Frances Pauli's Blog, page 8

Embrace the Mystery Tour

COVER BLURB:Mastyr Quinlan pursues the artist, Batya, with only one thing in mind but soon discovers that his desire for her is just the beginning of an earth-shattering affair…He doesn’t want a woman in his life…Quinlan must keep Grochaire Realm safe from the enemy at all costs.  As ruler of his realm, a woman has no permanent place in his day-to-day existence. But when his lust takes him to Batya’s bedroom, he soon discovers he’s deep into a powerful experience that threatens to blow his life apart.  He wants Batya with a feverish desire that makes no sense in his logical, warrior world.  But when an ancient fae attacks Batya’s gallery, he launches into protector mode and soon finds himself embroiled -- body, soul, and fangs -- with a woman he’d only meant to bed a couple of times.  She has no desire to get involved with a mastyr vampire…Batya’s intense desire for Mastyr Quinlan stuns and baffles her.  She doesn’t want to be involved with the vampire on any level.  His sole focus of ruling Grochaire Realm has kept him from staying with one woman longer than the proud length of his fangs.  Besides, she’s built a life for herself in Lebanon, Tennessee as an artist and healer to the realm ex-patriot community. But when the ancient fae attacks Quinlan at her gallery, then attempts to kidnap her assistant, Batya finds herself catapulted into an astonishing adventure.  Even so, she works steadily to get back to her free-clinic and her painting, but how can she leave Quinlan behind when he’s commanded her like no other man ever has?READ MORE:…http://www.carisroane.com/3-embrace-the-mystery/ 
BIO:I confess I've had a love affaire with vampires for several years now, especially warrior vampires, the kind found in the books of Sherrilyn Kenyon, Lara Adrian and JR Ward. Though I've been published in Regency Romance under the pseudonym Valerie King--and yes one of my Regency Novellas features a vampire--one day I woke up knowing I had to create my own contemporary world of the warrior vampire.For some mystical, magical reason, early in the process, my vampires appeared with enormous beautiful wings and it has been the most amazing experience to include flight in my novels, in both battle scenes and scenes involving spectacle. My special vampire world, published by St. Martin's Press, is introduced in the first book called, ASCENSION (12-28-2010). The second book, BURNING SKIES (May of 2011), opens up the world a little bit more. And even as I write this, I'm on the final draft of my third novel, WINGS OF FIRE (September of 2011). What a thrill it has been to live with my ascended vampires through the creation of this extraordinary, multi-dimensional world!For more information about my unique take on the vampire mythos, check out my website at carisroane.com and my book release video on YouTube by putting in the search phrase, Caris Roane Ascension.
SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS:Website:  http://www.carisroane.com/Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/caris.roaneT...  https://twitter.com/carisroaneGoodreads:  http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/...EXCERPT:From Chapter Two: Mastyr Quinlan, having survived an enemy attack because Batya healed him, has to brush out his long warrior hair. Batya helps him out…Quinlan showered, washing out the mass of his hair twice then applying Batya’s crème rinse until he’d have a half-way decent shot at getting the snarls out with a brush.Using her blow dryer, he scowled as he watched his damn hair fly around. Why couldn’t a vampire, especially a Guardsman, have some kind of preternatural power to remove snarls and dry his hair without electricity?“Want some coffee with your ‘shits’ and ‘damn-all-the-elf-lords-to-hell-and-back’?” He met Batya’s reflection in the mirror, and saw a mug extended in his direction.He shut the dryer off, turned around, and took the cup. “That bad, huh?”Batya chuckled. She had dimples, two of them. Not deep, but they were definitely there, beside her mouth. He’d never noticed before, but then most of his seduction work had taken place at a distance.“Turn around. I’ll work the back section.”He didn’t hesitate, something that resonated deep in his brain as a serious warning of some kind, but he wasn’t sure in what way. She picked up the brush he’d been using and started at the tips. He couldn’t even feel the tugs so he drank his coffee and released a sigh. His thoughts turned to Grochaire, the realm he ruled. “I need to get word to my Guard, to warn them about what they’re up against. But my telepathy isn’t working through your shield and my phone got blasted by one of those wraith-pairs.”“You can try my phone, but I can’t guarantee you’ll get through, not with the shield I have in place. Sorry, but staying alive has a priority here.”He smiled because he couldn’t have agreed with her more.She brushed through a long length, hit a snag and started working it. He could see her in the mirror, brow furrowed. He’d seen that look already, more than once just conversing with her. She had a seriousness about her that he approved of, maybe because it matched his own. He sipped some more and watched her. She was a beautiful woman and tall, maybe just under six feet. He wouldn’t have to lean too far down to pull her into his arms and kiss her. She wore her hair loose with clips holding it away from her face.  She had strong cheekbones and a straight nose. Her chin was definitely fae, more pointed than a human’s would be, but exquisite.  He knew her ancestry, half-fae, half-troll, her genetics having fallen on the fae side. Realm-DNA did that when the species mixed. The offspring landed one way or another, the same if more than two lines made up the code. Genetics always picked a lane. He realized that he liked her looks, really liked them. “Have you ever done a self-portrait?”She picked up another long hunk of his hair and once more started at the tips, working swiftly. “I don’t really do faces. I’ve always been into landscapes and the occasional still-life if the objects intrigue me enough.”“Do you go out, snap photos of woodlands, that kind of thing?”“Sometimes.” She stopped brushing and scratched her cheek with her thumb. “But more often than not I’ll get these rich images in my head and that’s what I’ll paint.”“Sounds fae.” She started brushing again, making quick work as he sipped his coffee. “Maybe. Probably. I don’t think about it. I just paint and let the spirit move me.”He smiled. “The spirit, huh?”“It’s a good earth-saying, don’t you think?”“I suppose it is. So you like being here on human earth?”“I do. In fact, I love it. I didn’t know what happiness or freedom was until I moved here.” She met his gaze in the mirror. “And I don’t plan on ever returning to the Nine Realms. The day that we made our treaties with the US, turned out to be the best day of my life…”GIVEAWAY:   signed copy of BORN IN CHAINS, e-copies of EMBRACE THE DARK, EMBRACE THE MAGIC, and EMBRACE THE MYSTERY, small tote, notepad, versatile calendar, sticky notes, and RTC cards!!!  International winner receives gift card compensation!!!
a Rafflecopter giveaway

