Frances Pauli's Blog, page 10
July 7, 2013
July 4, 2013
WIP Snippet: SEEN
Excerpt from SEEN. Shrouded Princes series, book two:
She could smell the jungle, the deep musty scent of loam and decay beneath the canopy. The biosphere crackled in her veins just as clearly as it laced the skies overhead with constant, fiery lightning. The planet’s natural defenses burned underneath the skin of each Uraru. Choma blood. Fire in the flesh. Rowri ran out from the walls. She tugged her robes up to her thighs and ran, inhaling the forest, to the very edge of the temple grounds.There a row of shed’s waited, each woven from the Choma grasses and topped with a thick roof of fronds. She ducked into the nearest one long enough to strip, folded her robe and set it on the narrow shelf and turned, bared and with her Uraru raging, to face the jungle. Rowri breathed in the wild. The beast roared and leapt forward, and she fell into it, dropped and changed on the way down. Her paws landed outside the shed, claws exposed and tearing at the soil. She bounded once to the thick foliage, twice into the cover and down the long slope away from the Grand Temple. Her silver coat covered bunching muscles, mottled and melding with the shadows of thick growth. Her body twisted through spaces between trunks, brushed aside thinner branches and snapped those that failed to yield. She ran, down and away, and the morning echoed with her roaring. Birds scattered like flags in all directions, crimson, canary and emerald green. They fled the silvery cat that slipped like feral mist deeper into the Choma biosphere. Smaller beasts hunkered below rotting logs or scooted deeper into long burrows. Eyes blinked at the Uraru’s passing. Small voices chattered in her wake. Rowri smelled them, but her belly was full of ham and the freshest Choma fruits. Still, she roared to the darkness and enjoyed the scent of fear all around her. Still her long tail thrashed through the brush. She bounded down the ravine, leaped like a missile over the wide creek at its bottom and climbed the far side. Weaving through the trees and vines and where they parted enough to allow it, jumping up and over, the cat emerged at the top of the far outcropping ready to run and run and only stop when the beast’s urges had faded to contentment. The land here leveled out, stretching to the far horizon in a ripple of green foliage. The wind brought flowers and water, mould and the metallic tang of blood. Rowri posed on a spike of rock and gazed out. She meant to bolt, to chase her beast’s urges wherever they might lead and only return to the shed and temple gates when the setting sun drove her home. She meant to, but her cat’s eyes narrowed at the smear of black in the distance. It didn’t belong there, hanging in the sky. The dark band that rolled over the farthest trees should not have existed. As if in protest, the boulder shook. The forest rippled more definitively, like a wave, like some enormous invisible hand brushed across it. The ground quaked, and Rowri tumbled from the rock into the cushion of fat bushes. Her legs threshed the air. Her spine twisted and she rolled to the side and staggered up onto all fours. The jungle danced. Her nerves tingled and the fur along her back lifted to attention. Deep in her throat a rumble vibrated, but outside of her, the ground howled more loudly. Earth danced into the air, leaves drifted down from high limbs, and above them, a dense smoke rolled over.
It blocked out the sun. It choked her breathing. The world went dark and thick and everywhere she looked, Rowri saw sparks outlined against black ash.
