Andy Peloquin's Blog, page 23

Why Book Reviews Matter

We all know that book reviews play a vital role in the success of our books, but have you ever wondered why? I sat down with a few readers, reviewers, and fellow authors to find out what makes book reviews so vital to them:

The Cliff Notes:

Why do book reviews matter?

Ratings don’t matter, but text reviews give us an idea of what’s in the story and whether we’ll enjoy it.

What’s more important: the review, or the “Look Inside”?

For many, the reviews (good or bad) mean nothing if that first bit of the book doesn’t draw us in or pass muster.

What do you look for in a good review?

Honesty. We want to know what’s wrong/right with it. Our goal is to make it better, so we need reviews to help us figure it out.

How do you read reviews? Skip to the 1- or 2-star ones, or read the 5-star ones?

The 1-to-2 Star reviews provide value to us as a reader and authors.

What makes you think a review is fake?

A couple of lines, no real understanding of the book, etc.

The Panelists:

Heidi Angell:

Heidi Angell is a bibliophile, lexicomaniac and wordsmith. She is the author of The Hunters Series, The Clear Angel Chronicles, and The Hell School Series. She also created Royal Prince Vince, and Creative Exercises to Inspire.

When she is not reading and writing, she can be found spending quality time with her lovely family camping, hiking, swimming, or watching movies.

Learn more about her at www.heidiangell.com

RevKess:

RevKess is an author, reviewer, publisher and avid reader. RevKess struggled to read as a youngster, but once his parents got him glasses he was seldom without a book. He began writing stories and poetry at an early age and hasn’t stopped since. Most of his published works consist of short essays and articles for Pagan sites and magazines. His poetry, essays, and other short non-fiction works have been compiled into a soon to be released book called The Written Activist. When not reading or writing he can be found curled up in front of the TV with his cats. Watching TV and movies is research, after all.

His reviews can be found at http://revkessreviews.wordpress.com. He publishes for Saturn Returns Publishing which can be found on Facebook (and soon on the web). He also podcasts for Pagan-Musings Podcast Channel on BTR (http://blogtalkradio.com/pagan-musings). His Facebook page for writing is The Written Activist (facebook.com/TheWrittenActivist).

Ani Manjikian:

Born and raised in Southern California, the diagnosis of hydrocephalus at birth should have killed Ani, or worse, left her blank to the world. Her strength of spirit, parents’ love, and a miracle all combined to overcome that prognosiswithin nine months. From this almost impossible beginning, she has developed into all-around person with the technical knowledge and analytical mind of a programmer, creative and detailed orientation of a writer, and aesthetic instincts of a photographer.

Ani’s writing career started when a friend in Cyprus made her promise to stop throwing away her writings because she thought they weren’t good enough. After returning to the States, Ani set out to finish a single horse story and tried to get it published. However, the book, like the writer, needed time to mature. While perfecting her craft, Ani graduated from San Francisco State with a BA in Industrial Arts and worked several jobs from retail sales to human resources project management. Her innate ability to learn new computer programs with minimal instruction combined with her need to be creative led to her current long-term stint as a web designer and developer.

The book, meanwhile, spawned several siblings. Not knowing what to call this conglomerate of creativity, Ani turned to another friend who suggested a word play on the books main themes of horses, space, family, and heroes. Spirit of the Lone Horse, the first book in the Stars of Heros series, was published in March 2015 by Unsolicited Press. Others are on their way.

 

Website – http://starsofheros.com

Right the Writer: an author to author blog – http://rightthewriter.com

Stars of Heros Facebook page – http://facebookc.om/starsofheros

Twitter  – http://twitter.com/lonehorseend

Jez Ibelle:

Jez Ibelle has been a Blogger / Reviewer / Reporter / Editor of FirstComicsNews.com for three (3) years; paneling at San Diego International Comic-con in 2015 and 2016 on how to attract Media coverage for independently published works. And–a host of Geek-a-PediaLIVE: What Geeks you at PodcastDetroit.com.

Reading is a pleasure–writing about the experience is a passion.

As a sentence structure snob, she recently started a Youtube segment JEZ'(RE)ADs: where she–well–reads. Discussing what she likes or doesn’t like grammatically and suggests how to improve.

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLU7rFYEVeY0DHqb_fr3TORfSNAQQKIwGS

https://www.facebook.com/jezi.belle.14

 

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Book Review: It Always Bites You In the End by Michael Fish Fisher

It’s Book Review Wednesday, and I’ve got a treat for you! It’s a book I didn’t expect to enjoy, but ended up reading in one sitting. Murder, mystery, tattoos, and weird deaths: a great read!

It Always Bites You In the End

When a DC Homicide detective finds a victim dead from unusual causes, he finds himself drawn down a path of ink and blood.

When a Washington DC Metro Homicide detective started his shift on a sunny July morning, he was greeted with an unsual victim, an obvious snake bite; not something normally considered a homicide, but a tattoo on the victim sends him down a path he would never have believed. As the week progresses, an increasing number of unexplainable homicides draws Detective MacCallen ever deeper into a world of tattooed nightmares, terrors enacted in the most gruesome ways imaginable.

