Beth Alvarez's Blog, page 40

Artwork: Firal

I always mean to draw more, then I have trouble fitting it in around everything else I have going on.

My original goal was to add one piece of artwork to the gallery each month. It seemed like a reasonable time frame, but coupled with my writing workload, it didn’t work out. Instead, the art just kind of ends up sprinkled in whenever I have a few moments and the inspiration to do something. I hoped to have the gallery for Serpent’s Tears fairly full by now, but that’s okay. If nothing else, after several months of meaning to finish it, I have a drawing of the leading lady done!

This troubled young lady is Firal:

In the book’s timeline, she is a green-rank mageling studying beneath Master Nondar. Her birthday is the 16th of Isele, the month of Sprouting. The journal she carries is her favorite gift from a prior birthday, and the pendant hung over its cover is the only remnant of her mother she has.

She appeared in one of my writing prompts–Wind–and while I’ve intended to use her in more, it has proven difficult to do more without giving away secrets from the books.

Her portrait is now up as part of the art gallery, so it’s time to move on to the next major character. The trouble is deciding who! Ran, Kifel, or Envesi?

Getting dressed

“You should have come, it was a lot of fun.” Vahn regretted the words almost as soon as they were out of his mouth.

His friend’s expression didn’t change, though. He just stayed with his back against the floor, twisting and turning the bottle he held overhead, watching the tiny seashells mixed with the glittering sand tumble against the inside of the glass. “It’s all right. I can’t swim, anyway.”

Vahn tried not to look at him, instead focusing on the way the glass and sand inside sparkled in the sunlight. Ran’s room was bright, the curtains on all the high windows drawn back. The room overlooked a garden in full bloom, but every time Vahn glanced out the windows,  he found himself squinting and wondering if the gleam in the distance was the sea, or just some trick of the light.

It had been an enjoyable trip with the rest of the boys, all of them the children of guardsmen, but every expedition came with a twinge of guilt. Vahn was free to travel and explore.

Ran rarely left his room. When he did, it was only for guarded excursions to the temple, then right back again.

Sighing, Vahn picked at the laces on his boots. “Do you think they’ll ever let you out of their sight?”

“Soon.” Ran shrugged, sitting up, running a hand through his hair. “Father said that after my birthday, he’ll let me have some time to myself at the temple. He figures that’ll be safer than the city.”

“Don’t you want to see the city?” Vahn asked.

Ran snorted. “Of course I do.” He put the bottle on the floor beside him. “I just don’t know how I’d be able to see it without someone recognizing me. I’d get in trouble.”

“Because that’s ever stopped us before.” Grinning, Vahn leaned closer. “I bet nobody would recognize you if you weren’t wearing silk. And maybe if your hair was darker.”

Frowning, Ran turned toward the windows. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not? There’s that old story about the lordling and the common boy trading places-”

“Your clothes wouldn’t fit me,” Ran interrupted. “I’m taller than you.”

“That will just make it more convincing! Poor kids don’t get new clothes every time they grow a little bit. Give me your shirt!” Vahn all but lunged after his friend, grabbing for the hem of his silk tunic.

“Hey!” Ran slapped his hands away, glaring. “I don’t need any help!”

“Well then take it off!” Unfastening buttons, Vahn shrugged out of his plain spun shirt, passing it over as Ran peeled his finer garment off overhead and offered it in trade. The silk tunic was much too long for him, and he laughed when he stood up and it reached halfway to his knees.

Ran pulled Vahn’s shirt on, pausing after he finished doing the buttons. The sleeves were a few inches short, leaving him looking at his arms with a frown.

“No problem,” Vahn said,  jumping up and trotting to the wardrobe. “If we wrap your arms in something, people might think you’re sick or injured and will give you more space. The farther away they are, the less likely it is they’ll recognize you.” He threw a linen undershirt to his friend before crossing to the desk, digging through bottles of ink.

Ran tore strips from the shirt, binding his hands and standing up. His pants were too fine to go with Vahn’s too-small shirt; he turned to the wardrobe, digging through the clothing inside until he found something more worn. Vahn nodded his approval at the choice, pouring ink into his hands.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Ran asked.

