S.M. Pace's Blog, page 2

Writer’s World Interview with Lesa Mckee

As always, life tries to get in the way, but, I will prevail.  Welcome back to Writer’s World.  Today I’m interviewing Lesa Mckee!

A little bit about Lesa:

[image error]Lesa McKee grew up at her Grandmother’s knee, listening to the French folk-tales her animated Grandma Ida shared. A love of stories was born and her imagination took off!  She’s now living her dream as a Christian Indie writer of feel-good fiction, including a short story series of far-out space cats, titled ‘Operation Space Cats’. These purrific feline adventures are filled with faith, friendship & fun!

Welcome Lesa!  

Let’s talk books.  What is the back cover blurb for book one of your series, Operation Space Cats, The Rescue Mission?

Furry crew to the rescue!

When Tebbs, the curious cat discovers part of his human family is missing in space, he plans to go on a rescue mission with Granny. But first he must recruit a team to help locate them. Problem is, he’ll be sneaking the small crew aboard, and hoping Granny won’t find out.

Enter the space cats … A mixed bunch of furry felines who have many lessons to learn about what it takes to make a team great. Bravery, teamwork, and most of all faith!

When mishaps occur, and danger lurks ahead, they’ll need to rely on each other. Will the team falter? Or can they pull together to make their mission a success?

That’s an awesome blurb.  Space Cats sounds like a really fun series.  As an indie author, d o you think the cover plays an important part in the buying process?

Absolutely! I hired an artist to draw my cover for (book one of) Operation Space Cats, The Rescue Mission (which we designed together), and she hand painted it. Then it was sent to my ‘digital’ cover designer for her to place  the font and digitalize the drawing. The whole series of covers will be done using this special two-step process. I wouldn’t skimp on the cost of the cover.

Time well spent.  It’s a beautiful cover.  Diving a little more into your writing, w hat elements does your ideal story contain?

I write feel-good fiction– faith with a helping of fun mixed in. Most everything I write tends to have that blend. That said, I could see myself branching out with something more serious in nature in the future.

Has there been an author or non-author person who has influenced your writing more than anyone else?

Yes. My grandma, Ida Portell. She wasn’t a writer, but she was an awesome storyteller. Every child in their life should have one. I grew up listening to her tell me French folk tales in her animated way, and my imagination took off!

Where do you see writing going in the future?

Sadly, I think print books will continue to lag in popularity. Could physical bookstores become a thing of the past? I hope not! But the ebook revolution is solid. Nothing wrong with that as long as there’s room for both.

I’m also concerned big companies might make it harder for Indie’s to go it alone. I hope they don’t get too restrictive and kill this huge creative & independent movement.

I hope not.  I think we’re all having too much fun to quit now.  Thank you so much for stopping by an chatting with me, Lesa.  Find Lesa and learn more about her series Operation Space Cats at the links below.  

Lesa’s Website

Lesa’s Blog

Lesa’s Amazon Page

Lesa’s Facebook Page

Lesa’s Twitter

Lesa’s Pinterest

Cheers to all and I hope your 2017 is off to an amazing start.  

 

Wild Born Chapter 4

Lou ran the entire way home, her legs burning by the time she reached the house.  Rounding the corner, she collided with Daddy coming the other way.  He caught her shoulders, and gazed down at her with open concern.

“Lulu, where have you been, girl.  We’ve been searching.  We were worried sick.”

“I was …” Lou stumbled, then shook her head.  “Sorry Daddy.  I went for a walk and lost track of time.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, in that way he was so good at, that made her want to confess every sneaky thing she’d done.  But she hadn’t stolen cookies from the kitchen, and this was a secret she could not share with him.  Not when he was acting like her normal Daddy for the first time in several days.  “I’ll get on with my chores.”

Daddy shook his head.  “Mami’s already done ‘em.  She was feeling so good this morning, she said, let that girl have her fun.”  He shook his head, and half smiled at Lou.  He looked like he wanted to say something, but he stayed silent, gaze turning toward the forest.  He jerked his shoulder a little, and muttered something Lou couldn’t hear, still starting at the trees.  “You be careful in those woods, Lulu.”  With a last pat on her shoulder, he turned toward the shed.

Lou watched him walk away, and a shadow flashed by his feet.  She blinked and looked again.  There was nothing.  She searched for Indigo or Snowtail, but neither cat appeared to be around.