She could smell the jungle, the deep musty scent of loam and decay beneath the canopy. The biosphere crackled in her veins just as clearly as it laced the skies overhead with constant, fiery lightning. The planet’s natural defenses burned underneath the skin of each Uraru. Choma blood. Fire in the flesh. Rowri ran out from the walls. She tugged her robes up to her thighs and ran, inhaling the forest, to the very edge of the temple grounds.There a row of shed’s waited, each woven from the Choma grasses and topped with a thick roof of fronds. She ducked into the nearest one long enough to strip, folded her robe and set it on the narrow shelf and turned, bared and with her Uraru raging, to face the jungle. Rowri breathed in the wild. The beast roared and leapt forward, and she fell into it, dropped and changed on the way down. Her paws landed outside the shed, claws exposed and tearing at the soil. She bounded once to the thick foliage, twice into the cover and down the long slope away from the Grand Temple. Her silver coat covered bunching muscles, mottled and melding with the shadows of thick growth. Her body twisted through spaces between trunks, brushed aside thinner branches and snapped those that failed to yield. She ran, down and away, and the morning echoed with her roaring. Birds scattered like flags in all directions, crimson, canary and emerald green. They fled the silvery cat that slipped like feral mist deeper into the Choma biosphere. Smaller beasts hunkered below rotting logs or scooted deeper into long burrows. Eyes blinked at the Uraru’s passing. Small voices chattered in her wake. Rowri smelled them, but her belly was full of ham and the freshest Choma fruits. Still, she roared to the darkness and enjoyed the scent of fear all around her. Still her long tail thrashed through the brush. She bounded down the ravine, leaped like a missile over the wide creek at its bottom and climbed the far side. Weaving through the trees and vines and where they parted enough to allow it, jumping up and over, the cat emerged at the top of the far outcropping ready to run and run and only stop when the beast’s urges had faded to contentment. The land here leveled out, stretching to the far horizon in a ripple of green foliage. The wind brought flowers and water, mould and the metallic tang of blood. Rowri posed on a spike of rock and gazed out. She meant to bolt, to chase her beast’s urges wherever they might lead and only return to the shed and temple gates when the setting sun drove her home. She meant to, but her cat’s eyes narrowed at the smear of black in the distance. It didn’t belong there, hanging in the sky. The dark band that rolled over the farthest trees should not have existed. As if in protest, the boulder shook. The forest rippled more definitively, like a wave, like some enormous invisible hand brushed across it. The ground quaked, and Rowri tumbled from the rock into the cushion of fat bushes. Her legs threshed the air. Her spine twisted and she rolled to the side and staggered up onto all fours. The jungle danced. Her nerves tingled and the fur along her back lifted to attention. Deep in her throat a rumble vibrated, but outside of her, the ground howled more loudly. Earth danced into the air, leaves drifted down from high limbs, and above them, a dense smoke rolled over.
It blocked out the sun. It choked her breathing. The world went dark and thick and everywhere she looked, Rowri saw sparks outlined against black ash.
June 20, 2013
On the Air Again
Podcasts rock. Podscasting is something I really take a shine to also. I don't have the skills or the speaking voice to actually DO it...yet, but I enjoy a few shows regularly as a listener. Talk radio works for me. It reminds me of the olden days, of radio plays causing mass, alien panic, of Orphan Annie decoder rings and Malt-o-meal. In short, I love it.
It also fits my schedule nicely. Any time I can get my daily dose of entertainment or industry news while cleaning the kitchen, doing laundry or making dinner, it's a win-win for my to-do list. Because I don't have to stop, sit, and pay attention, podcasting fits into my day easily and still lets me have an adult conversation (even a one way conversation) at least once a day.
Because I'm a writer and we're pretty much obsessed with writing as a rule, I listen to industry podcasts like, The Funky Writer, Author to Author and The Writer's Toolbox. I think those are all on Blog Talk Radio, and there are more, I'm sure, that I'll discover over there eventually. The Marketing for Romance Writers group has started their own recently and I've caught the ones I could so far. Blog Talk Radio is a good site to check out if you want to produce a radio show too.
Maybe Someday.
In the meantime, I discovered a great new show through Screwpulp. (A publishing platform that is reader driven and still in the beta phase but worth checking out here.) The show is See Brian Write and has segments on news, author interviews, and technology and tools for writers. Brian has three full shows up so far and more to come and he is also accepting authors to be interviewed.
And of course, I jumped on that.
So I'll be talking more about it soon, of course. But in the meantime, hop on over here and take a listen if you like. I think it has the makings of a great show, and the interviews up so far are very good!
Happy listening!
~Frances
It also fits my schedule nicely. Any time I can get my daily dose of entertainment or industry news while cleaning the kitchen, doing laundry or making dinner, it's a win-win for my to-do list. Because I don't have to stop, sit, and pay attention, podcasting fits into my day easily and still lets me have an adult conversation (even a one way conversation) at least once a day.
Because I'm a writer and we're pretty much obsessed with writing as a rule, I listen to industry podcasts like, The Funky Writer, Author to Author and The Writer's Toolbox. I think those are all on Blog Talk Radio, and there are more, I'm sure, that I'll discover over there eventually. The Marketing for Romance Writers group has started their own recently and I've caught the ones I could so far. Blog Talk Radio is a good site to check out if you want to produce a radio show too.