The Shrouded Princes Are Coming...

The Princes of the Shroud Series...I am gearing up for the release of Shrouded, book one in the Princes of the Shroud series, and along the way to the release date (Nov. 21) there are lots of things going on. We like lots of things going on. First up, Zharmae Books has organized a cover reveal and blog tour. So, I'm posting various links below along with book info, and other pretties. :)
 
Bring on the pretties!
My cover artist for the series is an amazing and talented artist called, Igor Vitkovskiy. Check out some of his badass art here: http://www.artistmef.co/

There are various cover reveal events going on as well. Most of which are announced via the Zharmae Facebook page. And you can find one on my awesome editor's blog here:    http://daniellecromero.blogspot.com/2013/11/cover-reveal-shrouded-by-frances-pauli.html
While you are there be sure to enter the GIVEAWAY for a chance at a free copy of the book.

Tour info will also pop up there.

SHROUDED
book one
Princes of the Shroud series
by Frances Pauli
Zharmae Books
Releasing: Nov. 21, 2013

Blurb:

Vashia’s father is the planetary governor. Unfortunately, he’s also a complete bastard. When he promises her to his lackey, Jarn, she panics. On the run in the nastiest corner of the galaxy, Vashia seizes her one chance at escape and signs on as a bride candidate for the elusive race of aliens known as the Shrouded, unaware that she very well may be chosen as the next Queen of Shroud

Of the seven, volatile Shrouded princes, Dolfan may be the only one that doesn't covet the throne. So the last thing he expects to find in the future queen is the woman of his dreams. If he wants Vashia, he must accept the throne as well. Unfortunately, his long-time rival has the same idea. Now, only the planet’s sacred crystal can decide their fates, but what happens when the right woman is paired with the wrong man? And when Jarn comes after what was promised to him?

Demons of Oblivion Tour

One of my favorite people is on tour this week. No, it's not David Bowie, but then, I wouldn't be here, would I? I'd be sleeping in a line somewhere...possibly braless. This is better because I get to be warm, drink coffee and keep my clothes on. Trust me. :)

Anyone who knows me or follows the blog will not be surprised at how much I love my former editor/always friend, Skyla Dawn Cameron. She is also an amazingly talented writer. . . to the point that reading her words makes me get all weepy about how badly I still suck. Amazing. Writer.

