Cassandra Page's Blog, page 39

How It Should Have Ended: Rapunzel — a guest post by J.C. Nelson

This guest post is by J.C. Nelson, whose book, Free Agent, came out on 29 July. Happy book birthday, JC!

In this edition of “HISHE: Fairy Tales,” we take a look at the familiar tale “Rapunzel” and try to work out how it would have gone if anyone had a lick of sense. Rapunzel was a fairly obscure fairy tale until it got Disney-fied, but we’ll work from the original for this HISHE.

In the original, Rapunzel, named for a leafy green her mother coveted, lets her hair down for her adopted mother. And the Prince, he hears Rapunzel’s voice, and starts a relationship with her. I don’t mean one visit. I mean lots and lots of visits.

Rapunzel and the Prince develop a sort of rapport, by which I mean Rapunzel gets pregnant. In some versions Rapunzel agrees to be his wife, in other versions—we’re just going to stick with the ones where she agrees. Either way, one day she complains about how her dress is getting tight, because she’s getting a bit of a baby bump. And right there, the witch knows something is up. I mean, no matter how she does the math, their little tower for two has been seeing extra action.

Now, if the witch had even a lick of sense, she would have said “Silly me: I should have known that abstinence based birth control doesn’t work. Plus, I did sort of steal a young girl at the impressionable age of 12 and lock her away in a tower. So really, it’s my fault.”

But that isn’t what happens in the original. No, she cuts off Rapunzel’s hair, tosses Rapnunzel into the desert and lays waiting for the prince. When he climbs the tower, depending on who you believe, he either leaps out after finding the witch or she pushes him. Either way, he falls on thorns and is blinded.

Again, if any of them had a lick of common sense, none of this would have happened.

“Hey, Rapunzel, let down your hair. I brought those prenatal vitamins you were craving. Honey, I think the hair needs some brushing. And these bloody clots in it are not a nice touch.”

(In a deep, witchy voice) “Come up, my darling.”

“Uh, on second thought, I’m good here, thanks.” [Prince leaves.]

In the story, he wanders blindly, eventually finding his way to the desert, where it turns out Rapunzel gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl. Some variants have the blind prince living happily ever after blind, and some have Rapunzel’s tears healing him.

In all versions, he finds his way back to his Kingdom, where they live happily ever after.

But really, this ending is fundamentally broken, and here’s why:

Rapunzel missed all formative interaction thanks to the witch. She’s socially damaged and likely incapable of living a normal life.
Because she never developed normal relationships, you can pretty much bet she’s going to take to skulking in the highest tower, and growing her armpit hair until she can braid it with her nose hair and eyebrows to wear around.
The witch was the only person Rapunzel got to interact with, so she likely has a serious case of Stockholm syndrome.

The way it should have ended is that the Prince hears Rapunzel’s voice. He reports it to the national hotline for missing and exploited princesses (they get more traffic than you’d think). The police investigate and call in special therapists who establish a safe, non-sexual relationship with Rapunzel. Eventually, Rapunzel is released to her parents, though she quickly moves into a treehouse, where she feels more comfortable. She shaves her hair bald and has violent panic attacks at the sight of anyone with more than an inch of hair, but with therapy, lives a long life.

The Prince marries one of the many reporters who come to interview him for his role in the case, and forms a charity, “Out of the Tower,” dedicated to helping victims of fairy tales. He lives and dies with 20/20 sight, and a wife who, while moderately vain, is capable of normal human affection.

The witch serves a life sentence in Mother Hubbard’s Maximum Security Shoe for her role.

When it comes to crafting happily-ever-afters, the Agency is the best in the land of Kingdom. The Fairy Godfather Grimm can solve any problem—from eliminating imps to finding prince charming—as long as you can pay the price…

Working for Grimm isn’t Marissa Locks’s dream job. But when your parents trade you to a Fairy Godfather for a miracle, you don’t have many career options. To pay off her parents’ debt and earn her freedom, Marissa must do whatever Grimm asks, no matter what fairy-tale fiasco she’s called on to deal with.

Setting up a second-rate princess with a first-class prince is just another day at the office. But when the matchmaking goes wrong, Marissa and Grimm find themselves in a bigger magical muddle than ever before. Not only has the prince gone missing, but the Fae are gearing up to attack Kingdom, and a new Fairy Godmother is sniffing around Grimm’s turf, threatening Marissa with the one thing she can’t resist: her heart’s wishes.

Now Marissa will have to take on Fairies, Fae, dragons, and princesses to save the realm—or give up any hope of ever getting her happy ending…

Excerpt: Chapter One

The New Year’s Eve countdown told me I had five minutes until the ball drop. That gave me six minutes until somebody got killed. I spotted the shoplifter in line at the theater and worked my way across the street, through the teeming crowd. She had no idea what she was wearing, which made her both stupid and dangerous. Stupid was dangerous enough by itself.

