I.E. Castellano's Blog, page 10

Fly Me to the Moon

There’s a lot of flying in a space opera.  (I know, you’re shocked.)  Where Pirates go to Die mainly centers around one non-Galaxy-regulated ship, the Tigerlily.  To watch some spectacular flying in person, I’m heading to the Air Show this weekend. 
As many of you know, my brother is a pilot.  The aviator’s club to which he belongs gave Air Show VIP passes and is throwing a hangar party all afternoon and into the evening.  And, as a good sister, I get to go, too!  (Yay me!)  There’s a rumor that the Blue Angels will be guests at the hangar party.  Their flying is nothing short of awesome.  (Need to remember to bring earplugs for when those jets pass.)  I hope the rumor is true.  How cool would it be to meet them?  Hopefully, they will be able to give me some of their limited time to ask them plenty of questions about flying those fighter jets.  What I won’t do for research.
I’m hoping to pick up a few good moves for Wretch (the Tigerlily’s pilot) to use, especially during the final in-space battle.  Maybe, I’ll even take some halfway decent photos with my phone to share.

Upcoming Projects

After launching Secrets of the Sages, I have no time to rest on my laurels.  Not wanting a big celebration or party, I simply pick up my pen and keep writing.
Four books are all at different stages of completion.  First, I am writing Whispers, the fourth book of the World In-between series.  It begins a couple of weeks after Secrets of the Sages ends.  Escalating war leads to a high body count and to happy occasions being crashed. 
Second, I can see the end of my space opera, Where Pirates go to Die.  Think of it as kinda like Firefly meets Pirates of the Caribbean.  It includes some interesting characters, cat and mouse chase scenes, robots (including androids), and high tech thievery.
Third, I am thoroughly researching a contemporary fantasy.  And by thoroughly, I mean I read and take notes until my eyes pop out and become bloodshot.  Quite fun.  I am getting some great fodder for continuing the scene that I had to leave hanging because I needed to do research.  I like my fiction to hinge on something either believable or common knowledge, like a myth or fairy tale.
Fourth, I have my non-speculative fiction (fantasy/sci-fi) detective story.  Yes, it is a departure for me.  And yes, I tend to write this story more slowly than the others.  Right now, I have my former homicide detective, who happens to hate the sight of dead bodies, investigating a missing person case turned serial killing case.  Her new job as a private eye has her reluctantly working with the FBI.  One of the agents is incredibly handsome, which could potentially lead to a conflict of interest.

No Secret Lasts Forever

The magical adventure continues… Book three of the World In-between series.

Since first stepping through the portal, Berty has always found the Empire mysterious—full of secrets awaiting discovery. Revealing secrets comes with a price, especially magical secrets. His world begins to unravel. Unless Berty exposes the ancient magical secrets the Seven High Sages concealed from history, he could lose everything and everyone he loves.

Secrets of the Sages, book 3 of the epic fantasy the World In-between series is now available.Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Apple iTunes, Google Play, Smashwords

Quoting Secrets

Seven SagesSeven SealsSeven SecretsSoon Sinister Steals--The Pixie Priestess








A gathering of quotes from the upcoming epic fantasy, Secrets of the Sages.  Book 3 of the World In-between Series.


