Meredith R. Stoddard's Blog, page 10

So that's what they're for...

I only watch television a couple of nights out of the week. I detest reality shows, and find very little to attract me to network dramas or comedies. In fact the only two network shows that I like got cancelled last week, so I see even less in my future. Nope, cable is where the real TV game is, and right now, my television week mostly consists of Outlander, Game of Thrones. I might slip in an episode of Daredevil or Turn during the week, but that’s only as writing time allows. This weekend provided a very interesting juxtaposition.

Before Outlander started airing there were a number of people who labeled it the “feminist answer to Games of Thrones”. Back then, I bristled at this comparison. First, Game of Thrones is complete fantasy. Sure they seem medieval, and there is plenty that is based in reality, but Westeros is not a real place. For all its time travel, Outlander is still very well-researched historical fiction. It’s grounded in actual events. Also, as epic in scale as they both are, Game of Thrones casts a wide net around the Seven Kingdoms showing the machinations of multiple families and far flung characters. The Outlander books focus on one family, in fact, Diana Gabaldon has many times referred to it as the story of a marriage. There is a domesticity, an earthiness to the Outlander stories that I haven’t seen yet in Game of Thrones.

As I said, the books are different. So, I didn’t really go in for that comparison so early in the lives of the shows. Now, we’re almost a whole season in and what I have seen is stark. Both shows push boundaries, and I like that. They don’t pull punches. They’ve both shown men nude, which for some reason seems to super taboo while women’s bodies can be displayed at any given moment. They don’t shy away from violence. They’ve each shown brutal violence in battle, sexual violence and violence against children. All of these things are brave choices for any show to make. However this weekend we saw something that separated the shows so completely that it’s worth taking note.

On Outlander we saw two determined women leave a man at home in an attempt to save another man in distress. Then of all things we saw a woman expressing breast milk on television. In complete view of the camera, and naturally executed without a second thought. The scene was brilliantly acted by . I don’t think that it can be stressed enough what a watershed moment this is. This wasn’t a show about childbirth on the Discovery Chanel. This was a scripted drama.

As any woman who has nursed a baby in a public place can tell you, many people in American society have a problem with that. Nevermind that feeding babies is what breasts are made for in the first place. It is far more acceptable to wear a bikini or show cleavage that skirts right at the edge of nudity than it is to actually feed a child with them.

I should point out that this very scene occurs in the book, so Diana Gabaldon deserves some credit for including a plain interpretation of what it means physically to be a woman. Readers of these books know that this is how these books work. Claire is a physical person, and we are seeing the story through her eyes. However, the writers of the show ( in the case of this episode) didn’t have to make this choice. They could have left it out entirely, or had Donnelly turn her back to Claire and the camera and talk over her shoulder. But they didn’t and I want to hug them all for it.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, we have last night’s Game of Thrones. Which showed us Myranda, Ramsey Bolton’s paramour, on display by the window for a scene that combined characterization and the show’s signature “sexposition”. In true Game of Thrones style, viewers got reminded that Ramsay is a bat-shit crazy sadist (though a bit more crude and clumsy than Black Jack) and that he promised to marry Myranda while being visually distracted by naked actors. In addition to being a tactic used so often on GOT that it has become a bit of a joke, I found myself distracted from the whole scene by prominence of actress hip bones and ribs.

Now, I hate expositional dialogue as much as (probably more than) the next person. And Outlander hasn’t been the standout on exposition. My mind goes back to the execrable scene in the first episode when checking into Mrs. Baird’s. Even the brilliance of the very talented and couldn’t rescue that clunky dialogue. However, I can excuse a few clunky lines and flashbacks over the continued use of the visually distracting sexposition. It may have worked the first few times, but after several seasons, it’s starting to be insulting to the viewers.

So I may have bristled a bit at the Outlander Game of Thrones comparison initially, but this weekend kinda changed my mind. David Benioff and D. B. Weiss should be watching Outlander and taking note. Women’s breasts have a purpose and distracting us during exposition isn’t it.

Best laid plans...

...gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!

-Robert Burns

Well, Scotland is in my rear view mirror. If you follow me on Instagram or Twitter, you have likely seen many of our pictures. Eric liked it so much we're trying to figure out how fast we can go back. 

