Frances Pauli's Blog, page 14
November 1, 2012
Book of Death tour
It is my great pleasure to introduce a fellow local author, S. Evan Townsend, who is on tour with us today to talk about mixing magic and the real world, as well as his book, Book of Death Please give him a warm welcome!
Mixing magic and the real world
The first thing I ever wrote in what has become the "Adepts Universe" (where some people,
called "adepts" can manipulate people and nature through spells) started out as a science
fiction story. Sometimes when I'm bored I just start writing a story not with any idea of it going
someplace. So I was writing this story set in the near future about a man on the run from
. . . something (I hadn't determined that yet). I was setting up the scene (a motel room just
south of the "Seattle-Portland megalopolis") when for some reason I typed: "I put alarm spells
on the door and window and put the gun on the nightstand." I have no idea why. The scene
continued:
It could have been a few minutes or it could have been hours later when the door alarm
woke me. In my mind I saw the door fly open and two armed men rushed in. Warriors,
I thought, that's not very imaginative. A bright light, part of the spell, slapped them
in the face letting me clearly see their weapons, sawed-off shotguns, and as an added
benefit prevented them from seeing me.
(I originally called the "warriors" by the term "orcs" but decided I didn't want the reader to
think they were not human.) Suddenly I had magic in the (almost) real world. I had to develop
a vocabulary such as "adepts" for the people with magical powers, "lessers" for those without
such powers (I wanted to avoid clichés such as "mundanes"). I established a few rules (don't let
another adept learn your name, for instance) and some history.
So one day I was out on my daily constitutional, and I got thinking about war (The U.S. had
recently invaded Afghanistan). And I decided the last war pretty much everyone could agree
on as a "Good War" (in Studs Terkel's phrase) was World War II so maybe I should write a
story about World War II to show how war is sometimes painfully necessary to maintain our
freedoms. And, maybe I'm lazy, but I decided instead of inventing a whole new universe, I'd
use the Adepts universe I'd developed in that short story. From this came the first novel in the
Adepts Series called Hammer of Thor (which sort of took on a life of its own and grew from the
Great Depression to the Korean War).
This choice forced some challenges on me. I wanted to make the novel historically accurate
(except where I twist history a bit to say "this is not our universe"). My adepts don't drive,
are disdainful of weapons unless they are magical, and generally have a bad attitude toward
lessers. As my hero says to a Navy Admiral, "Why would the guilds get involved in lesser
matters, especially this war of yours?"
How did I handle this? I simple treated magic as technology that some people knew how to use
but most didn't. I decided that what separates adepts from lessers is what separates chemical
engineers from mere mortals (I took chemical engineering classes in college and never worked
so hard for "C"s in my life). I put limits on this technology. If an adept uses a lot of spells,
they grow tired. The more powerful the spell, the more tired they get. They use talismans to
increase their power. Without their talisman they are not able to spell as much or as well and
get tired more quickly. Talismans vary in their power. And my adepts still have to worry about
the laws of physics (I even mention the inverse square law as limiting the range of their spells).
This brings their spells into the real world. You could look at my adepts as superheroes (except
some of them are supervillains) and even Superman had kryptonite.
I found mixing magic and the real world fun, challenging, and I think it resulted in a unique
series of novels, including Book of Death.
Title: Book of Death
Author: S. Evan Townsend
Publisher: World Castle Publishing
Length: 266 pages
Sub-Genres: Vampires, Paranormal Entities
BLURB:
They live among us. We know they are there. No government can control them; no authority can stop them. Some are evil. Some are good. All are powerful. They inhabit our myths and fairy tales. But what if they were real, the witches, wizards, and fairy godmothers? What if they were called "adepts" and were organized into guilds for mutual protection and benefit? And what if some of them discovered a power that other adepts could not match.
During the turbulent 1960s, when American adept Peter Branton agrees to go to Transylvania for the CIA, he suspects it's not about ball bearings as he was told. What he finds is a plot that could kill millions of people and plunge the world into eternal tyranny and bloodshed. Branton doesn't know it, but he's about to face the adept guilds' worst nightmare: practicing necromancers with a taste for human blood.
EXCERPT :
I'd never seen this type of meta before. At least I assumed that's what it was, as the wooden man inexorably walked toward me with a creak of moving wood, like tree branches in a heavy wind. It was raising its arms for another blow so I stepped back and shot an airbolt at it. I heard wood crack, but that didn't stop it. It swung again and its wooden fist pounded into my face, knocking me down and back on the sidewalk. Somewhere I heard screams and yells. A guy sitting on the sidewalk, his back to a storefront, muttered, "Wow, bad trip, man."
The Indian was bending over, its face expressionless except for the painted-on peace sign as it seemed to prepare for another attack. I shot fire at it, assuming old dry wood would ignite easily, and it did: the hippie dress went up in flames, and now the monster was a burning mass, still attacking me. It smacked me again with a flaming arm and I suffered from both the impact and the burns. Nearly screaming, I scrambled away on hands and knees. I don't think I'd ever been that scared. Still it came, oblivious to the fact it was on fire.
A motorcycle cop I hadn't noticed jumped off his bike, pulled his service revolver, and shot it into the Indian with six cracks of bullets being fired. It had no effect other than sending burning splinters of wood flying. The cop suddenly looked frightened, and was gripping his billy club but taking no further action.
People were screaming loudly now. I looked around, looking for an escape. If I could teleport away I might escape, but I could see no clear place to teleport to. Briefly I wondered what happened to Ernestine and if she were safe. I didn't sense the presence of another adept, but I didn't really have the ability to be quiet enough to do so. I just hoped she was okay.
The burning Indian smacked me again, hard, in the chest and I felt as if my feet left the ground as I was knocked into a car's side. I heard and felt sheet metal crumple and knew I'd hit the car hard. My vision was going gray. But I realized my shirt was on fire and that kept me from passing out; if I passed out I was probably dead. I pulled water from the air to douse the fire, but this took time and the Indian was on me again, even though it was moving very slowly.
I wondered if I'd survive until the wooden Indian had been consumed by the flames. It hit me again, knocking me to the sidewalk. There was an unpleasant smell and I realized my hair was burning. I used my bare hand to pat out the flames. This gave the Indian time to hit me again, hard. It almost felt as if I flew through the air and was slapped painfully to the sidewalk, the Indian still lumbering toward me.
In desperation I shot another airbolt at it. It must have been on the verge of falling apart because that hit blew it into flaming pieces that scattered over the street and also hit me, burning my skin or singeing my clothes. But it was no longer attacking.
BUY LINKS:
Buy Links: http://www.amazon.com/Book-Death-S-Ev... (paperback/Kindle)
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/book-... (Nook)
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/... (eBooks)
https://www.createspace.com/3985568 (paperback)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
S. Evan Townsend has been called 'America's Unique Speculative Fiction Voice.' Evan is a writer living in central Washington State. After spending four years in the U.S. Army in the Military Intelligence branch, he returned to civilian life and college to earn a B.S. in Forest Resources from the University of Washington. In his spare time he enjoys reading, driving (sometimes on a racetrack), meeting people, and talking with friends. He is in a 12-step program for Starbucks addiction. Evan lives with his wife and has three grown sons. He enjoys science fiction, fantasy, history, politics, cars, and travel.
Author Links:
Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/Yx9cFijsA8Q
Website: www.sevantownsend.com
Blog: http://sevantownsend.blogspot.com/
Twitter: @SEvanTownsend
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/S-Evan...
Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/Yx9cFijsA8Q
Series Trailer: http://youtu.be/KDynSa08pe8 (if anyone is interested).
Mixing magic and the real world
The first thing I ever wrote in what has become the "Adepts Universe" (where some people,
called "adepts" can manipulate people and nature through spells) started out as a science
fiction story. Sometimes when I'm bored I just start writing a story not with any idea of it going
someplace. So I was writing this story set in the near future about a man on the run from
. . . something (I hadn't determined that yet). I was setting up the scene (a motel room just
south of the "Seattle-Portland megalopolis") when for some reason I typed: "I put alarm spells
on the door and window and put the gun on the nightstand." I have no idea why. The scene
continued:
It could have been a few minutes or it could have been hours later when the door alarm
woke me. In my mind I saw the door fly open and two armed men rushed in. Warriors,
I thought, that's not very imaginative. A bright light, part of the spell, slapped them
in the face letting me clearly see their weapons, sawed-off shotguns, and as an added
benefit prevented them from seeing me.
(I originally called the "warriors" by the term "orcs" but decided I didn't want the reader to
think they were not human.) Suddenly I had magic in the (almost) real world. I had to develop
a vocabulary such as "adepts" for the people with magical powers, "lessers" for those without
such powers (I wanted to avoid clichés such as "mundanes"). I established a few rules (don't let
another adept learn your name, for instance) and some history.
