Jamie Marchant's Blog, page 27

Day 12 of the Reader Christmas Giveaway

Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas, may you enjoy the burn of the Fire.......the Kindle Fire! Click the link below for a chance to win!
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Never Think Twice: Phelix Story Revised

I've revised the Phelix story I posted on here a few weeks ago. I have gotten mixed responses from my readers so far about the ending. I'd really love to hear your thoughts in the comments.Never Think TwicePhelix didn’t know how he’d ended up in a situation like this, again. He’d broken into the mansion to kill Captain Agmundr, and now he was playing patty-cake with Agmundr’s five-year-old daughter. He rolled his eyes as he clapped hands with the child, whose name he’d learned was Frida. The child giggled as they crossed the cake with an F and put it in the oven for Frida and Phelix. A huge smile lit her face. Phelix, when will you learn to just do your job and get out?She hadn’t been smiling when Phelix first came across her. He’d been moving silently through the mansion, sticking to the shadows, and looking for his target. He opened one room and found Frida crying inside. He hadn’t made a noise, and the child’s back was to him. All he’d needed to do was what any sensible assassin would have done, close the door and move on. But Phelix could never do the sensible thing when faced with a crying child. He entered the room, closed the door softly, and approached her. “What wrong, sweetheart?” he asked in his gentlest voice. Talking to the child was either insane or abysmally stupid or perhaps both. His Massossinan wasn’t good, and his accent clearly Saloynan. Besides, the scar across his cheek didn’t exactly make him look harmless to say nothing of the weapons he carried.Frida sobbed harder, but when she turned to look at him, she didn’t seem afraid. “Elfa’s arm fell off.” She held a one-armed cloth doll in one hand and the severed arm in the other. Phelix crouched down next to her. “No need cry. If you fetch Phelix a needle and thread, Phelix fix.”Frida sniffled. “Could you?” And before he could say another word, the child shoved the doll and its detached limb into his hands and ran out of the room.Any sensible assassin would have disappeared as soon as the child left the room, but Phelix knew she’d weep even harder if she found him gone before he fixed the doll. Phelix, you are a halfwit! He sat on the floor and waited. He put the doll down so that he’d be able to access his weapons quickly should someone other than Frida enter.He’d called himself a fool in every language he knew by the time Frida ran back in with a sewing basket. “Please fix Elfa. Her arm really hurts.”Phelix took the basket. He breifly touched his abdomen, where a newly healed wound that had nearly disemboweled him had given him a new definition of pain. “Phelix sure does.” Searching the basket, he found the things he needed. Phelix, just what are you going to do if someone else comes through that door? Murder them in front of the child? Having been in the military since he was a child, Phelix had had plenty of experience mending his own clothing, so it didn’t take him long to sew the arm back on. He handed it to Frida. “See, good as new.”“Oh, thank you!” she cried. She hugged the doll to her chest, then threw her arms around his neck. “No one else would listen!”Phelix returned the hug awkwardly. “Since Elfa all better, Phelix back to his job.”Frida broke away, and her face fell. “Can’t you play with me? No one ever plays with me.”Those sad eyes stabbed into his heart, but he tried to harden himself. “Phelix work to do, and your father most upset if he finds me playing with you instead of working.”“Just one game of patty-cake. I’ll tell Daddy not to get angry.” Phelix briefly imagined how that conversation would go. But Frida’s lower lip trembled, and Phelix lost the battle.  “Okay, but just one game.” He held one finger up to emphasize the point.The one game had become five when he heard footsteps in the hallway: two men approaching. “Shit!” he swore in Saloynan. Frida’s head shot up. He changed back to Massossinan and whispered. “Quick, I need hide. You don’t want Phelix in trouble for playing?”Frida shook her head, ran to the wardrobe, and opened the door. “In here.” Phelix scrambled inside. Frida had just closed the wardrobe when the hallway door opened.“Daddy!” Frida cried. Phelix put his hands on his knives and watched through a small crack in the door.Agmundr put his hand on his daughter’s head. The man with him wore scholar’s robes and appeared unarmed. Phelix could’ve opened the door and had both men dead on the ground before they knew what hit them. It was what a sensible assassin would have done, but imagining Frida’s face when he slit her father’s throat kept him crouched in the wardrobe.Agmundr mussed Frida’s hair. “I’m going to Uppsala. Halvdan will be looking after you while I’m gone.”“No!” Frida cried, and wrapped her arms around him. “Can’t I come with you?”Agmundr pushed Frida away and crouched down to meet his daughter’s eyes. “You know that’s impossible. I’ll only be gone a couple of weeks.” “But what if something happens to you? What if the Saloynans get you?”Agmundr laughed. “I’m perfectly safe. No Saloynan could infiltrate this far into the country. I promise I’ll return as soon as I can.” He kissed the top of her head and straightened. “Follow me out, Halvdan. I have a few things to discuss with you before I leave.”The two men swept out of the room. Phelix quickly exited the wardrobe. He needed to get to Agmundr before he left. Killing him would be much more difficult as he moved deeper into Massossinan territory. “Thanks for hiding,” he said to Frida. “But Phelix back to work.”He started for the door, but when he glanced at Frida, tears were flowing down her cheeks again. Damn me to Hades! Phelix doesn’t have any more time to comfort children. He turned back to Frida. “What is it, love?”Frida sobbed. “I’m so afraid he won’t come back. I heard someone tell him that the Saloynan monsters might send an assassin after him. They’ll tear him apart with their claws and drink his blood with their fangs.”Phelix gulped. If the child thought Saloynans were monsters with claws and fangs, it explained why she hadn’t recognized him as one. Still, her fear put him in an awkward position. “Well, er, that is . . .” Tears streamed down the child’s cheeks, and Phelix dropped to his knees and held out his arms to her. She fell against his chest. “Please, go with him. Promise me you’ll make sure he gets back safely.”Phelix hugged the child. What in Zeus’s name is Phelix going to do now?

