Andy Peloquin's Blog, page 46

A Cool Idea Just Doesn’t Cut It

I’ve been hanging out (online) with writers a lot, and I hear them talking about this awesome idea they have for a story or a unique twist that will make their plot awesome. I smile and give them the proverbial thumbs up, but I always find myself thinking, “Is that ALL they have? Are they banking their entire book on an awesome twist or unique idea?”

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about cool ideas. You have no idea how thrilled I was when I opened the first pages of The Way of Kings by Brandon Sanderson to discover that the main characters had magical armor that I could understand. I was exhilarated to read the Lies of Locke Lamora by Scott Lynch and discover the first true fantasy con artist.

But was it these “unique” things that kept me coming back to the book–and every sequel published since? Sadly, it was not.

The reason that I come back to these books time and again is the fact that they are so much more than just a cool idea. There is real depth and pith to the books. Perhaps there is no deep moral truths, but if you’ve read Sanderson, you’ll know that he adds a bit of philosophy and theology into just about everything he does. Scott Lynch’s work focuses A LOT on overcoming the weaknesses of your own personality.

Without something deeper, it’s going to be nothing more than a “cool idea”. Yes, you may have the very coolest character, world, or group of ideas in mind, but there has to be something to hold people’s interest and CARE about the ideas. Without that “something deeper”, you’re going to fall flat.

In this day and age when the market is flooded with more books than anyone could read in a lifetime, there are far too many “cool ideas” and nowhere near enough depth. Don’t let your book be thrown on a mountainous “to read” pile just because all of your time and focus went into those cool ideas, and not on the people and the deeper stories that will hook your readers.

Book Review: The Sons of Brabant by Michael Bolan

It’s Book Review Wednesday, and boy do I have a treat for you! This is one of the VERY FEW books I’ve ever rated as 5 stars, and it’s a wonderful historical fiction/fantasy novel that’s absolutely worth the read.

 

The Sons of Brabant

Europe is on fire. Fuelled by religion, politics and power, war rages across the continent, pitting father against son, and brother against brother.

In the wake of such conflict come horrific famine and deadly plagues. Rumours begin to surface of the End of Days, of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and the violent Renaissance of Mankind.

As Europe burns, betrayal and feuding rages in the Brabant family. Why does Reinald, the powerful yet dishonest Duke fear his younger siblings so? How will headstrong Leo and noble Willem outsmart their older brother, and take back what is rightfully theirs? And what of Isabella, their troublesome younger sister, whose fiery temper lands her in love and in trouble…

Vowing to put right the wrongs of their family and bring an end to their brother’s deadly plans, Willem, Leo and Isabella must chart a course through war, famine and pestilence.

Meanwhile Reinald forms an unlikely and deadly alliance with a megalomaniac, a warmonger, and a deranged yet brilliant scientist, hell-bent on seeing their holy mission through to its grisly conclusion.

Can the Sons of the King of Brabant survive? Help appears from the most unlikely of places…

 

My Review: 5 Stars

Yes, I’m giving this book a five-star review because it’s just that good. I don’t hand them out easily, so you can know this was worth the read.

Let’s start with the good:

A great setting. Set in post-Renaissance Europe, the continent is a powder keg of battles and violence. Definitely a get setting for the story!

Good characters. The two main male characters (Willem and Leo) are excellent, though the sister is a bit of a two-dimensional character. The Irish character Conor is also a bit two-dimensional, but he’s interesting enough to make it worth the read. Reinald is a mish-mash of sociopath, psychopath, and villain trying to do the right things in the wrong way.

Good story. Though it took A LONG time to get through this book, I never lost interest. It was no easy reading, but it was a great story overall. A wonderful blend of military fiction, fantasy, and Irish mythology thrown in.

Now for the bad:

The occasional grammar mistake, usually no more than two or three per chapter. Also, there is occasional misuse of a large or complicated word.

Head hopping, shifting from character to character’s POV. Not so easy to read, as it’s always shifting perspectives.

Odd time jump, between the first and second chapter. It had nothing to indicate the passage of time, but just barreled right on.

Odd breaks. The book has scene breaks at random and confusing places.

Flashbacks done poorly. Not only were they out of place, but there was nothing to indicate that they were flashbacks. They didn’t further the story much, and they could have been left out.

All in all, a book that I found absolutely awesome, and I’m totally looking forward to Book 2!

 

Here’s a Taste:

As Vitruvius, his heavy-shouldered horse, picked up speed, he was aware of the others following him, struggling to catch up. Soon his attention was fully consumed by the onrushing hedge, requiring him to judge both speed and distance, and trust that his steed would heed his judgement. Just when it seemed too late and they would crash into the rough branches at full tilt, he drew back on the reins and lifted Vitruvius’ head, the horse’s body straining as it drove its rear hooves into the ground, lifting man and beast over the obstacle with ease.

