Sandra Hurst's Blog, page 7

The Admin Demons will not prevail against us!

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It seems inevitable that any great endeavour runs into the forces of evil on some level or another. For me these seem to be personified as Phil, the ruler of Heck.  Maybe because the launch of my book just isn’t enough to garner the attention of a ‘big name’ in the demonomicon.

But we will not be defeated!

Please note:

The official launch of Y’keta has been moved from  7pm to 7:30 on Tuesday, May 23rd.

I’m going to try and contact everyone who I invited by email. Phil you will not succeed!

 

 

 

 

Which Lodge do you belong to?

Tonight I was sitting at the computer and thinking about the first chapters of my book. Much as Harry Potter has to go through a sorting process to belong to Gryffindor, so my main character, Y’keta, has to go through a full year of scrutiny before the People will accept him as their own. He has a choice of three different Lodges that a young person can train with. It made me wonder what I would do in that circumstance, which lodge would I want to be in?

Follow the link, take my little test (it’s only 4 questions – honestly!) and let me know what you think of your results!

Which Lodge do you belong to?

 

 

But what if I break?

Risk-taking, Strength, Weakness, and the development of character.

One of the things that I find hardest to deal with in both my writing and my life is the constant tension between safety and desire, the need to appear successful and together creates a level of fear that can be paralyzing. If you take a risk you may fail, if you fail you may be criticized, if you are criticized you will break.

This fear of risk is one of the things that I wanted to explore in my novel. The main character, Y’keta, represents one side of the risk spectrum. He steps into things without considering the consequences and often regrets decisions he never gave himself the chance to make. When his recklessness costs a life, he is exiled from his people and forced to seek shelter with strangers.

His counterbalance in this story is Siann, the shaman’s daughter. Raised with responsibility for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, Siann fears risk in the same way that I fear high places. She doesn’t know what will happen if she takes a chance, so she chooses to never take them. But she is sure that she will be judged unfavourably if she ever takes a step off the road designed for her.

How these two come together, and finally, while facing an attack on the village, find a way to Walk between the what they want and what their fears demand is one of the key themes of the story.

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Sex! There, I said it!

As someone who deals with the Young Adult/New Adult fiction market, one of the big things I tripped over early in writing Y’keta was the whole gamut of issues over sex and sexuality.

 How explicit is too explicit? Can you have love in a story without going too far into the sexual details? This might not seem like a huge question, but I struggled with it. How could I say that I wouldn’t write explicit sexual content in my stories when, trust me, I’m not a person who shies away from the steamy side in my recreational reading? I have a folder on my kindle account that is passworded for a reason! But does this mean that I would, or should, write this type of fiction aimed at teenagers?

I know, from falling into and out of the adventures in my own life, that the things presented in your average love story aren’t real. No one in those books ever gets a leg cramp, has a problem with gas, or rolls over and traps your hair under them, and no one, ever, says no.

Perfect sex doesn’t exist, no matter how much the parties are in love, and rather than present an impossible ideal, I chose to use romance in my stories and keep the ‘fade to black’ once things got steamy.

I also wanted to be very careful how I dealt with sexuality, which has nothing to do with sex.

Right now, sexually diverse characters are slowly being incorporated into main-stream fiction in a lot of different ways from the popularity of  m/m, f/f romance novels, to the inclusion of families with two moms or two dads.

 I didn’t want to write Y’keta with an eye to this as a trend, rather to keep myself true to the world that these books are set in.

In many native cultures, issues of traditional sexuality didn’t exist until contact with western culture. Several of t[image error]he Indigenous peoples of north America recognized same sex relationships, transgendered persons and two-spirit persons as an everyday thing. It wasn’t an issue because it was just a part of the ‘ways people were.’ This is how I wanted the relationships in my stories to be seen. Whether it’s the romance between Ren and Laban, or the refusal of Siann to accept her mother’s awkward attempts to encourage her to take a mate, I wanted the romance, and relationships in the story to happen organically, not just to be inserted as plot points.

The next book in the Sky Road Trilogy takes this one step forward with an old warrior finding a new love and learning that it’s never too late for happiness to come again.

Until then, See you on the Road

Sandra

 

Sky Road – Feeling thankful

It feels like I made this video a long time ago, when really it was a bit more than 2 years.

This is a recording of my first ever public reading of Y’keta. The story has changed a bit since then. but it shows me that the Road was real. It amazes me when I look now and think that this book is finished now and making it’s way around the kingdom of Amazon.

I’m so thankful for this journey, for all the friends who kept me going and talked me into believing my baboon crap could possibly become a real novel.

I’m not going to name names and embarrass people. but thank you, all.

This is what life does.

This is what life does:

It grows in cracks and hangs on to roots.

Finding a way long after the most logical mind would have quit.

Life isn’t logical but it is crazy stubborn.

 

This is what life does:

It gathers the broken and damaged in it’s eddies

then bumps and grinds them until they are star powder.

