Jamie Marchant's Blog, page 20
March 13, 2017
The Goddess's Choice, deleted scene
The Goddess's Choice, expanded edition, is now in the hands of the editor and will be ready for release next month. To get you in the mood, below I've included a scene that I deleted from the final version of the novel. I like the scene quite a bit, but it ultimately didn't add to the book. So it isn't lost forever, I offer it to you. Please comment and tell me what you think. Remember commenting on my blog enters you to win a signed copy of The Bull Riding Witch or a $25 Amazon gift card.
One particularly cold day, Robbie emerged from the barn about midmorning intending to head for Brazen’s stable. As he was about to mount Wild Thing, a horse galloped into the farmyard. “Good morning,” the horse’s rider called out. “Good morning.” Robbie nodded to a man he didn’t know.“I’m looking for an amihealer by the name of Robbie Angusstamm. I was told he lived here.”“You’ve found him. What can I do for you?” Robbie wasn’t terribly surprised to find a complete stranger looking for him. As his skill increased under Myst’s tutelage, so had his reputation; more and more farmers trudged to him through the winter snow when an animal of theirs fell ill. He was, however, surprised to hear the man refer to him as an amihealer. Only Myst and Milady had ever called him that.The farmer got off his horse. He was quite young, no older than Boyden. His face was spotted with more freckles than Robbie had ever seen on human being, and when he smiled his eyes twinkled with amusement, as if he knew a secret that no one else would ever learn. “My name is Perth Quinstamm,” the man said, extending his hand.Surprised, Robbie put out his own. Even when people came seeking his skill, they always avoided touching him. As he shook his hand, the man seemed somewhat nervous and extremely upset. “I’ve been riding since before daybreak to get here. I have a new farm on the far side of the Valley. Just bought the place last spring with my wife. She’s expecting our first child. I bought ten milk cows, but something evil has gotten into them. Most of them have stopped giving any milk to speak of. They’re burning up with fever, and they have frightful sores on their mouths, udders, and feet. One of them died last night. I don’t have much in the way of money, but I’m prepared to pay whatever it takes. Will you come with me?”“Let me get my things.” Robbie went back into the barn and gathered together the materials he would likely need to treat the animals. He didn’t take much; from the farmer’s description, he thought he knew what was wrong, and no herbs he had could cure the problem. It’d take direct healing energy. He gave instructions to Allyn and Darien in case he couldn’t make it back by nightfall.* * *The wind had been blowing fiercely, and Robbie was shivering with cold by the time they arrived at Perth Quinstamm’s farm. The closer he got to the farm the more and more the distress of the cattle pressed in about him. He’d been right in what he suspected. When they dismounted in front of the barn, Perth hesitated. “I’m not sure what to do with your horse. Applecreek here seems okay, but the disease is rather bad.”Robbie shook his head. “It’s okay. Horses can’t sicken in this way.”“How can you know? You haven’t even looked at the cows yet.”“An amihealer doesn’t need to see the animal to know what is wrong with it. I can feel their illness. Your cows’ sickness is one only those with cloven hooves can get—cows, pigs, sheep, but not horses.”A very young woman, no older than Robbie, stuck her head out of the house’s door. She smiled with relief when she saw him. “He came, did he, Perth? I told you he would. When you two get the horses taken care of, come on inside. I have some hot bhat and warm stew waiting for you.” Robbie blinked in surprise. He’d never been invited inside another farmer’s house before. The man’s expression mingled fear and respect. “If you’re sure your horse is in no danger, she’s welcome to the stable.” He led Robbie inside a warm, comfortable barn. It was solidly built and had been kept scrupulously clean. The sickness of the cows wasn’t caused by any neglect on the farmer’s part. However, the diseased beasts were salivating heavily and had difficulty staying on their painful feet. They called to Robbie for relief. He unsaddled Wild Thing, and the man brought grain and water for both horses. Robbie rubbed his mare down and made her comfortable.Perth came up to him. “Can you get rid of this evil thing?” Robbie nodded. The man looked both relieved and fearful. “Just what will it cost me? I mean, I’m prepared to pay whatever it’ll take myself. Brietta depends on me, and she’s carrying my child. I’ll lose the cattle before letting anything harm my family, but if it’s just me, whatever it takes.”Robbie put his hand on one of the cows to better gauge the extent of the illness. “If you can’t afford to pay me now, you can pay when your cattle start producing again. No one need go hungry.”“I wasn’t taking about money, but about the other thing.” Perth refused to meet his eyes.“What other thing?” Robbie removed his hand from the animal.The man leaned forward and whispered. “I heard blood or flesh or possibly a piece of the soul was involved. You know, for the demon inside.”Robbie thought he might vomit. “You asked me here thinking I meant to drink your blood or worse?” Quinn's eyes widened. “Are you saying it isn’t true?”“I’ve had coin, grain, eggs, freshly made bread, a chicken or two, a particularly delicious apple pie, some strawberry preserves and this belt in payment for my services this winter. What I haven’t had is any blood, human flesh, or souls of any kind. I'm not a demon. What is wrong with you people?” Perth looked at him for a few seconds, then dropped his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have believed the rumors.”* * *Robbie spent most of the next three days either in a trance, ridding the cows’ bodies of the vile disease, or sleeping to recover his strength. At the end of it, Perth Quinstamm’s barn was free of disease, and a few of the cows had started giving milk again. On the morning of the fourth day, both Perth and Brietta stood in the farmyard to see him off. Brietta handed him a large basket. “I don’t know how to thank you, Healer Robbie. This should keep you for the day.”Perth shook his hand. “You’ve saved my family.” He gestured toward the basket. “Brietta makes a particularly good apple pie, I think you’ll find. I promise when things start looking up in the spring, I’ll bring along a proper payment.”
One particularly cold day, Robbie emerged from the barn about midmorning intending to head for Brazen’s stable. As he was about to mount Wild Thing, a horse galloped into the farmyard. “Good morning,” the horse’s rider called out. “Good morning.” Robbie nodded to a man he didn’t know.“I’m looking for an amihealer by the name of Robbie Angusstamm. I was told he lived here.”“You’ve found him. What can I do for you?” Robbie wasn’t terribly surprised to find a complete stranger looking for him. As his skill increased under Myst’s tutelage, so had his reputation; more and more farmers trudged to him through the winter snow when an animal of theirs fell ill. He was, however, surprised to hear the man refer to him as an amihealer. Only Myst and Milady had ever called him that.The farmer got off his horse. He was quite young, no older than Boyden. His face was spotted with more freckles than Robbie had ever seen on human being, and when he smiled his eyes twinkled with amusement, as if he knew a secret that no one else would ever learn. “My name is Perth Quinstamm,” the man said, extending his hand.Surprised, Robbie put out his own. Even when people came seeking his skill, they always avoided touching him. As he shook his hand, the man seemed somewhat nervous and extremely upset. “I’ve been riding since before daybreak to get here. I have a new farm on the far side of the Valley. Just bought the place last spring with my wife. She’s expecting our first child. I bought ten milk cows, but something evil has gotten into them. Most of them have stopped giving any milk to speak of. They’re burning up with fever, and they have frightful sores on their mouths, udders, and feet. One of them died last night. I don’t have much in the way of money, but I’m prepared to pay whatever it takes. Will you come with me?”“Let me get my things.” Robbie went back into the barn and gathered together the materials he would likely need to treat the animals. He didn’t take much; from the farmer’s description, he thought he knew what was wrong, and no herbs he had could cure the problem. It’d take direct healing energy. He gave instructions to Allyn and Darien in case he couldn’t make it back by nightfall.* * *The wind had been blowing fiercely, and Robbie was shivering with cold by the time they arrived at Perth Quinstamm’s farm. The closer he got to the farm the more and more the distress of the cattle pressed in about him. He’d been right in what he suspected. When they dismounted in front of the barn, Perth hesitated. “I’m not sure what to do with your horse. Applecreek here seems okay, but the disease is rather bad.”Robbie shook his head. “It’s okay. Horses can’t sicken in this way.”“How can you know? You haven’t even looked at the cows yet.”“An amihealer doesn’t need to see the animal to know what is wrong with it. I can feel their illness. Your cows’ sickness is one only those with cloven hooves can get—cows, pigs, sheep, but not horses.”A very young woman, no older than Robbie, stuck her head out of the house’s door. She smiled with relief when she saw him. “He came, did he, Perth? I told you he would. When you two get the horses taken care of, come on inside. I have some hot bhat and warm stew waiting for you.” Robbie blinked in surprise. He’d never been invited inside another farmer’s house before. The man’s expression mingled fear and respect. “If you’re sure your horse is in no danger, she’s welcome to the stable.” He led Robbie inside a warm, comfortable barn. It was solidly built and had been kept scrupulously clean. The sickness of the cows wasn’t caused by any neglect on the farmer’s part. However, the diseased beasts were salivating heavily and had difficulty staying on their painful feet. They called to Robbie for relief. He unsaddled Wild Thing, and the man brought grain and water for both horses. Robbie rubbed his mare down and made her comfortable.Perth came up to him. “Can you get rid of this evil thing?” Robbie nodded. The man looked both relieved and fearful. “Just what will it cost me? I mean, I’m prepared to pay whatever it’ll take myself. Brietta depends on me, and she’s carrying my child. I’ll lose the cattle before letting anything harm my family, but if it’s just me, whatever it takes.”Robbie put his hand on one of the cows to better gauge the extent of the illness. “If you can’t afford to pay me now, you can pay when your cattle start producing again. No one need go hungry.”“I wasn’t taking about money, but about the other thing.” Perth refused to meet his eyes.“What other thing?” Robbie removed his hand from the animal.The man leaned forward and whispered. “I heard blood or flesh or possibly a piece of the soul was involved. You know, for the demon inside.”Robbie thought he might vomit. “You asked me here thinking I meant to drink your blood or worse?” Quinn's eyes widened. “Are you saying it isn’t true?”“I’ve had coin, grain, eggs, freshly made bread, a chicken or two, a particularly delicious apple pie, some strawberry preserves and this belt in payment for my services this winter. What I haven’t had is any blood, human flesh, or souls of any kind. I'm not a demon. What is wrong with you people?” Perth looked at him for a few seconds, then dropped his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have believed the rumors.”* * *Robbie spent most of the next three days either in a trance, ridding the cows’ bodies of the vile disease, or sleeping to recover his strength. At the end of it, Perth Quinstamm’s barn was free of disease, and a few of the cows had started giving milk again. On the morning of the fourth day, both Perth and Brietta stood in the farmyard to see him off. Brietta handed him a large basket. “I don’t know how to thank you, Healer Robbie. This should keep you for the day.”Perth shook his hand. “You’ve saved my family.” He gestured toward the basket. “Brietta makes a particularly good apple pie, I think you’ll find. I promise when things start looking up in the spring, I’ll bring along a proper payment.”
