J.R. Pearse Nelson's Blog, page 10
January 16, 2015
New Series Reveal -- Complete with Covers!!
I have been holding tight to a secret project since mid-2014 when it began to take over my brain, so today it's super exciting to get to announce this new series! Water Rites -- my YA contemporary fantasy love affair with the sea! *grin*
The first book comes out March 9th, and you can already pre-order it on Amazon and download a sizable sample at Smashwords.
Water Rites
In the centuries old struggle for territory between selkies and finfolk, Lorelei Dorian is something new.
Secrets, once uncovered, can change everything. And they will for Lorelei Dorian. She thinks she’s a normal girl, with a talent for swimming and an unparalleled adoration for math. When a new friend confronts her with her true nature, her world will never be the same. Instead, a whole new world awaits her. Can the selkies and the finfolk share the sea – and Lorelei – or will they tear her to pieces as one more pawn in the long game hidden under the waves?
**************
I'll post an excerpt tomorrow. Today, in this mega cover reveal -- here are the covers for books two and three of the Water Rites Series!!!
Look for Water Rites on March 9th. You can already pre-order it on Amazon and download a sizable sample at Smashwords. I'll add more pre-order links as they become available.
I'm currently writing Crestfallen, and LOVING IT! It is truly the best when you write the books that you want to read, and that's the case with this new series. A project for the love. Magic, mythology, and creatures in the deep? Yeah, baby! :)
The first book comes out March 9th, and you can already pre-order it on Amazon and download a sizable sample at Smashwords.
Water Rites
In the centuries old struggle for territory between selkies and finfolk, Lorelei Dorian is something new.
Secrets, once uncovered, can change everything. And they will for Lorelei Dorian. She thinks she’s a normal girl, with a talent for swimming and an unparalleled adoration for math. When a new friend confronts her with her true nature, her world will never be the same. Instead, a whole new world awaits her. Can the selkies and the finfolk share the sea – and Lorelei – or will they tear her to pieces as one more pawn in the long game hidden under the waves?
**************
I'll post an excerpt tomorrow. Today, in this mega cover reveal -- here are the covers for books two and three of the Water Rites Series!!!
Look for Water Rites on March 9th. You can already pre-order it on Amazon and download a sizable sample at Smashwords. I'll add more pre-order links as they become available.
I'm currently writing Crestfallen, and LOVING IT! It is truly the best when you write the books that you want to read, and that's the case with this new series. A project for the love. Magic, mythology, and creatures in the deep? Yeah, baby! :)
January 15, 2015
Own Your Writing Career: My Writer Path
As I said in my last post in the Own Your Writing Career series, each writer has their own path. We all have different lives and commitments and goals … there is no single path to writing prosperity. Especially in this brightest of times for writers. There is no one path. Don’t waste too much time seeking THE WAY. Focus instead on absorbing what others are doing, thinking deep about your writing and your readers (They’re out there! Don’t ask me how to find them! lol), and beginning to understand YOUR WAY.
Let me confess, I’ve never written two books in exactly the same way. I basically explore and outline until I am *ON FIRE* and then I set to typing. But how long it takes me to reach *ON FIRE* has varied, a lot. I don’t plan to force myself into a single “method” because that sounds boring and far too rigid to work for me. But if you have a method, and it works for you book after book, I will in no way disparage that. We’re different. That’s okay. Finding what works is what we’re here to talk about.
So … my path.
As a preteen, I had several hidden stashes of notebooks, filled with story plans. Actually, they were mostly filled with setting and character descriptions, that never went any farther. And they were MINE, just for me. I was always scared to share my writing as a young person. I was fine with writing papers, but I kept all of my fiction to myself. I was also a voracious reader. Like, a book every other day sort of a reader. I read all sorts of books. Historical fiction, Christian fiction, creepy teen fiction the likes of R.L. Stine, romance books I hid from my mother … but most of all, I gravitated toward fantasy. Those were the books I was compelled to read again. They were the ones that left me thinking and dreaming.
Through my entire childhood and young adulthood, I believed that my secret dream to write books was not practical enough to build a life on. It was a dream, but seemed so far out of reach and so unstable, that I set about establishing myself in other ways. College, then graduate school. A Masters in Public Policy.
I was silly enough to absort multiple jabs early on from other people about the ridiculous notion that I could be a writer...and for years I let that hold me back from my passion. I only tell you that because I know someone has said to you, “What could you have to write about?” Don’t listen to them.
Across those years I had days where after some class had lit a spark in me I’d spend hours on story. A new world to work through something so totally wrong with this one. I would feel *ON FIRE*. As though if the words and ideas didn’t pour forth from me I would be consumed by the heat. But it would burn out, and the next day I’d be a little less excited about what I’d been working on, as my attention moved back to my “normal” pursuits.
I took one creative writing class in college. It happened to also be the term at the end of my two years of Spanish (which I struggled with), and while I was running for President of our student body. I wrote a TERRIBLE story. It was my first actual attempt at starting a story from the beginning, and I had no idea what I was doing. Plus there was a due date. When I met with my instructor, I was daring enough to confess my secret dream -- the first person I’d ever told where my heart wanted to go -- and she told me to keep working at it. Keep working and working and working. To write all kinds of things, and know that it would be long years before I wrote anything good.
I’ll repeat that for you, because this instructor gave good advice. Admit and know that as you learn your craft you will write badly. You will write terrible stories, and you’ll write them terribly. It is all part of learning, and if you’re not brave enough to see that much of your bad work on the page, move on to something easier. Entertaining with words isn’t easy. It’s a learned craft, and you’re in for years of training.
Four years later, I picked up the pen for real and for good. Yes, I spent some of the intermittent time smarting from that terrible story and my complete lack of writing aptitude in that creative writing class … wounded by embarrassment, and my own silly pride. But I also earned two degrees, so I was busy. :) At the end of graduate school, while I was finishing my research project and part-time employed as an economic researcher on campus, a character took hold of me and PULLED.
...That was it. I was done pretending I could be something other than a writer. Or at least, done pretending I could somehow outgrow the dream to be a writer. Somehow mold myself into a more normal and steady existence. I tried. (Really, dear husband, I tried.) But there are things waiting to be said, things that have to get out of me. I am a writer. I began to OWN IT.
That novel is long, and a mess. I wrote it over the course of three years, while also establishing myself in my day job as a government economist. I carved out places in my week to write, and I worked and worked at that book. I loved that book intensely. It is something. I still love it. It is in no way publishable.
By the end of that three-year stretch, other stories had begun to call for my attention. Some had beginnings years back, with a jotted note or page in one of my still secret notebooks.
Right about then, at the end of 2007, I suffered a loss of my first pregnancy, a miscarriage. In those wounded days and weeks, I found I needed something fresh, something fun to get lost in. And in the months that followed I wrote Tribute, and began what would become the Children of the Sidhe fantasy romance series I’ve finally finished in 2014. It was a freedom project. No cares about whether anyone would like it. It was for me. And what spilled onto the page was full of beauty. It was fun, and sparkling, and lovely. I knew this was the work I’m meant to do.
Sometimes it takes a big change, or something to threaten your worldview before you’re ready to take the risks you must to have the life that is right for you. Kind of a downer to mention here, but this was part of the formation of me the writer. Life got brighter shortly thereafter. Within a year we were celebrating the arrival of our first daughter, with the second to follow less than two years after that. Wonderful husband, growing family, and a bright career (day job).
Tribute wasn’t ready for publication on first draft. I was still new, new, new. (This has changed more recently, and much of my work is only two drafts at present, then into editing.) I wrote it in 2008, before self-publishing felt like a viable option. Yet I’d written a novella. A self-contained romance that hinted at a broader fantasy plot. Sending such a nontraditional book to publishers felt like a longer shot than I’d imagined.
I kept moving along. I was drawn to new projects now, to the bright and shiny. I *won* NaNo in 2009, but the book I wrote should be far longer than 50k, and is a COMPLETE MESS. That pace is not for me (probably when I write full-time and the kids are older, but not in these hectic years).
In early 2011, a friend from college told my husband and I about Amanda Hocking, the self-publishing sensation. The track of my research on the publishing industry changed. I started reading about Hocking, about this guy J.A. Konrath with advice for newbies like me, about how much publishing had changed and how I could take ownership of my career and move forward without having to receive permission from ANYONE.
I dove in. I started a blog, and began connecting with other writers. I read everything I could find on the new routes and methods to publish your own books. I went back to Tribute, and with new eyes I could see its weaknesses. I revised it, and wrote the sequel, Vessel, in May 2011. (From these events forward, you can read all about it in my old blog posts.)
I was lucky enough to meet some wonderful indie authors with more experience who were enthusiastically supportive and became beta readers, in a swap we continue to this day. Stacey Wallace Benefiel, and Lauralynn Elliott, I’m calling you out. :)
In August 2011 I published Tribute. Vessel followed that November. I was an independent author.
I'll be back with another Own Your Writing Career post next Thursday. Until then, happy writing!!
"Own Your Writing Career: My Writer Path" copyright © 2015 by J.R. Pearse Nelson
Let me confess, I’ve never written two books in exactly the same way. I basically explore and outline until I am *ON FIRE* and then I set to typing. But how long it takes me to reach *ON FIRE* has varied, a lot. I don’t plan to force myself into a single “method” because that sounds boring and far too rigid to work for me. But if you have a method, and it works for you book after book, I will in no way disparage that. We’re different. That’s okay. Finding what works is what we’re here to talk about.
So … my path.
As a preteen, I had several hidden stashes of notebooks, filled with story plans. Actually, they were mostly filled with setting and character descriptions, that never went any farther. And they were MINE, just for me. I was always scared to share my writing as a young person. I was fine with writing papers, but I kept all of my fiction to myself. I was also a voracious reader. Like, a book every other day sort of a reader. I read all sorts of books. Historical fiction, Christian fiction, creepy teen fiction the likes of R.L. Stine, romance books I hid from my mother … but most of all, I gravitated toward fantasy. Those were the books I was compelled to read again. They were the ones that left me thinking and dreaming.
Through my entire childhood and young adulthood, I believed that my secret dream to write books was not practical enough to build a life on. It was a dream, but seemed so far out of reach and so unstable, that I set about establishing myself in other ways. College, then graduate school. A Masters in Public Policy.
I was silly enough to absort multiple jabs early on from other people about the ridiculous notion that I could be a writer...and for years I let that hold me back from my passion. I only tell you that because I know someone has said to you, “What could you have to write about?” Don’t listen to them.
Across those years I had days where after some class had lit a spark in me I’d spend hours on story. A new world to work through something so totally wrong with this one. I would feel *ON FIRE*. As though if the words and ideas didn’t pour forth from me I would be consumed by the heat. But it would burn out, and the next day I’d be a little less excited about what I’d been working on, as my attention moved back to my “normal” pursuits.
I took one creative writing class in college. It happened to also be the term at the end of my two years of Spanish (which I struggled with), and while I was running for President of our student body. I wrote a TERRIBLE story. It was my first actual attempt at starting a story from the beginning, and I had no idea what I was doing. Plus there was a due date. When I met with my instructor, I was daring enough to confess my secret dream -- the first person I’d ever told where my heart wanted to go -- and she told me to keep working at it. Keep working and working and working. To write all kinds of things, and know that it would be long years before I wrote anything good.
I’ll repeat that for you, because this instructor gave good advice. Admit and know that as you learn your craft you will write badly. You will write terrible stories, and you’ll write them terribly. It is all part of learning, and if you’re not brave enough to see that much of your bad work on the page, move on to something easier. Entertaining with words isn’t easy. It’s a learned craft, and you’re in for years of training.
Four years later, I picked up the pen for real and for good. Yes, I spent some of the intermittent time smarting from that terrible story and my complete lack of writing aptitude in that creative writing class … wounded by embarrassment, and my own silly pride. But I also earned two degrees, so I was busy. :) At the end of graduate school, while I was finishing my research project and part-time employed as an economic researcher on campus, a character took hold of me and PULLED.