Shivering, Lou went into the house.

Mami stood at the counter, mixing batter and singing.  Her calico dress swept around her legs as she swayed her hips in time to her song.  Lou leaned against the wall, pressing her lips together to hold back the tears that threatened.

Then Mami turned to her and grinned.  “There you are, Mijita.  Where have you been all morning?”  She waved Lou over, gesturing toward a pot on the stove.  “Why don’t you stir the cherries up for me?  I’m making your Daddy’s favorite, Tres Leches cake with cherries on top.”

Lou hesitated a moment, somehow afraid that if she moved, she would break some spell that had settled over the house.  Daddy and Mami were both happy, and Mami was healthy again.  It all felt too good to be true.

As she crossed the kitchen to the pot of stewing cherries, a shadow darted across the floor.

Lou spotted the shadows all day.  Inside the house, things toppled over.  Books tumbled off shelves.  The iron poker beside the fireplace clattered to the floor.  Lou was certain she heard a soft cry when that happened.

Out in the garden, gathering tomatoes for supper, the leaves fluttered more than from a simple breeze.  As if they were alive.  And voices whispered.

By nightfall, Lou’s nerves were tight on edge as she went to milk the cows.  Bess snorted and shifted, as if annoyed.  When Lou tried to milk her, she found the cow dry as a bone.  Confused, half wondering if Daddy had already done the milking and forgot to tell her, she went to Moll.

The milk came out sour.  Curdled and smelling awful.  Lou gagged, and frowned into the half-filled bucket.  She checked Moll’s udder and teats.  All fine, and the cow didn’t seem distressed or in pain.

“The Fae are dangerous creatures.”

Lou started, nearly overturning her milking stool.

Snowtail sat at the opening of the stall.  She craned her head toward the milk, and made a cat frown, nose and whiskers twitching.  “I tried to warn them off, but.”  She bent her head to lick a paw.  “We have something of a truce between us, so there’s only so much I can do.”

Lou’s heart clattered in her chest at the cat’s casual words.  She remembered the little shadows she’d seen all day, the strange things that had happened.  “They followed me home.”

The cat sighed.  “I blame myself.  I had hoped the little man would give you the answers you wanted, but put you off looking any further.  It was better when Cian thought you were dead or well out of his reach.”

Lou stood, snatching up the bucket of spoiled milk.  “What’s happening?  What’s he going to do?”

Snowtail gazed up at her as if she were a fool.  “Try to get you back, child,” she said slowly, as if that were obvious.

Lou blinked and looked toward the doorway.  Snowtail hissed and leapt sideways at the same moment a dozen creatures swarmed into the barn.  They looked like Warren; skin like bark, browns and grays, and eyes the color of moss or robin’s eggs.  Hair like tree roots, or fur, and tangled and matted.  The scurried over the walls like bugs, and hissed and spat at the agitated cows.

Lou pressed a hand to Moll’s warm belly to steady herself as Prince Cian appeared.

He looked rather small in the barn, compared to how he had looked inside his little hole in the ground kingdom.  Lou tilted her head up and glared at him as he approached her.  “You better leave my home now.”

He laughed.  “Not empty handed, Jay Bird.  You’re mother gave you that name.   She wasn’t always a slave, you know.  Her parents had escaped slavery before, and joined a native tribe.  She was raised among them, until men caught her, and stole her from her family.  Took her hundreds of miles away and gave her a new name.”

Lou swallowed, fighting against the pull to know such stories of her mother.

Cian held out his hand.  “I can tell you many more stories.  About your mother, about you.  You might even remember your old life, after a time.”  He made a face.  “Though perhaps not.  Human minds are fragile, and you are only half fae.”

Lou jerked back the hand she had started to raise.  “Get out.  Whatever I am, half fae, colored or Indian, I want no parts of you.  I got my own family.”

The prince’s smile never wavered, even as he slowly drew back his hand.  “Very well.  If that’s how you insist it must be.”

With a gust of wind that set the cows stamping and swaying in their stalls, Cian and his subjects vanished.

Lou stood frozen for a few seconds, uncertain what had just happened.

Snowtail leapt down from where she hidden in the loft, tail ramrod straight, and eyes fixed on the door.  “You are brave, I will give you that.  I hope you’re brave enough.”