Day 10 of the Reader Christmas Giveaway

This swag pack is filled with goodies from over 30 authors from various signings! Most everything has been singed by the author, plus get four signed books! Here is the perfect gift for Christmas, the gift of a far away dream land!Click the link below for your chance to win!www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/5662c78f7

The Goddess's Choice audio, Chapter 10

Robbie confronts his father in this week's installment of The Goddess's Choice.




If you can't wait for the next chapter, you can always buy it on Amazon.

Day 8 of The Readers Christmas Giveaway

Don't be caught sipping that exceptional eggnog! You could try and disguise it as juice! Click the link below to register for a chance to win these mood lifters!
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Midnight's Edge Book Tour & Giveaway

Midnight's Edge Book 1
The Secrets of Sleepy Meadows
By David Chappius & Michael Klinger 
Genre: Horror, Supernatural Suspense The title, Midnight’s Edge, comes from the time of night where the veil between the living and the dead disappears and, for a brief moment in time, the dead can return to the mortal world and live again. It is a story of a vile, evil man named Jeremy Wickcliff, whose wife, Lucy, arranged his death years ago to save the town from his wrath of destruction. In present time, he has been plotting from the spirit realm, a place of purgatory, to return to the mortal realm to seek revenge on those who wronged him and reclaim the life ripped away from him.

