Frances Pauli's Blog, page 11
May 9, 2013
Poisoned Pawn, by Jaleta Clegg
Well my good friend Jaleta Clegg has done it again. Her, Fall of the Altairan Empire, books always leave me happily sated and at the same time, raring for the next book. As it happens, I've read up to book four (at least in its rough form) so I'm very spoiled and lucky to also get to be beta reader on the series.
Book three, Poisoned Pawn, is now out and available from Journal-Stone Press and it does not disappoint. The Dace books are action packed and fast paced, carrying the unluckiest of heroines ever into one disaster after another, from one, nearly-fatal scrape to the next and straight out of one frying pan and into...well a much bigger one.
Edge of your seat Space Opera that I find, entirely entertaining.
Poisoned Pawnby Jaleta Clegg
Dace and Jasyn have everything they ever wanted – their own trading ship and freedom.Their only issue, regulations require a second pilot and the only one available on Viya Station is a little too perfect for Dace’s comfort. But his credentials check out and everything seems fine.Until Dace disappears and Jasyn learns the truth.
IN Print and ebook from her publisher here:
http://journal-store.com/fiction/poisoned-pawn-the-fall-of-the-altairan-empire-book-iii/
Or on Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/Poisoned-Pawn-Altairan-Empire-ebook/dp/B00CF1NWXY
But why not start at the beginning?
book one
book two
Enjoy!
~ Frances
Book three, Poisoned Pawn, is now out and available from Journal-Stone Press and it does not disappoint. The Dace books are action packed and fast paced, carrying the unluckiest of heroines ever into one disaster after another, from one, nearly-fatal scrape to the next and straight out of one frying pan and into...well a much bigger one.
Edge of your seat Space Opera that I find, entirely entertaining.
Poisoned Pawnby Jaleta Clegg
Dace and Jasyn have everything they ever wanted – their own trading ship and freedom.Their only issue, regulations require a second pilot and the only one available on Viya Station is a little too perfect for Dace’s comfort. But his credentials check out and everything seems fine.Until Dace disappears and Jasyn learns the truth.
IN Print and ebook from her publisher here:
http://journal-store.com/fiction/poisoned-pawn-the-fall-of-the-altairan-empire-book-iii/
Or on Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/Poisoned-Pawn-Altairan-Empire-ebook/dp/B00CF1NWXY
But why not start at the beginning?
book one
book twoEnjoy!
~ Frances
May 5, 2013
BTSeMag May Issue is Out
BTSeMag May 2013 Issue #10
.JPG)
New York Times bestselling author Angela Knight presents Unbound. Take a peek inside this sizzling new wrap up to her phenomenal sci-fi fantasy adventure series. This book also includes 3 new authors with stories aimed to fill that before bedtime reading attack.Authors also featured inside:Sandra BuninoJane ToombsLynn HardyNora WestonJennifer SynderSeraphina Donavan...and moreColumnsRead all about the newest book trends with Sandra's column: Chic Trends in RomanceAnswer all those techy questions with Lynn's Writing Types.Discover Movie Flashbacks, the latest on the horror scene, and authors can see if their sites measure up!!Join us!http://issuu.com/btsemag/docs/may_2013
April 26, 2013
Flash Challenge Story
Chuck Wendig had a flash fiction title contest over on his blog. You can see the winners here. Some great ideas, right? Anyway, one of them grabbed my muse and suddenly I felt like playing too. The story is below.
Thanks for the fantastic blog, Chuck!
Stand Off on Memory Lane
Rex Barton twirled his lasso and stamped down the wide hallway. The lights were out, but he managed to dodge Martha Mae’s wheelchair without seeing it. She parked the thing in the same spot every night. He zigzagged through the medical equipment outside old Hilbert’s door and marched on, swirling the rope and making a bee-line for the kitchens.