March 10, 2017
Summary Versus Scene
I have been really busy getting the expanded version of The Goddess's Choice ready for the editor, so I haven't been as faithful in keeping up my blog. Sunday, I sent the manuscript off, so hopefully I'll have a little more time.
Today's writing topic is Summary versus Scene. What are they? When do you choose one over the other?*
Summary is where you take what happened in a relatively long period of time and convey it in a short space. It compresses time and detail, and it is mostly used to transition between scenes, to jump in time when nothing of vital importance happens to the story, or to fill in bits of background. It tells things that are necessary to know for the story to make sense, but aren't as significant to the plot or development of the character. Summary should be used sparingly and generally only in short sections. Think of the montage technique in film making.
In Scene, on the other hand, you deal at length with what happened in a short period of time. Scene invites the reader into the story and makes them part of the action. Scene makes your readers see, feel, smell, taste, and hear what it happening. It is in scene where everything important should happen.
This is the beginning scene from The Bull Riding Witch:
I woke with my head pounding and my tongue coated with the fur balls of ten thousand cats. I nearly gagged at the stench that filled the air, a scent that combined the reek of inside of a knight’s armor after jousting with the odor of rotting flesh. Confused, I examined my surroundings. Hung on the wall facing me was a portrait of a huge bull with its head down and its heels kicked high into the air. Incredibly, a man, hanging onto a rope with only one hand, sat on the bull’s back. Why would anyone ride a bull? Bulls were dangerous and impossible to control. Piled high on the bedside table were plates covered with the remains of several meals, bowls with a few dregs of sour milk, and empty bottles. The sheet I laid on was stained with various substances I didn’t want to identify. Where was I? This was certainly no place worthy of me, the crown princess. Maybe I had somehow ended in the servants’ quarters, although I couldn’t imagine how.I tried to sit up, and my head felt as if it were going to split in two. I groaned, and the sound was deep and masculine. What the . . .? I looked down at my arms. They were muscular and covered with hair. I grabbed my naked chest. My breasts were entirely flat, and my chest was covered with thick, coarse hair. When I rubbed my hand across my face, I felt thick stubble. I looked down at the short clothes, which were the only thing I was wearing; there was a bulge that just shouldn’t have been there. I lifted the waistband and peeked. Dear gods, how had I gotten one of those? I poked it with my finger, and it twitched. I snapped the waistband closed and jumped away, but I couldn’t get away from the body I was wearing. My breath came in dizzying gasps, and my pulse raced. This was just a dream, I told myself. It couldn’t be real.
You feel the thickness of her tongue, smell the stench, see the bull riding poster, and sense her confusion. You are with Daulphina coming awake in a body that isn't hers. A little bit later in the first chapter, I have a short summary of how she got there:
I tried to think back to how this could have happened. I’d been going to the Temple of Cailleach to meet my lover. Clenyeth had told me he had important information and I should come alone. Clenyeth and I had had to be careful. If my father found out about us, Clenyeth could hang. I’d seen Clenyeth near the entrance to the cave that housed Cailleach’s temple. As I hurried toward him, someone had grabbed me from behind and put a cloth that smelled sickly sweet over my mouth and nose, and then . . . And then . . .
And then, I woke up as a man.
This gives the reader necessary background information, but they don't experience it the same way as you do the scene. They aren't there with her. It tells them things, but it doesn't invite them into the story.
So a general rule, if it's important, make it scene.
Share your thoughts on writing in the comments below. Remember every comment enters you into a contest to win a signed copy of The Bull Riding Witch or a $25 Amazon gift card.
*Disclaimer: The only unbreakable rule in fiction writing is "Does it work?" However, there are things that work more often than not. Make sure you understand a rule before you decide to break it in your case.
Today's writing topic is Summary versus Scene. What are they? When do you choose one over the other?*
Summary is where you take what happened in a relatively long period of time and convey it in a short space. It compresses time and detail, and it is mostly used to transition between scenes, to jump in time when nothing of vital importance happens to the story, or to fill in bits of background. It tells things that are necessary to know for the story to make sense, but aren't as significant to the plot or development of the character. Summary should be used sparingly and generally only in short sections. Think of the montage technique in film making.
In Scene, on the other hand, you deal at length with what happened in a short period of time. Scene invites the reader into the story and makes them part of the action. Scene makes your readers see, feel, smell, taste, and hear what it happening. It is in scene where everything important should happen.
This is the beginning scene from The Bull Riding Witch:
I woke with my head pounding and my tongue coated with the fur balls of ten thousand cats. I nearly gagged at the stench that filled the air, a scent that combined the reek of inside of a knight’s armor after jousting with the odor of rotting flesh. Confused, I examined my surroundings. Hung on the wall facing me was a portrait of a huge bull with its head down and its heels kicked high into the air. Incredibly, a man, hanging onto a rope with only one hand, sat on the bull’s back. Why would anyone ride a bull? Bulls were dangerous and impossible to control. Piled high on the bedside table were plates covered with the remains of several meals, bowls with a few dregs of sour milk, and empty bottles. The sheet I laid on was stained with various substances I didn’t want to identify. Where was I? This was certainly no place worthy of me, the crown princess. Maybe I had somehow ended in the servants’ quarters, although I couldn’t imagine how.I tried to sit up, and my head felt as if it were going to split in two. I groaned, and the sound was deep and masculine. What the . . .? I looked down at my arms. They were muscular and covered with hair. I grabbed my naked chest. My breasts were entirely flat, and my chest was covered with thick, coarse hair. When I rubbed my hand across my face, I felt thick stubble. I looked down at the short clothes, which were the only thing I was wearing; there was a bulge that just shouldn’t have been there. I lifted the waistband and peeked. Dear gods, how had I gotten one of those? I poked it with my finger, and it twitched. I snapped the waistband closed and jumped away, but I couldn’t get away from the body I was wearing. My breath came in dizzying gasps, and my pulse raced. This was just a dream, I told myself. It couldn’t be real.
You feel the thickness of her tongue, smell the stench, see the bull riding poster, and sense her confusion. You are with Daulphina coming awake in a body that isn't hers. A little bit later in the first chapter, I have a short summary of how she got there:
I tried to think back to how this could have happened. I’d been going to the Temple of Cailleach to meet my lover. Clenyeth had told me he had important information and I should come alone. Clenyeth and I had had to be careful. If my father found out about us, Clenyeth could hang. I’d seen Clenyeth near the entrance to the cave that housed Cailleach’s temple. As I hurried toward him, someone had grabbed me from behind and put a cloth that smelled sickly sweet over my mouth and nose, and then . . . And then . . .
And then, I woke up as a man.
This gives the reader necessary background information, but they don't experience it the same way as you do the scene. They aren't there with her. It tells them things, but it doesn't invite them into the story.
So a general rule, if it's important, make it scene.
Share your thoughts on writing in the comments below. Remember every comment enters you into a contest to win a signed copy of The Bull Riding Witch or a $25 Amazon gift card.
*Disclaimer: The only unbreakable rule in fiction writing is "Does it work?" However, there are things that work more often than not. Make sure you understand a rule before you decide to break it in your case.
March 9, 2017
Tattooed Angels Book Tour & Giveaway
RebirthTattooed Angels Trilogy Book 1By Valerie WillisGenre: Urban Fantasy
High school life is almost over, but Hotan's life as an immortal has only just started...Already struggling with a mountain of hardships, Hotan is just trying to get his diploma as his mother had always insisted. Friends know if he's not at home or at the club playing in his band, you can always find him thinking at the old broken down church. Basking in the moonlight, Hotan finds himself under attack by an immortal named Geliah, the element of Fear. Talib, the element of Judgment, interrupts the fight, furious that Geliah would force Hotan to awaken his own abilities and immortality. Normally when pulled out of the reincarnation spell, an immortal would remember whom and what they were, but he is not the Hotan from the Past. Walk beside him as he struggles to keep his chaotic life in order as he tries to break the secrets of his own element, Rebirth.Goodreads * Amazon * Smashwords
JudgementTattooed Angels Trilogy Book 2
Talib and Hotan find themselves facing off with the element of Death, Iapetos. Failing to take him out, Talib's life starts flashing before him. As he experiences thousands of years, things that were once forgotten begin to emerge. Will he find the answer in his past in time to aid Hotan?Goodreads * Amazon * Smashwords
Valerie Willis, a sixth generation Floridian, launched her first book, Cedric the Demonic Knight, at the start of 2014 on Amazon.com. Since then, she has continued to add to The Cedric Series, a high-rated Paranormal Fantasy Romance Series. This series features an anti-hero who finds himself dragged away from his revenge on his maker by both love and the onset of a larger threat. She pulls in a melting pot of mythology, folklore, history and more into her work with a remarkable amount of foreshadowing that makes reading her books a second time exciting. Rebirth is the first book in her Teen Urban Fantasy, the Tattooed Angels Trilogy, where the main character struggles with social issues with the complications of turning immortal. And if fantasy isn't your cup of tea, head over to her Blog for some "Val, Tell me a Story" posts featuring true, hilarious, and sometimes bizarre, life events from recent to old.Website * Facebook Author Page * Facebook Series Page * TwitterInstagram * Goodreads * Amazon
a Rafflecopter giveaway
March 8, 2017
Guest Author, Ash Gray
Welcome my guest today, author Ash Gray. Be sure to comment below. I love to hear your opinions. Also, remember that every comment on my blog between now and May enters you into a contest to win either a signed print or ecopy of The Bull Riding Witch. To make the contest sweeter, I'm adding a $25 Amazon gift card to the pot of prizes.
The young Ash GrayAsh Gray is a dragon with minuscule spectacles perched on her nose, living in a wonderfully dank, musty cave far away in an alternate universe. She types her stories with gigantic claws on a ridiculously small typewriter before sending them through a membrane and into your dimension for your enjoyment.
Interview
1. Tell us a little about yourself?
I’m a dragon. To be honest, we’re really not all that interesting. A couple burned villages here, a few virgin sacrifices there. And there was that time with the leprechaun.
2. Tell us something about how you write? i.e. are you a plotter or a pantser? Do you have any weird or necessary writing habits or rituals?
