Jamie Marchant's Blog, page 41

AUTHOR INTERVIEW--Angie Merriam

Today my guest is Angie Merriam, author of Neveah. Tomorrow, come back for an excerpt. 
Tell us a little about yourself? 

Perhaps something not many people know? I am lucky to live in the PacNW and to be married to my best friend. We have three wonderful children and a goofy dog. Beyond writing and reading I love movies, music, and have had a life long dream of meeting Jon Bon Jovi.
What made you want to become a writer? 

I have a very active imagination but gave up writing after high school to raise my family. However, all those ideas and stories have always been there waiting to get out. When my husband kindly suggested I take up a “hobby” of some kind so that I am not lost when my kids leave home, it was easy....I had to write again.
Could you tell us a bit about your most recent book and why it is a must-read? 

Neveah Breaking the Wicked is the 3rd book in the Neveah trilogy. All three books are fantasy with some romance, adventure, and magic. The main characters have evolved from innocent and naïve lovers to strong adults. They have overcome betrayal and tragedy. This last one brings the series to an end with an intense battle of good vs evil. On a side note, there are some racy sex scenes so the series is for those at least 18.
What gives you inspiration for your book?

Anything and everything. I am lucky to live in place that is beautiful and at times magical which gives me a back drop for my stories, but I get the spark of an idea from many different situations.

Are your characters based off real people or did they all come entirely from your imagination? 
Mostly from my imagination, however, I did use names of a few family members.
Of all the characters you have created, which is your favorite and why? 

I can't chose only one; that's like choosing a favorite child. I am quit fond of my main characters Lilly and Shep. They really did begin as innocent young adults but had to quickly grow up and adjust to a world that they never knew existed. I also really like Kelsha and Jax..the villains. They were great fun to write. I am generally a nice, passive person so writing a completely vile character was really fun.
What is the biggest surprise that you experienced after becoming a writer? 

Honestly, I surprised myself at how the sex scenes that flowed and just how awful I could write a character. I am also pleasantly surprised as to how nice and welcoming the writing community is. I have met some really talented and nice people since beginning this journey, and I am thankful for the things I have learned from them.

Is there any particular author or book that influenced you in any way either growing up as as an adult?

I love all kinds of books and writers. Everything from Nora Roberts to Stephanie Meyer to J K Rowling to Toni Morrison. Gone with the Wind is one of my favorite books. I can't say any one book or writer did any one thing for me rather they collectively helped me decide the kind of writer I wanted to be.

Do you have a day job in addition to being a writer?  If so, what do you do during the day?  
I am a lead Medical Assistant in a specialist office where I also do billing.

What is your favorite writing tip or quote?

My favorite tip is to with your instinct and write what makes you happy. Don't be afraid to express yourself.

Tell us a little about your plans for the future. Where do you see yourself as a writer in five years? Do you have any other books in the works?

I hope to write full time in the future. I am currently writing another book though I am not quit sure where it is going yet, but I am excited to find out. I am thinking about doing another anthology soon as well that deals with addiction. We will see, so many possibilities.
Where can we find you online? 
Facebook Twitter Amazon Barnes & Noble

The Last Priestess

Yesterday we talked with Elizabeth Baxter, author of The Last Priestess, Book I of The Song Maker. Today, learn more about her book and read an excerpt. If you enjoy it, buy a copy, and be sure to comment.

Blurb There is a name that is uttered only in whispers. The Songmaker. A ruthless rebel mage, he is bringing civil war to the once-peaceful kingdom of Amaury, enveloping all in a tide of violence. For Maegwin, a tormented priestess, the path forward lies in forgiving her temple's enemies—but she dreams only of revenge. For Rovann, a loyal mage haunted by his failures, salvation might be found in the unthinkable: defying the very king he swore to protect. If they are to succeed they must form an unlikely alliance. For someone must stand against the Songmaker. Someone must save Amaury from his dark designs. But first, they’ll have to learn to trust each other.

And so a magical fantasy of darkness and reReview

A priestess whose entire sisterhood was burned to death in a deliberately set fire teams up with the king’s mage (a man tormented by his wife’s suicide) to stop a dangerous rebel mage, known only as The Songmaker. While Rovann seeks to protect his king, Maegwin’s only goal is revenge against those who murdered her sisters. Both Maegwin and Rovann are complex, compelling characters who you want to win despite their character flaws. The plot is fast paced and will keep you turning the pages and up late at night. I could wish for a little more resolution in the ending, and there was too much gore for my taste, especially in the final battle, but overall, I thoroughly enjoyed The Last Priestess and strongly recommend it to anyone with an interest in fantasy literature. I look forward to reading the next volume in The Songmaker series. I give it 4 out of 5 stars.
Excerpt
Maegwin de Romily woke with a headache on the morning of her execution. As she roused from frightening dreams she became aware of smells first: damp stone, rotting straw, an undercurrent of urine. Next came sounds: the slow drip of water, the skitter of rats, the hushed voices of the other prisoners. Then finally, sight. Dawn sunlight fell through the barred window so brightly it brought tears to her eyes and made her head pound like a drum, beating out the rhythm of her heart. She levered herself into a sitting position and clasped her head as pain rampaged through her brain. Last night, after she had smashed her knee into his groin, the guard had punched her so hard she was surprised to find all her teeth still in place. But at least he’d left her alone after that. A headache and swollen jaw were a small price to avoid rape. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against the cold, damp stone of the cell floor, hoping for some relief. “Sho-La, my mistress,” she whispered. “Give me the strength to meet my death with honor. I am lost in the dark. Guide me.” The words echoed off the walls and faded into silence. There was no answer. Maegwin glanced at the window. Outside, in the town of Mallyn, life went on as normal. The townspeople would be getting dressed, emptying chamber pots, cooking breakfast and doing the simple things people did every morning. In a few hours Maegwin would be led to the gallows and hanged and nobody in Mallyn would care. Maegwin shook her head, pushing the somber thoughts away. Instead, she brought to mind the morning prayers she'd been taught in the temple of Sho-La.
Blessed Mother, guide me.Blessed Mother, heal me. Blessed Mother, teach me. Blessed Mother, I am yours. 
“Pssst! Maegwin? You awake?”She crawled to the door and slumped against the bars. “Good morning, Morran.” A bearded face appeared at the cell bars opposite. Deep lines framed eyes filled with worry. “Ah, lassie, you had me frightened last night. It would have been easier to let him have what he wanted. I thought he was going to kill you.”Maegwin smiled wryly. “Would it have mattered, Morran?”The old man's face became stern. “Now, don’t go talking like that. We aren’t beaten yet! Something will turn up, you’ll see. The Songmaker will save us.”Maegwin sighed. She was tired of hearing him prattle on about this Songmaker of his.  “How many times, old man? I’m not one of you.”“Well mayhap you should be. Where has loyalty to the king got you, eh? He’s going to hang you whether you be a rebel or no.”Maegwin didn’t reply. He wouldn't listen. For Morran there were two choices: you were either loyal to the king or loyal to the rebels. But Maegwin had never sworn loyalty to either and yet she'd been dragged into the conflict anyway. Maegwin closed her eyes, remembering the day that had changed her life forever. Had it really only been a week ago? How could her life change so much in so short a time? She recalled the soft pressure as her sword blade slid between Lord Meryk Hounsey’s ribs and punctured his fiercely beating heart. She tasted the spray of hot blood across her face and smelled the sweat that soaked his expensive clothes. And heard the screaming of her sisters.“Hoi, Morran!" someone shouted, jolting her from her thoughts. "Are you rambling on about your bloody Songmaker again? I was an idiot to listen to your lies! Damn you to the Darkness, old man. Your sweet words have brought me nothing but a noose!”“Ah, you’re a chicken-hearted bastard, Randle!” shouted Morran. “If not for you they wouldn’t have caught the rest of us. You deserve to hang!”“Really? And what would you have done if they had captured your wife and son? Kept your mouth shut and sacrificed them for your precious Songmaker I suppose?”“Better that than betray the cause. You lost your faith, Randle. The Songmaker will save us, you’ll see.”Randle laughed shrilly. “Fool! I doubt the Songmaker even knows your name! He certainly won’t give two shits when you’re dancing on the end of a rope!”Morran retorted but Maegwin shut their voices out, shuffled over to the window, and lifted her face up to the sunlight. She had no desire to spend her last hours listening to them argue. Through the bars, she could see a blue sky dotted with tiny wisps of clouds. A beautiful summer's day. A good day to die.            
***
Rovann rode into the clearing and yanked the reins, pulling his horse to a halt in a spray of mud. The acrid odor of charred wood lingered on the air, strong enough to make his horse snort and stamp, unwilling to go closer. Rovann studied the scene. A once-magnificent building lay in ruins in the center of the clearing. The walls and roof had collapsed, leaving a heap of rubble. Blackened beams stuck out from the pile like the fingers of a corpse. The surrounding forest lay quiet and peaceful, giving no clues to what happened here. In an oak nearby a squirrel chirped angrily at Rovann’s intrusion. A blackbird alighted on a holly branch, stared at Rovann with one beady eye, and then took off into the trees. The saddle creaked as Rovann swung his leg over the horse's back and jumped to the ground. Drawing his short-sword, he padded silently toward the ruins. Crouching at the base of a wall, he placed his palm on the blackened stone and closed his eyes. Nothing. No resonance remained within the granite. The fire must be at least a week old.Rovann straightened and re-sheathed his short-sword. There were no clues here. Lord Cedric Hounsey, on whose land the temple lay, claimed the blaze had been an accident. But Rovann suspected otherwise. Yet, without survivors to dispute the lord's story, there was little he could do about it. Rovann kicked the ground in frustration, sending up a shower of ash that blew back at him, covering him in a fine gray cloak. His horse, Glynn, snorted and gazed at his master with ears pricked forward. Rovann trotted back to his mount and noticed a piece of parchment pinned to the trunk of a large sycamore. He strode over and ripped it down. He scanned the crude black letters, his breath quickening. There was still a chance. But he had to get to Mallyn. And fast.   Swinging into the saddle, he kicked Glynn into motion, leaving behind the woods and coming down onto the paved Kingsroad. Glynn's hooves made a loud 'clip-clop' on the hard stones. The sun was just poking above the tree-line. Lazy streamers of mist rose from the fields. Farm workers dotted the road, pulling carts or carrying tools. They stared at Rovann with wide, fearful eyes, wary of strangers. Rovann chewed his lip. If he didn’t reach Mallyn by midday… Shaking his head, he choked the thought. He would not fail. Could not. He had a duty to his king, to his people. Rovann smiled crookedly. Duty.That word again. Istra always hated how he was torn in two. Duty? she would say. Must it come before everything? Before us?Ahead, the Kingsroad forked. Rovann cursed, pulled Glynn to a stop and threw his hands up in frustration. The roads were identical with no way-markers to aid the travel-weary stranger.“What do you think, Glynn?” he asked his horse.The chestnut gelding flicked his ears idly.Rovann closed his eyes and slowed his breathing to a deep, steady rhythm. He felt the life around him: the thump of Glynn’s heart, the rustle of rodents in the undergrowth, the movement of worms in the soil. Thousands of tiny life forces shimmered, connected by the all-encompassing tapestry of the Eorthe. Rovann pushed his senses further out and found it: a mass of iridescent life energy so strong it could only indicate a town full of people. It lay to the south-west, many miles distant. He opened his eyes and sank forward, fatigue flooding his limbs. Pressing his head into Glynn’s mane, he breathed in the musty smell of the horse and impressed the image of their destination on the beast's mind. Clinging on, he pressed Glynn into a gallop down the south-western road.            