Halfway there a door creaked open. Rex stopped and the rope fell limp. He squinted at the wall and waited for the sound. It came again, this time accompanied by a sliver of light. Myra Thomas’ faced showed in her doorway. Her curlers glinted and cast a medusa shadow into the hall.
“Hey, cowboy,” she said. “Where you headed?”
“Got me the munchies.” Rex shuffled his feet, flicked the lasso against the tiles. “It’s high noon. Stagecoach is late, and my gut’s rubbing against my backbone.”
Myra sniffed at the air like a hound and nodded. She waved a withered hand at him. “Wait a second.”
Her door shut. Rex stared at it. His stomach growled. He started the rope again, round and round until it lifted at his side. Something tinkled inside Myra’s room. The door opened and shut so fast Rex barely caught her silhouette. They stood in the dark, silent a moment, understanding without words. When he started off again, she followed and the tinkling came with her.
“What’s that sound?” They’d wake the sheriff with that racket.
“My belt.”
“Tarnation, woman! What are you wearing?” The tinkle exploded. A waterfall of metal jingles answered him. Rex cringed.
“Bellydance,” Myra’s voice shone in the dark as brightly as her metal girdle. “Forty years.”
“I’ll be damned.”
“I got the munchies too, Rex Barton. Don’t you even think about sending me back."
“Fine. But keep that thing to a dull roar, can’t you? Tiptoe or some damn thing. You’ll wake the whole town at that rate.”
She didn’t promise anything, but when he stepped off again the jingle softened to whisper. They passed the front hallway, his lasso swirling and the old coins flashing around her sixty-seven-year-old hips. They took a left and Rex caught the whiff of leftovers.
They’d served lasagna for diner, and the aroma of parmesan and tomato didn’t die easily. He stopped and breathed it in.
Tinkle.
“Quiet, woman!” He hissed it.
Tinke. Jingle. Jingle.
“What’s wrong with you? You’re gonna wake the sheriff!”
Jingle. “There’s a,” tinkle, tinkle, “spider in my slipper!”
“Well kick it off and stop wriggling.”
He heard her trying. The belt rattled noisily and then burst into a frenzy of music. Myra shimmied, swayed, and shook, dancing the invader out of her footwear.
Jingle. Jingle. Jingle.
Light flared in the hall. Rex’s lasso stopped spinning. A voice called from behind them, from the front desk, “Who’s there? Is someone out of bed?”
“Run, Myra!” Rex whispered as fiercely as he could muster and galloped for the kitchen. He high-tailed it to the next turn and skidded round the bend, risking a glance backwards as her made the corner. Myra flashed like a fish. Her belt rattled and came free, dropping to the floor as she waddled toward freedom.
Behind her, the front desk crew appeared. Two young sheriffs with something to prove. Poor Myra. Rex could smell the lasagna, thick and meaty, only one short hallway out of reach. The guards came on. They’d have her in three steps. Both of them fixed their attention on her. They hadn’t even noticed Rex’s flight toward the kitchens. Her flashy belt had hid his escape.
He inhaled and imagined the cheese.
“Myra Thomas,” one of them called to the other. “It’s the middle of the night, Myra.”
Rex stepped into the open. He flicked his wrist and started the rope again, round and round. “Unhand the woman, sheriff.”
“Barton. I might have known.”
“Let her go.”
“What is it tonight, Rex?” The sheriff sagged and shook his head, but he released Myra too. His partner bent and picked up the metal belt. “Extra pillows? A drink of water?”
“Lasagna.” Rex turned and spit on the tiles. “We got ourselves a hankering for some leftovers.”
“Why can’t you just ask, Barton? There’s a call button right by the—”
“No negotiating now, sheriff. Or we might have to do something desperate.”
“Fine.”
“Don’t make me throw this.”
“I’ll take them.” The sheriff sighed and waved his lackey back to the desk where he belonged. He took Myra’s belt first, handed it back to her and marched forward.