“Marissa, I might remind you of the time,” said a man’s voice. It came right out of the store window beside me, the dry voice with its not-quite-English accent. He watched me with critical eyes.

“I got it, Grimm.” I walked along the theater line, head down.

His image followed me, reflecting from the windows and even the brass banister knobs that held the velvet rope. “I’ll believe that when you actually do.”

Call it women’s intuition, or maybe the slippers she wore tipped her off, but the shoplifter turned and looked right at me. Our eyes met, and she knew why I was there, if not who I was. As the crowd surged forward, she ducked into the theater, disappearing into the throng.

“God Damsel-it.” I spat out the faint taste of soap. “Doesn’t count, not a real curse.”

“Watch your language, young lady. Only proper women live happily ever after. Now, go get those slippers back.” Grimm appeared in the ticket window, beckoning me on.

If I had enough Glitter to buy a happily ever after, I wouldn’t have spent all day chasing a thief. There were easier ways to make a living, and definitely safer ways.

I breathed in the warm lobby air, laced with enough butter, fat, and salt to make me gain a couple of pounds just from walking through.

The ticket man watched me as I approached, jiggling my leg. “I’ve got to go. Could you save my spot in line?”

He rolled his eyes, the apex of teenage angst, and motioned me past. I’d been to my fair share of balls and knew where I’d go if I had a pair of shoes that were killing my feet. I headed straight to the bathroom. Nobody in the prep area, but I listened. There, soft sobbing, and the click of high heels on ceramic.

“The slippers won’t come off like that.” I hoped I wasn’t talking to a Grandma, but the sobbing cut off.

Grimm coalesced into the mirrored wall, his white hair framing the bald spot on his head. He looked at me over horn-rimmed glasses that masked eyebrows like a yeti’s. “Marissa, two minutes.”

If I’d had something handy, I’d have thrown it at the mirror. In the name of not having a magical disaster, I decided to commit the cardinal sin of the ladies room. I tried the stall door. As my hand touched it, the door burst open, hitting me in the face. Pain made the world flash white. I put my hand to my nose and felt the blood as she dashed out of the restroom. Grimm told me the shoes were enchanted, but the fact that she could run in three-inch heels meant serious magic. Now I knew I had the right girl. In the lobby, the fire alarms wailed as I came out of the bathroom, and I caught a glimpse of her running out. I charged after her, through the fire exit and into the alley.

I wasn’t afraid of your average dark alley. I had standard Agency-issue spells in my coat and a nine millimeter in my purse for dealing with the less dangerous pests, but even I knew you have to be careful with an upset woman.

She pulled at her feet and limped down the alley. “I’m not giving them back.”

No way was she going to outrun me. Tennis shoes might not be the height of fashion, but I wore them for their practicality. I slipped a bag out of my pocket. “This will let me take them off. You can’t remove them because you stole them.”

She stumbled, then slumped against the wall, her feet out in front of her. Passing taillights made the glass slippers glisten, moving and shifting, like something alive. That made sense, since Grimm said they were. The glass filled with red, like she’d cut her toe. The bloodstain spread up the sides of the glass and she began to gurgle and cry.

I pulled out my pocket compact. “Grimm, I might have a problem.”

“Tell me you have them.”

“Just about.”

“Get out of there, Marissa. She’s not going to turn into a pumpkin.” His voice was firm and commanding. I’d never been the type to listen to firm or commanding. See, there was this thing about magic slippers. Use them with permission, and at midnight the whole deal expired. Steal them from a custom boutique on Fifth, and at midnight turning into a vegetable was the least of your worries.

She curled into a ball, kicking, growling, and making noises I’d never heard outside of the labor and delivery room. Running through the theater was out; heading back in there would introduce a whole load of teens to a different kind of monster than the movie ones. The loading bays down at the end of the alley didn’t look too promising, and now Princess PMS rose to her feet. The bloodred stains covered her from head to toe. Shadows covered her face, but where the orange wash of the street lights hit her she looked maroon.

“You want to let me help you?” I asked. The growling noise she made ruled out diplomacy. “Okay, we do it my way.”

She leaped at me. I’d mastered seven different forms of self-defense and I wore all four of the major protection charms, but one thing was constant: Whether my assailant was a drug addict or a bridge troll, pepper spray would leave them blind. So I ducked out of the way and gave her a dash of the scent I was sampling that day. It hit her like a brick, leaving her clawing at her eyes. I realized as she stumbled past that her nails were now at least three inches long and razor sharp.

She started sniffing the air, then like a dog, she ran straight into me, knocking me back to the Dumpster. Dumpsters hurt. I caught her arm before she could give me surprise plastic surgery and slammed her into the ground, pinning her underneath me.

That should have ended it, but she rolled over, throwing me to the side, and I barely stepped out of the way of those nails. She kicked at me and I caught her foot.

