Paige W. Pendleton's Blog, page 11
December 23, 2012
Star of Wonder, Star of Night
Star of wonder, star of nightStar with royal beauty bright
Westward leading, still proceeding Guide us to Thy perfect light
The Star In this breathtaking photograph, Dara Hurt captured the star's beauty on a soft winter evening.The Älvkors, or Elf Cross, featured in The Keeper and the Rune Stone, is not the only star in the Camden Hills. Each Christmas season a star is mounted on the turret atop Mount Battie in Camden Hills State Park. The star is lit the evening after Thanksgiving and remains erected and lit each night until New Years Day. Bob Oxton climbs Mount Battie each night and starts the generator which illuminates the star. Neither rain, sleet, or snow have thwarted Bob - he's not missed a night in 40+ years.
To contact Dara, and see other pieces of her amazing work:ladyblue12@yahoo.com
December 10, 2012
The Keeper and the Rune Stone
The Keeper and the Rune Stone
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December 6, 2012
The Halfling
Christmas for Authors is a great event for a great cause with fabulous prizes! Within the text below is the special WORD for the Rafflecopter Treaure Hunt on December 7th.
excerpt, The Keeper and the Rune Stone
Jack crossed the cellar and grabbed a Lacrosse stick. He came back, and gently prodded the prone form. The man swiped a hand where Jack had poked him, but didn't wake. Jack prodded him again, a bit harder. This time he sputtered, and woke up.
He didn't appear pleased. Eleanor moved Flora farther back.“I say! No need to wake a fellow. Best be a fire, mate,” he said, and pulled himself to an upright position. Shaggy, uneven bangs fell in his eyes.
He fumbled around in the sofa until he found a cap, which he promptly stuffed on his head. “Not proper, catching a man undressed and all,” he muttered, keeping his hand on his hat defiantly. He pulled a flask from the waistband of his grubby pants and took a long haul. A bit dribbled down his chin, which he wiped away with the back of his hand and scowled. “Who’re you?”“We live here. I think the better question is, who are you?” Jack leaned on the lacrosse stick. The odd fellow looked around the cellar. “Here? Funny we ain’t never met afore. Well, you git yer own sofa. This here’s mine.”Jack rolled his eyes. “Not here, here.” He pointed up to the house above them. “Up there. This is our house.”“Ahhh. Well, good ‘nuff. Plenty room fer us all.” The small man made to lie back down.“Wait! You can’t stay here,” Rob said.“Don’t see why not. I was here first, right?” “But we live here,” Rob said. “Greedy one, ain’t ya? W’all, I ain’t leaving,” the small man said, crossing his arms over his chest. Jack tried a different tact. “How long have you been here?”The scruffy little man frowned and thought for a moment. “Oh, must be nigh on 30 years, now. The little lady gave me the boot, good and proper, right? Been here ever since.” “But our parents aren’t aware,” Eleanor pointed out.“Oh, that ain’t no problem. Humans can’t see us halflings unless they have the knowledge, right? Don’t you worry none. They won’t bother me a bit.” Jack snorted. Eleanor and Rob exchanged glances. The problem wasn’t their parents bothering this being.“What's your name? And what are you, anyway?” asked Jack.“My name is Ralph, right? I’m a GOBLIN. Not to be confused with them uppity Hobs. I tend the gardens ‘round here.” His eyes narrowed. “Who wants to know?”“I’m Rob, and these are my sisters Eleanor and Flora, and my brother Jack,” Rob said.“You stay outa my gardens, and off’n my sofa, an' we’ll git on jes fine,” Ralph said. “Now, if you’ll ‘scuse me, I was havin' my nap.” He lay down, and rolled his back to them. The pointed toe of his worn shoe caught a hole in the cushion, and he thrashed for a moment before he freed it. A few pieces of batting wafted into the air.
Art by Jean-Baptiste Monge (we're big fans)
excerpt, The Keeper and the Rune Stone
Jack crossed the cellar and grabbed a Lacrosse stick. He came back, and gently prodded the prone form. The man swiped a hand where Jack had poked him, but didn't wake. Jack prodded him again, a bit harder. This time he sputtered, and woke up.
He didn't appear pleased. Eleanor moved Flora farther back.“I say! No need to wake a fellow. Best be a fire, mate,” he said, and pulled himself to an upright position. Shaggy, uneven bangs fell in his eyes.