Rex grinned and swung the rope. He nodded to Myra and watched her wind the fish scales back around her hips while the sheriff passed them, leading the way toward the kitchens and their late-night lasagna. When her belt was secured, Myra flashed him an even shinier smile.
“After you ma’am.”
“You showed him, Rex Barton.” Her eyebrows wiggled at him, dancing like the belt had.
Tomorrow night, he should work alone. Or maybe, he’d remember to wear his hat and boots. The snakeskin ones hurt his bunions, but it might be worth it. Unless they served meatloaf. He wound the lasso into a roll again before joining Myra in the sheriff’s wake. He could worry about it later. Right now, he had a date with some leftovers.
Still, Myra waited for him, even with the smell coming from the kitchen. Rex herded her forward, but he did it with a grin and a new spring in his steps. “Did I ever tell ya, Myra, about the time I rustled that devil bull…”
Thanks for the fantastic blog, Chuck!
Stand Off on Memory Lane
Rex Barton twirled his lasso and stamped down the wide hallway. The lights were out, but he managed to dodge Martha Mae’s wheelchair without seeing it. She parked the thing in the same spot every night. He zigzagged through the medical equipment outside old Hilbert’s door and marched on, swirling the rope and making a bee-line for the kitchens.
Halfway there a door creaked open. Rex stopped and the rope fell limp. He squinted at the wall and waited for the sound. It came again, this time accompanied by a sliver of light. Myra Thomas’ faced showed in her doorway. Her curlers glinted and cast a medusa shadow into the hall.
“Hey, cowboy,” she said. “Where you headed?”
“Got me the munchies.” Rex shuffled his feet, flicked the lasso against the tiles. “It’s high noon. Stagecoach is late, and my gut’s rubbing against my backbone.”
Myra sniffed at the air like a hound and nodded. She waved a withered hand at him. “Wait a second.”
Her door shut. Rex stared at it. His stomach growled. He started the rope again, round and round until it lifted at his side. Something tinkled inside Myra’s room. The door opened and shut so fast Rex barely caught her silhouette. They stood in the dark, silent a moment, understanding without words. When he started off again, she followed and the tinkling came with her.
“What’s that sound?” They’d wake the sheriff with that racket.
“My belt.”
“Tarnation, woman! What are you wearing?” The tinkle exploded. A waterfall of metal jingles answered him. Rex cringed.
“Bellydance,” Myra’s voice shone in the dark as brightly as her metal girdle. “Forty years.”
“I’ll be damned.”
“I got the munchies too, Rex Barton. Don’t you even think about sending me back."
“Fine. But keep that thing to a dull roar, can’t you? Tiptoe or some damn thing. You’ll wake the whole town at that rate.”
She didn’t promise anything, but when he stepped off again the jingle softened to whisper. They passed the front hallway, his lasso swirling and the old coins flashing around her sixty-seven-year-old hips. They took a left and Rex caught the whiff of leftovers.
They’d served lasagna for diner, and the aroma of parmesan and tomato didn’t die easily. He stopped and breathed it in.
Tinkle.
“Quiet, woman!” He hissed it.
Tinke. Jingle. Jingle.
“What’s wrong with you? You’re gonna wake the sheriff!”
Jingle. “There’s a,” tinkle, tinkle, “spider in my slipper!”
“Well kick it off and stop wriggling.”
He heard her trying. The belt rattled noisily and then burst into a frenzy of music. Myra shimmied, swayed, and shook, dancing the invader out of her footwear.
Jingle. Jingle. Jingle.
Light flared in the hall. Rex’s lasso stopped spinning. A voice called from behind them, from the front desk, “Who’s there? Is someone out of bed?”
“Run, Myra!” Rex whispered as fiercely as he could muster and galloped for the kitchen. He high-tailed it to the next turn and skidded round the bend, risking a glance backwards as her made the corner. Myra flashed like a fish. Her belt rattled and came free, dropping to the floor as she waddled toward freedom.