Maybe Someday.
In the meantime, I discovered a great new show through Screwpulp. (A publishing platform that is reader driven and still in the beta phase but worth checking out here.) The show is See Brian Write and has segments on news, author interviews, and technology and tools for writers. Brian has three full shows up so far and more to come and he is also accepting authors to be interviewed.
And of course, I jumped on that.
So I'll be talking more about it soon, of course. But in the meantime, hop on over here and take a listen if you like. I think it has the makings of a great show, and the interviews up so far are very good!
Happy listening!
~Frances
June 15, 2013
New War Dogs Series
COMING THIS SUMMER from Mundania Press
DOGS OF WAR: Book OneVertigoViv Oliver is stalked across two lifetimes by a demonic parasite bent on keeping her from her soul mate. From the dog show ring to the trenches of World War One, she must unravel the creature's identity in order to destroy it and win the man her soul recognizes as its twin. But if only one of them remembers, and neither of them really believes, how can they hope to stave off disaster...again.
Vertigo will begin a series that is near and dear to my heart. Showcasing the use of dogs in the Red Cross of WW1, book one will be followed by Demon Dogs (Korean War) and Cry Havoc (Various Theaters.) All three center around reincarnation themes and an ongoing battle between dog and demon that goes back to ancient times.
The writing of Vertigo was as much about discovery for me as it was storytelling. The depth and extent to which canine soldiers, helpers, and morale boosters have been involved in the history of human warfare went far beyond what I knew before picking up the pen and diving into their world.
Their story is also worth exploring, the real story, of the real dogs who marched beside human soldiers on all fronts and in all manner of duties.
I can only hope my stories do them a fraction of justice and possibly introduce more people to the history of Dogs of War.
~Frances
DOGS OF WAR: Book OneVertigoViv Oliver is stalked across two lifetimes by a demonic parasite bent on keeping her from her soul mate. From the dog show ring to the trenches of World War One, she must unravel the creature's identity in order to destroy it and win the man her soul recognizes as its twin. But if only one of them remembers, and neither of them really believes, how can they hope to stave off disaster...again.
Vertigo will begin a series that is near and dear to my heart. Showcasing the use of dogs in the Red Cross of WW1, book one will be followed by Demon Dogs (Korean War) and Cry Havoc (Various Theaters.) All three center around reincarnation themes and an ongoing battle between dog and demon that goes back to ancient times.
The writing of Vertigo was as much about discovery for me as it was storytelling. The depth and extent to which canine soldiers, helpers, and morale boosters have been involved in the history of human warfare went far beyond what I knew before picking up the pen and diving into their world.
Their story is also worth exploring, the real story, of the real dogs who marched beside human soldiers on all fronts and in all manner of duties.
I can only hope my stories do them a fraction of justice and possibly introduce more people to the history of Dogs of War.
~Frances
June 6, 2013
Guest Author Roland Allnach on Anthologies
Writing an Anthology
by Roland Allnach, author of ‘Remnant’ and ‘Oddities & Entities’
Writing anthologies is something I’ve enjoyed, for the very fact that anthologies constitute a unique form of literary expression. Anthologies themselves can be broken down into two types, from the unrelated collection of short fiction, to the more elusive, but perhaps all the more satisfying, thematically linked anthology. I chose the latter path with my first two books, ‘Remnant’ and ‘Oddities & Entities’. Today I’d like to discuss ‘Remnant’, which consists of three novellas in the sci-fi and speculative genres.
The publication of ‘Remnant’ is a bit of a chicken and egg story. I had made some efforts to find stand alone publication for each of the three novellas that would eventually constitute ‘Remnant’. At that point of my writing career I had a good number of short story publication credits, and I felt I was ready to make a move toward book publication. I had several manuscripts to work with, but I wanted to go with what I felt was the strongest material I had at that time. Given my enjoyment of anthologies, I had the idea of putting some stories together to form my own collection. What that was, or what form it would take, was a bit of an open question.