Before Vahn could reply, but not before he jammed his ink-covered hands into his best friend’s hair, the door opened.

The boys froze.

Ran’s nursemaid stopped in the doorway, her eyebrows rising.

Ink dripped down Ran’s forehead, falling onto a pile of fine clothing heaped around their ankles.

Coughing, Vahn stepped back. “Um… it seemed like a good idea.”

–

This week’s prompt was “Getting dressed.”

The lovely Megan Cutler addressed this prompt back in October.

Next week’s will be the last prompt I’ll be doing for a while, since I’ll be working on some bigger projects instead!

The end of the Terrible Twos

I don’t often blog about family happenings. Not for any particular reason; not trying to keep my glamorous life a mystery or anything like that. Mostly it’s because when I blog, I try to keep it focused on my writing and my hobbies. It’s my writing blog and author page, after all.

And then sometimes things happen that leave me so flabbergasted that I can’t image writing about anything else. Like, for example, that this girl is three years old.

It’s hard to believe it’s been that long. And yet at the same time, it feels like it was hardly any time ago at all that I sat on the sofa, chowing down on Doritos and playing Tetris and wondering when labor was going to kick in enough to warrant actually going to the hospital.

This is how life changes.

I mean, I realize that a lot of what hazes the past few years is probably the fact that she’s only slept through the night all of about five times. I mean seriously, this kid really, really hates sleeping. But she’s also grown ridiculously fast. Just the other day I was sitting at the table, marveling at the way she can walk, hold her apple juice one-handed, and drink from a cup with no lid without spilling all at the same time. It might not seem like a lot, but it wasn’t that long ago that she couldn’t even hold her head up.

Where did this fiercely independent little girl come from? When was my snuggly little Eevee-baby replaced with a sassy and hot-tempered toddler who can count to fifty and recite a dozen books from memory?

It’s a slow creep, the sneaky passage of time, changing things without you even realizing. And at the same time, everything seems to move in slow motion when you’re a parent. I’ve completed three books and a novelette since she was born. Yeah, only three. It pales in comparison to what my friends have accomplished, but I’ve also helped teach someone to walk, to talk, to recite her alphabet and tell me all the colors you can find on her My Little Pony collection. And while it means my other work is slow, at least my important job is taken care of. I’m not a perfect mom, but she’s happy.

And as she grows, it’ll be easier for me to balance the job of motherhood and my own ambitions. She’s learned what it means when I sit at my computer in the evening; she takes her father’s hand and tells him how “Mama’s gonna do some working!” just before she leads him to her room to play. Not that it stops her from creeping back out here to stand beside my chair, bat her eyelashes and say hi. It also doesn’t stop her from leaning close enough to add a few extra letters to the words I’m typing, leaving a few surprises peppered through my manuscripts. And she’s a good typist, by the way; she knows where all the letters are, even the ones where the letters have been rubbed off the keys.

And today, she’s three.

I wish I could say I am glad to leave the Terrible Twos behind, but she’s only grown sassier as she grows taller, so I fully expect that three will be even worse, in its own magnificent way.

And since I’m averaging one a year with a little one in tow, maybe you can expect book number four before she turns four.

Happy birthday, little Eevee. My little love.

Something in common

The winter air bit deep, no matter how many layers he wore. Everyone said he’d grow used to it, but as he adjusted the thick scarf wrapped so it just brushed his chin, Rune thought again of how he didn’t want to.

Snow was as marvelous as ever; he couldn’t deny the strange sense of wonder he felt when he watched it drift from the sky. But it was a nuisance on the ground, making travel difficult, making this trip far less pleasant than it should have been. Even in their fur and leather wrappings, his feet were as numb as his nose, making him long for the warmth of his homeland. It would be the rainy season now, filling the island with mist and mugginess, replenishing the shallow river in Core. Pulling his coat a little tighter, he tried not to think of the weather any more.

Not sharing his aversion, Rhyllyn tore past him, laughing as he ran into the field of virgin snow. The boy only made it a short distance before he tripped and tumbled, floundering in the powder that came halfway to his knees.

“So this is where the house will be?”

Rune glanced over his shoulder as the white-robed mage approached, rubbing her arms against the cold. Between her robes and the white hair that spilled from beneath her hood, she nearly disappeared in the snow. Only her face stood out, though even that was not so tan as it had been.