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Chapter 1
It would soon be Midnight’s Edge or ME as the witches call it, a time of the night when the veil between the living and dead disappears.My name’s Shelly Hawkins-Wickcliff, and I live in the Wickcliff mansion, which sits on a hill overlooking the small town of Sleepy Meadows where I’ve lived for all of my 24 years.I didn’t know much about ME, but Jeremy Wickcliff did. He was dead, but that didn’t stop him from reaching across the realms into the mortal world. You see, although he was gone, he found a way to get inside my head, to manipulate my thoughts and actions, to make my will his own. I’ve been hearing his voice cajoling me and taunting me for years and on this night, approaching ME, his plan to return to the mortal realm was about to become a reality. I didn’t fully understand how ME would factor into it, but to him it didn’t matter. To him, I was a pawn in his sick, twisted game.On this night, I wandered in a daze through the shadowy hallway of the eerie mansion I inhabited. I had heard Jeremy’s voice in my head all day as usual, and as usual, he was just as cruel and heartless as ever. This night had been different; I had grown tired of the game. I was no longer able to fight him, no longer able to block out his voice. He had been with me every moment of every day for as long as I could remember. I was tired of the fight to banish him from my mind. I was losing the last grip on sanity that I had.I was blinded by tears as I reached the staircase that led to the attic. As Jeremy’s voice commanded me to ascend the staircase, I wondered why he had wanted me to go there.  As I reached the top of the landing to the attic, I heard him call out to me.“I know you’re in pain, and I know how to make it stop. Just be an obedient girl and do what I tell you.”“I don’t understand any of this,” I said. “Why are you torturing me? Why can’t you just leave me alone?”He chuckled. “Oh, it’s almost unbelievable how naïve you are. Do you think it was a coincidence that your perfect fairy tale life turned into a living nightmare? Oh no. I was responsible for it all, princess. I’ve used the powers bestowed upon me from the other side to pick your precious life apart piece by piece, taking away everything you loved until you were so broken that you were no longer able to resist my will.”“Why me? Why did you target me?”He ignored my question as he so often had. “Open the door and go inside.”I grasped the knob of the attic door. Unable to stop myself, I opened it. The air was dusty, thick. I could hardly breathe.He was right. Once beautiful and full of life, I was now meager and weak. I had lost all control of my body and mind, and it was all thanks to him. He’d made my life miserable. He’d convinced me that I was a burden to all that I loved and that my life was meaningless to the point where I started to believe him.I put my head down recalling the events of the last five years. I thought about everything I had lost because of Jeremy. My husband, my sanity, my life. Even though I tried not to show it, I couldn’t control the flood of tears that blinded me. Jeremy knew that my losses had become too much to bear, and he knew he’d beaten me.“You got what you wanted,” I said, scanning the room. “I’m broken. Are you happy now? Why don’t you just leave me alone?”
Midnight's Edge - Book 2
 The Possession Successful in his plan to return to the mortal realm, Jeremy Wickcliff believes he’s found his son, whose body will allow him to continue to live, and he has brought back his sister, Rachel, as part of his resurgence plan for the Wickcliff family. However, the son that he thinks is his isn’t, and Rachel isn’t exactly his ally. Trapped in the Wickcliff mausoleum in the spirit realm, the Wickcliff ancestors have their own plan to return to life in the mortal realm, with or without Jeremy’s help.As the witches begin to piece together Jeremy’s plan after a visit from his wife, Lucy, in spirit form, they realize that they must band together in an attempt to stop him from bringing his family back and to banish him back to the ghost realm. With a battle between good and evil takes place on the grounds of the Wickcliff cemetery, the outcome will change the lives of the residents of Sleepy Meadows forever. 
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Chapter One
The concept of time is different in the spirit realm than it is in the mortal one. It’s not measured by hours or even minutes. Although time has gone on, it feels like I’ve been trapped in one long, endless nightmare since my suicide and transition to the spirit realm. I can’t gauge how long it’s been now, but that doesn’t matter. All that matters is I’ve found myself trapped in the attic of the Wickcliff mansion, where I ended my life, with no apparent way out.In an instant, I, Shelly Hawkins-Wickcliff, the younger sister of Ethan Hawkins and daughter to Carol and Jeffrey Hawkins, ceased to exist. I can still connect with my family and friends in my mind. I can see the events of the mortal realm unfolding like a movie. I’ve seen my father murdered by Jeremy Wickcliff, the same evil, vile spirit who’d gotten inside my mind and coerced me into taking my life. He’d returned to the mortal realm using Midnight’s Edge, a time of night where the veil between the living and the dead ceases to exist and inhabited the body of Reed Withers, who soon became trapped in the spirit realm with me after his mind and body were possessed. At the age of twenty-five, the same age as me, it appeared that his life was over just as mine was.Reed’s a fighter who refuses to accept that his life as he knew it is over. Having him in the spirit realm with me has helped me realize that like him, I can’t sit back and let Jeremy get away with what he’s taken from me. Reed’s determination to reclaim his life has reignited the fighter in me, the person who no longer wishes to be a victim. I’ve become determined to make Jeremy pay for the suffering he’s inflicted on me, my late husband Rory, and the rest of my family, although I’m still figuring out how.The one connection I still have to the mortal realm is through Kasey Menze, one of my closest friends and my brother’s lover. While no one in the mortal realm knows of my presence there when I go there in my mind, Kasey’s the exception. He has special abilities, psychic abilities. He can hear me when I speak to him. I’ve also been able to give him visions, visions of my death and turmoil that I now face. While he’s doing his best to shut me out, afraid of what I’ve shown him and desperate for a normal life with my brother, I know I’ve got to keep trying to connect with him. He’s the only hope I have of warning my loved ones of the impending danger they face as a result of Jeremy’s presence in their world.I turned to look out the window, peering out at the town below, before shutting my eyes and attempting to make contact with the mortal realm. I saw Kasey outside his mother Gracey’s house, who’d just encountered Jeremy, who he thought was Reed. He thought the encounter odd, as he couldn’t figure out why Reed was there or why he’d left as suddenly as he’d appeared. He hadn’t known that Jeremy had shown up to coerce Gracey into telling him who his son was, the son he’d blamed her for helping his wife, Lucy, keep from him his son’s entire life. He wouldn’t even have known about his son’s existence if it hadn’t been for his paying off an old gypsy woman that Lucy once knew to tell him the truth.Kasey hadn't realized the extent of the danger his mother was in as he went up to her kitchen door and entered the house without knocking. She’d told him to come over in a hurry, and while Kasey was only five years older than me, the worry I saw as I studied his face made him appear much older than he was. “Mom, I got here as quickly as I could. You sounded so strange on the phone. I could tell by the tone in your voice that