“Gotcha,” I said, rubbing the shoes with the bag. Grimm said the bag was made of genuine werewolf fur, but whatever it was, the effect was immediate. She thrashed and choked and kicked and I held on tight until she went limp. The slippers came off in my hand without a fight.

They glimmered under the streetlight, and for a moment I saw an image form in them: Me, walking down the street in them. No Agency bracelet on my wrist, a bag from shopping in my hand. I could be free, if only I put them on.

“Marissa,” said Grimm, speaking from the reflection in the shoes, “put them in the bag.”

I did, and the fantasy blew away like dry leaves down the sidewalk. My back hurt where I’d hit the Dumpster. My arm throbbed where she’d grabbed me, and my cheek had that hot feeling that said somewhere in her thrashing, she’d managed to nail me with a foot.

“I’m going home,” I said to my compact mirror. “What do you want me to do with her?”

“Leave her for the police. They’ll be there shortly. Evangeline needs your assistance on the Upper East Side, and there’s the matter of a troll.”

“I’m going home.” I knew full well he’d heard me the first time.

“I’ve got work for you, Marissa, and if you are ever to get your own ever after—”

“The only after I’m interested in right now is after a bottle of wine and after a long night’s sleep. I’ll see you when I’m ready for work.”

“Marissa, you need to ask yourself what you want more: A night’s sleep, or another job.”

I wiped a trace of blood off my lip, took a look at my bruises in the compact. Everything about me ached and the cold seeped out of the shadows into my bones. I put my hand on the bracelet and made my decision. “Tell Evangeline I’m on my way.” Nights like this made me wish I’d never gotten started in this business.

About JC

A Texas transplant to the Pacific Northwest, JC Nelson lives with a family and a flock of chickens near rainy Seattle.

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Free Agent on Goodreads

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/20650531-free-agent

 Buy Free Agent Now

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0425272672/

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Excerpt and giveaway: ‘Forget Me Not’ by Stacey Nash

Anamae is drawn into a world which shatters everything she knew to be true.

Since her mother vanished nine years ago, Anamae and her father have shared a quiet life. But when Anamae discovers a brooch identical to her mother’s favorite pendant, she unknowingly invites a slew of trouble into their world. They’re not just jewellery, they’re part of a highly developed technology capable of cloaking the human form. Triggering the jewellery’s power attracts the attention of a secret society determined to confiscate the device – and silence everyone who is aware of its existence. Anamae knows too much, and now she’s Enemy Number One.

She’s forced to leave her father behind when she’s taken in by a group determined to keep her safe. Here Anamae searches for answers about this hidden world. With her father kidnapped and her own life on the line, Anamae must decide if saving her dad is worth risking her new friends’ lives. No matter what she does, somebody is going to get hurt.

Amazon | iBooks | Google Play | Goodreads

Excerpt

It’s not getting any easier to tell my mother what’s happened, what she’s missed, what’s been going on in my life. It’s not getting any easier to survive each day without her. It’s not getting any easier to think of her and not cry. Elbow on my writing desk and chin cupped in my hand, I stare at the yellow notepaper. The lines across it are as empty as my pounding head. The spot where the tip of my favorite pen touches is marked by a growing dot, evidence that there are no right words.

It’s sure as heck not getting any easier.

Hoping to find inspiration, I glance at the photo waiting to be slipped into the envelope with this letter. Normally I put aside a nature shot for her, but this one’s a ‘selfie’ of me and Will. His sandy hair looks kind of messy the way it falls into his bright eyes, and his arm, resting over my shoulders so naturally, pulls us close together. Our grins say more than words ever can.

Twirling the pen between my fingers, I gaze out the window at the soft autumn afternoon and daydream about what to write. A distant clang like metal against metal sounds from outside. Will must be at it again. I shoot up, lean over the desk, and raise the window, letting a rush of warm air brush my face.

His jean clad legs stick out from under the hood of a beat-up car parked in their yard.

That car is like a full time job, he works on it so often now. He backs out and hoists a motor, or something, onto his shoulder, lifting like it weighs no more than his kid sister. He looks up, catches me watching him, and grins. I wave and, with a sigh, plonk back into the chair, dropping my gaze to the blank sheet in front of me. I really want to write her.

For nine years I’ve been writing these letters and placing them in my top drawer with a photo. It’s become a yearly tradition. At least if we ever find Mom, she’ll know what my life’s been like.

Nothing comes to me. None of the thoughts ambling through my mind are quite right, so I drop the pen, pinch my lips together, and tap my fingers on the desk in a sharp rhythm that cuts through my aching head. I need the right words.

I last saw her on an ordinary March school day the year I was eight. She packed my lunch, gave me a kiss on the cheek, and waved goodbye. I climbed into the bus. As she stood on the curb, she didn’t look happy or sad, scared or frightened—just the same as any other day.