“Eventually,” Rune said, glancing back to where Rhyllyn rolled in the snow. “Though probably closer to the trees.”

“I suppose building will have to wait until spring. I’m sure he’ll be happy to have somewhere permanent to call home.” Alira rearranged the skirt of her robe as she settled beside him, following his gaze and chuckling. “All he needs now is a dog.”

Making a soft sound of displeasure in his throat, Rune rearranged the folds of his scarf again. “Do you think he’s happy?”

“What do you think?” Alira laughed, flicking her fingers toward the child. The boy rolled onto his back, swishing his arms and legs to leave a snow angel in the field.

Rune snorted. Stupid question. Rhyllyn would have found a way to be content no matter where he’d landed. “He’s not much like me, is he?”

Alira cocked her head. “Why? Because he’s happy?”

That wasn’t what he’d meant, but that she took it that way cut deep. He said nothing, casting her a baleful glance from the corner of his eye instead.

Unfazed, she shrugged and turned back to watching Rhyllyn play. “I think after everything he’s been through, the situation he’s in is the best he could hope for.”

“Even though-” Rune started.

Alira didn’t let him finish. “Yes, even though he’s different. He doesn’t suffer, you know that. He has some difficulty learning to hold a pen and the bards are always after him for damaging their drum skins and strings, but his life is good.” She gave him a sidewise glance.

“And carved by the reputation I made. I know.” Sighing, Rune stamped his feet in vain hope it would restore feeling to his toes. “But look at him. He’s so…”

“So what?”

He frowned at her, raising his gloved hands in frustration. “Innocent. He’s got a tender heart. He’s kind. Gentle.” Nothing like him. He was a monster in every sense.

Raising one thin white brow, Alira smirked.

Rune’s frown deepened to a scowl. “What?”

The question barely escaped his mouth before the snowball impacted the side of his head, clumps of snow slithering down inside his scarf, making him gasp and shudder.

“He also has a mischief streak a mile wide,” Alira giggled.

Rhyllyn crowed with laughter at his brother’s expression, spinning on his heel to run.

Clawing ice out of his collar, Rune gritted his teeth. “Well, well,” he growled, scooping two handfuls of snow from the ground and packing them together with a spark in his eye. “Maybe we have something in common!”

This week’s prompt was “We have something in common.”

You can read Megan’s response to this prompt on her blog.

Reject Stories from the Idea Mine

I’ve blogged many times about the stories that come to me in dreams. I don’t know why, but dreams are the biggest source of creativity for me, often spawning stories in their entirety. I can develop and refine them in the waking hours, but the raw ideas all come from the same place.

Of course, not every idea I dream is fit for publication. Some are bizarre ideas that shouldn’t be entertained at all. Here are a few dreams I’ve had that I won’t be turning into books.

1. A fantasy adventure that led to an immense and ancient city that was located inside the fourth stomach of a giant celestial cow deity.

2. A genetically-engineered virus infected the skeletons of dinosaurs in the museum, bringing them to life and causing them to rampage through the city. The virus could spread to humans, turning them into zombie servants of the skeletal dinosaurs.

3. After an alien carrier lands on Earth, we fear takeover, but they’re really just using us as an off-world prison for all sorts of bizarre alien criminals. We’re left to fight the alien invaders on our own, but their intelligence and technology is superior to ours, meaning they end up taking us over anyway. Humankind divides into two groups: those who are willing to cooperate with the wishes of the aliens and live in mostly peaceful colonies, and Hunters, seeking to take the aliens down.  This idea is one I actually thought had some merit and could be refined into something worthwhile, but it’s not a genre I’m particularly interested in writing, so I won’t.

4. A middle-grade fantasy book about a boy who could shapeshift, but only into a duck.

5. A tower made entirely of stained glass, with a witch at the top who would would grant one wish as long as you brought her the marble hidden on each of the 99 lower floors.

6. A newlywed trip to a fraternity house-turned-resort, with plenty of jokes and new friendships forming, only to slowly realize that everyone in the house–except the narrator–is dead, and the narrator is the only one who can see the lingering spirits, doomed to repeat the weeks leading up to their gruesome murders over and over again for eternity.