Elizabeth Baxter, Interview

This week's guest is Elizabeth Baxter, author of The Last Priestess, a fascinating fantasy novel. Tomorrow you can see my review and read an excerpt. Today, we have an interview.

Tell us a little about yourself? Perhaps something not many people know?
Um. Other than being a cricket fan? Obsessed with fantasy fiction? One thing that people always find surprising is that way back my family owned a castle. It’s just a ruin now sitting on a hill about twenty miles from my house, but it’s still cool to think that my ancestors once lived there.
What made you want to become a writer?
I can’t really answer that question. It’s just something that’s always been inside me. Since I was six years old, I’ve never wanted to do anything else. I once saw an interview with JK Rowling where she was asked the same question. Her answer went something like, “I can’t understand why the whole world doesn’t want to be a writer. What’s better than it?” And that’s how I feel.
Could you tell us a bit about The Last Priestess?
The Last Priestess is an epic fantasy tale that centers around two main characters: Maegwin (the last priestess of the title) and Rovann, a mage who serves the king. These two are thrown together as they try to track down a rebel mage, Maegwin because she wants revenge for the slaying of her order, Rovann because the mage poses a threat to the kingdom. They don’t trust each other. They don’t even like each other much. And yet somehow they have to work together to achieve their goals. Along the way they learn a lot about themselves and each other and discover that the problems facing the kingdom run much deeper than they thought.
What gave you inspiration for your book?
It started with the magic system. I was doodling in a sketch book one day when an idea for seven interconnected realms of existence popped into my head, so I drew a map of it.  Each realm had its own laws of physics and was dominated by one particular element. Once I had that in place I needed the characters to fill it. Maegwin and Rovann came strolling into my head and voila...the story was born.

Of all the characters you have created, which is your favorite and why?

I’m a sucker for tragic, handsome heroes, so I’d probably go with Rovann.
Your novel is Indie published. What made you decide to take that route?
I was actually offered a traditional publishing contract that I turned down. Perhaps I was crazy to do that but I’ve not regretted it since. I thought I could have more fun and keep more control over my writing by doing it myself. And I was right. Going indie has been exhausting, confusing, frustrating and daunting. But it’s also been enjoyable as hell. I’d highly recommend it to any aspiring writers sick of the slush pile of trad publishing.
What is the biggest surprise that you experienced after becoming a writer?
How supportive and knowledgeable the writing community is. I’ve learnt so much from other writers and everyone is so generous with their advice. It’s great.

Is there any particular author or book that influenced you in any way either growing up or as an adult?

There were three writers who had a huge influence on me growing up. One was JRR Tolkien (don't all fantasy writers say that?) as LOTR just blew me away. Another was Richard Adams (writer of Watership Down--how I loved that book!), and lastly Stephen Donaldson from whom I learned how goodies and baddies aren't always so black and white but varying shades of grey.

Do you have a day job in addition to being a writer?  If so, what do you do during the day? 
I’m a college lecturer. I specialize in diagnosing and teaching students with dyslexia and other learning difficulties. It’s very rewarding (and hard work!).

What is your favorite writing tip or quote?

"Every paragraph should have a killer sentence." Can't remember who said it, but I have it stuck on my wall. Along with, "Great characters=eccentricity."

Tell us a little about your plans for the future.  Where do you see yourself as a writer in five years?  Do you have any other books in the works?
2013 is going to be a big year for me. I’ve got four short stories and three full-length novels planned for release. Book 2 of The Songmaker, King’s Mage should hopefully be out later in the spring. In five year’s time? Living in the Maldives and writing the odd story here and there of course!
Any advice you have for other writers?
Have fun. Learn everything you can. Never give up. Oh, and buy yourself a treadmill because you are going to spend many hours sitting on your backside.
Where can we find you online? Blog: http://www.elizabethbaxter.blogspot.comFacebook: http://www.facebook.com/elizabethbaxterauthor?ref=hlTwitter: https://twitter.com/smallblondhippyAmazon: http://www.amazon.com/Priestess-Songmaker-fantasy-novel-ebook/dp/B00B9Z98SA/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1363637420&sr=1-1&keywords=the+last+priestess

