Devika Fernando's Blog, page 93
March 30, 2014
Featured - Author Hadley Holt's Writing Process
Thank you Devika Fernando for inviting me to jump onto #the writing process blog!
I'm glad you accepted my invitation, and it's interesting to see how you go about writing.
1. What am I working on?
I am currently working on CONSECRATION, Book 2 of the Wizard Queen at Sixteen Series. I am releasing this series as a serial, so right now I am working on Part 1 of CONSECRATION. I’m very excited about these books because they are set within their own unique wizarding world that is pretty much upside-down. Girl wizards have no power, magical or otherwise, until my main character’s 16th birthday, where she (Addie) finds out she has her very own magical powers. This means big-time trouble for her. The story is fun with lots of adventure, suspense, romance, and more, but at its core it is about empowerment of girls and that is a topic that makes me very excited (very passionate)!
2. How does my work differ from others of its genre?
Well, one thing that makes every author’s work different is their own unique voice. Also, I think the wizard world I’ve created has a unique world-building that is different from others primarily due to the social structure and inner-workings of a backward society, and it’s hidden from humans in today’s modern world.
3. Why do I write what I do?
Before I wrote this series, I wrote paranormal romance and the one theme that seems to be pervasive in my work is one of transformation, of becoming something bigger, and learning how to become your own hero. I also am very drawn to writing in the paranormal and fantasy genres. Every writer is a big reader – that is almost universally true, and I write what I like to read. I read to escape into magical, strange worlds, and so that’s what I write! I have a very active inner child!
4. How does my writing process work?
There are two pervasive methods of writing. One is that of the “plotter” and the other is called the “panster.” A person who plots will create a detailed outline of everything that is going to happen in their book. This may include flow charts and character development documents, etc… A “panster” writes “by the seat of their pants”. I fall somewhere in between these two methods. I usually know what my important plot twists are going to be, but then I fill in everything else as I go along. My favorite analogy is that when I begin to write, I have a roadmap and I take meandering detours as I head toward my final destination. Sometimes as I am writing my story, the characters will take everything in their own unexpected direction, and I have to create a completely new roadmap. Also, each day when I write, I start by editing the prior day’s writing (usually 1-3 chapters) and that pulls me back into the story before I start writing the next few chapters.
Hadley Holt, author of paranormal, and fantasy YA (Young Adult) has always loved to write. She also nurtures an incurable fascination with all things supernatural and fantastical. From a young age, she imagined stories about dragons, wizards, witches, ghosts, shape-shifters, vampires, and other magical creatures. As life often does, it blessed Hadley with family - a hunky husband and amazing children, and with family came a rewarding career. Hadley spent many years in the not-so-magical world of finance and mortgage banking, but the stories were always there in the back of her mind, demanding to be set free.
Thanks to the housing market crash, Hadley finally realized her dreams. She now breathes life into her magical tales of reluctant young heroes finding their inner power to stand up against terrible creatures and even more terrible odds.
Hadley just published her debut YA Fantasy (with lots of romance and adventure) DESECRATION, Book One of the Wizard Queen at Sixteen Series which is now available online at Amazon and Barnes & Noble.
Hadley Holt
www.hadleyholt.com
Email: Hadley@hadleyholt.com
DESECRATION , March, 2014
3 Part Serial – Part 1, 2, & 3
Book 1 in Wizard Queen at Sixteen Series
I'm glad you accepted my invitation, and it's interesting to see how you go about writing.
1. What am I working on?
I am currently working on CONSECRATION, Book 2 of the Wizard Queen at Sixteen Series. I am releasing this series as a serial, so right now I am working on Part 1 of CONSECRATION. I’m very excited about these books because they are set within their own unique wizarding world that is pretty much upside-down. Girl wizards have no power, magical or otherwise, until my main character’s 16th birthday, where she (Addie) finds out she has her very own magical powers. This means big-time trouble for her. The story is fun with lots of adventure, suspense, romance, and more, but at its core it is about empowerment of girls and that is a topic that makes me very excited (very passionate)!
2. How does my work differ from others of its genre?
Well, one thing that makes every author’s work different is their own unique voice. Also, I think the wizard world I’ve created has a unique world-building that is different from others primarily due to the social structure and inner-workings of a backward society, and it’s hidden from humans in today’s modern world.
3. Why do I write what I do?
Before I wrote this series, I wrote paranormal romance and the one theme that seems to be pervasive in my work is one of transformation, of becoming something bigger, and learning how to become your own hero. I also am very drawn to writing in the paranormal and fantasy genres. Every writer is a big reader – that is almost universally true, and I write what I like to read. I read to escape into magical, strange worlds, and so that’s what I write! I have a very active inner child!
4. How does my writing process work?
There are two pervasive methods of writing. One is that of the “plotter” and the other is called the “panster.” A person who plots will create a detailed outline of everything that is going to happen in their book. This may include flow charts and character development documents, etc… A “panster” writes “by the seat of their pants”. I fall somewhere in between these two methods. I usually know what my important plot twists are going to be, but then I fill in everything else as I go along. My favorite analogy is that when I begin to write, I have a roadmap and I take meandering detours as I head toward my final destination. Sometimes as I am writing my story, the characters will take everything in their own unexpected direction, and I have to create a completely new roadmap. Also, each day when I write, I start by editing the prior day’s writing (usually 1-3 chapters) and that pulls me back into the story before I start writing the next few chapters.
Hadley Holt, author of paranormal, and fantasy YA (Young Adult) has always loved to write. She also nurtures an incurable fascination with all things supernatural and fantastical. From a young age, she imagined stories about dragons, wizards, witches, ghosts, shape-shifters, vampires, and other magical creatures. As life often does, it blessed Hadley with family - a hunky husband and amazing children, and with family came a rewarding career. Hadley spent many years in the not-so-magical world of finance and mortgage banking, but the stories were always there in the back of her mind, demanding to be set free.
Thanks to the housing market crash, Hadley finally realized her dreams. She now breathes life into her magical tales of reluctant young heroes finding their inner power to stand up against terrible creatures and even more terrible odds.
Hadley just published her debut YA Fantasy (with lots of romance and adventure) DESECRATION, Book One of the Wizard Queen at Sixteen Series which is now available online at Amazon and Barnes & Noble.
Hadley Holt
www.hadleyholt.com
Email: Hadley@hadleyholt.com
DESECRATION , March, 2014
3 Part Serial – Part 1, 2, & 3
Book 1 in Wizard Queen at Sixteen Series
March 26, 2014
Excerpts from 'When I see your Face'
It's high time to share an excerpt from my debut romance novel(la) 'When I see your Face'. For the first glimpse of the story, I settled on not one but three short scenes that illustrate the conflict Cathy faces: to trust or not to trust Michael, who looks like the carbon copy of her abusive husband Mark.
Cathy & Michael Excerpt 1 - Pain from the Past
Her love for things that were not normal had never gone well with her husband, who viewed perfection as the highest goal. She had never seen herself as perfect, as capable, as talented or as valuable. All throughout a childhood spent being different from the other children and throughout years of being the onlooker while others dated and climbed up the social as well as the career ladder, she had preferred her dream world to reality, books to movies, beautiful handcraft to luxuries, loneliness to falsehood. Then Mark had come and bewitched her like the knight in shining armor. Being with him, having him sweep her off her feet and lavish his attention—as well as a good deal of money—on her had been enough to doubt everything she had thought to be important and right. With a few words here and there, some decisive gestures, some subtle and not-so-subtle pushing and simply being himself, Mark had changed her to a person that would suit his needs. She hadn’t realized it, but she had lost herself somewhere along the way by trying to please somebody whom she had blindly entrusted with her life. Only now that she was away from his influence and dared to be herself did it dawn on her how much she had bent herself out of shape to fit a certain ideal.
Now, wearing what she wanted, eating what she wanted and living on her own, the possibilities seemed endless. It was terrifying. And it was gratifying. Take this moment, for example. How had she ended up spending her days alongside her husband’s carbon copy, and with garden work at that? What would this all lead to?
Excerpt 2 - Sweet and Sour
“You’re so beautiful,” his voice intruded on her self-inspection, rough and with a depth of feeling that made it sound like a caress. A thousand fingers barely touching her skin, running down from the nape of her neck over every bump and groove of her spine to the small of her back, sending a delicious shiver through her. His compliment sounded so sincere and awed that it made her blush. She steeled herself, though with what strength she didn’t know.
“What are you doing here?” she asked again.
He snapped back to his senses. Without taking offense at her hostile tone and stance, he approached, digging a hand into one of his pockets and holding something out to her, like a peace offering of sorts, a magical weapon that could penetrate her shield of cool rejection.
“I came to give you what you deserve. This morning, Mr. Thackeray paid me for the garden work. As you played an important part in it, I thought you should have this. It’s only a share of my meager earnings, but it’s a beginning.”
For a moment, she thought she couldn’t trust her ears any more.
“Are you telling me you brought me money?” she asked incredulously, her voice a near squeak on the last word.
Not only did he nod, but he was still holding out the envelope to her.
“You have the cheek to pay me? I am not some poor unemployed tramp girl that depends on your oh-so-meager payment. I helped you out because I thought I had something to make up for. I didn’t do it for the bloody money! I don’t want it! I don’t need it! I don’t need you to interfere in my life!”
She had shouted herself into a fit, trembling with the effort not to bodily throw him out of the room, full of righteous indignation and disappointment. So, to him she had been a hired helper, a means to finish his job faster, somebody to be paid and forgotten.