And for her tour duration Bloodlines will be free (Oct. 28-31) Go ahead and go snatch a copy and we'll wait here. Then come back and read about the rest of the books, the tour and a crazy-fierce, awesome excerpt.

Demons of Oblivion TourSkyla Dawn Cameron
If you're in her way, it sucks to be you.
After three hundred years of unlife, narcissistic vampire Zara Lain has seemingly done it all, and she's now making a living as a successful thief-turned-assassin. Her newest assignment seems simple enough: kill the aging leader of the O'Connor coven and his only heir, and she'll have another ten million in the bank.
But in the dangerous world of the supernatural, few things are ever “simple.”
When a massive assault decimates the continent's population of powerful witches and warlocks, and its orchestrator has vampires being hunted down and captured, Zara realizes the tables have turned and now she'll be playing the hero. Forced to join with a smart-mouthed fellow vampire, a demonologist who's also a fan of hers, a recently widowed—and frequently brooding—warlock, and her best friend's mom, Zara's grudgingly willing to do what she can to save the day.
If only people would stop ruining all her outfits...

An excerpt from Bloodlines...
“Tea and hugs later, girls—like maybe when we’re not about to be attacked.”An irritated sigh. “Top shelf, green binding, and in the corner—got it. I have a disposable cell; I’ll call in a few days.” The chair creaked as Nate rose and returned the phone to its cradle, then he joined me at the window.“He recommended a book for us?” I peered between the space in the curtains, acutely aware of Nate right there, warm, breathing, and smelling of faintly of wintery soap and a spicy aftershave over my shoulder.“Mmm-hmm.”I glanced back and up; he looked out the window instead of at me. “‘Mmm-hmm?’ Well, what’s it say? Does it have our demons in it?”“It’s a book on vampires. Killing them with magic, specifically.”I opened my mouth to snark about how we weren’t dealing with vampires, then caught his drift. Oh, I see what you did there. The prick. “Aww, you wouldn’t kill me, Nate.”“It’s crossed my mind, if only for the blessed silence it would bring.”“Nope.” I batted my eyelashes dramatically. “I’m just too pretty.”His gaze shifted to look down at me, blue moonlight etching the strong lines of his face. Tension simmered in the air and a little chill walked my spine. One of his dark brown brows rose skeptically.“Constantly disagreeing with me on this point would probably hurt my feelings if I had any.”A slight shake of his head and he glanced back at our guests outside. “I take it we were being followed?”I sighed and returned to business as well. “So it would seem.”One of our guests disappeared from view, toward the front of the house; the second started trying the back lower windows. Shapes moved across the field in the distance—yet another approaching Peter’s house/shop.I scanned the desk, spotted a heavy metal letter opener with a sharp point. That would do. My gun went back to the holster at my waist and I snatched up the letter opener instead. “I’m about to get bossy again.”“I’ll grab the book on vampire killing then.”“Position yourself so you can see the staircase we came up—I left the door open and I bet they’ll go there first. Shoot anything that comes through there...unless it’s me, obviously.” I unlatched the window and eased it open.“And what are you going to do?”“Take them out one by one,” I whispered. “Stylishly, of course.” I got a good grasp on the letter opener, aimed it at the third man in the field, and whipped the weapon straight at him.It sailed through the air and pierced his forehead, plunging directly into his brain. He fell to the ground without making a sound.I slipped off my jacket and handed it to Nate.