Once Upon a Set of Wheels by L. M. Steel

Yesterday we read an interview from L. M. Steel. Today read an excerpt from Once Upon a Set of Wheels. If you like it, be sure to comment and pick up a copy.
Blurb:  On the seventeenth of May 1982, a baby girl was found in an abandoned stolen car, on the bridge of a dam. This is Lotus' story: from the abuse by her adoptive father, several foster homes and care homes. She finds unlikely allies in petty criminals, but her life of crime extends much further than they ever realise. When death occurs who would ever suspect the shy little girl who nobody wants?
On the seventeenth of May 1982, an infant girl of only a few hours old was found in an abandoned stolen car, on the bridge of a dam. Abandoned for no one, for no one came to claim her as their child, no one came to say that they were responsible for this babe, no one came to love her. This was how it was to be, always.
The police called her ‘Lotus’ after the Lotus Esprit her life was discovered in. ‘Ogden’ after the dam the car rested over on that day. Lotus Ogden was named and a person.
Lotus tells us the story of her short life, from the abuse at the hands of her adoptive father, to the several foster families, children's homes and detentions. She finds unlikely allies in car thieves and drug dealers but her life of crime extends so much further than any of them ever realise.
So very young, she takes her first life and realises how easy it was, and how no-one would ever suspect the poor, timid, shy little girl who nobody  calls their own.
Excerpt:I don’t know if Tempo knew at that point my involvement in the events that lead to Detective Wilkinson’s departure from the police force, but in time he came to understand my way of handling a difficult situation. We never spoke of it, or any other of my activities it was a quiet understanding we had. I had my own way of doing things, and if events ever lead to extremes, I handled them with extreme measures, but nothing was ever said about it.Tempo read out the article that followed the headline, as I made some toast and coffee, and got myself some breakfast and a cup of tea. The food felt good, it wasn’t a three-course meal but it filled me, and this was the landmark breakfast, after this meal I never went hungry again. I always found food from somewhere, yes sometimes it was from yet another dustbin, but I never went longer than a few hours before I was fed.The report explained that he was found between midnight and one o’clock; on first discovery it appeared that he been for a drink and stumbled over a wall. On the road side the wall was only a few feet high, on the other side it fell thirty feet to a farmer’s field. It explained that he was actually undercover, although it didn’t say what the case was, those details were released later. There were no signs of a struggle, no evidence to suggest anyone else was present, it just seemed he had fell and a large stone from the old Yorkshire built wall had fallen with him. Even if they did suspect someone else was there, would they ever even consider it was a little seven-year-old girl? I silently sniggered to myself; I was getting good at this. I wasn’t proud of myself, I knew I had done wrong, very wrong, and deep inside I hated what I was becoming; but each time it came a little easier, a little less frightening, a little more acceptable, and in time, much more necessary. This is most likely where you will hear the story of my life from. Apart from the murders, my life before the age of seven has not and most likely, will not be disclosed in newspapers. Tempo agreed to let me stay with him for a while, but as long as I earned my keep. I knew it wouldn’t be long before social services caught up with me so I decided to do as Tempo told me and earn his trust. I hoped by doing this, when they did come he would protect me. For the first few days I stayed at his house, I made him food and drinks, and cleaned up a bit. The upstairs of his place was filled with what he called surplus stock: record players, televisions, and some beet Amax videos that were no good to anyone. A lot of it was entertainment goods, and at the time, being naïve as I was, I figured it was something to do with his DJ work. I also helped ‘repair’ these goods, which involved, scratching off serial numbers; sometimes he took different ones apart and used different parts to make new ones. As time went on I was educated in the art of dealing in stolen goods and fencing.After a few days Miss Tetley came knocking at his door with a police officer. At first I thought she knew that I was there, but as I hid upstairs and listened to their conversation, it turned out to be just routine questioning. Tempo had been the one who had taken Robert and I to the school after the Enright’s left, and they were just asking if I had been in touch. He answered their questions, quite calmly, and denied any knowledge of where I was; he was very convincing. I hid myself in the spare room with the surplus stock, I kept as quiet as I could, I didn’t even breathe till I absolutely had to. I heard them leave and thank him for his co-operation, but I didn’t go downstairs till Tempo came up and got me, that was when we decided it would be better if I ‘disappeared.’“Right, Steve McQuin!” he stated as he slumped in his chair, and I placed myself on the middle cushion of his couch. “You being here isn’t exactly doing me any favours.”“But I thought I was helping.” I stuttered out, I was terrified he was going to turn me out in the cold.“You are, and you’re doing a good job, but I don’t want the social services to keep coming round, and I definitely don’t want cops round here all that often. So … what are we going to do?” I just shrugged my shoulders, as he drew a deep breath and stared at me. “Look…” he began as he sat forward putting his hands together. “I like you, you’re a good kid, and you do some decent work for me, so I’m not gonna ring that Tetley woman up and say you’ve shown up.” I was so relieved. “But I can’t have anyone on the street seeing you in here and reporting me. So I’ll do you a deal. You can stay in the garage, it’s quite warm, it’s got an electric point where you can plug in a kettle, and some space to set up a camp bed. It’s not gonna be the most glamorous place in the world, and we’ll have to figure something out about food, but for now it’s either that or that Moor Green place.”“The garage sounds great!” I jumped in before he could say anything else. “I can even do some work down there for you if you like.” He gave me a smile, and got up to go into the kitchen, as he did he pointed at the telly, which was my cue to get out the Marijuana and start cutting and weighing. I smiled back and got to work, ‘we’ decided to wait until late at night till we walked down to the garage, so not to be seen.The garage wasn’t great, but after I substituted the kettle for an electric heater, it soon warmed up. At first I felt like a stray cat, Tempo would come down twice a day and bring me scraps of dinner and a two-litre bottle of water. I had a bucket in the corner as a toilet, which I would empty late at night down a drain at the end of the road. I wasn’t exactly living the high life, but I was comfortable. I worked for Tempo inside the ‘enclosure’, just small things at first, rewiring plugs, checking fuses, scratching serial numbers, and testing everything, telly’s, stereo’s, video’s, even toasters and other appliances, anything he could lay his hands on. I also helped with the car ringing whenever he got one in. I didn’t really understand what we were doing, all I knew was I was earning my keep. For the first couple of weeks that was my life, when Tempo wasn’t around and there was no work to do, I would curl up next to the heater, and read the paper Tempo had left behind, or a book that he said he had ‘found’. Some were interesting, some were boring, but they kept me occupied and entertained. Life went on day to day and I was happy, it wasn’t a family or a real home, but I had what I thought was a friend and roof over my head. My work progressed, I started rewiring whole stereo systems and TV’s, and stripping some down, taking out car stereos and fitting them in others, I actually thought this was a real repair shop. I soon learned the reality of Tempo’s occupation, but still it didn’t bother me that much, I had done much worse than dealing in stolen goods. The day came for what we called my first ‘field mission’. It was just the two of us on this occasion, he brought me some black leggings and a black sweater, a hat and some kid sized goalie gloves; he couldn’t find leather gloves in children’s sizes. By this time it was March, I had been hiding for nearly two months, and I hadn’t seen proper daylight for some time, only as a silhouette in the garage doorway when Tempo brought me lunch. March 3rd 1990, my first time out on the job, it was a little scary and a little nerve racking, but also very exciting. I got all my gear out at seven o’clock, made sure everything was there, I laid it all out neat, almost like an officer preparing his uniform. I then poured a small cup of water and brushed my teeth, my conditions might not have been the cleanest and brightest, but I always took care in my personal hygiene. I then stripped and wiped myself down with a sponge, pulled one of Tempo’s T-shirts over me, and got into my little bed, Tempo was coming for me at two-thirty, so I set my alarm for one-thirty so I could get myself ready in time. It was no use, I was so excited I couldn’t sleep, I just kept tossing and turning and going to the toilet. By the time my alarm went off, I had already got dressed, brushed my teeth again and emptied my ‘potty’. I still had an hour to go, so I made sure the car I shared my ‘room’ with was all empty and clear, Tempo said that was important. It was only an old banger, and Tempo said it wouldn’t be sold on, we would take all the good stuff and then scrap it, ‘the disposable partner’ he called it. I waited and waited, all sat ready to go, I could feel the adrenaline pump through me, and I could barely sit still. Time went by, two-thirty came and went, three o’clock the same, just as I was starting to feel disappointed and ready to go back to sleep, the garage door opened at three-thirty-five. “Sorry smudge.” Tempo yawned as he made his way in; he never called me by my real name, ever. “I overslept, but I’m here now so let’s get going, we’re already behind.” He looked like death, he had obviously been ‘smoking’ and whatever else, but I didn’t care, I was too excited to care. He opened the car door and I ran round and got in the passenger side, we drove out the garage, and he got out and closed it, then we were off.“Where are we going?” I asked all fidgety after five minutes.“A mate I know gave me a tip on some stock, so we’re going to pick it up. I thought it’d be good for you to learn how the whole of my business works.” He smiled and winked as if I got the joke. “When you’re a bit bigger, I’ll also show you how to drive, just in case you’re needed.” My eyes widened with surprise and joy, ‘me, drive? How cool would that be?’ We drove right across town to a place called Boothtown. We drove straight through on the main road, and just before we got to the top of the hill we turned up a cobbled hill. There were three or four very tall houses, all built in old stone, all the houses were dark, except one had what looked like a landing light on, classic ‘out’ sign. The street was dark and quiet except for the streetlights and night shift Lorries. We walked round to the front of the houses on the main road, there were some steps leading down to the front kitchen doors, and we made our way down the steps of the first house, the one with the light on. Standing outside the door Tempo took a quick look around and turned to me. He seemed nervous and anxious, and shaking, but I think that was the cold, I was freezing; I was only wearing thin leggings.