Landing safely, Willem allowed his steed to continue its gallop, but drew it in a lazy circle so that he could observe the others as they jumped. Leo and Reinald cleared simultaneously, their voices raised in whoops as they sailed through the air. Moments later, Bella’s dun mare crested the hedge. Immediately Willem could see that something was amiss, as the horse’s trailing leg clipped a solid cross-branch and its body twisted in mid-air. Time slowed and he heard his own voice cry out for his sister as he raced his horse back towards the fence. While Duke Henry loved all of his children, Isabella reminded him of the fire and spark of their dead mother, and the Duke was fiercely protective of her wellbeing. The thought of bringing her home injured terrified Willem.

His cry had alerted the others, who reined in their horses and tried to turn back to help. Vitruvius’ momentum meant that Willem was the only brother close when Bella leapt from her saddle, half sprawling as she tried to distance herself from the falling mare. Willem watched with amazement as his sister landed on the soft earth and rolled as skilfully as one of the acrobats that sometimes visited court as entertainers.

Triskell, Isabella’s mare, was less lucky. Willem watched as the horse landed heavily on its right foreleg, his gaze aghast as he saw the leg concertina, bone pieces twisting and rupturing out of the skin. An almost human shriek accompanied the fall, which left the horse thrashing in agony, unable to right itself. Willem threw himself from the saddle before his horse had come to a stop, dropping to his knees beside the crumpled form of his younger sister.

“Triskell!” gasped Isabella, her voice clouded with pain, “is she all right?”

Willem ran his hands over his sister’s arms and legs and straightened her neck gently. “I don’t know. Are you well? Nothing seems broken, but lie still and let me see.”

“A plague on you, you dung-for-brains goat! How fares my horse?” Bella shouted angrily, as she struggled to sit up.

Listening to the beast’s agonised screams would have told anyone that her horse was mortally wounded and a cursory glance confirmed that for Willem. He looked down at his sister sadly. “She’s done for, Bell. There’s nothing to be done, except put her out of her misery. I’m so sorry.”

Bella screamed madly, pushing herself to her feet and staggering over to the fallen horse, whose struggles calmed somewhat in her presence.

Reinald and Leo dropped to the ground beside them, concerned for Isabella’s well-being. They both immediately realised the nature of Triskell’s injuries. Reinald, in command as ever, stepped forward, drawing his belt knife. “I will put her out of her misery. It’s all that can be done and we need to run to stay ahead of the storm. You can ride with Willem – Vitruvius is strong enough to carry you both at a gallop.”

“Leave her alone,” screamed Isabella. She rose to her knees and looked into her brothers’ faces, seeing the same answer in all three. Tears streaming down her face, her natural practicality took over. “Very well, but I will do it myself.”

The boys nodded, expecting no less, as she took the knife from Reinald’s outstretched hand. She knelt again, looking into Triskell’s eyes and raised a shaky hand with the knife poised to fall. Her hand shook as sobs racked her body and she dropped her arm to her side once more. Between cries, she mumbled, “I can’t. I’m so sorry, Tris, I just can’t.”

Reinald stepped forward again. “Get out of the way, then. This needs to be done – it’s the right thing. If you don’t have the strength to do it, I will. Stop your tears, girl, it’s only a horse.”

Both Willem and Leo turned to stare at their older brother, horrified at his statement, but their reaction was nothing in comparison to that of their sister. From her crouch, Isabella launched herself straight up at Reinald, knocking him over, beating and scratching at his face, fury written large across her features. With her knee on Reinald’s chest, she remembered the knife in her hand. With no warning, just a manic gleam in her eyes, she made to drive the knife into his chest.

“I should kill you, you brute,” she snarled, before jumping to her feet and throwing herself to the ground beside her horse once more. With a quick slash, she drew the blade across the beast’s throat, spilling its lifeblood into the soil.

 

About the Author:

It took Michael Bolan over two decades of running in the corporate ratrace to realise that all he actually did was tell stories.

There was no Damascene revelation for Bolan which caused him to pen his first work of fiction, “The Sons of Brabant”. An avid reader, he simply felt that he could do as good a job as many of the authors he read and decided to put his money where his mouth was.

Living and working in many countries left him with smatterings of a dozen languages and their stories, and his love for history focused his ideas on the Thirty Years War, the most destructive conflict that the continent has ever seen.

Now living in Prague (for the second time), Michael brings alive the twisted alleys of the 17th century and recreates the brooding darkness of a fractured Europe, where no-one was entirely sure who was fighting whom.

Michael writes while liberally soused in gin, a testament to Franz de le Boë, who was mixing oil of juniper with neat spirit while the thirty Years War raged around him.