Behind her, the front desk crew appeared. Two young sheriffs with something to prove. Poor Myra. Rex could smell the lasagna, thick and meaty, only one short hallway out of reach. The guards came on. They’d have her in three steps. Both of them fixed their attention on her. They hadn’t even noticed Rex’s flight toward the kitchens. Her flashy belt had hid his escape.
He inhaled and imagined the cheese.
“Myra Thomas,” one of them called to the other. “It’s the middle of the night, Myra.”
Rex stepped into the open. He flicked his wrist and started the rope again, round and round. “Unhand the woman, sheriff.”
“Barton. I might have known.”
“Let her go.”
“What is it tonight, Rex?” The sheriff sagged and shook his head, but he released Myra too. His partner bent and picked up the metal belt. “Extra pillows? A drink of water?”
“Lasagna.” Rex turned and spit on the tiles. “We got ourselves a hankering for some leftovers.”
“Why can’t you just ask, Barton? There’s a call button right by the—”
“No negotiating now, sheriff. Or we might have to do something desperate.”
“Fine.”
“Don’t make me throw this.”
“I’ll take them.” The sheriff sighed and waved his lackey back to the desk where he belonged. He took Myra’s belt first, handed it back to her and marched forward.
Rex grinned and swung the rope. He nodded to Myra and watched her wind the fish scales back around her hips while the sheriff passed them, leading the way toward the kitchens and their late-night lasagna. When her belt was secured, Myra flashed him an even shinier smile.
“After you ma’am.”
“You showed him, Rex Barton.” Her eyebrows wiggled at him, dancing like the belt had.
Tomorrow night, he should work alone. Or maybe, he’d remember to wear his hat and boots. The snakeskin ones hurt his bunions, but it might be worth it. Unless they served meatloaf. He wound the lasso into a roll again before joining Myra in the sheriff’s wake. He could worry about it later. Right now, he had a date with some leftovers.
Still, Myra waited for him, even with the smell coming from the kitchen. Rex herded her forward, but he did it with a grin and a new spring in his steps. “Did I ever tell ya, Myra, about the time I rustled that devil bull…”
April 24, 2013
The Story Goes On...
The "tell a story day" two-week event continues! Part 23 is below, and you can begin, or catch up, at The Genre Underground.
***
He was known by many names, Claus, Kringle, Nick and more, but to Princess Zyx, he was and always would be, "Daddy..." at least, to his face.
She found him beside his thinking glacier.With her red ukulele tucked under one arm and her faithful imp in tow, Princess Zyx marched over the snow to confront the jolliest of all elves. She used her new face to its full impact, whipped up the puppy-dog eyes and cleared her throat.
"Daddy?"
He grunted and turned reluctantly, a frown etched into his pudgy brow. He was off duty, and prone to less jolly moments since Mother had started serving gluten-free cookies. "Oh, so there you are."
She'd meant to pout, to whimper and use her powers of sweet and princess-y on him, but the red trickle oozing from the glacier wall completely distracted her from her task. "Is that blood?"
The Claus reached out one gloved finger and swiped at the dribble. He sniffed it and then, to her horror, tasted the stuff. "Tomato, I believe. There seems to be some trouble in Assembly."
"Mother warned you about outsourcing."
Santa waved his clean glove in a sweeping gesture and the glacier clarified into a transparent sheet of ice. Through it, they could see the mayhem transpiring on the Assembly floor. "Chaos. Completely unacceptable, and don't think for one second that new face is going to work, young lady."
"But Daddy..." Zyx whined.
"I already signed the marriage contract, and look, here comes A.G. now."
Princess Zyx groaned. Burbleglax made a sympathetic sound and patted her on the arm. He had to stretch to do it, and it gave her little comfort despite the effort. She scowled at the General, at the abominable mash-up of orc, robot and fish marching through a sea of marinara and body parts. He was ghastly and...and...a little lax on the hygiene to boot.