“Right smudge, time for an Oliver Twist.” He said looking at me rubbing his hands together. I had read that book, and enjoyed it, but I didn’t quite understand what he was getting at. He looked down, at the bottom of the door was a small cat flap, I still didn’t get it, I just looked at him. “Well what are you waiting for?” I just looked at him, and then all around me, and then back at Tempo, I had no idea. He bent down and guided me to do the same, pointing at the cat flap he looked at me, quite annoyed, and said, “You, go through there.” Now I got it, but it was tiny, I knew I was small, but I wasn’t sure I could get through that. Seeing he was annoyed I thought I’d better try, so I reached in, arms first and went to slide my head and shoulders in. “Once you’re in, unlock the door, or if the key’s not there, the window and let me in.” I nodded to say I understood and attempted to wiggle my way through the tiny hole. It took me a while, the hardest part was getting my shoulders through, it took some pulling and pushing, and at one point I thought I had knocked one out of it’s socket, but it was just where it still hurt from Martin’s hammer. I still screamed. Tempo kicked my foot to tell me to shut up, so I just gritted my teeth and carried on squeezing. Eventually I pulled myself back out, I sat on the stone cold floor and just stared at Tempo, his face said I wasn’t allowed to give up but I couldn’t really see an option. I sat and looked at the hole, assessing the situation I thought for a while, and just as Tempo was about to say something I jumped to my feet and walked up the steps. I knew he wanted to shout after me but he couldn’t risk waking any of the neighbours up. As he followed me up, ready to blow his top, I took off my shoes and socks, jumped on the railings round the steps and grabbed the metal drainpipe. The bathroom window was small but it was bigger than the cat flap. I shimmied my way up, gripping it with my feet, and quite quickly, got up the tall building. I leant over to the frosted window and balanced one foot on the ledge.“It’s shut!” Tempo whispered up behind me, still annoyed. I just ignored him; I got my balance and as quietly as I could, punched the window frame. It worked like a charm; it was an old window and had a fastener that allowed you to have it open at different lengths. It popped off the hook, and getting my fingernails underneath I was able to wedge it open. I reached inside and gripping the frame, pulled my whole body onto the ledge, once on I slithered myself through the window. On hitting the floor, head first, I got my socks out from where I’d tucked them into my leggings, put them on and ran downstairs. I let Tempo in through the kitchen window; I couldn’t find the key for the door so he had to do a bit of climbing as well. He didn’t say anything when he got in, he just ran up the stairs to the living room. It was a tall, but very thin house, the kitchen was at the bottom, the living room above, and then above that a small bedroom and bathroom. I followed him up and watched as he scanned the room and its contents, he pulled a post it pad out of his pocket and started sticking the pages on things.“Anything with a sticker on, that you can carry, unplug and take down to the kitchen.” He said in a hurried whisper, he was anxious about something, almost panicking, I soon learned that this was just his way; he always acted like this on the job. I did as I was told and carried the VCR, a lamp, a couple of speakers and some tapes and videocassettes down to the kitchen, I couldn’t carry the telly, it was huge. After making a small pile in the middle of the kitchen I went back upstairs to find Tempo rummaging through little pots, like he was madly trying to find something.“Is everything all right?” I asked after a minute or two, I was unsure of what to say, he seemed very much on edge.“We need a key!” he stated as he started throwing things on the floor.“A key?” I asked curiously, I didn’t understand, we were already in the house.“Yes a key, a key!” he hissed at me. I was scared now, I didn’t like it when he got angry, as I understood it angry people hurt you. I quickly darted up the stairs, I didn’t want to be in his way, and I had a feeling. I remembered when I lived at Martin’s house, Kevin used to keep a spare key in a slipper in his wardrobe, it was left there in case of emergencies. I ran into the bedroom, it was bigger than you’d expect, or at least it seemed to be. There was a double bed, a bedside table with a full ashtray on it, and that was basically it, typical bachelor pad. The wardrobe was big, in fact it was massive, but it was built into the wall, so I guess that saved space, and so made the room seem bigger. The doors were massive, and were all mirrors, even the handles. I didn’t bother switching the light on, but I could still see my reflection. I hated looking in the mirror; it always reminded me of when I would lock myself in the bathroom after Martin had beaten me. Looking over the bruises, feeling the agony, wanting to cry, but never! I would never cry, not for anyone. It also meant I had to look at myself; I didn’t like looking at myself, especially my eyes. Looking into my own eyes, I could see me. Any other time I could ignore it, but when I saw myself, my own eyes, my own evil eyes staring back at me, I knew what I really was. I quickly flung open the wardrobe door to stop myself from freaking out and started searching. There wasn’t much in there, I guess who ever lived here had gone on a long holiday, there were no shoes, and there were no keys in the slippers. I started rummaging through coat pockets, but still nothing. I didn’t want to go back down stairs empty handed, I thought Tempo would be angry, so I just sat on the end of the bed and tried to think. I was about to give up and go down and face the music when I noticed a photo on the windowsill. It was a man and a woman, both quite young, I’d say early twenties, and I figured it was the owner and his girlfriend. I stared at it for a minute or two, and thought about what we were doing. I wasn’t as naïve as I’d like to have thought, I knew we burgling this man’s house, stealing all his possessions that he had worked hard to pay for. In one night we were taking it all away. If he had the time, I think Tempo would have taken the kitchen sink, he was totally gutting the place, I don’t know how we got it all in the car. I stared at the picture in its nice silver frame; they looked happy, really in love, and totally unaware.“Are you having a shit or sommat?” I heard Tempo scream from downstairs, he was getting frustrated. I jumped up from the bed and grabbed the photo, smashing it on the windowsill I ripped the happy moment out of the frame and just as I thought, there was a key. I grabbed it, dropped the frame on the floor and ran downstairs. Tempo had his angry face on and stared at me as though he was ready to blow, but before he could shout anything, I held the key up. His scowl turned to relief, and he grabbed the key out of my hand.“Right, let’s get all of this out and into the car.” He said as he rushed down to the kitchen. “Then we can get the hell out of here!” He opened the kitchen door and I started carrying things out, the video, tapes, the toaster, a blender, the stereo and even some toilet roll, Tempo said he was running out and it beat buying any. The car had a really big boot, and nearly everything fit in, the telly and the stereo system went on the back seat, we loaded up and then as fast as he could Tempo drove us back to the garage. We got everything out and stacked it up; he said we would deal with it all in the morning. We then started pulling the car apart, taking the stereo out, even the seats; we left just the ‘vitals’ that the car needed to run on.“Right, now I’m gonna show you what we do with the getaway car.” He said smiling with relief that it was nearly over. If he hadn’t slept in, it would’ve been over an hour ago. We got in the car and once again drove off, we drove along the dark back roads and up into the surrounding hillsides. We drove for about half an hour at high speeds, along winding country roads, and up steep hills, the surroundings were peaceful, yet a little creepy. Mist seemed to creep over the horizon like a haunting shadow; it was just like a scene out of a Hitchcock film. Finally we stopped, we were in the middle of nowhere, there were no houses, no streetlights, nothing, just rolling fields of heather. We got out of the car into the freezing cold night air, and Tempo popped the hood on the car. “Smudge, come round here.” He beckoned me over to the front of the vehicle with the bonnet open. “Grab those spark plugs, they could be useful.” I did as I was told, and then Tempo used his hand to shoo me away, telling me to stand clear. He took a box of matches out his pocket, undoing the cap on the engine, he lit a match and holding his hand round it so it didn’t blow out, dropped it in the engine. He then came over to me, grabbed my arm and shouted; “Now we leg it!” I ran along with him as fast as I could, I had trouble running because of my leg, but I put up with the pain, I didn’t want to get left behind in this place. After about five minutes we heard a bang, and turning round we saw the flames reaching into the dark sky, it was almost artistic as the bright orange flames rose like a giant against the silhouette of the dark moors. Job done!    
Life went back to normal; me in the garage fixing bits and bobs, and making the most of my situation. Tempo off loaded the goods and he said he made a good return on them. He even gave me a little bit of spending money, not a lot, just ten quid, but it made me feel good, like I had a proper job. I didn’t really have anything to spend money on, I stayed in the garage all the time, and so I saved it under my pillow. After a few more jobs it started to build, and so did I, I didn’t feel guilty about ripping people off anymore, they had their living, I had mine, that’s life! I was encouraged more when Tempo said the customers were really happy with my work; that was the key to any good business, making sure the customers are happy with your standards so they’ll come back. Of course our settings increased when we ‘expanded’ but at this time we worked from the council garage on small jobs, robbing houses, a bit of car ringing and trading stolen goods. Still it was here where I learned everything I know about being a pro criminal, and as I got deeper into this life, the guilt over what had come before started to fade away. It was all in the past, I couldn’t change it, and it got to the point where even if I could, I didn’t want to change it, I didn’t give a damn. I still never looked in a mirror, I didn’t have to, I knew what I was, I didn’t have to see it. I hardened myself to everything; I was turning into a reflection of Tempo, ‘live for today; for tomorrow may never come. Screw the past; it can’t be changed, and if anyone asks; lie!’ It might not be moralistic, but at that time in my life I had nothing to guide me but Tempo, he was my parent, my teacher and my best friend, the biggest influence in my life, what else would you expect me to become? I started to get braver as I got harder and would venture out during the day, still only in hours when I knew people were at work and kids at school, I had to remember I used to live here as a neighbour, people knew me. I got myself into the small town by the market place, and bought myself a six-way extension lead, a kettle, and a second hand sandwich toaster with the money I had saved under my pillow. I got the bus back up to the garage, and I paid the fare! Tempo brought me down some tea bags and sugar, two cups, butter, cheese and a knife, I plugged in the heater, kettle and toaster; which needed rewiring. I then used the other three sockets for a surplus telly, a video and a little portable radio. I could only watch videotapes, as there was no aerial, but I would watch all the ones we got in before they were sold on.By June I started to get more involved with the business, not only was I an expert cat burglar, you could lock all the doors and windows and tape down all the pet entrances, and I could still get in and rob you blind. I was also quite a talented salesman. I would go to the car boot sales with Tempo, never the local ones, but over to Wakefield and Bingley where no one could recognise me. Tempo said I was a natural; I would sell twice as much as he would, and always for more than the original tagged price, he said ‘I could sell tea to a china-man.’ I didn’t know what that meant but I loved it when he praised my efforts, for once in my life I had someone encouraging me. My education didn’t go that much unattended to either; I read books all the time, and newspapers, tabloids and broadsheets. Tempo ‘found’ me a dictionary after he got sick of all my questions. I soon learned the basics of politics, I knew the government structure, and that Edwina Curry had seriously pissed off farmers, and that in fact, there wasn’t a wide spread salmonella outbreak. I read books that were way beyond my age, but I enjoyed and understood them, (except for Shakespeare, no-one understands Shakespeare.) I could write well, not neatly but well, and I would be in charge of ‘stock’ listing. My maths abilities stayed strong as well, I would price everything up, receipt everything that came in and out, and eventually made up the ‘books’ keeping check of all the money that came in. I was eight years old and basically running a private business, Tempo was always the boss, but I was the one who looked after all the ‘business’s interests’ and I was as good as any accountant. If I hadn’t spiralled into the life I did, I truly believe I could have made a decent life for myself in the world of business; I certainly had the head for it.  