...That was it. I was done pretending I could be something other than a writer. Or at least, done pretending I could somehow outgrow the dream to be a writer. Somehow mold myself into a more normal and steady existence. I tried. (Really, dear husband, I tried.) But there are things waiting to be said, things that have to get out of me. I am a writer. I began to OWN IT.
That novel is long, and a mess. I wrote it over the course of three years, while also establishing myself in my day job as a government economist. I carved out places in my week to write, and I worked and worked at that book. I loved that book intensely. It is something. I still love it. It is in no way publishable.
By the end of that three-year stretch, other stories had begun to call for my attention. Some had beginnings years back, with a jotted note or page in one of my still secret notebooks.
Right about then, at the end of 2007, I suffered a loss of my first pregnancy, a miscarriage. In those wounded days and weeks, I found I needed something fresh, something fun to get lost in. And in the months that followed I wrote Tribute, and began what would become the Children of the Sidhe fantasy romance series I’ve finally finished in 2014. It was a freedom project. No cares about whether anyone would like it. It was for me. And what spilled onto the page was full of beauty. It was fun, and sparkling, and lovely. I knew this was the work I’m meant to do.
Sometimes it takes a big change, or something to threaten your worldview before you’re ready to take the risks you must to have the life that is right for you. Kind of a downer to mention here, but this was part of the formation of me the writer. Life got brighter shortly thereafter. Within a year we were celebrating the arrival of our first daughter, with the second to follow less than two years after that. Wonderful husband, growing family, and a bright career (day job).
Tribute wasn’t ready for publication on first draft. I was still new, new, new. (This has changed more recently, and much of my work is only two drafts at present, then into editing.) I wrote it in 2008, before self-publishing felt like a viable option. Yet I’d written a novella. A self-contained romance that hinted at a broader fantasy plot. Sending such a nontraditional book to publishers felt like a longer shot than I’d imagined.
I kept moving along. I was drawn to new projects now, to the bright and shiny. I *won* NaNo in 2009, but the book I wrote should be far longer than 50k, and is a COMPLETE MESS. That pace is not for me (probably when I write full-time and the kids are older, but not in these hectic years).
In early 2011, a friend from college told my husband and I about Amanda Hocking, the self-publishing sensation. The track of my research on the publishing industry changed. I started reading about Hocking, about this guy J.A. Konrath with advice for newbies like me, about how much publishing had changed and how I could take ownership of my career and move forward without having to receive permission from ANYONE.
I dove in. I started a blog, and began connecting with other writers. I read everything I could find on the new routes and methods to publish your own books. I went back to Tribute, and with new eyes I could see its weaknesses. I revised it, and wrote the sequel, Vessel, in May 2011. (From these events forward, you can read all about it in my old blog posts.)
I was lucky enough to meet some wonderful indie authors with more experience who were enthusiastically supportive and became beta readers, in a swap we continue to this day. Stacey Wallace Benefiel, and Lauralynn Elliott, I’m calling you out. :)
In August 2011 I published Tribute. Vessel followed that November. I was an independent author.
I'll be back with another Own Your Writing Career post next Thursday. Until then, happy writing!!
"Own Your Writing Career: My Writer Path" copyright © 2015 by J.R. Pearse Nelson
January 8, 2015
Own Your Writing Career (Don't Let It Own You)
Writers, if you need a little lifting up, to know you’re not alone, or just to feel more in control of your writing life, this is the blog series for you. I’m a very small fry in the independent publishing river. I published my first book in August 2011 (and lurked for ages before that), so I’ve been in on a bunch of the publishing revolution. Over those years and the tremendous change they’ve brought, I’ve gleaned a lot of insight into how to stay happy and productive while hovering in the murky depths (i.e. the bottom of the sales rankings) and wondering just how long it will take your writing career to grow up.
I’m writing this blog series partly because of the point of the independent publishing revolution we’ve reached. Currently, there seems to be a heightened incidence of depression and a feeling of panic as sales fall for some, or never manage to grow for others. Many writers have signed up over the last couple of years for something they never imagined...years and years of hard work before seeing monetary results.
Like any other business, publishing is cyclical, and we’ve reached a nadir in the current cycle that is worrying many authors. The ebook and independent publishing revolution truly changed things...but in 2014 we reached somewhat of a new normal, and it's a new normal with plenty of free to cheap reading for our best consumers. Great for us as readers; not as awesome as the creators of books. Growth from here will be slower, and the gold rush is over. However, worrying about industry trends isn’t going to help you with your backlist, is it? At this point, I feel a need to encourage writers to keep at it. Those who truly love this lifestyle can own their writing career, and keep their mental health, too.
I’m also writing this blog because I repeatedly get asked certain questions by other authors, by readers, and by family and friends.
Do I make any money at this? is the top question. Not yet. Nothing significant. I basically make coffee money. (And luckily I have a coffee pot at home, and I’ve been making my own iced tea.) But I make a living elsewhere, so don’t worry about me. I’d never be a starving artist, I have kids and I’m far too risk averse. (Says the daytime economist.)
Where do you find the time? I try to waste less, get up early, eat standing up, and don’t work out enough. How’s that for honesty? I’m far from a perfect example. My house could certainly be tidier.
Where can you find time to write between kids and work? I think fast, use my spare minutes wisely, and often write in fifteen or twenty minute chunks spread across my day (which happens to work very well for me creatively).
How do you keep all of your series straight, doesn’t it get confusing? Writer lol; this has just never been a problem for me. If it was, I’d probably write differently and stick to a book or series at a time. But under that schema I’m bored, so instead I’m all over the place, always working on more than one thing.
Where do you get all of your ideas? Um … I don’t seem to be able to stop them. It’s like I turned a spigot on in my brain a few years ago, and there’s no going back. Not that I would. NEVER! *grin*
How do you stay motivated if you’re not selling books? If you have a bazillion books left to write, do you stop because the first few aren’t selling well -- YET?!? That’s ridiculous. No artist sells their first work easily. Quit the nonsense and get back to work.
So...yeah, that’s what this series is going to be about. Staying positive, keeping your eyes on the long road, and most of all, getting the job done and having the time of your life while you're doing it.
I’m also going to try not to pull punches about what I see as writer nonsense. I will not listen to “I don’t have the time to write...how do you make so much time?” Are you kidding me? I have 24 hours a day, just like you. Writing is my priority, because I want to make my living at it, and the sooner the better. If writing is not your priority (shown by how you spend your time, people), that is not my problem. It might be that there are VERY good reasons writing is not your priority. You may have significant life events and such taking up your time, that prevent you spending much time writing. If that’s the case, then I wish you godspeed in clearing the deck for more writing time, and all the best with what you have going on. But please don’t clog up my comments with “I don’t have time.” If you’re reading and commenting on this blog, you have time.
I’ll also back that up with my experience, and acknowledge that we all have different paths to this writer place. We have different lives, different commitments and altogether different goals. No way is better than any other. The key is to find what works for you, and use it consistently to reach your goals. I’m going to explain what works for me and why, in terms of getting my books on the page. And I’ll dive into how I’ve stayed positive and productive for years while not selling. I’ll even talk about my own struggles with staying positive, and how I overcame them by more deeply understanding what I wanted out of my writing career. By OWNING IT.
Let’s start with some questions you can consider until next time. Understanding what is driving you, and where you want to go with it, is key to setting a course for the long term and sticking with it through the darkest of times. (Boy, that sounds dreary. It’s only dreary some days … and parts of other days … and many times in the deep of night when you wake and can’t return to sleep … Don’t worry. It’s not just you.)
So … for your consideration:
Why do you write?
What do you want from writing?
What do you NOT want from writing?
The answers to these questions can help you start to understand the course that might be best for you as a writer. It’s time to OWN IT.
I'll be back with another Own Your Writing Career post next Thursday. Until then, happy writing!!
"Own Your Writing Career (Don't Let It Own You)" copyright © 2015 by J.R. Pearse Nelson
I’m writing this blog series partly because of the point of the independent publishing revolution we’ve reached. Currently, there seems to be a heightened incidence of depression and a feeling of panic as sales fall for some, or never manage to grow for others. Many writers have signed up over the last couple of years for something they never imagined...years and years of hard work before seeing monetary results. Like any other business, publishing is cyclical, and we’ve reached a nadir in the current cycle that is worrying many authors. The ebook and independent publishing revolution truly changed things...but in 2014 we reached somewhat of a new normal, and it's a new normal with plenty of free to cheap reading for our best consumers. Great for us as readers; not as awesome as the creators of books. Growth from here will be slower, and the gold rush is over. However, worrying about industry trends isn’t going to help you with your backlist, is it? At this point, I feel a need to encourage writers to keep at it. Those who truly love this lifestyle can own their writing career, and keep their mental health, too.
I’m also writing this blog because I repeatedly get asked certain questions by other authors, by readers, and by family and friends.
Do I make any money at this? is the top question. Not yet. Nothing significant. I basically make coffee money. (And luckily I have a coffee pot at home, and I’ve been making my own iced tea.) But I make a living elsewhere, so don’t worry about me. I’d never be a starving artist, I have kids and I’m far too risk averse. (Says the daytime economist.)
Where do you find the time? I try to waste less, get up early, eat standing up, and don’t work out enough. How’s that for honesty? I’m far from a perfect example. My house could certainly be tidier.
Where can you find time to write between kids and work? I think fast, use my spare minutes wisely, and often write in fifteen or twenty minute chunks spread across my day (which happens to work very well for me creatively).
How do you keep all of your series straight, doesn’t it get confusing? Writer lol; this has just never been a problem for me. If it was, I’d probably write differently and stick to a book or series at a time. But under that schema I’m bored, so instead I’m all over the place, always working on more than one thing.
Where do you get all of your ideas? Um … I don’t seem to be able to stop them. It’s like I turned a spigot on in my brain a few years ago, and there’s no going back. Not that I would. NEVER! *grin*
How do you stay motivated if you’re not selling books? If you have a bazillion books left to write, do you stop because the first few aren’t selling well -- YET?!? That’s ridiculous. No artist sells their first work easily. Quit the nonsense and get back to work.
So...yeah, that’s what this series is going to be about. Staying positive, keeping your eyes on the long road, and most of all, getting the job done and having the time of your life while you're doing it.
I’m also going to try not to pull punches about what I see as writer nonsense. I will not listen to “I don’t have the time to write...how do you make so much time?” Are you kidding me? I have 24 hours a day, just like you. Writing is my priority, because I want to make my living at it, and the sooner the better. If writing is not your priority (shown by how you spend your time, people), that is not my problem. It might be that there are VERY good reasons writing is not your priority. You may have significant life events and such taking up your time, that prevent you spending much time writing. If that’s the case, then I wish you godspeed in clearing the deck for more writing time, and all the best with what you have going on. But please don’t clog up my comments with “I don’t have time.” If you’re reading and commenting on this blog, you have time.
I’ll also back that up with my experience, and acknowledge that we all have different paths to this writer place. We have different lives, different commitments and altogether different goals. No way is better than any other. The key is to find what works for you, and use it consistently to reach your goals. I’m going to explain what works for me and why, in terms of getting my books on the page. And I’ll dive into how I’ve stayed positive and productive for years while not selling. I’ll even talk about my own struggles with staying positive, and how I overcame them by more deeply understanding what I wanted out of my writing career. By OWNING IT.
Let’s start with some questions you can consider until next time. Understanding what is driving you, and where you want to go with it, is key to setting a course for the long term and sticking with it through the darkest of times. (Boy, that sounds dreary. It’s only dreary some days … and parts of other days … and many times in the deep of night when you wake and can’t return to sleep … Don’t worry. It’s not just you.)
So … for your consideration:
Why do you write?
What do you want from writing?
What do you NOT want from writing?
The answers to these questions can help you start to understand the course that might be best for you as a writer. It’s time to OWN IT.
I'll be back with another Own Your Writing Career post next Thursday. Until then, happy writing!!