A lot of the time I just fly by the seat of my pants.
As I got older, the college dork in me found it easier to make an outline for every novel. I might sit and brainstorm and fill out an outline with all my ideas for the book from beginning to end. Then I would know how the story was going to end and all I had to do was fill in the blanks. That’s when I’m feeling patient.
A lot of the time I’m just chaotic. I have a general idea of what I want to say and I write a chapter, maybe three, everyday until it’s said.
At my first college, I learned this neat trick from my (very mean) Creative Writing teacher. She challenged us to write our stories backwards. Write the ending first or write a chapter that will happen much later, then go back and tell what happened six chapters before. She called it “paperchunking.” I would use the paperchunk method for maybe five years before I wandered between outlining and flying by my – figurative – pants (dragons don’t wear pants).
3. Do you think people have misconceptions about the speculative fiction? Why do you think it is a worthwhile genre?
I think a lot of people view speculative fiction as childish, like we speculative writers are just children playing at fantasies. When I was growing up, nerd culture hadn’t yet been turned into some widely accepted fad. I had to hide my books about dragons and robots for fear of being ridiculed to tears. Lord of the Ringsand the Hobbit only became cool because of Peter Jackson.
Those who view us as childish conveniently forget that people like us are the reason why they have great entertainment. We create the children’s programs, the theatre productions, the video games, the art, the music, the television shows, the happy memories that people crave each time they engage their favorite characters.
Yes, it’s possible to be creative without dungeons and dragons, but it’s also boring. At least for me.
4. Could you tell us a bit about your most recent book?
I dunno. Are there children present?
The most recent book I published is titled Tales of Talithia. It’s a collection of erotic stories in a fantasy setting. So basically it’s elves, mermaids, unicorns, shapeshifters, magi, the works. Each story is about a couple of a different sexual identity – so straight, gay, bisexual, etc. I made it free for Valentine’s Day, but it’s so cheap (at the moment) it doesn’t really matter.
Each story is about the origins of a great hero, how their parents met, and how they were born. So each couple in the book gives birth to a child (the gay couples adopt or have mystical pregnancies), and that child goes on to become a great hero in Talithia.
I plan to write one novel about each of the five heroes in a Tales of Talithia series. I might change my mind, but that’s the plan right now.
5. What gives you inspiration for your book?
I love art. Growing up, I always wanted to be a painter because I just love art so very much. When I look at paintings, I always think of a story. A lot of my stories were inspired by paintings I saw. “Farther Shores” in Tales of Talithia is a short story about a woman who falls in love with a male siren and they have a half-siren child. It was inspired by the painting The Land Baby by John Collier.
If art doesn’t inspire me, my dreams do. I’m currently working on a novel called Dreamweaverwhich is based on a daydream I had (saying it’s a vision kind of makes me look crazy, but that’s pretty much what it was).
6. Of all the characters you have created, which is your favorite and why?
I have created a lot of crappy characters, so that’s a hard question to answer. It is my personal opinion that I am still to have created a really memorable character.
If I had to answer, I would say Zorya from my yet unfinished novel Dreamweaver is kind of fun to write. She is a snarky transgender woman who doesn’t take crap from anyone. She has godlike powers, which has isolated her from other people, to the point that she’s sort of cold and can do terrible things as a result of her detachment. She basically has a god complex where she “smites” people with her powers, truly believing she has the right to judge others.
Zorya is very fun to write, and I feel nervous every time I sit down to write her because I want to get it right.
7. Tell us a little about your plans for the future. Do you have any other books in the works?
I have a folder on my computer labeled “Writing.” Inside that folder, I have two subfolders. One is a folder of published works. The second is a folder of unpublished works. There are eight novels in the second folder.
Yes. I have more stories to tell you.
Where can we find you online?
Blog: https://ashbleublog.wordpress.com/Fiverr gigs (I write for scraps!): https://www.fiverr.com/ashbleuAmazon: amazon.com/author/ashgrayGoodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14603050.Ash_Gray
The Thieves of Nottica
In a world where humans are evil, invading aliens and robots are slaves, Rigg is the youngest member of the Keymasters, a band of professional thieves who use their skills to defy an overbearing government known as the Hand. It is a world full of pollution, intrusive surveillance cameras, and injustice, where any who “give the finger to the Hand” are punished with death. The Keymasters are hired to steal a highly sought after treasure, but when one of their number is lost during the job, they find themselves the tools in a power play for said treasure -- a mysterious lockbox that no one can open. To ultimately survive in the end, the Keymasters must battle their way through mechanical monsters, airships, and politics, literally going through shit (they travel through a sewage pipe) to make it out alive.
Excerpt
“Scanning,” Lisa repeated. “Scanning Complete.” Her eyes clicked, turning golden again as the red mesh of light dissipated. Beams of yellow light reached from her eyes instead, creating a circular spotlight that glared over the trees directly in front of them. The creature came faster, Lisa’s glowing eyes having pinpointed their location for it. “Well?” Morganith demanded of Lisa. A tree somewhere fell with a groan in the darkness. The four of them leapt as it slammed down, shaking the world in a riot of dust. “What is it?!” Hari begged. “It is . . .” began Lisa, but she needn’t have finished. A giant mechanical frog rolled out of the darkness and into Lisa’s light; round, blank eyes gleaming like yellow headlights as it came to a smooth, rattling stop. Rigg glanced beyond it and could see it had trampled its eager way to them, leaving a path of destruction its wake. In place of legs, it had been fitted with the rolling tracks of a tank. Its rusty metal body was peeling with green paint, and its great, wide, toothless mouth was open to reveal a red synthetic tongue. Its yellow throat, made of withered cloth, ballooned out when it croaked, regarding them with the greedy, hungry expression of a predator. Hari took a stumbling step back, pushing her welding goggles back from her eyes to regard the creature in disbelief. “You gotta be kiddin’me,” she said. “Who would waste their scrap makin’ somethin’ like this?” “You?” Morganith suggested. “Proto-Frog Unit 365,” said Lisa factually. “Prototype Age: One Hundred and Nine. Designated Perimeter: Purva Forest. Function: To Cull The Population Of Wild Spiders --” “Hmm. That makes sense, actually,” said Hari, shrugging contently. The proto-frog gave a croaking, creaking scream and opened its mouth, raising the hairs on Rigg’s neck. “Great, things make sense,” said Morganith sarcastically. “Now that Hari’s comfortable, can we fight for our lives?”
If you like what you've read, you can find Ash's novel here:
Also, please comment below.
The young Ash GrayAsh Gray is a dragon with minuscule spectacles perched on her nose, living in a wonderfully dank, musty cave far away in an alternate universe. She types her stories with gigantic claws on a ridiculously small typewriter before sending them through a membrane and into your dimension for your enjoyment.Interview
1. Tell us a little about yourself?
I’m a dragon. To be honest, we’re really not all that interesting. A couple burned villages here, a few virgin sacrifices there. And there was that time with the leprechaun.
2. Tell us something about how you write? i.e. are you a plotter or a pantser? Do you have any weird or necessary writing habits or rituals?
A lot of the time I just fly by the seat of my pants.
As I got older, the college dork in me found it easier to make an outline for every novel. I might sit and brainstorm and fill out an outline with all my ideas for the book from beginning to end. Then I would know how the story was going to end and all I had to do was fill in the blanks. That’s when I’m feeling patient.
A lot of the time I’m just chaotic. I have a general idea of what I want to say and I write a chapter, maybe three, everyday until it’s said.
At my first college, I learned this neat trick from my (very mean) Creative Writing teacher. She challenged us to write our stories backwards. Write the ending first or write a chapter that will happen much later, then go back and tell what happened six chapters before. She called it “paperchunking.” I would use the paperchunk method for maybe five years before I wandered between outlining and flying by my – figurative – pants (dragons don’t wear pants).
3. Do you think people have misconceptions about the speculative fiction? Why do you think it is a worthwhile genre?
I think a lot of people view speculative fiction as childish, like we speculative writers are just children playing at fantasies. When I was growing up, nerd culture hadn’t yet been turned into some widely accepted fad. I had to hide my books about dragons and robots for fear of being ridiculed to tears. Lord of the Ringsand the Hobbit only became cool because of Peter Jackson.
Those who view us as childish conveniently forget that people like us are the reason why they have great entertainment. We create the children’s programs, the theatre productions, the video games, the art, the music, the television shows, the happy memories that people crave each time they engage their favorite characters.
Yes, it’s possible to be creative without dungeons and dragons, but it’s also boring. At least for me.
4. Could you tell us a bit about your most recent book?
I dunno. Are there children present?
The most recent book I published is titled Tales of Talithia. It’s a collection of erotic stories in a fantasy setting. So basically it’s elves, mermaids, unicorns, shapeshifters, magi, the works. Each story is about a couple of a different sexual identity – so straight, gay, bisexual, etc. I made it free for Valentine’s Day, but it’s so cheap (at the moment) it doesn’t really matter.
Each story is about the origins of a great hero, how their parents met, and how they were born. So each couple in the book gives birth to a child (the gay couples adopt or have mystical pregnancies), and that child goes on to become a great hero in Talithia.
I plan to write one novel about each of the five heroes in a Tales of Talithia series. I might change my mind, but that’s the plan right now.
5. What gives you inspiration for your book?
I love art. Growing up, I always wanted to be a painter because I just love art so very much. When I look at paintings, I always think of a story. A lot of my stories were inspired by paintings I saw. “Farther Shores” in Tales of Talithia is a short story about a woman who falls in love with a male siren and they have a half-siren child. It was inspired by the painting The Land Baby by John Collier.
If art doesn’t inspire me, my dreams do. I’m currently working on a novel called Dreamweaverwhich is based on a daydream I had (saying it’s a vision kind of makes me look crazy, but that’s pretty much what it was).
6. Of all the characters you have created, which is your favorite and why?
I have created a lot of crappy characters, so that’s a hard question to answer. It is my personal opinion that I am still to have created a really memorable character.
If I had to answer, I would say Zorya from my yet unfinished novel Dreamweaver is kind of fun to write. She is a snarky transgender woman who doesn’t take crap from anyone. She has godlike powers, which has isolated her from other people, to the point that she’s sort of cold and can do terrible things as a result of her detachment. She basically has a god complex where she “smites” people with her powers, truly believing she has the right to judge others.
Zorya is very fun to write, and I feel nervous every time I sit down to write her because I want to get it right.