L.M. Steel Tells All

Today's featured author is LM Steel; the L stands for Lee. Her book Once Upon A Set Of Wheels is a two-part crime drama. Read about her today, and I'm have an excerpt for you tomorrow. Go ahead and leave a comment if you enjoyed it.
Tell us a little about yourself? Perhaps something not many people know?
On paper I’m a forensic scientist, by trade I’m a factory baker, by day I’m a technologist, by history I’m an ex-farmers daughter, by family venture I’m a kitchen, but by choice hope and ambition I’m a writer. I’m a jack of many trades I guess.
I’m a Yorkshire lass at heart, no matter where I travel. And no matter that I write drama, crime and comedy, I am a huge science fiction geek! (I’m a proud trekkie; I even have my own com badge!)
What made you want to become a writer?

I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember; I actually had my first poem read out on Children BBC radio when I was seven. From there on I have continued to write poems, short stories, novels, scripts, even had a go at a few songs.
What prompted me to start writing is that ever since I was a child I have had a wild imagination and keen desire to share my own fantasy’s and tales with the world. For what is a story teller, without someone to tell the story to?
Could you tell us a bit about your most recent book and why it is a must-read?

Once Upon A Set Of Wheels, is a two part story as it is a long story.
The first part is Baby Driver; and tells the story of Lotus Ogden who was abandoned as a baby in a stolen Lotus Esprit. She is abused at the hands of her adoptive father and then moved into foster care where she is also abused, neglected and abandoned. She finds allies in car thieves and drug dealers whom she adores and follows, but is also aware that she can manipulate and wrap around her finger.

Very young she takes a life in self-defence, and gets away with it as no-one would ever suspect the shy little girl no-one really care about.
The Second Part: Take it to the Limit; follows Lotus as she grows into a teenager and becomes ever so much more dangerous. No longer acting as a cornered animal fighting back and defending herself, she is calculating and malicious. Having her heart broken three times in her early teens, she decides the life of crime isn’t worth it anymore: She is determined to have a normal life and will rid herself of almost everyone from her past to achieve it.
What gives you inspiration for your book?


I actually recently wrote a blog about this as I was asked what inspired me to write first person as a serial killer. (I think it was just a check to make it wasn’t first hand experience!) Many things inspire me to write, from soaps to Star Trek. Many of the stories I write now are developed from ideas I had as a teenager: I love Star Trek, but in all the episodes and series they never had a teenage female character; they had a lot of teenage boys; Wesley Crusher, Jake Sisko, Nog. No teenage girls. Being a teenage girl when it was on I found this sad as there was no character to relate to, and having a wild imagination, I actually created one in my head that would have fit into the stories. I should point out here that my ultimate dream as a writer would be to write a star trek film, I have six actual story lines for films, four of which I have combined, twisted, messed about and merged and built the framework and leading characters in Once Upon A Set Of Wheels.
Also songs. I listen to the lyrics of songs and try and fathom what story could be behind the words, what could have happened to inspire such words and music, and it develops overtime into a full blown story.
In fact in once Upon A Set of Wheels, all the chapter titles are song titles from the last fifty years, almost as a homage to the inspiration they leant me in developing the story.

The major ones in this story was Simon and Garfunkel’s hits. The first of course is obvious by the first part of the story: Baby Driver. I listened to it over and over and thought about why someone would have parents with so many professions? Of course came along Foster care. After that I just love the nickname: baby Driver and the main line of the chorus that caught my attention was of course Once Upon A Pair Of Wheels.

The Boxer, I love this song, and listening to the words I envisaged at first lotus and then Tempo. A beaten up, desolate waste of a person that had so much potential but found himself on the wrong road in life.

Sound Of Silence. Of course this was an inspiration, it’s the cover song to the video and in the very first chapter, but why was it an inspiration? the lyrics in the first verse! ‘The image that was planted in my brain, still remains.’ It made think and wonder what image could stay with you, could haunt you, could mould you and affect you for your entire life?

Bridge Over Trouble Water. This was the inspiration for the most important character aside from Lotus; Sergeant Graham Davidson. Listen to the lyrics all the way through; it’s a song of protection, guidance, refuge and love—the love of a father for a child. No matter what she would do wrong he will always be there for her.

Are your characters based off real people or did they come entirely from your imagination?
I think their personalities definitely came from real people, but their identities I created myself, trying to see myself in those situations, I came up with characters I had never intended as I realized, in that situation, I would need someone else there.
Lotus’ personality came very much from a girl that used to hang around the shop I worked at when I first started writing it. She was always on her own, waiting for her parents to finish work, sometimes till I finished at nine in the evening. She was only about ten or eleven, and she always came off as so angry, but at the same time very lonely, which was why she hung out with us at the shop all the time.
Of all the characters you have created, which is your favorite and why?

It has to be Miss Tetley because she starts off being very misunderstood. She is seen as strict, dominant and almost uncaring; then we realize with Lotus that she is in fact the most important person in her life, and although she’s strict, she’ll fight tooth and nail for her when most give up, which lets face it is how most of us see our mothers as we grow up and then realize everything they actually do for us.
What is the biggest surprise that you experienced after becoming a writer?

The long hours, I’ve been up since Six am; it’s now nearly midnight, and I’m still tapping away, whether it’s writing or marketing my books, and I know it’ll be the same tomorrow and the next day, but at first it really took me by surprise just how little sleep I was getting. I’m getting the hang of it now though...I think.

Is there any particular author or book that influenced you in any way either growing up or as an adult?
Narnia! I loved all seven books; they set my imagination alight!
My mum used to read them to me and my sister every night at bedtime, and we fell in love with them. From that time on I just loved stories and books, reading them and writing them, I just wanted to let my imagination go crazy and create something as beautiful as Narnia.
Do you have a day job in addition to being a writer?  If so, what do you do during the day? 

I am a technologist for a large corporation working in research and development, which basically at the moment as I understand it means I’m a bit of a lab monkey. But I do love science, and the work is interesting at times, and until I become the next JK Rowling (all positive thoughts and prayers for that please) it pays the bills.

What is your favorite writing tip or quote?
It’s actually an Einstein quote:Imagination is more important than knowledge. For while knowledge defines all we currently know and understand, imagination points to all we might yet discover and create.
Tell us a little about your plans for the future.  Where do you see yourself as a writer in five years?  Do you have any other books in the works?

Well I’d love to be the next JK Rowling, but I’d be happy to be able to work as a writer fulltime, enjoying the work I’m doing and making a comfortable enough living that I can dedicate my time to it completely.
I’m working on 2 projects at the moment:I’m working on a story which is actually based on a true story. It’s called Wedding in Paradise, and it’s based on a family holiday to Thailand for my sister’s wedding.This idea is very much based on truth as a result of my family’s trip to Thailand for my sister’s wedding in 2010, which became a cross between the most hilarious holiday and a real holiday from hell. The two weeks we spent there seriously could not be made up; it was just too ridiculous worthy of national lampoons.It was a hilarious calamity, and I’m using as the base for my first attempt at a comedy story.
I am also picking up a story I started writing a while ago and have finally decided to get back to it:Birds Of Prey, which is another two-part crime story that is a kind of parallel to Once upon A Set Of Wheels, about a family on the other side of town who are even more dangerous than Lotus. They are the family of Maureen Astin who we know from Once Upon A Set of Wheels as one of the most evil foe Lotus finds herself up against... if we thought she was a nasty piece of work..meet the family!
Where can we find you online? (please cut and paste links):Blog: http://lmsteel1.wordpress.com/Website: www.lmsteel.co.ukFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/lmsteeauthorTwitter: @LMSteel1Amazon: http://www.amazon.co.uk/L.M.-Steel/e/B009L3Y3FA/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1360187551&sr=8-1
http://www.amazon.com/L.M.-Steel/e/B009L3Y3FA/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1360187639&sr=8-1
Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/l.m.-steel
Others: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/lmsteel
KOBO http://www.kobobooks.com/search/search.html?q=%22L.M.+Steel%22&t=none&f=author&p=1&s=none&g=both
Diesel: http://search.diesel-ebooks.com/author/Steel,%20L.%20M./results/20-Default/1.html
Sony: https://ebookstore.sony.com/author/l-m-steel_450521
WH Smith: http://www.whsmith.co.uk/eb_eBooks&as_Author=L.M.+Steel
iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/gb/artist/l.m.-steel/id567977596?mt=11

Red Dragon Five by John R. Phythyon, Jr.