Find the book on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Sons-Brabant-Book-Devils-Bible-ebook/dp/B00SWWIWPI/

Connect with him on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Author-Michael-Bolan/1492561597687012

Tweet at him: @michaelbolan225

Read his thoughts on his website: www.michaelbolan.org

 

 

Writing Has Taught Me to Be Prepared

It’s always easier to get things done if you have an idea of what you’re trying to do!

There are a lot of writers that write by the “seat of their pants”–called “pantsers” or “gardeners”. They have a rough idea of where they want the story to go, and they let the story tell itself. They see themselves as the “conduit” through which the story flows.

While I can respect that, it just doesn’t work for me. To write a proper story, I need to have a layout of where I want things to go. I don’t have to have everything figured out, but at least a rough structure of events to get me started. This helps me figure out where I’m headed, and it makes it possible for me to come up with the rest of the book as I write. Before I’m a third of the way into the writing, I know how it ends.

That is something that I’ve learned to translate into every other area of my life!

If I need to do something, I’ll break it down into individual tasks that need to get accomplished. One by one, the items are checked off the list until I’ve completed the task.

If I need to make a big decision, I’ll list the pros and cons clearly and concisely. Then, using the intuition that I have developed over the course of my career as a writer, I’ll follow my gut and my head to make the decision I think is right.

Being prepared is a VERY important part of success, not just as a writer, but in everything. You can’t go through life without a general plan, and making things up as you go may not always lead to success. You don’t have to plan every aspect of your life to a T, but it sure helps to have a rough “outline” of where you want it to lead.

As Alexander Graham Bell said, “Before anything else, preparation is the key to success!”

Book Review: Fatal 48 by Kassandra Lamb

Today I’m stepping out of my comfort zone and reviewing a book set in the real world–a  murder mystery book that is part of a series.

 

FATAL FORTY-EIGHT, A Kate Huntington Mystery #7

Celebration turns to nightmare when psychotherapist Kate Huntington’s guest of honor disappears en route to her own retirement party. Kate’s former boss, Sally Ford, has been kidnapped by a serial killer who holds his victims exactly forty-eight hours before killing them.

With time ticking away, the police allow Kate and her P.I. husband to help with the investigation. The FBI agents involved in the case have mixed reactions to the “civilian consultants.” The senior agent welcomes Kate’s assistance as he fine-tunes his psychological profile. His voluptuous, young partner is more by the book. She locks horns out in the field with Kate’s husband, while back at headquarters, misunderstandings abound.

But they can ill afford these distractions. Sally’s time is about to expire.

My Review: 4 Stars

Reading this book reminded me why I prefer fantasy so much!

First off, it’s hard to know who the main character in this book was. It seemed like it would be about the kidnapped person, but then it kept hopping from character to character until I didn’t care about any of them. The switches in POV makes it hard to stick with the book or remember who is who. Perhaps that’s because this is a book in a series…

There were a few weaknesses with the writing itself. The occasional grammar error drew my attention. What I  HATED was that the author forgot to use the Oxford comma.

One thing that seemed jarring was the discovery that the kidnapped character was black. It was only made clear about 75% of the way into the book, and there was no mention made at the beginning of the book–or at least none that I saw.

The murder mystery/kidnapping in itself was fine, but there was nothing to make this book stand out from the thousands of others just like it. There was nothing EXCEPTIONAL about the characters or the horror of the kidnapping/murders. It was almost a bit cliché.

Worse still, the climax! It was incredibly anti-climactic, with far less suspense and danger than there should be in a book of this nature.

That being said, the story was complete, and the heroes of the book advanced toward the mystery at a good rate. There was no “sudden strokes of luck”, but it was all solid detective work.

A funny note: the author of this book is clearly a fan of the Criminal Minds TV show. It’s referenced multiple times.

 

Here’s a Taste:

“Charles,” she said into the phone, “I’m sorry, but I have to–”

“No, baby, that’s not the issue. I don’t care about going out to dinner, but that wasn’t really where we were going tonight.”

“What do you mean?”

Charles blew out air on the other end of the line.

Dear lord, even his sighs are sexy!

“You’ve got to promise you won’t let on that I told you.”

“Told me what?”

“I was charged with getting you to your surprise retirement party tonight.”

It took a second for Sally to digest that. “So we’ve got to show up at the restaurant then.”

“Yeah, that was the tricky part, how to get you to where we’re really going,” Charles said. “The party’s at a former employee’s house. A lady named Kate…can’t remember her last name.”

“Huntington.”

“No that isn’t it.”

“Oh, right. Canfield. She’s remarried since she left the center.”

Sally glanced at her watch. Five o’clock. “Charles, I’ve gotta go. I have this client waiting. What time’s the party?”

“Seven was when I was supposed to get you there.”

“Why don’t you swing by and pick me up at quarter of? We’ll come back for my car later.”

