Helen B. Henderson's Blog, page 64

Hooked on Windmaster Legacy, Desperate Search #MFRWHooks

Chose between magic, revenge... or the life of a loved one.
This weeks #MFRWHooks Wednesday snippet is from Windmaster Legacy. To set the stage, Lady Ellspeth has escaped the dungeon of the rogue mage--and has taken the mage's innocent apprentice, Nobyn, with her. More than troops pursue her, for the mage has created werehounds that once exposed to someone's blood can track them to the ends of the world. And they are on Ellspeth's scent.

~ * ~
Each passing minute fueled Nobyn’s desperation. If Lady Ellspeth got too far away, he would never find her. Rest breaks lasted mere heartbeats, just long enough for the fire in his chest to ease before he raced off again. He had to find his mistress before dark. Nightfall would bring more problems than the threat of tripping on a tree root or falling into a hidden gully. He had to avoid falling asleep. Sleep meant losing his hold on the finding spell and the one chance to track down Lady Ellspeth.


Windmaster Legacy Available At:
Ebook and Paperback: Amazon Amazon.uk
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Click here for another excerpt and a free read of the first chapter. And if you missed Windmaster, an excerpt for the first book in the series can be found here.

We're all hooked on books. Click on a link to hop to the next blog. The list goes active Wednesday 10/9.

Birthday Suit? #mfrwauthor

Week 40 of the challenge and it's time for some fun. What Do I Wear When I Write?


An immediate tongue-in-cheek response was my birthday suit. No, don't try to imagine the image. You'll break the mirror in your mind and leave a bad taste there.

When I started writing many decades ago the advice given to new writers was "Writing is a business. Be professional." That included dressing as a professional. Now, I don't mean wearing a business suit when giving a lecture or an interview. At that time it meant wearing business attire anytime you were writing. I agree that wearing a suit even when you can't be seen can boost confidence. That explanation is reasonable for a telephone interview, but anytime and anyplace when writing?







Not me. I want something comfortable and appropriate for the surroundings. That might mean sweat shirt and sweat pants while on the dock. Or something a little less casual when sitting on the bench at the fishing pier.


Pixabay Image (Used under Creative Commons License)What I wear when I write has to be comfortable. If the body is in pain, the mind won't work and the muse won't come. If that means pajamas and pink fuzzy slippers then be it. A dog or cat as a companion also helps set the mind free. (As long as they don't take over the keyboard. :)


Pixabay Image (Used under Creative Commons License)That doesn't mean I don't have fun sometimes. I've dressed up in period wear of the Civil War and the Revolutionary War 

And when doing a book signing at the winery, my cowboy hat set me apart from the other crafters. In my promotional box awaiting the appropriate venue is the sword, hat, gold bracelets, and boot toppers suitable as the working garb for a sea captain of the House of Cszabo.

Wonder what other authors wear when they write? Visit the other posts to find out. ~till next time, Helen

Hooked on Dragon Destiny, The Birthday #mfrwhooks

How are characters dress can tell a lot about them. Here's what her clothing says about Anastasia from Dragon Destiny. Besides sharing about her clothes, there's a teaser about Anastasia's very special birthday party.

The strains of an old mountain tune floated into the room when the servant opened the double doors that led outside. A glance in the mirror showed a shimmering crown of sparkling diamonds woven into the curls of her dark braids. With a deep breath, Anastasia stood, took Ranald’s offered arm, and followed her aunt and the two dragshi out the door to her future… and she hoped... Branin.

The rest of the teaser is at http://ow.ly/yRUJ30m4qx. Hope you'll stop by.

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Buy Links: One Click Link to major ebook sellers.Click here for another excerpt and a free read of the first chapter.

Music, a porch swing, and a pen #mfrwauthor

Welcome to week 39.


Unlike some writers I know, I don't have elaborate writing rituals. There is no pile of cassettes to be played in a specific order during the writing process. The turntable is broken. There is no special corner of the house where I work. I work wherever, whenever; usually in a recliner in the living room while I keep an eye on the rest of the family.