So one day I was out on my daily constitutional, and I got thinking about war (The U.S. had
recently invaded Afghanistan). And I decided the last war pretty much everyone could agree
on as a "Good War" (in Studs Terkel's phrase) was World War II so maybe I should write a
story about World War II to show how war is sometimes painfully necessary to maintain our
freedoms. And, maybe I'm lazy, but I decided instead of inventing a whole new universe, I'd
use the Adepts universe I'd developed in that short story. From this came the first novel in the
Adepts Series called Hammer of Thor (which sort of took on a life of its own and grew from the
Great Depression to the Korean War).
This choice forced some challenges on me. I wanted to make the novel historically accurate
(except where I twist history a bit to say "this is not our universe"). My adepts don't drive,
are disdainful of weapons unless they are magical, and generally have a bad attitude toward
lessers. As my hero says to a Navy Admiral, "Why would the guilds get involved in lesser
matters, especially this war of yours?"
How did I handle this? I simple treated magic as technology that some people knew how to use
but most didn't. I decided that what separates adepts from lessers is what separates chemical
engineers from mere mortals (I took chemical engineering classes in college and never worked
so hard for "C"s in my life). I put limits on this technology. If an adept uses a lot of spells,
they grow tired. The more powerful the spell, the more tired they get. They use talismans to
increase their power. Without their talisman they are not able to spell as much or as well and
get tired more quickly. Talismans vary in their power. And my adepts still have to worry about
the laws of physics (I even mention the inverse square law as limiting the range of their spells).
This brings their spells into the real world. You could look at my adepts as superheroes (except
some of them are supervillains) and even Superman had kryptonite.
I found mixing magic and the real world fun, challenging, and I think it resulted in a unique
series of novels, including Book of Death.
Title: Book of Death Author: S. Evan Townsend
Publisher: World Castle Publishing
Length: 266 pages
Sub-Genres: Vampires, Paranormal Entities
BLURB:
They live among us. We know they are there. No government can control them; no authority can stop them. Some are evil. Some are good. All are powerful. They inhabit our myths and fairy tales. But what if they were real, the witches, wizards, and fairy godmothers? What if they were called "adepts" and were organized into guilds for mutual protection and benefit? And what if some of them discovered a power that other adepts could not match.
During the turbulent 1960s, when American adept Peter Branton agrees to go to Transylvania for the CIA, he suspects it's not about ball bearings as he was told. What he finds is a plot that could kill millions of people and plunge the world into eternal tyranny and bloodshed. Branton doesn't know it, but he's about to face the adept guilds' worst nightmare: practicing necromancers with a taste for human blood.
EXCERPT :
I'd never seen this type of meta before. At least I assumed that's what it was, as the wooden man inexorably walked toward me with a creak of moving wood, like tree branches in a heavy wind. It was raising its arms for another blow so I stepped back and shot an airbolt at it. I heard wood crack, but that didn't stop it. It swung again and its wooden fist pounded into my face, knocking me down and back on the sidewalk. Somewhere I heard screams and yells. A guy sitting on the sidewalk, his back to a storefront, muttered, "Wow, bad trip, man."
The Indian was bending over, its face expressionless except for the painted-on peace sign as it seemed to prepare for another attack. I shot fire at it, assuming old dry wood would ignite easily, and it did: the hippie dress went up in flames, and now the monster was a burning mass, still attacking me. It smacked me again with a flaming arm and I suffered from both the impact and the burns. Nearly screaming, I scrambled away on hands and knees. I don't think I'd ever been that scared. Still it came, oblivious to the fact it was on fire.
A motorcycle cop I hadn't noticed jumped off his bike, pulled his service revolver, and shot it into the Indian with six cracks of bullets being fired. It had no effect other than sending burning splinters of wood flying. The cop suddenly looked frightened, and was gripping his billy club but taking no further action.
People were screaming loudly now. I looked around, looking for an escape. If I could teleport away I might escape, but I could see no clear place to teleport to. Briefly I wondered what happened to Ernestine and if she were safe. I didn't sense the presence of another adept, but I didn't really have the ability to be quiet enough to do so. I just hoped she was okay.
The burning Indian smacked me again, hard, in the chest and I felt as if my feet left the ground as I was knocked into a car's side. I heard and felt sheet metal crumple and knew I'd hit the car hard. My vision was going gray. But I realized my shirt was on fire and that kept me from passing out; if I passed out I was probably dead. I pulled water from the air to douse the fire, but this took time and the Indian was on me again, even though it was moving very slowly.
I wondered if I'd survive until the wooden Indian had been consumed by the flames. It hit me again, knocking me to the sidewalk. There was an unpleasant smell and I realized my hair was burning. I used my bare hand to pat out the flames. This gave the Indian time to hit me again, hard. It almost felt as if I flew through the air and was slapped painfully to the sidewalk, the Indian still lumbering toward me.
In desperation I shot another airbolt at it. It must have been on the verge of falling apart because that hit blew it into flaming pieces that scattered over the street and also hit me, burning my skin or singeing my clothes. But it was no longer attacking.
BUY LINKS: Buy Links: http://www.amazon.com/Book-Death-S-Ev... (paperback/Kindle)
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/book-... (Nook)
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/... (eBooks)
https://www.createspace.com/3985568 (paperback)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
S. Evan Townsend has been called 'America's Unique Speculative Fiction Voice.' Evan is a writer living in central Washington State. After spending four years in the U.S. Army in the Military Intelligence branch, he returned to civilian life and college to earn a B.S. in Forest Resources from the University of Washington. In his spare time he enjoys reading, driving (sometimes on a racetrack), meeting people, and talking with friends. He is in a 12-step program for Starbucks addiction. Evan lives with his wife and has three grown sons. He enjoys science fiction, fantasy, history, politics, cars, and travel.
Author Links:
Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/Yx9cFijsA8Q
Website: www.sevantownsend.com
Blog: http://sevantownsend.blogspot.com/
Twitter: @SEvanTownsend
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/S-Evan...
Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/Yx9cFijsA8Q
Series Trailer: http://youtu.be/KDynSa08pe8 (if anyone is interested).
October 30, 2012
Halloween Scavenger Hunt Blog Hop!
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Intro:
BTS Tours and Wild Child Publishing are proud to present the Wicked and Wild Halloween Scavenger Hunt. 37 blogs have linked together to allow you to hunt for 37 different words that will be hidden in each post, so at the end of the hunt you will have 37 answers to plug into the rafflecopter. Please DO NOT leave your answers in the comment section. We want this to be fun for everyone, and not take the challenge out of the game. So this is how it works.
All the blogs listed below will post their game piece on their allotted date. You are looking for one word (related to Halloween) to plug into the rafflecopter as your answer. For Example:'
If you are on Close Encounters with the Night Kind, and find your word (clues will be provided for you in the banner) you log into the rafflecopter form and place your answer in the box marked Close Encounters of the Night Kind. Follow along the entire Scavenger Hunt and collect all 37 clues. We will be drawing for 4 $25 dollar Gift Certificates to Wild Child Publishing. Happy Hunting!!!
Title: Carbon Copy
Author: Terri Talley Venters
Publisher: Wild Child Publishing .
Length: Novel
Sub-Genres: Romantic Suspense, Mystery
BLURB:
Lilly Allen has brains, beauty, and a trust fund. She's living in New York City and her career as a reporter is taking off. She's hoping the love of her life, Grier, will propose soon. She has it all, or so she thinks.
Grier Garrison, Create Life executive, is running the company while his father, Dr. Michael Garrison, is in the ICU awaiting a heart transplant. Grier knows the truth about Create Life and its shady side business. He fears Lilly and her twin brother, Luke, are in danger.
While working on two unrelated stories, stolen newborns and cloning, Lilly discovers a shocking connection. Horrific things are happening, but who is behind it all?
EXCERPT:
“Aahh. Ooh, yeah! It feels so good,” Lilly said to the young girl who gave her a pedicure at a nearby resort.
The spa resided at the fanciest resort in Marathon Key. And it proved simply divine. Lilly’s robed figure reclined on a massage chair. She programmed the chair to full-body, vibrate mode. Her feet soaked in the miniature whirlpool bath filled with scented moisturizers. The aromatherapy relaxed her while the micro beads exfoliated the dead skin off her feet.
Wearing heels caused calluses, which now built up on Lilly’s feet. The effect seemed exacerbated by the wonderful fashion style of not wearing pantyhose.
Lilly sat in front of a window overlooking the blue-green water of the Gulf of Mexico, or did she see the Atlantic Ocean? Who cared, the view was marvelous. The clear blue sky, calm water, and miles of open sea provided much needed serenity. Even more fortuitous, Mother, who enjoyed her pedicure in the massage chair right next to Lilly, remained silent.
Guilt filled her for leaving Luke alone for an afternoon, but she couldn’t pass up a gourmet lunch, white wine, and hours of pampering.