Can Detective MacCallen stop the murders before they happen again?

My Review: 5 Stars

The body count keeps rising, and only one thing can connect them all: a tattoo.

Mac is your typical detective: cynical, insightful, world-weary. Yet nothing he’s seen could prepare him for one grisly murder after another—a bite from a snake that couldn’t exist, an impossible decapitation, a drowning victim with a body too heavy to lift. Washington DC hasn’t had a spree of deaths like this EVER!

This story has the perfect level of snark and sarcasm, gruesome details, and mind-boggling mystery to make you want to keep reading until you find out what the hell is killing these people. You will have no idea how things are happening up until the climax. But wait, the best part of the entire book takes place in the last two pages!

I didn’t expect to enjoy this book half as much as I did. It’s definitely not my typical genre (mystery), but it hooked me with its off-the-wall narration. A whole lot of fun!

Here’s a Taste:

With a relieved sigh, I slid into the parking lot outside Guido’s and hopped out, taking in the glorious aromas coming from the restaurant. I ran into the package store next door and grabbed a six-pack of Yuengling before heading to the pizza place. I grabbed my pie and, after dropping it into the passenger seat with the beer in the floorboard, I went home to decompress. There is nothing like a cold beer and a couple slices of a deluxe Guido’s New York-style pizza to make you forget about the worries of your day. Okay, there are but this was my flavor of choice, on this day.

I was halfway through my second slice of pizza, as well as a rerun of Friends, when my phone rang. I checked it to find the caller ID showing the number for Forensics. I guess the geeks had some news. So much for dinner. I paused the TV, tossed my slice down in the box and took a deep breath.

I answered the call, “Detective MacCallen, Homicide,” even though I knew who it was. You just have to play professional sometimes.

“Detective MacCallen, this is Michael Williams in Forensics. You said you wanted to know as soon as we have something about the Pfeiffer case. The snake bite.”

“Yeah,” My impatience showing in my voice, hoping to hurry the chief lab rat along so I could get back to my pizza and that cutie, what’s her name, Lisa something…you know, Phoebe.

“We found something really weird. We were able to pull some traces of venom from the wound. It is, simultaneously, a perfect match for an existing venom but unlike anything we have ever seen.”

What the fuck was he talking about? “What do you mean by a perfect match?” I asked, feeling frustrated that I didn’t quite follow.

“Well,” Williams drew a deep breath, “it is a perfect match for the venom in an Eastern Diamondback Rattlesnake. That was the easy part. The downside is much worse. Pfeiffer didn’t own any rattlesnakes, first of all.”

“Aaaaand…” I tried to get him to keep going. The guy seemed to have the verbal momentum of a snail covered in salt.

“Even if he did have one, for a snake to have a venom that concentrated, it would have needed to be a rattlesnake the size of a Metrobus.”

“Ok, so it was a huge fucking snake. So what?”

“Rattlesnakes don’t get anywhere that long. Anacondas perhaps, but rattlers, never. I definitely think you have a homicide. It appears as if someone has found a way to concentrate rattlesnake venom into a much more potent form.”

“That’s more fucked up than a football bat!” I exclaimed. “Why would someone do that? What purpose would that serve other than poisoning people?”

Williams paused for a moment, considering his response. “Perhaps it could be used to formulate a more potent antivenin but I don’t know if it would be worth it. Regular rattlesnake antivenin works well enough.”

“So we have ourselves either a rattlesnake straight out of a Sci-Fi Channel movie or a killer with access to top of the line medical facilities. Neither one really seems very likely to me.”

“It doesn’t to me either. So there must be a third possibility, I don’t care how sharp Occam’s razor is, neither one of those are even somewhat likely. We’ll keep working on it, Detective. I’ll give you a call as soon as we have more.”

“You do that, Pete. I’ll look forward to hearing from you, because it looks like there is some more work you need to do,” I punched the End Call button before he could reply, as the image of a giant rattlesnake sank in.

I leaned back, beer in hand, and gave the case some deep thought. About thirty seconds of deep thought. Then I took a long pull off my beer, grabbed my slice and hit the play button. It can wait until tomorrow, I thought as I took in the sight of the ditsy blonde on the show.

Wrong again.

About the Author:

Michael Fisher, Fish to his friends and family, has worn many hats in his long life. He’s done a little of everything, including US Navy Hospital Corpsman, club DJ, security specialist, psychiatric technician, painter, and currently, father, Mason, author and tattooer, not necessarily in that order. He has a love of ugly Hawaian shirts. He also bears a passing resemblance to Walter Sobchak in The Big Lebowski. He is also a member of the Horror Writer’s Association.