“Okay,” Charles said, “but you’ve got to act surprised or Pauline is going to skin me alive.”

“Pauline? She’s been retired six years now!”

“You seem to inspire loyalty in even your former employees, baby.”

“Humph. See you at six forty-five.”

Sally hung up her desk phone and stood up. She tugged on the bottom of her tailored jacket. At least she was wearing something she would be comfortable in all evening. The pale peach suit was one of her favorite outfits, partly because it complemented her chocolate brown skin but mainly because it fit her so well, without any binding or pinching. Too often, in her opinion, women’s clothing was too much about the latest style and not enough about practicality and comfort.

She went out to the waiting area of the center, an apology on her lips for keeping this new client waiting.

But he never gave her a chance to verbalize it.

The short, inconsequential-looking man stood up quickly. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Ms. Ford. I’m thrilled to make your acquaintance.”

Thrilled to make my acquaintance? What an odd choice of words.

Sally extended her hand. As the man shook it, he placed his other hand on her arm.

A sharp zing. Her arm reflexively jerked away.

The man jumped back a little. “Oh my, I’m sorry. Static electricity.” His embarrassed laughter sounded almost feminine. “It’s such a nuisance this time of year.”

“No problem, Mr. Johnson,” Sally said. “Come on in to my office.”

He followed her down the short hallway and through the door, closing it behind him.

Sally stumbled a little as she walked to the sitting area in the corner of the room, where she talked to clients. She was even more exhausted than she’d realized. Hopefully they would be able to beg off from the party after an hour or two. She gestured toward the loveseat and lowered herself into her own chair.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Ford, for keeping you here this evening. I see that your staff has all gone home.”

Sally shook her head, then wished she hadn’t when the room spun for a brief moment. “I was planning to work late anyway.” After she’d heard the poor man’s story over the phone earlier, and his comments that had hinted of severe depression and suicidal ideation, she wasn’t about to make him wait until Monday.

She just hoped she could stay alert enough to be helpful. Fatigue was making her limbs heavy, and she realized her mind was wandering. Mr. Johnson was talking and she had no idea what he had just said. She shook her head again. Her vision blurred but her mind cleared enough for his words to partially register.

“What time is Mr. Tolliver picking you up, Ms. Ford?”

Sally tried to push herself up straighter in her chair. She wondered vaguely how this man knew about Charles. “What did you say?” Her voice sounded slurred, as if she’d been drinking.

“I need to know exactly when Mr. Tolliver was supposed to pick you up, Ms. Ford,” Johnson said more firmly.

Was supposed to, not is picking me up!

Panic shot through her system. Her brain told her body to jump up and run, but her limbs didn’t respond. They felt like they were made of lead.

“Why…” Sally’s head fell back against the chair, her neck no longer able to support its weight.

“Because that is when the clock starts,” the man said.

But Sally didn’t hear him. She had already sunk into darkness.

 

About the Author:

Writing and psychology have always vied for number one on Kassandra Lamb’s Greatest Passions list. In her youth, she had to make a decision between writing and paying the bills. Partial to electricity and food, she studied psychology. Now retired from a career as a psychotherapist and college professor, she spends most of her time in an alternate universe with her characters. The portal to this universe (aka her computer) is located in Florida where her husband and dog catch occasional glimpses of her. She and her husband also spend part of each summer in her native Maryland, where the Kate Huntington mysteries are set.

Find the book on Kindle http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00PA0SZK2/

Visit her Amazon Author page: http://www.amazon.com/Kassandra-Lamb/e/B006NB5WAI/

Read her thoughts: http://kassandralamb.com

Check out her blog: http://misteriopress.com

Connect with her on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/kassandralambauthor

Tweet at her:  https://twitter.com/KassandraLamb

 

 

Yet Another Great Reason to Love Being a Writer

Not too long ago, I wrote a post talking about the benefits of reading fiction on your brain and mental health. Now it turns out that reading isn’t the only way to boost your brain health–writing does a pretty good job of things as well!

Dr. James Pennebaker, of the University of Texas at Austin, has been conducting research for over 20 years on the effects of writing on mental and emotional health. According to the good doctor, people who write suffer from less emotional turmoil, have more regular immune systems, visit the doctor less, and experience better health.

How is this possible? Pennebaker is of the opinion that creative writing helps us to step back and examine our lives, stopping us from obsessing about events. We can move on from traumatic or emotional experiences more easily, which in turn reduces stress levels and helps us to cope with problems more effectively.

Writing (even blogging!) helps to flood the body with dopamine, a chemical that makes you feel better and happier.

Writing has also been proven to heal traumatic injuries more quickly. A team of researchers in New Zealand found that 76% of people who tried creative writing after a medical biopsy healed within 11 days, while only 42% of those who did not recovered in the same amount of time.