“Stealthy kills,” I responded to his unasked question. “Coat will get in the way.”I pulled out the combat knife tucked in my belt—a beauty with a double sided blade—noiselessly hopped onto the windowsill, and crouched down to fit in the frame.Shit, Nate was still standing there—I gave a quick, irritated gesture toward the door. He nodded, but sent one lingering glance in my direction. Probably just to drive home the you’re not the boss of me thing. Men are such babies.My target wandered along the rear of the house. Closer and closer. He stopped at the window directly below the one where I crouched. As he leaned forward to peer through the glass, I dropped off the ledge.I landed on his shoulders. A flash of movement under me—body tensing, hands rising to reach for me—and I put one hand over his mouth, then slammed my knife into his throat. Hot blood spurted past my fingers. I gave the blade a swift twist, opening the wound further and ensuring his death, then I wrenched the knife out and flipped off of him. He collapsed into a heap.I cleaned the blood from the blade on the fallen man’s shirt—and wiped my fingers off too—tucked the knife back in the sheath at my belt, then looked around. No sign of others, so that meant there was probably just the guy at the front.The one at my feet went down quickly, too. I eyed the body but nope, this weeble definitely wobbled and fell down. And wasn’t getting up again. So, humans. And given the black ops clothing deal they had going on, I’d take a shot in the dark and guess they weren’t carrying ID.Right, so the other guy had to be on the other side of the house. Maybe we could catch and interrogate him. Rather than go around the building, I took a run and leapt onto the roof. The tiles were rough and chipped beneath my feet; the soles of my boots scraped, so I slowed to a crawl. Just as I was inching along the slope, a rumbling in the distance signaled approaching vehicles on the road. Two police cars sped down the sleepy street and pulled up in front of the shop. Great, so someone probably saw us break in. Stupid, nosy locals...I hated when mortals got involved in supernatural situations. They almost always got themselves killed. Dead mortals didn’t really keep me up at night, but more importantly, most of us on the supernatural side tried to keep a low profile. Let’s face it: TV shows about humans learning the monsters of myth are real never end well for the monsters. Cops showing up while I was trying to kill some people would certainly risk exposure. Then Hunters would inevitably hear about it, and on top of everything else going on, I’d have them to deal with. Fuckity-fuck.As the police were exiting their vehicles, gunfire sounded in the building below me. The cops ducked behind their cars, drew their guns, and started firing blindly into the second floor.A shootout. Just what I need—fucking Wild West going down in a demonology bookstore.I pivoted on one foot and raced back to the rear of the house, heart hammering, no longer caring how much damn noise I made. My fingers locked on the edge of the roof and I jumped, twisted midair, and swung into the open window I’d left from.Bullets tore through the space, ripping through walls; bits of plaster flew, a fine dust spitting from holes and clogging the air. I rolled across the floor, glanced up, and scanned the room. Near the door the final man lay dead, bloodied from the numerous holes in his torso.A loud, but slowing heartbeat caught my attention. I gave the room another once over. Where was Nate?Movement just beyond a stack of books—feet.Ah, shit. I dashed forward, still half crouched, crept around the books splattered with blood, and knelt at his side.A low hiss left my lips. “Nate!”He didn’t respond. Then my gaze travelled over him, down, and stopped where his hands gripped his stomach, blood seeping over his fingers.