My next step was to find a publisher. I wanted to go small press, because I knew I had a lot to learn about books, which only served to tell me that there was probably a great deal more to know than I could imagine. The freedom of small press seemed the perfect environment in which to learn the ropes of the book world. So, I did my research, made a short list, and then took a hard look to learn the preferences of the publishers on my short list. That’s when the chicken and egg factor came into play. When I was looking into All Things That Matter Press, I found that they were not only receptive to anthologies but that they were open to some of the themes I enjoy to explore when I write. I went back to my available stories and, after some consideration, I realized using those themes was all the guidance I needed to select the three novellas for ‘Remnant’.
The linkage was there, but the stories needed some work. With a clear idea of the greater ideas I wanted to portray through the course of the three independent stories, I then refined the plots and characters to keep the narrative focused to the emotional arc that would suffuse the book. Notions of redemption and self-truth among morally corrupt situations propel the stories. Once I felt it was the best I could possibly make it, I sent ‘Remnant’ off, and I was thrilled to have it accepted for publication by All Things That Matter Press.
I consider an anthology a form of creative expression akin to how we often view life itself. Our existence is a mosaic of diverse people and events, yet we have a natural inclination in our subjective thought to tie all those various moments together. So, while our memory is composed of many little stories, those stories together tell something greater, they tell who we are. It’s a handy comparison, and it fostered the mental exercise necessary to maintain the linkage between the stories of the book.
Anthologies are a reading experience somewhat outside the norm, but I like to think that I’ve offered readers a distinct kind of literary journey. Besides, I like to explore some of the stranger paths of existence when I write. As an author, I find endless possibilities in those considerations, odd as they may be.
As the old saying goes, I chose a path less traveled, and I’ve found it to be worth the effort.
Title: Remnant: An AnthologyAuthor: Rolnd AllnachPublisher: All Things That Matter Press (November 11, 2010)Length: 218 pgesSubgenres: Sci-Fi /Fantasy
BLURB: A stirring, thought provoking anthology of three novellas within the speculative/science fiction genres. The stories are linked in theme by characters seeking self- truth, redemption, and their moral center. The novellas, in order ofappearance, are: �All the Fallen Angels�, in which a convicted war criminal attempts to make peace with his past; �Enemy, I Know You Not�, in which a military officer that was captured and tortured tries to find his loyalty in an abyss of suspected betrayals; and �Remnant�, in which the survivor of a global pandemic is confronted with the prospect of making peace with hismemories when other survivors attempt to bring him back from self-imposed isolation.
BUY LINKS:
Autographed print copies: http://www.rolandallnach.com/Bookstore.htm Direct from publisher (All Things That Matter Press): https://www.createspace.com/3496763 Amazon print: http://www.amazon.com/Remnant-Roland-Allnach/dp/098462970X/ref=sr_1_94?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1289485044&sr=1-94 Amazon Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/Remnant-An-Anthology-ebook/dp/B004BSH1LI/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1289766466&sr=1-1 Barnes & Noble:
http://productsearch.barnesandnoble.com/search/results.aspx?WRD=roland+allnach&page=index&prod=univ&choice=allproducts&query=roland+allnach&flag=False&pos=-1&box=roland+allnach&box=roland%20allnach&pos=-1&ugrp=2
Enter Here for a chance to win a 50$ amazon card and a signed print copy of Remnant.
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Guest Author Roland Allnach
Title: Remnant: An AnthologyAuthor: Rolnd AllnachPublisher: All Things That Matter Press (November 11, 2010)Length: 218 pgesSubgenres: Sci-Fi /Fantasy
BLURB: A stirring, thought provoking anthology of three novellas within the speculative/science fiction genres. The stories are linked in theme by characters seeking self- truth, redemption, and their moral center. The novellas, in order ofappearance, are: �All the Fallen Angels�, in which a convicted war criminal attempts to make peace with his past; �Enemy, I Know You Not�, in which a military officer that was captured and tortured tries to find his loyalty in an abyss of suspected betrayals; and �Remnant�, in which the survivor of a global pandemic is confronted with the prospect of making peace with hismemories when other survivors attempt to bring him back from self-imposed isolation.