“Our destiny is the product of what we chose to do with our innate abilities.”
“I’ve pinned my husband to the wall in under five seconds.  And that was with only one crossbow.”
“This world is full of things we have forgotten, things we do not understand and things well out of our control.”
“I’m afraid the walls have ears.”
“I believe that people have the right to defend themselves, their families and their villages.  If someone chooses to fight for the opposition, then so be it.  People must do what they feel is right in their hearts.  Those who make that choice do not need to learn from us.  If the Empire must teach a person self-defense, then that is because there is an opposition.”
“Your brothers can learn how to behave themselves in the Emperor’s presence.”
“Your job is to protect the Empire.  I am only one man.”
“The Empire is in a state of flux, Lieutenant.  Sometimes we must change in order to stay the same.”
Berty awoke with the feeling that he was being watched.  He hated that feeling.
“You’d rather torture yourself in other ways?”
“You make it sound as if there are only two options.  I’m sure there are plenty ways to die in a place like this.”
The Dwarf drew silent as he watched Berty pass with the last Empress draped in his arms.
The twinkles disappeared quickly like the short blink of summer lightning bugs before they blended in with the grass.
“I am emptying the ocean with a thimble.”
Silvia’s smile was the sunshine in the morning rain.
“I don’t know who annoys me more, lawyers or government officials.”
He could see fear and uncertainty dwelling in her pools of brown.
Nothing inside could help fill the emptiness deep in his heart.
“She has to learn to balance.  For the rest of her life, hers will be a world in-between here and there.”
“What’s not to like about magic?”
“I have no idea what I’m doing and my tie is going to choke me when I least expect it.”
“Perhaps, it is not too late to right the wrongs of my foremothers.”
“All I can think about is how dare someone do that to my little brother.  I want to rip the person limb from limb.  Merely going to jail doesn’t seem to be enough.”
Following Hatcher, they passed gruesomely tall, brutally ugly, club wielding variations of the Trolls Berty came to know.  Their quick glare gave Berty fearsome shivers.
On a molecular level, magic and science were probably indistinguishable.  Magic was the manipulation of energy—it could not be created or destroyed.  It just changed shape.
“Everything else is out of my control.  And I’m okay with that.  Let the fates lie where they may.”
“When we promised Hope an adventure with her uncle, this is not exactly what I had in mind.”

Secrets of the Sages is available for Pre-order on Kobo and Google Play.  Available everywhere May 7th.

A Writer's Outing

On Saturday, I participated in a Writer's Salon.  A topic is chosen beforehand and we set out writing about the subject.  At the Salon, we read our musings, then we discuss.
Our topic was Creativity and Substance Abuse Being Synonymous.  We were to write about 500 to 600 words.
Six of us read.  One was a poem.  Another was a play where the writer coerced other writers to be actors.  One other wrote a short story about muses and the remaining two wrote about personal experiences (not always their own).  It was a fun afternoon of musings, discussion and food.
When I thought about Hemingway's quote, "Write drunk, edit sober," I wrote the following:
(By the way, I don't condone drinking and writing.  Only drinking after writing, if you must.)


The Secret of my SuccessIE Castellano
What is the secret of my success as a writer?  I get asked this question in many interviews, especially after I say that I do not suffer from writer’s block.  More accurately, I should say that I do not suffer from writer’s block anymore.
I barely remember my last bout of writer’s block.  I sat there, staring.  No words would come.  The blank screen mocked me.  “What a useless lump you are; can’t even eek a word onto the page.  Ooh, here sits a writer.  Can’t believe you actually call yourself that.”
The longer I sat, the less the words wanted to flow from my fingertips.  I had to move around.  I had to do something else, just for a while.  My ears discerned the word “loser” as I walked away from my desk.
Everywhere I looked, my sanctuary glared at me.  The jeers echoed off the walls.  Grabbing for my coat, I tried to avoid the laughter attacking me from all angles.
I escaped my compression.  The sidewalk became my savior.  Silence filled my head while my feet pounded rhythmically.
Derogatory names haunted me every time a person passed.  Pairs of eyes dismissed me like the lowliest of peasants.
I slipped through a door.  A dim coziness welcomed me.  No one gawked at my flawed person.  Not even the man polishing glasses behind the bar.
Finding a solitary stool, I rested my weary, broken spirit.  The man approached without judgment, wanting to know what I would have.  My eyes searched the bottles behind him.
A red coat with a tall, fuzzy, black hat spoke to me.  “Drink me.”  My ancestors probably would have waited to see the whites of his eyes.
The man sat the glass of clear liquid on the highly polished wood.  My first gulp burned the ghosts of my blank pages out of my throat and nasal passages.  The following sips sang of woodsy juniper.
With confidence pumping through my veins, I returned to my all-knowing, cocky computer.  It snorted as my hands reached for the black keyboard.  My fingers tickled the keys with the grace of a classical composer.  Words, sentences, paragraphs, pages, scenes, books all flowed from my fingertips.  There was no stopping my creativity.
A couple of blocks away from my solitary watering hole, I found my muse sitting on a shelf at the store.  I took him home with me.  Any time of the day or night, he could inspire me to write my masterpieces.
My red-coated friend watched over me as I typed.  His whispers of encouragement drowned out the naysaying from my computer.  Like magic, words flowed from my fingertips.  Elation filled me.
I’m a little tea pot, short and stout.  Here is my handle.  Here is my spout.  When I get all steamed up….
I did experiment, over the years, with other things.  Writers always try to find other sources of inspiration, other springs from which we can drink.  Nothing ever worked as well for me.  Some writers swear by this or that.  I find myself choosing the comfort of my first muse.  To each his own, as they say.  We all find our own secrets that get us through the blank pages.