Of course, I came home to the realization that the kids are out of school on the 19th of May. So i set myself a mental deadline of finishing the draft for Cauldron by then. Although my progress has been good as you'll note by the updated progress meter on my home page (about 80% done) various roadblocks have popped up in the way. It looks like I'm not going to make the 19th, but I am going to be doing everything I can to finish as soon as I can. 

Cauldron

81% done!

With that in mind I thought I would give a little update for what my production priorities look like for the next few months. 

1) Finish the first draft of Cauldron. 

2) Revise "Buddy" - This is a Once and Future short from the perspective of Sarah's childhood friend Buddy Corbett. This step will be followed by sending it to beta readers

3) Record The River Maiden audio book - That's right. I've been looking for a narrator, but it's becoming clear that with all the Gaelic that I'm going to have to do it myself.

4) Revise Cauldron - This will be followed by sending it to the editor.

5) Plot Pip - This is a new project that I'm pretty excited about. It's a fantasy for mid-grade readers like my children, and they'll be helping me with it. 

6) Buddy - Final pass and publication

7) Write Pip

8) Write another Once and Future short

9) Revise Cauldron with editor's feedback.

Many of these tasks will overlap, and will not necessarily be finished in this order. I am loath to attach dates to these things because life has a way of throwing wrenches into the works. However, these are the priorities and I will work toward at least one of them every day. Ok, I might take Mother's Day off. 

 

Oh, Drumossie...

I have to be honest. I didn’t think I would go. I know, for a Scotia-phile on her first trip to Scotland that sounds like sacrilege. Madness. How could I not visit the site of the final battle that sent my Highlander ancestors from Scotland to North Carolina? How can an Outlander fan not go to Culloden? But the thing is, I’ve seen so many battlefields.

I grew up at the nexus of the Civil War. My childhood home was just a few miles from the Chancellorsville battlefield where my own three times great grandfather was killed. My first apartment was on Hanover Street in Fredericksburg just blocks away from Marye's Heights and the Sunken Road. My family's favorite vacation spot when I was young was within sight of Fort Fisher at the mouth of the Cape Fear River. Even today, I can't go to town without driving past the Stonewall Jackson Shrine (not memorial, SHRINE).  After about the hundredth time visiting flat empty fields marked by plaques declaring which general did what and how many senseless deaths happened right where you're standing, a person can become inured to that kind of thing.

So, when I was planning my one week trip to Scotland and all the research that I needed to get done, Culloden didn't really factor in to that. I am writing contemporary fiction after all. But then Eric mentioned something about it, and we passed right by Culloden on our way to pick up our rental car in Inverness. So, proximity and opportunity won out and we spent a cold April morning visiting yet another battlefield. I'm so glad that we did.

There aren't many battlefields in the States with Visitors Centers as elaborate and well put together as the one at Culloden. First you walk through a  thorough exhibit of the lead up to the Rising of '45, that carefully exhibits both the Jacobite and Hanover sides of the story. This culminates in a powerful, 360 degree battle reenactment video that is unflinching in its depiction of the carnage that must have taken place there. There are costumed interpreters giving hands on demonstrations of everything from daily life in the 18th century to the weapons that were used.

All of this sets the stage for the most affecting part of the tour, the moor itself. At the end of the indoor exhibit, you pick up an audio guide of the battlefield. Unlike those you may have used in museums, where you type in a number that corresponds with the spot where you are standing and it plays a numbered narration, the guides at Culloden work by GPS. The narrations begin automatically when you reach designated spots on the field. This makes to tour easy to follow and also lets you focus on what you are seeing and hearing rather than worrying about what number is next or where you are on the map. You can just explore and the narrators tell you the story.

The tour takes you first through the positions of the armies and the details of the battle itself by selecting particular characters on each side to follow. It gives voice to the people who fought and makes a powerful and personal experience for the listener. In our case it was helped by an unrelenting, frigid wind that blew across the moor freezing our cheeks and hands. You can begin to imagine the half-starved Highlanders shivering in the damp April morning 269 years ago.