He looked wounded by her accusations but not willing to leave at all. In fact, he had the gall to carefully lay the envelope on the coffee table and sit down on the sofa opposite to where she was rooted to the spot shaking in anger.
“You misunderstand me,” he replied calmly.
Excerpt 3 - Getting Closer
He bent and plucked a dandelion, holding it in front of her face.
“Make a wish and blow on this. Folklore has it that such wishes come true when they are carried away on the wind and are heard by fairies.”
There was a faint grin on his lips, but his tone was more serious than the suggestion warranted it.
She had so many wishes crowding together in her head, jostling for a place at the front of the queue.
“Am I supposed to say it out loud or is it best kept secret?”
“Make your wish silently. I have always believed that thoughts are more potent in their magic than the spoken word.”
She blinked. What kind of man had beliefs like that? How much was there to him to discover and revel in? How much more to make him so appealing that she could never find it in herself to resist him?
Drawing close to his hand, she closed her eyes. Frowning with concentration, she tried and tried to decide which wish to make. Sucking in a long breath, she opened her eyes again and blew hard at the fluffy white dandelion. Its seeds flew apart and sailed away on the air, like so many tiny parachutes carrying her wish to God knew where.
Straightening up, she looked after them with an almost painful longing.
“Do you think I’ll be lucky? Will the fairies listen to me?” she asked, working hard at keeping her tone casual, and not succeeding.
He smiled his crooked, charming smile that got to her each and every time.
“I would if I were a fairy.”
She heard the flirting in it and it felt like a caress to her.
“Don’t you think it’s my part to be the fairy?” she joked.
His smile widened and his eyes darkened.
“You’d make a wonderful fairy. I can just about imagine you in gauzy, loose clothes and diaphanous wings with flowers in your hair and bare feet, dancing lithely through the fields and making lone wanderers fall head over heels in love with you.”
His voice was a sensual growl deep in his throat. His fingers brushed over the pulse hammering at her throat and strayed sideways, lifting a strand of her hair and twirling it round his index finger.
With her heart beating in her mouth, she made an effort at lightening the mood.
“If you had ever seen me dance, you wouldn’t describe me as a lithe and graceful fairy. I am a clumsy wooden donkey with two left feet.”
“Maybe you’ve had the wrong partner all along,” he said, his voice full of meaning.
She swallowed.
“Maybe,” she conceded.
They looked into each other’s eyes for a long time, frozen in place, their minds full to the brim with possibilities and dreams and obstacles. Did you enjoy these snippets from my book? You can buy it at Amazon or Smashwords to read more.
Cathy & Michael Excerpt 1 - Pain from the PastHer love for things that were not normal had never gone well with her husband, who viewed perfection as the highest goal. She had never seen herself as perfect, as capable, as talented or as valuable. All throughout a childhood spent being different from the other children and throughout years of being the onlooker while others dated and climbed up the social as well as the career ladder, she had preferred her dream world to reality, books to movies, beautiful handcraft to luxuries, loneliness to falsehood. Then Mark had come and bewitched her like the knight in shining armor. Being with him, having him sweep her off her feet and lavish his attention—as well as a good deal of money—on her had been enough to doubt everything she had thought to be important and right. With a few words here and there, some decisive gestures, some subtle and not-so-subtle pushing and simply being himself, Mark had changed her to a person that would suit his needs. She hadn’t realized it, but she had lost herself somewhere along the way by trying to please somebody whom she had blindly entrusted with her life. Only now that she was away from his influence and dared to be herself did it dawn on her how much she had bent herself out of shape to fit a certain ideal.
Now, wearing what she wanted, eating what she wanted and living on her own, the possibilities seemed endless. It was terrifying. And it was gratifying. Take this moment, for example. How had she ended up spending her days alongside her husband’s carbon copy, and with garden work at that? What would this all lead to?
Excerpt 2 - Sweet and Sour
“You’re so beautiful,” his voice intruded on her self-inspection, rough and with a depth of feeling that made it sound like a caress. A thousand fingers barely touching her skin, running down from the nape of her neck over every bump and groove of her spine to the small of her back, sending a delicious shiver through her. His compliment sounded so sincere and awed that it made her blush. She steeled herself, though with what strength she didn’t know.
“What are you doing here?” she asked again.
He snapped back to his senses. Without taking offense at her hostile tone and stance, he approached, digging a hand into one of his pockets and holding something out to her, like a peace offering of sorts, a magical weapon that could penetrate her shield of cool rejection.
“I came to give you what you deserve. This morning, Mr. Thackeray paid me for the garden work. As you played an important part in it, I thought you should have this. It’s only a share of my meager earnings, but it’s a beginning.”
For a moment, she thought she couldn’t trust her ears any more.
“Are you telling me you brought me money?” she asked incredulously, her voice a near squeak on the last word.
Not only did he nod, but he was still holding out the envelope to her.
“You have the cheek to pay me? I am not some poor unemployed tramp girl that depends on your oh-so-meager payment. I helped you out because I thought I had something to make up for. I didn’t do it for the bloody money! I don’t want it! I don’t need it! I don’t need you to interfere in my life!”
She had shouted herself into a fit, trembling with the effort not to bodily throw him out of the room, full of righteous indignation and disappointment. So, to him she had been a hired helper, a means to finish his job faster, somebody to be paid and forgotten.
He looked wounded by her accusations but not willing to leave at all. In fact, he had the gall to carefully lay the envelope on the coffee table and sit down on the sofa opposite to where she was rooted to the spot shaking in anger.
“You misunderstand me,” he replied calmly.
Excerpt 3 - Getting Closer
He bent and plucked a dandelion, holding it in front of her face.
“Make a wish and blow on this. Folklore has it that such wishes come true when they are carried away on the wind and are heard by fairies.”
There was a faint grin on his lips, but his tone was more serious than the suggestion warranted it.
She had so many wishes crowding together in her head, jostling for a place at the front of the queue.
“Am I supposed to say it out loud or is it best kept secret?”
“Make your wish silently. I have always believed that thoughts are more potent in their magic than the spoken word.”
She blinked. What kind of man had beliefs like that? How much was there to him to discover and revel in? How much more to make him so appealing that she could never find it in herself to resist him?
Drawing close to his hand, she closed her eyes. Frowning with concentration, she tried and tried to decide which wish to make. Sucking in a long breath, she opened her eyes again and blew hard at the fluffy white dandelion. Its seeds flew apart and sailed away on the air, like so many tiny parachutes carrying her wish to God knew where.
Straightening up, she looked after them with an almost painful longing.
“Do you think I’ll be lucky? Will the fairies listen to me?” she asked, working hard at keeping her tone casual, and not succeeding.
He smiled his crooked, charming smile that got to her each and every time.
“I would if I were a fairy.”
She heard the flirting in it and it felt like a caress to her.
“Don’t you think it’s my part to be the fairy?” she joked.
His smile widened and his eyes darkened.
“You’d make a wonderful fairy. I can just about imagine you in gauzy, loose clothes and diaphanous wings with flowers in your hair and bare feet, dancing lithely through the fields and making lone wanderers fall head over heels in love with you.”
His voice was a sensual growl deep in his throat. His fingers brushed over the pulse hammering at her throat and strayed sideways, lifting a strand of her hair and twirling it round his index finger.
With her heart beating in her mouth, she made an effort at lightening the mood.
“If you had ever seen me dance, you wouldn’t describe me as a lithe and graceful fairy. I am a clumsy wooden donkey with two left feet.”
“Maybe you’ve had the wrong partner all along,” he said, his voice full of meaning.
She swallowed.
“Maybe,” she conceded.
They looked into each other’s eyes for a long time, frozen in place, their minds full to the brim with possibilities and dreams and obstacles. Did you enjoy these snippets from my book? You can buy it at Amazon or Smashwords to read more.
March 23, 2014
My Writing Process - Blog Tour
My writer friend Reet Singh has tagged me to be part of the "My Writing Process – Blog Tour". So, here are my two cents, or rather, four lengthy answers. Personally, I find it fascinating to read about how other authors ‘tick’. There are so many similarities, but also tiny yet significant differences.
Writing Process 1. What am I working on?
Two books, actually.
I hadn’t even finished my debut novella, When I see your Face (WISYF), when an idea formed itself of a series I’m tentatively calling the “4 Elements of Love”. The first book, Playing with Fire, is 60 % written. It revolves around Felicia, who lives with fire inside her that she struggles to control. Joshua, appearing mysteriously and carrying ice inside him, tries to help her before either she or the people around her will pay the high price for playing with fire. This will be my first foray into paranormal romance, and I really enjoy writing it.
The second book with the (admittedly boring) working title Second Chance is in its early stages of four chapters. It will be a contemporary romance novel that was loosely inspired by one of my favourite books, Jane Eyre.
2. How does my work differ from others of its genre?
Huh, good question. I think WISYF isn’t all that different – but it sure is more on the sweeter side. I opt for real romance instead of only steam and between-the-sheets action. For me, it is important that there isn’t just sudden attraction but also a believable process of getting to know each other and actually falling in love, as opposed to just falling in lust. As for my paranormal work in progress, it differs from the usual because it doesn’t deal with vampires or werewolves or other mythical creatures. Normal people with special abilities are at the heart of it.
3. Why do I write what I do?
I’ve always liked romance books, and writing them just comes natural to me. The same goes for anything with a connection to fantasy. I couldn’t NOT write that way… Both contemporary and paranormal romance novels suit me fine, but one day, I want to try my hand at science-fiction, too.