So they aren’t all bad, just some of them. And some just didn’t give me enough to work with to make a coherent story. Fortunately, the rest of my dream-inspired stories are much more fleshed out… and less silly.

I was the first

I was the first. A miracle and a monster, a mistake that should have been learned from. By all accounts, I should have been the last.

Magic is a river. I was a child the first time I heard her say it, still learning to read, more interested in toys and nursemaid’s games than the lessons they put me through, but Father always said it was important. I didn’t forget any lessons; I resented them too much for that.

Other children had friends, other children played, other children walked the gardens without fearing they might be seen. Other children didn’t have to sit through hours of lectures and complicated drills.

Other children didn’t have magic.

Experience fed it like tributaries and, like a river, its current grew stronger with time. The flow of power is irreversible, and yet I find myself endlessly searching for someone—something—with enough might to turn back the current.

They stopped it instead and, when I sit and think of my charge, I think about the dam that holds my strength at bay.

I still recall the way she traced a stream through the condensation on her glass, the way she stared to make sure I was paying attention. All the droplets nearby flowed into it, feeding the rivulet, making it flow faster. She was the one who taught me they had nowhere else to go. So why, then, did she not stop with me?

Every class was a reminder of my shortcomings. Every meeting a reminder that, after all the effort she’d poured into me, I was a disappointment. It didn’t matter what I learned, what I excelled at, or even that I was—all that mattered was the skin I was born into, the one she gave me, the one she made with flaws she faulted me for.

She should have known there was no point in trying again. The path was carved with me and I should have been the end.

He shouldn’t have the same curse, the boy asleep upstairs; it’s not his fault he was pulled into the river, buried beneath the waves of power, turned into something beyond his control. Were there anything right in the world, this wouldn’t be his burden to share.

But I was the first, so I know what he’ll face. I can’t stand against the current, but if nothing else, I can teach him to tread water. If nothing else, he won’t be like me.

He’ll never be alone.

This week’s prompt was “I was the first.”

Megan has provided her own prompt this week, which you can read here: Solving Conflicts with Cookies.

Born of the Moon is now available!

After a long and bumpy road, it’s finally here — Born of the Moon, the second book in the After Undeath series!

I’m so excited to finally share this one with you, even though it ended up very different from the story I originally had in mind. I wouldn’t have come this far without the support of all the lovely readers who reached out to me after Death of the Sun was released, so to all of you: Thank you! I hope you will enjoy this second installment in the series.

You can currently pick up an e-book copy in the following places:

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Smashwords

Kobo

iTunes

A paperback version will become available some time in 2016, though no date is currently set.

And just in case you missed the blurb when the release date was announced, here it is:

Life after death isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

It’s been six years since Blaine Moreau returned to the world of the living, keeping only his fangs as a souvenir. Though he didn’t expect the transition to be easy, a heartbeat comes with health problems, a sea of red tape, and the shine of new silver developing at his temples. Dealing with insurance claims and explaining away a shady employment history is enough without the added grief of being unable to satisfy his wife’s dreams of having a family.

Never mind old problems coming back to haunt him.

Without their vampire god to lead them, the clan is subject to a slow extinction, one Grace isn’t willing to accept. Clinging to her memories of their time together, she seeks Blaine, the only one who can help her have the life she wants.

But he’s not so eager to help. With everything else in shambles, the last thing he needs is undead on his doorstep.

Especially when one has a simple suggestion that could solve all his problems–or destroy everything he’s worked to build.

Happy reading!

What dogs do best

Thaddeus grunted as the light came on, pulling his jacket back up his to his shoulders before he’d even taken it all the way off. He’d expected he would have time to sort the work he’d accomplished this week, finally sending the pile of folders off to be filed.

Instead, a new pile of folders waited in his office inbox.

His was an unusual existence, namely in that he did not exist outside his line of work. His office door was one of only two places one could find his name. The other was in a document entailing his family’s genealogy, sparing only one line: Thaddeus Birch, deceased.