Midnight's Edge- Book 3 
The Spirits of Sleepy Meadows In the third book of the Midnight’s Edge series, Kasey Menze has found himself misplaced from his life in the mortal realm. His body has been possessed by the vile spirit of Jeremy Wickcliff; His life has been stolen. He awakes in the spirit realm, a place of purgatory for those who have died, and encounters the spirit of Shelly Wickcliff, whose suicide was the result of Jeremy’s machinations to use her body as a vessel to return his sister Rachel from the grave. Together, with the help of Damon Shields, a mortal man with the shamanic ability to transcend his life force between the two realms and Shelly’s husband Rory, also a spirit, they must formulate a plan to exorcise Jeremy from the mortal realm so that Kasey may reclaim his life, and so that Jeremy can be stopped from fulfilling his prophecy that he’ll return his ancestors from the dead.
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Chapter 1
At first, Kasey Menze saw nothing but darkness. Slowly his eyes adjusted to his surroundings in the Wickcliff mausoleum. A shiver coursed through him from the dampness of the cold, stone floor on which he found himself.He rubbed the top of his head, feeling dizzy, and confused. He tried to get up, but his legs didn’t hold him. At first, he thought he was dead, yet as his mind cleared, he quickly pushed those thoughts aside and was convinced that Jeremy hadn’t inhabited his body.He tried to stand up again, this time, more carefully. He felt weak and wasn’t sure he could depend on his legs to support his weight. He stumbled forward a few feet and reached out in front of him, hoping to find something in the darkness to hold on to as he attempted to steady himself.“Graham, are you there?”His voice echoed within the room. He expected Graham to answer him, remembering that he’d been in the mausoleum with him and Jeremy before he lost consciousness.“Careful,” a man’s voice said, coming out of the darkness. “You don’t want to hurt yourself.”The voice startled Kasey, and he scanned the room. “Who’s there?”“Guess,” the man said, with a sarcastic laugh.“I don’t have time for games. Just answer me. Graham, is it you?”“I’m not Graham, but close.”He stood in silence for a moment and then gasped. “Reed, is that you?”“That’s right. Give the man a prize.”Reed opened the inside shutters of a cracked window and stepped to the side. The face Kasey saw in the moonlight that shone through stunned him. Reed appeared beyond his years. At 30, Kasey was five years his senior. That wasn’t evident now. The usually slender and attractive young man breathed heavily and appeared bloated. His once shiny reddish-brown hair was dull and straw-like; dark circles appeared under his once sparkling eyes, now cloudy, dull and lifeless, like those of an old teddy bear dumped to the bottom of a child’s toy box.He wasn’t positive because it could’ve been the moonlight’s reflection, but Reed’s skin appeared gray, as though it were decaying and falling off the bone. Kasey hadn’t realized how accurate that was. The smell of death filled the air as Reed got closer, and Kasey covered his nose.Reed gave him a peculiar stare. “You okay, Kase?”“I am now... I think.” He ran his hands over his forehead and through his hair. “I’d ask you the same thing, but I think I know what you’re going to say. Forgive me for saying so, but you look like hell, and you smell even worse.”Reed grinned. “I guess my appearance fits our environment then, doesn’t it?”He wasn’t sure what that meant, but Reed’s tone gave him cause for concern.“I can’t believe it’s finally over. For a minute there, I thought Jeremy had succeeded. I guess that since you’re back, it means Jeremy’s gone. He failed to take over my body.” He moved closer to Reed. “Where’s your dad?”Reed shrugged. “He’s not here now.”He scanned the room. “Graham was here when I blacked out. He wouldn’t just leave me here unconscious unless he's gone to get help.” He narrowed his eyes and studied Reed’s emotionless expression. “We need to get out of here, and you need a doctor.”Reed snickered. “A doctor can’t do anything for me, or for you for that matter.”“I have to find Ethan. He’s going to be so relieved when he hears it’s all over.” He looked past Reed and focused on the door before starting toward it.Reed stepped in front of him. “Kase, we need to talk.”“Later. First, we find Ethan and then we need to find your dad. He’s going to be so relieved that you’re back.”Reed didn’t move.“Come on,” he said, waving his arm. “What are we waiting for? Let’s get the hell outta here.”“Kase, you don’t understand, we—”“Whatever it is, you can explain it to me on the way. I just want to get to Ethan.”He tried to pass Reed, but Reed put his hands on his shoulders. His touch was unusually cold.“You can’t get to him.”“What do you mean? Why not?” His face went ashen. “Oh, God, Jeremy didn’t…”Reed shook his head. “No. You’re right. Jeremy’s gone.”He drew in a deep breath of relief and exhaled. “Reed, you scared the hell outta me. I thought Ethan could be dead.”“Ethan’s not dead. We are.”He paused for a long moment and swallowed. “That isn’t funny. I’m not in the mood for one of your jokes right now.”“It isn’t a joke, Kase. We’re in the spirit realm, a parallel realm to the mortal realm where spirits dwell. We’re spirits now, and we’re trapped here. This may look like home, but it’s not.”Reed’s appearance wasn’t the only thing that had changed, his whole demeanor had. Kasey was so relieved when he thought everything was back to normal that he hadn’t given credence to Reed’s behavior. Normally, Reed was an anxious person; now his whole manner seemed complacent. He was accepting his position, acting almost nonchalant about it. There was no life in his voice, and, in fact, there was no emotion at all. It had a cold, hollow ring to it.“Did you hear me, Kase? We’re dead.”“That’s not possible,” he said, shaking his head defiantly. “I’m breathing, walking, talking. I’m alive.”“Jeremy inhabited your body just as he did mine. That’s why he’s not here. He’s taken your place in the mortal realm. My mortal body’s dying because he misplaced my spirit when he inhabited my body. Soon the same thing will happen to yours, and it’ll be too late for you to get back.”“I don’t know why you’re saying these things. They can’t be true.”“Look at your arm, Kase.”He glanced down and noticed that the skin on his arm had turned black and blue. Reed was right. The same thing that had happened to Reed’s body was happening to Kasey’s.Kasey’s face had gone as pale as his arm.“What’s happening to me?”A morbid smile appeared on Reed’s face. “It’s starting already.”“What is?”“Your mortal body’s dying, and right now you see a reflection of that. That’s what you see when you look at me. You see my body dying in the mortal realm.”His eyes widened. “How’s that possible?”“Jeremy doesn’t belong in your body. Your body is rejecting his spirit. Eventually, his presence in your body will cause it to shut down.”He rubbed his arm frantically as if he were trying to remove the bruises. Reed grabbed his arm and stared into his eyes intensely.“It’s our destiny, Kase. This was all meant to be.”He yanked his arm away. “How can you say that? Doesn’t this bother you even a little bit? You almost sound like you wanted to die. That’s not the Reed that I know.”“I’ve accepted my destiny, just as you will in time.”The vacant tone in Reed’s voice frightened Kasey. Fear of the unknown engulfed him. He wasn’t about to show that to Reed, though.“If we’re both dying, what are we doing here? Shouldn’t we be in heaven, hell, somewhere else but here?”