Heaviness squeezes my chest and makes each inhalation of breath hurt. I’ve played that day back in my mind over and over, analyzed every detail: her wave, her smile, her words, her haunted look. Did she know it was goodbye?

Not knowing leaves a complete emptiness inside me. Knowing if she’s alive or dead, or why she hasn’t come back would make it so much easier. Especially since Dad barely mentions her anymore, and no matter how many times I turn her photos around, they continue to spin and face the wall. I guess it’s just too hard for him.

I shake my head in an effort to expel the memories, but it’s no use. The lines on the paper blur, my eyes slide shut, and it hurts too much. I can’t do this right now. Grabbing my camera off the desk, I slam the window shut and run down the stairs, shouting to Dad, “I’ll be back for dinner.”

“Wait. Can you grab milk?”

He walks out of the kitchen, a five dollar bill pinched between his fingers. I pluck it from his outstretched hand and turn to leave, but his hand closes over my shoulder, spinning me around. “Everything okay?”

I close my eyes and expel a long breath. He won’t want to hear it, so there’s no point sharing. “I miss her, too.”

He pulls me into his chest, and it’s too much. Tears roll down my cheeks, and I throw my arms around him, holding him as tight as I can while he runs a hand over my head. “Sweetheart.”

I cling to him. “It’s just…”

“I know.”

He holds me for a long time, until my tears stop. When I pull away, I rub the telltale streaks from my cheeks, and shove the money in my pocket. “Milk, right?”

He nods, and I turn for the door. “Anamae,” he says, “I love you, kid.”

A weak smile raises my lips. “Love you, too.”

Outside, I head straight to the white picket fence separating our yard from Will’s. He’s been my best friend since he moved here in the sixth grade, and I’m so grateful his parents decided quiet suburbia was a better place to live than the inner city. I slap my hands onto the flat tips and stretch over, calling, “Will.”

He peers around the corner of the house, and the sight of his smile is enough to rattle this awful mood.

“Sure. Two minutes.”

Fishing for weeds in the garden occupies the time while I wait. The Averys have the nicest yard on our street. A perfectly manicured lawn complete with stone statues and spiky plants in white pebble gardens. Will’s mom likes being fashionable and modern, obvious from the gravel now crunching under his feet. Appearances aren’t important. Sure it’s nice to look good, but it’s not the thing that matters most. That’s one of the things she just doesn’t get about me. I always wear faded jeans and comfy t-shirts, yet she constantly tries to dress me up. Make me look like a girl. Still, she’s been like a second mom to me. She even gave me The Talk. I just about died when I realized what was happening.

Will’s coming. “Hi, Mae.”

“Hey.” I grin. Love it when he shortens my name.

We stroll down our wide path and turn onto the next street. It’s only a few blocks from our street to a small cluster of shops. The short walk, fresh air, and Will’s banter help lighten my mood. The cafe comes into sight, and I grab his hand, dragging him across the road toward another storefront—an old shop. Aqua paint peels off the brick walls around huge glass windows, and two stories rise up above us. Like all the shops on this street, a big tin awning slants out over the pavement, and a balcony juts out above. Albert’s Second-Hand Treasures emblazons a window spanning the shop’s front. Through the window piles of odd stuff are visible, cluttering the inside. According to the kids at school, it’s evidence the old man who owns the store is a little unhinged, which earns this place the nickname, Crazy Al’s. But to me, it’s far more than that. ‘Crazy Al’s’ been a part of my life almost as long Will.

“Bet you can’t find the weirdest one today,” I say.

Will raises his brows and shoots me a look that says ‘you’re insane.’ “Really, this old game? I thought you wanted to get coffee.”

“Oh, come on. I need some childish fun.” I lean in toward him an smile. “Bet you can’t win.”

I also need to see Al, not to talk… just see him. His grandfatherly ways might make me feel better.

I drag Will toward the front door, and all the while he shakes his head and scuffs his heels. “Okay, but loser buys coffee,” he finally says, “and cake.”

He pushes me through the door, making the bell overhead jingle. As he heads toward a large table in the far corner of the shop, a small smile crosses my lips. Glancing toward the counter, I stop at a long bench and paw through ancient yellowing books and old jewelry scattering it in a disorganized mess. I’ve no idea how Al even knows what’s here.

Al raises his white-grey frizzy-haired head from the newspaper sprawled on the glass counter. His bushy eyebrows lift, and he throws me a warm smile which somehow makes me feel a little better.

Running my hand over the ‘treasures,’ I stop at a ceramic owl perched amongst the clutter on the table. When I turn it over in my hand, chubby little claws grip the sides of a skateboard. I hold it up so Will can see it. “Check this out.”

“A skating owl?” Will laughs. “I can top that.”

He holds up a book with the title Peanuts in Love. On the cover two peanuts hold hands, their cute little shell bodies in a sea of pink hearts.