BUY LINKS:
Autographed print copies: http://www.rolandallnach.com/Bookstore.htm Direct from publisher (All Things That Matter Press): https://www.createspace.com/3496763 Amazon print: http://www.amazon.com/Remnant-Roland-Allnach/dp/098462970X/ref=sr_1_94?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1289485044&sr=1-94 Amazon Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/Remnant-An-Anthology-ebook/dp/B004BSH1LI/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1289766466&sr=1-1 Barnes & Noble:
http://productsearch.barnesandnoble.com/search/results.aspx?WRD=roland+allnach&page=index&prod=univ&choice=allproducts&query=roland+allnach&flag=False&pos=-1&box=roland+allnach&box=roland%20allnach&pos=-1&ugrp=2
Enter Here for a chance to win a 50$ amazon card and a signed print copy of Remnant.
a Rafflecopter giveaway
May 25, 2013
Do YOU Know Where Your Towel Is?
DON'T PANIC
it's Towel Day again...but this year is specialbecause in exactly one month from todayI'll be turning
and will be inducted into the secrets of life, the universe and everything (I've just decided this on my own) so y'know, like,I'll know everything and shit.
And you all can be like, "Hey, you sass that hoopy Frances Pauli? There's a frood who really knows where her towel is!"
and then I'd be all, like...
Happy Towel Day!Seriously, Happy Towel Day. Have some fun.
~Frances
it's Towel Day again...but this year is specialbecause in exactly one month from todayI'll be turning
and will be inducted into the secrets of life, the universe and everything (I've just decided this on my own) so y'know, like,I'll know everything and shit.
And you all can be like, "Hey, you sass that hoopy Frances Pauli? There's a frood who really knows where her towel is!"
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and then I'd be all, like...Happy Towel Day!Seriously, Happy Towel Day. Have some fun.
~Frances
May 17, 2013
Children's Books, Laying the Foundation
Well, it's Children's book week, and we are blogging together about stories...my favorite topic. I've said over and over on this blog (and elsewhere...basically to anyone who would listen) that it doesn't matter one snit HOW we read in the future (or today for that matter) and that what we should be concerned about is THAT we read in the future, or more pointedly, that our children read.
You know, in between all that gaming and playing in holo-suites and on their anti-grav skateboards.
So when I get to thinking about how to keep kids reading, my mind immediately goes to the books that were pivotal to my developing love of books. Not surprisingly, most of these are science fiction or fantasy books. It sticks, you see, when planted properly. In particular, I think of the first science fiction I believe I was ever exposed to. In grade school, my teacher read us a middle grade trilogy about Tripods, wicked aliens who had taken over Earth, and about the young boys attempting to evade them.
I remember how blown my mind was. Up to this point, I had stuck faithfully to dog and horse books. (I still like those too) Science Fiction was way, way out of my ballpark...and I loved it! Escaping rampaging aliens, it turned out, was just as much fun as taming a wild stallion and turning him into a racehorse. (Which, as an adult, I know is just as unlikely)
So without further ado, I give you the Tripods books. If you have marauding middle graders, why not expose them to something wonderful and literary? Who knows--it just might spark a lifelong love of reading and science, a semi-pathological Star Trek addiction and an inexplicable soft spot for Stormtroopers....but maybe that's just me.
TRIOPODS by John Christopher
Book one:
The White Mountains
Book two:
The City of Gold and Lead
Book three:
The Pool of Fire
You know, in between all that gaming and playing in holo-suites and on their anti-grav skateboards.
So when I get to thinking about how to keep kids reading, my mind immediately goes to the books that were pivotal to my developing love of books. Not surprisingly, most of these are science fiction or fantasy books. It sticks, you see, when planted properly. In particular, I think of the first science fiction I believe I was ever exposed to. In grade school, my teacher read us a middle grade trilogy about Tripods, wicked aliens who had taken over Earth, and about the young boys attempting to evade them.
I remember how blown my mind was. Up to this point, I had stuck faithfully to dog and horse books. (I still like those too) Science Fiction was way, way out of my ballpark...and I loved it! Escaping rampaging aliens, it turned out, was just as much fun as taming a wild stallion and turning him into a racehorse. (Which, as an adult, I know is just as unlikely)
So without further ado, I give you the Tripods books. If you have marauding middle graders, why not expose them to something wonderful and literary? Who knows--it just might spark a lifelong love of reading and science, a semi-pathological Star Trek addiction and an inexplicable soft spot for Stormtroopers....but maybe that's just me.