"Own Your Writing Career (Don't Let It Own You)" copyright © 2015 by J.R. Pearse Nelson
January 6, 2015
2014 Was Interesting -- Onward to 2015!!
We're already here. lol
In all sorts of ways last year was very interesting for this writer. I dealt with a period of elevated stress in the spring, and for the rest of the year did a lot of learning and thinking about where I'm headed and what I want out of LIFE in general. Lots of that revolved around the balance between work toward a traditional career, and work toward my dream of a writing career.
I believe all of that was part of the process of finding my road forward. It had to do with the state of the publishing industry and how expectations have changed in the last two years; it had to do with my growing and fiery LOVE for doing this work, and for personal independence in determining my work. Writing fiction is definitely my passion and takes as much of my time as I let it. But I needed to figure out how I could manage everything else I need to do, and be happy and productive in all parts of my life. It also had to do with other major life things. By 2014 my children were no longer babies (they are now four and five); they can communicate and they understand that Mom works, and that I love and am proud of both my day-job work and my creative writing work. We have plenty of project time side by side, and they inspire me every day.
By early 2014, I had also grown uncomfortable with the way that I was sharing on this blog, and with almost every attempt to market my work. I no longer wanted to give updates on the state of various projects and how much I'd written over the last week or month. Only writers find that content interesting, and while I love for writers to visit my blog (as will be proven with one point about 2015 below...ha! teaser!), I want to give them real value and I'd also like this to be a relevant and interesting place for readers to visit. But how do you balance both?
I also like the creative flexibility of just plugging along, writing whatever I'm working on, and letting folks know when it's finished. I juggle a lot, and people think I'm weird when I share too many details. lol I also don't like to give firm completion dates before something's done, because it's like an invitation to my contrary nature to screw off and not meet that date. I still have this deal where deadlines are for my day job, and I write whatever little old me wants to at the moment. Always writing, but if I tell myself to be too serious about one thing, my brain no longer wants to do that thing.
...And the marketing. The constant drivel of this book, that book...all for sale for $0.99 on AMAZON ONLY! Argh. None of these distractions get me closer to my overall goal of writing a lot more books. I have enough publications now that I could spend all of my time marketing. Instead, I choose to spend none of my time marketing. I believe that's a smart bet for the longevity of my career.
So...where is this blog headed in 2015? Here's an overview:
**A new blog series for writers, about how to stay happy and productive as you grow your writing career, starts on Thursday. I'll add to it each Thursday until I run out of things to say. We'll see how long that takes. *big grin*
**I want to start sharing more of what inspires me, especially places, music, and books. Those posts will happen on Mondays.
**As always, I'll post major happenings, like cover reveals and pre-orders and novel releases.
**I might also try some fun promotions to try to get folks signed up for my newsletter, which is just beginning.
And where is this writer headed in 2015?
**I'm publishing short stories -- one each month. I haven't mentioned them here yet, but I'm sure I will sometime. You can find them under my name at all the major ebook retailers.
**I'll write the last book in the Foulweather Twins fantasy trilogy this spring for release this summer. (The first two books are available now.)
**I have a new series, and the first installment will come out in early March, with the rest of the trilogy to follow later in 2015. I will soon have covers to reveal and a pre-order up for the first book in this new YA fantasy adventure. Can't wait to tell you all about it!! :)
In all sorts of ways last year was very interesting for this writer. I dealt with a period of elevated stress in the spring, and for the rest of the year did a lot of learning and thinking about where I'm headed and what I want out of LIFE in general. Lots of that revolved around the balance between work toward a traditional career, and work toward my dream of a writing career.
I believe all of that was part of the process of finding my road forward. It had to do with the state of the publishing industry and how expectations have changed in the last two years; it had to do with my growing and fiery LOVE for doing this work, and for personal independence in determining my work. Writing fiction is definitely my passion and takes as much of my time as I let it. But I needed to figure out how I could manage everything else I need to do, and be happy and productive in all parts of my life. It also had to do with other major life things. By 2014 my children were no longer babies (they are now four and five); they can communicate and they understand that Mom works, and that I love and am proud of both my day-job work and my creative writing work. We have plenty of project time side by side, and they inspire me every day.
By early 2014, I had also grown uncomfortable with the way that I was sharing on this blog, and with almost every attempt to market my work. I no longer wanted to give updates on the state of various projects and how much I'd written over the last week or month. Only writers find that content interesting, and while I love for writers to visit my blog (as will be proven with one point about 2015 below...ha! teaser!), I want to give them real value and I'd also like this to be a relevant and interesting place for readers to visit. But how do you balance both?
I also like the creative flexibility of just plugging along, writing whatever I'm working on, and letting folks know when it's finished. I juggle a lot, and people think I'm weird when I share too many details. lol I also don't like to give firm completion dates before something's done, because it's like an invitation to my contrary nature to screw off and not meet that date. I still have this deal where deadlines are for my day job, and I write whatever little old me wants to at the moment. Always writing, but if I tell myself to be too serious about one thing, my brain no longer wants to do that thing.
...And the marketing. The constant drivel of this book, that book...all for sale for $0.99 on AMAZON ONLY! Argh. None of these distractions get me closer to my overall goal of writing a lot more books. I have enough publications now that I could spend all of my time marketing. Instead, I choose to spend none of my time marketing. I believe that's a smart bet for the longevity of my career.
So...where is this blog headed in 2015? Here's an overview:
**A new blog series for writers, about how to stay happy and productive as you grow your writing career, starts on Thursday. I'll add to it each Thursday until I run out of things to say. We'll see how long that takes. *big grin*
**I want to start sharing more of what inspires me, especially places, music, and books. Those posts will happen on Mondays.
**As always, I'll post major happenings, like cover reveals and pre-orders and novel releases.
**I might also try some fun promotions to try to get folks signed up for my newsletter, which is just beginning.
And where is this writer headed in 2015?
**I'm publishing short stories -- one each month. I haven't mentioned them here yet, but I'm sure I will sometime. You can find them under my name at all the major ebook retailers.
**I'll write the last book in the Foulweather Twins fantasy trilogy this spring for release this summer. (The first two books are available now.)
**I have a new series, and the first installment will come out in early March, with the rest of the trilogy to follow later in 2015. I will soon have covers to reveal and a pre-order up for the first book in this new YA fantasy adventure. Can't wait to tell you all about it!! :)
December 29, 2014
Creativity Breeds Creativity
No matter what it is that inspires you, we can all take a creative boost from what we're exposed to. In the Internet age, it follows that creative types are busting out of the woodwork in waves -- we are exposed to so much more art, writing and so many more ideas than people had access to prior to the Internet. And for those who do get out there with their art, I'm betting this generation of artists is more productive and prolific than past generations. I have NO way to back that up (and I'm not in a research mood, so there). But it makes sense, because when you're surrounded by other artists, you're more likely to produce.
I am inspired by the creative energy flowing around me. In the times we live in, it doesn't just have to be in my neighborhood. I'm inspired by cover artists in the UK (thanks, Kellie!), and by painters in Brazil. It. Is. Amazing. And it is pushing me to write more than I ever believed I would write.
Tools like Facebook and Pinterest allow us to network with people inspired by the same sorts of things, and thus maximize our exposure to things we find interesting. These networks are an amazing resource for the creative!
We should appreciate what we have, and beware what energy we pass on along all the highways and byways of the Internet. Creativity breeds creativity. Negativity has the potential to breed negativity, if we let it. I'm disheartened when I see people making mean and rude comments online. It makes me want to wall myself off from that stuff. However, by walling myself off, I would cut off the source of my inspiration and support. Instead, I focus on making my interactions online positive (doing that which I can control), and trying to be supportive and hopeful with writers and other online friends -- bringing positive energy into the public space.
I'm excited when I hear of another "would be writer" in my circle actually embracing it and becoming a writer. My reaction is always the same: keep working on it! The learning curve is tough, but I CAN'T WAIT to read your stories -- the ones only you can write! And then people just shock the hell out of me with what they have to share.
Creativity breeds creativity.
It's a wonderful thing.
I am inspired by the creative energy flowing around me. In the times we live in, it doesn't just have to be in my neighborhood. I'm inspired by cover artists in the UK (thanks, Kellie!), and by painters in Brazil. It. Is. Amazing. And it is pushing me to write more than I ever believed I would write.
Tools like Facebook and Pinterest allow us to network with people inspired by the same sorts of things, and thus maximize our exposure to things we find interesting. These networks are an amazing resource for the creative!
We should appreciate what we have, and beware what energy we pass on along all the highways and byways of the Internet. Creativity breeds creativity. Negativity has the potential to breed negativity, if we let it. I'm disheartened when I see people making mean and rude comments online. It makes me want to wall myself off from that stuff. However, by walling myself off, I would cut off the source of my inspiration and support. Instead, I focus on making my interactions online positive (doing that which I can control), and trying to be supportive and hopeful with writers and other online friends -- bringing positive energy into the public space.
I'm excited when I hear of another "would be writer" in my circle actually embracing it and becoming a writer. My reaction is always the same: keep working on it! The learning curve is tough, but I CAN'T WAIT to read your stories -- the ones only you can write! And then people just shock the hell out of me with what they have to share.
Creativity breeds creativity.
It's a wonderful thing.
December 18, 2014
Foulweather Twins Kindle Countdown to Christmas!
The first two books in my Foulweather Twins fantasy series are on a Kindle Countdown promotion through December 24th on Amazon US, and Amazon UK. The faster you buy, the lower the price -- starting at just $0.99 for each book! By Saturday it'll be up to $1.99, and so on. So act fast to catch the books at this price. :)
Queen Witch
Ebook: Amazon / Amazon UK
Chaos Calling
Ebook: Amazon / Amazon UK
Here's an excerpt from the first chapter of Queen Witch. Enjoy! And happy holidays!!
Excerpt:
“Wren, take it easy!” I shouted to my sister over the howling winds that whipped along the rock-studded beach and stirred the crashing waves into froth.
Instead, my twin threw all of her power against me, knocking aside the rock I’d held there for her, hovering in mid-air despite the fierce wind. I scowled, but played along, raising rock after rock as she dashed them back to the earth.
Wren’s expression was a mirror of my own as we faced off. We were identical, on the surface, even if we had little in common outside the physical. The wind had already stripped strands of Wren’s long dark hair out of the braid I’d done for her not half an hour ago. Deep gray clouds studding the horizon spoke of a rainstorm on the way.
Finally, Wren threw one of the stones far. It flew past me, into the waves. I made sure not to gape; she loved to show her superior strength in these games, and I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of knowing it bothered me.
“My turn.” I told her, watching the trail behind her for any sign of movement. If the aunts caught us at it, we’d be days recovering from the pile of chores that would result. Since we hadn’t started twin school, we were supposed to use our powers sparingly. Too many twins explored their powers in dangerous ways without the proper training and ended up dead before they could be of any service to the Lady at all. But tell that to a pair of fourteen-year-olds who could move matter with their minds. We couldn’t resist.
Wren raised a boulder first. A bead of sweat rolled down her temple as she concentrated her energy on the single rock. Instead of doing as she’d done, I twisted it, raising my own rock and beating it against the boulder, attempting to dislodge it and send it back to sea or sand. One rock wasn’t enough, so I was in the middle of raising an army of rocks – not one of my better ideas – when we were interrupted.
A ball of white fur hurtled toward us. The dog had gotten pretty close before I noticed it, and Wren’s back was to it. It started barking before I could warn her, a sharp yip that made Wren jump. She dropped the boulder, which shattered into two pieces as it hit the rocks below. I stared at it for a split second. Breaking rocks. Now that was cool.
I didn’t have time to say anything before Wren twisted to face the dog, now a scarce ten feet from her. She threw up a hand and a wave of sand and rock lifted the dog off its feet, and sent it flipping through the air.
It was then that I noticed a man running toward us from farther down the beach, obviously coming after his dog. He stopped, confused, when he saw Wren’s action. I couldn’t be sure what he thought he saw, but I let out a little shriek that alerted Wren to his presence. If there was any rule that governed our lives, it was don’t use powers around strangers.
The dog landed on all fours and gave a final yip before scurrying off with his tail between his legs and his ears flat against his head.
I grabbed Wren’s hand, holding tight despite her protest, and ran toward the wooded trail. I expected to hear the man yell behind us, but if he said anything at all, the wind tore the words away before they reached my ears.