7. Tell us a little about your plans for the future. Do you have any other books in the works?
I have a folder on my computer labeled “Writing.” Inside that folder, I have two subfolders. One is a folder of published works. The second is a folder of unpublished works. There are eight novels in the second folder.
Yes. I have more stories to tell you.
Where can we find you online?
Blog: https://ashbleublog.wordpress.com/Fiverr gigs (I write for scraps!): https://www.fiverr.com/ashbleuAmazon: amazon.com/author/ashgrayGoodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14603050.Ash_Gray
The Thieves of Nottica
In a world where humans are evil, invading aliens and robots are slaves, Rigg is the youngest member of the Keymasters, a band of professional thieves who use their skills to defy an overbearing government known as the Hand. It is a world full of pollution, intrusive surveillance cameras, and injustice, where any who “give the finger to the Hand” are punished with death. The Keymasters are hired to steal a highly sought after treasure, but when one of their number is lost during the job, they find themselves the tools in a power play for said treasure -- a mysterious lockbox that no one can open. To ultimately survive in the end, the Keymasters must battle their way through mechanical monsters, airships, and politics, literally going through shit (they travel through a sewage pipe) to make it out alive. Excerpt
“Scanning,” Lisa repeated. “Scanning Complete.” Her eyes clicked, turning golden again as the red mesh of light dissipated. Beams of yellow light reached from her eyes instead, creating a circular spotlight that glared over the trees directly in front of them. The creature came faster, Lisa’s glowing eyes having pinpointed their location for it. “Well?” Morganith demanded of Lisa. A tree somewhere fell with a groan in the darkness. The four of them leapt as it slammed down, shaking the world in a riot of dust. “What is it?!” Hari begged. “It is . . .” began Lisa, but she needn’t have finished. A giant mechanical frog rolled out of the darkness and into Lisa’s light; round, blank eyes gleaming like yellow headlights as it came to a smooth, rattling stop. Rigg glanced beyond it and could see it had trampled its eager way to them, leaving a path of destruction its wake. In place of legs, it had been fitted with the rolling tracks of a tank. Its rusty metal body was peeling with green paint, and its great, wide, toothless mouth was open to reveal a red synthetic tongue. Its yellow throat, made of withered cloth, ballooned out when it croaked, regarding them with the greedy, hungry expression of a predator. Hari took a stumbling step back, pushing her welding goggles back from her eyes to regard the creature in disbelief. “You gotta be kiddin’me,” she said. “Who would waste their scrap makin’ somethin’ like this?” “You?” Morganith suggested. “Proto-Frog Unit 365,” said Lisa factually. “Prototype Age: One Hundred and Nine. Designated Perimeter: Purva Forest. Function: To Cull The Population Of Wild Spiders --” “Hmm. That makes sense, actually,” said Hari, shrugging contently. The proto-frog gave a croaking, creaking scream and opened its mouth, raising the hairs on Rigg’s neck. “Great, things make sense,” said Morganith sarcastically. “Now that Hari’s comfortable, can we fight for our lives?”
If you like what you've read, you can find Ash's novel here:
Also, please comment below.
Guest author, A. L. Butcher
My guest today is a fantasy author from across the pond. Meet A. L. Butcher. Her work is dark, for adults, and a wee bit sexy.
A. L. Butcher is the British author of the Light Beyond the Storm Chronicles fantasy series and several short stories in the fantasy and fantasy romance genres. With a background in politics, classical studies, ancient history and myth her work combines aspects of all. A lifelong storyteller, she believes the tale is all and loves to create people and worlds.
She is an avid reader and creator of worlds, a poet, and a dreamer. When she is grounded in the real world she likes science, natural history, history, and monkeys. Her work has been described as ‘dark and gritty’ and her poetry as evocative.
InterviewTell us a little about yourself?HelloJI’m A.L. Butcher, fantasy author, poet, blogger, historian, and dog-mummy. I live in Bristol (in the UK) and write mostly adult sensual dark fantasy, short fantasy but dabble in horror, poetry and historical fantasy. I love to read, study history, mythology and potter about in the mud-pit – er that’s my garden at the moment J I work full-time in an office (BORING), but I write when I can and also promote other authors on my blog.If you could have written any other book by any other author, what would it be, and why? Ooohthat’s hard. If I had to pick one, it would either be Lord of the Rings or the Count of Monte Cristo. LOTR for the amazing world building and mythic style, COMC for the ultimate historical revenge book.What are you reading at the moment? Would you recommend it to readers of this blog? Why?Currently, I am reading a book about the royal families of Ancient Egypt, which is interesting but heavy going, and a book about life in the Victorian period, comparing it with modern life ( I guess you could call it a social commentary.) https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B01MSUNBA6/The Good Old Days: Poverty, Crime and Terror in Victorian London. It’s interesting to see not much really changes. Social attitudes do shift a little, but human nature is still much the same. Today we are told that computer games, violent films, the internet etc are ‘corrupting’ our youth and society and 150 years ago it was the lack of religion, penny dreadfuls and plays etc. Whatever is new or misunderstood gets blamed for the ills of society, social change brings fear and upheaval and often a particular group in a community get blamed – whether that group is of a particular religion, gender, skin colour, ethnic minority, sexual orientation or whatever ‘they’ are responsible for the failing economy, social divides, rising crime and all the other issues which occur when human beings live together in large numbers. It’s always been the case, and I dare say always will be. Basically, the author is saying that the ‘Good Old Days’ weren’t. They were much the same as now – only with less technology, worse hygiene and medical care and equally gullible people.That one I’d recommend, not sure about the other one yet. I read a lot of historical stuff, especially true crime, plus fantasy, historical fiction/mystery, science fiction and whatever else takes my fancy at any given time.
If you could have dinner (and dessert) with any fictional character who would it be and why? I’d have a dinner party with the following: Edmund Dantes, Erik (Phantom of the Opera), Heathcliff, Tempus, Gandalf, Frodo, Sam Vimes, Granny Weatherwax, Jane Eyre, and Penelope of Ithica. That would be a very interesting party! Why? All sorts of reasons: They could discuss vengeance, loyalty, war and its effects, magic, the question of good and evil, and what they would do in today’s world if they existed now. (Jamie's note: Can I come to the party?)What was the hardest part of writing your book? PromotionJ I find the marketing hard; it’s much easier for me to promote other people’s work than my own. I completed a diploma in social media marketing last year, so that’s helped but I do still find it a challenge. I also have issues staying focused. I’ve been diagnosed with fibromyalgia and with that comes issues with concentration on the task at hand. To be honest I’ve always had a few issues with being easily distracted, but it’s worse now. I really need to switch off social media when I’m writing, but I can and do listen to music sometimes.Do you have a day job in addition to being a writer? If so, what do you do during the day?I work in an office. Basically, I’m a civil servant for the private sector. Currently, it’s like herding cats through treacle, but it’s not always that way. I arrange training courses for people (mostly) and that’s time-consuming but actually worthwhile. Most of the people are nice, and the office is fairly close to where I live. As I can’t drive and have to rely on public transport or my bicycle (if I’m up to it) being close to home is worth staying for.Tell us a little about your plans for the future. Do you have any other books in the works? Lots. I usually work on a few projects. Currently, I have book IV of the series, a second Legacy of the Mask short story, and a couple of novellas in progress. I’m written a few more poems recently too, so when I have enough they will be the second installment of Shattered Mirror. Where can we find you online? I have only supplied the links to Book I of the Light Beyond the Storm Chronicles, if you would like further info please look at my Goodreads, Amazon or blog profiles.Social Media linksAmazon Author page http://amzn.to/2hK33OMFacebook Author Page http://bit.ly/FB2j0bbdZTwitter http://bit.ly/Twi2hJZ3h9Goodreads http://bit.ly/GR2iqokvKLibrary of Erana Blog http://bit.ly/Blog2iAWL3o
The Light Beyond the Storm Book IAmazon.com http://amzn.to/2bPpspPBarnes and Noble http://bit.ly/2iB9PWlAmazon.com audio http://amzn.to/2iBgmQVI-books http://apple.co/2j0pYW2Audible UK http://adbl.co/2bGqZvOAudible http://adbl.co/2hHT8El
The Shining Citadel – The Light Beyond the Storm Book IIAudible UK http://adbl.co/2iSW5GFAmazon.com http://amzn.to/2j1DSnFAudible.com http://adbl.co/2i3tf5tEbooks available here:Amazon.com http://amzn.to/2c5LghCBarnes and Noble http://bit.ly/2hHRv9KI-books http://apple.co/2j0B4u8
The Light Beyond the Storm Chronicles – Book I
In a dark world where magic is illegal and elves are enslaved, a young elven sorceress runs for her life from the house of her evil Keeper. Pursued by his men and the corrupt Order of Witch-Hunters she must find sanctuary. As the slavers roll across the lands stealing elves from what remains of their ancestral home, the Witch-Hunters turn a blind eye to the tragedy and a story of power, love and a terrible revenge unfolds.
18 rated.