4. How does my writing process work?
For a long time, there was no process to speak of. I just wrote what popped into my mind and seeped out of my fingers. When I decided to actually become an author, though, I read a lot of advice and finally pushed myself to include a system. Now I outline the plot and from then on, I construct at least the first few chapters in a short list. Quick character sheets with facts on their looks, jobs, situation and wishes as well as problems help me to focus, though I find that sometimes, the protagonists take over and end up doing what I hadn’t envisioned. With my current WIP, I also planned ahead for the other parts of the series. Most of the time, I write in the logical chapter sequence. Sometimes, however, the final chapter or some decisive moment way ahead bullies its way to the front and demands to be written down. I like writing in a semi-organized way of sorts because it allows me a little more freedom to see where the story itself will take me.
Enough about me. I’m handing over the keyboard to 3 wonderful authors for keeping the train going.
Hadley Holt
Hadley Holt, author of paranormal and fantasy YA (Young Adult) has always loved to write. She also nurtures an incurable fascination with all things supernatural and fantastical. From a young age, she imagined stories about dragons, wizards, witches, ghosts, shape-shifters, vampires, and other magical creatures. Hadley spent many years in the not-so-magical world of finance and mortgage banking, but the stories were always there in the back of her mind, demanding to be set free. Thanks to the housing market crash, Hadley finally realized her dreams. She now breathes life into her magical tales of reluctant young heroes finding their inner power to stand up against terrible creatures and even more terrible odds. Her novel Desecration is now available!
Jadie Jones
Georgia native Jadie Jones first began working for a horse farm at twelve years old, her love of horses matched only by her love of books. She went on to acquire a B.A. in equine business management, and worked for competitive horse farms along the east coast. The need to write followed wherever she went. She currently coaches a hunt seat equitation team that competes in the Interscholastic Equestrian Association, and lives with her family in the foothills of north Georgia. Moonlit, book #1 in the Moonlit trilogy, is her first book. The sequel is due for a summer 2014 release.
Christianna Caeliss
Christianna, founder of Unleashing Aphrodite, works with creative soulful women who desire great soulmate love but haven’t yet found it. She helps them to discover their secret hopes, wishes and true beauty inside and out, and know to their very core that they're irresistible and deserve their Happily Ever After. Christianna, the Heart Liberator, is unapologetically both a personal development author and a romance novel writer. She uses the power and magic of story to help you awaken your inner heroine, so that you effortlessly attract breathtaking love and create your own romance novel life!
Writing Process 1. What am I working on?Two books, actually.
I hadn’t even finished my debut novella, When I see your Face (WISYF), when an idea formed itself of a series I’m tentatively calling the “4 Elements of Love”. The first book, Playing with Fire, is 60 % written. It revolves around Felicia, who lives with fire inside her that she struggles to control. Joshua, appearing mysteriously and carrying ice inside him, tries to help her before either she or the people around her will pay the high price for playing with fire. This will be my first foray into paranormal romance, and I really enjoy writing it.
The second book with the (admittedly boring) working title Second Chance is in its early stages of four chapters. It will be a contemporary romance novel that was loosely inspired by one of my favourite books, Jane Eyre.
2. How does my work differ from others of its genre?
Huh, good question. I think WISYF isn’t all that different – but it sure is more on the sweeter side. I opt for real romance instead of only steam and between-the-sheets action. For me, it is important that there isn’t just sudden attraction but also a believable process of getting to know each other and actually falling in love, as opposed to just falling in lust. As for my paranormal work in progress, it differs from the usual because it doesn’t deal with vampires or werewolves or other mythical creatures. Normal people with special abilities are at the heart of it.
3. Why do I write what I do?
I’ve always liked romance books, and writing them just comes natural to me. The same goes for anything with a connection to fantasy. I couldn’t NOT write that way… Both contemporary and paranormal romance novels suit me fine, but one day, I want to try my hand at science-fiction, too.
4. How does my writing process work?
For a long time, there was no process to speak of. I just wrote what popped into my mind and seeped out of my fingers. When I decided to actually become an author, though, I read a lot of advice and finally pushed myself to include a system. Now I outline the plot and from then on, I construct at least the first few chapters in a short list. Quick character sheets with facts on their looks, jobs, situation and wishes as well as problems help me to focus, though I find that sometimes, the protagonists take over and end up doing what I hadn’t envisioned. With my current WIP, I also planned ahead for the other parts of the series. Most of the time, I write in the logical chapter sequence. Sometimes, however, the final chapter or some decisive moment way ahead bullies its way to the front and demands to be written down. I like writing in a semi-organized way of sorts because it allows me a little more freedom to see where the story itself will take me.
Enough about me. I’m handing over the keyboard to 3 wonderful authors for keeping the train going.
Hadley Holt
Hadley Holt, author of paranormal and fantasy YA (Young Adult) has always loved to write. She also nurtures an incurable fascination with all things supernatural and fantastical. From a young age, she imagined stories about dragons, wizards, witches, ghosts, shape-shifters, vampires, and other magical creatures. Hadley spent many years in the not-so-magical world of finance and mortgage banking, but the stories were always there in the back of her mind, demanding to be set free. Thanks to the housing market crash, Hadley finally realized her dreams. She now breathes life into her magical tales of reluctant young heroes finding their inner power to stand up against terrible creatures and even more terrible odds. Her novel Desecration is now available!
Jadie Jones
Georgia native Jadie Jones first began working for a horse farm at twelve years old, her love of horses matched only by her love of books. She went on to acquire a B.A. in equine business management, and worked for competitive horse farms along the east coast. The need to write followed wherever she went. She currently coaches a hunt seat equitation team that competes in the Interscholastic Equestrian Association, and lives with her family in the foothills of north Georgia. Moonlit, book #1 in the Moonlit trilogy, is her first book. The sequel is due for a summer 2014 release.
Christianna Caeliss
Christianna, founder of Unleashing Aphrodite, works with creative soulful women who desire great soulmate love but haven’t yet found it. She helps them to discover their secret hopes, wishes and true beauty inside and out, and know to their very core that they're irresistible and deserve their Happily Ever After. Christianna, the Heart Liberator, is unapologetically both a personal development author and a romance novel writer. She uses the power and magic of story to help you awaken your inner heroine, so that you effortlessly attract breathtaking love and create your own romance novel life!
March 21, 2014
Featured Book - Ghost Lover by Liza O'Connor
Call me crazy, call me old-fashioned, call me illogical - but I do believe in ghosts. No, not in the kind that look like bedsheets with holes for a face, rather in the kind that could be called a roaming spirit of somebody who has passed away and is still in some way connected to this earth.
Maybe that is why GHOST LOVER by Liza O'Connor caught my eye and I'm all too happy to feature her book on my blog.
Contemporary Romance with a touch of paranormal Blurb
Two gorgeous English brothers. One irresistible ghost. Who would you choose as your lover?
Completely broke and with a criminal record to boot, Senna Smith is one day from eviction from her apartment when Brendon, her promiscuous roommate from London, suggests she go to England, marry him, and manage his fortune. With few other options, she agrees to an open marriage. But she’ll never, ever share his bed with him, knowing if she falls in love with him, he’ll break her heart.
As trustee of Brendon’s family fortune, there is no way Brendon’s older brother, Garrison Durran, is going to let him marry a self-professed American gold-digger. As Senna tries to embrace castle life and English society for Brendon’s sake, Gar discovers Senna is the perfect woman for him--beautiful and intelligent, kind and caring. Now, if she wasn’t already engaged to his brother…
The ancestral ghost of Durran Castle has to intervene if the Durran brothers have any chance of an heir. He can’t leave them to fix matters on their own. They are useless buggers when it comes to love. As counselor to Gar, matchmaker for Brendon, and lover to Senna, a ghost’s work is never done.
CONTENT WARNING: Allergy warning: Ghost cat in book.
For more information about LIZA O'CONNOR
Liza's Blog and Website Facebook Twitter
I really love it that in this novel, there aren't just two men trying to woo the heroine, but actually three, if you can call the Ghost Lover a man. Also, including such a gorgeous cat, as well as a castle as the setting sounds like exactly my piece of cake.
If this is your piece of cake - pardon, choice of book - too, then don't hesitate to grab a copy.
AMAZON
Ghost Lover is 50% off
March 21-23
Maybe that is why GHOST LOVER by Liza O'Connor caught my eye and I'm all too happy to feature her book on my blog.
Contemporary Romance with a touch of paranormal BlurbTwo gorgeous English brothers. One irresistible ghost. Who would you choose as your lover?
Completely broke and with a criminal record to boot, Senna Smith is one day from eviction from her apartment when Brendon, her promiscuous roommate from London, suggests she go to England, marry him, and manage his fortune. With few other options, she agrees to an open marriage. But she’ll never, ever share his bed with him, knowing if she falls in love with him, he’ll break her heart.
As trustee of Brendon’s family fortune, there is no way Brendon’s older brother, Garrison Durran, is going to let him marry a self-professed American gold-digger. As Senna tries to embrace castle life and English society for Brendon’s sake, Gar discovers Senna is the perfect woman for him--beautiful and intelligent, kind and caring. Now, if she wasn’t already engaged to his brother…
The ancestral ghost of Durran Castle has to intervene if the Durran brothers have any chance of an heir. He can’t leave them to fix matters on their own. They are useless buggers when it comes to love. As counselor to Gar, matchmaker for Brendon, and lover to Senna, a ghost’s work is never done.
CONTENT WARNING: Allergy warning: Ghost cat in book.