The shattered gold that stitches the universe together.

 

This is what life does:

It snores, blustery noises that disturb your sleep.

It groans and farts and isn’t at all ladylike.

But alive, so alive.

 

This is what life does:

In small nonchalant ways, in brutal noises,

In lessons you wish you’d never learned.

It continues.

 

Sandra Hurst        2015

Mrs. P.

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Required: Active male companion for frail senior, all expenses covered, must be willing to travel. The ad was irresistible.

The reality was a Geritol driven hell.

 “That’s it!” Rory shoved his shaggy brown hair out of his eyes and slung the despised paisley oxygen carrier from one shoulder to the other “One more whine, one more complaint, and the first time she puts those knitting needles down, I’m shoving one through her eye.”

“Stop muttering Rory,” his elderly employer said. “You know I can’t hear very well. And do try to keep up. The pattern says I have to make this train.”

Rory glowered at the wispy gray bun bobbing ahead of him, and explained to himself, for the thousandth time, that for the travel and the fifty dollars a day, this really was worth it. Stepping up beside the walker, he reflexively flicked a glance over his employer. Walker, check, Oxygen check, god damn knitting needles, check. “We’re almost there Mrs. P. I’m sure we’ll be in time.”

“Don’t be so sure,” her voice, strong and authoritative, gave her away. She wasn’t even close to the ‘frail senior’ Rory had bargained for. “I’ve missed this train before, and that was back when my legs didn’t need these props.”

Her cloudy brown eyes lost focus for a second and Rory shivered, waiting for the inevitable flood of delusions. “I was there you know.” Mrs. P. started, “That’s where the pattern began. I’m just responsible for ending it.”

Ootching his charge forward a bit Rory pointed at the train station across the street.

“There we are, and with half an hour to spare.”

“Not enough time,” Mrs. P. protested. “I’m running out of time to make the pattern complete!”

“Come on now,” Rory said, manoeuvring the unwieldy walker and its irritable owner down the curb and into the crosswalk. “Let’s just get there and then we can work on the pattern.” Senile old bat, he thought gluing a prefabricated smile to his face. We’ve worked on ‘the pattern’, whatever the hell that is, in every train station on the continent. The old lady might be nuts but she has the funds to jet me around with her and I could never afford this kind of trip on my own.

The arching entrance to the train station dwarfed the odd couple as they slowly precessed down the dirty marble tiles and lined up at the ticket booth. “Tickets for Rory C.,” he said to the uninteresting girl behind the counter. “We ordered them for pickup here.” The girl looked up, gave them a quick once over, then, as always, smiled brightly at Mrs. P. It didn’t matter that he had spoken, or that the tickets were in his name, the ‘little old lady magic’ always shoved him into the background. “Here you go dear,” she said. Passing the tickets through the bars to Mrs. P. “You’ve got half an hour till train time.”

“What time is it Rory,” Mrs. P. quavered.

“10:35, we’ve got lots of time,” he said. “Let’s just have a sit over here and you can work on the pattern while we wait.”

The cheap plastic benches didn’t fit the old world architecture of the station but by the time Mrs. P. finished complaining about it, he had settled his charge on a bench, put down the portable oxygen satchel and handed her the knitting bag. Smiling absently, she dug out her yarn and some number nine needles from the knitting bag. “Number 9’s for here I think,” she murmured. “Yes, definitely 9’s and 10’s.”

Rory shook his head. It didn’t matter what country they were in, or which train station, the process was always the same. Arrive early, sit and listen to the infernal clicking of Mrs. P.’s needles until train time. Then drink tea and go back to the hotel. They never took the god-damned trains!

Right on schedule, at 10:55, Mrs. P. started in on him again. “Rory, have you been to get the tea yet? I’m parched!”

“In a few minutes Mrs. P.,” he said. “It’s almost train time.” He checked his watch, the clunky, second-hand one that Mrs. P. had given him when he started travelling with her. Its brown strap was worn and faded but she insisted that the watch kept perfect time and that all her ‘patterns’ were timed by that watch.

“I know dear,” Mrs. P. said, tucking her yarn and needles back into their floral carrying bag. “But I’m finished here, this pattern wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be. We can head back to the hotel soon. I think I saw a tea shop just around the corner. Be a dear and get me a cup.”

With an insolent shrug, Rudy slouched away, glancing back as he turned the corner between platforms to make sure that Mrs. P. hadn’t wandered off.

Mrs. P. smoothed down the flowered pinafore dress, her brown eyes, even though they were hidden behind horn-rimmed glasses, all of a sudden didn’t seem quite so vacant. With a surreptitious glance towards the corner where Rory had disappeared she picked up the knitting bag and leaving behind the walker, the oxygen and the illusion of querulous Mrs. P., stepped through the opening between platforms 9 and 10 and onto the Platform 9 ¾.