ExcerptOlek stayed in shadow and walked in silence, forever gaining upon his prey. As Petrus stepped towards the door, he was suddenly grabbed with a gloved hand across his mouth. He saw the edge of a crossbow bolt in the sleeve attached to the hand now gripping his hair as he tried to turn his head and was dragged back behind the house. As he struggled, a voice said close to his ear, “At this range I reckon I can hit the door yonder. Your brain will merely impede the speed it hits. Struggle, lad, and I will test my theory.”The young man was forced into a small empty courtyard with no windows overlooking it, as it was full of rubbish and refuse. The voice in his ear said, “How nice privacy…” The hand was removed from his mouth and Petrus blustered, “Who do you think you are, common thief? I will see you flogged through the streets then hanged. My father is an important man! Unhand me.”Petrus found himself with a sharp blade pressed against his groin, the deadly edge close to his privates. He could feel the weight of the blade pressing into him. The shadows played around him and the voice in his ear softly replied, “Unhand me? Please, could you not think of less of a cliché? Move or scream and your balls will be rolling in the gutter before the cry is finished.” The young man tried to turn and felt the edge of the blade press against him again and the voice hissed, “The city guard would never find me, for I am the shadows. Now who would this illustrious father be that I am to be so afraid of?” Trying to look down and as he moved, the swift edge of the blade split the silk of Petrus’ breeches. “My father's men will hunt you down,” he managed, now feeling distinctly less brave.Olek yawned loudly. “By all means, call his men. They will be hunting a shadow, a ghost. Much expense will be used, to no avail. How much is your life worth to him, do you think? Not only do you deem it suitable to rape young women and brag about your prowess to your friends, but really, you are extremely dull in conversation. If you answer my questions, you might yet live. Believe me when I say I could take you to a man who would not be as…merciful as I, for what you have done and said. A man who could no doubt keep you alive for some while, although I doubt you would be in much of a state to enjoy that life. Now who are you? This young lady whom you found so…enjoyable, where is she?”With the blade against his skin, Petrus’ courage failed him. His voice trembled as he whispered, “I am Petrus, son of Lord Renfrew. The girl, the little virgin whore, she is in the Mermaid. She was just an elf. I paid the price thus she was mine.” There was a hiss from behind him and the blade moved yet closer to his balls. Suddenly there was sharp pain as the edge scratched him, not quite breaking the skin. He whimpered and tried to back up. The voice continued, “There was mention of an elven girl called Dii. How do you know her? The other fellows, who were they?”Petrus swallowed and whispered, “Just a little slut…er…I mean, girl that I had a while ago, a Kept of Lord Tremayne, used to share her around. Little witch warmed his bed too when that human witch bored him. Just an elf Kept, no one of importance, just some fun for the menfolk…the others…oh…er…fellows I just met.”“Oh, now, lad, you were doing so well… You seemed too intimate to be mere acquaintances.” Olek smiled beneath his cloak.Petrus felt the blade against him and with a whimper and a squeak, he felt the skin break and a thin trickle of blood begin to flow, soon joined by wetter warmth as he pissed his breeches. Suddenly the only focus was the blade against him and he squeaked, “Just a little Kept whore, I swear, merely Tremayne’s girl. The others, oh, just Janik of Argen; Edwaen, son of the House of Andert; and Reflin, son of the House of Sardak, the merchant.”Olek twisted his wrist and drew his blade deep into the man's private parts and as he fell screaming, drew the sword across his throat, cutting off the scream to a gurgle. Crouching, letting the blood flow away from him, he hissed, “Women are not yours to use, elf or not. I do not like a man who betrays his friends. This information will be most useful.”
A. L. Butcher is the British author of the Light Beyond the Storm Chronicles fantasy series and several short stories in the fantasy and fantasy romance genres. With a background in politics, classical studies, ancient history and myth her work combines aspects of all. A lifelong storyteller, she believes the tale is all and loves to create people and worlds.
She is an avid reader and creator of worlds, a poet, and a dreamer. When she is grounded in the real world she likes science, natural history, history, and monkeys. Her work has been described as ‘dark and gritty’ and her poetry as evocative.
InterviewTell us a little about yourself?HelloJI’m A.L. Butcher, fantasy author, poet, blogger, historian, and dog-mummy. I live in Bristol (in the UK) and write mostly adult sensual dark fantasy, short fantasy but dabble in horror, poetry and historical fantasy. I love to read, study history, mythology and potter about in the mud-pit – er that’s my garden at the moment J I work full-time in an office (BORING), but I write when I can and also promote other authors on my blog.If you could have written any other book by any other author, what would it be, and why? Ooohthat’s hard. If I had to pick one, it would either be Lord of the Rings or the Count of Monte Cristo. LOTR for the amazing world building and mythic style, COMC for the ultimate historical revenge book.What are you reading at the moment? Would you recommend it to readers of this blog? Why?Currently, I am reading a book about the royal families of Ancient Egypt, which is interesting but heavy going, and a book about life in the Victorian period, comparing it with modern life ( I guess you could call it a social commentary.) https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B01MSUNBA6/The Good Old Days: Poverty, Crime and Terror in Victorian London. It’s interesting to see not much really changes. Social attitudes do shift a little, but human nature is still much the same. Today we are told that computer games, violent films, the internet etc are ‘corrupting’ our youth and society and 150 years ago it was the lack of religion, penny dreadfuls and plays etc. Whatever is new or misunderstood gets blamed for the ills of society, social change brings fear and upheaval and often a particular group in a community get blamed – whether that group is of a particular religion, gender, skin colour, ethnic minority, sexual orientation or whatever ‘they’ are responsible for the failing economy, social divides, rising crime and all the other issues which occur when human beings live together in large numbers. It’s always been the case, and I dare say always will be. Basically, the author is saying that the ‘Good Old Days’ weren’t. They were much the same as now – only with less technology, worse hygiene and medical care and equally gullible people.That one I’d recommend, not sure about the other one yet. I read a lot of historical stuff, especially true crime, plus fantasy, historical fiction/mystery, science fiction and whatever else takes my fancy at any given time.
If you could have dinner (and dessert) with any fictional character who would it be and why? I’d have a dinner party with the following: Edmund Dantes, Erik (Phantom of the Opera), Heathcliff, Tempus, Gandalf, Frodo, Sam Vimes, Granny Weatherwax, Jane Eyre, and Penelope of Ithica. That would be a very interesting party! Why? All sorts of reasons: They could discuss vengeance, loyalty, war and its effects, magic, the question of good and evil, and what they would do in today’s world if they existed now. (Jamie's note: Can I come to the party?)What was the hardest part of writing your book? PromotionJ I find the marketing hard; it’s much easier for me to promote other people’s work than my own. I completed a diploma in social media marketing last year, so that’s helped but I do still find it a challenge. I also have issues staying focused. I’ve been diagnosed with fibromyalgia and with that comes issues with concentration on the task at hand. To be honest I’ve always had a few issues with being easily distracted, but it’s worse now. I really need to switch off social media when I’m writing, but I can and do listen to music sometimes.Do you have a day job in addition to being a writer? If so, what do you do during the day?I work in an office. Basically, I’m a civil servant for the private sector. Currently, it’s like herding cats through treacle, but it’s not always that way. I arrange training courses for people (mostly) and that’s time-consuming but actually worthwhile. Most of the people are nice, and the office is fairly close to where I live. As I can’t drive and have to rely on public transport or my bicycle (if I’m up to it) being close to home is worth staying for.Tell us a little about your plans for the future. Do you have any other books in the works? Lots. I usually work on a few projects. Currently, I have book IV of the series, a second Legacy of the Mask short story, and a couple of novellas in progress. I’m written a few more poems recently too, so when I have enough they will be the second installment of Shattered Mirror. Where can we find you online? I have only supplied the links to Book I of the Light Beyond the Storm Chronicles, if you would like further info please look at my Goodreads, Amazon or blog profiles.Social Media linksAmazon Author page http://amzn.to/2hK33OMFacebook Author Page http://bit.ly/FB2j0bbdZTwitter http://bit.ly/Twi2hJZ3h9Goodreads http://bit.ly/GR2iqokvKLibrary of Erana Blog http://bit.ly/Blog2iAWL3o
The Light Beyond the Storm Book IAmazon.com http://amzn.to/2bPpspPBarnes and Noble http://bit.ly/2iB9PWlAmazon.com audio http://amzn.to/2iBgmQVI-books http://apple.co/2j0pYW2Audible UK http://adbl.co/2bGqZvOAudible http://adbl.co/2hHT8El
The Shining Citadel – The Light Beyond the Storm Book IIAudible UK http://adbl.co/2iSW5GFAmazon.com http://amzn.to/2j1DSnFAudible.com http://adbl.co/2i3tf5tEbooks available here:Amazon.com http://amzn.to/2c5LghCBarnes and Noble http://bit.ly/2hHRv9KI-books http://apple.co/2j0B4u8
The Light Beyond the Storm Chronicles – Book I
In a dark world where magic is illegal and elves are enslaved, a young elven sorceress runs for her life from the house of her evil Keeper. Pursued by his men and the corrupt Order of Witch-Hunters she must find sanctuary. As the slavers roll across the lands stealing elves from what remains of their ancestral home, the Witch-Hunters turn a blind eye to the tragedy and a story of power, love and a terrible revenge unfolds.18 rated.
ExcerptOlek stayed in shadow and walked in silence, forever gaining upon his prey. As Petrus stepped towards the door, he was suddenly grabbed with a gloved hand across his mouth. He saw the edge of a crossbow bolt in the sleeve attached to the hand now gripping his hair as he tried to turn his head and was dragged back behind the house. As he struggled, a voice said close to his ear, “At this range I reckon I can hit the door yonder. Your brain will merely impede the speed it hits. Struggle, lad, and I will test my theory.”The young man was forced into a small empty courtyard with no windows overlooking it, as it was full of rubbish and refuse. The voice in his ear said, “How nice privacy…” The hand was removed from his mouth and Petrus blustered, “Who do you think you are, common thief? I will see you flogged through the streets then hanged. My father is an important man! Unhand me.”Petrus found himself with a sharp blade pressed against his groin, the deadly edge close to his privates. He could feel the weight of the blade pressing into him. The shadows played around him and the voice in his ear softly replied, “Unhand me? Please, could you not think of less of a cliché? Move or scream and your balls will be rolling in the gutter before the cry is finished.” The young man tried to turn and felt the edge of the blade press against him again and the voice hissed, “The city guard would never find me, for I am the shadows. Now who would this illustrious father be that I am to be so afraid of?” Trying to look down and as he moved, the swift edge of the blade split the silk of Petrus’ breeches. “My father's men will hunt you down,” he managed, now feeling distinctly less brave.Olek yawned loudly. “By all means, call his men. They will be hunting a shadow, a ghost. Much expense will be used, to no avail. How much is your life worth to him, do you think? Not only do you deem it suitable to rape young women and brag about your prowess to your friends, but really, you are extremely dull in conversation. If you answer my questions, you might yet live. Believe me when I say I could take you to a man who would not be as…merciful as I, for what you have done and said. A man who could no doubt keep you alive for some while, although I doubt you would be in much of a state to enjoy that life. Now who are you? This young lady whom you found so…enjoyable, where is she?”With the blade against his skin, Petrus’ courage failed him. His voice trembled as he whispered, “I am Petrus, son of Lord Renfrew. The girl, the little virgin whore, she is in the Mermaid. She was just an elf. I paid the price thus she was mine.” There was a hiss from behind him and the blade moved yet closer to his balls. Suddenly there was sharp pain as the edge scratched him, not quite breaking the skin. He whimpered and tried to back up. The voice continued, “There was mention of an elven girl called Dii. How do you know her? The other fellows, who were they?”Petrus swallowed and whispered, “Just a little slut…er…I mean, girl that I had a while ago, a Kept of Lord Tremayne, used to share her around. Little witch warmed his bed too when that human witch bored him. Just an elf Kept, no one of importance, just some fun for the menfolk…the others…oh…er…fellows I just met.”“Oh, now, lad, you were doing so well… You seemed too intimate to be mere acquaintances.” Olek smiled beneath his cloak.Petrus felt the blade against him and with a whimper and a squeak, he felt the skin break and a thin trickle of blood begin to flow, soon joined by wetter warmth as he pissed his breeches. Suddenly the only focus was the blade against him and he squeaked, “Just a little Kept whore, I swear, merely Tremayne’s girl. The others, oh, just Janik of Argen; Edwaen, son of the House of Andert; and Reflin, son of the House of Sardak, the merchant.”Olek twisted his wrist and drew his blade deep into the man's private parts and as he fell screaming, drew the sword across his throat, cutting off the scream to a gurgle. Crouching, letting the blood flow away from him, he hissed, “Women are not yours to use, elf or not. I do not like a man who betrays his friends. This information will be most useful.”