For more information about LIZA O'CONNOR
Liza's Blog and Website Facebook Twitter
I really love it that in this novel, there aren't just two men trying to woo the heroine, but actually three, if you can call the Ghost Lover a man. Also, including such a gorgeous cat, as well as a castle as the setting sounds like exactly my piece of cake.
If this is your piece of cake - pardon, choice of book - too, then don't hesitate to grab a copy.
AMAZON
Ghost Lover is 50% off
March 21-23
March 18, 2014
Ask the Author - Interview with Christina Cole
From today onwards, I want to share author interviews on my blog in regular intervals. I just find it so fascinating to read about their lives and their writing. It's all about finding things in common and marveling at the differences, making friends and getting inspired - and supporting each other.
10 questions with Christina Cole
One of the author friends I most look up to is Christina Cole. She has played an important role in my journey to becoming a self-published romance novel author, and to me she is also the good soul that keeps us all together.
Thank you for letting me bug you, and for answering with such interesting details, dear Christina!
Can you tell us a little about how you started writing; was it something you have always wanted to do?
I grew up in a home where reading was not merely encouraged, but celebrated. I lived with my grandfather, an incredible man who had little formal education, yet who understood the adage that “Knowledge is power.” He lived this philosophy in his life and taught me its value as well. He’d read the entire set of the original “Book of Knowledge” and could converse on any topic. It was my grandfather who taught me to read. Holding me on his lap, he would read to me from volumes of the “Book of Knowledge” encyclopedias—mostly poetry, at times articles about space, transportation, or stories from classic literature—or from “Little Golden Books” for children, or from the daily newspapers. I quickly fell in love with words and soon began telling—and writing—tales of my own.
Who or what has been your biggest influence as a writer?
Again, my grandfather. In addition to giving me the world through the gift of reading, he showed me that the world was a marvelous place filled with fascinating people and interesting places. He told stories of his own war-time experiences, stories of his childhood on the Kansas prairies, and he shared his dreams with me. He opened my eyes to wondrous possibilities. That's what I hope to share with others through the stories I now tell.
What do you consider to be the key elements of a great story?
For me, it's always about the characters. Drama is only meaningful as it affects people. A good story delves into the characters' emotions, reveals their weaknesses as well as their strengths, and allows a reader to relate to the events in a personal way.
Could you tell us a little about how you develop your characters? Who has been your favorite character to write? The most challenging?
I love developing characters. To me, the characters who appear in my stories are as real as anyone I've ever met. They have their own stories to tell, and mostly, I listen. I'm especially curious about their past experiences because I know the past shapes the present. My characters are who they are because of what's gone before in their lives. It's important for me to step back in time with them, dredge up their back stories, and uncover all the emotions attached. That's what characters are really about for me -- emotion. When we understand their emotional needs, their goals are clear, and their actions become credible.
My favorite character to date has been Katherine Phillips, known by her friends as “Kat”. She’s young, she’s innocent, and she’s quite a “tomboy”. Those qualities combined to make her a fun character to write.
The most challenging character was Linn Sparks from Summertime. She was difficult to write because she was a “difficult” person, a woman whose desperate need for affection and attention had made her into a self-centered, demanding woman who looked down on others. I had to show Linn as she was, yet give readers a chance to see the “real” character inside -- not Linn Sparks, star of the stage, but Linnie Mae, the girl from rural America.
Please tell us about the projects you are currently working on; what can readers expect to see in the coming months?
I'm excited about my recent release, Not the Marrying Kind. It's western historical romance, Colorado Territory, 1872, and it’s the first in a series of stories set in the little fictional town of Sunset. I've recently signed a contract with Secret Cravings Publishing for the four-book series. I have more stories in my head, and "The Sunset Series" could continue to grow. Each story is a stand-alone. No unfinished endings... no leaving readers hanging at the last page. What ties the stories together is the town of Sunset. It's a growing town, with changes happening. Among those changes, of course, are new romances. Characters readers have come to know as friends from early books will return to share their love stories in later books. I truly enjoyed writing Not the Marrying Kind, and I’m delighted that I’m able to share the town of Sunset—and its quirky residents—with my readers.
I’m currently working on the second book of the series, Keeping Faith. I don’t want to reveal too much about the story yet, but it involves two people brought together by love yet torn apart by anger, fear, and hatred. Between them is a precious little girl whose future they hold in their hands. Will she be enough to keep them together?
Where can readers find out what's new and how can they contact you?
The world of romance-writing is a busy place, and there’s always a lot going on. I publish a short newsletter, Keep Up With Christina, which helps me connect with readers at a personal level. Each issue provides a little inspiration for meeting life’s challenges, a bit of information readers might find useful, and special opportunities available for subscribers only. The newsletter is scheduled to go out twice a month, but it’s sometimes a bit late if there are a lot of other demands on my time with book deadlines, edits, or other obligations. Readers can subscribe by visiting my website.
I always love to hear from readers! My email is CCole@christinacoleromance.com. I also have an author page on Facebook, "Christina Cole's Love Notes." Readers can visit my blog at Christina Cole Romance (christinacoleromance.com) or check me out at Goodreads. Please follow me on Twitter, too, @KCChristinacole
Do you have a strict writing schedule? How do you balance your personal and writing time?
I don't work with a strict schedule. I write because I love doing it, so I spend most of my time at my computer, either writing, blogging, or networking with other authors. How do I balance my personal time and my writing time? I don't. I'm fortunate to have a loving, understanding husband who knows how much I enjoy writing. He encourages me and doesn't get upset or feel neglected when I spend time in my little writing room.
If you could throw a party with any five people (living or dead) who would you pick and why?
George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Alexander Hamilton, Daniel Sickles, and Thomas P. "Boston" Corbett. I'm sure most readers will quickly recognize Washington, Jefferson, and Hamilton who each played an important role in the founding of our nation. The last two—Sickles and Corbett—were from the Civil War era. Trying to explain my reasons for choosing these men would be difficult and would probably only be of interest to other history fanatics. If anyone really wants to know...email me. Let's talk history!
When you're not writing, what do you like to do to just kick back and have fun?
When I'm not writing...well, when I'm not writing professionally, I'm usually writing purely for the fun of it. Nonsense things. Silly poems. Impromptu scenes. Writing is what I love to do, so that's how I kick back and have fun. Other than that, my only "fun" activities are watching an occasional football game, cooking, and pursuing my interests in history through "war-gaming".
If there were a soundtrack to your latest novel, what genre/songs would be included?
I listen to classical, so it would something similar to Aaron Copland's "Rodeo"—very American with a slightly western flavor.
Not the Marrying Kind - Christina Cole 
Summertime - Christina Cole
10 questions with Christina Cole
One of the author friends I most look up to is Christina Cole. She has played an important role in my journey to becoming a self-published romance novel author, and to me she is also the good soul that keeps us all together.
Thank you for letting me bug you, and for answering with such interesting details, dear Christina!
Can you tell us a little about how you started writing; was it something you have always wanted to do?
I grew up in a home where reading was not merely encouraged, but celebrated. I lived with my grandfather, an incredible man who had little formal education, yet who understood the adage that “Knowledge is power.” He lived this philosophy in his life and taught me its value as well. He’d read the entire set of the original “Book of Knowledge” and could converse on any topic. It was my grandfather who taught me to read. Holding me on his lap, he would read to me from volumes of the “Book of Knowledge” encyclopedias—mostly poetry, at times articles about space, transportation, or stories from classic literature—or from “Little Golden Books” for children, or from the daily newspapers. I quickly fell in love with words and soon began telling—and writing—tales of my own.
Who or what has been your biggest influence as a writer?
Again, my grandfather. In addition to giving me the world through the gift of reading, he showed me that the world was a marvelous place filled with fascinating people and interesting places. He told stories of his own war-time experiences, stories of his childhood on the Kansas prairies, and he shared his dreams with me. He opened my eyes to wondrous possibilities. That's what I hope to share with others through the stories I now tell.
What do you consider to be the key elements of a great story?
For me, it's always about the characters. Drama is only meaningful as it affects people. A good story delves into the characters' emotions, reveals their weaknesses as well as their strengths, and allows a reader to relate to the events in a personal way.
Could you tell us a little about how you develop your characters? Who has been your favorite character to write? The most challenging?
I love developing characters. To me, the characters who appear in my stories are as real as anyone I've ever met. They have their own stories to tell, and mostly, I listen. I'm especially curious about their past experiences because I know the past shapes the present. My characters are who they are because of what's gone before in their lives. It's important for me to step back in time with them, dredge up their back stories, and uncover all the emotions attached. That's what characters are really about for me -- emotion. When we understand their emotional needs, their goals are clear, and their actions become credible.
My favorite character to date has been Katherine Phillips, known by her friends as “Kat”. She’s young, she’s innocent, and she’s quite a “tomboy”. Those qualities combined to make her a fun character to write.
The most challenging character was Linn Sparks from Summertime. She was difficult to write because she was a “difficult” person, a woman whose desperate need for affection and attention had made her into a self-centered, demanding woman who looked down on others. I had to show Linn as she was, yet give readers a chance to see the “real” character inside -- not Linn Sparks, star of the stage, but Linnie Mae, the girl from rural America.
Please tell us about the projects you are currently working on; what can readers expect to see in the coming months?