Around a bend in the trail I slowed and dropped Wren’s hand angrily. She clasped her hands together and looked at the ground. She could tell I was mad, but I knew she had no idea why. That frustrated me even more.
“Wren! You cannot lash out like that with your power. Don’t you know you could hurt somebody?”
“It was a dog. An annoying dog,” she told me resentfully.
“Did you see the man running toward us?” I didn’t even have to ask. “Wren. We’ve been over this. We’re not even supposed to use our powers like that around the aunts, much less around a stranger. You can’t act like that. We don’t own the beach, you know.”
“We were there first.”
“No matter. If you can’t control yourself, I’m not playing.” I stalked off, too upset to say more right now. I might say something I’d regret. Not that my sister would notice. She could be selfish, not to mention dangerously out of control. Our temperaments were polar opposites. My sister was quiet, shy, and didn’t care for people. In fact, as she’d just shown, she could be dangerous. It wasn’t that Wren actively disliked people; it was that she didn’t care. Another person’s joy, or their pain, never really got through to her.
I stayed ahead of Wren the whole way home, taking our usual path alone. I don’t know if she trailed me or took another route. Sometimes I got tired of caring. She could find her own way home. She was capable of that much.
******
Amazon / Amazon UK
Queen Witch
Ebook: Amazon / Amazon UK
Chaos Calling
Ebook: Amazon / Amazon UK
Here's an excerpt from the first chapter of Queen Witch. Enjoy! And happy holidays!!
Excerpt:
“Wren, take it easy!” I shouted to my sister over the howling winds that whipped along the rock-studded beach and stirred the crashing waves into froth.
Instead, my twin threw all of her power against me, knocking aside the rock I’d held there for her, hovering in mid-air despite the fierce wind. I scowled, but played along, raising rock after rock as she dashed them back to the earth.
Wren’s expression was a mirror of my own as we faced off. We were identical, on the surface, even if we had little in common outside the physical. The wind had already stripped strands of Wren’s long dark hair out of the braid I’d done for her not half an hour ago. Deep gray clouds studding the horizon spoke of a rainstorm on the way.
Finally, Wren threw one of the stones far. It flew past me, into the waves. I made sure not to gape; she loved to show her superior strength in these games, and I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of knowing it bothered me.
“My turn.” I told her, watching the trail behind her for any sign of movement. If the aunts caught us at it, we’d be days recovering from the pile of chores that would result. Since we hadn’t started twin school, we were supposed to use our powers sparingly. Too many twins explored their powers in dangerous ways without the proper training and ended up dead before they could be of any service to the Lady at all. But tell that to a pair of fourteen-year-olds who could move matter with their minds. We couldn’t resist.
Wren raised a boulder first. A bead of sweat rolled down her temple as she concentrated her energy on the single rock. Instead of doing as she’d done, I twisted it, raising my own rock and beating it against the boulder, attempting to dislodge it and send it back to sea or sand. One rock wasn’t enough, so I was in the middle of raising an army of rocks – not one of my better ideas – when we were interrupted.
A ball of white fur hurtled toward us. The dog had gotten pretty close before I noticed it, and Wren’s back was to it. It started barking before I could warn her, a sharp yip that made Wren jump. She dropped the boulder, which shattered into two pieces as it hit the rocks below. I stared at it for a split second. Breaking rocks. Now that was cool.
I didn’t have time to say anything before Wren twisted to face the dog, now a scarce ten feet from her. She threw up a hand and a wave of sand and rock lifted the dog off its feet, and sent it flipping through the air.
It was then that I noticed a man running toward us from farther down the beach, obviously coming after his dog. He stopped, confused, when he saw Wren’s action. I couldn’t be sure what he thought he saw, but I let out a little shriek that alerted Wren to his presence. If there was any rule that governed our lives, it was don’t use powers around strangers.
The dog landed on all fours and gave a final yip before scurrying off with his tail between his legs and his ears flat against his head.
I grabbed Wren’s hand, holding tight despite her protest, and ran toward the wooded trail. I expected to hear the man yell behind us, but if he said anything at all, the wind tore the words away before they reached my ears.
Around a bend in the trail I slowed and dropped Wren’s hand angrily. She clasped her hands together and looked at the ground. She could tell I was mad, but I knew she had no idea why. That frustrated me even more.
“Wren! You cannot lash out like that with your power. Don’t you know you could hurt somebody?”
“It was a dog. An annoying dog,” she told me resentfully.
“Did you see the man running toward us?” I didn’t even have to ask. “Wren. We’ve been over this. We’re not even supposed to use our powers like that around the aunts, much less around a stranger. You can’t act like that. We don’t own the beach, you know.”
“We were there first.”
“No matter. If you can’t control yourself, I’m not playing.” I stalked off, too upset to say more right now. I might say something I’d regret. Not that my sister would notice. She could be selfish, not to mention dangerously out of control. Our temperaments were polar opposites. My sister was quiet, shy, and didn’t care for people. In fact, as she’d just shown, she could be dangerous. It wasn’t that Wren actively disliked people; it was that she didn’t care. Another person’s joy, or their pain, never really got through to her.
I stayed ahead of Wren the whole way home, taking our usual path alone. I don’t know if she trailed me or took another route. Sometimes I got tired of caring. She could find her own way home. She was capable of that much.
******
Amazon / Amazon UK
October 21, 2014
New Release! Shield is Available Now, A Romance Series **COMPLETE**
The final book in my Children of the Sidhe fantasy romance series is available now! Shield completes the fantasy arc that's lasted the entire series, as an Otherworld war comes to a head in the human world. Eva is one of my favorite characters that I've written so far. She has a mouth that would scare a sailor. Super fun.
Here are the first three chapters of Shield, with buy links if I manage to intrigue you. Happy reading! :)
Shield (Children of the Sidhe, #5)Amazon US / Amazon UK / Barnes & Noble / iTunes / Kobo / Smashwords
There’s nothing like the underwater world if you’re craving solitude. Time seems to stop. The sun lights up the surface and splinters into the murky depths, revealing the secret landscapes few human eyes have seen. It is so peaceful and silent under water. And that’s why Eva Parker loved to dive. She’d find any excuse. Today it was spearfishing. A yellow fish flashed by Eva’s mask and she jerked, the movement slow and oddly stilted underwater. She rolled her eyes at the overreaction and her fingers clutched the spear tighter as she approached a small cave formation. She knew this area well, and the fish loved hiding in the low crevices that dotted the rock. Dinner wasn’t far off now.She shouldn’t be out here diving alone. Of course Eva knew that. She just didn’t care. The solitude added to the thrill. The truth was, Eva wasn’t like anyone else. So why pretend?A lingcod darted from between the rocks. It was huge! More than thirty pounds, anyway. Its jaws gaped, and Eva took aim and slashed with her spear, impaling the big fish through the side of the face.Oh, shit. As soon as the thirty-plus pound fish was dead it started to drag. Determined not to lose the catch of the month, Eva repositioned her grip on the spear and the fish, so she was behind its bulk, and gave it her all with her legs. She was almost out of air.Adrenaline helped. Her muscles appreciated the boost as they burned through the best workout in weeks. Eva knew she’d feel this tomorrow. Not to mention the welcome distraction from her now-mundane civilian existence.Eva burst through the surface into the full light of day, her eyes dazzled by the brightness of the late afternoon sun over the water, even through her mask. Her lungs heaved in a giant breath before she sank under again, getting her grip on the fish as she moved toward the shore, a short swim away. Her legs ached from the exertion, and she longed to shove her mask back, but it wasn’t to be at the moment.Eva gripped the rocks. Now that she was steady she shoved one end of her stringer through the lingcod’s gills and out the other side with a triumphant grin. She heaved the fish onto the shore, watching where it landed carefully. Mom and Uncle Dan were going to flip when they saw this fish. Eva hopped out of the water and hovered over the fish, finally shoving off her mask as she considered how best to retrieve her favorite spear without ruining too much of the prized catch. She wasn’t paying close attention to her surroundings, which she regretted a moment later, when a foreign hand wrapped around her wrist.“What?” Eva yelped, tugging her wrist to no avail. She glared at the man holding her – assuming he was male due to his bulk. She was probably correct, but once she saw his ugly face, gender wasn’t much of a concern. Eva was looking straight into the visage of a monster. And three more stood behind him. There was no rhyme or reason to their looks, but they were obviously together. One had only a single eye that was way too large to pretend at humanity. Another had ape-like, swinging arms that reached near to his ankles, and a grotesque overhanging brow. The one holding her was more humanoid than those other two, but it was too large to be a normal man, and its face reminded Eva of a snake – too round and smooth, his nose two slits nearly flat against his face. What was she doing considering their looks? These guys were obviously up to no good.Instantly, Eva triggered her power, a silvery boundary forming at her skin and shoving outward mightily. But she couldn’t avoid shielding the creature that held her as well. Damn. It. All.Eva glared at him, and he glared back, eyes narrowing as he let out a strange, gurgling hiss.“Do not struggle.” The words were barely understandable; his voice was low and his syllables strangely abrupt.“Yes. Do not struggle, Eva.” Another voice, from outside her shield, spoke up.Eva sought the source, and found a tall, thin man with an eye patch staring her down. He was incredibly good-looking, and completely untrustworthy. Call it the eye patch, or the mother effing monsters, or just the random attack on the beach – she wasn’t going to give this guy’s commands the time of day.“Good luck with that.” Mad now, Eva shoved the one holding her and gave a sudden lurch to her left, bringing her right leg around to sweep his legs out from under him. He crashed hard on the rocky beach and hissed at her from his prone position. She stepped on his throat, pressing down until he squirmed.Then, somehow, he got the better of her. Her leg was suddenly in his grip, and then she was sailing through the air to bounce against her own shield, which felt something like the wall of an inflated balloon. “Oh, no!” Eva growled. As she bounced off the wall of the shield, it didn’t bounce back. Instead it expanded, capturing two more of the beasts inside with her. The tall eye patch man and the other monster were still outside.The original bad guy was no longer prone, and the three of them stood shoulder to shoulder, inside Eva’s shield. She dropped the shield, and turned to eye patch man. “What the hell do you people want?” she demanded.One of the monsters stooped and retrieved her lingcod.“Not my fish!” Eva shouted.The thing gave a gurgling reply that might have been a laugh, and ate the fish’s tail end in a single bite.“God damn it! That was myfish!” Two of the monsters had closed in on her, and she rounded on them. She landed a few solid punches in a curiously satisfied-yet-detached state of mind she knew all too well, before everything went dark.