“The afterlife’s much more complicated than any of us realized in life. There are many other realms, ones we don’t know about in our mortal lives. I would’ve never believed that the things that I’ve seen in this realm were possible.”He cocked his head. “Like what?”“I met your father recently.”His expression perked with interest. “My father?”“His name’s Damon Shields.”“My mother told me that much. That’s all I know about him. How can he be here if this is the spirit realm? I was under the impression that my father’s alive.”“He is, for now, but he won’t be for long if he attempts to take on Jeremy. He exists in this realm in spirit form only.”He scanned the dark room. “I’m not sure if I believe that. It’s too fantastic of a story.”Reed chuckled. “The longer you’re here, the less you know what to believe. The world we come from melts away, and soon you don’t know what’s real and what isn’t. I should know.”Exasperated, Kasey threw his hands up and started for the door. “To hell with this! I don’t know what’s wrong with you and at this point, I don’t care. I’m getting out of here.”Reed grabbed his arm from behind and turned Kasey around.“You can’t leave. Don’t you get it? We’re stuck here. There’s no escape.”Reed’s devilish grin made Kasey step back. “You’re so different. I don’t understand what’s happening here. If we’re not in our world, why does it look the same?”Reed stood there silently, his grin faded.“I asked you a question, Reed. Answer me.”“Just as you can see what’s happening to your body in the mortal realm, the same concept applies to our surroundings. This is nothing but a reflection, a mirrored image of what once was. You’re dying, and your spirit is clinging onto the life that it once knew.”“You may be dying, but I refuse to believe I am.”“I used to say the same thing. In time, you’ll accept it as I have. You must realize that you don’t have a choice.”He groaned, exasperated by Reed’s ambiguity. “There’s more to it than that.  I don’t feel any different than I did before. I feel like the same person I always was. You, on the other hand, you don’t seem like yourself at all. What’s made you so different?”Reed narrowed his eyes and sneered. “How do you know what I’m like? You never really got a chance to know me, did you? You were too preoccupied with the memories of your precious Ethan to even give us a chance.”“There was a time when I tried to get over my love for Ethan by starting up a new relationship with you. The only reason I became involved with you was that I believed Ethan was never coming back to Sleepy Meadows. I wanted to start over for the wrong reasons. It was an attempt to fill a void and combat my loneliness, yet as hard as I tried, I couldn’t reciprocate your feelings. That’s why I ended it with you. I hurt you, and I’m sorry for that. I never meant to. I thought you understood that.”Reed didn’t show any emotion. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not hurting anymore. I don’t feel anything, ever. I’m as dead inside as I am on the outside.”He moved towards Reed. “For God’s sake, tell me what’s happened to you. I want to help you if I can.”“I’m beyond help now. It’s you who needs help. I can give that to you if you let go of your fear and open your mind.”His eyes narrowed. “Open my mind to what?”Reed’s voice lowered, and his eyes focused on him more intensely.“Giving in to your fate, as I have. It’s so much easier.”“My fate is to get back to my life with Ethan. That’s what I believe.”Reed clenched his fists. “Enough! I don’t want to hear anything more about Ethan. Your destiny is to remain here with me. We’re alike the two of us. Nobody else could ever understand. We can be together, just you and I. You just have to let go of the fear and embrace your new existence, your new life.”He let out a sharp laugh. “Life? This isn’t any life being trapped here. We’re completely alone and separated from the people we love. Our bodies are dying in our world as we speak. How can you be okay with that?”Reed shrugged. “I don’t have a choice. My life is no longer mine.”“I don’t know what that means or why you’re talking in all these riddles, but that doesn’t matter. It’s not right what’s happened to us, and it’s not fair. I’m going to get my life back.”Reed gave him a blank stare. “You’re hurting. I felt the same way when I came here, but the pain’s stopped. There’s a way to make all the pain go away.”Kasey put his hand up and stepped back. “It’ll never stop until I’m able to go back.” He looked around the room. “There has to be some way out of here.”“There may be one, but it’s going to require you to do something you’re not going to like.”His face brightened. “I’d do anything to get back to Ethan. Just tell me what I have to do.”Reed cocked his head to one side. “I’ve made a deal with the Wickcliff ancestors who are bound to this mausoleum and the cemetery surrounding it. They aren’t strong enough to escape the cemetery yet. With your help, they could be. If you assist them, they may be able to get you home.”Reed fed Kasey the same lie that the ancestors told him to gain possession of his soul. Kasey wasn’t buying that. His intuition told him that the ancestors were the reason for the change in Reed’s demeanor.“What did you do, Reed?”“I did what I had to do to survive, to get the everlasting life they promised me.”“There’s no such thing.”Reed shook his head. “They promised me that I’d live forever, long after my body dies, and now I will.”“I don’t know much about the ancestors, but I know what Jeremy’s done to us. If the rest of the Wickcliffs are as ruthless, they can’t be trusted. They’ll do anything to get what they want. You have to know that.”Reed grinned, revealing that his teeth had now turned black, green, and gray. Several of them were missing.“You’re wrong. All it took to have immortal life is a soul.”Kasey’s eyes widened. “What are you saying?”“What’s a soul, Kase? We can’t see it. We can’t feel it. We don’t even know that it’s there. It’s inconsequential, wouldn’t you agree? I think it was a small price to pay.”He backed up towards the door. “God, it’s already too late, isn’t it? You’re one of them.”Reed’s sinister grin grew wider and eyes blazed with intensity.“It’s bliss, Kasey. You don’t feel anything. No pain, no anger, nothing.”Kasey’s eyes expressed compassion. “And, you also don’t feel love or happiness. I’m so sorry, Reed.”His heart sank knowing that his friend was gone, and it devastated him to see what Jeremy’s actions had done to him. Reed had once been a kind, caring, and compassionate young man adored by everyone in Sleepy Meadows. Now he was soulless, devoid of any genuine feeling. Kasey felt the same despair I did when I looked into Reed’s face.The mausoleum began to shake with such great force that they both lost their footing. The walls cracked, and corpses stirred in their tombs. Kasey fell, stood back up, struggling to regain his footing.“What’s happening, Reed?”Reed’s eyes broadened. “They’ve awakened.”The shutters on the windows closed with a sharp bang and the mausoleum went dark again. Wailing filled the air, and the sounds of the dead surrounded them. The same three skeletons that had surrounded Reed to take his soul stepped out of the darkness. They had been the Wickcliff ancestors, Pierre and Marguerite Wickcliff, Jeremy’s grandparents, and Harold Wickcliff, his father. After their deaths and their entrapment in the cenotaph of the mausoleum, they had shortened their names to Err, Mag, and Har.“Welcome, Mr. Menze,” Har said. “We’ve been expecting you.”Kasey pressed his back to the wall. “Let me out of here right now.”Har raised his bony hand to his chest, which was only a rib cage.“In due course. First, you give us what we want.”Kasey shifted his attention to the other two before facing Har again.“Which is?” Har’s teeth chattered. “Your soul.”