I'm excited about my recent release, Not the Marrying Kind. It's western historical romance, Colorado Territory, 1872, and it’s the first in a series of stories set in the little fictional town of Sunset. I've recently signed a contract with Secret Cravings Publishing for the four-book series. I have more stories in my head, and "The Sunset Series" could continue to grow. Each story is a stand-alone. No unfinished endings... no leaving readers hanging at the last page. What ties the stories together is the town of Sunset. It's a growing town, with changes happening. Among those changes, of course, are new romances. Characters readers have come to know as friends from early books will return to share their love stories in later books. I truly enjoyed writing Not the Marrying Kind, and I’m delighted that I’m able to share the town of Sunset—and its quirky residents—with my readers.
I’m currently working on the second book of the series, Keeping Faith. I don’t want to reveal too much about the story yet, but it involves two people brought together by love yet torn apart by anger, fear, and hatred. Between them is a precious little girl whose future they hold in their hands. Will she be enough to keep them together?
Where can readers find out what's new and how can they contact you?
The world of romance-writing is a busy place, and there’s always a lot going on. I publish a short newsletter, Keep Up With Christina, which helps me connect with readers at a personal level. Each issue provides a little inspiration for meeting life’s challenges, a bit of information readers might find useful, and special opportunities available for subscribers only. The newsletter is scheduled to go out twice a month, but it’s sometimes a bit late if there are a lot of other demands on my time with book deadlines, edits, or other obligations. Readers can subscribe by visiting my website.
I always love to hear from readers! My email is CCole@christinacoleromance.com. I also have an author page on Facebook, "Christina Cole's Love Notes." Readers can visit my blog at Christina Cole Romance (christinacoleromance.com) or check me out at Goodreads. Please follow me on Twitter, too, @KCChristinacole
Do you have a strict writing schedule? How do you balance your personal and writing time?
I don't work with a strict schedule. I write because I love doing it, so I spend most of my time at my computer, either writing, blogging, or networking with other authors. How do I balance my personal time and my writing time? I don't. I'm fortunate to have a loving, understanding husband who knows how much I enjoy writing. He encourages me and doesn't get upset or feel neglected when I spend time in my little writing room.
If you could throw a party with any five people (living or dead) who would you pick and why?
George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Alexander Hamilton, Daniel Sickles, and Thomas P. "Boston" Corbett. I'm sure most readers will quickly recognize Washington, Jefferson, and Hamilton who each played an important role in the founding of our nation. The last two—Sickles and Corbett—were from the Civil War era. Trying to explain my reasons for choosing these men would be difficult and would probably only be of interest to other history fanatics. If anyone really wants to know...email me. Let's talk history!
When you're not writing, what do you like to do to just kick back and have fun?
When I'm not writing...well, when I'm not writing professionally, I'm usually writing purely for the fun of it. Nonsense things. Silly poems. Impromptu scenes. Writing is what I love to do, so that's how I kick back and have fun. Other than that, my only "fun" activities are watching an occasional football game, cooking, and pursuing my interests in history through "war-gaming".
If there were a soundtrack to your latest novel, what genre/songs would be included?
I listen to classical, so it would something similar to Aaron Copland's "Rodeo"—very American with a slightly western flavor.
Not the Marrying Kind - Christina Cole Summertime - Christina Cole
March 9, 2014
10 things you don't know about me
My friend Téa Cooper - an awesome author you can find here - tagged me in a Facebook post that asked me to reveal 10 things about me that people probably don't know.
As it turned out, coming up with something funny / interesting / hardly known was anything but easy...
Here's my list: 1) Though my name and looks make me Sri Lankan, I am actually a German citizen (mother Sri Lankan, father German). I was born in Sri Lanka, but I grew up and studied in Germany.
2) Before me, no 'foreigner' had ever won the Scheffel Prize for the German literature Advanced Level exams at the high school I went to.
3) During my school days in Germany, I won first place of the whole province at the Reading Competition.
4) I know 8 languages: German, English, Spanish, Italian, French, Latin, Sinhalese and Hindi
5) I’m a vegetarian.
6) I don’t like make-up, so I never wear any. The only time in my life that I wore make-up was on my wedding day.
7) My favourite city is Munich, Germany.
8) I don’t like even numbers. If I have to cut something into pieces or do it several times, I prefer 3, 5, 7 or 9 times.
9) Frangipani is my favourite flower.
10) I like watching cricket and soccer, supporting the Sri Lankan Cricket Team and the Bayern Munich Football Team.
By the way, you can check out my Smashwords Author Interview for more insights: https://www.smashwords.com/interview/devikafernando
As it turned out, coming up with something funny / interesting / hardly known was anything but easy...
Here's my list: 1) Though my name and looks make me Sri Lankan, I am actually a German citizen (mother Sri Lankan, father German). I was born in Sri Lanka, but I grew up and studied in Germany.
2) Before me, no 'foreigner' had ever won the Scheffel Prize for the German literature Advanced Level exams at the high school I went to.
3) During my school days in Germany, I won first place of the whole province at the Reading Competition.
4) I know 8 languages: German, English, Spanish, Italian, French, Latin, Sinhalese and Hindi
5) I’m a vegetarian.
6) I don’t like make-up, so I never wear any. The only time in my life that I wore make-up was on my wedding day.
7) My favourite city is Munich, Germany.
8) I don’t like even numbers. If I have to cut something into pieces or do it several times, I prefer 3, 5, 7 or 9 times.
9) Frangipani is my favourite flower.
10) I like watching cricket and soccer, supporting the Sri Lankan Cricket Team and the Bayern Munich Football Team.
By the way, you can check out my Smashwords Author Interview for more insights: https://www.smashwords.com/interview/devikafernando
March 5, 2014
When I see your Face - Available now!
These days are exciting for me because I have gone through the ups and downs of self-publishing my debut novella. So many things to learn on the way…
I don’t want to bother you with the details here, but let me just give one big shout of thanks to everyone who helped and contributed. I have absolutely awesome friends. Thank you!
When I see your Face can be ordered as an e-book now, and I plan to add it to some more shops soon.
Buy it at Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00ISK51P8
Buy it at Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/415664
Here’s the blurb to get an idea:
Devika Fernando's debut novella - When I see your Face
I don’t want to bother you with the details here, but let me just give one big shout of thanks to everyone who helped and contributed. I have absolutely awesome friends. Thank you!
When I see your Face can be ordered as an e-book now, and I plan to add it to some more shops soon.
Buy it at Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00ISK51P8
Buy it at Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/415664
Here’s the blurb to get an idea:
Devika Fernando's debut novella - When I see your Face
February 22, 2014
Free Short Story
Some time ago, a picture on Facebook caught my interest. So much so, that I decided to play a little game: I shared it on my wall and asked my friends to imagine a story surrounding a woman walking along the fog-covered path towards the half-hidden castle. They came up with all sorts of interesting ideas, ranging from Count Dracula over The Beast (as in ‘The Beauty and the Beast’) over a fallen Angel from Supernatural (the TV series) to the ghost of the father she had never known or a soul mate she had lost and found again, waiting there for her. Here’s a special thanks to everyone who participated. I love all of your ideas and it was great fun!
And here is the picture followed by the short story that grew in my mind when I looked at the writing prompt and let me pull it into its mysterious depths.
Almost there! by Albena Markova, as shared on Facebook by Faerie Magazine The Awakening
Regina shivered and drew her thin summer jacket closer around herself.
She should have listened to the people at the inn who had discouraged her from wandering out into the Forbidden Field. The village people believed that it was cursed. Apparently, several people had ventured out into the–at first so innocent-looking–area and never come back. One or two had made their way back and never been the same, staring in wide-eyed terror when asked about the matter or waking up screaming at night when bits and pieces of traumatizing memories attacked them.
The more the people at the inn had persuaded her not to go, the more certain had she been that she just had to give it a try. As a journalist, anything that smelled of a good story was worth some effort, even if it meant being touched by some ominous curse. She had decided on the spur of the moment, donned her jacket, padded her trouser pockets to make sure that she carried her digital camera, a small notepad and a pen with her, and set off on the longish walk to the outskirts of the village.
God knew how many hours later, she was a lot more inclined to believe that there was at least a kernel of truth to all the spooky stories they had told her.
Regina had started out after her lunch in bright sunshine, a slight breeze ruffling the grass along the well-trodden path that led from the border of the village through a field and into a forest. With all the pleasant nature around her and the possibility of a story beckoning, she had been full of determination to go through with her plan, sometimes grinning a little to herself when thinking about the village people’s behavior. How odd that they believed in magic, in curses, in forbidden areas and unsolved riddles.
How odd that now, her mind was filled with exactly such sentiments.
Soon after setting foot in the forest that was supposed to lead her into the Forbidden Field, things had changed. At first almost imperceptible, there was a change in the air. It grew cooler by the minute, the trees blocked out the afternoon sun and in the distance and she could see wispy white mist ahead, looking thoroughly out of place.
Now, with the forest behind her and the fog curling tightly around her shivering body, she felt as if in a different world. Where were the fragrant flowers, the friendly sunshine and the chirping birds? Where was her courage? She must have left it behind among the gnarled trees or lost it in the oppressive, heavy silence that was her only companion.
With each step, she felt lonelier. With each lifting and setting down of a foot, doubts crowded in her mind. Some voices whispered to turn around and go back before she would become another tragic tale in the village’s folklore. Others prodded her on, scoffed at her cowardice and persuaded her that she would indeed have a lot of material for a story if she went through with her plan.
Something told her that the mist with its deadly whiteness and its ghostly fingers brushing over her was holding a secret at its end. If she crossed this field of fog, what would wait for her? Who would wait for her?