Lou blinked at the cat, then dropped her bucket of sour milk and ran to the house.

The door hung open.  In the kitchen, the cake pans lay on the floor, amidst crumbs and smears of milk sauce and stewed cherries.  Little red fingerprints stained the walls.  Wrote words that danced on the edge of familiar to Lou.  “Mami!  Daddy!” She ran through the house, shouting their names.  No one answered.  She found only more fingerprints, more upheaval.   Chairs overturned, board games spilled and scattered.

But in the living room, she found a note, scratched into the wood floor.

Come back to us, and they will go free. 

Writer’s World Interview With Kristen Kooistra

Hello fabulous reader, and thank you for putting up with my absence the last few weeks.  I’m back with another Writer’s World interview, this time with wonderful guest Kristen Kooistra. 

A little bit about Kristen:

Kristen Kooistra fell in love with reading at a young age and never resurfaced. She loved solving mysteries, riding across the prairie, and sailing on the open sea. But her favorite books were those that held the fantastical. So when the time came for her to seriously approach publishing a book, it had to be fantasy!

Living in Michigan(her own winterland) with her husband, three kids, and two cats, she has lots of free time . . . Okay, so more like she squeezes in writing time late at night when only the cats are awake to pester her.

“Heart of the Winterland” is Kristen’s first novel, and though it started as a whim, it grew into so much more and has inspired a sequel(in progress), “Heart of the Sorceress”.

Tucked into a quiet countryside, Kristen spends most of her time being Mommy. She loves spending time with her family and hopes that her writing will entertain and inspire them as well.

Besides writing, Kristen enjoys reading(of course!), chatting with her writer’s group, sewing, swimming, gardening, and cooking(please no baking!). She’s also developed a fondness for water gun fights with her three year old. Actually, she’s found that most everything become a lot more fun with little kids.

 

And now let’s find out some more!  Hi Kristen.  Do you read much and if so who are your favorite authors.

It really depends on the season of my life. Sometimes I’m so busy that reading takes a backseat. In general, yes, I love reading and over the duration of my life I’ve read a lot! My mom has a video of me reading Little House on the Prairie out-loud when I was five. So I’ve been reading since a very young age and before I had to be an adult, I read constantly.

I tend to like books or series more than authors. I find that I don’t consistently across the board like every book an author writes. I do like the first six books of Lynn Kurland’s Nine Kingdom’s series and a lot of Gail Carson Levine’s books.

Yes, adulting definitely gets in the way of reading time   What is the hardest thing about writing?

Editing or finding time to write. Not sure which is more difficult. I struggle to sit down and focus if I have any sort of distractions or even the potential for distractions, which is why I do most of my writing at night.

Editing is just evil. I get excited to hit the end of my first draft and it’s a huge milestone. And I think, “Editing will be easier because I don’t have to come up with everything from scratch.” No, just no.

Here is writing:

And here is editing:

One of those is a lot more enjoyable!

Those pictures are a perfect analogy for writing and editing.  How long on average does it take you to write a book?

My last book took me a little over two years. I hope to be faster someday. As I find what works for me and what doesn’t, it should help the process go by quicker.

What inspires you to get out of bed each day?

I’m dragged kicking and screaming from my bed every morning. I have three kids, and none of them appreciate the art of sleeping in, or even sleeping past 7:00 for that matter. Necessity brings me out of bed. I have people that need me and whether or not I’m going to get up and live that day is never a question.

Yeah, with a  toddler, 7am is sleeping in for me as well.  Give us an insight into your main character. What does she do that is so special?

Cali is special because she’s so innocent and not very world-wise. She appreciates the things in life that most people have grown so used to that they’ve forgotten how amazing they are. She’s eager to try everything, meet everyone, and become a better person.

She’s just learning how to handle emotions(as they’re no longer suppressed) and can get a bit irrational or have crazy mood swings. She’s naïve and struggles to read people. Sometimes it means she’s more open-hearted and sees something in someone that no one else does, but other times she judges to hastily.

She sounds like a fun character to ride along with.  So let’s talk about the opposite.  A good villain is hard to write. How did you get in touch with your inner villain(s) to write this book? Are they inspired by anyone you know?

They are so hard to write. For me it’s a matter of there are so many different ways to go with a villain that how am I supposed to pick? The villains in my novel, Heart of the Winterland, are sometimes hard to pin down. I think some characters people will see them as the villains and other people won’t.