The first memorial is the Well of the Dead. This is a small unassuming spring between the two army lines. It's bounded on three sides by stones and a low wall on the fourth side. There is a stone marking it at the site where the "Chief of the MacGillivrays Fell". It's the only stone commemorating a individual person on the battlefield, and after walking the battlefield and listening to the tale you can almost picture the MacGillivray covered in gore spending his last moments in the shelter of the wall longing for a drink of cool, clear water.

Next you come to the memorial cairn that stands sentinel over the field. It is a tall stone monument topped with a shock of bright yellow gorse, that you can see from anywhere on the moor. Inside and in the narration there is an effort to provide an even handed view of the battle and the Rising, giving both sides. But the cairn predates that effort, and it shows in the inscription.

THE BATTLE OF CULLODEN WAS FOUGHT ON THIS MOOR 16TH APRIL 1746.

THE GRAVES OF THE GALLANT HIGHLANDERS WHO FOUGHT FOR SCOTLAND & PRINCE CHARLIE ARE MARKED BY THE NAMES OF THEIR CLANS.

On the day that we visited there was a wilting bouquet of white roses, thistles and fir greens left at the base of the inscription that gave me a lump in my throat.

Then I turned around. Almost directly behind me on a patch of grass just across the path was the Clan Fraser stone. Being from North Carolina, we have so many family connections with Scotland. There are Minges (Menzies) on my mother's side, and Bell's and MacGregors to name a few on my father's side. But I have always somehow felt a connection with my ancestor, Joanna Simpson whose son, my son is named for. Simpson, literally "Simon's son" (Yes, that Simon) is a sept of Clan Fraser.

The clan stones were installed in the 19th century to memorialize the many lives lost that day. But I can't help also seeing it as a symbol of rebirth. Yes, many died horribly, but their death and the subsequent transportation of their families however tragic and painful, also started many on the journey that shaped America, and North Carolina.

I dropped to my knees in front of the stone to take a picture, and as I knelt there with the damp soaking through my jeans I could feel a well of grief bubbling up inside me that sent hot tears streaking down my cold cheeks. But with it, there was also strength, the strength that sent my Clan Fraser ancestors to Carolina, and helped them build a new life. From Highlanders to Tarheels, soldiers to farmers, to mill workers, to me.

Yeah, I've been to plenty of battlefields, some that I had personal connections to, some that were just as bloody as this one. But none have hit me the way Culloden did. I knelt there, rooted to that grassy patch in front of the stone crying silently until Eric came near. He had been taking pictures of the cairn. I stood up and he smiled at me his green eyes searching mine, "Ready?"

I nodded. 'Yeah,' I thought. 'I am ready.'

Always leave 'em wanting more

A young boy discovers a time portal inside a hydroelectric dam. A car full of refugees drives into an impenetrable fog. A young woman wakes up to find herself the poster girl for a revolution. Another young woman walks away from the only life she’s ever known.

They all sound like great starts to stories, don’t they? There’s just one hitch. They’re all endings. I won’t spoil them all by identifying the books, but with the exception of the last one, they’re all well-known books by bestselling authors. The last one, of course, is mine (2 points if you know which), but it’s an ending too; an ending and a beginning. And that’s just how I like to end my stories.

A lot of people don’t like cliffhangers. Conventional wisdom in writing circles is that they should only be used by writers with established audiences who will wait for the next book, or only if the next book will be coming hard on the heels of the first. I’ll admit. As a reader, I get it. I waited five years to find out what happened to that kid in the dam too. And I’ll admit I get a little flack from readers for ending my books the way I do. My reviews say things like, “Loved the story, hated the ending!” or “Wait, it ended?” or one reader who sought me out at a conference because she was nearly done with The River Maiden and she didn’t think I would resolve all of the unanswered question in the pages that she had left. I believe she had bought the book the day before, so either she’s a very fast reader or it’s a page turner;)

First let me say that I don’t consider my endings to be cliffhangers. A cliffhanger would be ending the story before there is ANY kind of resolution. I don’t do that. All of my stories however long or short, have some resolution to them. But it doesn’t stop there. This isn’t one of those 1960’s horror films where the credits roll as soon as the monster dies. There has to be a new beginning, a survivor’s log of sorts.

There are plenty of reasons why ending with a beginning isn’t a bad thing.