Making the Cut

I love writing to the rhythm of a spring rain.  Sitting in my bedroom, the pitter-patter of raindrops on the roof place a spell over my pen.  To the April music, I finished my ghostly short story for Moon Shadows , a +Laurel Highlands Publishing Halloween anthology.
The Hunt clocked roughly a thousand words heavy of the 5,000 word upper limit.  It was time to cull my pretties.
When I write, I fall in love with each and every word.  I choose them carefully.  I string them together with precision.  How can I possibly eliminate one word, let alone whole lines or *gasp* entire scenes?
Brutally.
Although pressing the delete key pains me, sentences shortened.  Mind you, tightening of the story would happen during editing anyway.  However, a few words here and there do not lighten the word load.
I pruned two scenes.  As lovely as they were, they had to go.  The deleted scenes setup for a sequel to the Hunt , but they were not essential to plot advancement.  I will use those scenes as flashbacks in the sequel.
By the end of the Hunt , I slashed well over five hundred words.  It reads like a lean, mean hunting machine.
Shaving a story is more than stabbing in the dark.  Annihilation is deliberate.  Just as there is a rhythm to writing, there is a rhythm to the slaughter called editing.  How will you make the cut?

Wanna Know a Secret?

The cover reveal for Secrets of the Sages!


Book 3 of the World In-between epic fantasy series is coming soon.

Darn That Research

I began writing a short story for this anthology.  Not too far into the story, which tends to happen, I need to do some research.  Mind you, this is a Halloween themed anthology.  Naturally, I am penning a ghost story.  Before the plot gets too “technical,” I decided to research ghosts.
Now, when I research, I doresearch.  I take a subject and attack it from all angles.  This approach leads me to reading—a lot.  I even take notes.  Most of what I read does not make it into the finished product.  However, it helps my mind wrap around what I am creating.  I have also found that the tiny details make a subject interesting.  Sometimes, it takes many a long hour to reach those interesting tidbits.
For this story (still nameless), I dove into the subject of ghosts.  History of ghosts.  Ghost hunting.  Hauntings.  Sightings.  Et cetera.  After flicking through photo galleries of supposed ghosts, I had to stop.  I am sure most of them were faked in one way or another.  Some seemed to be wishful thinking.  I could not see what was claimed in the caption or in the red circle—even when enlarged (pixilation makes nothing better).
Unfortunately for me, I internalize my research.  Everything I read mentions how ghosts are prominent in old buildings, churches and the ever-popular graveyard.  Did I mention that my house is over 100 years old?  And that I live in a church rich area?  I won’t be taking pictures around my house or neighborhood anytime soon, just in case.  Hopefully, I’ll be able to sleep tonight.

Unravelings -- Secrets of the Sages

Secrets of the Sages is coming!
Below is an excerpt from the 3rd book of the World In-between epic fantasy series.