One of the villains, Kota, did have a real-life inspiration. It was actually a friend that provided me with the base for Kota’s character. And no! She’s not mean or anything! I just admired some of her qualities that I felt really showed how strong of a person she was and thought they’d be great traits to put into a character. Kota is my most stubborn character. She was the one character who went against any semi-sortof-plan that I had to do her own thing.

Another one of the antagonists, I didn’t have much real-life inspiration for. I don’t want to say more for fear of spoilers! Suffice to say it was mostly an original villain with only a faint connection to anything in real life.

Kota sounds like a really well rounded villain, which is my favorite kind.  I love to find myself questioning whether the villain(s) are really so cut and dry evil.

Thank you so much for your visit Kristen.  To learn more about Kristen and her novels, Heart of Winterland and Heart of the Scorceress visit the links below. 

Social Media

Website

Blog

Goodreads page

Twitter

Facebook

Facebook Author Page

Cheers all, and, whatever holidays you celebrate, have a fun and safe winter season.  

 

I’m Still Alive

I feel bad for neglecting my poor little blog.  However, I’ve been dealing with a month’s worth of sick child, purchasing a new house, and the holidays, so I can’t say I haven’t been doing more important things.  I will be back next with a new Writer’s World post, and the week after with a new chapter of Wilde Born.

Hope to see you there.

Wilde Born Chapter 3

Lou watched the little man run away.  She’d followed because she always trusted her gut.  At first, she’d been disappointed, thinking he’d only wandered deeper into the forest to stare at the side of a hill.

But as he began to sing, in words just this side of familiar, she’d seen the door.

A door like the lid of a basket, made from woven bark.  So familiar, but the memory did not come to her.

Suddenly, the little man jumped up and scurried away, like he’d seen a ghost.

Lou waited a few minutes, then crept to the door and touched it.

To her surprise, it peeled away from the wall, as if the bark were soft and pliant as cloth.  Beyond it lay a dark cavern.

Lou’s heart thudded in her chest.  She crept forward, frightened, but intrigued by how deep the darkness was.  A few feet in and she couldn’t see her hand, though daylight shone only an arm’s length away.

Answers lay in the darkness, she was certain.  But Lou was suddenly afraid she would not like them.  She thought of Daddy, who had hugged her that morning as he always used to.  Grammy had asked Lou to knit with her again, as she’d been teaching Lou for weeks.  And Mami, so bright and happy, bustling around the kitchen making eggs and bacon.  She’d smiled at Lou and kissed her head as she set her plate down.  She suddenly regretted telling the little man that they weren’t her family.

But they didn’t talk about what had happened.  Lou needed someone to talk to.  She walked further in and bumped a crumbling stone wall.  Turned a corner, and suddenly, the darkness eased.  A torch set in the wall flickered and crackled.

And a creature, a man, leaned against the rock.

Lou jumped back.  “I’m sorry.”

He grinned, showing sharp teeth.  “Nonsense child.  I wondered who had opened my door.”  His head tilted, in a gesture similar to the other little man.

Lou found herself thinking here was the hawk to the little man’s sparrow.  The thought made her stomach drop.

“Our little Jay Bird, come home to roost.”

The name struck a chord in Lou.  In her head it echoed from a different voice.  A woman.  “Who are you?”

“You don’t remember me, child?  I am the Wilde Prince Cian, Ruler Under the Mound.  Your prince, as a matter of fact.  And you are Jay Bird, daughter of Beatrice, who came to us many years ago.  An escaped slave.”

Lou nearly stumbled back in her shock.  “The slaves were freed a hundred years ago.  I’m only fourteen, so she can’t have been …”

“Time runs differently, under the Mound.”  Cian held out his hand.  “Come with me, and I will give you the answers you seek.”

Lou stared at the bark-rough, sharp-nailed fingers and shook her head.  “No, I have to go home.  They’ll be missing me.”  And she had all the answers she wanted from this creature.

Cian laughed.  “Silly girl.  That was not a request.”  He darted forward and grasped her hand.  Lou screamed as claws dug into her skin.

“I won’t let you sneak away again.  You are mine.”

She kicked and fought, but his thin arms were strong.  He dragged her away from the door, away from freedom.  From her family.