He fumbled around in the sofa until he found a cap, which he promptly stuffed on his head. “Not proper, catching a man undressed and all,” he muttered, keeping his hand on his hat defiantly. He pulled a flask from the waistband of his grubby pants and took a long haul. A bit dribbled down his chin, which he wiped away with the back of his hand and scowled. “Who’re you?”“We live here. I think the better question is, who are you?” Jack leaned on the lacrosse stick. The odd fellow looked around the cellar. “Here? Funny we ain’t never met afore. Well, you git yer own sofa. This here’s mine.”Jack rolled his eyes. “Not here, here.” He pointed up to the house above them. “Up there. This is our house.”“Ahhh. Well, good ‘nuff. Plenty room fer us all.” The small man made to lie back down.“Wait! You can’t stay here,” Rob said.“Don’t see why not. I was here first, right?” “But we live here,” Rob said. “Greedy one, ain’t ya? W’all, I ain’t leaving,” the small man said, crossing his arms over his chest. Jack tried a different tact. “How long have you been here?”The scruffy little man frowned and thought for a moment. “Oh, must be nigh on 30 years, now. The little lady gave me the boot, good and proper, right? Been here ever since.” “But our parents aren’t aware,” Eleanor pointed out.“Oh, that ain’t no problem. Humans can’t see us halflings unless they have the knowledge, right? Don’t you worry none. They won’t bother me a bit.” Jack snorted. Eleanor and Rob exchanged glances. The problem wasn’t their parents bothering this being.“What's your name? And what are you, anyway?” asked Jack.“My name is Ralph, right? I’m a GOBLIN. Not to be confused with them uppity Hobs. I tend the gardens ‘round here.” His eyes narrowed. “Who wants to know?”“I’m Rob, and these are my sisters Eleanor and Flora, and my brother Jack,” Rob said.“You stay outa my gardens, and off’n my sofa, an' we’ll git on jes fine,” Ralph said. “Now, if you’ll ‘scuse me, I was havin' my nap.” He lay down, and rolled his back to them. The pointed toe of his worn shoe caught a hole in the cushion, and he thrashed for a moment before he freed it. A few pieces of batting wafted into the air.
Art by Jean-Baptiste Monge (we're big fans)
November 30, 2012
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November 28, 2012
The Alabaster Chalice
Prologue
Restless, Motte shifted from one leg to the other, her talons gouging the granite as she settled on the pediment. The Ley Lines sang to her. They sang of what had been, what was, and what was yet to be. Songs, older than time, of love, joy, and loss, dwelled in Motte’s heart, and she recognized what had been prophesied had come to pass. He’d bonded with the child. It was foretold, and so it would be.
Teaser Book II The Keeper and the Alabaster Chaliceof The Black Ledge Series
November 25, 2012
The Red Paint People
Elves? Dwarves? Vampires? We don't have Vampires* in Maine.
What are you talking about, Paige Pendleton?
I'm used to the strange looks, but it's all true, and the story begins long, long ago. In the time of the Red Paint People.
The Red Paint People were a tribe of indigenous people who lived on the coasts of New England and Atlantic Canada regions of North America thousands of years ago.
The name The Red Paint People arose from their use of Red Ochre to decorate their belongings, and themselves. They decorated tools, clothing, and the bodies of their dead in burial preparation.
The Red Paint People were bold seafarers. Swordfish bones discovered in archaeological sites tell us they were navigating deep and treacherous waters in the Atlantic. Thousands of years ago, in Birch bark canoes.
And here's where the plot thickens. Archaeological excavations in Norway have unearthed tools and belongings with similar red marks/patterns to those discovered on the coast of Maine. Eerily similar red markings. Other clues point to trans-Atlantic travel. Rune Stones in North America that date long before the defined Viking Age. A breed of domestic cat (the Maine Coon) shares DNA with the Norwegian Forest Cat. Strong similarities between some Native American and Ancient Norse myths suggest they gathered around the same campfire more than once.
Did Elves and Dwarves stow away on one of the return trips to Maine? It appears they did.
Our story then takes a darker turn, as things tend to do on the coast of Maine, but our Once upon a time began in a land far, far away.
*Technically, they are Noctivagi, not Vampires. The differences are subtle, but...
November 22, 2012
Free Download Today!
Happy Thanksgiving!
As a small gesture of gratitude,
I'm making
The Keeper and the Rune Stone
Free on Black Friday.
The Keeper and the Rune Stone
on Friday, November 23, 2012!
An unholy ritual, a ticking clock. Four children discover there are things that go bump in the night ...
Centuries ago a group of Elves committed an unholy ritual. But the ritual was a spectacular failure. It transformed the Elves into the Noctivagi - the beings we know as vampires.
Striving to maintain a fragile peace, the ancient Elves and Dwarves negotiated an Accord, which they've renewed every year on the Summer Solstice. The ceremony depends on the magical Rune Stone, but it's missing. If it is not found—and quickly—the consequences could be dire, and not just for Elves and Dwarves.