The nail technician asked Lilly if she decided on a color. Of course, she thought, Hooker Red. Having made probably the most difficult decision of the day, besides what to eat and what to wear, Lilly took a sip of her white-wine.
Picking up the latest issue of Cosmopolitan magazine, she flipped through the colorful pages. She loved to look at all the beautiful people, catch-up on the celebrity gossip, and read the articles about dating and sex. Crossing the task off of her mental ‘to-do’ list for the trip, she contemplated whether or not to upgrade her upcoming facial to include a hydrating, botanical mask. Why not?
The next hour flew by. Before she knew it, Lilly found herself in the facial room. Her body was wrapped in a heated cocoon of blankets on a slightly inclined, cushioned massage table. The tranquility of the room relaxed her with the soft music and the aromatherapy candles. And she laid naked—okay, not completely naked. She was Charlotte Allen’s daughter after all. So she left her thong on.
Lilly waited for the esthetician to arrive and begin her magic. She shuddered to think of how clogged her pores were. Layers of camera-ready make-up, coupled with the bright lights of the television studio, wreaked havoc on her precious skin. She dreaded the upcoming extraction of the built-up gunk in the pores of her nose and chin because it always hurt.
A lady poked her head in the door. “I just wanted to let you know the appointments are running a few minutes behind. Will you be comfortable lying here for a few more minutes?”
Seriously?
Given the idle time, and her cell phone, she placed a quick call to Rachel. Lilly left her a long voicemail describing the Keys and the spa. She loved to rub it in.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway just as she finished leaving a voicemail for Rachel. She turned off her cell phone and shoved it under the blankets so she wouldn’t get in trouble for the contraband. According to the sign on the wall, the spa enjoyed a relaxed atmosphere and all cell phone usage was strictly verboten.
The door opened, and Lilly heard the esthetician walk in. “Are we comfortable?” Lilly thought the voice sounded artificially high-pitched, like she attempted to disguise her voice.
“Yes, I’m very relaxed.” Lilly hoped her apprehension did not appear evident in her voice.
“Good.” A pillow covered Lilly’s head with a brutal force. “Because today is the day you’re going to die, you little bitch!”
Lilly’s legs flailed in reflex to the lack of oxygen flowing to her lungs. Her arms proved useless in their vain attempts to remove the pillow held securely in place by the assailant. Lilly instinctively grabbed the only blunt object within reach—her BlackBerry. With every ounce of strength, she swung her arm, and makeshift weapon, blindly aiming up towards the assailant’s nose—bull’s eye!
Instantaneously, the pressure released from the pillow. Lilly gasped for air in desperation to fill her lungs with oxygen. Lilly turned to see her attacker covered her bloody nose in agony. She knew this allotted little time for escape.
Lilly kicked off the constricting blankets and freed her legs. As she sat up, her eyes spotted the vaporizing machine. The red ‘on’ light glowed mercifully. She picked up the machine and hurled it towards the person’s head—double bull’s eye. The woman’s forehead cracked the water vestibule open and the hot, steamy water scalded her face.
With the assailant occupied, Lilly hopped off the table, clutching the blanket to her bosom, and ran as fast as she could out of the facial room. And she didn’t stop running until she reached the safety of the crowded hotel lobby.
BUY LINKS:
http://www.wildchildpublishing.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=83&products_id=382
Schedule:
October 1 - Awesomesauce Book Club , Guilty Indulgence
October 2 - Reading Between the Lines , Beauty In Ruins
October 3 - Riverina Romantics
October 4 - Book Swagger
October 5- Reading and Writing Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance
October 6 - Book Devotee Reviews
October 8 - Love is a Many Flavored Thing
October 9 - House Millar
October 10 - Literal Addiction
October 11 - S.J. Maylee
October 12 - Fictional Candy
October 13 - Sweet Southern Home
October 14 - Laurie's Non-Paranormal Thoughts and Reviews
October 15 - Salacious Reads
October 16 - For the Love of Reading Reviews , Novelly Nice
October 17 - Pink Skulls Book Reviews
October 18 - Full Moon Bites
October 19 - The Bunny's Review
October 20 - Romance Book Club . Com
October 21- The Jeep Diva
October 22 - Nette's Bookshelf Reviews
October 23 - Beagle Book Space , Pippa Jay…
October 24 - All She Wants and More
October 25 - Ex Libris
October 26 - Close Encounters with the Night Kind
October 27 - Herding Cats and Burning Soup
October 28 - Noracast
October 29 - TBR
October 30 - Reader's Confession , Naughty Editions
October 31 - Speculative Friction , Worlds of Escapism
Intro:
BTS Tours and Wild Child Publishing are proud to present the Wicked and Wild Halloween Scavenger Hunt. 37 blogs have linked together to allow you to hunt for 37 different words that will be hidden in each post, so at the end of the hunt you will have 37 answers to plug into the rafflecopter. Please DO NOT leave your answers in the comment section. We want this to be fun for everyone, and not take the challenge out of the game. So this is how it works.
All the blogs listed below will post their game piece on their allotted date. You are looking for one word (related to Halloween) to plug into the rafflecopter as your answer. For Example:'
If you are on Close Encounters with the Night Kind, and find your word (clues will be provided for you in the banner) you log into the rafflecopter form and place your answer in the box marked Close Encounters of the Night Kind. Follow along the entire Scavenger Hunt and collect all 37 clues. We will be drawing for 4 $25 dollar Gift Certificates to Wild Child Publishing. Happy Hunting!!!
Title: Carbon CopyAuthor: Terri Talley Venters
Publisher: Wild Child Publishing .
Length: Novel
Sub-Genres: Romantic Suspense, Mystery
BLURB: Lilly Allen has brains, beauty, and a trust fund. She's living in New York City and her career as a reporter is taking off. She's hoping the love of her life, Grier, will propose soon. She has it all, or so she thinks.
Grier Garrison, Create Life executive, is running the company while his father, Dr. Michael Garrison, is in the ICU awaiting a heart transplant. Grier knows the truth about Create Life and its shady side business. He fears Lilly and her twin brother, Luke, are in danger.
While working on two unrelated stories, stolen newborns and cloning, Lilly discovers a shocking connection. Horrific things are happening, but who is behind it all?
EXCERPT:
“Aahh. Ooh, yeah! It feels so good,” Lilly said to the young girl who gave her a pedicure at a nearby resort.
The spa resided at the fanciest resort in Marathon Key. And it proved simply divine. Lilly’s robed figure reclined on a massage chair. She programmed the chair to full-body, vibrate mode. Her feet soaked in the miniature whirlpool bath filled with scented moisturizers. The aromatherapy relaxed her while the micro beads exfoliated the dead skin off her feet.
Wearing heels caused calluses, which now built up on Lilly’s feet. The effect seemed exacerbated by the wonderful fashion style of not wearing pantyhose.
Lilly sat in front of a window overlooking the blue-green water of the Gulf of Mexico, or did she see the Atlantic Ocean? Who cared, the view was marvelous. The clear blue sky, calm water, and miles of open sea provided much needed serenity. Even more fortuitous, Mother, who enjoyed her pedicure in the massage chair right next to Lilly, remained silent.
Guilt filled her for leaving Luke alone for an afternoon, but she couldn’t pass up a gourmet lunch, white wine, and hours of pampering.
The nail technician asked Lilly if she decided on a color. Of course, she thought, Hooker Red. Having made probably the most difficult decision of the day, besides what to eat and what to wear, Lilly took a sip of her white-wine.
Picking up the latest issue of Cosmopolitan magazine, she flipped through the colorful pages. She loved to look at all the beautiful people, catch-up on the celebrity gossip, and read the articles about dating and sex. Crossing the task off of her mental ‘to-do’ list for the trip, she contemplated whether or not to upgrade her upcoming facial to include a hydrating, botanical mask. Why not?
The next hour flew by. Before she knew it, Lilly found herself in the facial room. Her body was wrapped in a heated cocoon of blankets on a slightly inclined, cushioned massage table. The tranquility of the room relaxed her with the soft music and the aromatherapy candles. And she laid naked—okay, not completely naked. She was Charlotte Allen’s daughter after all. So she left her thong on.
Lilly waited for the esthetician to arrive and begin her magic. She shuddered to think of how clogged her pores were. Layers of camera-ready make-up, coupled with the bright lights of the television studio, wreaked havoc on her precious skin. She dreaded the upcoming extraction of the built-up gunk in the pores of her nose and chin because it always hurt.
A lady poked her head in the door. “I just wanted to let you know the appointments are running a few minutes behind. Will you be comfortable lying here for a few more minutes?”
Seriously?
Given the idle time, and her cell phone, she placed a quick call to Rachel. Lilly left her a long voicemail describing the Keys and the spa. She loved to rub it in.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway just as she finished leaving a voicemail for Rachel. She turned off her cell phone and shoved it under the blankets so she wouldn’t get in trouble for the contraband. According to the sign on the wall, the spa enjoyed a relaxed atmosphere and all cell phone usage was strictly verboten.