Waking to another dark, damp day, only God knew where, Joel Rivera stared at the rough stone ceiling and listened to the sounds around him to determine the time. The monsters holding him hadn’t brought breakfast yet, and Joel wished he could sleep more, until they brought him the meager meal to stave off starvation. But his cell was so cold he couldn’t get comfortable under the single square of unraveling blanket they’d provided.Instead he rose to his feet and stretched his arms high above his head. The cell wasn’t big – his cot was barely long enough for him, and took up almost half the floor space – but at least the ceilings were high. The uneven stone walls seeped with moisture, and the sounds in this cold place could drive one mad. The monsters were bad enough, but they held ... other things ... in the cells here. Joel wasn’t sure exactly what, but they weren’t human. Not by a long shot.Of course, his captors weren’t human. They were something else. Sinister, violent, and unreasonable. After all, what did they want with him? As close as Joel could tell, he’d been taken prisoner because he was a half-human, half-Sidhe. His father was a renowned Sidhe healer. He’d had a twin, too–Joel cut the chain of thought mid-stride. He would not think of Therese.She was all he’d thought of the first weeks he’d been here. But focusing on her death would not bring her back. Nothing could do that. He would always live with the fact that he’d been too slow, too weak, to save her.And then these savage creatures had taken him, and he hadn’t even been able to say goodbye. Joel realized his hands were aching. He’d made fists so tight he could see red grooves left by his fingernails. He smiled hopelessly. A little pain would be something to focus on ... something to break up this endless monotony. Joel ached to be anywhere else – to get the hell out of this place they’d thrown him into. Had they lost the key? Did they even remember he was here?Joel dropped to the ground, dirty as it was, and started in on push-ups. He’d been doing a lot of them. So many that he no longer kept track of how many times he counted to one hundred. A shuffling, clinking sound made him jump back up. Finally. Breakfast.“Get back,” growled the guard when he got to Joel’s cell. Joel complied. The guard eased open the door and slipped a plate inside before sealing it again.“New prisoner today. You will like her. I promise.” It cackled to itself, shaking its overlarge head.Joel didn’t bother replying. He retrieved his breakfast and sat on the edge of the cot to eat. The thing shuffled back down the long hall. Joel listened, trying to remember how many steps it was to the other end of this narrow, cell-lined cavern. From there, a quick jog to the right and dash down the next corridor would bring him to where they’d changed worlds. Again.All of this world changing was tiresome. Just a couple of months ago he’d been a mostly normal guy, or at least that’s what he’d always told himself. His power had always set him apart. When he got angry, or scared, the darkness came. Pure and black, it plunged everything around him into a night without stars, which lasted until he could gather himself enough to force it back. Some of his most awkward memories included the extra horror of exposing this strange ability. He lost friends, and girlfriends, before he finally learned to control it – most of the time.In order to control it, Joel embraced the dark. He found if he carried it with him, just below the surface, it bubbled out into the world around him far less frequently.Still, his life seemed charmed, now that he looked at it from this distance. But he’d never seen that while he lived it. Half-Sidhe. It all made sense through that lens. Joel thought of his father, the Sidhe healer. They’d met him just weeks before his capture, as the world grew dangerous for the Sidhe’s half-human offspring. Now Joel wasn’t sure he’d ever see his father again. He would try to escape. But there were so many of them…he may just as well die trying as make it back to Tir Nan Og, the land of his father’s people. The monster had mentioned a new prisoner. Joel remembered the last. An old woman. Their cells had shared a wall, and he could see her through a three-inch wide gap in the stone, near the cell doors. He’d shoved his meager blanket through the gap into her hands, and shared his rations with her. He spoke to her, but she didn’t seem to understand him. They didn’t share a language. But it didn’t matter anyway, over the days she spoke less and less, until she finally huddled, weeping, on her cot. She died on the third night.Whoever they were bringing, they probably wouldn’t survive. In his weeks here, Joel had seen three different prisoners enter that cell. None of them had walked out of it again.Why had he waited so long here? Was it fear? The idea seemed more and more distant. What if they did kill him? Was that so much worse than staying here?Before he’d finished eating, more footsteps announced the new arrival. Two hulking creatures dragged the prisoner between them. Joel set his plate aside and stepped to the front of his small cell. He watched through his door as they approached.Was it another monster slung between them? Joel squinted in the low light. The prisoner’s flesh was smooth, hairless and dark. Sleek, almost, like a seal, but with a humanoid shape.They got to the cell, and shoved open the door with a loud clang. Joel stepped to the narrow gap and continued watching.One of the monsters grunted something at the other, and tossed a backpack on the cot in the cell. Joel stared at it, and looked back at the prisoner. Closer, he could see what he’d mistaken for a creature of some sort was really a human woman in a wetsuit. She slumped on the cot where they set her, unconscious.Joel’s heart fell. He couldn’t stop staring.This was no old woman, or middle-aged man. This was not a person he could chalk up to a lost cause.She was young. Not even thirty, by the looks of her.A monster slapped the wall next to the slit he watched through, and some sort of viscous liquid hit him right in the face. Joel didn’t back up as the thing chortled at him from the other side of the wall. “Beautiful, isn’t she?” A voice spoke up in clear English, which made Joel’s ears perk curiously. He tried to get a glimpse of the speaker, but he didn’t have a suitable angle to see him. He looked back to the woman. His heart raced with fear for her. With high cheekbones, delicate, arching brows, and full red lips, beautiful didn’t describe her well enough. These creatures would eat her for lunch.Silent, Joel strained to learn more about the speaker as he went on. “She should be. Eva is one of yours. I believe you were looking for her, when I found you at the Well of Slaine.”Joel growled at the mention of the place where his sister died. “What did you say?”The speaker stepped forward, and Joel could make out a tall form, and a black eye patch. “I was with the Fomorii when they attacked the Well of Slaine.” Joel growled, low in his throat, barely realizing he made the sound. So this was Abarta. The assassin bent on destroying all of the half-human descendants of the Sidhe.“Your friend Nathan gave me this for my trouble.” He gestured to the eye patch. Joel recalled Nathan. Another of the half-human Sidhe children. He’d only known him a day before the attack that had killed Therese. Savage glee filled him at the idea of ripping more of this man’s parts from his body. Nathan was a lucky bastard. And here Joel was, stuck in a cell, unable to do any damage of his own.The monsters shuffled out, leaving only Abarta, staring through the slit at him.“You will understand soon enough, Joel. We can’t have ones like you standing in our way. The time grows ripe.”Behind Abarta, the gorgeous woman on the cot stirred, her eyelids fluttering.As though he’d felt her begin to wake, Abarta left the cell, closing the door with a firm click behind him. “Not taking chances with this one,” he muttered. “She tried to take on three of the Fomorii, by herself.”Joel’s stare swiveled back to the cot, and the slender woman who currently occupied it. He didn’t ask the question he wanted to, because he wasn’t in the habit of speaking to his captors. Did Abarta mean this woman had tried to take on the monsters?As he stared, her eyes flew open, darting around as she took quick stock of her surroundings. She dropped off the cot, into a crouch, her hands splayed on the floor, like she was ready to pounce, or run. She must have seen their captor backtracking down the hall through the bars of her cell, because she yelled. “Coward! You need bars between us, you one-eyed dickhead? Come back here and I’ll shove my foot so far up your ass you’ll spit it out your pretty mouth!”Joel’s eyes widened. Nice language. The lady knew her way around a curse.Sneers and catcalls filled the hallway as the other prisoners responded to the new girl’s hostility.“You had to eat my fish, you worthless blobs? The least you can do is let me take it out of your skins!” She kicked the door of her cell, which had to hurt through her soft wetsuit booties, though she gave no sign of pain. She huffed another loud, angry breath as the large door at the other end of the hall banged shut with finality. “Damn. It. All.” She kicked the cell door again and turned to take in her surroundings. That’s when she saw Joel watching, and met his eyes with a look that made his bones melt. “What the hell are you staring at?”
Eva regretted her display as soon as her captor was out of earshot. The man watching didn’t help things, but that didn’t mean he deserved her anger. There was just so much of that to go around. Mother. Effer. Where was she?A cold cell in an eerie underground cavern, the low light from no sort of electricity she’d ever encountered. And then there were the monsters.Eva looked down, realizing she was still in her wetsuit. They’d tossed her bag on the tiny thing they apparently believed was a cot, and she sighed in relief at the sight of it.She turned back to the staring guy, thankful there was at least another human in here, and the look he gave her made her belly drop. Nice place to meet a hot guy, Eva. She could just picture how that would work out. About as well as all of her short-lived relationships. Or maybe it was the most fortuitous meeting in her dating history. After all, it couldn’t go anywhere but up from here. She shook her head at her spinning thoughts. She had to get out of this wetsuit. “Do you mind?”He turned away, still silent. Eva glared at the empty slit in the wall, then turned to her task. She pulled her change of clothes out of her bag, glad she’d packed for the chill she usually felt after a springtime dive. Yoga pants, long-sleeve tee and windbreaker later, Eva felt more like herself. Time to figure out how to get out of here.“Hey, you over there. Do you speak English?”A moment later he appeared, all soulful blue eyes and frowning. “Yes. I’m Joel.”“I’m Eva.”“I know.”She tilted her head to the side, considering that. “How do you know?”He was silent.“What’s going on here?”Nothing, except a slight shuffling of feet and another frown.“Oh, you are hopeless,” she said, furious. She stalked to the other end of her cell, where she couldn’t see him. “I don’t care if you talk to me or not. But quit watching me if you’re not going to be any help.”“I know of you, because you’re like me.”It was her turn to be silent. What did he mean by that?“Did they tell you anything?”They hadn’t. And she’d been too busy throwing punches to ask questions. She shook her head.He ran his fingers through his dark hair, which was on the long side. A cut that would never work out in the military.She touched her own hair unconsciously. It had grown back over the last two years, post-military. She never knew what to do with it anymore, like her own hair was a foreign guest or something.“Where are you from?” Eva finally asked, growing tired of her own thoughts. Maybe if she got Joel here talking, he’d tell her what he knew.“Seattle.” Joel sat down against the far wall of his cell, his hands on his knees as he considered her through the narrow opening. “I used to live in Seattle. You?”“California. The north coast.”“Ah. The state of Jefferson.”“Haha,” Eva answered. “People are disgruntled. When there are no jobs, people start coming up with all sorts of crazy ideas.” Eva heard the anger in her voice, and stopped talking.“You were the last on Abarta’s list. But why did he take both of us alive?”“Um ... speaking of crazy ... what are you mumbling about?”“The guy with the eye-patch. That’s Abarta. He’s the reason you’re here.” Joel stood again, returning to the slit they were speaking through. Eva stood her ground. Even one step back would give the signal that he outranked her, and she wasn’t having that. It was unlikely the man before her had any training whatsoever – and they were going to need all of her skills to get the hell out of here. But first, she needed to know why she was here in the first place. “When you said I’m like you ... what did you mean by that?”“This is going to sound really strange.”Eva looked around. “I don’t think I’m in a position to question your strange story right now, Joel.”“Point taken.”“So … continue.”“Laying the groundwork, do you happen to have a missing parent?”“Why would you ask that?”“Just tell me.”“Yeah, my mom raised me. My uncle helped out, but my father was nowhere to be seen.”“And that was a maternal uncle?”“Yes. Mom’s brother.” A sinking feeling spread through her guts, but she ignored it fiercely – she wasn’t going to let fear stop her from getting the truth. “It was your father, then.”“What was my father?”“Exactly.” He nodded.Eva shook her head, holding her tongue to the count of ten. Then she said, her breath whistling through her clenched teeth, “Tell me. In plain language.”“Your father isn’t human. He’s one of the Sidhe.”A buzzing filled her ears. Not human? A part of her wanted to resist it, but she knew he spoke the truth. There was her power, after all. Her unexplained, incredible ability.“What is a she?”“Pesky Gaelic. S-i-d-h-e. They’re old, from the land that is now Ireland. Back in the day people considered them gods.”Eva heard the words, but her brain was making the connections faster than she could rationally process. “Does my mother know?” she blurted out.Joel met her eyes, sorrow filling his. “I have no idea.” “And you’re one of these Sidhe, too?”“My father was also one, yes. I found out just a few days before these assholes brought me down here.”Eva wanted to ask Joel if he had any strange abilities, but it felt rude. Not to mention, if he shared such a thing with her, he’d expect reciprocity. And she wasn’t in a mood to share at the moment. Her father wasn’t human. She wasn’t human. Not one hundred percent.Shit and damnation.It explained so much.Her mother didn’t know. Eva realized she’d already made that determination, going over her memories in some hidden part of her mind and concluding that no, Mom hadn’t known. If she’d known, she would have understood Eva’s ability. And Eva wouldn’t have spent the last twenty years hiding it from her.“Are there a lot of these Sidhe?”“I don’t really know. I’ve met a couple dozen. I know there were far more than that. They were trying to gather all of us, to keep us from Abarta. They couldn’t find you.”Yeah, Eva wasn’t big on being found. “How long have you been here?”“Weeks and weeks. I’m not sure anymore.” His voice dropped off, his gaze focused on some distant point. It gave Eva a chance to consider him more forwardly. He was young. Probably her age, or within a couple of years. Taller than her by almost a head, which was odd for Eva. He wore just a t-shirt and dark jeans, both looking like they’d never before seen a washing machine. His face was haunted ... and handsome. A straight nose, big eyes, high cheekbones. Cleaned up, the man would be good looking. His gaze swiveled back to hers, caught her staring. And then he smiled.Good looking? No. That wasn’t doing him justice.This man was a caged storm. The smile he’d just given her was as electric as his blue, blue eyes. Eva swallowed. Here she was in a dungeon, being held by monsters, and he’d just shaken her with a simple smile. What was wrong with her?