Yesterday, we learned about John R. Phythyon, Jr. Today read an excerpt and my review of Red Dragon Five.
Blurb:  When the top-secret Red Dragon Project is sabotaged and one of its agents disappears, only Wolf Dasher realizes who is really behind it: the sinister terrorist organization, the Sons of Frey. But when the trail leads across the border of Alfarand into Jifan, Wolf must leave behind his new love, May Honeyflower, and go undercover on a dangerous and unofficial mission with no backup. Deep inside the terrorists' operation, Wolf searches for the missing Red Dragon. And when he disappears, May abandons her post as Captain of Alfar's Elite Guard and goes off on a desperate search for him. Can she find him before the Sons of Frey discover his true identity, and can either of them stop the terrorists from unleashing an apocalypse on Alfar?
Red Dragon Five is the second book in the Wolf Dasher series of fantasy-thriller mashup novels blending magic, super-spies, and politics in an exciting brew of action and adventure. A story of love and family set against a backdrop of betrayal, revenge, and terrorism, Red Dragon Five is a page-turner you won't want to put down. Read it as a stand-alone novel or as a sequel to State of Grace.
Review:
I give Red Dragon Five 4 out of 5 stars.
Plots. Betrayal. International intrigue. Magical gadgets, and doom’s day in the waiting. Red Dragon Five has all the elements of a spy thriller and fantasy world thrown together, and mostly it’s a good combination. Wolf Dasher is the James Bond of the fantasy world. Dasher occasionally makes dumb decisions that are a little hard to swallow, but the supporting cast is good, and the villains could come right out of a Bond novel. If you like action thrillers, you will enjoy this book. While it might help to read previous Wolf Dasher novels for back story, I didn’t find it essential to understanding the work.

Excerpt:
Wolf finished packing just as May returned from her duty shift. He turned around to see her standing in the bedroom door of their small flat, staring at him with her mouth agape.
“Are you going somewhere?” she said as though she were interrogating a prisoner.
“Yes,” he said. Her glare made him uncomfortable.
“Were you planning on telling me?”
“Of course!” he replied. “I was just waiting for you to finish your shift.”
She continued to stare at him and took two steps into the room. Wolf read a mixture of worry and confusion on her beautiful face.
“What’s going on, Wolf?” she said at last.
Wolf struggled. He wanted to tell her everything, but there were security protocols he was bound to follow. They didn’t work for the same organization or even the same government.
“I have to leave town for awhile,” he said.
“On business?” she said, cocking her head quizzically.
“Not officially,” he replied.
“I thought you were still suspended,” she said, taking another step towards him.
“I am.”
May narrowed her eyes and continued to stare. Wolf could feel himself wilting under her gaze. His heart hurt.“So, does this mean your ‘unofficial’ business is not a mission?”
“I’m sorry, May,” he said, feeling horrible. “I can’t tell you that.”
“Damn it, Wolf Dasher,” she shouted, “don’t you feed me that security-clearance bullshit! When we are in this apartment together, you are not Shadow Six of Her Majesty’s Shadow Service, and I am not Captain of the Alfari Elite Guard. We are lovers, and you do not get to just leave town mysteriously without telling me what it’s about!”
Wolf stared at her. Her yellow eyes were burning with rage. He was actually a little afraid of her. He’d never seen her like this before.
“May—” he began, but she cut him off.
“Don’t you use my first name if you’re going to lie to me,” she said.
Tears started filling her eyes. It was an honor to be given permission to call an elf by his or her first name. It was only given to lovers, close friends, and family. She clearly thought Wolf was violating the privilege. He didn’t blame her. It felt like he was.
“You don’t get to use my first name if you’re going to hide behind your job and your government,” she said, echoing his thoughts.
Wolf sighed. There was nothing for it. He couldn’t hurt her.
He crossed the room to her and moved to wipe the tears from her eyes. She whipped her head angrily away.“May,” he said again, “I have a mission. It’s completely unofficial. In fact, if I get caught, the Shadow Service will deny it had any knowledge of what I was doing and claim I was acting on my own.”
She turned back to him. Horror and anger crawled across her face.
“And you were going to leave without telling me this?” she whispered.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re in the business. You know what it’s like. I’m just used to not being able to talk about what I do, and, really, May, this is the first real relationship I’ve ever been in. This sort of thing is all new to me.”
She nodded and looked away for a moment. He couldn’t tell if he’d reached her or not.
“You’re not in a relationship with a human, Wolf,” she said. “I am an elf. We give ourselves wholly to our partners. We do not treat one another as less important than ourselves. I understand you are a government Shadow, but there can be no secrets between us. Not big ones like this. You don’t get to leave on an exceptionally dangerous mission and not tell me why you will be gone or for how long. Even if your government has to deny you if you get caught, I deserve to know you went in the first place.”
Now it was Wolf’s turn to nod. She was right, of course. He couldn’t imagine how he would feel if he came home to find her gone and no one would tell him where or why. He might not be able to tell her many of the details of his mission, but he couldn’t refuse to talk about it.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “Old habits.”
She kissed him. He sighed happily.
“You still have much to learn about elfin women,” she teased.
“In my experience, it doesn’t matter about her being elfin,” he quipped.
“Can you tell me anything?” she said, becoming serious.
“I shouldn’t,” he said, “but I’m going undercover to Allamabad.”
Her eyes widened. Another look of horror darkened her face.
“Wolf, that’s in Jifan!”
“I know,” he said.
“Why are you going there?”
“I think I stumbled onto something pretty big at the Sons of Frey base last week,” he admitted. “An experimental weapon has been stolen, and the information I found last week makes me think the Sons of Frey are involved. All we know is that Starfellow ordered Teargarden back to Allamabad, so that’s where I have to start looking.”
“Wolf,” she said, alarm creeping into her voice, “how is it you plan to go ‘undercover’ in Jifan. You’re human. You won’t be able to get anywhere.”
He smiled. He was pretty pleased with Kinsey’s ring.
“Watch this,” he said, stepping back and slipping it on his finger.
His ears tickled, and, a moment later, May stepped back looking aghast at his transformation from human to elf.
“Eeuw!” she said. “How did you do that?”
“Magic Division gave me a ring that changes my appearance,” he answered. “And I was hoping for better than ‘eeuw.’”
“Take it off,” she snapped. “You look all wrong.”
He laughed and removed the ring. She didn’t look appeased.
“I’ve got a brooch that allows me to speak Elfin as well,” he said. “I’ll be able to fit right in.”
“Just like you fit in as Urland’s ambassador last year?” she scolded.
“Hopefully a little better than that,” he said.
She turned and walked away from him. She was clearly upset. He’d never seen her like this.
“How long will you be gone?” she said, her back to him.
“I don’t know, Sweetie,” he said. “I’m not sure what I’m looking for or what I’ll find.”
She turned on him with an angry look on her face. Tears lit her eyes again. She opened her mouth several times to speak but couldn’t seem to get the right words to come out.
Finally, she stormed across the room to her cabinet of keepsakes. Wolf watched as she opened the door and rifled through the contents.
“Damn!” she said. She turned to him. “Don’t you move from that spot until I get back. I mean it, Wolf, if I come back and you are gone, I will hunt you down and kill you.”
“I won’t leave,” he said, confused.
She turned on her heel and left. Wolf stared after her, unsure what to think.
***
She returned an hour later carrying a small parcel.
“Take off your shirt,” she ordered.
He stared at her for a minute, unsure how to react. She opened the package and withdrew a small pot of what looked like ink.
“What are you—”
“Just take your off shirt,” she said, still sounding angry. “And sit in the chair.”
He decided it would be better to do as he was told rather than fight her or ask questions. He removed his tunic and then seated himself in the chair by the bed.
She went to her cabinet and withdrew a feather from it. Then she crossed the room to where he sat and knelt in front of him.
“I am not a magician,” she said, dipping the quill in the ink. “But my father taught me this charm.”She sketched a circle in the center of his chest over his heart. He flinched a little at the scratching of the quill’s tip, but he didn’t resist what she was doing.
She drew a second circle inside the first. Then she began writing sigils between the lines, creating a ring of symbols he didn’t recognize.
Drawing them took about ten minutes, during which neither of them spoke. When she was finished, she pulled out a dagger and pricked her index finger with it, drawing blood.
“Give me your hand,” she said.
He did as he was told. She grasped his index finger and pricked it as she had hers. Before he could cry out, she mashed her own bleeding finger to his, mixing the blood. Then she smeared the mingled blood in the inner circle of ink on his chest. She leaned in, kissed the bloody mark, and whispered, “Wolf Dasher, my love.” Then she blew on the mark.
Wolf saw the sigils and circles light up with green, magical light. His whole chest felt warm. His heart seemed at peace.
A second later, the magical light disappeared. So did the blood on his chest. The ink had dried. It looked as though he had a small tattoo.
“Now,” she said, “if you get in trouble, you touch the finger I cut to the center of this mark and think my name. It will send a signal to me, and I will be able to find you. I will come to save you.”
He stared at her in wonder. In the past seven months since he’d started dating May Honeyflower, he’d discovered she was an amazing woman. But this was something deeper, something more bewitching than anything he’d yet seen. He felt the love in his heart grow stronger.
He put his hands to her face and kissed her deeply and passionately. She responded, throwing her arms around him and trying to draw him into her. After a moment, he pulled back and stared into those gorgeous, yellow eyes.
“May,” he said, “don’t you worry. I will come back to you if I have to cross Hell to do it. I love you.”
“I love you too,” she said, tears once again filling her eyes. “You better make good on that promise.”
He drew her to him and kissed her again. Then he rose from the chair, picked her up, and carried her to the bed. There, they made love until they were both too exhausted to continue. They fell asleep in each other’s arms.