The door opened, and Lilly heard the esthetician walk in. “Are we comfortable?” Lilly thought the voice sounded artificially high-pitched, like she attempted to disguise her voice.
“Yes, I’m very relaxed.” Lilly hoped her apprehension did not appear evident in her voice.
“Good.” A pillow covered Lilly’s head with a brutal force. “Because today is the day you’re going to die, you little bitch!”
Lilly’s legs flailed in reflex to the lack of oxygen flowing to her lungs. Her arms proved useless in their vain attempts to remove the pillow held securely in place by the assailant. Lilly instinctively grabbed the only blunt object within reach—her BlackBerry. With every ounce of strength, she swung her arm, and makeshift weapon, blindly aiming up towards the assailant’s nose—bull’s eye!
Instantaneously, the pressure released from the pillow. Lilly gasped for air in desperation to fill her lungs with oxygen. Lilly turned to see her attacker covered her bloody nose in agony. She knew this allotted little time for escape.
Lilly kicked off the constricting blankets and freed her legs. As she sat up, her eyes spotted the vaporizing machine. The red ‘on’ light glowed mercifully. She picked up the machine and hurled it towards the person’s head—double bull’s eye. The woman’s forehead cracked the water vestibule open and the hot, steamy water scalded her face.
With the assailant occupied, Lilly hopped off the table, clutching the blanket to her bosom, and ran as fast as she could out of the facial room. And she didn’t stop running until she reached the safety of the crowded hotel lobby.
BUY LINKS:
http://www.wildchildpublishing.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=83&products_id=382
Schedule:
October 1 - Awesomesauce Book Club , Guilty Indulgence
October 2 - Reading Between the Lines , Beauty In Ruins
October 3 - Riverina Romantics
October 4 - Book Swagger
October 5- Reading and Writing Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance
October 6 - Book Devotee Reviews
October 8 - Love is a Many Flavored Thing
October 9 - House Millar
October 10 - Literal Addiction
October 11 - S.J. Maylee
October 12 - Fictional Candy
October 13 - Sweet Southern Home
October 14 - Laurie's Non-Paranormal Thoughts and Reviews
October 15 - Salacious Reads
October 16 - For the Love of Reading Reviews , Novelly Nice
October 17 - Pink Skulls Book Reviews
October 18 - Full Moon Bites
October 19 - The Bunny's Review
October 20 - Romance Book Club . Com
October 21- The Jeep Diva
October 22 - Nette's Bookshelf Reviews
October 23 - Beagle Book Space , Pippa Jay…
October 24 - All She Wants and More
October 25 - Ex Libris
October 26 - Close Encounters with the Night Kind
October 27 - Herding Cats and Burning Soup
October 28 - Noracast
October 29 - TBR
October 30 - Reader's Confession , Naughty Editions
October 31 - Speculative Friction , Worlds of Escapism
October 26, 2012
BLOG HOP number ONE
Well, I'm doing a few blog hops this Halloween. What can I say, I love Halloween. :)
For the first one, I'll be choosing a winner from the commenters and they can have a pdf copy of my Halloween romance, Thrice Shy. This one has the haunted corn maze, a sexy vampire, and a cross-dressing werewolf sidekick. Leave your email or contact info to be entered and good luck!
Then stop by on the 31st as well for our next hop spot.
Frances
For the first one, I'll be choosing a winner from the commenters and they can have a pdf copy of my Halloween romance, Thrice Shy. This one has the haunted corn maze, a sexy vampire, and a cross-dressing werewolf sidekick. Leave your email or contact info to be entered and good luck!
Then stop by on the 31st as well for our next hop spot.
Frances
October 23, 2012
Readers of the Lost ARC
Well, the first book in the Kingdoms Gone series is nearly through it's rounds of editing and beta readers. As of December, I will be actively seeking a few good readers to receive Advance Review Copies. In exchange for honest feedback via amazon/goodreads reviews (or your site of preference) I will share an early copy of the book and my heartfelt thanks regardless of outcome.
If you are of a fantasy bent and don't mind the dash of romance, check out the blurb here and post in comments to be considered for ARC reading. Make sure to leave your contact info or email it to me at: author@francespauli.com
Thanks...in advance ;)
Frances
Satina knows more than anyone that gangs are bad news. As a Granter, she uses her magic to help people escape them. Her sole reward has been a life on the run, dodging from pocket to pocket and only landing in the ordinary world long enough to put her special skills to use.When the goodmother arrives in Westwood, however, a magic-hungry gang is just one step behind her, and their leader wants more than just the town. He wants Satina, and he'll do anything, use anyone, to get her.
Though Satina finds an unlikely ally in Marten, the imp Skinner who manages to help more people than he hurts, it will take all the power they can summon to keep Westwood's secrets from falling into the wrong hands, to keep one wide-eyed girl from following the wrong man, and to keep Satina herself from falling in love with the only person in the world who knows how much of a fraud she really is.
More on the Kingdoms Gone series at http://kingdomsgone.blogspot.com
If you are of a fantasy bent and don't mind the dash of romance, check out the blurb here and post in comments to be considered for ARC reading. Make sure to leave your contact info or email it to me at: author@francespauli.com
Thanks...in advance ;)
Frances
Satina knows more than anyone that gangs are bad news. As a Granter, she uses her magic to help people escape them. Her sole reward has been a life on the run, dodging from pocket to pocket and only landing in the ordinary world long enough to put her special skills to use.When the goodmother arrives in Westwood, however, a magic-hungry gang is just one step behind her, and their leader wants more than just the town. He wants Satina, and he'll do anything, use anyone, to get her. Though Satina finds an unlikely ally in Marten, the imp Skinner who manages to help more people than he hurts, it will take all the power they can summon to keep Westwood's secrets from falling into the wrong hands, to keep one wide-eyed girl from following the wrong man, and to keep Satina herself from falling in love with the only person in the world who knows how much of a fraud she really is.
More on the Kingdoms Gone series at http://kingdomsgone.blogspot.com
October 16, 2012
New Release: Echo Location
Now Available from Mundania Press
SHIFT HAPPENS: Book Three
Echo LocationStevie Roth gave up a chance at inter-dimensional adventure and settled for a life in the ordinary world. She almost convinced herself she made the right decision too, until Weldon Marks, out-of-this-world goofball and totally delicious dufus, shows up and reminds her exactly what she left behind. When he whisks her off on a job, Stevie couldn’t be happier. Except he vanishes again just as quickly, and his unpleasant parallel pops up to stalk her instead.
Now she’s back up to her neck in the insanity, and remembering quite clearly why she left. Weldon is acting cagey, his clone won’t leave her alone, and the invisible man is leading an investigation that seems hell-bent on spoiling any chance she has at keeping the one idiot she wants in her life for good.
Her world's turned completely upside down, her favorite snake has gone missing, and Stevie’s pretty sure the beat up box Weldon stashed in her living room hides something seriously illegal. If it does, she’s going to strangle him. If he doesn’t get himself killed first, that is.
EXCERPT:
Chapter One
Stevie leaned around a clump of cactus and peered into the burrow. The Arizona sun blazed across the back of her t-shirt, no doubt burning the exposed skin of her neck and upper arms. She eyed the needles sideways and scooted an inch closer to the idiot squatting next to her.
“Is anyone home?” she whispered, focusing on the round, black hole. A mat of silk fanned out from the opening, marking their target as tarantula inhabited. Still, despite her search partner’s assurance that they’d found the correct hole in the ground, they’d yet to see so much as an appendage poking from the burrow.
“Yeah.” His voice fluttered under the strain of his adrenaline rush. “This is it.” He lifted the plastic, half-gallon milk jug in trembling hands and poured another trickle of water into the hole.
They’d dumped half their supply in already and, so far, no spider. The rest of the conference attendees scattered across the desert slope in pairs or small clusters. Each group had been armed with an assortment of plastic deli cups and one jug of water, but once the vans had parked and the eager hunters dispersed, the chatter of excitement faded into an expectant silence and the steady pressure of the Arizona sun in July.
“Joe.” She kept her eyes riveted on the hole. “Maybe we should try the grass thing?” Their deli cups leaned against the cactus, spilling into an awkward tower of thin, see-through plastic. She plucked the top cup and popped the lid. “Try tickling it.”
Joe sighed and traded the jug for a long, feathery blade of nearby scrub grass. He didn’t put much store in the grass trick. He’d told her as much on the drive up. It was all about the water, in Joe’s book. But the speaker last night had suggested the method, and Stevie longed to give it a try. Her partner rolled his eyes and poked the grass toward the hole. He’d humor her. She was pretty sure Joe hoped they could do more than hunt spiders this weekend.
At least Stevie had the tact to turn away before she made a face. She watched the closest huddle of fellow enthusiasts and sighed. She should have gone with a bigger group. She might have landed a partner who didn’t have quite the intensity of Joe. Stevie looked back to the burrow and chewed her lip. She could have taken a job in another dimension.