Another reason I have is no specific writing ritual is that each session differs depending on where I am in the outlining, writing, or editing phases. It might be fifteen minutes while sitting in a doctor's office or a half-hour while waiting for the shower to be available. While more productive than pleasant, lying on the couch with a lap desk while I'm sick can be described as a ritual.

I am starting what might turn out to be a ritual and that is Fiction Focus For Writers Only by Jackie Weger. (A bit of blatant promotion, the new audio book version is to be released on 10/9.)

What little I do that can be considered a ritual comes from being a plotter (or at least an explorer) until the characters take over. That is if you can call creating a novel notebook a ritual. A novel notebook helps with accuracy and reduces editing. To keep manuscripts as clean as possible as the story unfolds, I track major points in an outline. And as names are assigned to characters or places in the world I'm creating, they are also memorialized in the appropriate forms.



So a little music, a porch swing and a pen encourages the muse.  That's all the writing ritual I can share. ~till next time, Helen

Hooked on First Change, Would he Stay? #MFRWhooks

The dragshi are more than just a man or woman. Each are two beings–one a dragon, the other a human–sharing one body in space in time and able to change forms with the other at will. Their world and the adventures of the dragon shifters are recorded in the Dragshi Chronicles

Within each of the chronicles, the ceoltiers, the keepers of the past and teachers of the present, recount some legend. As with all such tales, some contain larger than life deeds. Others are the simple story of a man or woman doing what must be done, regardless of the cost. First Change features the real story behind the legends told in the previous volumes.  

About the legend of the Unknown Patient:  Etianne was trapped by duty and loyalty to her kin. Her caravan needed a healer and she was it. Hopes for more blossomed at the discovery of a wounded man in the middle of the trail. When he woke, he had no memory of his wounds--or his past.

Excerpt:

Etianne’s gaze roamed the gathering, searching for Falamn. Unerringly, she turned to the small group gathered at the far side of the fire. Fire rose up her neck. He wasn’t alone. Even worse, each of the dozen women clustered around him, vying for his attention, wore the flowers of someone looking for a mate.

Despite her intention to not intrude on the group, his presence drew him. She sighed, and unable to resist, started towards him. Her light tread silent on the soft carpet of short grass, she slipped around the edge of the dancers and walked up behind him. Her mouth opened, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak.

Aylmar and two men carrying guitars climbed the two steps onto the raised platform. The musicians sat down, legs hanging over the edge, and settled their instruments on their laps. The ceoltier stepped forward and raised his hands for silence. “By special request, a couple’s dance. Ladies, select your partners.” His call rolled over the crowd as he pinned a man here and another there with a stern glare. “And men, accept it graciously.”

Etianne held her breath. She could ask Falamn to dance. Still, she did not speak. Elsewhere giggling girls grabbed their victims by the hand and led their serious-faced partners out onto the dance floor while married couples moved more sedately into position.

Falamn whispered to the women gathered around him. For some reason, the disappointment on their faces gave her a sense of pleasure. They walked away and only she and Falamn remained.

“I understand by custom, here the woman asks the man to dance.”

With Falamn’s voice in her ear, Etianne realized he had turned and now stood in front of her. His eyes peered into hers. “As I am not of the village, I follow my own customs. And that means choosing who I care to dance with.” His eyes twinkled and he extended a hand in formal greeting. “Etianne, would you do me the honor?”

All the disappointment of the day vanished, and, not trusting her voice, she just nodded. Her fingers resting lightly on his arm, he led her to an open space amongst the gathered couples.

“I warn you, I’m not much of a dancer,” Falamn said. He lightened his voice and grinned, “I hope you wore riding boots.” Looking into her eyes, he pulled her close as the musicians began the opening bars of a lyrical slow tune known as “Wings O’er The Moor.”

Falamn lied, Etianne thought. Despite his claims of not knowing how to dance, he not only was light on his feet, he moved well in time to the music. Etianne gave herself into the moment, letting it carry her away. She swore no other night would ever be as magical. Nothing existed except the thump of her heart and the man in her arms. Enthralled, she didn’t even notice when one song stopped and the next began, or when another group of musicians took the stage.