A dark shape leapt through the air, and landed on the prince with a thud.  He shouted in rage, and released her.

Lou needed no prompting, and fled for the door.  She escaped into sunlight, and discovered the little man outside as she ran right into his arms.

She pushed away and turned to the door.  Indigo and Snowtail raced out just as Cian appeared in the doorway.  Claw marks marred his face, and his bloodshot eyes fixed on Lou.  “Come back to us, Jay Bird.  Or you’ll regret it.”

The little man whispered behind her.  “He can’t force you back in.”

Cian’s gaze shifted to a point behind Lou’s back, and his dark eyes snapped.  “Warren, or shall I say traitor.  I’ve felt you linger by the door many times.”  He smiled, a slow, dark expression.  “Have you told her, what happened to her mother?”  With a final laugh, he vanished back through the doorway.

 

****

 

Warren’s stomach twisted.  Lou jerked away from him and whirled around, eyes wary.  “You knew my mother?”

He could not lie, and unlike so many of his kind, he had no cunning with words.  “Yes.  A long time ago.”

“What happened to her?”

Warren looked away, toward the door.  “I loved her, and she loved me.  I loved you as well, like my own daughter.  We all three planned to escape together.”  His throat tightened, and he could say nothing more.

“Why escape?”  Lou glanced at the door and shuddered.  “Didn’t she want to live there?”

Steadier ground for him.  He didn’t have to confess his cowardice just yet.  “She had escaped her human owners, and stumbled on the Mound.  One of the Lords found her.  She was so beautiful he took her as his mate.  She agreed, because she knew she’d be safer in the Mound.  Lords are fickle.  After she bore you, he moved on to another.  Your mother was no fool.  She gained favor with her intelligence and skill.  She was a wonderful cook, something our magic cannot aid in.”  He closed his eyes, recalling the day he’d arrived at Cian’s Mound.  A lowly servant, with less power than his kind normally possessed.  They sent him to the kitchens, where he’d heard the sweetest voice.

She sang human songs of working in fields and the glory of some god.  A small girl child clung to her legs, hair turned up in neat braids.  The singer turned then and Warren lost himself in dark eyes that glittered with a fae’s love of mischief.

Lou’s voice broke through his memories.  “What happened to her?  Did the prince kill her?”  Her voice caught.  “How did I get away?”

Warren flinched, and swallowed.  “You were much older, likely the age you are now, and well educated.  You had strong magic.”

She frowned, but said nothing.

“Leaving the Mound …” Warren licked his lips.  “Is tricky.  Time runs oddly, and unless you’re Fae, it can get away from you.  We were all to escape together, and I would get us all out the door.”  He cringed.  “I was scared.  I did not go to meet her.  I hoped she would change her mind.”

“We went anyway.”  Lou murmured and gasped.   “I remember that.”  She closed her eyes from a few seconds, then shook her head.  “It’s blurry, but I remember.  How?  I was a baby when they found me.”

Warren nodded.  “Without me, I’m sure you tried to help your mother use the door.  Half Fae, the Mound was kinder to you.  Turned you back a dozen or so years.  But your mother, it gave her back all the years that had not claimed her.  She was an old woman.”  He turned toward the trees.  “She made it a few yards, left you by a tree, then crawled back to the door.  That was where I found her, when I went searching.”

Lou backed up a pace, then her hand flew out.  The slap took Warren by surprise.

With a hiss, he scrambled backward, and faded against a tree.

“You coward.”  Lou stumbled back, nursing her hand.  “She died because of you.  You ruined everything.”  With a ragged sob, she stormed away, back to her farm.

Warren, giving himself over to his instincts, crawled into the tree, and huddled among the branches.  He sang to himself, not fae songs, but an old song about working the fields.

 

Writer’s World Interview – Corrine Morier

Welcome to November’s installment of Writer’s World, where I interview authors from around the blogosphere.  Today we’re talking to Corinne Morier.

Bio:

Corinne Morier is a bibliophile-turned-writer with a penchant for writing stories that make readers think. In her free time, she enjoys blogging, playing video games, and swimming. Her motto is “Haters gonna hate and potatoes gonna potate.” You can keep up with her latest by following her blog at http://corinnemorier.wordpress.com/.

Hi Corrine.  Can’t wait to learn more about you.  Do you remember the first story you ever wrote?