Footsteps crunched to their right. The boredom had driven a few restless enthusiasts to wander and check on the progress of the more patient squatters. Stevie shook off thoughts of out-of-this-world adventure and turned her attention back to the burrow. This was enough excitement. The convention had been on her to do list for years, and she was having a fantastic time.
She squinted at the hole in the ground and watched a shadow fall across it. Their visitor stopped and bent over them. Stevie caught a whiff of his aftershave. Who wore aftershave on a spider hunt? She eyed the outline of the shadow, the shape of a very familiar hat. It couldn’t be. Her pulse did a nervous dance. Who wore a hat like that outside of a movie?
She turned her head to the side just a touch, just enough to make out a wide, cocky grin. “Heya, Sweetie,” it said.
Before she could grin back, before she could register her seizure of joy at seeing Weldon Marks, inter-dimensional exterminator, goof-off and totally delicious dork, the air erupted with a girlie squeal. For a moment, Stevie feared it had come from her, but her mouth hadn’t so much as twitched. Satisfied that she’d maintained her composure, she glanced to Joe. He squealed again.
“That’s a big spider,” Weldon said. “Want me to—”
“No!” Stevie watched the huge tarantula flex its legs and consider vanishing back into its burrow. She remembered how Weldon had dealt with the giant bedbug. Joe sat frozen. He inhaled, and she feared he’d start screaming again any second. Before he could, she slapped her deli cup down and managed to cover the startled arachnid. “Got it.”
“Nice.” Weldon let out a whistle. “Nice save.”
“Thanks.” She kept her eyes down until the heat left her cheeks. The cup’s lid waited by the stack, and she snagged it and gently slid the thin plastic under the spider, waiting for the tarantula to shift each leg onto the surface until it sat quite safely inside an inverted container.
“Aphonopelma chalcodes” Joe’s voice almost sounded male again. He straightened his spine, pressed his shoulders back and nearly fell over onto the cactus. Weldon put a hand on his back and helped him avoid the catastrophe, but he earned a scowl from Joe for his trouble. Stevie’s giggle probably didn’t help.
“Desert blonde.” She held up the cup and watched the two-toned spider explore the inside with its front legs.
“Pretty,” Weldon said. “What’cha gonna do with it?”
Stevie watched the spider and tried not to let her hands shake. Weldon Marks, damn. She’d never expected to see him again, hoped maybe, obsessed possibly, but never expected. She’d missed the asshole more than she’d ever suspected. The spider swiveled and checked the walls to all sides, trapped in a circle of plastic. Stevie frowned. She held the container out to Joe.
“You take her.”
His eyes widened. She could almost see him weighing his desire for the spider against his chances of scoring with her later. When he took the cup, she’d never been so happy to lose.
“You’re sure?” He didn’t even glance in her direction.
“Yeah. I’d have to ship her home anyway.” She didn’t add that she had to ship a box already, that the dealers’ rooms had turned up a few additions to her collection that wouldn’t pass the airline’s carry-on policy. She just stared at Weldon and let her grin loose at last.
“Thanks,” Joe mumbled. He faded into the background somewhere behind the way Weldon’s eyes flashed in amusement.
“What are you doing here?” Stevie shook her head. How the hell had he found her in the Arizona desert, in this Arizona desert?
“Duh.” He stood up and shrugged. “Looking for you.”
Stevie stood and brushed the dust from her jeans. Looking for her—she felt the blush again, turned her head away to catch Joe brandishing his new find for a growing crowd of admirers.
“Of course,” Weldon continued, “I didn’t expect to find you snuggled up to a spider hole with another man.”
“Snuggled?” She caught the flare of indignation and stifled it. “Joe hardly counts as another man.”
“So, I heard.” Weldon’s grin spread. He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head so that the hat cast his eyes back into shadow. He chuckled and looked at the group around her partner and the spider she’d caught. “That was some scream.”
He wore a leather vest over a dust-colored shirt. It matched the hat. Both looked like they’d been run over more than once. The only thing missing was the vacuum usually attached to his back.
Stevie sighed. “How did you get here, Weldon?”
“Drove.”
“You drove.”
“Yep.” He stretched, his elbows reaching back together and pushing his chest forward dramatically. “I’m in disguise.”
Uh oh. Stevie spun toward the top of the slope, where the convention vans had parked along the dirt access road. Sandwiched between the last two was a rusty rig. She cringed and scanned to either side. Had anyone seen it yet?
“Weldon,” she growled. “Tell me that isn’t what you drove.”
He froze mid-pose and stared at her. “Yeah. Why?”
“There’s a dead bug on top of it, Weldon.” Stevie eyed the upside down, plastic rendition of a giant, dead cockroach and sighed. “This is a spider enthusiast convention.”
“It’s not a spider.”
“Some of these people keep roaches.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him up the slope.
“This is the weirdest dimension. You know that?” He followed, but his reluctant steps dragged compared to her hustle.
“You need to get it out of here.”
“And here I was thinking you’d be happy to see me.” He stopped dead, and her grip on his arm slipped.
Stevie stumbled forward. “I am happy to see you.”
He crossed both arms over his chest and gave her a look.
“I am, Weldon. I’m thrilled to see you. I’m beside myself with joy to see you.” She sighed and watched him shift into posing mode again. “But you need to go.”
“What?” He followed her willingly to the side of the van, but he didn’t look happy about it at all. “I’m disguised as an exterminator,” he pouted.
“You are an exterminator.”
“Yeah, but I’m disguised as one here. Get it. It’s supposed to be funny.”
“It is funny, actually.”
“You’re not laughing.”
Stevie sagged against the van’s side and rolled her eyes at him.
“Are you really thrilled?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I need you.”
“What?”
“I need your help.” He circled to the back of the van and popped one door open. “On a job.”
“Oh.”
He peeked around the door at her, and she smiled and turned away. A few of the attendees clustering around Joe had noticed Weldon’s van. She saw at least one finger pointing in their direction.
“What do you say? Help me out?” His voice drifted over the clanking of whatever he rummaged with back there. She could guess. Infinite possibilities wandered through her mind’s eye. What tools did an exterminator with no dimensional boundaries require?
“Yeah. Sure.” She heard the door slam and the crunch of boots on dry scrub before he slid in between her and the van. Below them, the group’s attention shifted up the slope, to the giant plastic bug in permanent, legs-up slumber on his vehicle’s roof.
“Shall we?”
Stevie tore her gaze away from the frowns and found Weldon holding open the passenger door. If she drove away in that thing, they’d probably sack her room. The conference really had been a blast. It had just been a single dimension, nothing remotely alien, sort of adventure. She could have lived with that. She looked at Weldon. He tilted his head to the side and swept one hand out in a valiant, over-acted invitation to so much more.
“I have a suitcase full of my things back at the hotel,” she said.
“We can grab them on the way.”
“And I have to catch a flight tomorrow afternoon.”
He raised an eyebrow sharply and shook his head.
“Oh yeah. Right.”
“I can have you home by midnight.”
Earlier than she’d expected, but then, she imagined the time in between would be more eventful, more absolutely mind boggling, than whatever she’d have done here. Stevie nodded and stepped to the door. Helping him with a job was a start, and if she knew Weldon, he didn’t really need her. She’d guess he usually preferred to work alone. If she knew Weldon, but then, did she really? A few days alone in a hole with someone could be misleading.
“Hey, Sweetie?”
“Hmm?”
“Is that girlie man looking this way?”
She looked down the hill and nodded. They all were watching now.
“Good.”
“What?”
Weldon grabbed her. She squeaked and turned into the unexpected embrace. He kissed her, fast but firm and with a possessive edge that matched his grip on her shoulders. She remembered that kiss, and damned if he didn’t get it just right. When he let her go, her legs wobbled ever so slightly. She found the door, let him help her up into the cab and waited without saying a word while he shut the door and circled around the front of the vehicle.
So she’d miss the last day. She’d had some fun, bought some spiders...even caught one in the wild. What more could a girl expect from an ordinary, single-dimension adventure? She watched him climb into the driver’s seat, cocky, over-confident and with an unpredictable streak three times wider than his common sense. She had missed him.
“You ready to roll?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Stevie grinned and grabbed for her seat belt. She’d never been more ready for anything.
Shift Happens
Book One:
Book Two:
SHIFT HAPPENS: Book Three
Echo LocationStevie Roth gave up a chance at inter-dimensional adventure and settled for a life in the ordinary world. She almost convinced herself she made the right decision too, until Weldon Marks, out-of-this-world goofball and totally delicious dufus, shows up and reminds her exactly what she left behind. When he whisks her off on a job, Stevie couldn’t be happier. Except he vanishes again just as quickly, and his unpleasant parallel pops up to stalk her instead.Now she’s back up to her neck in the insanity, and remembering quite clearly why she left. Weldon is acting cagey, his clone won’t leave her alone, and the invisible man is leading an investigation that seems hell-bent on spoiling any chance she has at keeping the one idiot she wants in her life for good.