Four children, Rob, Jack, Eleanor, and Flora, stumble into a world of magic and mayhem when they move into Black Ledge, the old estate on the Maine coast, and discover they aren’t the only ones who live there.
Cover by Brion Sausser at Book Creatives
November 21, 2012
Nah Nah Nah Nah Nah
Chicken.
Scaredy Cat.
Turkey.
Kids crack me up.
I'm getting ahead of myself ...
Gone are the days when families raised food for their family's consumption, but years ago most families did. Each had some sort of garden and raised animals for meat. Even families who resided "in town" and were spatially challenged kept smaller animals such as fowl for meat and/or eggs. Chickens and turkeys were as familiar to most children, then, as cats and dogs are to children now.
And for generations, taunts derived from this knowledge have echoed in America's school yards. Chicken. BOOOCK! BockBockBock; on the surface a seemingly simple insult, yet when one pauses underlying complexities are apparent.
The kid who is a chicken is a vastly different creature than the kid who is a scaredy cat and the kid who is a turkey.
Chickens are just stupid and afraid of anything unfamiliar, and that makes them "flighty". That is the definition of a chicken, it is an inherent quality, and the one word is sufficient.
Scaredy cat. Two words. Cats are smarter, more complex creatures than chickens, and require an adjective to accurately convey the taunter's intent. What kind of cat? A scaredy cat.
Turkey - again, one word. A living, breathing, flesh and blood domestic turkey is possibly the dumbest animal on earth. It is apt to die at any given moment because it's too stupid to be afraid. It walks right into the danger with a skip in its step and a song in its heart. Turkey is the perfect moniker to assign to the class fool oblivious of the consequences of his* actions. You know this kid's going to spend a lot of recesses with his head on his desk.
Kids don't need to think about any of this - they just know it. Even while taunting, they know there's more purpose in taunting the scaredy cat than the chicken because the chicken is long gone - it flew the coop. The scaredy cat is still hanging around assessing the situation before committing. And it isn't necessary to taunt the turkey cause he just went ahead and did it, and he will either die or get in big trouble - each has entertainment value to kids, so the turkey actually has a certain bizarre social standing.
The most fascinating thing about all of this, though, is the staying power of these taunts. Generations later they are still used. Children who've never even driven by a farm use these with acumen. They get the subtleties. They wield the taunt with wit and precision.
Or maybe it's come full circle. Maybe it is a chicken/egg situation. Are children calling little Johnny a turkey because they know turkeys are fools, or, do little Johnny's antics teach children that turkeys are fools? It reminds me that the more things change, the more they stay the same.
Our world has evolved with technological advances, and the family farm has all but disappeared. Amazingly, and thankfully, memories of days gone by linger on. We owe that to children, and I tip my hat.
And enjoy your turkey without guilt or remorse. It had a happy life. Killing that bird was a kindness, really. Something would have gotten him.
Happy Thanksgiving.
* often gender specific
addendum - for the purposes of this post I limited my examples of the etymology of insults from the barn yard setting ......but there are more. Pig, Jackass, Hound Dog, Rat... all are worthy of a moment of contemplation.
Scaredy Cat.
Turkey.
Kids crack me up.
I'm getting ahead of myself ...
Gone are the days when families raised food for their family's consumption, but years ago most families did. Each had some sort of garden and raised animals for meat. Even families who resided "in town" and were spatially challenged kept smaller animals such as fowl for meat and/or eggs. Chickens and turkeys were as familiar to most children, then, as cats and dogs are to children now.
And for generations, taunts derived from this knowledge have echoed in America's school yards. Chicken. BOOOCK! BockBockBock; on the surface a seemingly simple insult, yet when one pauses underlying complexities are apparent.
The kid who is a chicken is a vastly different creature than the kid who is a scaredy cat and the kid who is a turkey.
Chickens are just stupid and afraid of anything unfamiliar, and that makes them "flighty". That is the definition of a chicken, it is an inherent quality, and the one word is sufficient.
Scaredy cat. Two words. Cats are smarter, more complex creatures than chickens, and require an adjective to accurately convey the taunter's intent. What kind of cat? A scaredy cat.
Turkey - again, one word. A living, breathing, flesh and blood domestic turkey is possibly the dumbest animal on earth. It is apt to die at any given moment because it's too stupid to be afraid. It walks right into the danger with a skip in its step and a song in its heart. Turkey is the perfect moniker to assign to the class fool oblivious of the consequences of his* actions. You know this kid's going to spend a lot of recesses with his head on his desk.
Kids don't need to think about any of this - they just know it. Even while taunting, they know there's more purpose in taunting the scaredy cat than the chicken because the chicken is long gone - it flew the coop. The scaredy cat is still hanging around assessing the situation before committing. And it isn't necessary to taunt the turkey cause he just went ahead and did it, and he will either die or get in big trouble - each has entertainment value to kids, so the turkey actually has a certain bizarre social standing.