Of course I do. It was when I was in middle school. I wrote a story about two girls who discover an ancient race of Tolkien-like Elves living in the woods behind their school. They were invited to join the Elves and become like them, but one of the girls wound up in the hospital and the other one had to decide whether to leave her friend forever and go with the Elves or remain in the human world. Now that a decade or so has passed since then, I can look back and laugh at what a terrible story it was. I can even remember the TV shows and movies that influenced me to write it that way.

It sounds like it has a lot of depth and conflict for a story you wrote in middle school.  Do you work with an outline or do you prefer just to see where an idea takes you?

It depends on the story. For a lot of my fantasy novels, I just “pants” the story – that is, write it without any sort of an outline. For a YA literary novel I wrote recently, I used an outline when I wrote it because I wanted a clear image of where it was going. It really just depends on the story. My current manuscript was completely pantsed until I reached maybe chapter thirteen. At that point, I wasn’t sure where I wanted the novel to go, so I plotted out the rest of it before continuing, but other manuscripts have been completely pantsed.

I’m a panster too!  I love the spontaneity of it.  What are your thoughts on good/bad reviews?

Reviews are important because they give the reader an opportunity to tell the author and other readers what they thought of the story. For the most part, reviews should be for other readers and not for the author – after all, the author probably won’t change the story based on someone’s review of it, but as a reader, I sometimes look at the reviews on a book before deciding to buy it, especially on sites like Amazon, where you can see the reviews right there on the product page. I know that some authors don’t pay attention to reviews on their books, for the most part, and I agree. Staying ignorant of this helps us to stay sane. When I publish, I might peek at a few reviews early on in the process (for example, right after the book comes out) but for the most part, I don’t read reviews on my own books

Mean either, though I agree they are important for readers.  What would you do if you could wield the magic you’ve written?

I wouldn’t “do” anything, per se. I’d just be my usual badass self, but with magical powers.

I might use them to make things easier on myself, like using magic to finish my chores or sending a package or a letter with my powers instead of through USPS, to save money, because I’m a cheapskate. *laugh*

Ha, I love it!  Magic doesn’t always have to be grand, awe-inspiring stuff.  I would mind a house-cleaning spell  Give us an insight into your main character.

Ceruden is the Prince of the Elves and an orphan. He has never known his parents and has been raised by his foster father, Ellaren. At the beginning of the story, he sets out on his quest merely to find out his heritage, but his quest soon turns into one of greater stakes than ever before: if he does not succeed, the entire race of Elves will cease to exist.

Sounds like a classic epic fantasy!  My favorite  Which writers inspire you?

There’s quite a few of them; too many to list, probably. I was really inspired by Tolkien when I first started – I read Lord of the Rings and decided that I wanted to write a book, too, so he influenced a lot of my early writing. Christopher Paolini, as well, and J.K. Rowling. Garth Nix and Erin Hunter. And of course, I’m constantly influenced and inspired by my friends Elise, Kristen, Allie, and Krisna. (Follow the links to see their interviews) They’re my peeps.

Thank you so much for stopping by and chatting with us Corinne.  Be sure to visit Corinne at the links below, and learn more about her and her fantasy series, the Red Sorcerer Trilogy.

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/corinnemorier

Twitter: http://twitter.com/cmauthor

Blog: http://corinnemorier.wordpress.com

 

“Wilde Born” Chapter 2

Lou skirted the little water hole and resumed her steady trot through the woods. The morning had brought her no peace of mind about her nighttime encounter. Breakfast had been a mostly quiet affair, in part at least, because they were all watching Mami cook. She’d been able to stand up for much longer than before.

Shortly after, Lou had rushed through her chores, then slipped away, to find the little man Snowtail had spoken of.

She knew him, of course, though she’d never been around him much. He sometimes helped Daddy with the harvest, although he disliked the thresher. He worked by hand and would clear a whole field all by himself. Strange to be thinking of that now, and realize it seemed odd. Could one man really do that? Why had she never wondered before?

The hovel appeared suddenly, as if out of nowhere, as Lou hopped over a log. A strange house, settled between two trees. Almost as if they grew from it. A rambling garden of vegetables, herbs and flowers surrounded the house.

The little man crouched among the flowers, wearing his usual brown coat and wide brimmed hat. His head jerked up the second Lou’s foot touched the edge of his garden.