"You see, Daddy? See? How can you possibly expect me to marry THAT?"
***
He was known by many names, Claus, Kringle, Nick and more, but to Princess Zyx, he was and always would be, "Daddy..." at least, to his face.
She found him beside his thinking glacier.With her red ukulele tucked under one arm and her faithful imp in tow, Princess Zyx marched over the snow to confront the jolliest of all elves. She used her new face to its full impact, whipped up the puppy-dog eyes and cleared her throat.
"Daddy?"
He grunted and turned reluctantly, a frown etched into his pudgy brow. He was off duty, and prone to less jolly moments since Mother had started serving gluten-free cookies. "Oh, so there you are."
She'd meant to pout, to whimper and use her powers of sweet and princess-y on him, but the red trickle oozing from the glacier wall completely distracted her from her task. "Is that blood?"
The Claus reached out one gloved finger and swiped at the dribble. He sniffed it and then, to her horror, tasted the stuff. "Tomato, I believe. There seems to be some trouble in Assembly."
"Mother warned you about outsourcing."
Santa waved his clean glove in a sweeping gesture and the glacier clarified into a transparent sheet of ice. Through it, they could see the mayhem transpiring on the Assembly floor. "Chaos. Completely unacceptable, and don't think for one second that new face is going to work, young lady."
"But Daddy..." Zyx whined.
"I already signed the marriage contract, and look, here comes A.G. now."
Princess Zyx groaned. Burbleglax made a sympathetic sound and patted her on the arm. He had to stretch to do it, and it gave her little comfort despite the effort. She scowled at the General, at the abominable mash-up of orc, robot and fish marching through a sea of marinara and body parts. He was ghastly and...and...a little lax on the hygiene to boot.
"You see, Daddy? See? How can you possibly expect me to marry THAT?"
April 17, 2013
Tell A Story Day: Part 7
I am a very proud member of a group called the Genre Underground. Their focus is to match readers with fiction that they will enjoy and to promote reading and story-telling in general. This week, in honor of Tell A Story Day, the Genre Underground is compiling a group-told tale for your reading pleasure...and it is turning out to be a lot of fun.
You can find the list of participating authors here: http://www.genreunderground.com/?page_id=361
and the story so far here: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 , Part 5 and Part 6 Part 7 is below! :) As soon as it's up, I'll post a link to Part 8 as well.
Enjoy!
(An elf, and android and a lawyer walked into a tavern...)
"Perhaps," The android swung the tankard into the side of a hairy skull as big as his torso. The glass shattered and rained sparkling shrapnel into the fur. It did little to deter the head's owner. "You should let the elf go...temporarily."
The lawyer ducked the right hook of a bugbear and shook his head. "He broke the law. Besides...he seems to be doing all right."
The android whirred in answer, dodging his four-armed assailant and managing to zap the creature with a significant blast from his finger lasers. The creature sagged, dropping to stumpy knees and releasing a flurry of dander and loose fur into the bar's already stuffy atmosphere. A troll stepped up to take the monster's place.
They could see the elf now and then, bobbing over the fray as the drunken mob played volleyball with his immobilized form.
"It's just..." The android sighed and blasted a smoking divot into the troll's chest. "He did provide a measure of assistance at the door."
"Indeed he did." The lawyer kicked his foe in a sensitive area and frowned as the furry body slumped to the boards. "But we have rules for a reason."
They pressed another step toward the back of the tavern. The bodies were beginning to pile up, and their instructions had specified the least amount of damages possible.
"I will assist you in restraining him again," the android continued. "But consider what might occur if the containment spell reacts with that cube in his..."
The tavern shuddered. Blue light blazed from the center of the mob, blinding bright, even filtered by the sea of thrashing, hairy limbs. The brawl froze. Fists held perfectly still. Punches pulled and kicks failed to land in knee or groin. Instead, a high whistle sounded. The light pulsed from blue to yellow.