A beam of moonlight cut through the trees, casting Falamn in shadow. Sorrow darkened the world. No matter if all the time I have with Falamn is just this one moment, it will be a lifetime. Etianne dared not think of the morning—or the one after that. For all too soon Falamn’s memory would return and he would leave her.

Even if he stays with the caravan, nothing will be the same, her heart cried.
 
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Additional excerpts from the three novellas (and two bonus short stories) in First Change.

Useless? Odd? #MFRWauthor

We're at week 38. And it's Friday again. We are supposed to write about "my odd/useless talent." Now, let's see. First I have to define useless and odd.

Can I spread my fingers in the Vulcan greeting? No.

Can I raise one eyebrow? No.

Am I ambidextrous? Only when I have to be, then more food falls off the fork than into my mouth. I can use a mouse with both hands as long as it isn't detailed graphics work.

Some might consider crocheting dragons or collecting art tiles as useless or odd. But the collecting was just covered last week.


Some would say that writing fantasy is useless, or at the very least, odd. But I like to fly with dragons and hang out with mages.

That is as far as I go with this post. ~till next time. Helen

Hooked on Hatchlings Curse, Will it Work? #MFRWhooks

For the next several weeks, the posts will showcase snippits from the Dragshi Chronicles. First up, a teaser from Hatchlings Curse. Mating flights do not always include the woman you want. We've seen the flight, and a dragon fall from the sky. By demand, the answer to the question, "Will healing fire work on a dragon?"

Excerpt:

Anastasia did not need Jessian’s mournful, <I’m sorry, my sister> to confirm her fears. The wounds were fatal.

I have to heal him. I can save him. The words became a mantra. Anastasia wrapped her lifeline around Branin’s, willing him to live. Before she could give into her self-doubt, she sucked a long gulp of air deep into her lungs and released the life-giving magic in a single wall of flame. Again and again, she played her healing energy over the wounds. The bleeding stopped. Gaping tears closed, leaving behind only narrow pink lines.

Long after the breath ended, she fed her own life-force into the fire that danced over Branin’s body until she could no longer maintain the effort. The last spark flickered out, leaving behind only a wisp of smoke coming from her muzzle. Spent, she collapsed to her knees.

<Let me help you,> Jessian said. Without waiting for permission, the dragon soul not only initiated the shift from dragon form to human, but provided the necessary energy to fulfill it.

Anastasia pulled Branin’s head onto her lap. Tears flowed down her cheeks, falling onto his.

His body shuddered and relaxed.

<It is not the finality of death,> Jessian asserted. <Llewlyn is with me—and with Branin.>

Her words provided little comfort, still Anastasia grabbed at the lifeline. Every ounce of her will, of her love for Branin, went along the cord that bound her to him. Finally, she recalled the years of loneliness he had spent waiting for her. And her joy in finding him.

His body shuddered a second time.

End of Excerpt:

And that is where I'll be leaving this group of scenes. For more, you'll have to visit the buy links below. Or an option? There are a few Smashwords code still available for free copies to those willing to provide a review. Email for more details.

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I Collect... #mfrwauthor

At first glance I thought this topic would be easy. Over the years I've had several collections. According to the guidelines of various organizations I belonged to is a group of two or more items that share a common characteristic.

If you have a dozen antique blob-top soda bottles on the shelf, that is a collection. Three binders of postcards from the town you live in is a collection. As a reader I've had collections of books. Sometimes they were the complete the works of a given artist, or every book in a series. There was Don Pendleton's Executioner Series, Ann McCaffrey's Tower and Hive series, and of course, her Dragon Riders of Pern. What might be the first collection I ever had (besides a Barbie doll and her handmade clothes) were the Cherry Ames books I inherited from my mother.

However, the there is nothing odd in any of the above. And the topic specified "odd." Does that mean odd as in the shape? Or in something a rationale human being would think as unusual?

Now I don't want any angry messages from those with dissenting opinions, but the collection I"m showcasing is New Jersey ceramic tiles. Now, there are reference books on the art tiles in both their own right or included with American art pottery. The decorative tiles won't be considered odd. They are works of art, some of which are by world renowned craftsmen. 