March 6, 2017
Wiley Petersen and the Bull Riding Witch
As I mentioned in last week's post, Rodeo and Research (http://jamie-marchant.blogspot.com/2017/02/rodeo-and-research.html), my best source on Bull Riding and rodeo in general came when I found the website, http://bullridercoach.com/. First, the site itself has a ton of information, including instructional videos on everything to do with bull riding from how to rosin your rope (something I wasn't even aware they did) to what to do if you get hung up.
They also sell an ebook titled Bull Riding Basics, which was enormously helpful. These things offered me a lot of technical knowledge. I put too much of the technical details into early drafts of the novel, which I then edited out of subsequent drafts. This is always a danger when doing research. Not everything you learn adds to the story, but the more you know, the more you can make sure that the details you do include are accurate and don't throw your reader out of the story.
Despite how helpful this site was, I was still left with a ton of questions that weren't covered. Things like: "How do you find out which bull you’ve drawn?" (the bull they are to ride that night) and "Is there any general attitude among bull riders about other participants in the rodeo (ropers, barrel riders, etc.)? Do the other participants in the rodeo have any general attitude about bull riders?" Questions that only a participant would generally be concerned about, but would affect certain scenes in the novel.
This is where Wiley Petersen came in. Since I don't know any bull riders, I use the "contact us" tab on bullridercoash.com. I introduced myself as a fiction writer setting my novel in the world of bull riding and asked if they had anyone who would be willing to answer some questions. Wiley responded that he'd be happy to answer my questions, which he did in a thorough and friendly fashion. He thought some of them were weird, such as when I asked if they could touch the bulls. I wanted to know because Daulphina needed some of the bull's hair to perform a spell. This was his answer: "We don't really try to touch the bulls. We just go look at them and try to find the one we've drawn by looking at them in the back pens. Most bulls don't really want to be touched." I could hear him in my head, saying, "Bull aren't pets, you know? We don't get all warm and cozy with them." I had to ask a follow up question to clarify why I needed to know, and it turns out it wouldn't be a problem out. Just wait until the bull turns his back and grab a few. He answered my initial questions and any follow up questions that I had.
Only later did I learn that Wiley was one of the country's top bull riders. He is #16 in the Professional Bull Riders all time money winners. But he couldn't have been nicer or more helpful.
So the moral of the story is, if you don't know something that effects your story, ask. Most experts are happy to share their knowledge and like it when writer try to get the details right.
One last video of Wiley in action to demonstrate why he will forever remain my bull riding expert:
They also sell an ebook titled Bull Riding Basics, which was enormously helpful. These things offered me a lot of technical knowledge. I put too much of the technical details into early drafts of the novel, which I then edited out of subsequent drafts. This is always a danger when doing research. Not everything you learn adds to the story, but the more you know, the more you can make sure that the details you do include are accurate and don't throw your reader out of the story.
Despite how helpful this site was, I was still left with a ton of questions that weren't covered. Things like: "How do you find out which bull you’ve drawn?" (the bull they are to ride that night) and "Is there any general attitude among bull riders about other participants in the rodeo (ropers, barrel riders, etc.)? Do the other participants in the rodeo have any general attitude about bull riders?" Questions that only a participant would generally be concerned about, but would affect certain scenes in the novel.
This is where Wiley Petersen came in. Since I don't know any bull riders, I use the "contact us" tab on bullridercoash.com. I introduced myself as a fiction writer setting my novel in the world of bull riding and asked if they had anyone who would be willing to answer some questions. Wiley responded that he'd be happy to answer my questions, which he did in a thorough and friendly fashion. He thought some of them were weird, such as when I asked if they could touch the bulls. I wanted to know because Daulphina needed some of the bull's hair to perform a spell. This was his answer: "We don't really try to touch the bulls. We just go look at them and try to find the one we've drawn by looking at them in the back pens. Most bulls don't really want to be touched." I could hear him in my head, saying, "Bull aren't pets, you know? We don't get all warm and cozy with them." I had to ask a follow up question to clarify why I needed to know, and it turns out it wouldn't be a problem out. Just wait until the bull turns his back and grab a few. He answered my initial questions and any follow up questions that I had.
Only later did I learn that Wiley was one of the country's top bull riders. He is #16 in the Professional Bull Riders all time money winners. But he couldn't have been nicer or more helpful.
So the moral of the story is, if you don't know something that effects your story, ask. Most experts are happy to share their knowledge and like it when writer try to get the details right.
One last video of Wiley in action to demonstrate why he will forever remain my bull riding expert:
March 3, 2017
Liberty by Kim Iverson Headlee
LIBERTYby Kim Iverson Headlee Genre: Historical Romance (ancient Rome) 
How hard would you fight for a chance at impossible love?
“Epic.” ~ Drue’s Random Chatter Reviews.
From the critically acclaimed, award-winning pen of Kim Iverson Headlee comes the thrilling, poignant tale of love across a vast social divide.
WINNER, 2015 BooksGoSocial Best Book.
Betrayed by her father and sold as payment of a Roman tax debt to fight in Londinium's arena, gladiatrix-slave Rhyddes feels like a wild beast in a gilded cage. Celtic warrior blood flows in her veins, but Roman masters own her body. She clings to her vow that no man shall claim her soul, though Marcus Calpurnius Aquila, son of the Roman governor, makes her yearn for a love she believes impossible.
Groomed to follow in his father’s footsteps and trapped in a politically advantageous betrothal, Aquila prefers the purity of combat on the amphitheater sands to the sinister intrigues of imperial politics, and the raw power and athletic grace of the flame-haired Libertas to the adoring deference of Rome's noblewomen.
When a plot to overthrow Caesar ensnares them as pawns in the dark design, Aquila must choose between the Celtic slave who has won his heart and the empire to which they both owe allegiance. Trusting no man and knowing the opposite of obedience is death, the only liberty offered to any slave, Rhyddes must embrace her arena name, Libertas—and the love of a man willing to sacrifice everything to forge a future with her.
Marcus Calpurnius Aquila sprawled on his belly across the cushioned and linen-draped marble massage table, his head, arms, shins, and feet jutting over the table’s padded edges. As the male slave worked eucalyptus-scented unguent into the aching muscles, Marcus could feel the tensions of combat seep away.
Too bad the man couldn’t work out the knots in Marcus’s relationship with his father, Sextus Calpurnius Agricola, governor of Britannia province.
Citing “official business” yet again, Agricola had declined to witness Marcus’s gladiatorial bout in Londinium’s amphitheater this afternoon. His opponent had fought well, causing Marcus in his scanty armor to work up a sweat that, judging by the reverberating high-pitched cheers, had all the women swooning with delight.
Never mind that Marcus, who fought under his cognomen, Aquila, the Eagle, remained a perennial favorite with the crowd. Agricola never missed an opportunity to point out that his arena exhibitions—and the resulting private liaisons with adoring female spectators—flirted with the precipice of social acceptability and could damage Marcus’s political aspirations.
March 1, 2017
Guest Author, Hannah Ross
Welcome my guest today, author Hannah Ross. Be sure to comment below. I love to hear your opinions. Also, remember that every comment on my blog between now and May enters you into a contest to win either a signed print or ecopy of The Bull Riding Witch. To make the contest sweeter, I've added a $25 Amazon gift card to the pot of prizes.
Hannah Ross wrote her first story at the age of six and hasn’t stopped since. Wishing to have a steady profession, she trained as a clinical nutritionist, but the writing bug was too strong and Hannah continued to write fiction in the form of short stories, novels, poetry and plays, as well as many non-fiction essays and articles.
Hannah enjoys a quiet life in the country with her husband, three children, two cats and a flock of chickens.
Interview
Tell us a little about yourself? I’m Hannah Ross, a writer of primarily high and epic fantasy. I also write science fiction/dystopia and historical fiction. Until now I’ve been an indie author, but I’ve signed a publishing deal for my upcoming novel, Wild Children, with Mason Marshall Press.I’m a homeschooling mother to three young children. My husband and I enjoy a rural life very much in the boonies, where we have a large garden and a flock of backyard hens. Digging in the earth and collecting fresh eggs is incredibly de-stressing and healthful to the soul. By training, I am a clinical nutritionist and provide one-on-one as well as group counseling.What made you want to become a writer?I started writing stories almost as soon as I could hold a pencil. My endeavors weren’t treated very seriously by my family, who insisted that I “quit scribbling and do something useful,” but I never listened. The allure of creating worlds of my own was impossible to resist. [Jamie’s note: Good for you. Writing is incredibly useful, and a true writer cannot not write.]Tell us something about how you write? i.e. are you a plotter or a pantser? Do you have any weird or necessary writing habits or rituals?I find outlines incredibly helpful to get me organized and stream my writing in the direction the plot needs to go. Having said that, if I’m stuck when doing an outline, I may try some improvising and see where it gets me.I like contemplative, meditative music that helps me concentrate as I write. One of my favorite styles is the Sami (Lapland native) yoiks. They create a haunting, enchanting atmosphere. If you want to try them, search for Ulla Pirttijarvi on YouTube.Could you tell us a bit about your most recent book?My recently published book, The Greenlanders: A Tale of Sea and Steel, is a Viking-era novel focusing on the life, adventures and discoveries of Leif Erikson. It is loosely based on Saga of Erik the Red and Saga of the Greenlanders, but given that these are only basic outlines, so to speak, rather than precise records, I had a lot of room for my imagination to run wild while writing. Therefore, the book consists of events that had probably happened, events that might have happened, and events that most likely had never happened. Of all the characters you have created, which is your favorite and why?This is a tough choice, but in The Greenlanders, my favorite character is probably Freydis Eriksdottir, Leif’s sister and a very feisty lady according to the ancient Icelandic sagas. A friend who had been one of the beta-readers for the book commented that, while Leif Erikson is supposed to be the main character, during long plot stretches he is actually more of a backdrop to Freydis’s story. And this is true: Freydis has a knack for elbowing her way in and doing just what she wants. She is proud, arrogant, ambitious, but at her basic core her intentions are good. Tell us a little about your plans for the future. Do you have any other books in the works?I am currently working with Mason Marshall Press on my new sci-fi dystopian series, the first book of which, Wild Children, is due to be released soon. The book is set in a post-global-war world where the government seizes control of reproductive freedom, supposedly for the greater good, and severely penalizes families for having illegal children. The plot was inspired by the Chinese population control policy. I sat down one day and asked myself, “Could this happen in the Western world, and under what circumstances”? Where can we find you online? Blog: hannahrossfantasy.blogspot.comFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/HannahRossFantasy/Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Hannah-Ross/e/B01KR0WN9S/Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14191911.Hannah_Ross The Greenlanders
The year is circa 1000 A.D., and the battle between the old Gods and the new is at its height in Norway when the explorer Leif Erikson receives unexpected summons to court. Leif thinks this might be an advantageous opportunity to promote the status of his father's colony in Greenland, but between the intrigues of his sister Freydis, the greedy schemes of the king, and his fatal attraction to the beautiful Princess Thorgunna, it becomes uncertain whether he will make it through alive.
