubb’s Sweet Heat. I’m linking to their site because holy hell Stubb’s is the house favorite for BBQ sauce. Though, a heads up, do not use Sweet Heat for pulled pork. It tastes like Satan’s ass.

The mashed potatoes turned out really, really nice. I’m not sure if that’s because I haven’t had real mashed potatoes in a forever or if it’s because my mom put them in the crock pot with some pork broth she made from our Easter ham this morning after breakfast–yeah, no, never mind, I know exactly why they tasted so good. I used some of the broth instead of milk to make the mash and plenty of butter and salt.

I think the meal could have used something with a bit of crunch to it (like radish kimchi as a side dish or apple slices for dessert) but it was a freaking awesome way to end a long ass day. Thank you mom, for putting those potatoes in this morning.

Big News!

The suspense might kill me! I’m looking forward to it either way.

Mystery Date with a Book

Aaaahhh! I’m sooo excited I can barely type!

Here at “Mystery Date with a Book” HQ we have been working extra hard on a new secret project. For now, I think I’ll call it “Project A” (Please don’t judge me. It’s a work in progress). Our big launch day is on 6th April, and you can

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“Protect Us: A Sci Fi Romance”

Protect Us: A Sci Fi Romance by R.A. Roque

★★★

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

If you like sci-fi, female characters that aren’t bimbos, male characters that aren’t asshats, complex character relationships, exs that aren’t childishly dickish to each other and actually manage to get along as professionals and friends, interesting plot, nefarious bad guy organizations, and just an over all amazing read, Protect Us is for you. If you don’t like sci-fi, read it anyway.

I have just finished reading this as I’m writing and all I can think is thank God I don’t have to wait for Book 2. The plot is original (though, admittedly, I’m not very familiar with the sci-fi genre and its tropes) and extremely entertaining. The characters are beautifully done and so real it’s hard to imagine them not actually existing. Just to point out exactly how well done Protect Us is, it’s written in first person and it’s still got 5 hearts.

The relationship between Chad and Yumi is impressively mature for a romance novel. Hell, it’s impressively mature for characters of any genre. I am also so very glad to see people of color in such a great work of fiction. And not just side characters that die or sit there going “look at me! I’m not white!” or even playing the magical Keeper of Wisdom because reasons. They are main characters with lives and personalities not defined by tropes of people of color in fiction. There’s even an interracial relationship that no one really blinks an eye at.

Did I mention how much I love this book?

Breakdown

Pros:

Characters are amazing and diverse
Plot is captivating
Yumi represents mental struggles very well
Positive portrayal of exs not being petty dicks to each other
Cute romance
Realistic relationships
Even though it’s sci-fi it does not get hung up on describing every little detail of technology we’ll never see again, letting the story flow and explaining things that need explaining along the way.
The Agency

Cons:

I don’t have Book 2 in my collection yet.

Disclaimer: I received a free copy of this work for an honest review.