Selling the next book. I can’t remember who said it, but I have heard that ‘the first chapter sells the book and the last chapter sells the next book’. This is a cynical reason, and not one that I favor but it does work to a certain extent. I don’t limit these endings to books or stories that I intend to write sequels for. I never intended to write more about the young woman that I mentioned above. But many readers of that story, have asked me what was next for her. Given the response that character has gotten. I think there is more in store for her, a ‘next book’ that I didn’t mean to write or sell.Engaging the reader’s imagination. Unanswered questions leave readers thinking even after they’ve put down the story or closed the book. They imagine their own endings, where they think the characters should go next. Whether there is a sequel in the works or not, these are the stories that linger, and the stories that readers come back to.  Creating real, living characters. I like to read about characters that are real. I like to write them too. They’re flawed. They have hang ups and ticks and issues. They have histories that the reader may or may not know. They’re real to me. Their lives, however imaginary, don't start when the words do and they don’t stop when the words are done. We travel with them for a time and get to share in their adventures. Hopefully, it’s an exciting time and their lives are changed by it. Hopefully, the readers are entertained by the journey, maybe their lives are even enriched. But it’s just that, a ride along in the lives of these characters. If I’ve done my job right, at the end of the story, readers will care enough about the characters to wonder about what happens to them next.

My life didn’t end when my corporate career did, or when I graduated from college, or finally published a book. Those are endings, but they’re also beginnings. Until our hearts stop, every ending is also a beginning. And that’s just how I like to end my stories.

 

Stalling tactics

My daughter (8) is a pro at stalling bedtime. She will wait until right before bedtime to say, "But I need to take a bath." She will think of a dozen things that she simply must do on the way to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She can never find her pajamas and has to tear up her room in search of them. She's a pretty sharp cookie and has figured out that her folks almost never say no to reading, so she'll ask if he can read for a little while. And heaven forbid she not be able to find her Stitch plushie. It's her favorite thing to cuddle with next to her cat and if she can't find it, all bets are off. 

Of course, normally I am itching for her to go to sleep so I can get back to writing or (gasp) spend a little time with my husband.  Not that I don't adore her, but there is only so much eight year old verbal rambling that an introverted mom can take. By bedtime, I've usually reached my limit.  Naturally when my characters are talking to me, her little manipulations at bedtime feel downright diabolical.

Turns out she comes by that honestly. I caught myself doing it just this morning. In fact, I'm doing it right now. You see, I have a very hard scene to write. I've been chewing on it for days. I was thinking about it this morning on my drive to my favorite writing spot and I had tears streaming down my face.  This scene is going to break my heart, and when y'all read it. I think it's going to break yours too.

So, I found myself stalling. I'll just eat my oatmeal first. That was yummy, maybe I should check Twitter. I know I'll post a little sneak peek on my page. Oo! What was that new song Eric sent me the other day? That album is coming out today. I should download it. What's going on in the news. I should refill my coffee. Maybe I should edit that short story. I need to line up some beta readers for that one. I'll just check Facebook one more time. Maybe I should write a blog post.  Oh, look! My favorite booth is open, I should move over there. It's got an outlet, and I'm clearly going to be here a while.

I have the scene all laid out in my head. I know the dialogue by heart, but I haven't put the words down yet and some part of me doesn't want to. I have no doubt that when I do, I will end up weeping into my coffee and probably scaring the café patrons around me. But more than that, I think I'm afraid of showing this character's very private heartbreak to the world. Right now, this character's emotions are raw and open and kept safe inside me. I know I have to write it, and no one will see it for a while once I do. I mean there will be revisions and rewrites and editing to go through.

It's just one small scene in a whole book after all. But once it's written down, and I've moved on to another scene, it will have its own power. It will be able to surprise me,  and you when you're reading the book. It will catch us off guard and show this character at a real low point.  I'm fond of this character (I'm fond of all of them, but this one...) I wish it didn't have to happen like this. But then, if it didn't it wouldn't be much of a story, would it?

 

Update: After this blog post and another round of social media procrastination, I wrote the scene. Sure enough, I ended up ugly crying in the back booth of my local Panera like a teenage girl left home alone on prom night. It's there now ready to knock someone over and stomp on their feelings while they're reading.  You're welcome.