Spanning three generations of seafarers, colonists and adventurers, The Greenlanders brings the ancient Icelandic sagas to life and illuminates them from an unexpected angle.
Excerpt
Thorvard strained against the ropes that bound him to the mast. His fury could not find release even in a shout, for his mouth was gagged. All he could do was stare helplessly at how his few loyal men were bound as well and dragged aside, while the rest scurried like rats to do Freydis’s bidding. Weak treacherous cowards. They will regret this.
He made sure to remember each one – how they moved, spoke, looked. He would deal with them as soon as opportunity presented itself, and he would not be forgiving.
Freydis came over with a confident step, her head held up high. She knows no shame, this one. I should never have trusted her. I should never have married her.
“I’m sorry, Thorvard,” she said, but her expression was quite the reverse from an apology – it exuded arrogance, defiance and triumph. “Once we do what must be done, I’ll release you. You’ll see that I was right. Raise the sail, men. We take course southwest.”
Nobody asked where they were headed. Thorvard knew it as well. Vinland.
It was sheer madness. It would be the death of them all. The Skraelings would finish them off with a flick of a finger, given how few capable men were on the ship. But with me out of the way, who is left to beat some reason into Freydis?
Thorvard remained bound to the mast like a misbehaved dog for many hours. Bitterness, pain and fury left no room for hunger, but his throat was parched and his tiredness soon began to kick in. His legs trembled as he leaned against the mast for support. The ropes were too tight to allow him room to sit, and he wondered how much longer he would be able to hold on before he slumped unconscious with exhaustion.
“Nod your head if you promise to be quiet, and I’ll take this gag out of your mouth and give you a glug of beer,” Erlend, a weasel-like balding thin man, said with a nasty leer. Thorvard never trusted the bastard, and glared at him with a murderous expression, not moving his head an inch. “Suit yourself,” Erlend shrugged and moved away. Freydis didn’t return to look at her vanquished husband again. She was up front, giving directions to the men.
She wants to go back to Vinland to avenge Helgi, Tur and Gudrid, but she is deluded. We are too few. Will Valhalla admit those who seek death in so foolish a way?
A futile effort to find a more comfortable position offered Thorvard an unexpected sliver of hope. There was a splinter on the other side of the mast, just where his bound hands were pressed. The ropes snagged on it. Thorvard attempted to rub the ropes against it, straining them at the same time. He had nothing to lose. His movements were small enough to go unnoticed. A half-hour of such strained, painful chafing rewarded him with a slight loosening of the rope. Thorvard kept working away, every muscle in his body quivering with weakness and pain and tension. A stubborn strength came from somewhere and didn’t let go. He kept straining. A gale rocked the ship, splashing him in the face with salty water, but though it drenched him and stung his eyes, Thorvard didn’t care. Odin, Father, let me get out of these bounds before it’s too late.
If you like what you've read, comment below. Also, the book can be purchased at the link.
Hannah Ross wrote her first story at the age of six and hasn’t stopped since. Wishing to have a steady profession, she trained as a clinical nutritionist, but the writing bug was too strong and Hannah continued to write fiction in the form of short stories, novels, poetry and plays, as well as many non-fiction essays and articles. Hannah enjoys a quiet life in the country with her husband, three children, two cats and a flock of chickens.
Interview
Tell us a little about yourself? I’m Hannah Ross, a writer of primarily high and epic fantasy. I also write science fiction/dystopia and historical fiction. Until now I’ve been an indie author, but I’ve signed a publishing deal for my upcoming novel, Wild Children, with Mason Marshall Press.I’m a homeschooling mother to three young children. My husband and I enjoy a rural life very much in the boonies, where we have a large garden and a flock of backyard hens. Digging in the earth and collecting fresh eggs is incredibly de-stressing and healthful to the soul. By training, I am a clinical nutritionist and provide one-on-one as well as group counseling.What made you want to become a writer?I started writing stories almost as soon as I could hold a pencil. My endeavors weren’t treated very seriously by my family, who insisted that I “quit scribbling and do something useful,” but I never listened. The allure of creating worlds of my own was impossible to resist. [Jamie’s note: Good for you. Writing is incredibly useful, and a true writer cannot not write.]Tell us something about how you write? i.e. are you a plotter or a pantser? Do you have any weird or necessary writing habits or rituals?I find outlines incredibly helpful to get me organized and stream my writing in the direction the plot needs to go. Having said that, if I’m stuck when doing an outline, I may try some improvising and see where it gets me.I like contemplative, meditative music that helps me concentrate as I write. One of my favorite styles is the Sami (Lapland native) yoiks. They create a haunting, enchanting atmosphere. If you want to try them, search for Ulla Pirttijarvi on YouTube.Could you tell us a bit about your most recent book?My recently published book, The Greenlanders: A Tale of Sea and Steel, is a Viking-era novel focusing on the life, adventures and discoveries of Leif Erikson. It is loosely based on Saga of Erik the Red and Saga of the Greenlanders, but given that these are only basic outlines, so to speak, rather than precise records, I had a lot of room for my imagination to run wild while writing. Therefore, the book consists of events that had probably happened, events that might have happened, and events that most likely had never happened. Of all the characters you have created, which is your favorite and why?This is a tough choice, but in The Greenlanders, my favorite character is probably Freydis Eriksdottir, Leif’s sister and a very feisty lady according to the ancient Icelandic sagas. A friend who had been one of the beta-readers for the book commented that, while Leif Erikson is supposed to be the main character, during long plot stretches he is actually more of a backdrop to Freydis’s story. And this is true: Freydis has a knack for elbowing her way in and doing just what she wants. She is proud, arrogant, ambitious, but at her basic core her intentions are good. Tell us a little about your plans for the future. Do you have any other books in the works?I am currently working with Mason Marshall Press on my new sci-fi dystopian series, the first book of which, Wild Children, is due to be released soon. The book is set in a post-global-war world where the government seizes control of reproductive freedom, supposedly for the greater good, and severely penalizes families for having illegal children. The plot was inspired by the Chinese population control policy. I sat down one day and asked myself, “Could this happen in the Western world, and under what circumstances”? Where can we find you online? Blog: hannahrossfantasy.blogspot.comFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/HannahRossFantasy/Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Hannah-Ross/e/B01KR0WN9S/Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14191911.Hannah_Ross The Greenlanders
The year is circa 1000 A.D., and the battle between the old Gods and the new is at its height in Norway when the explorer Leif Erikson receives unexpected summons to court. Leif thinks this might be an advantageous opportunity to promote the status of his father's colony in Greenland, but between the intrigues of his sister Freydis, the greedy schemes of the king, and his fatal attraction to the beautiful Princess Thorgunna, it becomes uncertain whether he will make it through alive.
Spanning three generations of seafarers, colonists and adventurers, The Greenlanders brings the ancient Icelandic sagas to life and illuminates them from an unexpected angle.
Excerpt
Thorvard strained against the ropes that bound him to the mast. His fury could not find release even in a shout, for his mouth was gagged. All he could do was stare helplessly at how his few loyal men were bound as well and dragged aside, while the rest scurried like rats to do Freydis’s bidding. Weak treacherous cowards. They will regret this.
He made sure to remember each one – how they moved, spoke, looked. He would deal with them as soon as opportunity presented itself, and he would not be forgiving.
Freydis came over with a confident step, her head held up high. She knows no shame, this one. I should never have trusted her. I should never have married her.
“I’m sorry, Thorvard,” she said, but her expression was quite the reverse from an apology – it exuded arrogance, defiance and triumph. “Once we do what must be done, I’ll release you. You’ll see that I was right. Raise the sail, men. We take course southwest.”
Nobody asked where they were headed. Thorvard knew it as well. Vinland.
It was sheer madness. It would be the death of them all. The Skraelings would finish them off with a flick of a finger, given how few capable men were on the ship. But with me out of the way, who is left to beat some reason into Freydis?
Thorvard remained bound to the mast like a misbehaved dog for many hours. Bitterness, pain and fury left no room for hunger, but his throat was parched and his tiredness soon began to kick in. His legs trembled as he leaned against the mast for support. The ropes were too tight to allow him room to sit, and he wondered how much longer he would be able to hold on before he slumped unconscious with exhaustion.
“Nod your head if you promise to be quiet, and I’ll take this gag out of your mouth and give you a glug of beer,” Erlend, a weasel-like balding thin man, said with a nasty leer. Thorvard never trusted the bastard, and glared at him with a murderous expression, not moving his head an inch. “Suit yourself,” Erlend shrugged and moved away. Freydis didn’t return to look at her vanquished husband again. She was up front, giving directions to the men.
She wants to go back to Vinland to avenge Helgi, Tur and Gudrid, but she is deluded. We are too few. Will Valhalla admit those who seek death in so foolish a way?
A futile effort to find a more comfortable position offered Thorvard an unexpected sliver of hope. There was a splinter on the other side of the mast, just where his bound hands were pressed. The ropes snagged on it. Thorvard attempted to rub the ropes against it, straining them at the same time. He had nothing to lose. His movements were small enough to go unnoticed. A half-hour of such strained, painful chafing rewarded him with a slight loosening of the rope. Thorvard kept working away, every muscle in his body quivering with weakness and pain and tension. A stubborn strength came from somewhere and didn’t let go. He kept straining. A gale rocked the ship, splashing him in the face with salty water, but though it drenched him and stung his eyes, Thorvard didn’t care. Odin, Father, let me get out of these bounds before it’s too late.