Joel lay awake, long after Eva had taken to her cot, still grumbling about its size. The woman had a startlingly bad mouth. She hadn’t turned it on him in hours, and he counted himself lucky. He hadn’t been able to answer most of her questions, a fact that left him seething with impotent rage. He would get out of here. Having met her, he was no longer worried that Eva would be yet another in a string of bad ends in the cell next door. She was too strong for this to break her. When she’d seen where she was, Eva hadn’t gotten scared – she’d gotten angry. She was some woman.Too bad he had to meet her when he hadn’t seen a shower in ages. Sure, they let him use a facility, of sorts, every few days. Soon she’d be in the same situation.But not if they could escape. Maybe together they could get past the guards. He didn’t know anything about her skill set, but Eva seemed like a woman who knew how to handle herself. Or maybe she’d be the woman to make him soft and get him caught.From the next cell, he heard murmuring, and a soft moan. His ears perked up at the mournful sound, and he listened for anything else. Was she crying?Then a gargling, growing scream rent the air. “No! Not all of them! No!”Silence.Joel’s brow knit as he listened, as still as he could be on his own cot.She was dreaming. He wondered what she was seeing. It was something that tore her heart to shreds – and it didn’t seem random. She sounded terrified. Her breathing was rapid now, like she was running. “No,” she sighed. Then, “No!” in a stronger voice.Joel crept to the edge of his cot, and then to the slit in the wall.What he was hearing sounded at once intensely personal and private, and possibly dangerous. Joel was a private person, and there were some things he’d never forgive a stranger for hearing. He had the feeling Eva was of the same mold ... if he could wake her, she could keep some of her secrets.She thrashed in her sleep, those soft moans filling the air and breaking Joel’s heart.“Eva,” he whispered.No response.“Eva,” he spoke out loud.She shot up in bed, sitting straight and reaching for something. She groped for whatever it was, and dropped to a crouch on the floor next to the cot, assessing her surroundings.Joel watched her move – her speed alarming. She went from zero to sixty in a snap. Suddenly, he realized something. Eva was military. She had combat training – that was apparent – and it fit with the nightmare.“You were having a nightmare,” Joel told her, in what he hoped was a soothing voice.Eva blinked at him. “Yeah? Well, that’s how it goes.”He didn’t ask. Instead, he went back to his cot, to give her privacy. Military.He’d never considered it. He fixed cars for a living. A far cry from saving lives and protecting freedom. The only experience he had with war was the coverage that made the news. And he didn’t even watch that very often.Melancholy rose up in him. He welcomed its familiar pall. Welcomed the darkness hovering at the edge of his vision. He hadn’t had much of a life, before all this. He hadn’t contributed much, that’s for sure. He’d done what he loved, fixing cars, fixing bikes. He was decent at it. He mostly tried to keep to himself and avoid showing off his particular ability, which tended to depress people when they found out.Eva sighed into sleep in the cell next to his.He closed his eyes, alone again with his jumbled thoughts. Alone with memories he’d never outrun, and a gripping sadness that had always threatened, and had recently become seductive.Joel smiled grimly, letting the darkness take hold. It fell like the deepest night, snuffing out all light in a twenty-foot or so radius of him. It chilled the emotions that had felt too chaotic to contain. Coated them in nothingness. Not despair, exactly, but something close to it. Acceptance, maybe. He’d never thought much about it. Either he was trying to hide the darkness, like usual, or reveling in it completely, as now, for a few precious stolen minutes.For him, the darkness was pleasant. Empty. Still.The murmurs began a few seconds later, and soon an argument broke out a few cells down. Growls reverberated off the stone walls.The guards would come.Joel clutched at the thought, a quickening desperation eating at him until he consciously acknowledged it. He couldn’t let them find him at the center of the darkness. His ability and their ignorance of it were the only advantages he had here.He gathered himself with a shaking breath.Shit. He’d needed the darkness, for a few. But now he had to pull it back.
He focused, grimacing, on taking the darkness into himself. He felt it come. Felt the heaviness. The raw clamor of his mixed up thoughts returned, and Joel groaned, holding his head. He slumped back onto the cot, resigned to fight for sleep another night in this hellhole.
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Here are the first three chapters of Shield, with buy links if I manage to intrigue you. Happy reading! :)
Shield (Children of the Sidhe, #5)Amazon US / Amazon UK / Barnes & Noble / iTunes / Kobo / Smashwords
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There’s nothing like the underwater world if you’re craving solitude. Time seems to stop. The sun lights up the surface and splinters into the murky depths, revealing the secret landscapes few human eyes have seen. It is so peaceful and silent under water. And that’s why Eva Parker loved to dive. She’d find any excuse. Today it was spearfishing. A yellow fish flashed by Eva’s mask and she jerked, the movement slow and oddly stilted underwater. She rolled her eyes at the overreaction and her fingers clutched the spear tighter as she approached a small cave formation. She knew this area well, and the fish loved hiding in the low crevices that dotted the rock. Dinner wasn’t far off now.She shouldn’t be out here diving alone. Of course Eva knew that. She just didn’t care. The solitude added to the thrill. The truth was, Eva wasn’t like anyone else. So why pretend?A lingcod darted from between the rocks. It was huge! More than thirty pounds, anyway. Its jaws gaped, and Eva took aim and slashed with her spear, impaling the big fish through the side of the face.Oh, shit. As soon as the thirty-plus pound fish was dead it started to drag. Determined not to lose the catch of the month, Eva repositioned her grip on the spear and the fish, so she was behind its bulk, and gave it her all with her legs. She was almost out of air.Adrenaline helped. Her muscles appreciated the boost as they burned through the best workout in weeks. Eva knew she’d feel this tomorrow. Not to mention the welcome distraction from her now-mundane civilian existence.Eva burst through the surface into the full light of day, her eyes dazzled by the brightness of the late afternoon sun over the water, even through her mask. Her lungs heaved in a giant breath before she sank under again, getting her grip on the fish as she moved toward the shore, a short swim away. Her legs ached from the exertion, and she longed to shove her mask back, but it wasn’t to be at the moment.Eva gripped the rocks. Now that she was steady she shoved one end of her stringer through the lingcod’s gills and out the other side with a triumphant grin. She heaved the fish onto the shore, watching where it landed carefully. Mom and Uncle Dan were going to flip when they saw this fish. Eva hopped out of the water and hovered over the fish, finally shoving off her mask as she considered how best to retrieve her favorite spear without ruining too much of the prized catch. She wasn’t paying close attention to her surroundings, which she regretted a moment later, when a foreign hand wrapped around her wrist.“What?” Eva yelped, tugging her wrist to no avail. She glared at the man holding her – assuming he was male due to his bulk. She was probably correct, but once she saw his ugly face, gender wasn’t much of a concern. Eva was looking straight into the visage of a monster. And three more stood behind him. There was no rhyme or reason to their looks, but they were obviously together. One had only a single eye that was way too large to pretend at humanity. Another had ape-like, swinging arms that reached near to his ankles, and a grotesque overhanging brow. The one holding her was more humanoid than those other two, but it was too large to be a normal man, and its face reminded Eva of a snake – too round and smooth, his nose two slits nearly flat against his face. What was she doing considering their looks? These guys were obviously up to no good.Instantly, Eva triggered her power, a silvery boundary forming at her skin and shoving outward mightily. But she couldn’t avoid shielding the creature that held her as well. Damn. It. All.Eva glared at him, and he glared back, eyes narrowing as he let out a strange, gurgling hiss.“Do not struggle.” The words were barely understandable; his voice was low and his syllables strangely abrupt.“Yes. Do not struggle, Eva.” Another voice, from outside her shield, spoke up.Eva sought the source, and found a tall, thin man with an eye patch staring her down. He was incredibly good-looking, and completely untrustworthy. Call it the eye patch, or the mother effing monsters, or just the random attack on the beach – she wasn’t going to give this guy’s commands the time of day.“Good luck with that.” Mad now, Eva shoved the one holding her and gave a sudden lurch to her left, bringing her right leg around to sweep his legs out from under him. He crashed hard on the rocky beach and hissed at her from his prone position. She stepped on his throat, pressing down until he squirmed.Then, somehow, he got the better of her. Her leg was suddenly in his grip, and then she was sailing through the air to bounce against her own shield, which felt something like the wall of an inflated balloon. “Oh, no!” Eva growled. As she bounced off the wall of the shield, it didn’t bounce back. Instead it expanded, capturing two more of the beasts inside with her. The tall eye patch man and the other monster were still outside.The original bad guy was no longer prone, and the three of them stood shoulder to shoulder, inside Eva’s shield. She dropped the shield, and turned to eye patch man. “What the hell do you people want?” she demanded.One of the monsters stooped and retrieved her lingcod.“Not my fish!” Eva shouted.The thing gave a gurgling reply that might have been a laugh, and ate the fish’s tail end in a single bite.“God damn it! That was myfish!” Two of the monsters had closed in on her, and she rounded on them. She landed a few solid punches in a curiously satisfied-yet-detached state of mind she knew all too well, before everything went dark.