     “Your Highness, wake up!” said a man’s voice. “Telor!”
     Opening his eyes, the Fairy Prince gazed at his intruder. The man wore the shimmering periwinkle armor of the Fairy Guards. “Colonel Gwron, what is it?” Telor asked.
     “Fairyland is being attacked,” said Gwron.
     Telor jumped out of bed. Rushing towards the window, he saw his colorful city aflame. “What are our options?” he asked.
     “I do not know, Your Highness,” replied Gwron. “They are using magic and beasts no one has ever seen.”
     “It’s like Delyth said.” Telor began getting dressed. “Colonel,” a glow outside his window caught his eye. He watched as a green dome crept across the sky. “They’re trapping us here. Evacuate as many as possible. Barricade the castle.”
     “What about you, Your Highness?”
     “My duties lie elsewhere. Anyone who cannot escape retreat to the Throne Room,” Telor instructed.
     Gwron ran out of the room as Telor laced up his boots. Grabbing his bow and quiver, he secured them to his back. Quickly, Telor removed velvet bags of Fairy Dust from their hiding places throughout his bedroom.  He picked up the carved wooden box that Delyth bought for him in Boudon, then stashed it in a black velvet bag. In one fluid motion, he secured his dark purple cloak around his shoulders.
     The sounds of Fairies scrambling in the castle reached his ears as he zipped down the hall. Arriving at a plain wooden door, he touched the handle, saying, “Bachtum.” The door swung open. He slipped inside.
     With one look at the stone steps of the Tower’s spiral staircase, Telor flew above them at blurring speed. At the top, he stopped at the periwinkle metal door. “Oganda,” he said. The door opened before him.
     He stepped inside the small, circular room. Reaching inside the dark bag, he extracted the box. He knelt beside the center octagonal stone on the floor. “Gune.” The stone rose above its resting place. Stretching his arm into the void, he removed a hand-filling, radiant stone. Carefully, he placed the stone inside the box. The floor lowered into place as he slid the box into the bag.
     Outside the metal door, he said, “Clonganda.” The door closed. He flew down the Tower steps with his great speed.
     A small group of citizens and Fairy Guards gathered in the Throne Room with supplies. “We are trapped inside the magical green dome,” said Gwron. “The castle walls will not hold them out for long.”
     Five glowing figures popped out of the Throne Room’s golden walls. “The Fairy Guardian Spirits,” Telor said. They spoke to Telor in the language of the ancient Fairies. All he could do was look at them blankly.
     “I don’t know this tongue beyond the few words Delyth taught me,” he pleaded.
     One of the Fairy Guardians stood in front of Telor. “Ere doe ein auk tun roe. Ere doe ein auk tun ín. On dry eck prone,” said the ghostly Fairy. His translucent hand went through Telor’s forehead.
     “Es newn rhyn tí,” Telor said in return.
     The spirit and Telor has a quick conversation in the ancient Fairy language. “Take what you can carry,” Telor told his people. “We can escape going under their magic.”
     Approaching a section of wall, Telor reached out his hand and said, “Tome dyme.” The wall faded to translucence. Turning to the other the Fairies, he said, “The Fairy Guards will guide you through the bowels of the castle. Go!”
     “We are abandoning Fairyland, Your Highness?” Gwron asked.
     “Look around you, Gwron. It is only stone,” said Telor. He pointed to the Fairies escaping into the wall. “They are Fairyland. We must protect Fairydom itself. Wherever Fairydom makes its home is Fairyland.”
     The enemy pounding on the doors of Fairyland Castle echoed off the walls of the Throne Room. Telor extended his hands towards the massive wooden double doors. “Lapsa,” he said. The doors shimmered with an opalescent glow. “That will not keep them out indefinitely, but it will buy us time.”
     Inside the wall, Telor solidified the doorway to the Throne Room. He ran through the black stone corridors of the ancient ruins upon which Fairyland Castle was built. Finally, he caught up to his people who waited near a weathered stone door. A Fairy Spirit spoke with him.
     He nodded. “This leads to the woods outside of Fairyland,” said Telor. “You are to run as far into the Dragonlands as you can. We will use only the light of the moon and stars to guide us out there. Are we ready?”
     “Yes,” the group murmured.
     “Extinguish all your torches,” he ordered. “When I open the door, you will leave in groups. A Fairy Guard will accompany each group.”
     The corridor slipped into black. The five Fairy Guardians became mere dim ghosts. “Ogan loo,” Telor said quietly.
     Stone moved aside, letting the night wind slap their faces. Telor and Gwron orchestrated the Fairies’ escape into the wilderness.
     When the last of the Fairies were set to go, Telor thanked the Fairy Guardians. In the faint moonlight, Telor whispered, “Clogandoo.” The stone sealed shut. They were exposed to the night.
     Telor could see the green glow that ensnared to the walled city of Fairyland. Branches above his head exploded.
     “Run!” he told the others.
     Weapon carrying men ran towards them. Gwron unsheathed a periwinkle metal sword. The Colonel stood his ground. A Fairy Guard readied his bow.
     “Go, Your Highness,” said Gwron.
     Telor froze. A dark shape slithered over his head. Looking up, he saw a light shape speeding through the trees.
     A glowing sphere hit Gwron’s armor, knocking him to the ground. Telor lobbed an arrow at the Warlock. The shapes in the trees opened their large, boxy mouths. Dragonfire rained upon their enemies. The Dragons barricaded the Fairies from their attackers.
     “Gwron!” shouted Telor.
     The Colonel groaned.
     “Let’s get him out of here,” said Telor. With the help of a Fairy Guard, they lifted Gwron away from the inferno.
     The yellow Dragon roared ferociously. “Fairy Prince, this way,” said Tong.
     The Fairies followed Tong into the depths of the Dragonlands while the yellow Long Dragon kept the invaders at bay.
     Berty sat up in the darkness. Sweat drenched his entire body. He felt as though he had just been running through the woods. A hand ran through his wet, dark hair. He was unsure of what had just played behind his eyelids. Was it real or a dream, a warning or a premonition?
     Cool breezes caressed his torso. His body shivered as goosebumps covered his skin in waves. Closing his eyes, his head fell back onto its pillow.


