M.A. Ray's Blog, page 13

The Magic of Rothganar

Since I began, all those months ago, to write Eagle Eye’s stories, I’ve had to reverse-build a Rothganar that includes magic in its everyday functioning. I took what I’ve said about The Rules in Menyoral, and expanded my own understanding. I thought I’d blog about it because why not? So here is a little of what I now know.

The planet Rothganar generates a magic field. This field is imperfect. When it bubbles and farts, fairies, mermaids, unicorns, and the more impossible creatures spontaneously arise. You don’t get unicorn colts or merbabies in Rothganar.

The different kinds of fairies are a sort of sympathetic effect caused by a great concentration of something in a place where the field bubbles: rope fairies on a ship, grease fairies in a fast food joint, book fairies in a library, and so on.

The fairy animals are generated when ordinary animals are caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Eagle’s bear, Meat, was once a perfectly normal bear, and when he encountered a bubble of magic, he was changed into the giant freaking fairy beast Eagle knows. Similarly, fairy mice, fairy lizards (gonna have to use those), fairy ravens, fairy whatever.

Spellcasters channel and shape power from the planet through their auras (not exactly an aura, but that’s what I’m calling it). The different kinds of spellcasting are simply different methods of channeling (Words and gestures for sorcerers, for example, or prayers for priests, or rattles and ritual for shamans). Big Magic looks remarkably similar across the board, requiring written or carved shapes and chanted Words.

So. Worldbuilding. :D

Silver Shackles Cover Reveal

Silver Shackles

Revelations Trilogy: Book Two

by Fiona Skye

Cover image by Rachel Bostwick

Available on Amazon and in print June 15, 2015!

When you steal from faerie queens, the consequences are painful and sometimes deadly.

Were-jaguar and TV personality, Riley O’Rourke, has been looking over her shoulder ever since she stole from the Dark Queen of the Unseelie faeries. When Riley is contacted by an informant with knowledge that can blow the lid off the story of the year, she can’t pass up the opportunity to investigate. What she finds instead is something that puts her at the mercy of the Dark Queen, a creature not known for her compassion.

When Riley’s boyfriend, David, realizes she’s missing, he’ll do whatever it takes to get her back, including starting a war with the Unseelie. The balance of power among the Fae courts is shifting, and if David makes one wrong move, Riley could end up crushed in the struggle. But after being the subject of the Queens’s legendary cruelty, will there even be anything left of Riley to save?

Get Taming Shadows, Revelations Trilogy: Book One on Amazon now!

Fiona Skye is a fantasy and historical romance author, currently living in the deserts of Southern Arizona. She shares a home with her husband, two kids, three cats, and a Border Collie.

Fiona’s passion for story telling began early in life. She loved playing make-believe and inventing elaborate fantasy worlds for her friends and her to play in. At age twelve, she wrote her first short story, based on a song by a 1980s hair band. After giving it to her English teacher for editing and rewrites, she learned to love the entire writing process, and has dedicated her life since then to writing, only to be occasionally distracted by her insatiable love of yarn and crochet, and the dogged pursuit of the perfect plate of cheese enchiladas.

She counts Diana Gabaldon and Jim Butcher as her favorite authors and biggest influences. Joining these two on the list of people she would wait in queue for a week to have a coffee with are Neil Peart, Kevin Hearne, and Brandon Sanderson.

Find her at the following links:

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

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/fionaskyewriter

Website: http://fiona-skye.com/

Cover and Teaser: Hard Luck in Paperback At Last

I’ve been busy. Please excuse my repeated, extended, and egregious absences. I have something to show you!

One of the projects I’ve been working on is getting Menyoral into paperback. I’ve been privileged to work with an awesome graphic designer, Rachel Bostwick (whom you can visit and engage yourself), to produce the very prettiest book we both can make, and Hard Luck is almost ready. Today I want to show you the cover. Check out this beautiful field of green.

I also want to show you a sample of the interior. Here’s a page from the interior, just so you can see the fineness of the work. I love it so much!

I’ll let you know when they’re ready!

Excerpt from The Thread of Life

So here’s another excerpt from the collection of short stories. I’m slowly working on it, and I apologize for the delays on that. On everything. A story has eaten my life!