Michael is an award-winning author, artist and editor with J. Ellington Ashton Press. Awards include JEA Honorable Mention for Short Story of the Year 2013 for the Return of the Devil Fly in Midnight Remains, as well as Top Ten Artist and Top Ten Editor from Critters Workshop Annual Preditors & Editors 2014 Awards and Top Ten Author, Artist, Editor, Book Cover, Nonfiction Article and Short Story from Critters Workshop Annual Preditors & Editors 2015. DC’s Dead was awarded J. Ellington Ashton Press’ Editor’s Choice Award for 2015. He also won runner up for CEO’s Choice Novel of the Year for It Always Bites You In The End and Runner Up Anthology of the Year for Within Stranger Aeons for the JEA Choice Awards, as well as multiple awards for his cover design work.

Find the book on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Always-Bites-You-End-ebook/dp/B01LXFP8XU/

Read Fish’s thoughts on his website: http://epicfishtales.com

Connect with him on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MichaelFisherAuthor/

See his cover art: https://www.facebook.com/MArtDunkel/

 

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Story vs. Characters: Which is More Important?

This is a question I’ve found myself pondering on more than one occasion…

Make no mistake: I’ve come to understand that it’s the characters that drive the plot, not the other way around. Characters have to make decisions and take actions, not just react to the problems they encounter. A good story focuses on the character and how the things they face affect them, change them, and help them grow.

But you can’t just have a great character and do nothing with them. That’s like having a million dollars stuffed under your mattress. Unless you give readers a good story to go along with the great characters, you’ll do the character you’ve created a disservice.

I sat down with a few of my friends—authors and editors—and talked about this debate.

What are your thoughts on this debate? Drop a comment below and tell me what you think…

The Panelists

Maura van der Linden: My publishing career started in technical non-fiction with one solo book on Software Security Testing and a contribution to a study guide for a software security certification. I then moved to writing small-press fiction under a pen name and began editing for several of my publishers. With the advantage of being both a life-long reader and a bit of a grammar geek, I discovered I really enjoyed editing and helping develop an author’s work without taking it over.

I enjoy the challenges of polishing stories and books without detracting from their author’s voice or intent. I guess I really love editing works of fiction.

Website: http://www.thecontenteditor.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TheContentEditor/

G.G. Silverman:

G.G. Silverman lives north of Seattle with her husband and dog, both of whom are ridiculously adorable. When she isn’t writing, she loves to explore the mossy woods and wind-swept coast of the Pacific Northwest, which provide moody inspiration for all her stories. She also enjoys bouts of inappropriate laughter, and hates wind chimes because they remind her of horror movies.

She holds a BFA from the Massachusetts College of Art and also completed the Writing for Children program at the University of Washington. She has attended the Martha’s Vineyard Institute for Creative Writing, the Oregon Coast Children’s Book Writer’s Workshop, and the Big Sur Writer’s Workshop.

Website: http://www.ggsilverman.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/GG_Silverman

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/GGSilvermanAuthor

E.M. Whittaker:

E.M. began writing when she turned 13, starting with fanfiction stories on RPGamer, Forfeit Island, Fanfiction.net and Lufia.net. After growing her fanbase through these mediums, E.M. considered fictional writing after creating original characters and backstories within fandom universes. After extensive encouragement, E.M. plunged into original writing in 2012, specializing in paranormal mystery, urban fantasy and psychological thrillers.

Website: http://www.emwhittaker.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/EM-Whittaker-1377638635799476

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Book Review: Raven Song by I.A. Ashcroft

It’s Bonus Book Review Saturday, and have I got a treat for you! I have to say no book has sucked me in so thoroughly as this one did within the first 100 pages. A great read, indeed…

Raven Song

A century ago, the world burned. Even now, though rebuilt and defiant, civilization is still choking on the ashes.

Jackson, a smuggler, lives in the shadows, once a boy with no memory, no name, and no future. Ravens followed him, long-extinct birds only he could see, and nightmares flew in their wake. Once, Jackson thought himself to be one of the lucky few touched by magic, a candidate for the Order of Mages. He is a man now, and that dream has died. But, the ravens still follow. The nightmares still whisper in his ear.

Anna’s life was under the sun, her future bright, her scientific work promising. She knew nothing of The Bombings, the poisoned world, or the occult. One day, she went to work, and the next, she awoke in a box over a hundred years in the future, screaming, fighting to breathe, and looking up into the eyes of a smuggler. Anna fears she’s gone crazy, unable to fill the massive hole in her memories, and terrified of the strange abilities she now possesses.

The Coalition government has turned its watchful eyes towards them. The secret factions of the city move to collect them first. And, old gods stir in the darkness, shifting their pawns on the playing field.

If Anna and Jackson wish to stay free, they must learn what they are and why they exist.

Unfortunately, even if they do, it may be too late.

My Review: 4 Stars

I have nothing but praise for the beginning of the book! It started off with amazingly intriguing characters, great setting, and everything I could ask for in a dystopian world. I wanted to find out everything I could about Jackson and his smuggling business. His dreams: meh, but they added to the “fantasy” of the story.

Once Anna was introduced, I felt the book went a bit off the rails. With two characters living half-in, half-out of a dream world, it spent more time on the dreams and visions than the part of the story I wanted to read.