TRIOPODS by John Christopher
Book one:
The White Mountains
Book two:
The City of Gold and Lead
Book three:
The Pool of Fire
May 16, 2013
Gobelin's For All
Today Kingdoms Gone book two, Horded, goes on free promotion for five days.
You can pick up your gobelin adventure for Kindle or the Kindle app here: http://www.amazon.com/Horded-Kingdoms-Gone-ebook/dp/B00C89W00O/
through Sunday...and so can all your friends. :)
Book one will be available in other formats and from other sellers in about a week, for those waiting for non-kindle versions.
Thanks everyone!
Frances
HORDED
Kingdoms Gone Book Two
Maera lives as an outcast by choice. Guilt-ridden over her past, she hopes only for the punishment she deserves. But when a gobelin warrior steps out of thin air to claim her, Maera is torn between the debt she owes her people, and the selfish yearnings of her own heart.
Tal is the lowest gobelin, the cursed brother of the horde’s greatest warrior. When he stumbles onto a legendary castle, however, he believes his luck is about to change. But the horde’s enemies have found the thing as well, and Tal’s brother breaks gobelin law to chase a human who is more trouble than she’s worth.
Now Tal and Maera are the only ones who can save his brother, the one person they both love and the only thing they can agree on. If they fail, the horde will never believe them, and the castle of prophecy will fall into enemy hands. If they succeed, they’ll have to stand together against the full fury of the gobelin horde…
Excerpt:
Tal stood up. He left his bag amidst the thistledown and marched to the edge of the pocket. It ended here, on the incline’s lip, but the view clearly showed a far off sea, a scrap of land, and the last castle of the Old Kingdoms, exposed and ready to be discovered. “Blood and magic!” he swore. “Torg...” But his brother wasn’t there to answer. Not this time. Still, Tal glanced around the pocket as if Torg might appear to help him, as if the luck of this find had actually been meant for the younger brother, and he’d only arrived a step too soon. Except Torg was hunting in the Shadow Mountains, and they’d arranged to meet at their usual camp. Tal was here, alone with the thistledown and the view of a castle that could only mean one thing. The gobelin horde had been summoned at last. As if in answer to his thoughts, a snort rang through the glade. Tal spun from the horizon to face the Guardian. The gargoyle slipped fully into the pocket, and the membrane shivered shut at his passing. The beast towered above Tal, its granite skin bulging over muscles no weapon could defile. A rumble shook its flanks, and the huge, round head swung to fix Tal in the gaze of enormous eyes. A forked tail swished through the grasses, sending a flurry of thistledown into the air. Tal’s heart thumped. His hand fell toward the hilt of his knife on reflex, even knowing the jagged blade was useless against stone flesh. He stepped sideways, easing one pace toward the membrane he’d so foolishly wandered away from.The gargoyle snorted again and stepped forward. Tal could feel its breath across his cheek, reminding him just how real, just how lethal the Guardian was. He flexed his grip around the knife he’d only rarely drawn and took another sideways slide toward the edge of the pocket. The gargoyle growled. It stamped one front foot as if to tell him, quite plainly, that it knew he meant to bolt. Tal froze. He waited for the jaws to snap. Instead, the big head lowered. The stone muzzle waffled at the thistledown, and one front leg, thick as a temple column, bent ever so slightly. “What?” Tal blurted it, his voice a gravelly reminder of his kind. His tongue danced across the tips of his pointy canines and his green brow lowered in confusion. “What?” The Guardian made no answer. It only bowed and waited.
You can pick up your gobelin adventure for Kindle or the Kindle app here: http://www.amazon.com/Horded-Kingdoms-Gone-ebook/dp/B00C89W00O/
through Sunday...and so can all your friends. :)
Book one will be available in other formats and from other sellers in about a week, for those waiting for non-kindle versions.
Thanks everyone!