Summoning every last ounce of determination, Regina walked onwards a little faster, head held high and eyes squeezed almost shut to make anything out in the misty soup around her. Sometimes it was so dense that she wouldn’t have been able to make out her own outstretched hand.
By the way her body and balance suddenly shifted automatically, she realized that she must be walking up some slope of sorts. Were there any hills or mountains in this part of the countryside? She had no idea.
There was another change in the atmosphere.
Where before it had seemed as though the fog were pushing her backwards and warning her off, she now felt propelled along by it. There was a cold, crude sense of satisfaction in the air around her, as if the mist had been hungry and she was sating it by walking on.
Shivering more than before, Regina slowed her pace again, then stood still and scanned the area in a slow, desperate circle.
There was nothing to be seen. Nothing to be heard. Nothing to be done.
A voice seemed to call to her from ahead. It cajoled her to carry on walking, seduced with the promise of a spectacular discovery just a few more steps ahead.
While she stood still with her arms tightly wrapped around her torso, her breath coming out too fast, in puffy white clouds of her own personal mist, a blanket of darkness covered her. In the middle of a seemingly endless void, she felt as claustrophobic as if caught in a stuffy elevator between two stories.
The strange feeling grew and grew. It was as though all the happiness she had ever possessed were being sucked right out of her. Something–somebody–wanted her to feel sadness, pain, anger, fear, despair… anything negative. A flood of bad moments in her life attacked her, so powerful that it brought her to her knees, rocking in anguish. The time in her early childhood when she had lost Granny to cancer. The exam that she had failed and retaken to get her degree in Journalism, hardly eating or sleeping for weeks. Her last boyfriend, promising love ever after, proposing on a drunk evening and buggering off the next day without another word and without leaving a trace.
Regina cringed and choked a sob back.
What was this evil magic? Why was she feeling all this?
The mist around her grew thicker and thicker, until it seemed to possess real arms that pressed in on her to suck out more of her negative emotions.
She gritted her teeth and balled her hands into fists. She had to fight this onslaught! An idea formed in her head, something she had read in one of J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter Books about the Dementors and how to hold them in check by happy memories.
All of a sudden, she knew what to do.
After digging her fingers so hard into her palms that she drew blood and that the tiny, sharp needles of pain gave her something to draw strength from, Regina got to her feet. She willed herself to think of all the moments of joy in her life.
Falling asleep on the couch with a sore throat and fever, only to wake up to her 20-pound dog climbing up to curl himself into a warming fur ball beside her and lick her icy hands.
Reading a really good book that left her thinking and smiling and re-reading passages for days afterwards.
Holding a tiny, purring kitten in her arms that looked like a ginger ball of fluff.
Going on a trip to the coast with her best friend who had travelled half the globe to meet her at last, both of them enjoying the companionable silence amidst stunning landscapes as much as the constant chattering during the train ride that had them saying the same things at the same time.
Her all-time favorite song that spoke of never giving up and finding true love.
The last thought seemed the most powerful one to her, though even the memories before had made her feel less cold and anxious. With her chin pointed defiantly upwards and her body hardly shivering anymore, Regina took one step and then another.
All around her, the mist receded, coiled in on itself like a venomous snake on the retreat. She continued on her upwards walk slowly, mentally singing that song and then another two songs. There was still a little fog in the air, but up ahead, the scene all but cleared. What she saw then almost made her stop again.
In front of her lay a path of stones leading up to the hill-top. Over it loomed a mist-wrapped, dark, ancient castle, towering impossibly high into the sky.
Regina gasped at the mysterious, magical sight. Was this her reward for having come so far?
She quickened her steps, full of determination again. When her feet hit the walkway to the castle, though, walking once again became difficult. This time, it wasn’t the mist holding her back. It was what she saw that made her wince and swallow and put foot after foot hesitantly.
To both sides of her, slumped against the stone railings of the path or huddled on the ground, there were grotesque stone statues. They looked like people. Crying, screaming, fighting people. With lifelike details, as if real people had frozen and turned into stone in the middle of their suffering.
Now shivering more than ever, the words to the songs failing her, Regina stopped several times to stare at the statues and wonder what they were leading to. Somehow, she didn’t want to give up, though. She had come this far. She could go even further.
After she didn’t know how long, she found herself walking through an immense gate that stood wide open, like a monster’s gaping mouth that would lead her right into its belly and never spit her out again.
The mist stayed behind on the outside, hissing quietly and making her wonder how on earth she would make it back if she ever came out of here alive.
Turning her back on the mist, Regina found herself in a huge atrium of sorts, a hall that soared high and wide and was echoing eerily with her footsteps. It was strewn with more of those grotesque statues of suffering people. She didn’t want to approach them, but what she saw from the distance gave her pause. Some of these statues out front had been dressed much the same as her and could have been any of the villagers and travelers mentioned to her. Here, in the hall with its dark, mossy stones and its few windows glassless high and narrow on the walls, some statues depicted people from earlier times with flowing gowns and curly manes, with tights and high boots and hunter’s cloaks.
For the umpteenth time, she wondered which artist would have had the courage and creativity to come out here and create these statues that mirrored what a traveler felt while battling the mist.
They looked so incredibly authentic, as though they might spring up at any moment, shake off the dust and cobwebs and break into gut-wrenching sobs or a piercing scream.
A shiver ran down Regina’s spine, as if the cool tendrils of mist had followed her. For a second, she considered taking her camera out and taking a photo, but somehow it seemed the wrong thing to do, almost a sacrilege. Besides, more than ever, she could feel that pull that urged her onwards. Something lay behind this hall that wanted to be discovered.
Singing her favorite song softly to herself without even realizing it, Regina walked on. She crossed the great hall, her steps ringing loudly in the still, neither cold nor warm air.
From behind her, the mist seemed to shout at her not to go on, to come back and let herself be embraced and caressed and comforted-or to walk on and be doomed forever. From ahead, a plea of help tore at her heart.
Regina chose somebody else’s comfort over her own comfort.
She broke into a run along the narrow, stone-walled, windowless, dark corridor, not even sparing the few openings leading to rooms to her left and right a glance. The person that needed her–it had to be a person or at least something living–was straight ahead, pulling at her heart and body with an invisible force that had her pulse racing.
The corridor ended abruptly. So abruptly that she all but crashed into the massive wooden door that faced her. The weight of her body half tumbling against it sent it partly opening into what lay beyond, the rusty iron hinges creaking and whining reluctantly.
Regina steadied herself against the slightly open wooden door that was twice as high and wide as her body and probably a foot thick. When she gave it an experimental shove to open wider, it didn’t budge an inch.
The pull was stronger than ever now, a desperate plea for help that resonated inside her body and made her palms sweat.
She held her breath, flattened herself against the wall and squeezed through the small opening the huge door had left.
Before her lay a room that must once have been some bed chamber. At the opposite wall was a round window and beneath it stood a wooden four-poster bed whose curtains were no more than moth-eaten, hole-riddled tatters hanging in a listless grey down to the floor with its chipped stones and weeds growing out of the cracks.
On the bed was a statue, looking like somebody lying against the pillows with one leg stretched out and one drawn up towards the body.
This statue was the most life-like of all. And the most beautiful of all.
Regina inched closer, actually walking on her tip-toes as though she might disturb the man’s rest if she made any noise or hectic movement.
She stopped a few feet away from the bed at his side and stared and stared at the handsome face of stone before her.
Every single detail, from the fine hairs of his eyebrows over the elegant slope of his nose and the indent of his upper lip to the hardly visible lines on his forehead, seemed taken right out of life itself. His was clothed the modern way, every fold and button sculpted with minute detail from stone the color of ashes.
How tragic that the most attractive man she had ever laid eyes upon had to be a statue in a haunted castle.
And then it struck her: This was the only statue to look peaceful, even bordering on happy. There was the slightest of smiles to his mouth and just the way he reclined on the bed spoke of a relaxed attitude. It was as if the artist had pictured somebody falling asleep during a visit.
Yet, the pleas for help were louder than ever. Nothing could drown them out.
With great effort, she tore her eyes from the statue and scanned the room. There was nobody else and nothing else inside that could be responsible for the screams inside her head.
She turned her eyes back to the figure on the bed, so solid and at the same time so close to something alive.
Two more steps brought her closer. She gingerly stretched out an arm, about to touch the face that was so hauntingly beautiful. Not even an inch away from it, her hand stilled. Regina bit her lip, her thoughts racing. Then, as if on some silent instruction that left no room for doubt, she drew her hand back and bent down.
Before she could question her own behavior, she had leaned in and laid her lips ever so softly against the statue’s mouth. It was a quick, chaste kiss. In her mind, she and the handsome stranger–no longer an immobile statue–were wrapped around each other in a passionate embrace, exploring, giving and taking, dreaming.
When she snapped out of her reverie and stepped back, what she beheld had her gasp and sway for a second as though she were about to faint.
Right in front of her eyes, the statue woke to life. The thin layer of stone cracked, a thousand fissures crisscrossing over the prone body. Within a second or two, the eyelids fluttered and opened, revealing a shining blue that would put a cloudless summer sky to shame.
The eyes looked straight at her, alight with some emotion she couldn’t place.
What was this? Some twisted version of the Sleeping Beauty fairytale? Her mind playing tricks on her? The mean mist’s last attempt at making her succumb?
While her hands flew to her mouth in shock and she watched unblinkingly, the statue turned into a living, breathing man. He propped himself up on his elbows, sat up and then shook himself all over like a wet dog. The stone crust that had held him captive flew off him like mere dust.