Writing can also:

Reduce the symptoms and attacks in asthma patients

Improve the T-cell count in AIDS patients

Boost the mood and improve the quality of life of cancer patients

Yep, as if you needed more reasons to love being a writer, science has just delivered them to you! Creative writing is amazing for your health, and you’ll find that the time you spend writing every day will do wonders to help you live a long and prosperous life!

Book Review: The Dockland Kingslayer by V.C. Remus

For today’s book, we’re headed into the world of Steampunk–one of my favorites, but one of the hardest to do right!

 

The Dockland Kingslayer

After witnessing the wrongful execution of his parents, Alistair Métis seeks his king for answers to a never-ending list of questions. However, a lowborn child cannot escape the shackles of poverty to scour cobbled streets while on the run from the law. Alistair, too, was sentenced to die for his father’s crimes.

In Book 1 of the Steamworks in the Bylea series, Alistair’’s journey spans the unforgiving Western realm of Falone. His tale brims with airships, cutthroats, war, mischief, and wonder.

 

My Review: 3 Stars

I opened this book expecting a great steampunk novel, but was sadly disappointed: THERE WAS NO STEAMPUNK! Or at least, none that stood out to me. I read nothing of airships, steampunk vehicles, or gadgets. The only thing (I think) that was remotely steampunk was a set of armor, but even that was unclear to me. It could have been a normal fantasy book and the story wouldn’t have changed.

The wording throughout the book is quite clunky and overdone. It’s hard to understand, and not because it’s too intelligent. It’s just phrased awkwardly, with expressions that make you read them three or four times to comprehend.

The book starts off too slowly, and it doesn’t pick up speed for at least a few chapters. Even then, it takes until the middle of the book to really get rolling and interesting. There’s no natural flow to the book, and it just doesn’t have the climax and tension that you want in an action novel.

The present tense of the story seems a bit off. When it switches to past tense for the flashbacks, it’s jarring. The flashbacks are not only unnecessary, but they could have been done much better. The ending didn’t make any sense to me, and it felt like the story didn’t work.

I got a feeling that the author was trying to be very creative and original in their writing, which could be a good thing, but it fell flat in this case.

Of course, the world built by the author is rich and fascinating, but the writing detracted from the story so much that it was hard to enjoy.

 

Here’s a Taste:

Arrows whistle past Alistair’s ears. He falls to the snow, dropping his rusted blade. Scrambling to retrieve his weapon, Alistair crawls past Tiro Gage. The young man lies pierced with an entire quiver’s worth of arrows. Two arrows pin his neck to the blood-drenched snow, five litter his chest, one in his shin, and the last goes through his armpit.

“Exemplar, no . . .” Alistair mutters, his lips trembling at the sight of the wheat-haired boy spitting out and gulping down a fountain of his own fluids. Tiro Gage squirms, writhing in pain.

“Leave him!” Tiro Beckett exclaims, taking off into the woods. “Get out of their line of sight!”

“Tiro Gage, y-you have to stand. They’re sending another volley.” Alistair holds his hand above an arrow piercing Tiro Gage’s lung. “D-do you want me to pull it out?”

Tiro Gage does not respond. His head, though resting against his chest, angles toward the redoubt.

“Come on, Tiro Métis! Move your arse!” shouts Tiro Beckett over her shoulder. “Leave him!”

Alistair scrambles through the snow, grabs his falcata, and takes off running in Tiro Beckett’s direction. He dances past a swarm of arrows landing just short of his feet. Leaping and ducking under the volley as he sprints across the field, Alistair finds safety in the trees.

Tiro Beckett holds her back to a tree thick enough to provide cover for a few more Tirones. Short sword in hand, her chest rises and falls rapidly, fear splaying her face. Alistair sprints over to her tree, then takes a squat at her feet.

“What do we do?”

“I don’t know! Give me a minute to think,” Tiro Beckett responds, tearing at the sight of Tiro Gage lying in a puddle of his own blood. “Is he—”

“We don’t have a minute!” Alistair interrupts, poking his head out of cover. “They’re going to know where we’re hiding.”

“Okay.” Tiro Beckett inhales and exhales a triplet of breaths. “Okay, I know what to do.” She pokes her head out from the other side of the tree, then waves Alistair over. Lifting a finger at the side of the redoubt, she says, “See those men running out to the front? They’re going to hook inward to hit our incoming swordsmen.”

“Yes, and?”

“Well, they’re going to flank our men, Tiro Métis; it will be our job to stop them. When they hook in, we attack from the back and take them down for good.”

“And what about the archers? We don’t want to end up like Tiro Gage.”

“Shields.” Tiro Beckett takes the clunky piece off her back and slaps the embroidered iron star on the front. “Tough hide may not be the best against spears, but it’ll stop most arrows from that distance. Plus, I doubt these rebels have spearmen.”