We're all mad here

I think I've finally recovered from the madness of last weekend only to be plunged into a whole different brand of crazy. No, last weekend wasn't a whisky fueled bender (Really, I only had the one glass.) It was the Outlander Odyssey's gathering in Williamsburg, VA, and it was fantastic. For Scotia-phile history nerds like me, this was paradise, but what made it even better was getting to connect with so many readers both the ones who bought my book at the gathering and those who had read it before. There were even a couple of fans (I'm looking at you Wendy & Diane). 

The organizers were nice enough to ask me to talk about puirt a beul and the music of The River Maiden. There was also a very funny talk about a man's perspective on Outlander courtesy of Jean Paul Pare, whose Kiltlander blog includes hilarious recaps of each episode. And a fascinating talk from An Comunn Gaidhealach Ameireaganach president Mike Mackay about love and courtship in Gaelic culture (Seriously, I was taking notes). We even had a druid dance inspired by the show. It was choreographed by May Kesler and performed by dancers from the Virginia Regional Ballet. (See the video at the bottom of this post.)

Here I am with Organizers Jackie Hower, Stefanie Marriott and Amy Nicol.

The organizers did a terrific job of planning a great weekend for everyone. All of this was done to raise funds to support Youth Theatre Arts Scotland, a charity supported by Sam Heughan. As I told everyone at the conference, I think arts education is an important and too often cut component of a child's education. It was a privilege to help support it anywhere. At last count we raised $7250. 

Despite all my nerves and the fact that I have never sung in Gaelic, outside the comfort and privacy of my own shower or car, my talk went very well. Hopefully, I'll have a video of it for you soon. I heard no snoring or crickets, nor did I knock down the lecturn, botch the singing or trip on any cables. I did gain quite a few readers and between Mike's talk and mine I hope we sparked some more Gaelic learners.  It looks like the event will be an annual one, and I can't wait to see what the organizers do next year.

Last weekend left me with that strange mix of exhaustion and inspiration that often comes from conferences. As an introvert, I was desperately in need of a couple of quiet days to process, however connecting with that many readers left me inspired and satisfied that I am on the right path. In fact, I was so inspired that the other day I blew right past my word goal and haven't looked back. I even woke up in the wee hours of the morning yesterday thinking about it. I feel like I've caught the thread of this story line now. to paraphrase Hugh Howey, 'It's the story that you can't stop thinking about'. I hit that point in November with the other story line for Cauldron, and churned it out pretty fast. But between post holiday funk and snow days, had been struggling to find it with the line that I'm on now.

But now I think I've got it. I've driven the characters up a tree and have a giant pile of jagged rocks ready to throw at them (poor kids).  Of course, once I woke up from my post conference snooze I realized that I only have 22 days until we leave for Scotland. 

In the next few weeks, I have to:

De-clutter and clean the house so the cat sitter doesn't think we're complete slobsUpdate the boy cats' vaccinations (1 down, 1 to go)Pack grown up clothes for ScotlandPack kids clothes for Nana's houseDo the taxes (no small task)Knit like the wind on this baby blanket for the baby that is due on the 4thPlan out the kids' camp activities for the summer before all the good camps fill up

But of course all I really want to do, is throw rocks at Dermot and Sarah. 

Gaelic Songs & Influence

This Saturday, I will be speaking at the Outlander Odysseys Gathering in Williamsburg, Virginia about Puirt a beul. In advance of that I put together a public playlist on Spotify that is made up of Gaelic and English songs. 

These songs show the most common types of Gaelic music and the Gaelic influence on Appalachian music. The latter of course is the topic of Sarah MacAlpin's dissertation in The River Maiden.

If you don't currently have Spotify, there is a free version with ads,  but I am also listing these songs below. I'll group them according to type and provide links to the lyrics where possible. 

 Puirt a beul

Brochan Lom (Christina Stewart) There is a second version of this song on the list that highlights the fiddle tune.

S'ann an Ile Bhoidheach (Scottish Band)

Si Morag (Tannas)

Seallaibh Curraigh Eoghainn (Mary Jane Lamond)

Puirt a Beul (Gillebribe MacMillan)

Hug air a'Bhonaid Mhoir (Julie Fowlis)

Puirt & Dannsadh (Joy Dunlop)

Domhnall mac 'ic Iain (Mary Jane Lamond)

Waulking Songs (Oraid Luaidh)

Gaol Ise Gaol I (Toganaud)

Oran Do Ghille a Chaidh a Bhathadh (Mary Jane Lamond)

Ballads or Lays (Duain)

Am Bron Binn (Barluath)

The Woman of Balnain (Gillebride MacMillan)

Two Sisters (Clannad),  Bonny Broom (Glengarry Bhoys)  These are two different songs based on the same story.