The billows of steam and the oily tang of coal fires made her eyes water and her asthma act up. She should have brought her oxygen, but it would be unnecessary soon.  An elderly man, tall, and still well-built, moved towards her through the clouds of soot. “Did you finish your knitting?” he asked with a well remembered smile. “You laid down enough yarn around the continent that it would take an Italian pasta chef to untangle your trail.”

An impish grin lit up her face, allowing him just a glimpse of his old friend from Hogwarts dark days. “Did you bring it, Ginevra?” he asked looking around cautiously. “Brilliant place to meet by the way. Out in the open and surrounded by student chaos no one could ever say that we are trying to hide what we’re doing.”

Ginny smiled, opened the knitting bag and pulled out a hideous hand knitted sweater, red and blue, and obviously Weasley. “You never got one of these,” she said, “and you deserved one. The lining on this one is something special.”

Headmaster Longbottom inspected the sweater, only 4 or 5 sizes too large for him with a hand-picked N. embroidered on the front. “Are you sure about this Ginny? What about the Grandkids?”

Ginny shook her head. “We decided on this before Harry passed.” A frail hand rested, bird like, on Neville’s arm for just a moment then was gone. “We don’t want the kids to be responsible for guarding the cloak. There will always be people looking for it. Any one who needs the cloak, will have to find it, or earn it. The only remaining Hallow shouldn’t pass down like a pair of favourite shoes.”

“Luna sends her love,” Neville said. “She wanted to come and see you off, but her hip is still bad from falling out of that burrberry tree when she was chasing nargles last year.”

Ginny giggled, glad to know that some people, especially Luna, never changed. “I’m off now,” she said. “I’ll let myself be seen around London, then head to see some family in Scotland, that should put off any pursuit.”

“Will you be alright?” Neville’s voice was concerned. The smile and the voice he heard were Ginny Potter, but age wouldn’t be denied, and he knew this goodbye was probably, THE goodbye.

“Oh, I’ll be fine,” Ginny said. “Everything I need is in here.” She shook the extensible knitting bag, knocking over the books stacked inside. “I wish I could see that Rory Crabbe explaining to the police how he has so much unearned cash in his account, and why my walker and oxygen tank are sitting at the platform but I’m gone.”

Neville roared. “Ginny you didn’t!”

“Oh yes I did,” Ginny started to sparkle as the portkey in her knitting bag activated. “His dad was a git and I owed him one!”

On having a Book Baby.

Sweaty profanities fill the air as the expectant mother paces back and forth across the room. Pant, pant, pant, breathe. Pant, pant, pant, breathe.

After months of preparation it’s finally time. She’d read every book she could find on the birth process, studied all the required blogs, gone to classes, written journals and made crafts.

Every one that needed birth announcements had them, all ready to push the button when the clock struck. So, time plodded by.. profanities slipped boldly into spaces where they normally tiptoed.

NOW

Push damn you, PUSH! You can do it, one more blog post, one more teaser pic, one more mail-out. It’s almost time!

The clock struck midnight EST. The book was live on Kindle.

I had a baby![image error]

 

 

 

Introducing my new media-kit.

Sandra Hurst – Media Sheet

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Hi, my name is Sandra Hurst, the author of the Sky Road fantasy series.

As a child growing up in England stories and legends surrounded me, I learned how important imagination was. When I was 8, we moved to northern Canada and the legends changed. Stories of the Fae and the little people were replaced by legends of the Thunderbird and stories of the woodlands. I never stood a chance. What could I be but a writer?

Growing up in Northern Alberta gave me a great love and respect for the wild lands and indigenous cultures which made its way into the worlds I create. A mythmaker at heart, I started writing poetry in middle school and graduated to epic fantasy.

Myths give us a way to interpret the world past our normal experience. To ask questions and explore answers in a larger-than-life game of ‘what if.’ We need to make room for myths and mythmakers in our fact driven world. To give space for worlds that are brighter and clearer than our own. For it is in doing so, that we have room to become more fully human.

My first book, Y’keta, is loosely based on the Thunderbird of North American legend, Y’keta is a Young Adult, high fantasy set in an ancient world where legends walk and the Sky Road offers a way to the stars.

I now live in Calgary, Alberta with my husband and son, both of whom I love dearly, and have put for sale on e-bay when their behaviour demanded it.  My day to day life is a balance between my outside life as a paralegal counsellor and my inner life as an author/poet. In between, I work on courses to improve my writing, learning the Cree Language, book reviews and blogging on my website, and studying mythologies from around the world.

Media Links:

Facebook – @SandraHurst.Author
Twitter –    @_Sandra_Hurst
Website:    http://www.delusionsofliteracy.com

  Amazon Link

It’s time for you to read a new book!

Time to add a new book to your TBR! I’m looking for ARC readers and reviews for my Epic Fantasy YA novel coming out on March 17. If you want more information message me or sign up on google forms.

There will be giveaways and goodies for those who at part of the ARC team and post a review within 72 hours of Y’keta going live on March 17th!

https://goo.gl/forms/30VmAfAoV4gM8A163

 

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