Michael Klinger - Co-Author of Midnight's Edge, Jenny's Not DeadMichael Klinger was born in Niagara Falls, New York. He received an associate’s degree in human services from Niagara County Community College and a bachelor’s degree in human services management from the University of Phoenix. He has made a living as a professional benefits specialist.He co-writes fan fiction blogs for the defunct daytime serials, Another World and Dark Shadows, and runs Facebook groups for readers to actively participate in the stories.He is the co-author of “Midnight’s Edge: The Secrets of Sleepy Meadows”, a supernatural book series, that will be published by Melange Books, LLC in September 2015. He also pens his self-published mystery series called “Jenny’s Not Dead” which is currently available in all popular ebook formats.He currently resides in southern Virginia.
David Chappuis was born in Waterloo, Iowa, the fifth child of six, and grew up on a farm outside of Madrid, New York. He received a bachelor’s degree in English/Writing and Art/Studio from Potsdam College and later took professional development courses in Interactive Multimedia at George Washington University in Washington, D.C.He has made a living as a professional web designer, designing Radio Station websites across the U.S. He designs, develops, and hosts his own websites and blogs for his writing endeavors.As well as web design, he co-writes fan fiction blogs for the defunct daytime serials, Another World and Dark Shadows, and runs Facebook groups for readers to actively participate in the stories. He also interviews the real-life actors from the shows as well as other talented people.He is the co-author of “Midnight’s Edge: The Secrets of Sleepy Meadows”, a supernatural book series, that will be published by Melange Books, LLC in September 2015. He also pens his self-published mystery series called “Jenny’s Not Dead” which is currently available in all popular ebook formats.He works from home as a full-time writer and graphic artist in southern Virginia.