Naomi Wise (Tammerlin)

Matty Groves (Doc Watson)

Pretty Polly (Vandeveer)

The BlackSmith (Deanta)

Love Songs (Orain Gaoil)

Mo Run Geal Dileas (The Ranking Family)

Fear A Bhata (Moira Kerr) 

Barbara Allen (Billie Joe Armstrong & Norah Jones)

The Unquiet Grave (Solas)

Laments (Tuiridhean)

Blar Inbhir Lochaidh (Mary Jane Lamond)

Ailein Duinn (Catriona Watt)

Lullabies (Tailidhean)

Bidh Clann Ulaidh (Seelyhoo) 

 

 

 

 

Confession time

I have been woefully neglecting the blog since mid December and I was trying think of the best way to  jump start things.  Over the last couple of day I have thought about writing.

A mawkishly sentimental post in memory of Coach Dean Smith. I'm not really a sports fan, but I am a Tarheel bred and I do support social justice. I have a lot of feelings on the death of this great man. A scolding post about how outrageously SICK I am of the whole 50 Shades phenomenon.A thoughtful and referenced post about how Outlander can teach us more about true BDSM than 50 Shades ever could.

My friend Wendy over at  A Thoughtful Reader gave me a great opportunity with a Liebster Award, and I will get to responding to that very soon (No, really).  However, I thought first that I should talk about the thing that is dominating my thinking at the moment, which is...nothing and everything, but above all NOT Cauldron. And for that I am very sorry. 

I came out of NaNoWriMo full of excitement about having managed to achieve the kind of daily word goal that would let me see the light at the end of the tunnel of this thing. I meant to keep my daily word goal up through December and I did for part of the month. Then the holidays came along and life got busy. I told myself that as soon as the kids went back to school, I would return to a 2k/day word goal and be ready for revisions this month, in my editor's hands before April and in readers hands at the beach this summer. 

I started with the best of intentions. Sat down at the keyboard and hoped to write. Sadly hope does not make words multiply. I have met that 2k/day word goal exactly once.  I would love to blame it on snow days and stomach viruses, science fairs and whatever other distractions I could come up with, but the truth is I just haven't been able to put the words down. I can see the whole plot in my head laid out like a story board, but somehow I can't make the words work. 

I can hear other unsympathetic writers now. You know the ones I'm talking about. Those writers that post 10K word days in November. They're saying, "Just get the words down. It's a rough draft. They don't have to be good words. That's what revision is for." I get that. I totally do. The thing is I like pretty words (and ugly ones in the right context). I have never been one of those writers who can pants out thousands of words as a stretch. A novel length work is a hard slog and when the words are bad, the momentum slows down. 

And into that gap steps the inner hater. The one that tells me every mistake I'm making, not just about writing or not writing, but blogging, marketing, all of it.  Some of them fixable, some not. And the writing becomes even harder. So, at the moment, I'm just trying to get in as many words as I can each day and telling that inner hater that he's wrong and there's not wrong of right, there's just getting it done. Every word is a step in the right direction. My goal is still 2k/day, but I will be trying very hard not to hate myself on the 500 word days. or the days that I can't write at all because I'm taking care of a sick child. 

Fortunately, I'm not alone in this. Even the best and brightest of us has that inner hater. Here's a video from the always insightful Jay Smooth. 

Fall for the Indie Book: Murder on the First Day of Christmas

This week, I'm getting into the holiday spirit reviewing Billie Thomas's Murder on the First Day of Christmas.

Chloe Carstairs and her mother, Amanda work together in an interior decorating business and the holiday season is a hot time for them. But when their clients start dying more than just their business is threatened. Despite some generational differences and the challenge of investigating secretly in a small town, they work together to solve the mystery. 