“Not good enough.” I scan the table looking for something better and spot a pile of old movies scattered over the next table. I move them aside one by one, looking for a good title. Sunlight dances across the table and glints off something shiny. A blue flower with a yellow center. My heart jumps, the only part of me still moving. It can’t be. Surely Dad didn’t pawn it or give it to Al. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. It can’t possibly have been made into something else.

A small noise of surprise escapes my lax mouth, and a memory flashes into my mind: the pendant lying on Mom’s pillow the day she disappeared.

Will chuckles from the corner. I drag my gaze away from the flower brooch to see a bright pink pith hat sitting atop his sandy head. He eyes my open palm, which now holds the brooch. “You call that weird?”

I run my fingers over the cool glazed metal, and a lump grows in my throat. “It’s the same as the forget-me-not pendant Mom always wore.”

Not missing a beat, he raises his voice toward the back of the shop. “How much?”

Al pauses in his perusal of the paper, two fingertips touching his tongue as if to dampen them as he flicks a page over. His bushy eyebrows lift, and he clears his throat.

“Gosh, lad, for that?” I hold up the brooch, and Al squints at it. “It’s for Mae?” He smiles at me.

“Yep.” Will pulls his wallet out, and empties the coins into his cupped hand.

“Nothing,” Al says, then flicks his gaze to me. “Tell your Dad poker’s on tomorrow night. All the boys are coming.”

I return his smile with a nod. “Sure thing, Al.”

“Take care, Mae.” He doesn’t mention today’s Mom’s anniversary—the day she disappeared, but he doesn’t have to. Even though he never knew her, I’ve always suspected it’s why he took me and Dad under his wing. Especially after Nan died; her death upended the last slither of normalcy we had.

“No refunds….” Al says.

“Without magic,” I chime in on his usual farewell. No wonder people think he’s crazy, since he’s always saying stupid things. A sign hangs on the wall above the counter mimicking his words. No refunds without magic.

We walk out the door, and the bell jingles. “You owe me cake,” Will says.

“I do not. The brooch won.”

“No way, the peanuts definitely—”

“The peanuts did not beat the skating owl,” I say, and we both laugh.

I want to go home. I want to go straight to mom’s pendant. I want to compare it to this brooch, but I promised Will cake and coffee. He’d understand, but it wouldn’t be fair after dragging him out here. Although it makes me a little impatient, I’ll wait.

Giveaway

Enter to win one of two Forget Me Not ebooks or a $10 Amazon gift card.

About Book Two

Remember Me by Stacey Nash

Genre: YA/Fantasy/Speculative Fiction

Published October 1st, 2014

When all is lost, she must remember…

Anamae Gilbert managed to thwart The Collective and rescue her father, even though his mind is now a shell. Determined to stop Councilor Manvyke hurting her family again, she’s training to become an active resistance member and enjoying a growing romance. But things never sail along smoothly – Manvyke wants retribution. And Anamae’s name is high on his list.

After a blow to the head, she awakes in an unfamiliar location. Anamae can’t remember the last few weeks and she can’t believe the fascinating new technology she’s seeing. She’s the new kid at school and weapons training comes with ease, but something feels off. Why does the other new kid’s smile make her heart ache?

And why does she get the feeling these people are deadly?

About Stacey

Stacey Nash writes adventure filled stories for Young Adults in the Science Fiction and Fantasy genres. When her head isn’t stuck in a fictional world, she calls the Hunter Valley of New South Wales home. It is an area nestled between mountains and vineyards, full of history and culture that all comes together to create an abundance of writing inspiration. Stacey loves nothing more than writing when inspiration strikes.

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Five books I’m looking forward to reading in the next three months

I just finished Cress by Marissa Meyer and loved it (I gave it five stars, like the rest of the series so far). I thought about writing a review, but I feel like reviews of books three‑deep into a series have limited utility—it’s so hard to write one without being spoiler‑y, and if you’ve already read the previous books you’re likely to have already made up your mind. So instead I refer you to my reviews of Cinder and Scarlet.

All of this got me to wondering when Winter by Marissa Meyer is coming out (November 2015—sob)…

…which got me to thinking about the 2014 releases I am looking forward to. These are books I have already preordered, and I’ve listed them in order of release date because YOU CAN’T MAKE ME CHOOSE!

Servants of the Storm by Delilah S. Dawson (August). I love Delilah’s fantasy steampunk series…and her geekrotica is pretty good too! ;) This book is her first venture into young adult urban fantasy. One of my favourite authors decides to write in my favourite genre? I’m so there.

The Coldest Girl in Coldtown by Holly Black (August). I got curious about this a while back and wanted to check it out, but because I haven’t read anything by Black before, I decided to get the paperback version instead of the hardcover. It comes out in 11 days. (And yes, I buy books by authors I haven’t read sometimes. It’s because I’m a bookaholic.)