Her world's turned completely upside down, her favorite snake has gone missing, and Stevie’s pretty sure the beat up box Weldon stashed in her living room hides something seriously illegal. If it does, she’s going to strangle him. If he doesn’t get himself killed first, that is.
EXCERPT:
Chapter One
Stevie leaned around a clump of cactus and peered into the burrow. The Arizona sun blazed across the back of her t-shirt, no doubt burning the exposed skin of her neck and upper arms. She eyed the needles sideways and scooted an inch closer to the idiot squatting next to her.
“Is anyone home?” she whispered, focusing on the round, black hole. A mat of silk fanned out from the opening, marking their target as tarantula inhabited. Still, despite her search partner’s assurance that they’d found the correct hole in the ground, they’d yet to see so much as an appendage poking from the burrow.
“Yeah.” His voice fluttered under the strain of his adrenaline rush. “This is it.” He lifted the plastic, half-gallon milk jug in trembling hands and poured another trickle of water into the hole.
They’d dumped half their supply in already and, so far, no spider. The rest of the conference attendees scattered across the desert slope in pairs or small clusters. Each group had been armed with an assortment of plastic deli cups and one jug of water, but once the vans had parked and the eager hunters dispersed, the chatter of excitement faded into an expectant silence and the steady pressure of the Arizona sun in July.
“Joe.” She kept her eyes riveted on the hole. “Maybe we should try the grass thing?” Their deli cups leaned against the cactus, spilling into an awkward tower of thin, see-through plastic. She plucked the top cup and popped the lid. “Try tickling it.”
Joe sighed and traded the jug for a long, feathery blade of nearby scrub grass. He didn’t put much store in the grass trick. He’d told her as much on the drive up. It was all about the water, in Joe’s book. But the speaker last night had suggested the method, and Stevie longed to give it a try. Her partner rolled his eyes and poked the grass toward the hole. He’d humor her. She was pretty sure Joe hoped they could do more than hunt spiders this weekend.
At least Stevie had the tact to turn away before she made a face. She watched the closest huddle of fellow enthusiasts and sighed. She should have gone with a bigger group. She might have landed a partner who didn’t have quite the intensity of Joe. Stevie looked back to the burrow and chewed her lip. She could have taken a job in another dimension.
Footsteps crunched to their right. The boredom had driven a few restless enthusiasts to wander and check on the progress of the more patient squatters. Stevie shook off thoughts of out-of-this-world adventure and turned her attention back to the burrow. This was enough excitement. The convention had been on her to do list for years, and she was having a fantastic time.
She squinted at the hole in the ground and watched a shadow fall across it. Their visitor stopped and bent over them. Stevie caught a whiff of his aftershave. Who wore aftershave on a spider hunt? She eyed the outline of the shadow, the shape of a very familiar hat. It couldn’t be. Her pulse did a nervous dance. Who wore a hat like that outside of a movie?
She turned her head to the side just a touch, just enough to make out a wide, cocky grin. “Heya, Sweetie,” it said.
Before she could grin back, before she could register her seizure of joy at seeing Weldon Marks, inter-dimensional exterminator, goof-off and totally delicious dork, the air erupted with a girlie squeal. For a moment, Stevie feared it had come from her, but her mouth hadn’t so much as twitched. Satisfied that she’d maintained her composure, she glanced to Joe. He squealed again.
“That’s a big spider,” Weldon said. “Want me to—”
“No!” Stevie watched the huge tarantula flex its legs and consider vanishing back into its burrow. She remembered how Weldon had dealt with the giant bedbug. Joe sat frozen. He inhaled, and she feared he’d start screaming again any second. Before he could, she slapped her deli cup down and managed to cover the startled arachnid. “Got it.”
“Nice.” Weldon let out a whistle. “Nice save.”
“Thanks.” She kept her eyes down until the heat left her cheeks. The cup’s lid waited by the stack, and she snagged it and gently slid the thin plastic under the spider, waiting for the tarantula to shift each leg onto the surface until it sat quite safely inside an inverted container.
“Aphonopelma chalcodes” Joe’s voice almost sounded male again. He straightened his spine, pressed his shoulders back and nearly fell over onto the cactus. Weldon put a hand on his back and helped him avoid the catastrophe, but he earned a scowl from Joe for his trouble. Stevie’s giggle probably didn’t help.
“Desert blonde.” She held up the cup and watched the two-toned spider explore the inside with its front legs.
“Pretty,” Weldon said. “What’cha gonna do with it?”
Stevie watched the spider and tried not to let her hands shake. Weldon Marks, damn. She’d never expected to see him again, hoped maybe, obsessed possibly, but never expected. She’d missed the asshole more than she’d ever suspected. The spider swiveled and checked the walls to all sides, trapped in a circle of plastic. Stevie frowned. She held the container out to Joe.
“You take her.”
His eyes widened. She could almost see him weighing his desire for the spider against his chances of scoring with her later. When he took the cup, she’d never been so happy to lose.
“You’re sure?” He didn’t even glance in her direction.
“Yeah. I’d have to ship her home anyway.” She didn’t add that she had to ship a box already, that the dealers’ rooms had turned up a few additions to her collection that wouldn’t pass the airline’s carry-on policy. She just stared at Weldon and let her grin loose at last.
“Thanks,” Joe mumbled. He faded into the background somewhere behind the way Weldon’s eyes flashed in amusement.
“What are you doing here?” Stevie shook her head. How the hell had he found her in the Arizona desert, in this Arizona desert?
“Duh.” He stood up and shrugged. “Looking for you.”
Stevie stood and brushed the dust from her jeans. Looking for her—she felt the blush again, turned her head away to catch Joe brandishing his new find for a growing crowd of admirers.
“Of course,” Weldon continued, “I didn’t expect to find you snuggled up to a spider hole with another man.”
“Snuggled?” She caught the flare of indignation and stifled it. “Joe hardly counts as another man.”
“So, I heard.” Weldon’s grin spread. He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head so that the hat cast his eyes back into shadow. He chuckled and looked at the group around her partner and the spider she’d caught. “That was some scream.”
He wore a leather vest over a dust-colored shirt. It matched the hat. Both looked like they’d been run over more than once. The only thing missing was the vacuum usually attached to his back.
Stevie sighed. “How did you get here, Weldon?”
“Drove.”
“You drove.”
“Yep.” He stretched, his elbows reaching back together and pushing his chest forward dramatically. “I’m in disguise.”
Uh oh. Stevie spun toward the top of the slope, where the convention vans had parked along the dirt access road. Sandwiched between the last two was a rusty rig. She cringed and scanned to either side. Had anyone seen it yet?
“Weldon,” she growled. “Tell me that isn’t what you drove.”
He froze mid-pose and stared at her. “Yeah. Why?”
“There’s a dead bug on top of it, Weldon.” Stevie eyed the upside down, plastic rendition of a giant, dead cockroach and sighed. “This is a spider enthusiast convention.”
“It’s not a spider.”
“Some of these people keep roaches.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him up the slope.
“This is the weirdest dimension. You know that?” He followed, but his reluctant steps dragged compared to her hustle.
“You need to get it out of here.”
“And here I was thinking you’d be happy to see me.” He stopped dead, and her grip on his arm slipped.
Stevie stumbled forward. “I am happy to see you.”
He crossed both arms over his chest and gave her a look.
“I am, Weldon. I’m thrilled to see you. I’m beside myself with joy to see you.” She sighed and watched him shift into posing mode again. “But you need to go.”
“What?” He followed her willingly to the side of the van, but he didn’t look happy about it at all. “I’m disguised as an exterminator,” he pouted.
“You are an exterminator.”
“Yeah, but I’m disguised as one here. Get it. It’s supposed to be funny.”
“It is funny, actually.”
“You’re not laughing.”
Stevie sagged against the van’s side and rolled her eyes at him.
“Are you really thrilled?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I need you.”
“What?”
“I need your help.” He circled to the back of the van and popped one door open. “On a job.”
“Oh.”
He peeked around the door at her, and she smiled and turned away. A few of the attendees clustering around Joe had noticed Weldon’s van. She saw at least one finger pointing in their direction.
“What do you say? Help me out?” His voice drifted over the clanking of whatever he rummaged with back there. She could guess. Infinite possibilities wandered through her mind’s eye. What tools did an exterminator with no dimensional boundaries require?
“Yeah. Sure.” She heard the door slam and the crunch of boots on dry scrub before he slid in between her and the van. Below them, the group’s attention shifted up the slope, to the giant plastic bug in permanent, legs-up slumber on his vehicle’s roof.
“Shall we?”