Chloe is trying to navigate the world of independent womanhood while dealing with a confusing relationship. Of course her mother just wants her little girl to be happy. They just have different ideas of how that happiness will come about. It's such a universal challenge for mothers and daughters that it's almost guaranteed to hit home. It's told in this book with humor and heart, that you can't help but root for both of these ladies even while you're worried for their safety.

As soon as I finished this book, I called my Mom and told her she had to read it. The relationship between Chloe and Amanda and the differences that they had seemed so familiar. It's apparent that the author, Billie Thomas, was a real Southern lady. Being a Southern girl myself, I found that the characters rang true, which is great because Southern characters can so often come across as caricatures. T he dialog and dialect are also easy and flow very well. 

This book is the first of a series with these characters, however it is currently the only one available. According to the author's website Chloegetsaclue.com, the first book was written by a mother daughter team. Sadly, her mother has passed away, but the site does say that she's working on a new one, Murder in a Two-Seater. I can't wait to read it. 

The Order of the Four Sons: Indie Author Showcase

Order of the Four Sons, an epic fantasy adventure series

Enter the world of the Order.

The Order of the Four Sons is a sprawling, fast-paced, epic adventure that encompasses multiple worlds and an ensemble cast of characters. Two ancient organizations, the Order of the Four Sons of Horus and Starry Wisdom, have been battling for centuries for possession of a powerful artifact known as the Staff of Solomon.

 Book I

The series’ heroes are introduced: Colonel JD Garnett, novice mage Kate West, Detective Ryan Murphy, scholar Doug Grigori, and field techs Bill Welsh and Cecil Morgan. The team is dispatched to investigate the disappearance of one of their own in a small town. There, they uncover a lot more than they bargained for – a segment of the Staff of Solomon, and the evil forces that are converging to claim it.

 Book I is permanently free through Smashwords and other e-book retailers.

  Book II 

Carcosa follows the team – JD, Murphy, Doug and Kate – as they pursue Countess Elizabeth Bathory across the face of a sinister desert planet filled with untold dangers. O4S Director Clayton Grabowski and the Oracle find themselves mired in the political intrigues of the Order’s leadership, while back on Earth, Bill forges an uneasy alliance with a government agent. As they race to recover the Staff of Solomon, they uncover truths they had never expected about their enemies – and themselves.

 Book III 

Where Flap the Tatters of the King sees the surviving members of the Order – Kate, JD, Murphy, Bill, Clayton and Alyssa – reunited in a world known as Corbenic. With the Corbenese king held hostage by Starry Wisdom, the land has been plunged into endless winter. At all costs, the Order must liberate Corbenic and restore the king. As the team sets out, they find themselves once again braving the elements, on their way to Corbenic’s capital city. There, they will be plunged into a dark and seductive world, a world of alchemists and geomancers, nobles and courtesans. Unrest has spread throughout the empire, stirring talk of rebellion. And beneath all the gilt and glamor, evil sleeps.

 Book IV

Going Forth By Day – the fourth and final book of the series is due tentatively in 2015. Be sure to check out the authors’ blogs for news and sneak peeks.

  

Excerpt from Carcosa (O4S: Book II)

 What immediately greeted her was darkness, and beyond that, a hollow dripping sound.

For a moment, she thought perhaps she was back in the cantina, in the cellar where Doug had slept.  Wherever she was, it was most certainly cool, damp, subterranean.

She was stretched out on some sort of rough, woven mat.  She tried to sit up.  Couldn’t. 

Someone spoke, low and quickly, in a language that was completely alien to her.

She turned her head and found a pair of faintly luminescent, multi-colored eyes shining in the dark just inches from her nose.  She recoiled and cried out weakly.  Her elbow struck stone, which made her yelp again in pain. 

A light appeared.  The eyes’ owner was making soothing gestures and repeating the same sound, “Id . . . id, id, id, id, id . . .”

Kate realized she was lying on a very narrow stone shelf, dug out of the wall.  The light was coming from some flaky, spongy-looking stuff he had set on the shelf by her feet.  She flattened herself against the curve for a moment, breathing hard, and stared at the creature.