Endsinger by Jay Kristoff (September). Oh my god, you guys. Book three of The Lotus War trilogy. Jay takes pride in breaking hearts—his Endsinger review is hilarious, if ominous—so I’ve already been to Costco and laid in an emergency supply of tissues in bulk. Bring it.

Remember Me by Stacey Nash (October). This is book two in the Collective series, set after the events of Forget Me Not (which re-releases with Harper Collins TODAY, you guys! Squeeee!). It follows Anamae’s life after she saves her father from the baddies. I need to know what happens next. Need to.

Autumn Bones by Jacqueline Carey (October). Book two in Carey’s urban fantasy series Agent of Hel, this series follows half-demon Daisy’s enforcement of the peace in a town famous for supernatural tourism. The hardcover is actually already out but I preordered the paperback so now I have to be patient. Lame.

Oh, and my book comes out in October too. But I’ve already read that…

What 2014 releases are you looking forward to?

Excerpt and giveaway: If Ever I Would Leave You: ‘Arthurian Stories For A New Generation’ anthology

Surfacing

Bronwyn Green

 

A year after Tabby Nolan’s sister vanished from the Lake Michigan shore with her boyfriend, Liam, Tabby visits the spot where the two were last seen– and finds herself pulled into the crumbling world of Avalon.

 

Since his disappearance, Liam has been trapped in the mythical land, with no link to the world he knew. Now, their shared memories of Tabby’s missing sister are all they can cling to as Avalon dies around them.

 

But Tabby doesn’t want to be a replacement for her sister, and her growing attachment to Liam feels like a betrayal. As Avalon fades around them, Liam and Tabby must rely on each other– or be lost with the ancient kingdom forever.

 

Albion’s Circle: The Deepest Cut

Jessica Jarman

 

For nineteen years, Anna has been plagued by dreams of lives lived only in legend. Finally free from the family that believed her hopeless and worthless, she’s ready to start her life over—alone.

 

When Anna meets an enigmatic stranger claiming to be the legendary wizard Merlin, she is forced to question the very reality she’s struggled to accept. With the mythic figures from her dreams intruding on her waking life, Anna learns that she’s been reborn to fight an ancient evil alongside King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table.

 

Caught in an ages old conflict, Anna is the key to stopping a dark magic that will destroy the world—and Merlin wants to make sure that this time, Anna isn’t alone.

 

A Choice Fit For A Queen

Jenny Trout (writing as Abigail Barnette)

 

For perpetual overachiever Madison Lane, a summer studying Arthurian mythology in the Welsh countryside with professor Thomas Evans is a dream come true, and the adventure of a lifetime.

 

Of course, the enormous crush Madison developed on the professor after a semester of his lectures at U of M has absolutely nothing to do with her desire to learn more about the enduring legend of Camelot. At least, that’s what she’s telling her parents.

 

When Madison meets fellow student Rhys Crewe, sparks fly, throwing her plans for wild fling with Professor Evans completely out of whack—as do her unexpectedly complicated feelings for Thomas. With tales of Arthur and Lancelot haunting her every waking moment, Madison has to make the most difficult choice of her life.

Giveaway

Enter to win a DVD prize pack or one of two $25 Amazon gift cards.

Excerpt

From A Choice Fit For A Queen

To say that the Rose and Pig was off the beaten path would have been an understatement. There were no streetlights. The street wasn’t even paved. It was barely more than a dirt two-track leading past the low stone fence that surrounded the field. At the end, a two-story wattle-and-daub house stood, chimney smoking. The light spilling from its windows promised warmth and a place to get dry. Though my feet ached and stung with raw blisters from jogging around airports all day, I practically sprinted the last leg of my journey. Mud splattered onto the legs of my jeans, and I didn’t care. All I wanted was to get inside, away from the hellish downpour. I reached the door, prepared to fling it open and launch myself into the warm embrace of a charming Welsh pub.

It was locked.

No. Visions of sleeping in the cold, shivering in the dark, wet, pneumonia-encouraging night put urgency into my arm as I pounded on the door. “Hello! Hey, is anybody inside? Can anyone help—“

A guy opened the door. A hot guy. An annoyed hot guy. One look at him and my heart jolted. I froze in shock, but managed to stutter out, “m-me?”

He was absolutely gorgeous. Flawless dark brown skin stretched over a face that made the words “aesthetically pleasing” an understatement. His cheeks were full, like he’d retained baby fat in the exact right places, and his lush lips spread in a smile that was half “let’s be friends” and half “let’s be friends with benefits” as he looked me over.

Unfortunately, the longer I stared at him, the more his smile faded. He leaned his shoulder against the door and slung a white bar towel over the other to cross his arms over his chest. “Let me guess. American white girl, thinking, ‘What do you mean, they have black people in Wales?’” He held up his hands in mock apology. “Sorry, we’re everywhere. Hope you’re not too disappointed.”