If you like what you've read, comment below. Also, the book can be purchased at the link.
February 27, 2017
Rodeo and Research
You may rightly wonder how a college teacher of literature and all round city girl knows enough about rodeo to set her novel in that world, especially when she views rodeo as a fascinating anachronism. (See last week's post http://jamie-marchant.blogspot.com/2017/02/inspiration-for-bull-riding-witch.html).
After I attended that rodeo discussed last week, I kept attending more as the idea for The Bull Riding Witch simmered in my head. The incredible skill combined with the complete uselessness of such skill in the modern world continued to work on my imagination. When I was read to start writing the book, having attended a hand full of rodeos was hardly sufficient knowledge of the world of rodeo.
I tried to find a book on bull riding. There are a ton of romance novels starring bull riders.
But I couldn't find a "how-to" book. The best I could come up with was Fried Twinkies, Buckle Bunnies, & Bull Riders: A Year Inside the Professional Bull Riders Tour.
I read it. It taught me some things. In case you are wondering, the flank strap does not go around the bull's testicles. It would be impossible to put it there even if they wanted to. It is an irritant, but the bull isn't in real pain. I also learned that buckle bunnies, rodeo groupies, will ask bull riders to sign their breasts. (That detail didn't end up in my book). But it didn't tell me what I really needed to know, especially Joshua Killenyen, my bull rider is distinctly small time. I did some internet research. While the bulls don't often get hurt, the riders do. Injuries, often serious ones, are ridiculously common. This article from the LA Times sums it up with examples from one bull rider:
Bulls ripped open his chin, blackened his eyes and broke his nose, ribs and legs — the right leg three times.But that all paled in comparison to what happened about a year and a half ago, when Beau Schroeder climbed on a snorting, bucking 1,800-pound monster called 800 Night Moves.The bull threw him into the red dirt of the arena in Fort Mojave, Ariz. Its massive hooves trampled his chest, punctured his lungs and tore open his throat.He couldn't walk. He couldn't talk. He could barely breathe.Bull riders can even be killed or paralyzed. As bull riders like to say, "It's not whether they'll get hurt, it's when." Bull riders are crazy about it, too. The rider in the above story was back riding only two months after almost being killed. And that's considered normal in bull riding.I hit pay dirt when I cam across bullridercoach.com. More on that and Wiley Peterson tomorrow.
After I attended that rodeo discussed last week, I kept attending more as the idea for The Bull Riding Witch simmered in my head. The incredible skill combined with the complete uselessness of such skill in the modern world continued to work on my imagination. When I was read to start writing the book, having attended a hand full of rodeos was hardly sufficient knowledge of the world of rodeo.
I tried to find a book on bull riding. There are a ton of romance novels starring bull riders.
But I couldn't find a "how-to" book. The best I could come up with was Fried Twinkies, Buckle Bunnies, & Bull Riders: A Year Inside the Professional Bull Riders Tour.
I read it. It taught me some things. In case you are wondering, the flank strap does not go around the bull's testicles. It would be impossible to put it there even if they wanted to. It is an irritant, but the bull isn't in real pain. I also learned that buckle bunnies, rodeo groupies, will ask bull riders to sign their breasts. (That detail didn't end up in my book). But it didn't tell me what I really needed to know, especially Joshua Killenyen, my bull rider is distinctly small time. I did some internet research. While the bulls don't often get hurt, the riders do. Injuries, often serious ones, are ridiculously common. This article from the LA Times sums it up with examples from one bull rider:
Bulls ripped open his chin, blackened his eyes and broke his nose, ribs and legs — the right leg three times.But that all paled in comparison to what happened about a year and a half ago, when Beau Schroeder climbed on a snorting, bucking 1,800-pound monster called 800 Night Moves.The bull threw him into the red dirt of the arena in Fort Mojave, Ariz. Its massive hooves trampled his chest, punctured his lungs and tore open his throat.He couldn't walk. He couldn't talk. He could barely breathe.Bull riders can even be killed or paralyzed. As bull riders like to say, "It's not whether they'll get hurt, it's when." Bull riders are crazy about it, too. The rider in the above story was back riding only two months after almost being killed. And that's considered normal in bull riding.I hit pay dirt when I cam across bullridercoach.com. More on that and Wiley Peterson tomorrow.
February 23, 2017
Detecting Magic Book Tour & Giveaway
Detecting Magic with Dick Hunter: The Mort des Hommes Files by A. Jarrell HayesGenre: Paranormal Crime Mystery
What begins as a routine missing person case for Seattle's best private investigator, Dick Hunter, turns into a personal vendetta against a cruel murderer. The murderer, Mort des Hommes, happens to be a hell spawn possessing powerful magic.In order to solve the case and avenge a death, Dick Hunter has to take a crash course in magic from the angelic Amie, and gather magical animal familiars in order to battle and defeat Mort des Hommes.** free on Kindle during the days of 2/21 – 2/25 !!**Goodreads * Amazon
Detecting Magic with Dick Hunter: The Demonic Dozen
Detective Dick Hunter is back!Dick and comrades defeated Wicked Jinn Mort des Hommes in a climatic battle at the Gates of Hades. Though stopped of his ultimate goal of world domination, Mort was able to release twelve demons into the world--and Dick Hunter blames himself.To put an end to the demonic threat, Dick Hunter and Amie--a former Pleasant Jinn and Dick's current lover--accompany an old friend, Pleasant Jinn Guy, across the country on a demon hunting spree. More action, adventure and wisecracks await in the next installment in the genre-bending, fourth-wall-breaking Detecting Magic with Dick Hunter series. **Releases March 7th, 2017!**Goodreads* Amazon
Person. Storyteller. Work-in-progress. A. Jarrell Hayes began writing at a young age; his first books being handwritten and illustrated stories similar to the Choose Your Own Adventure titles he loved. In 2004 he published his first two "official" books, Heart and Soul of a Thinker (poetry) and Crowning of the Good King (fantasy). Since then, he has written seven poetry collections, four fantasy novels, three short story collections and a handful of chapbooks. His work has appeared in over 20 publications, online and in print. His visual art has been on display at the Baltimore Museum of Art (BMA) and the Eubie Blake Jazz and Cultural Center in Baltimore. He began publishing poetry under the name A. J. Hayes in 2013. A list of his published works is available here.In 2013 he founded a small publishing press called Hidden Clearing Books, LLC (now closed). He has judged contests for the aforementioned press and for the Maryland Writer's Association. He is a freelance editor and book consultant (hire him here). He currently lives in Maryland. He invites you to subscribe to his free eNewsletter and contribute to his Patreon.
Website * Newsletter * Patreon * Facebook * Twitter Google+ * Pinterest * Amazon * Goodreads
Detecting Magic with Dick Hunter: The Mort des Hommes FilesBy A. Jarrell HayesWhen I recall what I saw that day, I can scarce but wonder why I didn’t go insane. On the ground was the body of Mr. Hollis, bloody and torn but still barely alive and breathing. He was twitching on the grass like a chopped up inchworm. One arm was detached from the rest of his body, the hand clinched into a fist. Dangling freely from his torso was his intestines, pulled out from a huge gash in his lower stomach area. Blood flowed freely from many wounds. Blood splattered Mr. Hollis’ face, too; and by the looks of things, it was his own blood at that.There was a man looming menacing over his tortured body: a white gentleman about a decade into AARP membership, slim and in good shape, with cold blue eyes and a tuft of white hair sticking out from under his smoke gray derby hat. He’s wearing a black suit with a white shirt and simple black tie, a long gray wool coat over his suit. He held a spear in his right arm, the tip of it pointed at Mr. Hollis’ forehead.I couldn’t simply stand and watch the murder of a man without attempting to stop it, so I pulled out my sidearm and aimed it at the old man that looked like a reject from The Godfather movies. “Drop the spear!” I ordered.The old man looked at me as if he hadn’t noticed that I was there beforehand. A sinister and arrogant smile formed across his pale face. He spread open his arms as he faced me—he was daring me to shoot him!I wasn’t going to shoot him as long as he didn’t threaten me. I was hoping he wouldn’t, because that would be a heck of a lot of paperwork to fill out at the police station. I was hoping that he would let go of the weapon he borrowed from Fred Flintstone and allow me to apprehend him and call the police. But, of course, life’s never that easy, right?The old fart turns and aims the spear at me, putting me in a tight situation. I have the more deadly weapon, so if I shoot and kill this old man, it might appear to be an act of abusing my gun privileges. If I don’t shoot, I’ll end up with a spear through my neck. I did the only logical thing I could do: I shot the old man in his shoulder.The first shot seemed to do nothing to the old man. I had excellent aim, and I was close enough to the target that even if my aim sucked balls I still would’ve hit him. But there was nothing on the old man, not even a scratch.I fired three more times, all with the same results as the first. It was as if the bullets, as they drew closer to him, ceased existing.That’s when the old man gazed at me with his wicked smile, and, not even looking at his victim on the ground, rammed his spear through Mr. Hollis’ temple. He removed the spear with a jerk. Brain chunks and blood splattering everywhere. He winked at me and slowly turned to walk away. I fired two more rounds, without hitting him, until the old man vanished. That’s right; he vanished, like a specter or hologram.My mind was having trouble making sense of the nonsense that just transpired. One thing I did know was that Benny-boy wasn’t in such good shape. I had to be quick. I dashed to the body and dropped to my knees. I stared at the corpse.I shook my head at the dead body and whispered, “Why did you die? What did you die for, man?” I sighed and then walked over to where his arm lay. I lifted it up to rejoin it with his body. As I did so, a pebble and a pack of matches fell from his grasp. I placed the arm across his chest and retrieved the fallen pebble and matches. The matches were from some place called Amie’s House of Spirits; I placed both items in my coat pocket. That’s when I heard the police sirens and decided to disappear from the scene of the crime before I spent the rest of the night answering questions at the precinct.
#
Find out what happens next in Detecting Magic with Dick Hunter: The Mort des Hommes Files. Claim your copy at: https://www.amazon.com/Detecting-Magic-Dick-Hunter-Hommes-ebook/dp/B004P8JXD8/.
a Rafflecopter giveawaybr /> 