Alistair nods. “Okay, okay, I-I think we can do this.”

Tiro Beckett peeks out once more, then looks back at Alistair. “Ready?”

“Aye. Let’s do it.”

The two charge out into the field just as a small group of rebels in civilian wear comes running out, swords held high above their heads.

What in blazes are they doing? Do they even know how to swing a sword?

One of the rebels—a bearded, plump man—turns his gaze on Alistair, then charges in his direction. He roars a blood-chilling cry before swiping twice at Alistair with the full force of his sword arm. Alistair blocks the first attack, then ducks under the second. He kicks the rebel in the chest and plunges his sword into his opponent’s upper leg—right below the knee; the man collapses to the snow, screaming in pain.

“Do it, you miserable bastard!” he shouts up at Alistair, clenching his weeping wound.

Before Alistair can stab his falcata downward, into the heart of the rebel, Tiro Beckett shoves Alistair aside as another rebel swings down on him. He misses, and Alistair falls face-first into the snow. The ice burns his face.

Alistair cranes his head to find Tiro Beckett sliding her sword across the downed rebel’s throat. She turns her attention on the second rebel closing in on her. Unlike his ally, the other rebel appears to know how to fight—not as well as any Tiro, but enough to assume there had been a scheduled sword practice every month or so.

Tiro Beckett deflects his attacks with her shield arm, then falls to the ground as he delivers a swift kick square into the middle of her shield. The force is enough to drop and disarm her.

“Gotcha now, you filthy bitch!” the rebel yells, jumping on top of her.

Tiro Beckett grabs the dirk strapped to her hip and slides the blade across the rebel’s forearm.

“Blazes!” he bellows, leaping off. He loses control of his sword arm, and resorts to holding his sword in his other hand. “I’ll have your head for this, tart.”

Alistair grips his falcata tight. “For king and country.” He takes off running.

With a sickening sloshing and unnatural resistance, Alistair drives his falcata to the hilt through the rebel. The man wails in agony, looking down at the blade pierced through his stomach.

“Exemplar! Why have you forsaken me?” the rebel shrieks skyward. He does not move—not until Alistair pulls out the sword and drives a heel into his back.

With the rebel flat on his stomach, Alistair stabs his falcata into the stranger’s back, plunging it deep below the man’s navel, pulling it out, and then stabbing repeatedly with increased momentum each time. The man cries weaker and weaker in response to each stab, until his cries fade and he can no longer speak at all.

About the Author:

V.C. Remus holds a bachelor’s degree in economics from Northern Illinois University. He is an economist, chess instructor, runner, RPG gamer, musician, songwriter, and avid reader of numerous genres. He is from Chicago, Illinois and owns three bunnies. To escape studying for his Series 7 and 63 examinations, he writes fantasy novels. His critically acclaimed debut series “Steamworks in the Bylea” was imagined on a late night in June of 2013 and completed on an early February morning in 2015. Watch for the sequel in 2016.

Find him on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/vcremusauthor

Find the book on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Steamworks-Byle...

 

The Reader Problems Book Tag Post

I was tagged by my good friend at Coffee2Words, so Challenge Accepted!

You have 20,000 books on your TBR. How in the world do you decide what to read next?

I have a very specific book preference, so I know what I’m in the mood for at all times. A good friend of mine also makes recommendations for me, and his recommendations are usually spot on. I’ll read those books any day.

You’re halfway through a book and you’re just not loving it. Do you quit or commit?

Quit. Unless I’m committed to reading/reviewing the book, I don’t have time to waste on a book that doesn’t hook me right away. My reading time is VERY limited these days, so I have to fill it with things that actually entertain me.

The end of the year is coming and you’re so close yet so far away on your Goodreads Challenge. Do you quit or commit?

I’d commit. Once I take up a challenge, I ALWAYS finish it!

The covers of a series you love DO. NOT. MATCH. How do you cope?

I don’t do much reading in paperback–mainly in audiobook and Kindle format. That being said, I dislike it when covers are inconsistent. It definitely influences my opinion of the book.

Everyone and their mother loves a book you really don’t like. Who do you bond with over shared feelings?

I have a couple of good buddies whose tastes run fairly similar to mine. But even if they like a book I don’t, they’re usually willing to deal.

You’re reading a book and you’re about to start crying in public. How do you deal?

I let it flow. If a book is good enough to make me cry, the least I can do is let it do what it is supposed to. MAD PROPS to an author that can do that.

A sequel of a book you loved just came out, but you’ve forgotten a lot from the prior novel. Will you re-read the book? Skip the sequel? Try to find a summary on Goodreads? Cry in frustration?

I never forget a book! If there are little details I have forgotten, I will Google it to try and remember, but usually they will come back to me in the course of reading/listening to the book.