He had a life of his own, of course; he enjoyed opera and a fine cup of tea, so long as it was brewed in a cast iron kettle. The flavor was unpalatable otherwise. He kept a kettle in his office as well as his home, which was a stately old place he shared with a much younger Keeper. Not out of necessity, of course, but the boy was a new addition and not yet used to their order’s rules and customs. Despite sharing lodgings, the two of them rarely crossed paths. The boy worked in a different office, and Thaddeus… Well. He rarely stopped working at all.

Scooping a folder from the top of the stack, he flipped it open and stood behind his desk. There was little reason to sit, since he’d be out the door again in a moment.

Every folder was the same, in a way. Someone had a problem, one they couldn’t resolve on their own. While it pained him to think of it in such simplistic terms, solving problems was–in essence–a Keeper’s job. The nature of those problems varied, of course, and not all of them warranted a Keeper’s attention. But those requests were screened, and the half-dozen new problems in his inbox had been approved for intervention. And judging from the folder in his hand, he’d have no time for tea tonight.

“Have someone prepare a car for me,” Thaddeus called as he took a slip of paper from the folder, tucking it into the pocket inside his suit jacket before putting the folder on his desk. “And fetch my hounds.”

Their order worked with simple efficiency, and Thaddeus smiled to himself when he reached the garage to find both his requests fulfilled, a valet standing beside the unremarkable black car, leashes in hand.

“Hello, pups,” Thaddeus said. Both blue shepherds stood, tails wagging. Most dogs disliked the undead, but any animal could be trained to overcome such shortcomings with the proper care. As far as he knew, among vampires, Thaddeus was the only one who kept such well-trained canines.

“Going for a jaunt, sir?” the valet asked as he opened a door and ushered the dogs into the back seat. The two hounds bounded into the car without hesitation, tongues lolling.

“Going back to work,” Thaddeus said. “The problem with being efficient is that there is always more work.”

The valet nodded. “Simple task?”

“Simple enough.” Thaddeus took the keys from the lad, pausing to note how young he was. Unlike most, Thaddeus had turned at a senior age, doomed to be gnarled and gray forever. Some nights, he felt it more than others. “A fellow in Saint Louis needs someone to disappear.”

“Ah,” the valet nodded again. He opened the car door and stepped back, glancing to the back seat. “And the dogs?”

Licking his fangs, Thaddeus gave him a toothy smile as he settled into the front seat. “My boy, making people disappear is what the dogs do best.”

This week’s prompt was “Committing a crime.”

The lovely Megan Cutler already tackled this one, and you can see her response here.

Born of the Moon sample chapters, PLUS pre-orders now available!

Surprise! It’s a Wednesday bonus update!

There’s a special occasion for it, too: Born of the Moon now has a handful of sample chapters available here on Ithilear, which you can read by checking out the sample chapters link in the After Undeath series category to the left, or by clicking here.

And in case those chapters get you excited for the second book, guess what?

Born of the Moon is available for pre-order on both Amazon.com and Smashwords!

You can pre-order a Kindle copy from Amazon by clicking here, or if Smashwords is your platform of choice, you can pre-order there by clicking here.

Unfortunately, if you’re a Nook reader like I am, Barnes and Noble doesn’t do e-book pre-orders just yet, but the book will be live and ready to go on December 1st.

Hope to see you all on release day!

Persimmon Tree Tea’s Citrus Green Decaf

Decaf tea seemed like a good idea when I ordered it. After it got here, I stared at the packet and wondered what I was thinking. I mean yeah, tea is delicious on its own, but one of the best benefits for me–a tired mom–is the little kick of caffeine that helps me get through the day. So why on earth would I order decaf?

Well, because it looked good, I guess.

It’s an attractive blend, to be sure, and the packet I received had lots of lovely whole leaves that had a wonderful fragrance. A few little pieces of fruit blended in adds a wonderfully sweet citrus aroma.

When it comes to taste, though, I was a little underwhelmed. The citrus flavor isn’t strong enough to be interesting, but it’s just enough to overpower the green tea. And the tea isn’t as flavorful as the pomegranate green mix I love so much; it’s a much grassier sort, with a hint of earthy wood flavor.  The problem is that without a strongly defined citrus flavor or a strongly defined tea flavor, there’s nothing to make this tea blend stand out.

In the future, I’d pass on this one.