This one is “The Thread of Life,” and it stars Dingus’s grandmother, Rhialle. Enjoy!

~*~*~*~

You know what happens when you wrap a thread around your finger again and again, real tight? How it goes all purple and red, with white dents where the thread is if you leave it long enough. Rose’s heart felt like that, and the thread pulled so taut it was a wonder her ticker kept on ticking. It was Mouse drawing her that way, she knew. When she lay in her bedroll of a night, writhing sleepless with the torment in her chest, she knew it was Mouse. And it wasn’t like she didn’t want to be with him. She wanted that more than ever. It was just that Rose couldn’t bring herself to give in.

When the road wore her down so hard that her pain didn’t matter, and her lids drooped and fell on their own, she dreamed of him. Wild Mouse—Cabhan. She dreamed their life together, dreamed loving him body and soul. She dreamed his death, and his ruined face, and the blood in his soft brown hair.

She hadn’t even known until it was too late. Busy, she’d been, killing the other two. She couldn’t remember what for. That was how bad she’d gotten, and she knew that, too, even in her dark-shadowed corner of the drab, washed-out world. Everything felt as dry and knotty as her own unwashed hair. She couldn’t unwind a thing. So she walked.

“She should be dead,” they’d whispered at the chapter house. Behind their hands, as if she couldn’t hear it, and soon they didn’t take the trouble to hide it anymore, and the talk was all whether or not they should lash her to his pyre. She took off like a shot then, best believe, though now she wondered why she’d bothered. They’d been Rootbound, Rose and Mouse, twined together by magic so they were as much one person as two people could be, and from the moment he died she’d felt black, sucking mire around her feet. When they burned him, she felt it over the miles between. Not the flames, no, but the draw of his soul as it flew for the Garden. And that thread wrapped so tight she swore it sliced her heart to pieces.

She walked. And sometimes she thought she saw him, out of the corner of her eye, a flash of his hair, a glimpse of his sun-brown hand lifted to touch her, but his voice never sounded and his fingers never caressed.

Rose was alone. Her feet kicked up road dust in the hot afternoon. Sweat ran down her back inside stiff clothes, worn who knew how many days. She didn’t know where she was, but her shuffling dragged long furrows in the dirt behind her—shorter and shorter until she fell on her face. Why move? She lay there watching boots pass around her. “Drunk,” they said. The Traders’ tongue sounded like crows protesting. “Vagabond.” Sometimes, “Whore.” And they laughed, but why move? No point to it. No matter how far she got from the chapter house, one thought of sweet dead Mouse tore at the wound that never scabbed.

“Miss?”

She said nothing.

“Excuse me, miss?” There was a touch on her shoulder. She dragged gritty lids open to look on a fellow whose age she didn’t give a shit about. He had a sharp face and round human ears, and his hand on her shoulder was hard. “Are you all right?”

“The fuck you think?” she croaked through chapped lips.

“You don’t look all right,” he said.

“Good eye.” She turned her face away from him.

~*~*~*~

I hope you found that as enjoyable to read as I did difficult to write! Since everyone has been (I hope!) patient with me, here’s a look at the cover.

See you next time!

Excerpt from Brother Fox and the Worm’s Bane

Hello again!

Here are a few words from another of the short stories I’ll be collecting soon. This one sparked me to write The King under Mountain (also coming soon), and it’s the companion to “Eagle Eye and the Worm of Shirith,” which you can read by clicking there.

So. Here’s the excerpt. I’m excited to show you. Enjoy!

~*~*~*~*~

The scents of honeysuckle and jacaranda mingled on a sweet breeze; the stars sparkled down between blooming magnolia boughs. Fairies skimmed the surface of an ornamental pond, and the black water reflected their twinkling trails of colorful sparks. Overhead, clouds drifted lazily across the white face of the moon.

Fox lurched through the dark garden, cradling his left elbow, trying not to cry. He couldn’t be gentle enough with his arm, see out of one eye, or breathe too deeply. He staggered across a delicate white bridge curved over a decoratively-snaking stream. His goal lay just around the bend in the cobbled path, on the other side of the yellow rose hedge: Falcon Eye’s cottage.