A Talk with John Phythyon

Today we talk with John R. Phythyon, Jr., author of Red Dragon Five. 
Tell us a little about yourself? Perhaps something not many people know?
I’m an independent author living in Lawrence, Kansas. I started out as a game designer, working in the hobby games industry. I didn’t work on anything that became famous, but I did win three awards for my designs over the course of an eight-year career, and I was nominated in the best game-related short fiction category a couple of times.
Some people might not know? I’m getting married in two weeks!
What made you want to become a writer?
I’m a storyteller. I’ve been one pretty much from the time I’ve been able to talk. I’ve always enjoyed creating my own stories. Becoming an author was a natural fit for my talents.
Could you tell us a bit about Red Dragon Five and why it is a must-read?
Red Dragon Five is part of my Wolf Dasher series. It’s a thriller set in a fantasy world. Wolf is a Shadow – basically a spy with magical powers. He’s on assignment in the elf nation of Alfar, where he has fallen in love with an elf named May Honeyflower, who is the captain of the Elite Guard – the top military unit in the country. When a top secret weapons program is sabotaged, Wolf goes undercover without backup to find out what happened. He disappears on the mission, so May essentially abandons her post to go looking for him.
Why is it a must-read? I’d like to believe several reasons. First, RD5 may be an action-adventure story, but, at its heart, it’s a romance. There are all sorts of politics and fundamentalist terrorism woven through the novel, but it’s really about the love affair between Wolf and May and how these two people try to love and relate when they both have really dangerous jobs.
Second, it isn’t just an adventure yarn. I examine religion and politics in the book. Prior to leaving to rescue Wolf, May is caught up in a political maelstrom wherein liberals and conservatives in her government refuse to agree on anything, and a charismatic, manipulative religious figure takes advantage by sowing the seeds of a civil war between one sect and another. The book takes a hard look at partisan politics and the role of religion in society. There’s a lot more going on than in a typical action story.
Finally, it’s a pretty taut read. I had to read many times over the editing process, and I enjoyed it every time. Particularly when things get tense, I had a hard time putting it down. I figure if I can entertain myself like that when I know the story, people reading it for the first time will enjoy it.
You called your character, Wolf Dasher, James Bond in a fantasy setting. What attracts you to Bond? And why did you choose to model your character on him?
One of the things I love most about James Bond is his resourcefulness. He gets into all sorts of hairy situations, and he always manages to find a way out. He doesn’t have super powers, so he has to use his wits and his skills.
I also like the formula for a Bond film. There’s always a megalomaniacal villain with a plan for world domination. I’m not sure why a British spy would constantly be going up against people like that, but somehow it’s fun. Anyway, the fact that a Bond movie is always over the top makes it enjoyable.
I’ve wanted to write that kind of story with that kind of character for a long time. I created Wolf and his world as a means of doing so. And, from a marketing perspective, it seems to me there are people who like Bond and like fantasy and would dig on books that marry the two. One of the reasons I wrote the novels is because they are the kind of thing I like to read.
The elves’ religion in Red Dragon Five seems to be based on Islam. How much of it did you base on the research/knowledge of the actual religion and how much of it is your own invention?
It’s really meant to be evocative of Islam, not a reflection of it or a commentary on it. Alfar (and its neighbor Jifan) are meant to be reflective of the Middle East in terms of the political volatility and the cultural differences from the West. But I’m not educated enough to write authoritatively about Islam or Middle Eastern culture. What I wanted to do was draw a parallel between our world and Wolf’s.
The religious aspects of the story are more a comment on fundamentalism and extremism than they are on Islam. So, to answer your question, much of it is my own invention. The rituals and dogma of the Freyalan and Shendali religious practices are mostly created for the story. They’re based about equally in Christian and Islamic traditions. For me, the important part is the debate between progressivism and fundamentalism.
Besides James Bond, what gave you inspiration for your book?

Fantasy allows the author to create a situation similar to our own world but the distance to comment on it. The politics in Red Dragon Five may be unique to Wolf's world, but they evoke problems in our own government and those of our allies. By writing a fantasy novel, I get to tell a fable for the reader to consider.

I also wanted to make sure the book wasn't a thinly veiled treatise for one position or another. I tried to make both sides of the argument sympathetic and detestable.

In fact, Wolf himself is a flawed character. He may be the hero of the story, but he makes several stupid mistakes over the course of the that get him (and consequently May) into all kinds of trouble.

Of all the characters you have created, which is your favorite and why?
I’m not sure I could choose. I’ve been writing for a long time, and I have a list of characters I really enjoy. At the moment, I’m fond of Wolf and May. I like them because they are imperfect. Wolf especially like to fly by the seat of his pants, and he’s operating in a theater where that causes a lot of problems. He generally saves the day in the end, but he creates all sorts of unintended consequences.
May is a good foil to him. She is much more sensible and reliable than he is. But she’s also in love, and she makes decisions based on that that might not be the right thing.
Your novels are Indie published. What made you decide to take that route?
I had been trying to go the traditional route for several years with no success. I’d written three other novels I’d queried agents on, but I couldn’t get anyone to bite. I was getting ready to repeat that process with the first book in the Wolf Dasher series, State of Grace, when I stumbled across an article by a friend of mine who had branched out into indie self-publishing. That led me to Joe Konrath’s blog, and, after reading enough articles on the subject, I decided that the world had changed enough to make self-publishing a viable business model.
It basically came down to doing all the production work myself – which I had learned during my years in the hobby games industry – and doing all the selling myself. I’d been in marketing and sales for some time, so I wasn’t afraid of that, and everything I’d read suggested I would have had to do it anyway, even if I’d been traditionally published.
What is the biggest surprise that you experienced after becoming a writer?

I'm not sure I've been surprised. It's really, really hard being an indie author, but I expected that. I was hoping to be further along in the advancement of my career than I am by now, but I'm not terribly surprised it's been a slow build or a lot of work or extremely time-consuming.

Is there any particular author or book that influenced you in any way either growing up or as an adult?

I’m a big fan of Albert Camus, both as an author and as a philosopher. I’ve read most of his books, and I like both his message and his writing style.
I also admire Hemingway for his concision and Stephen King for his descriptive detail. I’m not very good at either, and I aspire to write more like the both of them.
Do you have a day job in addition to being a writer?  If so, what do you do during the day?  
My fiancée and I have three children between us. Fortunately, they’re in school during the day, enabling me to write. But my “day job” is taking care of children.

What is your favorite writing tip or quote?
Just get it written. I love Throw Momma from the Train, because it’s funny and clever. But you’re not a writer if you’re sitting there trying to figure out the exact-right phrasing for the first sentence of your book. Just write it. Write every day. Get 1500 or 3000 words down into the computer. When it’s finished you can go back and craft and shape and make it read really well. But during the writing process, you need to just write.
Tell us a little about your plans for the future.  Where do you see yourself as a writer in five years?  Do you have any other books in the works?
My goal is to make writing a self-sustaining business that provides well for my family. I would like to be an Amazon bestseller, but I’ll be happy being read enough that I’m making a steady, comfortable income.
As for other books, I’ve got plenty in the works. My third novel is in editing now. It’s outside the Wolf Dasher series and concerns the poet son of the world’s most powerful wizard. The two are estranged, but, when the sorcerer is murdered, the son must sort out his father’s affairs. He’s drawn into a giant conspiracy designed to change the balance of power in the world, and he wants no part of it whatsoever.
My most successful book to date is a modern re-imagining of “Sleeping Beauty.” I’m currently writing a modern version of “Beauty & the Beast” to complement it. I like fairytales, and I’m having fun exploring classic stories in a whole new way.
And after that, I’ve got the next book in the Wolf Dasher series. I’ve tentatively planned Roses are White to come out at the end of this year. We’ll see if I can get that all done before 2014.
Any advice you have for other writers?
Follow your dreams. It sounds cliché, I know, but there’s a lot of wisdom there. I spent years not doing what I loved (writing) for various reasons. I’ve wanted to be a novelist since I was in college. It took me 20 years to get around to really doing it. Don’t wait that long, or, if you have, stop. If you want to write, make it happen. Do what you love.
Where can we find you online? 
Blog: johnphythyon.wordpress.com/pleadingthephythWebsite: johnphythyon.comFacebook: facebook.com/johnrphythyonjrTwitter: twitter.com/JohnRPhythyonJrAmazon: http://www.amazon.com/John-Phythyon/e/B00859R8E4/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

Prepping on a Budget by Zombie Response Team

Worried about Zombies, but don't have a lot of money? Zombie Response Team gives you some good advice on how to be prepared. Read the excerpt below.