The most fascinating thing about all of this, though, is the staying power of these taunts. Generations later they are still used. Children who've never even driven by a farm use these with acumen. They get the subtleties. They wield the taunt with wit and precision.
Or maybe it's come full circle. Maybe it is a chicken/egg situation. Are children calling little Johnny a turkey because they know turkeys are fools, or, do little Johnny's antics teach children that turkeys are fools? It reminds me that the more things change, the more they stay the same.
Our world has evolved with technological advances, and the family farm has all but disappeared. Amazingly, and thankfully, memories of days gone by linger on. We owe that to children, and I tip my hat.
And enjoy your turkey without guilt or remorse. It had a happy life. Killing that bird was a kindness, really. Something would have gotten him.
Happy Thanksgiving.
* often gender specific
addendum - for the purposes of this post I limited my examples of the etymology of insults from the barn yard setting ......but there are more. Pig, Jackass, Hound Dog, Rat... all are worthy of a moment of contemplation.
November 10, 2012
The Keeper and the Rune Stone, Trivia and Factoids
The Keeper and the Rune Stone Trivia and Factoids
+ Patters, like all Maine Coon Cats, shares DNA with the Norwegian Forest Cat.
+ Some Algonquin Indians have DNA from Northern Europe.
+ Many New England Native American legends share similarities with Norse legends, suggesting Norse interaction very early on.
How did these things come to be?
+ The Red Paint People were a tribe of people who lived in New England and Canada between 2000 and 6000 years ago. Their name originated with their practices of using Red Ochre to decorate tools and belongings, and the bodies of their dead when they buried them.
+ Archaeological sites have been uncovered in New England and Atlantic Canada. One of the sites, the Turner Farm site is on North Haven, in Penobscot Bay.
+ These sites hold evidence, such as swordfish bones and barbed hooks, which suggest they developed deep-water navigational skills and were avid seafarers.
+ There is some evidence that raises questions about Trans-Atlantic travel by these people. Archaeological sites have been discovered in Norway with almost identical Red Ochre markings/decorations on tools and other artifacts.
What this has to do with The Black Ledge Series:
+ The Elves and Dwarves in The Black Ledge series are Beings straight from Norse Mythology who followed the Red Paint people back to the Maine coast. Light Elves in Norse mythology are Ljósálfar, and their kingdom is Álfheimr. Dwarves, or Dark Elves, are Dökkálfar and their kingdom is below ground, Dökkálfaheimr. It is appropriate to note that Light and Dark refer to their kingdoms.
Landmarks in The Keeper and the Rune Stone:
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+ The house on Black Point, Black Ledge, is, as described, a real house on Islesboro Maine, which has been the home of fascinating people (including the author), and has also been the setting of scenes in Sidney Sheldon's Master of the Game.
+ Maiden's Cliff, as mentioned in The Black Ledge series, is on Mount Megunticook in Camden Hills State Park. It is easily recognizable by the white cross standing atop an impressive 800-foot cliff. The cross is a memorial to Elenora French, an 11-year old girl who fell off the cliff on May 7, 1864. Maiden's Cliff has a touching history of community-inspired maintenance of the memorial, and also a tangled history of tragic events.
+ Camden Hills State Park is a vast 5,700-acre park with 30 miles of hiking trails. Mount Megunticook is the highest peak on the Atlantic seaboard. + The Älvkors, or Elf Cross, is not the only star in the Camden Hills. Each Christmas season a star is mounted on the turret atop Mount Battie in Camden Hills State Park. The star is lit the evening after Thanksgiving and remains erected and lit each night until New Years Day. Bob Oxton climbs Mount Battie each night and starts the generator which illuminates the star. Neither rain, sleet, or snow have thwarted Bob - he's not missed a night in 40+ years.
+ Favorite music for conjuring scenes:
Gnossienne No.3 by Erik Satie
November 7, 2012
Thankful for Books Giveaway Hop
Thankful for Books Giveaway Hop!November 8th to 13th
Hosted by I Am A Reader, Not A Writer & Tristi Pinkston
Enter to win a $25 Amazon gift card!
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As a thank you to those who've purchased
The Keeper and the Rune Stone,
e-mail me the first sentence of Chapter 22
you will an additional 10 entries!
Hosted by I Am A Reader, Not A Writer & Tristi Pinkston
Enter to win a $25 Amazon gift card!
Enter below to win!
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As a thank you to those who've purchased
The Keeper and the Rune Stone,
e-mail me the first sentence of Chapter 22
you will an additional 10 entries!