Coming Soon:



I'll have a double serving of awesome with awesome sauce, please! ~Frances

Circus Blog Tour with Voss Foster

Today's guest author is the very talented, Voss Foster, who is taking us on a circus tour through his new release, Zirkua Fantastic. If you want to follow the tour, I will post links to the other "acts" below. 
Welcome Voss!

If there's a single symbol that I would say represents Zirkua Fantastic, I'd go with the mask. It's very easily the most important, and the most universal, symbol in the world, and definitely in the storyline.
The mask is something a bit different. It's a compilation of different things, all piled together to form something new.
The mask design that appears more often than not in the pages of Zirkua is a long nosed mask that stops before the mouth. Those masks have a very long history in carnivals and celebrations, from the old Italian carnivals up into modern-day Mardi Gras festivals.
But there was another reason I wanted the long-nosed mask. In the days of the Black Plague, doctors would wear masks with very pronounced noses, which they would fill with flowers in the belief that blocking the scent would protect them from the illness. Sure, not sound science, in the slightest, but the plague doctor mask was such an intense symbol related to the Black Death, to all that tragedy, that I wanted to include it.
BLURB:

Zirkua Fantastic has been steadily running since 1753, amazing its
patrons with acts of otherworldly skill and prowess. But that talentcomes at a steep price: each artist must give a year of his or herlife to the circus. None of them know why, only that the circus'owners will go to whatever lengths are necessary to ensure it. Toby,the hoop dancer at Zirkua Fantastic and son of one of the owners, iscontent with his life: he enjoys performing and Zirkua's wanderinglife, and even has a boyfriend among the circus' hawkers. But when anew artist arrives, bringing with him a strange flask and a number ofodd occurrences, Toby falls face-first into the truth behind thecircus: Its contracts bind King Jester, the immortal embodiment ofchaos.
Zirkua's performances and contracts have held King Jester prisoner forcenturies, but now something's amiss. King Jester's sister, Dragon,has escaped her own bonds and is working to free her brother, and hispower is growing. If he is loosed on the world, it will mean the worstwar in human history and the end of civilization... unless ZirkuaFantastic can find a way to stop him.
Excerpt:As the caravan rambled down the interstate, Tobias rolled onto his side. The prop wagon wasn't the most comfortable. He'd have to opt out of practice to sleep once they got the tent up. No hope for that here.
He tossed aside the air silk he'd been using as a blanket and sat up, looking around, listening to the truck's tires thud across potholes and cracked pavement. He checked the straps holding the crates, tightened one that had loosened on the drive. "Crap." If one came loose, others could, too. He pushed himself off his stack of crates and toppled when they hit a particularly nasty bump. "When was the last time they fixed up this road?" He dragged himself up and stumbled toward the rear door of the truck, cranking straps tighter as he went. Once he got used to the movement, he sped up, tightening down all the cargo in fifteen or twenty minutes. Only the first strap had come loose.
Wood scraped against wood. His heart beat faster, breath catching. He scanned through the truck. Nothing had moved, to his eye. "Just another bump." Palm pressed to his chest, he tried to force his heartbeat back down to something normal. "Nothing to worry about."
He sat back on his crates and wrapped himself in the air silk. Sleeping or not, he needed a barrier against the cold and, though he would never admit it, it left him feeling safer, more protected against whatever probably wasn't in the truck with him. He scanned the boxes a final time, just in case he had missed something.
Still nothing out of place. Not that Tobias could see much in the dark. He tossed the silk over his head and lay down on the crates, desperate for some semblance of sleep. He sucked in a deep breath. The silk smelled like tobacco.
He heard some kind of rustling and flipped the silk back over his head. Cerulean eyes filled his gaze. The familiar, heady scent rushed into his nostrils. "Marley."
"You sound surprised."
"A little." Marley lifted the silk and climbed in next to Toby, snuggling up so close his scent filled the cocoon. Nice to have you here. "I mean, this is an artist's wagon. It's not really the sort of thing you do."
He chuckled, hot breath cascading over Toby's back. "That's not quite true." He kissed Toby's neck, sending a chill racing along the corded muscles. "I end up in the prop wagon most nights."
"Do you?" He did his best to sound unfazed. In reality, he fought back warm, nervous laughter. "I'd think I would have noticed."
"Well, you did this time."
"So I did." Toby scooted closer, relishing in Marley's warmth. "And I'm very happy about it." He leaned his head against Marley's chest. The slight movement of the fabric wafted more of the intoxicating perfume into the space. "How much longer 'til we get to the next town, you think?"
"I'd give it an hour. Maybe a little more. If I'm any good at guessing distance." Marley pulled Tobias even closer. "You need to get some sleep, babe."
"Not if it's only an hour." He turned over and nuzzled into Marley's shirt, staring up into bright blue eyes. "I'd still be completely useless with only an hour's sleep." He yawned, and then slapped Marley across the arm. "Stop being so damn warm." The end of the sentence got muddled by a second, gaping yawn. "It's like sleeping with a space heater."
"You can't blame me for being hot. In fact, I remember you thanking me profusely on more than one occasion for it."
"Well, it's not very helpful when I'm trying to stay awake."
Marley chuckled. "Then get off."
He nestled closer in response, muttering into Marley's chest. "It's not that unbearable."
Marley wriggled his hand under Toby's chin, lifted his face, kissed him. "I figured that much."

http://www.prizmbooks.com/zencart/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=1&products_id=75

TOUR STOPS AND SCHEDULE


Voss Foster: http://vossfoster.blogspot.comIyana Jenna: http://iyanajenna.blogspot.com/Jaleta Clegg: http://jaletaclegg.blogspot.com/S. Evan Townsend: http://sevantownsend.blogspot.com/Prizm Books: http://prizmbooks.blogspot.com/Cathy Hird: http://openonemore.com/Frances Pauli: http://francespauli.blogspot.com

If You Like...

The awesome folks over at the SFR Brigade have come up with another wicked multi-blog event. This time around, we are listing our, if you like X then check out Y, reading recommendations. Check out my list below, and hop on over to the SFR Brigade as well and see what books the rest of the crew is shouting about!

IF YOU LIKE...