You don’t want ANYONE borrowing your books. How do you politely tell people “nope” when they ask?

I LOVE sharing my books! That way I have something to talk with others about. That being said, if there is a book I want to keep all to myself, I don’t care if I say “no” politely or not. MY PRECIOUS!!!

You’ve picked up and put down five different books in the past month. How do you get over your slump?

Keep looking for a new one! I read as I exercise, so I need something to keep me entertained while on the treadmill. It’s the impetus I need to keep looking for good books.

There are so many new books coming out that you are dying to read! How many do you actually buy?

Far fewer than I’d like!

After you’ve bought a new book you want to get to, how long do they sit on your shelf until you actually read them?

No more than a few weeks–usually until I’ve finished the book/series I’m in the middle of at the moment.

 

I tag…

EJ Bouinatchova

Peter J. Story

 

Writing Has Taught Me Focus

There are a few people lucky enough to spend their entire work day doing what they love. Whether it’s building computer components, racing sports cars, or writing fiction, those people have the life that we all want.

For the rest of us, it can be pretty tough to fit in the things we WANT to do around the things we HAVE to do every day. One of the greatest obstacles every writer faces is their day job. It pays their bills, but it takes away the time they could spend writing.

So, let’s say you’re lucky enough to get an hour or two of writing time every day. But what about your kids, your spouse, the maintenance of your house, or the meals that have to be cooked? These things all take up more time, and they certainly weigh on your mind. If they take up too much mental effort, they’ll cut into the time you have set aside to do the things you want to do.

Thankfully, writing has taught me to focus!

I get about an hour or so every day to write (thanks to my gorgeous wife). That hour does NOT come at the same time every day, but I can only fit it in once I know everything is taken care of. For me, that means:

Making sure my two oldest kids are off to the gym
Dropping my son off at his basketball training
Make sure I have an idea of what will be prepared for dinner
Having an evening activity ready

My solution: get these things out of the way, THEN sit down to write.

I have about 90 minutes between dropping off and picking up the kids, so that’s when I fit in my writing time. Dinner and the evening activity are worries for AFTER the kids are picked up, so my mind is free to focus on the writing.

To add to the laser focus: a cup of black tea, wonderful music, a quiet house, and a pair of noise-canceling headphones. Close my Gmail window, log out of Facebook, and give my wife a kiss before I sit down. With everything taken care of and distractions averted, I can get some writing time in.

As a writer–or as anyone trying to accomplish anything–you HAVE to focus. That means doing whatever it takes to clear your mind of worries and to-do’s, and focusing only on what you’re doing.

 

What do you do to ensure that you stay focused? Drop a comment below and share your secrets…

Things are Not as they Appear

Just because we think of something one way, that doesn’t mean it is that way!

Think about our perception of Nazi Germany from World War II. We see Hitler and the Nazis as being horrible people who did horrible things. But, as Winston Churchill said, “History is written by the victors.” Thanks to the Allied victory, history has been written one very specific way. But how would we look back on the Nazis had the Axis won the war? Would they be the villains of the piece, or would our perception of the entire situation be totally different?

I find that looking at things from a different angle gives me a whole new perspective on the situation. That’s not to say that I’m pro-Nazi or Holocaust, but it does set you to thinking. What REALLY happened? What were things REALLY like in situations throughout history?

Here are some things to ponder:

Had Christianity not become so popular and widespread, would Jesus have simply been viewed as just another nuisance in the Roman Empire’s rule?
Had the Hebrews never left Egypt, would Moses have been just one more “upstart” that the Pharaoh put down?

We hear stories from history about great men and women, but how great were they really? Was Florence Nightingale a caring woman who was concerned about the sick soldiers in the Crimean War? Was Gandhi really an inspiring teacher, or was he just one more cult leader with a huge following? Was Albert Einstein really that smart, or, if he lived today, would he just be seen as “one more genius among hundreds”?

I’m not saying that history is wrong, but I have to question if our perception or version of history is actually correct. I love to ask myself these questions and look at them from a different angle. Instead of taking what I am told at face value, I find that it helps me to expand my thought process when I question everything.

So, when you are writing, ask yourself, “What really happened here?” Just because someone LOOKS like the bad guy, is he/she really the villain? Are the heroes really heroic? It makes for an interesting mental exercise, and it can make for much deeper stories!

 

Book Review: The Kingdom on the Edge of Reality by Gahan Hanmer

Today is going to be a different sort of Friday, as I’m doing a book review instead of a blog post. Have no fear: Friday’s post will be up tomorrow…

On this auspicious day, we’re looking at a brand new fantasy novel like you have NEVER before read…

 

The Kingdom on the Edge of Reality

Welcome to Albert Keane’s beautifully designed medieval kingdom nestled in a completely isolated river valley in the Canadian wilderness. Peaceful, happy, and prosperous, it takes nothing from the modern world, not so much as a single clock.