He stared at her with large eyes a darker green then her own. Even shadowed by his hat, Lou noticed the rough texture of his skin. Then something shimmered in the air, and he looked like an ordinary man with ordinary eyes. “Does your father need work done?” An ordinary voice too, though a bit hoarse, perhaps from lack of use.

No other word for it, thought Lou. Just ordinary. I’m no fool. She knew what she’d seen. The barn cats had talked to her. She’d healed Mami with magic that flew out of her fingers. And this man was no ordinary human. “I have to ask you something.”

He frowned at her and tilted his head almost like a bird; too quick, too stiff to be human.

“You see four days ago my Mami was dying. Then green light came out of my hands and now she ain’t. And the barn cats spoke to me. They called me a changeling and told me to find you.”

His eyes widened and what magic he’d used to hide his appearance melted away, to reveal skin like tree bark, and pinched face that struck Lou as oddly familiar.

“How did I not know,” he muttered. “Why didn’t I recognize you until now?”

Lou felt her chest clench. “They found me in the woods, fourteen years ago. Do you know who left me? My mother?” She winced, as the word seemed a betrayal against Mami.

The little’s man’s frown deepened. “She’s dead.”

The blunt words stung, but Lou blinked her tears away. “Are you like me? A … fae?”

Fear brightened his eyes, and he shook his head. “Halfling,” he whispered. “Half wilde fae, half human.”

“Wilde fae.” Lou chewed the word over in the light of day. “Fairies.” Mami used to read her stories from a book of fairy tales. But they had been mostly about princesses and evil witches. She had a vague idea about fairies, little creatures who danced around making flowers open, and playing tricks on people. Indigo had said they weren’t like humans imagined them. “Where can I find them?”

“You can’t,” the little man snapped. “Go back to your family. Stay out of the woods. Go!”

Lou startled at his command, but she wasn’t afraid of him. She braced herself and fixed him with a hard look. “I ain’t going anywhere, and you better not talk to me that way.”

His face crumpled and he turned away from her. “I can’t tell you anything about them, or help you.” His eyes darted around the trees, then returned to Lou. “Please, go back to your family.”

Lou’s heart sank. “They aren’t my family. They’re scared of what I can do.”

“They are still better than the fae.” He turned away from her, went into his little hovel and closed the door.

Lou waited for a long time for him to come out, before she turned away with a sigh of defeat.

****

Warren watched through a crack in his house until the girl disappeared from sight. Old memories assailed him, made him ache from misery and longing.

Beatrice. Her soft, dark skin. Her beautiful eyes, light with mischief. Almost like a fae.

But she had not been fae, and she had longed to return to the human world. Warren had promised to go with her. To help her leave the Mound. Weak as he was, Warren’s people had no use for him, nor he any for them, truth be told.

He sighed as fresh ugly memories weighed down on him. How had he not recognized the girl? Beatrice’s daughter.

With a grunt, he stood and left his house. Sealing the door behind him, he cast a web of glamour to conceal his home. Task done, he wandered into the trees.

Birds chittered about where to find the best worms, and the best material for a nest. Warren snickered over one crow determined to win the bid for stolen laundry. The trees sighed and murmured about the sun, shaking their leaves now and then to find a touch more light.

Warren reached the woven door, but did not approach. It no longer opened to his touch.

No, he had no particular use for his people. But he missed the Mound. Especially in winter, when the world outside slept. He missed the warmth of cooking fires, the bitter bite of elderberry and anise wine.

He ached to hear the songs, the trilling language of the fae. Much as he’d been no one among them, he’d still been one of them.

Faintly, perhaps only in his mind, a soft tune rose from the door. Warren called up the words to the song, a lively dance that spoke of love and sweet hearts.

Tears stinging his eyes, he fled the place, hurrying back toward home.

IWSG November – What I Love About Being a Writer

November is upon us, and it’s the first Wednesday of the month.  That means it’s time to share some insecurities.

Welcome to another Insecure Writer’s Support Group post!  On the first Wednesday of every month, bloggers get together to share their thoughts and experiences, and find/offer support across the blogosphere.

ISWG is captained by Alex J. Cavanaugh.  The awesome co-hosts for the November 2 posting of the IWSG are Joylene Nowell Butler, Jen Chandler, Mary Aalgaard, Lisa Buie Collard, Tamara Narayan, Tyrean Martinson, and Christine Rains!