I have read all of the books I'm recommending below, and I wrote one of them. Sorry, had to put at least one of mine it. Still, I stand by all of them. Good reads from some of my favorite authors...and this one chick who's okay I guess. :)

If you liked Grimspace by Anna Aguire, check out Nexus Point by Jaleta Clegg. 
Okay, you guys have heard me rave about these books before, but there are six out now and as much as I loved them all, I LOVE BOOK SIX.
Similarities between the two: good gritty backdrop, detailed world, super fast-paced with lots of alien action.

If you liked Space by James Michener, or anything by Larry Niven, read Rock Killer, by S. Evan Townsend. 
This one kept me up all night.
Similarities: multi-threaded plot, nicely woven together, hard tech scifi, multiple povs.

If you liked C.J. Barry's Unmasked, Unearthed Unetc. series, read Shrouded by Frances Pauli. 
First book in a romantic science fiction series. (COMING IN NOVEMBER)
Similarities: broad universe following a different protagonist and love interest in each book.

If you liked Lois McMaster Bujold's Vorkosigan Saga, read Sins of the Father by Christopher Kellen.
Similarities: fast paced, military scifi, high tech, action/thriller.

Excerpt from the Science Fiction Romance Corner

This week's excerpt is from SEEN, the work in progress if you believe my fancy little widget in the sidebar. The first book in the Princes of the Shroud series is due out in November and this bit is from book two.

While you're here, make sure you click on the SFR icon above and hop over to check out the rest of the authors participating in the snippet fest. :) There are some really amazing excerpts being posted from the group!

~ Frances

From SEEN, Princes of the Shroud, book two:

He waved Jadyek into the prison, into the dark hall and the lights that he wouldn’t need once the Heartstone glowed for them again. “Mantil will show you down.”“Thank you.” He didn’t want the escort, but he’d take it. He followed Mantil into the hall and didn’t flinch when the heavy doors shut behind them. The lights flared at their passing, the walls gleamed and whispered to him, and the elevator waited. The Heartstone called Jadyek, down, down, down, and he didn’t need to fit in any longer. He didn’t care if he ever belonged on the Council, if they ever wanted him.He belonged here, or anywhere else, so long as he was with his bonded. They reached the lift. Mantil paused before pressing the controls. He looked at Jadyek for instructions. So easy, to just slip in. It had to be fate. “The lowest floor,” he said.
The lowest. The dark of the core, the light of the Heart and the man whose smile Jadyek would brave anything for. 
Read more excerpts on the SFRBrigade Presents!

They're Heeeerrrrrreeee!

No, not the ghosts in your television, though perhaps an equally frightening group. It is, as many of you know, THAT time again. Time for the nanowrimo disciples to crawl from their dark, caffeine-infested burrows and go on their annual word-slinging rampage.


See what I mean? Does it look like she's about to stab out his eyes with that pencil, or is it just me? This is their secret membership badge, and you can find them by it, if you know where to look. They might, however, try to cleverly disguise themselves to avoid detection. In that case, I'll give you a few tips for ferreting out the culprits.

First, look here: http://nanowrimo.org

(Okay, that's a little too easy)

Next, be on the alert for the following signs:

An inexplicable twitchiness and general sense of excitement for no apparent reason.
Flinching whenever you say the word, NOVEMBER
Panicky scribbling on yellow pads of paper...upon further examination the scrawlings are a very complicated and poorly understood branch of mathematics known as: The Word Count Equation, or Literary Efficiency Theorem.
Sporatic, maniacal laughter punctuated by fits of weeping.
The sudden appearance of novelty items bearing the word: Author, Wordsmith, or "WINNER"


If you suspect that your friend or family member may in fact be suffering from Nanowrimo, there are a few, sure-fire tests:

-Casually mention that you saw a plot bunny dart under the front porch and then watch carefully for their reaction.

-Poke suspect with a fork. Do they immediately begin to scribble words on paper?

-Paste a sign on the bathroom mirror that says, 2 more days til Nov. 1st. Wait.

-Hide the coffee. If they produce more, hide that too.

-Announce that you are going on vacation in November and they will be required to: watch your kids, do your job, keep the house clean or anything else that will take up large chunks of their time.
(wear protective clothing)

If any of the above cause severe agitation, aggression, depression, violence or a visible rash...you have one in your midst! Immediately rush to http://nanowrimo.org and join them.

There is no beating them.