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Guest Author, Aaron Lawler

Meet Aaron Lawler, an author of sci-fi/fantasy young adult fiction.

Aaron J. Lawler has taught for fifteen years and has published peer-reviewed studies in humanities, technology, game theory and education. His mother taught him to tell stories, his father taught him to think independently, his wife pushed him to try. Aaron is a classically trained painter and holds advanced degrees in the humanities, education, and technology. He is in love with his wife, his two kids, and his two dogs; and always will be.





Interview
1. What made you want to become a writer?
It is simple really - storytelling. It is an age old art that extends back to our most prehistoric ancestors and is how we became who we are today. I love stories. I love to read anything and everything. Neil Gaiman once said in an interview (and I am paraphrasing here) that “as a writer it is important to read good works, bad works, and everything in between” (or something to that affect). I think this is true. We are hardwired to tell stories. It is how we learn about the world, about one another, about everything.
My mother told me stories and read me stories when I was very young. She helped me write down the stories I would create – crazy worlds where spacemen kept pet chinchillas, or a group of boys (very similar to the kids in Sandlot) navigated an underground world after the 1906 earthquake in San Francisco, and dragons had birthday parties (both actual stories I wrote as a child!). My father taught me to challenge everything. Every idea that every grown-up or peer said, I was taught to critically analyze. And he taught me to learn about everything – science, history, culture, people, politics, economics.
So together it made sense – stories and knowledge. I am a college professor now and was a teacher for over a decade. I use storytelling as my delivery method, so for me, writing is like teaching, I just share ideas with an audience.
2. What are your biggest literary influences? Favorite authors and why?
So when I originally started this list I thought I would break it up into sections: contemporary fiction, literary fiction and nonfiction. And then it just became a list of my favorite books in each of these categories. I decided I was going to narrow it down to best answer the question (“biggest” instead of “all of your” literary influences). My favorite contemporary works are Phillip Pullman’s His Dark Materials series, which is just so lush and whimsical and philosophical; and Michael Crichton’s Prey which not only moves at the pace of an action movie but changed my entire perception of reality in terms of holism, emergence, and interconnectedness. My favorite literary works include Gabriel García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude, Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things, Miguel de Cervantes’ Don Quixote, and TH White’s The Once and Future King. My list goes on from there, but these four books have such texture, such opulent and sumptuous pages, they create a space for magical realism to inhabit. I love magical realism as a foundation, and think that all speculative fiction would be enriched by its principles: the mundane being supernatural and the miraculous being natural.
3. What are you reading at the moment? Would you recommend it to readers of this blog? Why?
So at any given time I am reading a number of things; I am a sponge and love to draw in as much as I can whenever I can.
I am actually re-reading my own novel, The Marvelous Paracosm of Fitz Faraday and the Shapers of the Id, not because I am so egotistical that I love reading the words from my own pen, but I am plotting a sequel and do not want to make the mistake George Lucas made when writing his prequels: he forgot to watch his own movies (and there are number of plot holes and conflicts because of it!).
I just finished Fred Hoyle’s Black Cloud which is an excruciating novel. I came across Black Cloud when reading through Barlowe's Guide to Extraterrestrials: Great Aliens from Science Fiction Literature, which is a ravenously illustrated collection by Wayne Douglas Barlowe (that sadly has gone out of print) showcasing the best aliens in science fiction (he also completed one for fantasy races/species!). Barlowe’s work is always a great resource for up-and-coming writers; he offers dazzling visuals for creating new worlds. Sir Fred Hoyle was an English astronomer credited for the theory of stellar nucleosynthesis, and his novel Black Cloud reads more like a technical piece, with pages upon pages of unbearable detail concerning theories and processes, and yet will gloss over the deaths of millions of people in less than a phrase. With all of that said, Black Cloud has moments of genius and filled with some of the most beautiful descriptions of what it means to be human.
I am also an avid graphic novel fan and am currently reading Saga written by Brian K. Vaughan and illustrated by Fiona Staples. Opulent color both in imagery and tone, an amazing journey that somehow blends surrealism, the Jungle Book, Tolkein and Star Wars, and a serious commentary on life and humanity while remaining wonderfully quirky!
My audiobook (I always run one of these when driving or taking the train) is a re-read of Neil Gaiman’s American Gods, a beautiful classic that never tires! I read the print version years ago, and there is something refreshing hearing the spawning, sprawling, spackled words that Gaiman conjures. I have been a fan of his, since reading the Sandman series – an epic in its own right – and of course lovely little morsels of mythical fun like Coraline and The Graveyard Book.
3. 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 am a classically trained painter, and one point in my life thought I would become a professional illustrator. Trying my hand at the trade, I found myself stifled. With endless parallel and extradimensional planetary worlds orbiting about in my imagination, I always thought the vehicle to sharing these would be through illustration. But I found that I much prefer the written word when it comes to world-building and character crafting. Painting slows my process down too much. My mind wants to invent, sprout up new places and sights and sounds with ludicrous speed. And the brush, the canvas, the whole process limits me too much.
I have found that I prefer to paint watercolor landscapes and mixed media portraits as a form of relaxation – something that actually lets my mind quiet down. Whereas writing is the opposite. Writing for me is painterly process but at superspeed. I can craft entire gardens, or ocean floors, or mystical forests with rich and lurid detail in mere moments and then continue my Aslan-like painting process by filling the world with the sons and daughters of my visualization.
My wife once compared my writing process to the Robin Williams’ movie “What Dreams May Come.” In the movie, the visuals are liquid paintings that shift and grow from scene to scene, always lavishly textured, and in a perpetual motion. This is how I write, filling the page with the symbols – in this case words – which represent full, technicolor splashes of life. Painting does not allow me to communicate this way, it is so arduous and would require hundreds of canvases to create the world I want to bring to life.
It is a double-edged sword in some ways. Because I want to create a specific visual in the mind of others – I want to seed them with my thought in the pristine, perfect way I have shaped it. But writing forces me to let go of this. I find myself relaxed at the release of control, at first it was painstaking to simply be – to simply flow. But now, I visualize the image, craft the words with poetry and rhythm instead of color and brush, and that is how I manifest my ideas.
The Marvelous Paracosm of Fitz Faraday and the Shapers of the Idactually pays homage to this process. Although my first novel, this not my first writing (I have even published nonfiction articles with the International Journal of Art and Art History and the Erudite Journal of Educational Research). Yet this novel is so personal because Fitz creates his world the same way I created the world for Fitz and even Fitz himself. There is a meta-element to this novel in that it in many ways explains how I created the “paracosm” – a word here, meaning parallel world sideways from our own.
4. Do you think people have misconceptions about the speculative fiction? Why do you think it is a worthwhile genre?
I am passionate about speculative fiction and think somehow it has been relegated to pop culture tripe. So few are able to break the stigma and create a truer persona of what speculative fiction means. We can probably name all of the greats in a sentence of two: Tolkein, Lewis, Rowling, Orwell, Bradbury, Wells, etc. There are so many more beautiful writers whose work are just lovely, just wonderful to read. They are known in the inner circles of speculative fiction, but outside are considered no less worthy than the grocery store romance novel.
Why?
I think it is hard for our society as a whole to respect the whimsical. It becomes somehow kitsch to be imaginative – the works of Edgar Rice Burroughs, Michael Moorcock, Jack Vance, and Robert E. Howard are often treated as garden gnomes when compared to Tolkein’s or Lewis’ marble sculptures. And even then, there is a stigma attached to the greats.
But I will say this, the millennials and generation Y are changing this – they respect speculative fiction. They have made it cool to read graphic novels like Saga, play fantasy games like Skyrim, and love movies from Harry Potter to Star Trek. And I love them for it! We are a creative crisis as we continue to push our culture towards the meaningful fields such as economics, technology, and business. We have lost the way to having fun, as we regiment enjoyment and defame just a need to have a good time. And we have somehow separated pleasure from learning.