The question for the month of November:  What’s you favorite part about being a writer?

Can I say everything?

No.

Well, I’m going to anyway.

I love writing.  I love planning (the worldbuilding orgy) I love drafting (the part where the characters take over) and I love revising (the part where I get to take over and spend months arguing with myself)  I just can’t pick a favorite, because these parts are all so intertwined.  Spend too much time on one, and my brain will eventually stall out, until I agree to give it the chance to do something different.

I love all of it.  I love plot bunnies that grab me by the throat and refuse to let me work on anything else.  I love answering questions about worlds that only exist in my head, and being surprised and excited when I discover something new and amazing to put in my story.  I love taking drafts apart, seeing what made them tick and what made no sense whatsoever, and sewing them back together surgeon style, into a functional story.

Nano is coming, and it will be a month of solid writing.  Every day.  I had to work some time in there for drafting and worldbuilding, or I will go insane.  I’m doing four different novels/novellas this year and a series of short stories.  Wish me luck.

What’s your favorite part of writing?  

Wewriwa and a walk through the Salt Trees

Time for another round of Weekend Writing Warriors, hosted on Wewriwa.  Participants share their 8-10 sentence WIP snippets.  Click the link to check out the rules, visit some blogs on the linky and sign up to share your writing.

The Salt Trees is one of those stories that lives in a world I don’t know much about.  But it was inspired by fairy tales.

Witch’s spells in fairy tales are meant to be painful, ugly even.  In retellings they always look so clean, and pretty.  The Salt Trees is sort of my brain’s answer to that.

Gasping, Britta slowed to a walk and turned to gaze fully ahead, to a copse of tall, dark Willow trees.  As she approached, a stink hit her, thick with sweat and excrement, but she saw no other sign of people.  As she passed between the dark trees, the ground at her feet thrummed, with some mysterious beat.  Britta could only stare in shock. 

The trees breathed, ropy bark swelling and shrinking.  Britta laid a hand on the nearest trunk, then jerked it back.  Rough, but warm and oddly pliant, like tanned leather.  She swallowed, and gazed above her.  

No leaves, but long, strands of hair, dangling from the branches, swaying in the gentle breeze.  And the ground vibrated with the steady beating of dozens of hearts.   

Do You Have Goals – Happy Soon to be Halloween

The spoopiest time of year is upon us (yes, I know how I spelled it) and soon enough, will come Thanksgiving, then Christmas, New Year’s and why is my life going by so fast!

Oh well.

It’s the last Friday of the month, and that means it’s time for Misha and Beth’s Do You Have a Goal Blog Hop, where bloggers share their monthly goals.  The hop is hosted by Misha Gericke and Beth Fred.  Click the links to read the guidelines, join the hop and find some great bloggers to follow.

Let’s see how I did for October –

Add a new world (Coventry) to the Explore section of my website – Not quite there yet, but it’s in process.  

Add 5 new pages of content to my website – Not even close, but that was sort of lumped in with the Coventry Explore page anyway, so one begets the other

Add 5 more short stories to my website and Wattpad – Not at all, but I did decide to also start publishing stories on fiction.net.  So, that’s something.  I do have a couple stories up on Wattpad, and soon to be more (still feeling out how Wattpad works)  If you check them, please feel free to drop a comment.

Post the first chapter of Wilde Born – Yes, I did this.  Here’s the link to it on my website:  Wilde Born Chapter 1, and here’s the link on Wattpad:  Wilde Born Chapter 1  Chapter 2 comes out next Friday. 

Get ready for Nanowrimo – Yaas! This one I actually did, 100%.  I’m writing four longer stories for nano, plus a bunch of short stories, should writer’s block creep up.  I’ve got all my longer stories outlined and ready to go, and I have my mockup nano cover ready, as you can see on the left.  I can’t wait for next Tuesday!

 

 

 

 

Goals for November

Writing will be my focus for November, with a little website stuff on the side, like adding those Coventry pages.

Finish the first draft of Caste of Iron
Finish the revision draft of Chalice and send off to my crit group
Get the Coventry page on my website up and running
Write a couple of good blog posts

Good luck to my fellow Goal Blog Hoppers, and to everyone striving to meet their goals this month.  Sound off in the comments and share you own goals.