It was standing next to the shelf, leaning toward her as if in earnest.  It – he – was not wearing any type of clothing.  His body was utterly smooth and hairless, giving him a peculiar, childish quality.  Also making him appear child-like was his short stature.  Kate guessed he couldn’t be more than 5’ tall, and very thin.  His skin was paper-white, every vein shockingly visible like ink on an overhead projector transparency.  The blue-and-white contrast gave him a slight alabaster-type glow.   

Most disturbing of all though were his kaleidoscopic eyes: wide, heavily-lidded, framed by fine, white lashes like silverfish antennae.  Right now, those eyes were peering at her anxiously, clearly distressed by her distress.

She relaxed a little, allowed her body to creep forward a bit out of the corner. 

The creature also relaxed, but held himself very still, waiting for her to make the next move. 

“Well, you’re . . .” she reappraised him, “Neat.”

He spoke again, quick and lyrical.  He pointed to her throat.

She felt around her neck.  Her fingers found the amulet bag.  The leather was still intact, but she could feel no energy emanating from the spell she’d woven into it before. 

“Mm,” she said to her companion, “That is a problem, isn’t it?”

He gestured excitedly, evidently pleased that he had successfully communicated something to her, and spoke again.  Gibber, gibber.  Meep, meep. 

“All right, all right, all right,” Kate said, holding up her hand.  “I don’t understand you and you don’t understand me.  Just let me get my bag, I’ll do another spell. . .”  Her voice trailed off as she realized that she had left the bag at the campsite when she took off after—

“My friends!” she burst out.  “Where are my friends?”  She tried to stand up, but wound up collapsing back on the pallet, wondering also what had happened to her wand.

The creature put out his hands frantically so they hovered over her chest, gesturing that she was to stay down.  His voice rose to match hers, and – it didn’t seem possible – but the speed of his language actually trebled.  He pointed vaguely in a direction somewhere behind him, which she took to mean Murphy and JD were somewhere nearby.  Then he began repeating himself about something—she recognized the sounds from ones he’d made earlier anyway. 

He bent over and picked something off the ground.  It was a clear, uncut crystal, like quartz, jagged on one side, glassy on the other. 

He pressed it on her, gesturing over and over again to her amulet bag.

She took the stone, cool against her hot skin, peered at it, then back at him.  The crystal thrummed slightly in her hand, imbued with energy.  She slipped it into the amulet bag.

“Testing, one, two, three, testing,” she said dryly.

“I do not understand,” he said, cocking his head.

“Join the club.”  He tilted his head even further to the left.  “Never mind,” she said and held out her hand.  “I’m Kate.”

He took a reflexive step backward.  “I am called Kudin.  Forgive me for not touching you.  It is not our way.”

“Oh.”  She let her hand drop back to her side.

“How do you feel?” Kudin asked.

“Weak,” she replied.  “I have got to stop waking up like this.” 

If he understood that comment, he did not respond to it. 

“Where’s my wand?”

“Your tools are safe, though not near.”

“What about my bag?”

“All of your belongings, even your moving dwelling.  But we cannot have them in Canungra.  Please understand, we do not consume flesh.  We do not inflict death.”

Kate nodded respectfully. 

“Water?”  He offered her a small, earthen bowl, holding it out with both hands.

She nodded.

“Is that a yes?”  He cocked his head to the left again, slightly.

“Yes.” 

He handed her the bowl, careful not to brush her fingers.  She drank and handed the bowl back to him.  “Where are my friends?”

 

Author Bios 

Coyote Kishpaugh has been writing prose and poetry most of his life, and alternately entertains and terrifies his children by telling them stories late at night. While he has written books before, this is his first foray into co-authorship. He lives in Kansas City, KS and is currently pursuing a degree in psychology.

 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Coyote-Kishpaugh/152349441525774

Blog: http://coyotekishpaugh.blogspot.com/

 

Lauren Scharhag is the author of Under Julia, The Ice Dragon, The Winter Prince and West Side Girl & Other Poems. Her work has appeared most in The SNReview, The Daily Novel, Infectus, and Glass: A Journal of Poetry. She is the recipient of the Gerard Manley Hopkins Award for poetry and a fellowship from Rockhurst University for fiction. She lives in Kansas City, MO with her husband and three cats.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/laurenscharhag?ref_type=bookmark

Twitter: @laurenscharhag

Blog: http://www.laurenscharhag.blogspot.com/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4031508.Lauren_Scharhag