I think those who read, view or play in the speculative fiction genres also like to learn. They like to invest in new ideas and innovative premises. They explore the “What ifs?”, play the mental games of strategy and prediction, and they consider multiple views. When we promote speculative fiction we are promoting those problem solving skills, those levels of engagement, that thirst for discovery, that exploration of the internal and external worlds. (Jamie's note: You've put my thoughts into words here in ways that I have struggled to do.)
5. Of all the characters you have created, which is your favorite and why?
Fitz Faraday from my debut novel, The Marvelous Paracosm of Fitz Faraday and the Shapers of the Id, is by far the most challenging and most enjoying to write. I have created characters and storylines since I was a small child, and each holds a special place, but Fitz is by far the most fun to “talk to.” This may sound a bit strange, but I talk to my characters.
Donatello (not the TMNT!) is rumored to have yelled at his statue, Lo Zuccone ("Pumpkinhead") and said, "I know you are alive, get down from that pedestal!" Perhaps an urban legend, but the truth is when you create something from nothing it can take on a life of its own. There are times I will finish writing and am not sure where the surge of creative energy came from. So when I get stuck or write myself into a corner, I shout at my characters, "What do you want?" "Where are we going next?" "How did we get here?" Then, having that dialogue is useful - it gives me something to work with. It is far less existential or schizophrenic than it sounds and probably more like a improv sessions based on Calvin and Hobbes.
Fitz is so interesting to me because he does not serve some adolescent cliché or nostalgia. I often find that in novels, particularly speculative fiction novels, adult writers create adolescents for disingenuous reasons. What I mean here, is that adults see adolescents as two-dimensional personifications of a talent, a trait, or an emotion. These characters are typified by being sporty, or artsy, or social. Or they are characterized as being full of angst and rebellion.
Fitz has no special gifts. He has no talents or interests. He is really just an average, everyday adolescent. He is not defined by his angst or his gifts. Sometimes he is full of angst and sometimes he is whimsical. Sometimes he is brooding and has good reason to be so, and other times he is a romantic. He is not defined by some manipulated ideas by a narrator with a purpose, but is rather defined by his circumstance and events. When he begins to discover a phenomenal ability, he is still him. He is still just trying to be a good friend, do the right thing, and win the girl. Aren’t these the things that we all worry about, no matter what our circumstances may be? So that is why I like Fitz, because even though he stumbles into this godly power, he handles it the way I think we would all handle it – we would look for help from our closest friends, and we would second guess what we should and shouldn’t do!
6. Tell us a little about your plans for the future.  Do you have any other books in the works?
The Marvelous Paracosm of Fitz Faraday and the Shapers ofId was written with series potential in mind (Even the title was structured that way so that it would always be The Marvelous Paracosm of Fitz Faraday and the…). So my plan is to put Fitz in new challenges and new landscapes, refining his abilities to turn thoughts into reality. But I also want to chart the progress of his internal growth as well as his supernatural growth. The debut novel was as much a discussion of morality and truth as it was “what would it be like to have superpowers?” Both are fun to write about, but for vastly different reasons.
I also plan to incorporate a more diverse pantheon. The first novel offered a perspective of small town America which was populated by predominantly white, working class or middle class people. I would like to broaden the scope and add characters who bring different perspectives to Fitz’s world. For instance I am working on a character that has background in Eastern philosophy, who will bring some ancient ideas into what Fitz is doing. The groundwork for this was laid out with Josey’s parents (they are academics) but I think I can dig this even further with a character that has a far more personal connection. She is also a female character, adding another powerful woman to the cast (Josey is of course a pretty substantial character already!).
As for the plot, it is going to be a journey – a quest of sorts – but one that is both real and paralleled by the unreal. The trick will be making sense of both, as I plan to pull from my magical realism background and make the everyday parts of life seem magical, whereas the supernatural parts of the novel seem normal.
7. Where can we find you online?:
Blog: http://writeraaronjlawler.strikingly.com/#aaron-s-blog ; https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16038137.Aaron_J_Lawler/blog Website: http://writeraaronjlawler.strikingly.com/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/writeraaronjlawler/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/WriterAJL Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Marvelous-Paracosm-Fitz-Faraday-Shapers/dp/1612967825/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8 Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-marvelous-paracosm-of-fitz-faraday-and-the-shapers-of-the-id-aaron-j-lawler/1125010276?ean=9781612967820 Others: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-marvelous-paracosm-of-fitz-faraday-and-the-shapers-of-the-id-aaron-j-lawler/1125010276?ean=9781612967820
The Marvelous Paracosm of Fitz Faraday and the Shapers of Id
Fitz Faraday, his best friend Hollis, who comes from the wrong-side-of-the-tracks, and his hoped-to-be-girlfriend Josey, the new girl in town, are taken through harrowing events and thrilling misadventures, as they learn about life, love, death, the inner workings of the psyche, and the flimsiness of reality. After witnessing the murder of Professor Oliver Crowley, who has invented a way of bringing thoughts into physical reality, Fitz and his friends must exonerate the town bully, who is being framed for the murder. Using Professor Crowley's inventions, Fitz soon learns he can bend the field of Id, a sea of golden dreamsands and wishes. Fitz finds himself drawn inside a new world he never knew existed. He hopes he will be able to use use that world to help his friends and even his enemies. But to do so, he must master Crowley’s technique of “Thought becomes light and light becomes physical.”
Excerpt
From Chapter Four:
Fitz Faraday's head goes in and out of fogginess. He drops into his seat, knocking over his books. He nervously scoops them up as the students nearby laugh at him. His face turns hot and fills with a rush of blood. He keeps opening and closing his jaw, popping his ears and ridding the pressure from his eyes.
The lecture goes on, just like it does every day, whether Fitz Faraday is present in class or not. He hears only bits and pieces, and his notes are a scattered collection of one-word phrases and half-heard definitions, which make little sense.
"Electromagnetic energy can manifest as radio waves and light. We now have the ability to transmit data, like radio waves, but using light instead. That light can blink faster than a human eye can see, and with that we transmit even more data and at faster speeds."
Ribbons of color wind its way through the classroom. Fitz follows the streams, his eyes darting from one corner of the room to the other. His mind seems to act as an antenna, absorbing and visualizing so many different frequencies. Narrow lines, repeating pulses, luminous shapes, colors, and waves all float in his retinas.
His teacher asks, "FitzGerald?"
He looks at her blankly.
"Can you explain why light would be a safe alternative to higher frequencies?"
He cannot answer her. His mind is locked on the word "light" and the pulses of electromagnetism. He stares at her, but rather than looking at her, he stares through her. He doesn't really see her form, but rather sees her voice.
Another student blurts out the answer and the teacher moves on.
Next period, he has the same issue. He cannot concentrate. The tardy bell's toll invades his bones, vibrating its way through calcified shrieks and cracking chimes. His hair is all sweaty as if he had just come from gym class, and he can't seem to balance his feet. He clumsily plops into another desk and desperately tries to focus his eyes on the chalkboard.
Some time passes, but Fitz hears his teacher's voice for the first time. "The radio began as wireless telegraphy. By 1902, Marconi sent the first transatlantic message. Transmitters at this time were spark-gap machines."
Just like chemistry class, Fitz scrawls incoherent notes on his page. He lists dates and people but doesn't connect any of the information. Sweat drips in his eyes and his heartbeat thunders so tremendously that his entire field of vision pulses with blurry ripples on each count. "Fitz...Fitz!" a classmate whispers.
"FitzGerald!" the history teacher shouts.
Fitz comes to for a moment, and full of lost confusion he says, "What?"
"Electric currents can be transmitted through space and behave like heat and light," the history teacher says angrily.
"Wha...yeah...like heat and what?" Fitz mumbles.
"And light! It was a modern technological wonder. Did you even read chapter seven, FitzGerald?" the teacher demands.
"Light?" Fitz mumbles the word, as if it wasn't real, as if he had never heard it before.
The tardy bell again — and again it rattles inside Fitz. The noise makes his vision go black and then explode with blurriness. The sweat runs from his messy hair down his back and under his T-shirt. The tweed jacket is stifling and he flings it off as if it were a straitjacket trying to suffocate him.

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