Waking to another dark, damp day, only God knew where, Joel Rivera stared at the rough stone ceiling and listened to the sounds around him to determine the time. The monsters holding him hadn’t brought breakfast yet, and Joel wished he could sleep more, until they brought him the meager meal to stave off starvation. But his cell was so cold he couldn’t get comfortable under the single square of unraveling blanket they’d provided.Instead he rose to his feet and stretched his arms high above his head. The cell wasn’t big – his cot was barely long enough for him, and took up almost half the floor space – but at least the ceilings were high. The uneven stone walls seeped with moisture, and the sounds in this cold place could drive one mad. The monsters were bad enough, but they held ... other things ... in the cells here. Joel wasn’t sure exactly what, but they weren’t human. Not by a long shot.Of course, his captors weren’t human. They were something else. Sinister, violent, and unreasonable. After all, what did they want with him? As close as Joel could tell, he’d been taken prisoner because he was a half-human, half-Sidhe. His father was a renowned Sidhe healer. He’d had a twin, too–Joel cut the chain of thought mid-stride. He would not think of Therese.She was all he’d thought of the first weeks he’d been here. But focusing on her death would not bring her back. Nothing could do that. He would always live with the fact that he’d been too slow, too weak, to save her.And then these savage creatures had taken him, and he hadn’t even been able to say goodbye. Joel realized his hands were aching. He’d made fists so tight he could see red grooves left by his fingernails. He smiled hopelessly. A little pain would be something to focus on ... something to break up this endless monotony. Joel ached to be anywhere else – to get the hell out of this place they’d thrown him into. Had they lost the key? Did they even remember he was here?Joel dropped to the ground, dirty as it was, and started in on push-ups. He’d been doing a lot of them. So many that he no longer kept track of how many times he counted to one hundred. A shuffling, clinking sound made him jump back up. Finally. Breakfast.“Get back,” growled the guard when he got to Joel’s cell. Joel complied. The guard eased open the door and slipped a plate inside before sealing it again.“New prisoner today. You will like her. I promise.” It cackled to itself, shaking its overlarge head.Joel didn’t bother replying. He retrieved his breakfast and sat on the edge of the cot to eat. The thing shuffled back down the long hall. Joel listened, trying to remember how many steps it was to the other end of this narrow, cell-lined cavern. From there, a quick jog to the right and dash down the next corridor would bring him to where they’d changed worlds. Again.All of this world changing was tiresome. Just a couple of months ago he’d been a mostly normal guy, or at least that’s what he’d always told himself. His power had always set him apart. When he got angry, or scared, the darkness came. Pure and black, it plunged everything around him into a night without stars, which lasted until he could gather himself enough to force it back. Some of his most awkward memories included the extra horror of exposing this strange ability. He lost friends, and girlfriends, before he finally learned to control it – most of the time.In order to control it, Joel embraced the dark. He found if he carried it with him, just below the surface, it bubbled out into the world around him far less frequently.Still, his life seemed charmed, now that he looked at it from this distance. But he’d never seen that while he lived it. Half-Sidhe. It all made sense through that lens. Joel thought of his father, the Sidhe healer. They’d met him just weeks before his capture, as the world grew dangerous for the Sidhe’s half-human offspring. Now Joel wasn’t sure he’d ever see his father again. He would try to escape. But there were so many of them…he may just as well die trying as make it back to Tir Nan Og, the land of his father’s people. The monster had mentioned a new prisoner. Joel remembered the last. An old woman. Their cells had shared a wall, and he could see her through a three-inch wide gap in the stone, near the cell doors. He’d shoved his meager blanket through the gap into her hands, and shared his rations with her. He spoke to her, but she didn’t seem to understand him. They didn’t share a language. But it didn’t matter anyway, over the days she spoke less and less, until she finally huddled, weeping, on her cot. She died on the third night.Whoever they were bringing, they probably wouldn’t survive. In his weeks here, Joel had seen three different prisoners enter that cell. None of them had walked out of it again.Why had he waited so long here? Was it fear? The idea seemed more and more distant. What if they did kill him? Was that so much worse than staying here?Before he’d finished eating, more footsteps announced the new arrival. Two hulking creatures dragged the prisoner between them. Joel set his plate aside and stepped to the front of his small cell. He watched through his door as they approached.Was it another monster slung between them? Joel squinted in the low light. The prisoner’s flesh was smooth, hairless and dark. Sleek, almost, like a seal, but with a humanoid shape.They got to the cell, and shoved open the door with a loud clang. Joel stepped to the narrow gap and continued watching.One of the monsters grunted something at the other, and tossed a backpack on the cot in the cell. Joel stared at it, and looked back at the prisoner. Closer, he could see what he’d mistaken for a creature of some sort was really a human woman in a wetsuit. She slumped on the cot where they set her, unconscious.Joel’s heart fell. He couldn’t stop staring.This was no old woman, or middle-aged man. This was not a person he could chalk up to a lost cause.She was young. Not even thirty, by the looks of her.A monster slapped the wall next to the slit he watched through, and some sort of viscous liquid hit him right in the face. Joel didn’t back up as the thing chortled at him from the other side of the wall. “Beautiful, isn’t she?” A voice spoke up in clear English, which made Joel’s ears perk curiously. He tried to get a glimpse of the speaker, but he didn’t have a suitable angle to see him. He looked back to the woman. His heart raced with fear for her. With high cheekbones, delicate, arching brows, and full red lips, beautiful didn’t describe her well enough. These creatures would eat her for lunch.Silent, Joel strained to learn more about the speaker as he went on. “She should be. Eva is one of yours. I believe you were looking for her, when I found you at the Well of Slaine.”Joel growled at the mention of the place where his sister died. “What did you say?”The speaker stepped forward, and Joel could make out a tall form, and a black eye patch. “I was with the Fomorii when they attacked the Well of Slaine.” Joel growled, low in his throat, barely realizing he made the sound. So this was Abarta. The assassin bent on destroying all of the half-human descendants of the Sidhe.“Your friend Nathan gave me this for my trouble.” He gestured to the eye patch. Joel recalled Nathan. Another of the half-human Sidhe children. He’d only known him a day before the attack that had killed Therese. Savage glee filled him at the idea of ripping more of this man’s parts from his body. Nathan was a lucky bastard. And here Joel was, stuck in a cell, unable to do any damage of his own.The monsters shuffled out, leaving only Abarta, staring through the slit at him.“You will understand soon enough, Joel. We can’t have ones like you standing in our way. The time grows ripe.”Behind Abarta, the gorgeous woman on the cot stirred, her eyelids fluttering.As though he’d felt her begin to wake, Abarta left the cell, closing the door with a firm click behind him. “Not taking chances with this one,” he muttered. “She tried to take on three of the Fomorii, by herself.”Joel’s stare swiveled back to the cot, and the slender woman who currently occupied it. He didn’t ask the question he wanted to, because he wasn’t in the habit of speaking to his captors. Did Abarta mean this woman had tried to take on the monsters?As he stared, her eyes flew open, darting around as she took quick stock of her surroundings. She dropped off the cot, into a crouch, her hands splayed on the floor, like she was ready to pounce, or run. She must have seen their captor backtracking down the hall through the bars of her cell, because she yelled. “Coward! You need bars between us, you one-eyed dickhead? Come back here and I’ll shove my foot so far up your ass you’ll spit it out your pretty mouth!”Joel’s eyes widened. Nice language. The lady knew her way around a curse.Sneers and catcalls filled the hallway as the other prisoners responded to the new girl’s hostility.“You had to eat my fish, you worthless blobs? The least you can do is let me take it out of your skins!” She kicked the door of her cell, which had to hurt through her soft wetsuit booties, though she gave no sign of pain. She huffed another loud, angry breath as the large door at the other end of the hall banged shut with finality. “Damn. It. All.” She kicked the cell door again and turned to take in her surroundings. That’s when she saw Joel watching, and met his eyes with a look that made his bones melt. “What the hell are you staring at?”
Eva regretted her display as soon as her captor was out of earshot. The man watching didn’t help things, but that didn’t mean he deserved her anger. There was just so much of that to go around. Mother. Effer. Where was she?A cold cell in an eerie underground cavern, the low light from no sort of electricity she’d ever encountered. And then there were the monsters.Eva looked down, realizing she was still in her wetsuit. They’d tossed her bag on the tiny thing they apparently believed was a cot, and she sighed in relief at the sight of it.She turned back to the staring guy, thankful there was at least another human in here, and the look he gave her made her belly drop. Nice place to meet a hot guy, Eva. She could just picture how that would work out. About as well as all of her short-lived relationships. Or maybe it was the most fortuitous meeting in her dating history. After all, it couldn’t go anywhere but up from here. She shook her head at her spinning thoughts. She had to get out of this wetsuit. “Do you mind?”He turned away, still silent. Eva glared at the empty slit in the wall, then turned to her task. She pulled her change of clothes out of her bag, glad she’d packed for the chill she usually felt after a springtime dive. Yoga pants, long-sleeve tee and windbreaker later, Eva felt more like herself. Time to figure out how to get out of here.“Hey, you over there. Do you speak English?”A moment later he appeared, all soulful blue eyes and frowning. “Yes. I’m Joel.”“I’m Eva.”“I know.”She tilted her head to the side, considering that. “How do you know?”He was silent.“What’s going on here?”Nothing, except a slight shuffling of feet and another frown.“Oh, you are hopeless,” she said, furious. She stalked to the other end of her cell, where she couldn’t see him. “I don’t care if you talk to me or not. But quit watching me if you’re not going to be any help.”“I know of you, because you’re like me.”It was her turn to be silent. What did he mean by that?“Did they tell you anything?”They hadn’t. And she’d been too busy throwing punches to ask questions. She shook her head.He ran his fingers through his dark hair, which was on the long side. A cut that would never work out in the military.She touched her own hair unconsciously. It had grown back over the last two years, post-military. She never knew what to do with it anymore, like her own hair was a foreign guest or something.“Where are you from?” Eva finally asked, growing tired of her own thoughts. Maybe if she got Joel here talking, he’d tell her what he knew.“Seattle.” Joel sat down against the far wall of his cell, his hands on his knees as he considered her through the narrow opening. “I used to live in Seattle. You?”“California. The north coast.”“Ah. The state of Jefferson.”“Haha,” Eva answered. “People are disgruntled. When there are no jobs, people start coming up with all sorts of crazy ideas.” Eva heard the anger in her voice, and stopped talking.“You were the last on Abarta’s list. But why did he take both of us alive?”“Um ... speaking of crazy ... what are you mumbling about?”“The guy with the eye-patch. That’s Abarta. He’s the reason you’re here.” Joel stood again, returning to the slit they were speaking through. Eva stood her ground. Even one step back would give the signal that he outranked her, and she wasn’t having that. It was unlikely the man before her had any training whatsoever – and they were going to need all of her skills to get the hell out of here. But first, she needed to know why she was here in the first place. “When you said I’m like you ... what did you mean by that?”“This is going to sound really strange.”Eva looked around. “I don’t think I’m in a position to question your strange story right now, Joel.”“Point taken.”“So … continue.”“Laying the groundwork, do you happen to have a missing parent?”“Why would you ask that?”“Just tell me.”“Yeah, my mom raised me. My uncle helped out, but my father was nowhere to be seen.”“And that was a maternal uncle?”“Yes. Mom’s brother.” A sinking feeling spread through her guts, but she ignored it fiercely – she wasn’t going to let fear stop her from getting the truth. “It was your father, then.”“What was my father?”“Exactly.” He nodded.Eva shook her head, holding her tongue to the count of ten. Then she said, her breath whistling through her clenched teeth, “Tell me. In plain language.”“Your father isn’t human. He’s one of the Sidhe.”A buzzing filled her ears. Not human? A part of her wanted to resist it, but she knew he spoke the truth. There was her power, after all. Her unexplained, incredible ability.“What is a she?”“Pesky Gaelic. S-i-d-h-e. They’re old, from the land that is now Ireland. Back in the day people considered them gods.”Eva heard the words, but her brain was making the connections faster than she could rationally process. “Does my mother know?” she blurted out.Joel met her eyes, sorrow filling his. “I have no idea.” “And you’re one of these Sidhe, too?”“My father was also one, yes. I found out just a few days before these assholes brought me down here.”Eva wanted to ask Joel if he had any strange abilities, but it felt rude. Not to mention, if he shared such a thing with her, he’d expect reciprocity. And she wasn’t in a mood to share at the moment. Her father wasn’t human. She wasn’t human. Not one hundred percent.Shit and damnation.It explained so much.Her mother didn’t know. Eva realized she’d already made that determination, going over her memories in some hidden part of her mind and concluding that no, Mom hadn’t known. If she’d known, she would have understood Eva’s ability. And Eva wouldn’t have spent the last twenty years hiding it from her.“Are there a lot of these Sidhe?”“I don’t really know. I’ve met a couple dozen. I know there were far more than that. They were trying to gather all of us, to keep us from Abarta. They couldn’t find you.”Yeah, Eva wasn’t big on being found. “How long have you been here?”“Weeks and weeks. I’m not sure anymore.” His voice dropped off, his gaze focused on some distant point. It gave Eva a chance to consider him more forwardly. He was young. Probably her age, or within a couple of years. Taller than her by almost a head, which was odd for Eva. He wore just a t-shirt and dark jeans, both looking like they’d never before seen a washing machine. His face was haunted ... and handsome. A straight nose, big eyes, high cheekbones. Cleaned up, the man would be good looking. His gaze swiveled back to hers, caught her staring. And then he smiled.Good looking? No. That wasn’t doing him justice.This man was a caged storm. The smile he’d just given her was as electric as his blue, blue eyes. Eva swallowed. Here she was in a dungeon, being held by monsters, and he’d just shaken her with a simple smile. What was wrong with her?