If you've followed last year's posts you might recall in one of my past lives I was a tile historian. As part of that I built a research collection, not just of the art tiles above, but also the plainer, industrial tiles. Built with Earth, the history I wrote of the New Jersey tile industry showcases not just the decorative but the plain white tiles including those used in the New York City Subways.


So what is the odd thing I collect? Industrial ceramic tiles. What's yours? This is a hop. Be sure to visit the other posts on the topic. ~till next time. Helen

Hooked on Hatchlings Curse, Suitors Compete in the Sky

For the next several weeks, the posts will showcase snippits from the Dragshi Chronicles. First up, a teaser from Hatchlings Curse. Mating flights do not always include the woman you want.

Lord Branin Llewlyn is a dragshi, a human who can exchange bodies with a dragon. After millennia of waiting...and searching, Branin and his dragon counterpart, Llewlyn, have found their intended mates. For the dragshi, the freedom of flight comes with a price. Now Branin has to find a cure for the childlessness of his kind. Cryptic references to mating flights add hope, but dark references about the deaths of suitors threatens not only his life, but the dreams of all dragon shifters.

To save his kind, Branin has to win the mating flight.

And the cost? All he treasures.

Excerpt:

The first thing Branin noticed when he joined Drak was the ruddy hint to the dun-colored dragon’s hide.

Drak lowered his head to Branin and Liam’s level. His eyes whirled and his usual confident tone contained a strange hesitancy. < Friend Branin, Friend Liam, I have a great favor to ask you both. Crisiant and I want to try one last time. In the short days we’ve spent in the valley, her color has brightened... and the urge to rise has renewed. My mate will fly, probably at the second dawning. According to the hieroglyphs, a successful mating requires a chase.> His voice stopped, as if he was unsure how to continue. 

<Drak does not want any others of his kind around,> Llewlyn told Branin. <His mind contains a violence unknown to dragons. Even I did not feel such a strong urge when Broch tried to kill Jessian.>

>Branin noted the dragon soul’s comment without lessening his attention to Drak.

<Liam, Branin, not to impugn you dragshi, or Orfhlaith and Llewlyn, the dragons you are twinned to, but no shifter can catch a true dragon, unless we choose.> A plea entered his tone. <Knowing you cannot win, will you participate? Help me recreate the ancient conditions?>

“Of course,” Branin agreed. Liam echoed the sentiment a heartbeat later.

<Think before you commit yourself,> Drak urged. <We don’t know the effect such an action will have on you.> An apology rose to be quickly squashed. <I’m sorry, my friends, but I must be honest. I don’t even know if in the throes of the mating I will be able to control myself.> After a moment, he continued sadness in his heart. <On the ring of stones, they talk of the death of suitors.>

End of Excerpt:



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Two Bags To Go #mfrwauthor

It's Friday. That means it's time for another post in the 2018 challenge. As I've said before, it is not fair. They keep making us choose. This week we are supposed to reveal our secret snack. Now I would like to say that I don't snack, but even diabetics are supposed to snack. Then I could claim I only eat fruit or healthy things like carrot sticks between meals. That was true once upon a time when I worked normal (if extended) hours at what is today called a "day job." Breakfast was eaten on the train, lunch during a quick walk around the promenade or down to Battery Park, then a snack in late afternoon to fuel that final push of productivity. What could be considered a secret snack was a small popcorn and a can of beer (both in brown paper bags) for the train ride home.

But it has been a while since I worked in the City. The towers have fallen and been replaced by the Liberty Tower, the old diesel engine that allowed a fast hop off for a snack during engine switchover has been replaced by electric. Other significant changes are I've sold my house of more than 30 years and moved far, far away. And to the dismay of many commuters, the secret snacks are no longer allowed on the train.

So instead of two brown bags, one food, one a drink to wash it down with, I'll take two bags of dark-chocolate covered cashews and a tall glass of ice water.

If you want to know the other secret snacks visit the rest of the posts below, ~till next time, Helen