A fascinating caterpillar transforming into a butterfly so colorful and real and beautiful that her heart was close to bursting.
Regina was rooted to the spot. The man never took his eyes off her when he slowly flexed his muscles–of which he seemed to possess a lot in just the right places–and then he inched forward and got off the bed in one fluid, strong, masculine move. As sure of himself as if he had never been a statue frozen into stony sleep, he walked the few steps towards her and took her hand.
It felt right.
It felt perfect.
And it felt utterly confusing.
“Thank you.”
The stranger’s voice rang loud and clear, drowning out the frantic beating of her heart and the lament of disappointment of the fog on the other side of the castle walls.
“Thank you for saving me. You didn’t let the mist suck out your happiness and you answered my silent call for help. Now let us go and save all the others the way I should have, instead of letting the castle seduce me to this room and lull me to sleep.”
Regina could hardly think a straight thought.
The statue was a man. All of the statues she had seen were people. People who could be saved. Awakened as she had awakened him.
And what an angel he was, with his water blue eyes and his shock of sandy blonde hair and his fit body and his rough, deep voice.
She couldn’t take her eyes off him, and neither did he seem to be able to look away from her, although he was practically vibrating with energy and determination to jump into action.
After minutes or maybe hours like that, Regina finally managed a silent nod, her head full of possibilities and her heart filled with something akin to pride because she had not let herself be dragged down by the bad in her life and had chosen to focus on the good instead.
“Thank you,” the statue-come-alive said again.
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze that felt as human as the flesh and blood of his fingers entangling with hers and pulled her along to the sound of the mist howling in frustrating while it evaporated outside the castle.
Ahead of them lay a life filled with magic.
© Devika Fernando
P.S.: I love feedback! :-)
And here is the picture followed by the short story that grew in my mind when I looked at the writing prompt and let me pull it into its mysterious depths.
Almost there! by Albena Markova, as shared on Facebook by Faerie Magazine The AwakeningRegina shivered and drew her thin summer jacket closer around herself.
She should have listened to the people at the inn who had discouraged her from wandering out into the Forbidden Field. The village people believed that it was cursed. Apparently, several people had ventured out into the–at first so innocent-looking–area and never come back. One or two had made their way back and never been the same, staring in wide-eyed terror when asked about the matter or waking up screaming at night when bits and pieces of traumatizing memories attacked them.
The more the people at the inn had persuaded her not to go, the more certain had she been that she just had to give it a try. As a journalist, anything that smelled of a good story was worth some effort, even if it meant being touched by some ominous curse. She had decided on the spur of the moment, donned her jacket, padded her trouser pockets to make sure that she carried her digital camera, a small notepad and a pen with her, and set off on the longish walk to the outskirts of the village.
God knew how many hours later, she was a lot more inclined to believe that there was at least a kernel of truth to all the spooky stories they had told her.
Regina had started out after her lunch in bright sunshine, a slight breeze ruffling the grass along the well-trodden path that led from the border of the village through a field and into a forest. With all the pleasant nature around her and the possibility of a story beckoning, she had been full of determination to go through with her plan, sometimes grinning a little to herself when thinking about the village people’s behavior. How odd that they believed in magic, in curses, in forbidden areas and unsolved riddles.
How odd that now, her mind was filled with exactly such sentiments.
Soon after setting foot in the forest that was supposed to lead her into the Forbidden Field, things had changed. At first almost imperceptible, there was a change in the air. It grew cooler by the minute, the trees blocked out the afternoon sun and in the distance and she could see wispy white mist ahead, looking thoroughly out of place.
Now, with the forest behind her and the fog curling tightly around her shivering body, she felt as if in a different world. Where were the fragrant flowers, the friendly sunshine and the chirping birds? Where was her courage? She must have left it behind among the gnarled trees or lost it in the oppressive, heavy silence that was her only companion.
With each step, she felt lonelier. With each lifting and setting down of a foot, doubts crowded in her mind. Some voices whispered to turn around and go back before she would become another tragic tale in the village’s folklore. Others prodded her on, scoffed at her cowardice and persuaded her that she would indeed have a lot of material for a story if she went through with her plan.
Something told her that the mist with its deadly whiteness and its ghostly fingers brushing over her was holding a secret at its end. If she crossed this field of fog, what would wait for her? Who would wait for her?
Summoning every last ounce of determination, Regina walked onwards a little faster, head held high and eyes squeezed almost shut to make anything out in the misty soup around her. Sometimes it was so dense that she wouldn’t have been able to make out her own outstretched hand.
By the way her body and balance suddenly shifted automatically, she realized that she must be walking up some slope of sorts. Were there any hills or mountains in this part of the countryside? She had no idea.
There was another change in the atmosphere.
Where before it had seemed as though the fog were pushing her backwards and warning her off, she now felt propelled along by it. There was a cold, crude sense of satisfaction in the air around her, as if the mist had been hungry and she was sating it by walking on.
Shivering more than before, Regina slowed her pace again, then stood still and scanned the area in a slow, desperate circle.
There was nothing to be seen. Nothing to be heard. Nothing to be done.
A voice seemed to call to her from ahead. It cajoled her to carry on walking, seduced with the promise of a spectacular discovery just a few more steps ahead.
While she stood still with her arms tightly wrapped around her torso, her breath coming out too fast, in puffy white clouds of her own personal mist, a blanket of darkness covered her. In the middle of a seemingly endless void, she felt as claustrophobic as if caught in a stuffy elevator between two stories.
The strange feeling grew and grew. It was as though all the happiness she had ever possessed were being sucked right out of her. Something–somebody–wanted her to feel sadness, pain, anger, fear, despair… anything negative. A flood of bad moments in her life attacked her, so powerful that it brought her to her knees, rocking in anguish. The time in her early childhood when she had lost Granny to cancer. The exam that she had failed and retaken to get her degree in Journalism, hardly eating or sleeping for weeks. Her last boyfriend, promising love ever after, proposing on a drunk evening and buggering off the next day without another word and without leaving a trace.
Regina cringed and choked a sob back.
What was this evil magic? Why was she feeling all this?
The mist around her grew thicker and thicker, until it seemed to possess real arms that pressed in on her to suck out more of her negative emotions.
She gritted her teeth and balled her hands into fists. She had to fight this onslaught! An idea formed in her head, something she had read in one of J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter Books about the Dementors and how to hold them in check by happy memories.
All of a sudden, she knew what to do.
After digging her fingers so hard into her palms that she drew blood and that the tiny, sharp needles of pain gave her something to draw strength from, Regina got to her feet. She willed herself to think of all the moments of joy in her life.
Falling asleep on the couch with a sore throat and fever, only to wake up to her 20-pound dog climbing up to curl himself into a warming fur ball beside her and lick her icy hands.
Reading a really good book that left her thinking and smiling and re-reading passages for days afterwards.
Holding a tiny, purring kitten in her arms that looked like a ginger ball of fluff.
Going on a trip to the coast with her best friend who had travelled half the globe to meet her at last, both of them enjoying the companionable silence amidst stunning landscapes as much as the constant chattering during the train ride that had them saying the same things at the same time.
Her all-time favorite song that spoke of never giving up and finding true love.
The last thought seemed the most powerful one to her, though even the memories before had made her feel less cold and anxious. With her chin pointed defiantly upwards and her body hardly shivering anymore, Regina took one step and then another.
All around her, the mist receded, coiled in on itself like a venomous snake on the retreat. She continued on her upwards walk slowly, mentally singing that song and then another two songs. There was still a little fog in the air, but up ahead, the scene all but cleared. What she saw then almost made her stop again.
In front of her lay a path of stones leading up to the hill-top. Over it loomed a mist-wrapped, dark, ancient castle, towering impossibly high into the sky.
Regina gasped at the mysterious, magical sight. Was this her reward for having come so far?
She quickened her steps, full of determination again. When her feet hit the walkway to the castle, though, walking once again became difficult. This time, it wasn’t the mist holding her back. It was what she saw that made her wince and swallow and put foot after foot hesitantly.
To both sides of her, slumped against the stone railings of the path or huddled on the ground, there were grotesque stone statues. They looked like people. Crying, screaming, fighting people. With lifelike details, as if real people had frozen and turned into stone in the middle of their suffering.
Now shivering more than ever, the words to the songs failing her, Regina stopped several times to stare at the statues and wonder what they were leading to. Somehow, she didn’t want to give up, though. She had come this far. She could go even further.
After she didn’t know how long, she found herself walking through an immense gate that stood wide open, like a monster’s gaping mouth that would lead her right into its belly and never spit her out again.
The mist stayed behind on the outside, hissing quietly and making her wonder how on earth she would make it back if she ever came out of here alive.
Turning her back on the mist, Regina found herself in a huge atrium of sorts, a hall that soared high and wide and was echoing eerily with her footsteps. It was strewn with more of those grotesque statues of suffering people. She didn’t want to approach them, but what she saw from the distance gave her pause. Some of these statues out front had been dressed much the same as her and could have been any of the villagers and travelers mentioned to her. Here, in the hall with its dark, mossy stones and its few windows glassless high and narrow on the walls, some statues depicted people from earlier times with flowing gowns and curly manes, with tights and high boots and hunter’s cloaks.
For the umpteenth time, she wondered which artist would have had the courage and creativity to come out here and create these statues that mirrored what a traveler felt while battling the mist.
They looked so incredibly authentic, as though they might spring up at any moment, shake off the dust and cobwebs and break into gut-wrenching sobs or a piercing scream.