There is a castle, of course, and a monastery. There is even a pitch dark, rat-infested dungeon – because you simply have to have one if you are trying a rule a feudal kingdom!

Farmers work the land, artisans ply their trades, monks keep school and visit the sick, and nobody (well, almost nobody) misses the modern world at all.

So why has Jack Darcey – actor, wanderer, ex-competitive fencer – been tricked and seduced into paying a visit? And why hasn’t anyone told him that the only way to leave is a perilous trek across hundreds of miles of trackless wilderness without a compass or a map?

Because a tide of fear and violence is rising from the twisted ambitions of one of King Albert’s nobles, and Albert’s fortune teller believes that Jack could turn the tide – if he lives long enough.

 

My Review: 3.5 Stars

To call this book “unusual” would be an understatement. It’s like all the classic portal fantasy (person from this world ends up in another world), but without the portal. Instead, the main character is transported to “another world” established in the wilderness of Northern Canada. An intriguing setup, I must admit.

Unfortunately, the book falls a bit flat from Page 1. It stars out with some interaction with a sheriff that made no sense at all, and the book continues on VERY slowly for the next chapter or two. There’s none of that “jolt” or “rush” to make you interested, so I had to force myself to keep reading. The story has no real cohesion at first. It sort of jumps from one plot thread to the next without taking any time to dwell on each.

It takes way too long for the main character to end up in the “fantasy world”, and even longer for any story to build. The main character’s backstory is done in an amateur fashion, using an info dump rather than adding bits and pieces throughout the book.

There are quite a few punctuation and grammatical errors, and the occasional tense switch makes it very hard to read. It’s hard to differentiate between flashbacks/back story and the present tense, as there is nothing to indicate any sort of change. The writing comes off a bit stilted and hard to follow.

That being said, I have yet to read a better description of fencing and sword-fighting. When the character first picks up a sword (he fenced in school but hadn’t for years), the description of getting the feel and heft of the blade is masterfully done. It goes on for a few paragraphs, and it is highly complex without being dry. Absolutely well done.

The book started out slow and had a few issues, but it ended well enough. The ending was perhaps a bit cliché, but I felt satisfied when I closed the book.

 

Here’s a Taste:

As we approached the castle I was struck once again by the same feelings I had experienced when I had seen it from a distance. The castle beckoned to me; it made me want to own it and live there. But owning a castle had never been one of my dreams. I knew nothing about castles and had no particular interest in them. So why should I covet this one? It made me wonder whether the designer, Joel Mason, had conceived it with that effect in mind, weaving something irresistible right into the architecture.

Our procession poured over the drawbridge and under the portcullis into a great courtyard where even more people were waiting for us. A cheer rang out from the crowd that startled birds into flight from every battlement. Albert turned in his saddle to acknowledge the cheering, and it made me feel sad about my drifty life. I knew no crowd anywhere would ever welcome me that way.

On the steps of the castle was a small group of nobles who also looked glad to see Albert. As we were dismounting, one of the noblemen held up a hand to me in greeting; it took me only a few seconds to recognize him as another acquaintance from my prep school days. We had never been particularly close, nor did I remember him being close to anyone else; back then, he seemed to find everyone and everything equally ludicrous. But he had been a good person to hang out with when I was taking life too seriously, and I was glad to see him now.

 

About the Author:

Born into a family of actors and painters, Gahan Hanmer naturally gravitated toward the arts. As a youth, he was not an exceptional student or much of an athlete, but he received satisfaction and appreciation from the work he did on the stage, which began when he was eight years old. Under the guidance of his uncle actor Marlon Brando, Gahan developed his talent exclusively as a theater artist, working with many inspired teachers and directors.

In the classical theater Gahan played soldiers, princes, kings and gods, along with beggars, villains, criminals and madmen. Trained in the Stanislavski ‘method’, living truly in the skins and minds of these characters, he absorbed what each of them had to teach him. But life in the theater is a kind of sacrifice; there is little or no money in it. He left the theater and came back to it many times. He wandered, stumbling through life, searching for he wasn’t sure what, supporting himself in a variety of occupations. The real world was his teacher then.

Later in life, when he had outgrown his need for the world of the theater and began living a more normal life, he began to try to organize some of what life had taught him in a novel of romance and adventure. Every night, after his two daughters were in bed, he became the main character in a perilous mythical journey and recorded it as it unfolded in his imagination. Years later, rewritten and revised many times and finally pruned and polished, the result was The Kingdom on the Edge of Reality.

 

Find the book on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Kingdom-Edge-Reality-Gahan-Hanmer-ebook/dp/B007GDUFVI/

Read Gahan’s thoughts on his website: http://thekingdomontheedgeofreality.com/thekingdomontheedgeofrealitybooktour.htm