Joel lay awake, long after Eva had taken to her cot, still grumbling about its size. The woman had a startlingly bad mouth. She hadn’t turned it on him in hours, and he counted himself lucky. He hadn’t been able to answer most of her questions, a fact that left him seething with impotent rage. He would get out of here. Having met her, he was no longer worried that Eva would be yet another in a string of bad ends in the cell next door. She was too strong for this to break her. When she’d seen where she was, Eva hadn’t gotten scared – she’d gotten angry. She was some woman.Too bad he had to meet her when he hadn’t seen a shower in ages. Sure, they let him use a facility, of sorts, every few days. Soon she’d be in the same situation.But not if they could escape. Maybe together they could get past the guards. He didn’t know anything about her skill set, but Eva seemed like a woman who knew how to handle herself. Or maybe she’d be the woman to make him soft and get him caught.From the next cell, he heard murmuring, and a soft moan. His ears perked up at the mournful sound, and he listened for anything else. Was she crying?Then a gargling, growing scream rent the air. “No! Not all of them! No!”Silence.Joel’s brow knit as he listened, as still as he could be on his own cot.She was dreaming. He wondered what she was seeing. It was something that tore her heart to shreds – and it didn’t seem random. She sounded terrified. Her breathing was rapid now, like she was running. “No,” she sighed. Then, “No!” in a stronger voice.Joel crept to the edge of his cot, and then to the slit in the wall.What he was hearing sounded at once intensely personal and private, and possibly dangerous. Joel was a private person, and there were some things he’d never forgive a stranger for hearing. He had the feeling Eva was of the same mold ... if he could wake her, she could keep some of her secrets.She thrashed in her sleep, those soft moans filling the air and breaking Joel’s heart.“Eva,” he whispered.No response.“Eva,” he spoke out loud.She shot up in bed, sitting straight and reaching for something. She groped for whatever it was, and dropped to a crouch on the floor next to the cot, assessing her surroundings.Joel watched her move – her speed alarming. She went from zero to sixty in a snap. Suddenly, he realized something. Eva was military. She had combat training – that was apparent – and it fit with the nightmare.“You were having a nightmare,” Joel told her, in what he hoped was a soothing voice.Eva blinked at him. “Yeah? Well, that’s how it goes.”He didn’t ask. Instead, he went back to his cot, to give her privacy. Military.He’d never considered it. He fixed cars for a living. A far cry from saving lives and protecting freedom. The only experience he had with war was the coverage that made the news. And he didn’t even watch that very often.Melancholy rose up in him. He welcomed its familiar pall. Welcomed the darkness hovering at the edge of his vision. He hadn’t had much of a life, before all this. He hadn’t contributed much, that’s for sure. He’d done what he loved, fixing cars, fixing bikes. He was decent at it. He mostly tried to keep to himself and avoid showing off his particular ability, which tended to depress people when they found out.Eva sighed into sleep in the cell next to his.He closed his eyes, alone again with his jumbled thoughts. Alone with memories he’d never outrun, and a gripping sadness that had always threatened, and had recently become seductive.Joel smiled grimly, letting the darkness take hold. It fell like the deepest night, snuffing out all light in a twenty-foot or so radius of him. It chilled the emotions that had felt too chaotic to contain. Coated them in nothingness. Not despair, exactly, but something close to it. Acceptance, maybe. He’d never thought much about it. Either he was trying to hide the darkness, like usual, or reveling in it completely, as now, for a few precious stolen minutes.For him, the darkness was pleasant. Empty. Still.The murmurs began a few seconds later, and soon an argument broke out a few cells down. Growls reverberated off the stone walls.The guards would come.Joel clutched at the thought, a quickening desperation eating at him until he consciously acknowledged it. He couldn’t let them find him at the center of the darkness. His ability and their ignorance of it were the only advantages he had here.He gathered himself with a shaking breath.Shit. He’d needed the darkness, for a few. But now he had to pull it back.
He focused, grimacing, on taking the darkness into himself. He felt it come. Felt the heaviness. The raw clamor of his mixed up thoughts returned, and Joel groaned, holding his head. He slumped back onto the cot, resigned to fight for sleep another night in this hellhole.
###
Amazon US / Amazon UK / Barnes & Noble / iTunes / Kobo / Smashwords
October 5, 2014
Foulweather Twins in Kindle Unlimited
Queen Witch and Chaos Calling are both now enrolled in Amazon's KDP Select program, which means they' re in the Kindle lending library, and Kindle Unlimited. Electronic versions of the books are now available only on Amazon. You can still buy a paper copy through Barnes and Noble.
Queen Witch
Paperback: Amazon / Barnes & Noble / CreatespaceEbook: Amazon / Amazon UK
Stubborn and suspicious are two qualities that don’t go over well in the Queen family…
Where does my story truly begin? Maybe with the birth of twins to a soon-dead witch. Or possibly with the name bestowed on me by the Lady, the immortal we serve. She called me Sage, and my sister Wren. The Foulweather twins. As I choose to see it, my story begins when I first participated in the course of my life. When I started making my own decisions, despite everything I’d been taught. Forced recluse with a secret life? That’s me.
Sage Brighton is a young woman of incredible power, but she doesn’t decide how that power is used, or anything else about her life. As a witch of the Queen family, and a twin, Sage will serve the Lady all her days. The immortal has plans for Sage and her twin Wren. They are to be her Hands, her enforcers in the mortal, modern world. But first Sage must survive her training, learn to control her sociopathic sister without getting maimed in the process, and all the while try to keep something of her life for her own.
Chaos Calling
Paperback: Amazon / CreatespaceEbook: Amazon / Amazon UK
Stubbornness and suspicion have never served Sage so well…
There are moments when the panic swells in me as I realize afresh what I have done. To betray the immortal I was raised to serve… What was I thinking? But those are just moments. Every day I live with the consequences, and they’re worth it. If the only way I know to make the Lady suffer, to force her power to wilt, is to serve another like her, I will take it. Until I find a better way.
Sage Brighton made a choice six months ago. A choice that changed her whole world. Now she skulks in the shadows, hiding even more from her twin and the rest of the Queen family than she had before. Serving two immortals is stretching her beyond her limits. And then there’s her unwelcome attraction to Chaos, the immortal seeking to destroy her family, and her relationship with Peter. As Sage’s days and nights spiral out of control, can she figure out who to trust? A wrong move now could spell the end of everything she’s worked for. It could be the end of her.
Queen Witch
Paperback: Amazon / Barnes & Noble / CreatespaceEbook: Amazon / Amazon UK
Stubborn and suspicious are two qualities that don’t go over well in the Queen family…
Where does my story truly begin? Maybe with the birth of twins to a soon-dead witch. Or possibly with the name bestowed on me by the Lady, the immortal we serve. She called me Sage, and my sister Wren. The Foulweather twins. As I choose to see it, my story begins when I first participated in the course of my life. When I started making my own decisions, despite everything I’d been taught. Forced recluse with a secret life? That’s me.
Sage Brighton is a young woman of incredible power, but she doesn’t decide how that power is used, or anything else about her life. As a witch of the Queen family, and a twin, Sage will serve the Lady all her days. The immortal has plans for Sage and her twin Wren. They are to be her Hands, her enforcers in the mortal, modern world. But first Sage must survive her training, learn to control her sociopathic sister without getting maimed in the process, and all the while try to keep something of her life for her own.
Chaos Calling
Paperback: Amazon / CreatespaceEbook: Amazon / Amazon UK
Stubbornness and suspicion have never served Sage so well…
There are moments when the panic swells in me as I realize afresh what I have done. To betray the immortal I was raised to serve… What was I thinking? But those are just moments. Every day I live with the consequences, and they’re worth it. If the only way I know to make the Lady suffer, to force her power to wilt, is to serve another like her, I will take it. Until I find a better way.
Sage Brighton made a choice six months ago. A choice that changed her whole world. Now she skulks in the shadows, hiding even more from her twin and the rest of the Queen family than she had before. Serving two immortals is stretching her beyond her limits. And then there’s her unwelcome attraction to Chaos, the immortal seeking to destroy her family, and her relationship with Peter. As Sage’s days and nights spiral out of control, can she figure out who to trust? A wrong move now could spell the end of everything she’s worked for. It could be the end of her.
October 3, 2014
Melissa Etheridge Released an Independent Album!
Melissa Etheridge has released a new album titled This is M.E.
And she did it on her own.
As an independent artist, this news thrilled me! As a fan, I ran out and bought a copy! (By which I mean I went to iTunes and got a copy. YAY!!! An album I KNOW I will love!)
But all fangirling aside, I'm so happy to see artists taking their brands into their own hands. Melissa can absolutely reach her fans on her own, without a record label calling the shots. It's going to be exciting to see how she does with this.
I'm going to point something else out that's an important parallel for authors. Melissa Etheridge has released a record independently, but she didn't do it alone. She's a huge star with big name friends, which comes with its advantages. At this stage of her career, she has more of these connections than any record label. So, it appears she's being a brilliant business woman. She started an independent label, ME Records, and partnered with a TON of big names to make an album. On her website she says simply, "I've made an album I love." And that's another lesson. This is what we get to do as independent artists. Leave the market out of the art, create from the heart, and count on it finding its audience, or not.
Now for the music. :)
Here's more on this new album. You can find links to buy it (like I just did!) on Melissa Etheridge's website.
Give this sampler a listen to get a taste for the new stuff.
She'll also be doing a tour. No Oregon dates...but if she comes to your area, go for me and tell me all about it. :)
And she did it on her own.
As an independent artist, this news thrilled me! As a fan, I ran out and bought a copy! (By which I mean I went to iTunes and got a copy. YAY!!! An album I KNOW I will love!)
But all fangirling aside, I'm so happy to see artists taking their brands into their own hands. Melissa can absolutely reach her fans on her own, without a record label calling the shots. It's going to be exciting to see how she does with this.
I'm going to point something else out that's an important parallel for authors. Melissa Etheridge has released a record independently, but she didn't do it alone. She's a huge star with big name friends, which comes with its advantages. At this stage of her career, she has more of these connections than any record label. So, it appears she's being a brilliant business woman. She started an independent label, ME Records, and partnered with a TON of big names to make an album. On her website she says simply, "I've made an album I love." And that's another lesson. This is what we get to do as independent artists. Leave the market out of the art, create from the heart, and count on it finding its audience, or not.
Now for the music. :)
Here's more on this new album. You can find links to buy it (like I just did!) on Melissa Etheridge's website.
Give this sampler a listen to get a taste for the new stuff.
She'll also be doing a tour. No Oregon dates...but if she comes to your area, go for me and tell me all about it. :)
July 19, 2014
Shield Cover Reveal!
My blog's been quiet, but this writer has been clickety-clacking her early mornings and evenings away, working on the final installment of my Children of the Sidhe fantasy romance series.
Shield has been a BLAST to write. First, I have two rather dark and troubled characters colliding in this romance. Second, I love the reappearances of characters from previous books as the story continues through new viewpoints. I LOVE all of those characters, and I love seeing their stories continue within the overarching plot. This has been such a FUN series to write. I look forward to many more readers discovering my Children of the Sidhe romances. If you love deep fantasy worlds, fast-moving and intriguing plots, and fun, sexy action to boot, check out this series. :)
Shield is the fifth and final book in the Children of the Sidhe -- a series built around an Otherworld war that by now is hell bent on infringing on the human realm. Can Eva and Joel, with their strange powers and stronger-than-steel connection, manage to survive when they're all that stands between the monsters and humanity?
Shield should be available in ebook by early September. I'll then compile the entire series into one book, and I'll also put out a print version of the Children of the Sidhe omnibus, so keep watch for those developments this fall!
BONUS cover reveal -- here's the Children of the Sidhe series omnibus cover!
My cover artist Kellie Dennis did amazing work pulling this whole series together with a new, romantic and fantastic look and feel. Thank you, Kellie, for your brilliant design work and incredibly kind nature. You really make the design process fun. :)
Shield has been a BLAST to write. First, I have two rather dark and troubled characters colliding in this romance. Second, I love the reappearances of characters from previous books as the story continues through new viewpoints. I LOVE all of those characters, and I love seeing their stories continue within the overarching plot. This has been such a FUN series to write. I look forward to many more readers discovering my Children of the Sidhe romances. If you love deep fantasy worlds, fast-moving and intriguing plots, and fun, sexy action to boot, check out this series. :)
Shield is the fifth and final book in the Children of the Sidhe -- a series built around an Otherworld war that by now is hell bent on infringing on the human realm. Can Eva and Joel, with their strange powers and stronger-than-steel connection, manage to survive when they're all that stands between the monsters and humanity?
Shield should be available in ebook by early September. I'll then compile the entire series into one book, and I'll also put out a print version of the Children of the Sidhe omnibus, so keep watch for those developments this fall!
BONUS cover reveal -- here's the Children of the Sidhe series omnibus cover!
My cover artist Kellie Dennis did amazing work pulling this whole series together with a new, romantic and fantastic look and feel. Thank you, Kellie, for your brilliant design work and incredibly kind nature. You really make the design process fun. :)