A shiver ran down Regina’s spine, as if the cool tendrils of mist had followed her. For a second, she considered taking her camera out and taking a photo, but somehow it seemed the wrong thing to do, almost a sacrilege. Besides, more than ever, she could feel that pull that urged her onwards. Something lay behind this hall that wanted to be discovered.
Singing her favorite song softly to herself without even realizing it, Regina walked on. She crossed the great hall, her steps ringing loudly in the still, neither cold nor warm air.
From behind her, the mist seemed to shout at her not to go on, to come back and let herself be embraced and caressed and comforted-or to walk on and be doomed forever. From ahead, a plea of help tore at her heart.
Regina chose somebody else’s comfort over her own comfort.
She broke into a run along the narrow, stone-walled, windowless, dark corridor, not even sparing the few openings leading to rooms to her left and right a glance. The person that needed her–it had to be a person or at least something living–was straight ahead, pulling at her heart and body with an invisible force that had her pulse racing.
The corridor ended abruptly. So abruptly that she all but crashed into the massive wooden door that faced her. The weight of her body half tumbling against it sent it partly opening into what lay beyond, the rusty iron hinges creaking and whining reluctantly.
Regina steadied herself against the slightly open wooden door that was twice as high and wide as her body and probably a foot thick. When she gave it an experimental shove to open wider, it didn’t budge an inch.
The pull was stronger than ever now, a desperate plea for help that resonated inside her body and made her palms sweat.
She held her breath, flattened herself against the wall and squeezed through the small opening the huge door had left.
Before her lay a room that must once have been some bed chamber. At the opposite wall was a round window and beneath it stood a wooden four-poster bed whose curtains were no more than moth-eaten, hole-riddled tatters hanging in a listless grey down to the floor with its chipped stones and weeds growing out of the cracks.
On the bed was a statue, looking like somebody lying against the pillows with one leg stretched out and one drawn up towards the body.
This statue was the most life-like of all. And the most beautiful of all.
Regina inched closer, actually walking on her tip-toes as though she might disturb the man’s rest if she made any noise or hectic movement.
She stopped a few feet away from the bed at his side and stared and stared at the handsome face of stone before her.
Every single detail, from the fine hairs of his eyebrows over the elegant slope of his nose and the indent of his upper lip to the hardly visible lines on his forehead, seemed taken right out of life itself. His was clothed the modern way, every fold and button sculpted with minute detail from stone the color of ashes.
How tragic that the most attractive man she had ever laid eyes upon had to be a statue in a haunted castle.
And then it struck her: This was the only statue to look peaceful, even bordering on happy. There was the slightest of smiles to his mouth and just the way he reclined on the bed spoke of a relaxed attitude. It was as if the artist had pictured somebody falling asleep during a visit.
Yet, the pleas for help were louder than ever. Nothing could drown them out.
With great effort, she tore her eyes from the statue and scanned the room. There was nobody else and nothing else inside that could be responsible for the screams inside her head.
She turned her eyes back to the figure on the bed, so solid and at the same time so close to something alive.
Two more steps brought her closer. She gingerly stretched out an arm, about to touch the face that was so hauntingly beautiful. Not even an inch away from it, her hand stilled. Regina bit her lip, her thoughts racing. Then, as if on some silent instruction that left no room for doubt, she drew her hand back and bent down.
Before she could question her own behavior, she had leaned in and laid her lips ever so softly against the statue’s mouth. It was a quick, chaste kiss. In her mind, she and the handsome stranger–no longer an immobile statue–were wrapped around each other in a passionate embrace, exploring, giving and taking, dreaming.
When she snapped out of her reverie and stepped back, what she beheld had her gasp and sway for a second as though she were about to faint.
Right in front of her eyes, the statue woke to life. The thin layer of stone cracked, a thousand fissures crisscrossing over the prone body. Within a second or two, the eyelids fluttered and opened, revealing a shining blue that would put a cloudless summer sky to shame.
The eyes looked straight at her, alight with some emotion she couldn’t place.
What was this? Some twisted version of the Sleeping Beauty fairytale? Her mind playing tricks on her? The mean mist’s last attempt at making her succumb?
While her hands flew to her mouth in shock and she watched unblinkingly, the statue turned into a living, breathing man. He propped himself up on his elbows, sat up and then shook himself all over like a wet dog. The stone crust that had held him captive flew off him like mere dust.
A fascinating caterpillar transforming into a butterfly so colorful and real and beautiful that her heart was close to bursting.
Regina was rooted to the spot. The man never took his eyes off her when he slowly flexed his muscles–of which he seemed to possess a lot in just the right places–and then he inched forward and got off the bed in one fluid, strong, masculine move. As sure of himself as if he had never been a statue frozen into stony sleep, he walked the few steps towards her and took her hand.
It felt right.
It felt perfect.
And it felt utterly confusing.
“Thank you.”
The stranger’s voice rang loud and clear, drowning out the frantic beating of her heart and the lament of disappointment of the fog on the other side of the castle walls.
“Thank you for saving me. You didn’t let the mist suck out your happiness and you answered my silent call for help. Now let us go and save all the others the way I should have, instead of letting the castle seduce me to this room and lull me to sleep.”
Regina could hardly think a straight thought.
The statue was a man. All of the statues she had seen were people. People who could be saved. Awakened as she had awakened him.
And what an angel he was, with his water blue eyes and his shock of sandy blonde hair and his fit body and his rough, deep voice.
She couldn’t take her eyes off him, and neither did he seem to be able to look away from her, although he was practically vibrating with energy and determination to jump into action.
After minutes or maybe hours like that, Regina finally managed a silent nod, her head full of possibilities and her heart filled with something akin to pride because she had not let herself be dragged down by the bad in her life and had chosen to focus on the good instead.
“Thank you,” the statue-come-alive said again.
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze that felt as human as the flesh and blood of his fingers entangling with hers and pulled her along to the sound of the mist howling in frustrating while it evaporated outside the castle.
Ahead of them lay a life filled with magic.
© Devika Fernando
P.S.: I love feedback! :-)
February 17, 2014
Teasers, teasers, teasers
I've decided to be a tease! This post will give you some small ideas about 'When I see your Face', soon to be released and a debut novel(la) that I care about a lot.
Used as a Facebook Cover for Devika Fernando Author 
What's in a face? As it turns out, a lot! 
The first excerpt of 'When I see your Face' that I'm sharing with you all 
Last but not least: a word cloud of the last chapter, created at www.wordle.com
Used as a Facebook Cover for Devika Fernando Author What's in a face? As it turns out, a lot! The first excerpt of 'When I see your Face' that I'm sharing with you all Last but not least: a word cloud of the last chapter, created at www.wordle.com
February 9, 2014
Valentine's Day around the world
For people living in the US or in Europe, Valentine's Day is part and parcel of all the holidays celebrated every year. I don't want to join the debate about whether this day is just another commercial ruse or a good opportunity for people who love each other to get some quality time and gift each other some happiness – instead, I want to have a quick look at how The Day of Love(rs) is celebrated all around the globe.
ASIA
In China, Valentine's Day isn't celebrated at all. Muslims countries like Pakistan have banned the holiday.
In Japan, on the other hand, there are two separate days for the same cause: On February 14th, boys are gifted chocolate from the girls, while on March 14th, it’s the other way around.
In India, people who are too young or belong to a certain religious group are not allowed to officially celebrate Valentine's Day.
In Vietnam, couples make it a point to dress in the same colours and / or clothes to express their closeness.
In South Korea, the 14th of each month is dedicated to some love matter from Hug Day to Movie Day or Wine Day.
EUROPE
In Italy, lovers tie small padlocks with inscriptions to bridges and throw away the key as a symbol of a relationship that can't be broken.
In Finland, it is more of a general day of affection because friends are remembered and surprised with gifts just as much as loved ones.
In Scotland, a party game for singles is often celebrated where all write their name on a piece of paper. Out of a hat, each man and woman has to draw a name and then spend the evening together with that person.
In Denmark, it is not unusual to send your crush anonymous love poems where dots for the number of letters are the only clue to the (male) sender's name. Is the name guessed correctly, the girl will be gifted with an Easter egg during the Easter holidays.
What about your country and your personal preference? Do you celebrate Valentine's Day at all? If yes, how?
ASIA
In China, Valentine's Day isn't celebrated at all. Muslims countries like Pakistan have banned the holiday.
In Japan, on the other hand, there are two separate days for the same cause: On February 14th, boys are gifted chocolate from the girls, while on March 14th, it’s the other way around.
In India, people who are too young or belong to a certain religious group are not allowed to officially celebrate Valentine's Day.
In Vietnam, couples make it a point to dress in the same colours and / or clothes to express their closeness.
In South Korea, the 14th of each month is dedicated to some love matter from Hug Day to Movie Day or Wine Day.
EUROPE
In Italy, lovers tie small padlocks with inscriptions to bridges and throw away the key as a symbol of a relationship that can't be broken.
In Finland, it is more of a general day of affection because friends are remembered and surprised with gifts just as much as loved ones.
In Scotland, a party game for singles is often celebrated where all write their name on a piece of paper. Out of a hat, each man and woman has to draw a name and then spend the evening together with that person.
In Denmark, it is not unusual to send your crush anonymous love poems where dots for the number of letters are the only clue to the (male) sender's name. Is the name guessed correctly, the girl will be gifted with an Easter egg during the Easter holidays.
What about your country and your personal preference? Do you celebrate Valentine's Day at all? If yes, how?