Frances
HORDED
Kingdoms Gone Book Two
Maera lives as an outcast by choice. Guilt-ridden over her past, she hopes only for the punishment she deserves. But when a gobelin warrior steps out of thin air to claim her, Maera is torn between the debt she owes her people, and the selfish yearnings of her own heart.
Tal is the lowest gobelin, the cursed brother of the horde’s greatest warrior. When he stumbles onto a legendary castle, however, he believes his luck is about to change. But the horde’s enemies have found the thing as well, and Tal’s brother breaks gobelin law to chase a human who is more trouble than she’s worth.
Now Tal and Maera are the only ones who can save his brother, the one person they both love and the only thing they can agree on. If they fail, the horde will never believe them, and the castle of prophecy will fall into enemy hands. If they succeed, they’ll have to stand together against the full fury of the gobelin horde…
Excerpt:
Tal stood up. He left his bag amidst the thistledown and marched to the edge of the pocket. It ended here, on the incline’s lip, but the view clearly showed a far off sea, a scrap of land, and the last castle of the Old Kingdoms, exposed and ready to be discovered. “Blood and magic!” he swore. “Torg...” But his brother wasn’t there to answer. Not this time. Still, Tal glanced around the pocket as if Torg might appear to help him, as if the luck of this find had actually been meant for the younger brother, and he’d only arrived a step too soon. Except Torg was hunting in the Shadow Mountains, and they’d arranged to meet at their usual camp. Tal was here, alone with the thistledown and the view of a castle that could only mean one thing. The gobelin horde had been summoned at last. As if in answer to his thoughts, a snort rang through the glade. Tal spun from the horizon to face the Guardian. The gargoyle slipped fully into the pocket, and the membrane shivered shut at his passing. The beast towered above Tal, its granite skin bulging over muscles no weapon could defile. A rumble shook its flanks, and the huge, round head swung to fix Tal in the gaze of enormous eyes. A forked tail swished through the grasses, sending a flurry of thistledown into the air. Tal’s heart thumped. His hand fell toward the hilt of his knife on reflex, even knowing the jagged blade was useless against stone flesh. He stepped sideways, easing one pace toward the membrane he’d so foolishly wandered away from.The gargoyle snorted again and stepped forward. Tal could feel its breath across his cheek, reminding him just how real, just how lethal the Guardian was. He flexed his grip around the knife he’d only rarely drawn and took another sideways slide toward the edge of the pocket. The gargoyle growled. It stamped one front foot as if to tell him, quite plainly, that it knew he meant to bolt. Tal froze. He waited for the jaws to snap. Instead, the big head lowered. The stone muzzle waffled at the thistledown, and one front leg, thick as a temple column, bent ever so slightly. “What?” Tal blurted it, his voice a gravelly reminder of his kind. His tongue danced across the tips of his pointy canines and his green brow lowered in confusion. “What?” The Guardian made no answer. It only bowed and waited.
May 13, 2013
Waxing Poetic
Should I apologize in advance? Some of you will know that my first literary love was poetry, and of late the muses have been luring me back to dance. Mostly, we have a new poetry club on my fiber arts Hogwarts boards. . . I just never could pick between arts. (or fandoms)
Anyway, here's what I've been fiddling with when I'm NOT writing. (still, sob.)
Young Science
He holds the abacus
Like a shield
Against his over-dressed chest.
His mother’s hands
So proud, fixing the tie, fixing
His fate.Scorned,
Tormented by his peers who mock
Anything larger than themselves
Who giggle and offend
What they cannot
Understand.The thing that will save them
Later
When they need him
When their lives
Rely on his inventions
When their diseases
Their aches and arguments
Can only be solved
By the gentle ministrations
Of everything that makes himStand out.
~Frances
Anyway, here's what I've been fiddling with when I'm NOT writing. (still, sob.)
Young Science
He holds the abacus
Like a shield
Against his over-dressed chest.
His mother’s hands
So proud, fixing the tie, fixing
His fate.Scorned,
Tormented by his peers who mock
Anything larger than themselves
Who giggle and offend
What they cannot
Understand.The thing that will save them
Later
When they need him
When their lives
Rely on his inventions
When their diseases
Their aches and arguments
Can only be solved
By the gentle ministrations
Of everything that makes himStand out.
~Frances