Still, this is just my preference as a reader. The book was very well-written, and while I may not have loved the story line (with its trippy dream-world stuff), I was hooked by the premise, setting, and characters. For those who can handle the more abstract and metaphysical concepts, this would be a 5-star book. For me, who loves a story grounded in reality, this was good but not great.

About the Author:

I. A. Ashcroft has been writing fiction in many forms for almost twenty years. The author’s first book, written at age seven, featured the family cat hunting an evil sorceress alongside dragons and eagles. This preoccupation with the fantastical has not changed in the slightest.

Now, the author dwells in Phoenix, AZ alongside a wonderful tale-spinner and two increasingly deranged cats. Ashcroft writes almost exclusively in the realm of darker fantasy these days, loving to entertain adults with stories of magic, wonder, despair, violence, and hope, bringing a deep love of mythology into every tale penned. The author also loves diverse and intriguing casts of characters.

When not buried in a book, one might find Ashcroft learning languages, charting road trips, and playing tabletop RPGs with clever and fun people.

Find the book on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Raven-Song-Dystopian-Fantasy-Inokis/dp/1944674004/

Read I.A.’s thoughts on his Website: http://www.ia-ashcroft.com/

Connect with him on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/i.a.ashcroft

Tweet at him: https://twitter.com/ia_ashcroft

 

 

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16 Ways to Make Your Editor Love You

You don’t have to fear the mighty red pen of your editor!

Many of my writer friends are afraid of their editor. More accurately, they’re afraid of the massive overhauls they’ll end up doing once their editor sends back their books. Me, I LOVE my editors. In fact, the more they tell me to improve, the happier I am. I want to know how I can do things better the next time, so the more I learn from my current manuscript, the better.

Want to make your editor’s job easier and more enjoyable? Want to make sure your manuscript is as red-pen-free as possible? I sat down with a couple of my editor friends and asked them “What can we writers do to make you love us?”

Here is their answer:

The Cliff Notes

Properly format your documents.
Give me a setting and character I love.

Use strong sensory hooks to engage the senses. Sight, smell, sounds: all of these things draw the editor (and your reader) into the story.
Being forced to ask questions: make us wonder about what’s going on.


Hold your ground and defend the reasons for your story. If there’s a reason why it’s put that way, let them know.

Remember the editor is trying to help you tell YOUR story the best possible way. If they can’t understand what you’re trying to say, neither will the reader.


Be easy to work with.
Make each scene count. Eliminate anything that isn’t necessary.
Bring an unfinished manuscript to your developmental editor. Work with them to figure out the best way to tell that story and make your plot work.
Incorporate past feedback into your work. It shows your skills are growing.
Build suspense through the plot of the book. Build it up so we enjoy it.
Make an effort to pass the Bechdel test.
Don’t talk about coffee too much!
Be unique. Editors love to see something new!
Follow basic plot structure (three act structure, hero’s journey, etc.)

For plot structure, look up: Scene and Structure by Jack Bickham, The Marshall Plan by Evan Marshall


Know the rules, but break them anyway. HAVE THE FOUNDATION, and build off it to make your work stand out.
Don’t overdo it on the details. Make the details (action, setting, etc.) relevant, and use it to lead the reader through the story.
Enjoy the process and learn as you grow. Be open to suggestions.
Be on time with deadlines.

About the Panelists

Megan Hannum

Megan Hannum is a developmental editor and writing coach at Whynott Edit, helping writers refine their words, strengthen their skills, and tell the best possible version of their stories. It’s been said she has “a supernatural ability to see what’s missing,” which she uses to get writers from completed draft to publishable manuscript.

Get Social:

Website: www.whynottedit.com

Twitter: twitter.com/WhynottEdit

Instagram: instagram.com/whynottedit

Michael Dellert

I’m an award-winning writer, editor, publishing consultant, and writing coach with a publishing career spanning 20 years. My blog, Adventures in Indie Publishing, is a resource for creative writers of all kinds.

With a Bachelor’s Degree in English Literature and Writing, a Master’s Degree in English Language and Literature, and a summer seminar at Cornell University’s elite School of Criticism and Theory, I have a formidable understanding of the art and mechanics of literature and poetry.

Get Social:

Publishing Services Web Page: http://www.mdellert.com/blog/writing-editing-and-consulting-services/

LinkedIn: http://www.linkedin.com/pub/michael-dellert/29/40a/986

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

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/mdellert.editor

 

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Book Review: Sword Chronicles Book 2 by Michaelbrent Collings

For Book Review Wednesday, I’m pleased to bring you an awesome Book 2 in a fantasy series I was immediately sucked into. The Book 1 is one of the few books to receive a 5-star rating from me, and the Book 2 is no less awesome.

The Sword Chronicles: Child of Sorrows

Sword thought it was over.

She thought that when she killed the Chancellor and ended the corrupt reign of the Emperor, that everything would get better. That the suffering would end in Ansborn. That the people would be free.

But now a new terror has been born. A trio of warriors who live only for vengeance, who know only hate, have set their sights on Sword and on those she holds dear. They are powerful, they are deadly, and they are impossible to kill.