The denizens of the Cloak and Dagger bolted in all directions.
"It would seem your fears were warranted," the lawyer observed. He lay on the floor, belly pressed tight to the boards. The tavern shook and trembled. The whistle squealed higher, and the lawyer stared into the light. "I suppose you want me to go fetch him now."
Beside him, the android grinned. "Affirmative."
You can find the list of participating authors here: http://www.genreunderground.com/?page_id=361
and the story so far here: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 , Part 5 and Part 6 Part 7 is below! :) As soon as it's up, I'll post a link to Part 8 as well.
Enjoy!
(An elf, and android and a lawyer walked into a tavern...)
"Perhaps," The android swung the tankard into the side of a hairy skull as big as his torso. The glass shattered and rained sparkling shrapnel into the fur. It did little to deter the head's owner. "You should let the elf go...temporarily."
The lawyer ducked the right hook of a bugbear and shook his head. "He broke the law. Besides...he seems to be doing all right."
The android whirred in answer, dodging his four-armed assailant and managing to zap the creature with a significant blast from his finger lasers. The creature sagged, dropping to stumpy knees and releasing a flurry of dander and loose fur into the bar's already stuffy atmosphere. A troll stepped up to take the monster's place.
They could see the elf now and then, bobbing over the fray as the drunken mob played volleyball with his immobilized form.
"It's just..." The android sighed and blasted a smoking divot into the troll's chest. "He did provide a measure of assistance at the door."
"Indeed he did." The lawyer kicked his foe in a sensitive area and frowned as the furry body slumped to the boards. "But we have rules for a reason."
They pressed another step toward the back of the tavern. The bodies were beginning to pile up, and their instructions had specified the least amount of damages possible.
"I will assist you in restraining him again," the android continued. "But consider what might occur if the containment spell reacts with that cube in his..."
The tavern shuddered. Blue light blazed from the center of the mob, blinding bright, even filtered by the sea of thrashing, hairy limbs. The brawl froze. Fists held perfectly still. Punches pulled and kicks failed to land in knee or groin. Instead, a high whistle sounded. The light pulsed from blue to yellow.
The denizens of the Cloak and Dagger bolted in all directions.
"It would seem your fears were warranted," the lawyer observed. He lay on the floor, belly pressed tight to the boards. The tavern shook and trembled. The whistle squealed higher, and the lawyer stared into the light. "I suppose you want me to go fetch him now."
Beside him, the android grinned. "Affirmative."
April 12, 2013
Book Spine Poetry
In honor of Poetry Month, the ladies over at Poetic Muselings posted a book spine poem suggestion that I immediately had to go filter through my stacks to comply with.
Keeping in mind that I have few paper books left since the great "purge" switch to digital...this is what I came up with.
The poem reads like this:
How to Live on MarsIn Deep Waters.Star born,Marked,More than Meets the Eye.
It's Down to EarthUnlikely,Caught by SurpriseFinal Breath...
Rainbow's EndFor the taking.
Which is why I'm no longer a poet. :DHappy Poeting month.
Frances
Keeping in mind that I have few paper books left since the great "purge" switch to digital...this is what I came up with.
The poem reads like this:
How to Live on MarsIn Deep Waters.Star born,Marked,More than Meets the Eye.
It's Down to EarthUnlikely,Caught by SurpriseFinal Breath...
Rainbow's EndFor the taking.
Which is why I'm no longer a poet. :DHappy Poeting month.
Frances
April 10, 2013
Kingdoms Gone Book Two Release
HORDEDKingdoms 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…
Now available in Print and for Kindle
April 7, 2013
Get Your Gobelin On
I have a thing about goblins. You might think, in particular if you know me very well, that it comes from a childhood obsession with the movie Labyrinth. . .
Okay, I did obsess a little. But seriously, David Bowie, folks.