Stevie tore her gaze away from the frowns and found Weldon holding open the passenger door. If she drove away in that thing, they’d probably sack her room. The conference really had been a blast. It had just been a single dimension, nothing remotely alien, sort of adventure. She could have lived with that. She looked at Weldon. He tilted his head to the side and swept one hand out in a valiant, over-acted invitation to so much more.
“I have a suitcase full of my things back at the hotel,” she said.
“We can grab them on the way.”
“And I have to catch a flight tomorrow afternoon.”
He raised an eyebrow sharply and shook his head.
“Oh yeah. Right.”
“I can have you home by midnight.”
Earlier than she’d expected, but then, she imagined the time in between would be more eventful, more absolutely mind boggling, than whatever she’d have done here. Stevie nodded and stepped to the door. Helping him with a job was a start, and if she knew Weldon, he didn’t really need her. She’d guess he usually preferred to work alone. If she knew Weldon, but then, did she really? A few days alone in a hole with someone could be misleading.
“Hey, Sweetie?”
“Hmm?”
“Is that girlie man looking this way?”
She looked down the hill and nodded. They all were watching now.
“Good.”
“What?”
Weldon grabbed her. She squeaked and turned into the unexpected embrace. He kissed her, fast but firm and with a possessive edge that matched his grip on her shoulders. She remembered that kiss, and damned if he didn’t get it just right. When he let her go, her legs wobbled ever so slightly. She found the door, let him help her up into the cab and waited without saying a word while he shut the door and circled around the front of the vehicle.
So she’d miss the last day. She’d had some fun, bought some spiders...even caught one in the wild. What more could a girl expect from an ordinary, single-dimension adventure? She watched him climb into the driver’s seat, cocky, over-confident and with an unpredictable streak three times wider than his common sense. She had missed him.
“You ready to roll?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Stevie grinned and grabbed for her seat belt. She’d never been more ready for anything.
Shift Happens
Book One:
Book Two:
September 19, 2012
Running Up That Hill
If you read my blog remotely regularly, you'll have heard me singing the praises of the Espresso Book Machine. I love this thing, folks. Even more so because I have a few books in there. :)
So today when I found a tip on The Passive Voice, (the best, must read, publishing blog out there) I had to share it everywhere.
It seems my favorite little book spitter has signed a bigger and better deal and will soon be coming to a mall kiosk near you! Super squee....
The original post can be found here: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/09/13/print-on-demand-books-espresso_n_1882616.html?utm_hp_ref=books
It's on its way up. I knew it would catch fire eventually. In the meantime, I'll just hang back and do the happy, happy dance.
P.S. anyone know the musical reference in today's title?
I'll give you either a Space Slugs ebook or the scifi antho pdf if you can tell me. :)
~ Frances
So today when I found a tip on The Passive Voice, (the best, must read, publishing blog out there) I had to share it everywhere.
It seems my favorite little book spitter has signed a bigger and better deal and will soon be coming to a mall kiosk near you! Super squee....
The original post can be found here: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/09/13/print-on-demand-books-espresso_n_1882616.html?utm_hp_ref=books
It's on its way up. I knew it would catch fire eventually. In the meantime, I'll just hang back and do the happy, happy dance.
P.S. anyone know the musical reference in today's title?
I'll give you either a Space Slugs ebook or the scifi antho pdf if you can tell me. :)
~ Frances
September 16, 2012
Rechargeable
Why doesn't everything come with rechargeable batteries? Think about it. What's the point of still making all those disposable ones when we have the rechargeable kind all sorted out?
As a parent, I can tell you that batteries (the non-rechargeable kind) are one of the biggest scams in consumer history. I buy them by the vat, the bulk package these should last you a year at least quantity. We never have enough on hand. Ever. We never have the right kind on hand. Nothing the kids own comes with anything rechargeable. I don't even want to consider the dollar value to toy play time ratio.
It's pure, evil genius.
Today, you see, my batteries died. Not actual batteries, just mine specifically. I, apparently, don't come with rechargeable ones either. Go figure. I thought I could run on a steady supply of caffeine, chocolate and occasional reiki sessions. . . not so much.
(hey, it was worth a try)
Anyway, school started a week or so ago and I coach my seven year old son at home. His sister started pre-school at a co-op that includes parent time in the classroom. I'm not whining about that, I consider both to be awesome experiences. I also cherish the fact that I have so much time with them, that I have manuscripts to be written, things in edits, releases to market and a household to run.
Okay, the household bit is not on the top of my fun list, but I get that dishes and dusting and cooking are better than being homeless.
So all in all, I figure I have it pretty great. Usually, I manage the lot fairly easily and enjoy doing it. This week, however, we got smacked with the first seasonal virus. (The sick season gets longer every year, I swear) Anyway this one didn't seem to bad. A mild sinus thing. I can take it.
Except it knocked me flat. I just didn't get up today. I didn't cook anything. I didn't write anything. I didn't even really think about doing anything. I went to bed yesterday evening sometime, feeling relatively congested, tired and fairly grumpy, and I just. didn't. get. up.
My family, bless them, left me alone. They seem to have a super sensitive "mommy is broken" radar that my germ induced coma triggered. They didn't give their father a hard time either. (which would have led to waking mommy up, trust me.) They were good. Dad cooked.
I'm not kidding.
Yeah. I was shocked too. So, I slept. All. Day. I didn't feel blue or even terribly sick today. I think I slept through the worst of that bit. I just slept. Around dinner time I opened my eyes and thought about coming out. Then I rolled over and went back to bed. I got up about eight...pm.
The weirdest part is, I woke up with a ton of story ideas. New ideas. I have plot lines dancing in my head. Now, I used to get all my story ideas from dreams, but since I've been working series for awhile, that hasn't been as much of a factor. Also, I had children, which pretty much means giving up sleep, real sleep, for good. I catch as many hours as I can when I can, and I don't remember my dreams nearly as much as I did pre-maternity.
Today, it seems, they all came tumbling out. In fact, I'm kind of having trouble keeping up with them. Taking notes as I go. Wish me luck.
So now I'm thinking, maybe I do come with rechargeable batteries after all. Or maybe, I was just darn tired.
Whichever is the case, something got to working again while I was snoozing. Now if I can just catch it and pin it to paper....
~Frances
As a parent, I can tell you that batteries (the non-rechargeable kind) are one of the biggest scams in consumer history. I buy them by the vat, the bulk package these should last you a year at least quantity. We never have enough on hand. Ever. We never have the right kind on hand. Nothing the kids own comes with anything rechargeable. I don't even want to consider the dollar value to toy play time ratio.
It's pure, evil genius.
Today, you see, my batteries died. Not actual batteries, just mine specifically. I, apparently, don't come with rechargeable ones either. Go figure. I thought I could run on a steady supply of caffeine, chocolate and occasional reiki sessions. . . not so much.
(hey, it was worth a try)
Anyway, school started a week or so ago and I coach my seven year old son at home. His sister started pre-school at a co-op that includes parent time in the classroom. I'm not whining about that, I consider both to be awesome experiences. I also cherish the fact that I have so much time with them, that I have manuscripts to be written, things in edits, releases to market and a household to run.
Okay, the household bit is not on the top of my fun list, but I get that dishes and dusting and cooking are better than being homeless.
So all in all, I figure I have it pretty great. Usually, I manage the lot fairly easily and enjoy doing it. This week, however, we got smacked with the first seasonal virus. (The sick season gets longer every year, I swear) Anyway this one didn't seem to bad. A mild sinus thing. I can take it.
Except it knocked me flat. I just didn't get up today. I didn't cook anything. I didn't write anything. I didn't even really think about doing anything. I went to bed yesterday evening sometime, feeling relatively congested, tired and fairly grumpy, and I just. didn't. get. up.
My family, bless them, left me alone. They seem to have a super sensitive "mommy is broken" radar that my germ induced coma triggered. They didn't give their father a hard time either. (which would have led to waking mommy up, trust me.) They were good. Dad cooked.
I'm not kidding.
Yeah. I was shocked too. So, I slept. All. Day. I didn't feel blue or even terribly sick today. I think I slept through the worst of that bit. I just slept. Around dinner time I opened my eyes and thought about coming out. Then I rolled over and went back to bed. I got up about eight...pm.
The weirdest part is, I woke up with a ton of story ideas. New ideas. I have plot lines dancing in my head. Now, I used to get all my story ideas from dreams, but since I've been working series for awhile, that hasn't been as much of a factor. Also, I had children, which pretty much means giving up sleep, real sleep, for good. I catch as many hours as I can when I can, and I don't remember my dreams nearly as much as I did pre-maternity.
Today, it seems, they all came tumbling out. In fact, I'm kind of having trouble keeping up with them. Taking notes as I go. Wish me luck.
So now I'm thinking, maybe I do come with rechargeable batteries after all. Or maybe, I was just darn tired.
Whichever is the case, something got to working again while I was snoozing. Now if I can just catch it and pin it to paper....