And worst of all, they are but harbingers of what is to come. Because after a thousand years, the unknown enemy that lies below the mountains of Ansborn is at last on the move. And it is coming for them all.

Death from among them.

Death from below.

And only one person – one Sword – has any chance of stopping it.

My Review: 5 Stars

Let me say that I LOVED the characters in Book 1, and they remained as epic in Book 2. The unique abilities they possess are fascinating, and they are all very well-written, very well-developed characters. Plus, the world built by the author is rich, detailed, and sucks you in.

There was one part where I felt the writing fell a bit flat: the death of an important character (I can’t say which for fear of spoilers). The character’s chapter ended a bit abruptly without any real indication of what happened, then their later appearance in the book isn’t written with the impact I’d expect from a character death.

That being said, I was sucked in by the book once more—instead of focusing on rebellion, it focused on trying to control an Empire rotting from the inside out. I can’t wait to read Book 3 and find out what the hell is going on beneath the clouds, and why no one who ever goes below returns alive. SO MUCH to look forward to!

Here’s a Taste:

“This is your last warning!” shouted the bowmen from the tower.

The old man ignored him. He stared straight at Barnas. “You look young, boy. How long have you been in the Army?”

Barnas gulped. He looked at Ikaia, who shook his head and shrugged, clearly just as unsure as he was about how to go about responding to the question.

“Uh… three months, sir.”

“I thought as much. You haven’t grown enough to be part of the problem yet.” The old man waved. “You may leave.”

Barnas cocked his head. “What? What – I mean… what?” The old man might as well have been speaking the language of the Old Ones for all the sense he was making.

The old man’s eyes narrowed – or at least, the wrinkles around where his eyes should be deepened slightly, which Barnas assumed meant his eyes were narrowing. “Are you slow, boy? Get out of here!”

“Where do I – why should I leave?”

“So we don’t kill you.”

Ikaia, for once, didn’t laugh. He appeared just as stunned by the statement as Barnas was.

Laughter came from the guard tower, though. Gruff laughter that made it clear all five men in that hot box of stone and iron thought this an amusing – and probably welcome – break in their usually dull routine of killing convicts.

The old man ignored them. Nor did he seem to notice the other wall guards who were beginning to converge on this section as, one by one, they noticed something new.

New was rarely good in this place.

“Well?” he said. “Are you going to leave?”

Leave, said a voice in Barnas’ head. You hate it here. You’ve always hated it here, so run! Get away!

Run!

But a saner part answered: And where would you go? And how long before the guards butchered these three, hunted you down, and then butchered you, too, as a deserter?

He shook his head. “I am a solder in the Imperial Army. I am a servant to the Empire. I will not leave.”

Ikaia put a proud hand on his shoulder. “Well sai –”

The big man’s voice cut out. Barnas frowned – it wasn’t like his friend to stop talking for any reason, let alone in the middle of a sentence. He saw his friend’s hand, fingers still clenched tightly on his shoulder.

But the hand was attached to an arm that ended at the elbow.

And the rest of Ikaia was just… gone. There was only a thin cloud of blood to mark the place where his friend had been only a moment before.

Someone screamed – Barnas thought it might have been him – and then he heard the distinctive thwap of bowstrings being released, the shhhhk of arrows passing overhead.

He looked at the threesome, and no longer cared how harmless they looked, because clearly they were not harmless, clearly they were dangerous, they had just killed his friend and the only thing he could say about them was that he wanted them to die.

Time seemed to both speed up and slow down. It reminded Barnas of his first day on the wall, the first time a lunatic had run at him, spittle flying, teeth gnashing. The fear. The certainty he was going to die. The relief when he didn’t.

Because Ikaia saved me.

He turned. Followed the arrows’ flight.

Saw.

The first arrow sped to the girl. She didn’t shrink from it. Didn’t flee. Instead, she threw the woolly at it. The thing, a foot-long ball of fur, the kind of thing mothers gave to infants to sleep with and keep them company at night, flee into the air…

… and grew.

In the space of the few feet between the girl’s hands and when it met the arrow, the woolly went from a foot long to something that towered over the girl: probably ten feet tall, and broad in proportion. Its four legs became many-knuckled things that gave it a strangely arachnid appearance, and its snout split to accommodate a suddenly too-wide mouth.

The arrow sped toward it, and it didn’t move away. It simply swallowed the arrow mid-flight, and seemed no worse the wear for it.

The monster was connected to little girl’s wrist by some kind of leash that ran from her wrist to its neck. The leash pulsed with a sickly yellow light, something unhealthy and unwholesome, and as he watched the girl seemed to… fade. She drooped, like wax from a candle that has burned too long. Then she fell forward, and seemed to merge with the leash and through it with the thing that had once been a woolly.

The monster grew still more as it merged with the girl. Its teeth grew even longer and sharper, and it bellowed a terrible shriek that seemed to shake the ash from the air. Then it leaped the fifty feet between it and the guard tower. It snapped another arrow out of the air mid-leap, then slammed into the side of the tower, driving huge talons deep into the stone and climbing up the side.