“N-no, I wasn’t—“Explaining was not going to work if I couldn’t talk like a normal human. I had to glance down and push my wet hair from my face to concentrate and steel myself against his good looks when I raised my head again. When I did, I managed a smile. I hoped I didn’t look goofy. “I was actually thinking, ‘wow, the guys are a lot hotter here than at home.’”

His smile returned slowly. “Yeah, all right. You’re forgiven. Come on inside.”

His accent. Oh god.

About Jenny Trout

Jenny Trout is an author, blogger, and funny person. Writing as Jennifer Armintrout, she made the USA Today bestseller list with Blood Ties Book One: The Turning. Her novel American Vampire was named one of the top ten horror novels of 2011 by Booklist Magazine Online. She is a proud Michigander, mother of two, and wife to the only person alive capable of spending extended periods of time with her without wanting to kill her.

This Writer’s Space: Cassandra Page (not me!)

Ok, I feel like I need to start off with a disclaimer here: the Cassandra Page featuring this week isn’t me — even though I too am a gamer, reader and child wrangler who lives in Australia. My child is older and we don’t live in the Hunter Valley. We are both equally awesome, though. (Ahem!) Take it away, Cass!

Where I Write

Most of my actual writing is done on my PC, which is located, in a very small alcove, in the main living area of our very small flat. My desk is rather uncluttered at the moment which is quite out of the ordinary for me as usually it is buried under a mountain of random crap important stuff. I have a hardcore mild stationery addiction so always within reach are a plethora of coloured pens, highlighters, sharpies and post-its. These are guarded by Mr Boney the Dia de Muertos skull. The Delorian is there in case I need to duck back in time to check a random fact or get inspiration for a new story. There is also a bird’s nest, random selection of crystals, photos of Mr Almost-Three, Strunk and White and two spinning tops. Outside the photo are my reading glasses, more stationery, a jar of bobby pins, painkillers, and a stack of folders full university stuff. I made the pin board behind my monitor myself out of cork tiles from the hardware store. I use it for pinning up inspiration pictures when I am working on a story. Yes, that orange post-it has a Yoda quote on it.

I also use notebooks and journals for writing when I have been spending too much time at the computer or I am out and about. The little green one on top is always in my handbag, the purple one is for my current WIP and the peacock one is for note taking at workshops and conventions so it has more industry knowledge in it rather than actual story ideas, but it does have some of those as well. Not pictured here are the stack of envelopes and random scraps of paper that have scribbles all over them; they are in a shoe box in the drawer. Really I’ll write on whatever it at hand if I get a flash of an idea or, failing writing implements, I use evernote on my phone. Evernote’s voice recording ability is particularly helpful when I am driving.

Where I’m Inspired

I was going to put up a photo of the universe, because for me it would be more of a question of where am I not inspired. My inspiration comes from everywhere: a section of music, a snatch of conversation, a strange sight, a smell, and the questions – What If? Why? Why Not?

I love that time vampire known as Pinterest for getting the creative juices flowing and have boards for each story idea that is currently building inside my head. Reference books (and documentaries) on obscure topics (or even mundane topics) are another go-to for me. Children’s reference books are particularly good for getting a basic understanding of certain topics or idea and are usually my starting point. Non-fiction gets my imagination firing better than fiction sometimes.

The photo is just a section of the view from my front step. Of a morning it can be truly breathtaking. Some mornings the fog is so thick you can’t see the water trough; the world is nothing but swirling white and dark shadows where the tops of the trees puncture the mist. Other mornings it is all shades of gilded apricot and dusky purple with big clouds that look like floating cities or migrating dinosaurs. It is quite inspiring and just one of the perks of living on a small acreage in the Hunter Valley region of NSW, Australia.

To Be Read

This is like 0.04 percent of my current to be read pile. These are just the ones that are stacked on my desk there are others hidden in the bedroom and still more procreating on the various bookshelves jammed into every corner of this flat. I have an extensive list on Goodreads but also a wishlist on Fishpond and Book Depository and even one on Amazon. To add to this huge list of books that I probably will never get enough time to read (or space to store), I rarely come home from a shopping trip without at least one book either brand new or second hand. I love second hand bookstores.

About Cass

C. E. Page lives in the Hunter Valley region of NSW Australia and has a penchant for speculative fiction is all its various forms. In her spare time she is a gamer, voracious reader, knitter, toddler wrangler and sometimes painter (and vaguely wonders how she has time to fit it all in). Her flash fiction piece, The Doorway, recently appeared online at 365 Tomorrows. She has spent the last eight months putting together an anthology of speculative fiction entitled Novascapes: Speculative Fiction from the Hunter which is due for print in late July.

You can find her at:

Website: http://ignorethebird.com

Twitter: @bibliosapien

Top Ten Tuesday: Authors by Whom I Own the Most Books

Today’s Top Ten Tuesday is authors by whom I own the most books.