He couldn’t remember the first time he’d come here. This probably wouldn’t be the last. The huntsman had gentle hands for his injuries, and kind words for his deeper hurts. He never felt as if Falcon Eye might be disappointed in him. He hobbled past the yellow rose hedge and up the path. The cottage was cloaked in deep shadow and silver light: the moss and flowers growing wild on the roof, the rough-looking boards on the outside with bark still on them, spoke of safety. There was no smoke from the chimney on a warm night like this, but the pale glow of a mage-lantern shone from every window.

His eyes burned so fierce with relief that he couldn’t see out of the good one, and he nearly tripped over the stool by the front door and the unassuming figure that sat on it.

Eagle Eye.

Fox didn’t know what to think of Eagle Eye just now. He could hear Father again, saying coldly that he’d never be anything more than a disappointment if he let a little boy snatch the Wormsbane title from right beneath his nose—but Eagle Eye wasn’t a child, not for much longer. And he’d saved Fox’s life in that cave.

“Your Highness!” Eagle Eye said now, surprised, overturning the stool in his haste to rise and bow.

“Please don’t.” He didn’t deserve to be bowed to, let alone by Wormsbane. “Is your father here?”

Eagle Eye bit his lip. Fox didn’t wonder why. What he must look like! “No, Your Highness. Come in.”

Fox stepped into the huntsman’s little cottage. He managed to kick the door shut behind him. It wouldn’t do to have Snake or Cat— But the twins were dead, burned to a crisp in the Worm’s fire. “Where’s Falcon Eye?” he asked, his voice coming out strained.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Eagle Eye said, very softly, like he said almost everything, kneeling in front of a chest. “He went out this afternoon. Hunting. He hasn’t come home yet.”

“I thought he always took you with him.” The God, his arm! It felt like a backfired spell had struck through it—worse.

“Your Highness?”

“What?”

“I can help you, if you want. My father taught me. But it’d probably be better if you sat down.”

~*~*~*~*~

That’s all for now! See you next time!

Apology and Excerpt

Hello to everyone who’s still reading me.

I’m sorry it’s been such a long time. I’ve been writing a lot of fiction lately, and sometimes I feel as if I don’t have anything to say non-fictionally, but damned if I’m not going to try.

Short stories are very difficult. Every word counts even harder, but to make up for my silence, here is a very small excerpt from one of the stories that will appear in Legends from Rothganar, when I finally finish the thing. It’s called “A Wing and a Prayer,” and stars a younger Vandis Vail. Typical of Vandis, there’s some very bad language.

~*~*~*~*~

Vandis hit his forehead. He’d been having the most wonderful dream, all open air and soaring and Her. She’d kissed him, right on the—well, not right on the mouth, but right at the corner, and he touched the spot, for one moment back in that tingly space. Here he was, though, back in the shitty apartment he shared with Evan and Santo, with a pain in his head and his feet two yards above the floor and—and—

“Holy fuck,” he said, looking down.

“Too early,” Santo groaned from across the room, pulling a pillow over his shock of black hair.

“Uh…”

“It’s too early, I said.”

Vandis used his fingertips to pull himself along the ceiling. Is this Your doing? he asked Her.

What do you think?

I think I’m stuck up here until I can wake Santo. He crawled across until he hovered over Santo’s bed, legs swinging beneath him. “Hey, help me out.”

“Fuck off. Tryn’a sleep.”

“Goddammit, Santo!” The force of Vandis’s yell pushed him back a few inches. How about a little advice?

Just think yourself down, My own.

Think myself— Vandis let out an audible growl. Fine. Down, I want to go down.

He fell, bouncing his legs off Santo’s footboard, and landed yelping on his ass in a tangle of white flannel nightshirt. “What the fuck!” Santo shouted. “Didn’t I tell ya—what’re you doin’?”

“Just scratching my nuts,” Vandis said, pained. He gave up and flopped onto his back to stare at the ceiling. It really was high.

“Well, I’m up now.” Santo swung his legs out of bed and scrubbed at his face. “Thanks a lot.”

Vandis didn’t want to, but he scraped himself off the floor and limped, aching, over to the clothes press. He was pulling out a pair of breeches when his feet started to rise again.