The next of the arrows hit the simpleton. This one found its mark, as did the next one. The first hit the big man in the shoulder, the next one took him in the neck. He shivered, but was strong: he didn’t fall. Instead, he stood there and writhed, his features a study in agony.

If it weren’t for the fact that he had just seen his friend utterly destroyed, Barnas would have felt bad for him.

A final arrow made its slow-fast way toward the old man. Barnas felt a smile split his face, for surely the old man was the person behind the evil that had come to the wall this day.

The old man waited…

… waited…

… the simpleton kept twitching, shivering, shaking, kept not falling…

… the huge monster that had once been a gentle pet made its way up the tower, tore one of the narrow arrow slits wide open, and shoved its head inside to a choir of screams….

… and the old man waited…

… waited…

… and then dodged.

Barnas blinked, unsure what he had just seen.

Could the old man be a Greater Gift? Could he be one of those types who jumped from place to place or who made himself as smoke?

No. The old man had moved. And not just him, but the chair he was on. It had all shifted.

“How…?”

The screams above Barnas worsened. Then grew silent. The guards that had come from other parts of the wall screamed battle cries. Some drew short bows or crossbows. The woolly/girl/thing dropped among them.

The simpleton stopped shaking. And his eyes were suddenly gone.

Barnas coughed. Not a cough of illness or the cough he made a thousand times a day as he tried to get the ash out of his lungs. This was a sound of pure, perfect panic. It felt like part of his soul shriveling inside him. The choked sound he had just made was all he could muster in the face of what he saw.

The big man’s empty-seeming eyes had disappeared. But not as though he had been tortured, not like they had been burned away with hot spikes or cut away with knives. They seemed instead to have receded into a dark nothing. As though a part of the night sky had found its way to the man’s skull and cast a dark spell that extinguished any light around it.

And, along with the man’s eyes, any sense of a feeble mind seemed to have disappeared. He ran at the wall.

Except for places – like here – where the wall had fallen into disrepair, the insides of the wall were smooth, hard to scale.

But the outsides were another matter. It was only the work of a moment for the man to climb the wall. To flip himself over the edge. To land in the midst of half a dozen wall guards.

And to kill them all.

He moved so fast he was a blur, a streak followed by swaths of crimson as he spilled the blood of the six guards. They didn’t even get to attempt a defense, let alone a counter-attack. They simply fell.

The man didn’t use a weapon. Just his hands. His feet. His nails.

His teeth.

About the Author

Michaelbrent Collings is an internationally-bestselling author, multiple Bram Stoker Award nominee, and a produced screenwriter. He also makes amazing waffles.

Find the book on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Sword-Chronicles-Child-Sorrows-ebook/dp/B01HDQWE6G

Read his thoughts on his website: http://michaelbrentcollings.com

Connect with him on Facebook: http://facebook.com/MichaelbrentCollings

Tweet at him: http://twitter.com/mbcollings

 

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Battle of the Genres: Which is Best?

As you all know, I’m a pretty hardcore fantasy fan. I’ve been reading predominantly fantasy for the last few years, and have been heavy into Speculative Fiction since my teen years.

But, it turns out, there are more genres out there! Who knew? Heh…

During the launch of The Last Bucelarii (Book 2): Lament of the Fallen, I posted a few virtual discussion panels I had recorded with my author friends. One of them (I’m going to say my favorite) involved a debate about which genre was best.

Sorry to say, things stayed friendly and polite, but I had a chance to ask some fun questions like:

Aren’t science fiction and fantasy ONLY for nerds?
Is there any way to make romance more appealing to men?
How is paranormal not just romance with a fantasy spin?
Isn’t horror all blood and guts?
Isn’t it “if you’ve read one, you’ve read them all” for mystery thrillers?

My author friends did an amazing job of defending their genres, and I ended up with a discussion I think you’re going to love. Check out the full discussion below:

 

Which is YOUR favorite genre? Drop a comment below and let me know why it’s the best…

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Book Review: Mountains of Mischief by Gordon Long

It’s Bonus Book Review Saturday, and I’m happy to bring you the third book in the Worlds of Change series. I enjoyed both Book 1 and Book 2, and Book 3 is a great continuation to the series.

Mountains of Mischief

Nobody messes with a Dalmyn wagon train. That is the credo of Dalmyn Cartage, and their drivers and guards are up to the task of keeping it that way.

Until Aleria anDalmyn goes out on her first assignment as wagonmaster and runs into a simmering quarrel involving an ancient boundary dispute and forbidden Mechanical weapons. And a Ghost Beast from an ancient tale, which Aleria would prefer not to believe in until the mutilated bodies persuade her otherwise.

Trapped in the suffocating depths of a crumbling mountain fortress by an ambitious and relentless foe, Aleria struggles to survive as her small party gets whittled down and her confidence in her ability to do her duty fades.