First of all, there is no right or wrong way to prepare or pack up your bug out bag(s), don't let anyone try to intimidate you or make you feel bad for having something that isn't a certain brand. Everyone will have their personal preferences and unfortunately, when you don't have a whole lot of disposable income to throw around, those personal preferences become slightly diminished as you'll have to compromise until you're able to get what you really want.

Before buying anything for your bug out bag or general preparation, make lists. Lists will keep you grounded and will remind you what you really NEED instead of what you WANT. There is a difference between NEED and WANT and making lists will help you identify what is necessary and what isn't. Modify those lists on a consistent basis.

Then shop around. Don't buy the first thing that you find because you think it's a good deal or 'it's the last one'. You must have the mindset of a bargain shopper when you don't have a whole lot of money to
throw around. Make a list of places (online or offline) where you've found an item and then go back to
those places and compare.

Now that we have that out of the way...


Book Blurb:
Many Zombie Response Team members don't have a whole lot of disposable income, which is what inspired ZRT to release this free eBook for every prepper out there who feels out of the loop or uncertain about their gear or education because they can't afford "the best." This eBook goes into detail about where you can find cheap, yet reliable, gear. It also goes over how to find FREE education. You don't need to have thousands of dollars to be a prepper, you just need what's going to work for YOU, including what will work for your budget. 
About Zombie Response Team:
Morgan is the co-founder of Zombie Response Team where they prepare everyday people for disaster and emergency situations; including the zombie apocalypse. The mission statement of the Zombie Response team is simple: To protect and serve.

How do we accomplish this?

By banning together to create the biggest enterprise of individuals ready to fight against the undead, as well as help to educate others. We didn't create this community just for the fun of it.  We created it because we truly believe in the power of many. When the zombie apocalypse hits, we're going to need to have allies across the world in order to survive. And before the zombie apocalypse, we'll need to ban together to educate those around us about how to be prepared for the impending apocalypse.We can't do this alone. We hope you'll join us in this mission to assist others in the preparation of the zombie apocalypse.
Links:
Website: http://zombieresponseteam.net/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/zombieresponse
Twitter: https://twitter.com/zombieresponse
Prepping on a Budget on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Prepping-On-A-Budget-ebook/dp/B00AY0JZT8/
Could the Zombie Apocalypse Happen?on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Zombie-Apocalypse-Become-Reality-ebook/dp/B009SAX9D8

Dolls Behaving Badly

Enjoy this excerpt from Cinthia Ritchie's Dolls Behaving Badly. If you like it, leave a comment and purchase a copy. Links can be found at the end of excerpt.
Thursday, Sept. 15
This is my diary, my pathetic little conversation with myself. No doubt I will burn it halfway through. I’ve never been one to finish anything. Mother used to say this was because I was born during a full moon, but like everything she says, it doesn’t make a lick of sense.

It isn’t even the beginning of the year. Or even the month. It’s not even my birthday. I’m starting, typical of me, impulsively, in the middle of September. I’m starting with the facts.
I’m thirty-eight years old. I’ve slept with nineteen and a half men.
I live in Alaska, not the wild parts but smack in the middle of Anchorage, with the Walmart and Home Depot squatting over streets littered with moose poop.
I’m divorced. Last month my ex-husband paid child support in ptarmigan carcasses, those tiny bones snapping like fingers when I tried to eat them.
I have one son, age eight and already in fourth grade. He is gifted, his teachers gush, remarking how unusual it is for such a child to come out of such unique (meaning underprivileged, meaning single parent, meaning they don’t think I’m very smart) circumstances.
I work as a waitress in a Mexican restaurant. This is a step up: two years ago I was at Denny’s.
Yesterday, I was so worried about money I stayed home from work and tried to drown myself in the bathtub. I sank my head under the water and held my breath, but my face popped up in less than a minute. I tried a second time, but by then my heart wasn’t really in it so I got out, brushed the dog hair off the sofa and plopped down to watch  Oprah on the cable channel.
What happened next was a miracle, like Gramma used to say. No angels sang, of course, and there was none of that ornery church music. Instead, a very tall woman (who might have been an angel if heaven had high ceilings) waved her arms. There were sweat stains under her sweater, and this impressed me so much that I leaned forward; I knew something important was about to happen.
Most of what she said was New Age mumbo-jumbo, but when she mentioned the diary, I pulled myself up and rewrapped the towel around my waist. I knew she was speaking to me, almost as if this was her purpose in life, to make sure these words got directed my way.
She said you didn’t need a fancy one; it didn’t even need a lock, like those little-girl ones I kept as a teenager. A notebook, she said, would work just fine. Or even a bunch of papers stapled together. The important thing was doing it. Committing yourself to paper every day, regardless of whether anything exciting or thought-provoking actually happens.
“Your thoughts are gold,” the giant woman said. “Hold them up to the light and they shine.”
I was crying by then, sobbing into the dog’s neck. It was like a salvation, like those traveling preachers who used to come to town. Mother would never let us go but I snuck out with Julie, who was a Baptist. Those preachers believed, and while we were there in that tent, we did too.
This is what I’m hoping for, that my words will deliver me something. Not the truth, exactly. But solace.  Purchase links: Amazon:http://www.amazon.com/Dolls-Behaving-Badly-Cinthia-Ritchie/dp/0446568139/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1359625931&sr=8-1&keywords=cinthia+ritchie#_ Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dolls-behaving-badly-cinthia-ritchie/1110621178   IndieBound: http://www.indiebound.org/book/9780446568135

How to Write Fresh Dialogue

This week Cinthia Ritchie, author of Dolls Behaving Badly, gives us some hints on writing dialogue. Come back tomorrow for an excerpt from her work.



Back in graduate school, the worst insult a writer could inflict on another was that their dialogue was forced or stilted.

Bad writing was one thing. Bad dialogue, quite another. It insinuated that the writer had failed not only in his writing but also as a listener. It implied that you were hopelessly unaware or socially inept.
It was a double-whammy.
I wasn’t immune, of course, and I sat in the stilted dialogue “hot” seat more than once, cringing and shuffling my feet and wishing I had studied accounting or biology or one of those studious sounding subjects like psychics or chemistry.
Years later, I often think of those words as I’m writing dialogue, and they still make me cringe.
Because, face it, writing dialogue is hard.People in books don’t speak as people do in real life, since we don’t spend our days advancing the plot forward. We have no idea that we are part of a plot. Real life isn’t like that.
Writing is. And dialogue is the heavyweight of the story, sweating under the burden of multiple tasks: emphasizing character interaction, highlighting situations and moving the plot forward. It also controls the pace and tension. Every dialogued word holds double, and often triple, meaning. If it didn’t, it probably should be written as straight text.
But how does one write realistic dialogue?
First, listen to people talk. Very few of us speak in full and proper sentences.
Imagine writing this: “Andy, please set the table for dinner, and don’t forget the china plates my grandmother left me in her will.”
Well, there’s nothing inherently wrong with that sentence, but there’s nothing great about it, either.
Try this instead: “Andy, can you set the table, and don’t forget Gramma’s plates.” That’s more of how we speak in our real lives.
But wait! Didn’t I mention earlier than dialogue can’t reflect real life since it’s obligated to hold so many nuances?
I did, which is why I advise creating tension by inserting small slices of narrative within a body of dialogue (and the operative word here is small).
“Andy,” she growled, “please set the table, and don’t forget Gramma’s plates.”
Or, “Andy, please set the table,” Jane said, cradling her head in her hands. “And don’t forget Gramma’s plates.”
That still might not be great writing but it does do what dialogue is meant to do: Create enough tension to keep the reader guessing and ultimately, continue reading.
Other dialogue don’ts:
·         Using bad dialect or too much dialect/slang.
·         Using too many pause words such as “ums” or “you knows.”
·         Not breaking up dialogue with narrative (you know the heavy feeling you get when you open a book to find pages of unbroken dialogue? Don’t do to readers what you don’t want done to you).
·         Limit the use of “he said” and “she said.” Substitute with more active words: She yelled, he stuttered, she whined, he coaxed.
Dialogue dos:
·         Give each character a distinctive voice.
·         Keep dialogue fresh, fast and snappy.
·         Write from the characters’ hearts, not just their heads.
·         Keep the conflict alive by implying, not stating, the obvious and not-so-obvious
 Of course, just as we sometimes say things we later regret, it’s inevitable that we will find ourselves, on rare or even numerous occasions, writing bad dialogue. When this happens, don’t beat yourself or your characters up. Apologize, make the proper amends, and move on.

Cinthia Ritchie is a former journalist who lives and runs mountains and marathons in Alaska. Her work can be found at New York Times Magazine, Sport Literate, Water-Stone Review, Under the Sun, Memoir, damselfly press, Slow Trains, 42opus, Evening Street Review and over 45 literary magazines. Her first novel, Dolls Behaving Badly, released Feb. 5 from Grand Central Publishing/Hachette Book Group.
Links:
Website: www.cinthiaritchie.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/#!/cinthia.ritchie
Twitter: https://twitter.com/cinthiaritchie1