The World In-between series: Book 1 -- The World In-between; Book 2 -- Bow of the Moon; Book 3 -- Secrets of the Sages

An Aviator's Night before Christmas

The author is unknown.  It's a cute aviation play on 'Twas the Night before Christmas.  Came across it here and I just had to post it.  Enjoy!


'Twas the night before Christmas, and out on the ramp,
Not an airplane was stirring, not even a Champ.
The aircraft were fastened to tie downs with care,
In hopes that come morning, they all would be there.

The fuel trucks were nestled, all snug in their spots,
With gusts from two-forty at 39 knots.
I slumped at the fuel desk, now finally caught up,
And settled down comfortably, resting my butt.

When the radio lit up with noise and with chatter,
I turned up the scanner to see what was the matter.
A voice clearly heard over static and snow,
Called for clearance to land at the airport below.

He barked his transmission so lively and quick,
I'd have sworn that the call sign he used was "St. Nick."
I ran to the panel to turn up the lights,
The better to welcome this magical flight.

He called his position, no room for denial,
"St. Nicholas One, turnin' left onto final."
And what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a Rutan-built sleigh, with eight Rotax reindeer!

With vectors to final, down the glideslope he came,
As he passed all the fixes, he called them by name:
"Now Ringo! Now Tolga! Now Trini and Bacun!
On Comet! On Cupid!" What pills was he takin'?

While controllers were sittin', and scratchin' their head,
They phoned to my office, and I heard it with dread,
The message they left was both urgent and dour:
"When Santa pulls in, have him please call the tower."

He landed like silk, with the sled runners sparking,
Then I heard "Left at Charlie," and "Taxi to parking."
He slowed to a taxi, turned off of three-oh
And stopped on the ramp with a "Ho, ho-ho-ho..."

He stepped out of the sleigh, but before he could talk,
I ran out to meet him with my best set of chocks.
His red helmet and goggles were covered with frost
And his beard was all blackened from reindeer exhaust.

His breath smelled like peppermint, gone slightly stale,
And he puffed on a pipe, but he didn't inhale.
His cheeks were all rosy and jiggled like jelly,
His boots were as black as a cropduster's belly.

He was chubby and plump, in his suit of bright red,
And he asked me to "fill it, with hundred low-lead."
He came dashing in from the snow-covered pump,
I knew he was anxious for drainin' the sump.

I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,
And I filled up the sleigh, but I spilled like a jerk.
He came out of the restroom, and sighed in relief,
Then he picked up a phone for a Flight Service brief.

And I thought as he silently scribed in his log,
These reindeer could land in an eight-mile fog.
He completed his pre-flight, from the front to the rear,
Then he put on his headset, and I heard him yell, "Clear!"

And laying a finger on his push-to-talk,
He called up the tower for clearance and squawk.
"Take taxiway Charlie, the southbound direction,
Turn right three-two-zero at pilot's discretion"

He sped down the runway, the best of the best,
"Your traffic's a Grumman, inbound from the west."
Then I heard him proclaim, as he climbed thru the night,
"Merry Christmas to all! I have traffic in sight."


Happy Holidays!