Even the sturdy presence of her guard Captain, Erlon, with his hand-and-a-half sword, and the handsome but diffident Kolwyn anLlannon, inheritor of the lore of the Old Ones, can protect her party if she makes the wrong move.  And then there are the two unknown horsemen dogging her footsteps. Do they have contact with a traitor in her own camp? Who can she trust?

And where in her crowded life is there a time and a place for the love she craves?

Heralded by advance readers as the best book in the series, this novel steps up the action considerably, without losing the fine characterization and quirky humour of the earlier books.

My Review: 4 Stars

What I liked about the previous books was that they had a grimmer undertone to the classic fantasy story. This one didn’t have that grimness, but I found I actually ended up enjoying it more. The story and characters were more interesting.

Here’s a strange realization: who knew running a caravan could be so interesting? The entire book is basically about Aleria handling a wagon train, and I found it surprisingly fascinating. Gordon did a great job of keeping the story grounded in reality while throwing in the bits of fantasy that makes it such an awesome genre. The story is solid, has decent suspense, and keeps moving at a steady pace.

The only problem was the climax: there was none. The big build-up to the confrontation ended with a whisper, instead of a bang. I felt cheated and disappointed by that lack of high-intensity ending.

That being said, the story was overall well-written, clever, and engaging.  A GREAT book indeed!

Here’s a Taste:

Aleria had no idea how to read the time by the stars, but she could see that they had moved quite a bit. She considered going back into the fortress but, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a movement down below her balcony. She searched the spot, but there was nothing. Staring at things in the dark made them look like they moved, so she let her eyes roam across the area.

There! Another movement in the shadows. Got him.

Now that she had his direction she could follow his route as he made his way towards the barricaded entry. She heard the slither of cloth over tree bark, and then he was stumbling up the staircase.

She slipped back inside and waited.

After a while, there was a scraping sound in their old camp and the flash of flint on steel. A torch flared. She looked around in the dim light that spread into the hallway outside, but her hiding place stayed dark. The only route is down the corridor. If he comes in here for any reason…

But Lexing was on a mission; he did not pause. He strode, sword in hand, away down the corridor to the west. She slipped out and followed at the very edge of his torchlight, confident that his flame-seared vision would not detect her in the darkness.

As she expected, he made the correct turn to take him to the west end of the fortress. He must think we were looking for the jewels out at this end. He’s had almost two days in here to get his bearings and read the footprints in the dust. Now things get interesting.

She hurried ahead and caught the glow of his torch as he turned again on the proper route. Soon they were in territory unfamiliar to her, but he strode with confidence through a lower archway. As his torch lit the entrance, she could see that this tunnel was different. More rounded and natural. Could be the original watercourse. If I was looking, I’d choose that one, too.

Sure enough, when she entered this tunnel it soon deviated, twisting and doubling back, widening then becoming narrow. She moved faster, confident that his torch would warn her.

Then she flashed her lantern beam on the dusty floor and stopped dead. Most of the tracks here are the Beast’s.

She pointed her lantern back down the tunnel. Nothing but the blank wall of the last turn. She flashed it ahead. Same view. Well, I guess if I go forward there’s the chance it’ll eat him first. He must know it’s up here. He must be headed for its den! There’s only one way he would dare do that. She followed, deeper and deeper into the mountain, the rock looming heavier above her as she went. She held her fear firmly in check and paced on.

Then she heard a light “clack” behind her, like a nail on stone.  She straightened, every sense alert. A faint, fetid smell brushed her nose. The wind blows up this corridor. The Beast is behind me!

She pointed her lantern back, but there was nothing there. Turning, she hurried forward. The light of Lexing’s torch splashed the wall at the next corner. She waited, her heart beating wildly, until it faded. Then she moved ahead again.

When she turned the next corner, she saw a dark hole in the tunnel wall. She poked her lantern in. It was a small room, hollowed out like an eddy in the banks of a stream. She glanced ahead. Lexing’s torch. She sent her lamp beam behind her.

Two eyes, spaced far apart, flashed in the darkness.

She slipped into the room, put her back to the wall and drew her sword but kept it down by her side. Lantern in one hand, sword in the other she waited, calming her breathing, relaxing her muscles, preparing herself for battle. A stillness came over her, and she breathed a silent thanks to Master Ogima. Whatever happens, I’m ready.

The light sliding of talons on the uneven rocks became louder. Click. Clack. Silence as the Beast traversed flat floor. Click. She did not shine her lamp on the door, but on the wall of the room beside her. If it didn’t like light, it didn’t want a beam shining in its eyes. She would save that for a desperation move. As if anything could be more desperate.

There was a thickening of the darkness in the doorway, and a huge shadow paused outside. The gleaming eyes turned on her. She stayed dead still. There was a snuffle of breath as the animal drank in her odour. She couldn’t stand it. She had to do something.

“Hello there, boy. Nice kitty. Um…happy hunting.” Well, that was sufficiently stupid. I hope he isn’t intelligent enough to notice.

The head cocked to one side. Then the eyes swung away, and the shadow was gone. The clicking faded. She breathed again.