Come on, Vandis! Don’t you want to play, then? I thought you’d be a wee bit excited about this, She said, the hurt in Her tone unmistakable.

I’ve got class, he said, but he wasn’t protesting too hard. He clutched at a drawer pull as his legs went higher and higher. The nightshirt slipped down his thighs, and when he let go of the drawer to tug it into place, he floated back up to the ceiling.

Class! What fun is that? You can fly, and you’re going to waste your morning at a lecture?

~*~*~*~*~

That’s it for now, but pretty soon you’ll get to see the whole thing, if you’re interested. I’ll be back soon.

Argentum Cover Reveal

Here’s a guest cover reveal, from Debbie Manber Kupfer. This is the second book in her P.A.W.S. series! You can find the first one here. Buy P.A.W.S.

Argentum is the thread that binds all magic. When Merlin fashioned the first shapeshifter charms, he selected silver for his work. The silver wand, the silver scrying bowl, the silver charms of the shapeshifters.
All contain the essence of Argentum.

The P.A.W.S. saga continues with
Argentum
Coming soon

Guest Post by Kristy Carey

Hello all!!  Em Ray is letting me take over her blog today [MWAHAHAH!!!]  ~cough~  I mean… :D

I’m Kristy, a newly published creative whose muse likes to send her off on tangents into strange places.   Today, I’m gonna talk a bit about my short story [without giving the whole thing away] and why I self published it.

On New Years day of 2013 I made my resolution.  By December 31st of 2014 [sneaky me, I gave myself 2 years] I was going to be either published or have something of mine in the hands of an editor at a small publisher/editor I’d been able to pay for.

The Wandering Wizard is an idea I had last spring while doing an event called ‘The Seven Day Story’.  During the event, you spent one day doing something specific for the story.  It started with you coming up with an idea, and ended with being ready to send it out for publication.

So I tossed several ideas around my head that first day, and even came up with a few starts.  If I’m honest, my full idea was a wizard sitting in a coffee shop.  What came out of that, was a story inspired by Harry Dresden, while trying to not be a Harry Dresden knock off.

It also became something I truly loved.

The Wandering Wizard is a complex idea that I barely scratch in the story.  In fact, there’s a few documents filled with information I cut out of the story because it wasn’t important at the time.

Once I had it finished, I sent it out to a few groups and had friends read and edit it.  This spring I sent it through a couple more ringers and even read it out loud to a friend to get one last view and edit in, before sending it out for publication in magazines.

At over 7k in length, its an awkward piece to send out.  Most magazines don’t want stories that long. And anthologies have to be found in the right place, which could mean waiting months upon months to actually get it out there.

Around the end of June I had a big event for my other business and then had a bit of a break before more work came up.  During that time, I received my third polite and nice rejection [Great piece, not for us.  Thank you.] and decided that I wasn’t going to keep sending it out and waiting for a polite no.  I’m a skilled graphic design artist, I’ll make my own cover and publish it myself.

So, I did.  I created 3 covers with a few ideas, before coming up with the current one.  And mid July, I went to Amazon and pushed a few buttons, before waiting several [very long and annoying] hours to see my story up on the site, ready for purchase.

For my first month I went ahead signed up for Kindle Select my first 90 days, wanting to figure out how best to publish other places and take some time to understand what all was out there, so in October I’ll be using a site called Draft2Digital to publish in other spots around the web.

Self publishing isn’t for everyone.  I tend to view the world as ‘Nothing’s ever gonna make everyone happy.’, but I’ve always felt that small or self publishing was going to be where I went.  Magazines or anthologies would be the only other venues I’d accept.

As a newly published author, having that book [or short story] out in the world is worth more than the money I won’t make off it. [I’m at about $3 right now.]  Sure, I’d love to make a million dollars doing what I love.  But just as its made me grin to see people wearing my jewelry, and knowing its in a runway show in New York… Seeing people comment to me that they like my story is worth more than the money.

~looks over list of what to blog about…. Checks off boxes~

Alrighty!!  :D  I hope you enjoy my ramblings.  HUGE thanks to Em Ray for letting my hijack her blog today.  You’ll find all kinds of links to stalk me and help my slow road to being a hundredaire with my bio.