~Frances
September 7, 2012
This. Is. Awesome.
Okay, I got up early today, and not by choice.
dogs. kids. husbands. Take your pick.
Let's just say I'm not a sparkly happy morning person. I meant to blog about writerly news today, but as I limped, groaning like a Bantha to my computer and started poking around, I found THIS
This. Is. Awesome. I mean.....I mean...(chanelling Arlo Guthrey here) I mean, Geek Bras.
My day is looking better already.
(Dear Santa, I would look even better if that Star Trek bra ended up in my stocking this year. Just saying.)
So. I can't really top that, but at least I'm smiling now. :D
That's me smiling.
On the news front:
A new Slug Opera episode is up and running. Sorry it's late.
And I have a shiny new cover for my next release. Book Three in the Shift Happens series.
see below. (still smiling) And don't forget to sign up for the newsletter if you want all the cover releases and news to come to you. (very rarely, I swear. No spam.)
"Beam me some coffee and a Star Trek bra!"
Make is so,
~Frances
dogs. kids. husbands. Take your pick.
Let's just say I'm not a sparkly happy morning person. I meant to blog about writerly news today, but as I limped, groaning like a Bantha to my computer and started poking around, I found THIS
This. Is. Awesome. I mean.....I mean...(chanelling Arlo Guthrey here) I mean, Geek Bras.
My day is looking better already.
(Dear Santa, I would look even better if that Star Trek bra ended up in my stocking this year. Just saying.)
So. I can't really top that, but at least I'm smiling now. :D
That's me smiling.
On the news front:
A new Slug Opera episode is up and running. Sorry it's late.
And I have a shiny new cover for my next release. Book Three in the Shift Happens series.
see below. (still smiling) And don't forget to sign up for the newsletter if you want all the cover releases and news to come to you. (very rarely, I swear. No spam.)
"Beam me some coffee and a Star Trek bra!"
Make is so,
~Frances
August 28, 2012
Celebrate the Small Things
Size matters. It does. In speculative fiction, in any fiction, it can change everything.
Writing a novel is almost nothing like writing a short story. They are cousins, yes, but they have different rules, different structures, needs, formats, markets and nuances that make it complicated at best to switch from one to the other.
Authors will tell you if they are a "short story person" or not. They'll have strong opinions one way or another. Then again, they usually do. Some will insist that you must choose only one. They'll want you to pick sides, which we all know from my chronic genre hopping that I am unwilling to do.
You can't make me.
I usually have strong opinions too. I am an author after all. For the short story and the novel, I like to think I have equal affection. In fact, I think a strong skill set in short writing is a fabulous exercise for improving one's writing of any length. The short story is the dressage of the literary world. It makes us flexible, bendy, and teaches us to tighten, tighten, tighten.
A marathon short story writer will be as taut and well muscled as an Olympic dressage horse. He has trained you see. He knows that every word, every syllable must carry its own weight. It must "do" something. A short story background involves word limits. (The novelist in the room, just passed out.) Limits, yes. It involves trimming the fat. Cutting and cutting and then once you've axed your masterpiece to death and squeezed in just under the editorial limit, getting a friendly email requesting you just "trim it another five hundred words or so."
Never is an author more understanding of the art of storytelling, than when he deletes half of his words and discovers that the tale still works. . . sometimes, works even better.
I love shorts. I love to read them too. My husband detests them. His response is always, always the same, "That's it?" My best friend agrees with him. Her rote answer is usually, "What happens next?"
But I like a little mystery in my fiction, even at the very end. I love the story, The Lady and the Tiger. I don't care which door the author thought his heroine picked for her hero, I KNOW she let him get eaten by that tiger. :)
As a reader, I like having that power there at the end. I can decide what happens next. You don't have to tell me everything. As an author, I love a short. I love a novel too, but today is short day, and in celebration I am giving away copies of my collection, A Little Short For An Alien, in which you will find less literary ladies and tigers and more goofy aliens and space bars. But I still hope you enjoy it. It's fun, at the very least.
Just leave a comment below to qualify and then get me your email. You may leave it in the comments or email it to: author@francespauli.com I will send out smashwords codes for the book, and if you like it, or if you don't but are a sucker for punishment, sign up for my newsletter in the sidebar.
And a huge welcome to all the Genre Underground folks! Check them out at:
Twitter: @GenreUndergroun• Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TheGenreUnderground• Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/group/show/70802• www.genreunderground.com – Interviews, blog posts, and announcements.
*making guinea pig noises*
~ Frances
Writing a novel is almost nothing like writing a short story. They are cousins, yes, but they have different rules, different structures, needs, formats, markets and nuances that make it complicated at best to switch from one to the other.
Authors will tell you if they are a "short story person" or not. They'll have strong opinions one way or another. Then again, they usually do. Some will insist that you must choose only one. They'll want you to pick sides, which we all know from my chronic genre hopping that I am unwilling to do.
You can't make me.
I usually have strong opinions too. I am an author after all. For the short story and the novel, I like to think I have equal affection. In fact, I think a strong skill set in short writing is a fabulous exercise for improving one's writing of any length. The short story is the dressage of the literary world. It makes us flexible, bendy, and teaches us to tighten, tighten, tighten.
A marathon short story writer will be as taut and well muscled as an Olympic dressage horse. He has trained you see. He knows that every word, every syllable must carry its own weight. It must "do" something. A short story background involves word limits. (The novelist in the room, just passed out.) Limits, yes. It involves trimming the fat. Cutting and cutting and then once you've axed your masterpiece to death and squeezed in just under the editorial limit, getting a friendly email requesting you just "trim it another five hundred words or so."
Never is an author more understanding of the art of storytelling, than when he deletes half of his words and discovers that the tale still works. . . sometimes, works even better.
I love shorts. I love to read them too. My husband detests them. His response is always, always the same, "That's it?" My best friend agrees with him. Her rote answer is usually, "What happens next?"
But I like a little mystery in my fiction, even at the very end. I love the story, The Lady and the Tiger. I don't care which door the author thought his heroine picked for her hero, I KNOW she let him get eaten by that tiger. :)
As a reader, I like having that power there at the end. I can decide what happens next. You don't have to tell me everything. As an author, I love a short. I love a novel too, but today is short day, and in celebration I am giving away copies of my collection, A Little Short For An Alien, in which you will find less literary ladies and tigers and more goofy aliens and space bars. But I still hope you enjoy it. It's fun, at the very least.
Just leave a comment below to qualify and then get me your email. You may leave it in the comments or email it to: author@francespauli.com I will send out smashwords codes for the book, and if you like it, or if you don't but are a sucker for punishment, sign up for my newsletter in the sidebar.And a huge welcome to all the Genre Underground folks! Check them out at:
Twitter: @GenreUndergroun• Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TheGenreUnderground• Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/group/show/70802• www.genreunderground.com – Interviews, blog posts, and announcements.
*making guinea pig noises*
~ Frances
August 15, 2012
Mercenary Romance Release Day
Amanda’s one fired-up mercenary, but the truth about her new commander just might be too hot for her to handle.
It's Release Day!!!
Man on Fire
When Amanda’s unit is assigned to a brand new base at the edge of company territory, she thinks she’s ready for anything until she wakes from cryo-sleep and finds that their new leader is far more than she expected. Mercenaries don’t have time for the feelings Commander Wells stirs in her and none of her training could prepare her for the instant heat between them. When the big brass orders her to spy on him, Amanda’s sense of duty takes her personal desires to task. Wells is keeping secrets, he’s behaving in unusual ways and suddenly Amanda has more to worry about than a few sparks. If the man she wants isn’t who she thinks he is, will the truth be too hot for her to handle?
Win a copy
I have a pdf copy to give-away to one commenter. Just post below and answer this question. I'll draw a winner from the correct responses.
"Man on Fire is published by Extasy books. It is set in the same world and features the same mercenary corporation that Roarke does. Who is listed as the publisher of Roarke?"
thanks everyone! Good luck!
It's Release Day!!!
Man on Fire
When Amanda’s unit is assigned to a brand new base at the edge of company territory, she thinks she’s ready for anything until she wakes from cryo-sleep and finds that their new leader is far more than she expected. Mercenaries don’t have time for the feelings Commander Wells stirs in her and none of her training could prepare her for the instant heat between them. When the big brass orders her to spy on him, Amanda’s sense of duty takes her personal desires to task. Wells is keeping secrets, he’s behaving in unusual ways and suddenly Amanda has more to worry about than a few sparks. If the man she wants isn’t who she thinks he is, will the truth be too hot for her to handle?
Win a copy
I have a pdf copy to give-away to one commenter. Just post below and answer this question. I'll draw a winner from the correct responses.
"Man on Fire is published by Extasy books. It is set in the same world and features the same mercenary corporation that Roarke does. Who is listed as the publisher of Roarke?"
thanks everyone! Good luck!