She stood there a moment, but then her knees had no strength and she folded down against the wall. Suddenly she needed all the light she could get. She twisted the lamp fully open, disregarding what it did to her vision.

She kept the light open until her breathing slowed and she realized that there was nothing to see, anyway. She closed the lamp down to a slit again and sat.

What do I do now?

There was a shout from up the tunnel: a wordless blast of sound. It was answered by a roar the like of which she had never heard. The man’s voice sounded again, rising and rising into a scream of agony, sharply cut off.

Then there was silence…

About the Author

Brought up in a logging camp with no electricity, Gordon Long learned his storytelling in the traditional way: at his father’s knee. He now spends his time editing, publishing, travelling, blogging and writing fantasy and social commentary, although sometimes the boundaries blur.

Gordon lives in Tsawwassen, British Columbia, with his wife, Linda, and their Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever, Josh. When he is not writing and publishing, he works on projects with the Surrey Seniors’ Planning Table, and is a staff writer for Indies Unlimited.

Find the book on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Mountains-Mischief-World-Change-Book-ebook/dp/B017JF493W/

Connect with Gordon on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/gordonalongrenaissancewriter/

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Finding Our Humanity in Little Things

It’s amazing how easy it is to become detached from the world around us, and desensitized to all the suffering in the world: terrorist attacks, murders, mistreatment of children, natural disasters, and the list goes on. The worst part is that the worse the situation gets, often the less we care.

Joseph Stalin’s chilling words come to mind: “One death is a tragedy. A million deaths is a statistic.” Bloody hell, that’s cold! Sadly, it’s also true.

We feel more deeply over the loss of one life (look at the #BlackLivesMatter movement) than we do over thousands or hundreds of thousands of deaths (how long did people care about Haiti, New Orleans, or any other disaster-struck place?). But even then, we’re finding it harder and harder to bring ourselves to care about those “one life’s”. The fact that we see news stories, articles, and blog posts about death every day is making it difficult to find the emotional currency to spend on these random strangers.

I was reading an article on Psychology Today that talked about this desensitization and losing our sense of humanity. I loved the way they summed up the ways we can cling to our humanity no matter how bad things get:

“The first step is to recognize that we like ourselves better when in touch with our more humane emotions.”

We feel good about ourselves when we do good things, but we feel terrible when we do bad things. That’s a VERY clear indication of which we should be doing!

“Have self-compassion. Self-compassion is sympathy for one’s hardship or suffering, with a motivation to heal, improve, and repair.”

That’s not compassion for YOUR hardship or suffering, but it means having a motivation to help others in order to enhance our sense of self. By helping others, we increase our respect for their dignity, which in turn is self-empowering.

Simple, succinct, and something to think about next time you’re faced with the chance to show compassion. You may not be able to summon up the emotion to care about the story you see on TV, but you definitely can do something next time you come across someone asking for help. Give a few dollars to that disabled vet, buy the homeless man a lunch, offer to carry someone’s groceries, or just lend a listening ear. It makes the world a better place, and it makes YOU a better person!

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Book Review: Life Expressed in 25 Words or Less: Distilled Wisdom for Life

Today’s Book Review is going to be one of a very unusual nature. It’s not fantasy or sci-fi—heck, it’s not even fiction. Instead, it’s a collection of haikus (Japanese poems) and short stories that I found intriguing. The book can be found on Online Book Club, and it’s one I would say is definitely worth reading.

Life Expressed in 25 Words or Less: Distilled Wisdom for Life

From the Author:

Hi. Welcome to my world of word pictures. They represent selected random thoughts that span a period of almost twenty-five years, from my time in Japan to present day. The next version will include moments from before that time as well. Here’s a reading tip for maximum enjoyment: 1. Read the prologue for background. 2. Read the first aha moment. 3. Pause. 4. Read the next one. 5. Pause. 6. Keep repeating the process.

This book has been published in a limited printing run for sharing with friends, family, and business colleagues. I hope you get the picture as you read. Some are written for humor. Some are simple observations of life. Others are either events that triggered expressions of faith or simply thoughts that popped up in my head. Thanks in advance for taking the time to read. I would appreciate feedback too.

My Review: 5 Stars

I’m not a poetry reader, but I found these haikus to be surreal and breathtaking. They reminded me of growing up in Japan, and all the hours I spent laboring over the perfect haiku. I was transported to the realm of the author’s mind and memories. I feel somehow lighter, happier after reading them. An amazing work of poetry, even for a non-poetry reader like myself.

About the Author:

Jack Cantwell is the owner of SkyLimit Marketing in Lebanon, VA. When Cantwell lived in Japan in the late 1980s, he became interested in the concept of haiku, which is creating word efficient word pictures, according to a news release. He started observing life and created his own rule that is to express himself in 25 words or less. It prompted him in writing “Life Expressed in 25 Words or Less: Distilled Wisdom for Life.”

Find the book on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01FULED9M/

Find it on Online Book Club: http://forums.onlinebookclub.org/shelves/book.php?id=88810

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