~Frances

SFR Brigade Presents

Well this week I thought I'd post an excerpt from the sequel to Shrouded. This is from, Seen, book two in the Princes of the Shroud series.
:)


“I volunteer!” She shouted it, but her voice crackled. Her throat had dried up on her, and she wet her lips and tried again. “I volunteer, Senior. I have seen it!”No one chimed then, nor did they whisper. Only Mirau gave a tiny sob beside her. Omira nodded again, but even her controlled expression wavered and grew sorrowful. Her voice held, however, and they all heard the answer. A few echoed the words.
“That which is seen must come to pass.”

Sympathy for the Devil: Fanfiction

"You almost made me fanfic," I accused my author friend after reading her latest, ingenious space opera. "I'm not even kidding."

I'm not criticizing fan fiction here at all. In fact, I think I learned something fairly significant about my own motivations and maybe even gained some empathy for the writers of fan fiction. I'm still not doing it, primarily because I'm greedy and an egomaniac and I want to write stories that are "mine" and that I can sell. (gods willing.) But I totally get the desire to do it. In fact, I think it just might be hand in hand with the desire to write at all.

So, my friend wrote this great book. She does that. And I fell head over crazypants heels in love with one of her characters. Not the main character, you see, but one that I could imagine all sorts of story lines wrapped neatly around. I love him. I'm not shy about it. I want to know what he has for breakfast.

ahem.

And there isn't enough of him in the books. That's okay. It is, in fact, the perfect amount for the books' sake. But for my squeeish, fan-like hunger, not even close. I imagined the stories that were all about him, and I imagined a lot of them. I even imagined writing them, and then I went, WOAH.
Just like Wayne and Garth say it. Or maybe Bill or Ted. WOAH.

It's important that I said it twice, because the first Woah, was for "I want to write fanfiction," and the second one was more like, "Hey, I've felt like this before!"
I think that last bit is the important part.

A long time ago I used to have a lot more free time than I do now. I didn't have children or a husband or a house (its okay, I had a house, just not one I was responsible for cleaning) and I read a lot more and I watched a lot more movies. (I miss those. They were the kind without talking golden retrievers and they were allowed to cuss) ANYway...

Often I would become very engaged in a story, a character, a whatever and I would close the book or turn off the movie...and keep thinking about it. In fact, I'd extrapolate many more scenes. In essence, I would fanfic in my head. I think, hell I'm sure, that this action was vital to my desire to become a writer. I think (again) that it's maybe even WHY I WRITE. Because I want more story, and I want to be in control of it.

Now, while my stories are my own and come from personal sources...mostly dreams I've had or things I've encountered in real life...I think the impetus for writing, the drive to tell stories, came from what basically amounts to writing fan fiction. Only, I just did it in my head.
(Please don't call a therapist. I'm almost sure this is healthy.)

I also suspect (here's where I may lose y'all) that a lot, LOT, of authors do this too. I think maybe most of us have. It could be that any people do it, but it could also be that someone with a storyteller buried inside them has a strong tendency to recognize a good tale and want to embellish it. If, and this is the important part, it hits one of their buttons, it emotionally engages them, intrigues them, trips their intellectual trigger.
All of which, as an author, I'd consider a compliment.

It's also got a lot of that egomaniac attached to it. There's a whiff of, hmm. I could have made that better by...
But what the hell, I've already confessed to the ego.
And in truth, it's more like, I could explore this little corner that wasn't important to the original author, but is very important to me as a fan.
And that, I think, sums it up better.

Shared stories have been around forever. I don't want to share mine, (see the ego!) but I get it. Myths, legends, folk tales...is some of our fiction becoming the modern version of this? That's a whole different blog post, but I think you can probably guess my answer. :)

~Frances

Science Fiction Romance Brigade Presents- Snippet

My contribution this week is from the Princes of the Shroud series, soon to be published by Zharmae Press. Book one is Shrouded, and this is from chapter four. :) 
Snippet:Vashia wriggled her hands against the restraints and fought off another wave of panic. She glanced around the hangar bay, took in the filth, the rows of chained slaves and cringed. What have I done? The roar of ships departing shook the bench where they sat. Fourteen lost souls who’ passed the pre-screening and signed away all their worldly rights.And she’d done it too.
She eyed the dirty, bruised legs across from them and couldn’t remember for the life of her why she’d signed. Her mind reasoned that it was all an act, that the poor souls opposite their line were the real slaves, but her doubt argued, how do you know?  She’d trusted complete strangers because of one word: offspring.