Even so, the delicious combination of Froud design and Bowie voice is not the original spawn of my goblin attraction. My first taste of that came from a book my mother kept by her bedside. It was a tiny, hard bound book with white and orange designs on it titled, The Child's Book of Poems.
We had her read to us from it, and though the book has many great literary works inside, this is the one we always, always wanted to hear.
It was written in 1885 by James Whitcomb Riley
Little Orphant AnnieLittle Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep;An' all us other children, when the supper-things is done,We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest funA-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits youEf youDon'tWatchOut!Wunst they wuz a little boy wouldn't say his prayers,--An' when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,His Mammy heerd him holler, an' his Daddy heerd him bawl,An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wuzn't there at all!An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press,An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'-wheres, I guess;But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an' roundabout:--An' the Gobble-uns 'll git youEf youDon'tWatchOut!An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin,An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin;An' wunst, when they was "company," an' ole folks wuz there,She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,They wuz two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side,An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about!An' the Gobble-uns 'll git youEf youDon'tWatchOut!An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,An' the lamp-wick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo!An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray,An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away,--You better mind yer parunts, an' yer teachurs fond an' dear,An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear,An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about,Er the Gobble-uns 'll git youEf youDon'tWatchOut!
Nice, huh? This was a book for children mind you. It's no wonder I'm a little "off."
Anyway, you're probably wondering, "What's she going on about goblins for?" I don't blame you one bit, but Kingdoms Gone book two is coming out this week, (April 10) and it is loaded with the little monsters. Or not so little and not so monstrous, but still.
I have them on the brain either way.
The Gobble-uns 'll get me
Ef I don't
Watch
Out!
The poem, is awesome sauce.
I just found a few different readings of it on Youtube that are worth a listen.
But I wanted to share it for certain.
:)
Happy Gobelin week! (I just made that up)
~ Frances
Okay, I did obsess a little. But seriously, David Bowie, folks.
Even so, the delicious combination of Froud design and Bowie voice is not the original spawn of my goblin attraction. My first taste of that came from a book my mother kept by her bedside. It was a tiny, hard bound book with white and orange designs on it titled, The Child's Book of Poems.
We had her read to us from it, and though the book has many great literary works inside, this is the one we always, always wanted to hear.
It was written in 1885 by James Whitcomb Riley
Little Orphant AnnieLittle Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep;An' all us other children, when the supper-things is done,We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest funA-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits youEf youDon'tWatchOut!Wunst they wuz a little boy wouldn't say his prayers,--An' when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,His Mammy heerd him holler, an' his Daddy heerd him bawl,An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wuzn't there at all!An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press,An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'-wheres, I guess;But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an' roundabout:--An' the Gobble-uns 'll git youEf youDon'tWatchOut!An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin,An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin;An' wunst, when they was "company," an' ole folks wuz there,She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,They wuz two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side,An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about!An' the Gobble-uns 'll git youEf youDon'tWatchOut!An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,An' the lamp-wick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo!An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray,An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away,--You better mind yer parunts, an' yer teachurs fond an' dear,An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear,An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about,Er the Gobble-uns 'll git youEf youDon'tWatchOut!
Nice, huh? This was a book for children mind you. It's no wonder I'm a little "off."
Anyway, you're probably wondering, "What's she going on about goblins for?" I don't blame you one bit, but Kingdoms Gone book two is coming out this week, (April 10) and it is loaded with the little monsters. Or not so little and not so monstrous, but still.
I have them on the brain either way.
The Gobble-uns 'll get me
Ef I don't
Watch
Out!
The poem, is awesome sauce.
I just found a few different readings of it on Youtube that are worth a listen.
But I wanted to share it for certain.
:)
Happy Gobelin week! (I just made that up)
~ Frances
April 1, 2013
Post Norwescon Blues
I miss con.