Kristy C
 
Kristy Carey is an author and blogger with a passion for creativity.  With one publication under her belt, she plans to keep the momentum by focusing on the Urban Fantasy genre in future pieces.  She is currently splitting her time between writing and steampunk jewelry design. Her passion in both writing and design, is to mix together elements that don’t belong, and make them seem natural.  Kristy is currently working on a Superhero story staring The Protectors as they battle both Loki and Kronos.


Blog – http://wouldbesomebody.blogspot.com/
Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/KristyCareyAuthor
Twitter – https://twitter.com/Kristy_C
GoodReads – https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8434902.Kristy_Carey
Amazon – http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00LWFIO00

Word Drunkard

I’ve been pretty self-absorbed the last few weeks.

Absorbed in work, in the world that sculpts and inhabits the many folds of my gray matter and the magic that sparkles through my every synapse. At least, it’s magic for me.

I wanted to write a post about how to produce a mass quantity, but I can’t really give you any advice on that except to sit down and do it. Instead, I’m going to write another post about love.

Love what you’re doing.

There’s no point to this thing without loving it. No matter what you’re actually writing, the act of putting words on the screen, page, wall, napkin, your own fevered body, whatever—of pushing them this way and that, changing them, tweaking them, to tell a story—is wonderful, isn’t it?

Words are so wonderful. They can make sounds: bubble, squeak, hiss, and clunk. They can perform any action you please: gyrate, bounce, roll, or kill. They can be things: gold, nickelodeons, chocolate, or blood. They can crush you to powder, build you into a shining temple, kindle you to a pillar of flame in the night that nothing can quench, or comfort you as from a mother’s lips.

I am simply a word drunkard. Nothing so heady for me as a great piece of text, no honey so sweet, whether I have written it myself or am reading it from someone else’s keyboard or pen.

Don’t you love words? What are some of your favorites? Today I like hallelujah, philter, vambraces, smaragdine, magnificent, and brand (can you tell I write fantasy?).

Words are beautiful. Fiction in particular is a kind of imperfect telepathy, all the more beautiful for its imperfections. I cannot make you see what’s in my head, not perfectly, but I can tease you toward it with my words, the right words, the most wonderful words I can find. When you write fiction, that’s what you’re shooting for, isn’t it? To show what’s in your head to another—but the pictures you paint for readers are theirs, each one all and only reading his or her own book, story, or poem.

Intimate, dazzling, imperfect words draw us as close as we can be to another human’s mind. Love them. How they sound. How they taste. How they breathe. Let’s approach one another and sing.

Cover Reveal for Sins of the Past

Sins of the Past was started on November 9, 2013 by Kelvin V.A. Allison (or as we’ve come to know him as Scoobert Mills). Sins of the Past is a historical horror collection of short stories and contains seventeen spine-tingling stories that will leave you hungry for more. Each story is different from the next and happens within different periods of time.

From World War I, World War II, the Civil War, Rome, Vietnam War, etc. Each author brilliantly paints an image of whatever time period their story takes place in. All stories being accounts of history that have taken place but have been twisted a bit to reflect the horror genre that was needed in each story.

From werecats to ghosts saving the day. Hangings to being maimed.

Stories featured in Sins of the Past:

VishKanya (The Poison Maiden) by Sunila Vig
Sic Semper Susurrus by Matt Lovell
Maleficium by Kerry E.B. Black
Good Puritan by Laura K. Cowan
Blood Tribe by Don Miskel
It’s All Good News by N.M. Scuri
Melusina by Kristin Roahrig
Sanctum by J. Kendall
A Ghostly Haunting by Chasity Nicole
Traitor Coward Betrayer by Joseph Lofthouse
The Beast of Alkali Lake by Jen Ponce
In the Stillness and the Silence by T.D. Harvey
Birthright by Andy Morris
Griddlebone by Debbie Manber Kupfer
Nature’s Revolution by Michael “Mad Mike” Nagy
We Pass From View by Misha Burnett
The Innocent by Cleve Sylcox

Now for the moment we’ve all been waiting for. The cover reveal.