My house is too ordinary. No one here will dress up like a Klingon for my entertainment. There are no shiny Star Trek toys...well, okay I have a few, but those are already mine. What a whiner I am.
So, obviously, I'm back from Norwescon and trying to settle back in and, you know, actually write something or do some damn work. As usual, the convention rocked. The panels were awesome, the parties were fun and the crowds were awe inspiring. I wish I could make it to every one of these, but the timing and location make the mountain pass between us a little daunting. Still, it's a great con with lots of great people and perks.
My favorite of these is the Fairwood writer's workshop. This is a fantastic opportunity for authors both pro and aspiring. The workshop hosts are professional and very well organized, and they put on a spectacular and valuable program. I get as much out of participating in this as I give, and I will happily continue to play as long as they'll have me. If you have a story or novel excerpt you'd like to toss out for critique, I recommend getting in on this goodness.
I spoke to so many amazing pros at Norwescon, both old friends and new ones. Everyone was friendly and positive and that's what makes a great con in my book...great people. The con staff works their butts off as well and that always deserves a round of appreciation too.
It's impossible to experience everything at a con, to do everything, visit with everyone, see everything and buy everything (though sometimes I'd like to try :) but I always have a blast squeezing in as much of the above as I possibly can.
I also come home exhausted...but usually grinning like a raging fool.
The only drawback at all to Norwescon is the Easter weekend need for me to leave early, rush back over a mountain pass and make it home in time for a family holiday.
But even one day short of a full con...I love it.
A big thank you to the organizers for allowing me to attend as a panelist, to the writers in the workshop for sharing their amazing stories with me, to my fellow panelists, the people who showed up to panels, the blessed souls who came to my reading and everyone just walking the halls and helping to turn a lazy author back into a fangirl again.
Thanks to everyone involved in making my 2013 Norwescon rock the Casbah.
~ Frances
My house is too ordinary. No one here will dress up like a Klingon for my entertainment. There are no shiny Star Trek toys...well, okay I have a few, but those are already mine. What a whiner I am.
So, obviously, I'm back from Norwescon and trying to settle back in and, you know, actually write something or do some damn work. As usual, the convention rocked. The panels were awesome, the parties were fun and the crowds were awe inspiring. I wish I could make it to every one of these, but the timing and location make the mountain pass between us a little daunting. Still, it's a great con with lots of great people and perks.
My favorite of these is the Fairwood writer's workshop. This is a fantastic opportunity for authors both pro and aspiring. The workshop hosts are professional and very well organized, and they put on a spectacular and valuable program. I get as much out of participating in this as I give, and I will happily continue to play as long as they'll have me. If you have a story or novel excerpt you'd like to toss out for critique, I recommend getting in on this goodness.
I spoke to so many amazing pros at Norwescon, both old friends and new ones. Everyone was friendly and positive and that's what makes a great con in my book...great people. The con staff works their butts off as well and that always deserves a round of appreciation too.
It's impossible to experience everything at a con, to do everything, visit with everyone, see everything and buy everything (though sometimes I'd like to try :) but I always have a blast squeezing in as much of the above as I possibly can.
I also come home exhausted...but usually grinning like a raging fool.
The only drawback at all to Norwescon is the Easter weekend need for me to leave early, rush back over a mountain pass and make it home in time for a family holiday.
But even one day short of a full con...I love it.
A big thank you to the organizers for allowing me to attend as a panelist, to the writers in the workshop for sharing their amazing stories with me, to my fellow panelists, the people who showed up to panels, the blessed souls who came to my reading and everyone just walking the halls and helping to turn a lazy author back into a fangirl again.
Thanks to everyone involved in making my 2013 Norwescon rock the Casbah.
~ Frances
March 19, 2013
HORDED Trailer
Messing with Movie Maker again. Sneak peek of the next Kingdoms Gone story, which should be coming out sooner than I expected! Keep an eye out. De gobelins'll getcha eff ya don't watch out! Frances