I was a prolific — but not very adventurous — reader when I was a teenager. My love of reading really started when I read Dragonsdawn by Anne McCaffrey in English class; I picked it because it had a dragon on the cover and I’d really enjoyed The Hobbit. I fell in love, and went on a McCaffrey spree. From there, after reading a series she co-wrote with Mercedes Lackey, I read Magic’s Pawn and went on a Lackey spree.

These sprees are reflected in the numbers. They’re also often reflected in my Top Ten Tuesday lists, because while I own a LOT of books (as the removalists snarkily observed last year when they were carting boxes upstairs) I don’t own a huge variety.

My tastes have changed since then, largely moving from fantasy to urban fantasy. While I still have my old favourites, some of the newer Mercedes Lackey releases (for example) haven’t really wowed me. I still own many of them, though, for sentimental reasons as much as anything else.

Robin Hobb and Charles de Lint – 12 books each (tied)

Kate Forsyth — 13 books

Jacqueline Carey — 14 books

Laurel K. Hamilton — 17 books

Charlaine Harris — 19 books

David Eddings — 22 books

Stephen King — 33 books*

Terry Pratchett — 35 books

Anne McCaffrey — 63 books

Mercedes Lackey — 74 books**

* If you count all the Green Mile novellas as one book.

** Three of these I haven’t even read yet. Whoops!

This is one shelf of my Mercedes Lackey books. There are more. (Please ignore the random fluff on the carpet — I have dogs.)

My Stephen King collection, hanging out with Jay Kristoff and Kermit.

All my Anne McCaffrey books. She co-wrote quite a few, especially as she got older, but they TOTALLY count. (I didn’t count the books in here that were only written by her son, Todd.)

Yes, I am a book hoarder. I think I need help more shelves! Which authors would be at the top of your list?

3 Reasons to Write the Book That Calls to You

There is a lot of different advice about what writers should write. I see the occasional clickbait article on social media claiming to give advice on how to write a bestseller, for example (although I’ve never clicked, because I know when someone is trying to sell me something!). The more common mantra for writers is “write what you know”, something I believe in so long as the definition of “what you know” is expanded to include things you’ve researched, or a fantasy world you’ve built until you know it inside out.

But probably the best bit of advice — IMHO YMMV etc — is to write the book that calls to you. I don’t believe in a muse in the literal sense, but there’s no doubt that when I’ve been choosing between two projects, the one that drags me in like a whirlpool, that won’t leave me alone, is the one that gets written.

I’ve been pondering this a lot lately, for various reasons. So here are my three reasons to write the book that calls to you.

Because chasing trends is pointless

If you’re thinking of traditional publishing, there’s not a lot of point in chasing trends. Say you look around the bookstore and think, “Gee, were-swans are hot right now.” By the time you write your were-swan book, edit it, get it beta read, edit it again (and again), and start querying agents or editors, your idea is one of many were-swan books on the slush pile. Publishing is a slow-moving beast; that new trend you see breaking in the bookstores today was actually bought by a publishing house 18 months ago (or longer). Right now, they are buying something new, not the trend you’ve just discovered.

This is also true, although to a lesser extent, with self-publishing. If you’re going to be a proper author–publisher, that still takes time to do right. (Again with the editing, but also with the typesetting and acquiring of or designing a professional cover.)

I’m not saying you shouldn’t write your story about were-swans if that’s what you really want to do, but don’t write it because you think it’s going to be the next were-swan hit. Write it because it’s the story you have to write.

Because writing a book is hard

I don’t want to sound like I’m having a pityfest over here, but sometimes writing a book is simply hard work. It’s not always glorious, giddy typing to the Murder, She Wrote theme — sometimes it’s awkward transition scenes and words that move about as quickly as my son gets dressed when we’re in a hurry. (For the record, that’s not very fast.)

If you love your story, if in the middle of the night you think about your characters and ways you can mess with them, getting through these writing rough patches will be so much easier. This is particularly important if you’re still working on your first novel, wondering whether you can do it. (Note: you can.)

Because you’re going to read that book a lot

I just finished proofreading the galley proof of Isla’s Inheritance. I’ve read it from cover to cover (so to speak) at least two or three times in the last six months. Before I got my publishing deal, I read it maybe four more times, going over it again and again, looking at places to tighten or tweak. So not only was it my life for as long as it took me to draft it, it’s been a huge part of my life since then.

Regardless of how you decide to publish, you’re going to read your book again. And again. And again. If it’s not a story your passionate about, you’re going to get more than a little stabby. Even if you are passionate about it you may get a little stabby; it can’t be avoided. But love makes it easier.

I feel like I should leave you with some sort of uplifting message: art harder, or write the story you want to read. Something like that. But instead, I’ve decided to make you an inspirational meme. It’s my gift from me to you. :)

This Writer’s Space: Ashley R. Carlson

This week on This Writer’s Space we have fellow Fall 2014 debut writer, Ashley R. Carlson — although her debut is steampunk fantasy! I love it already!

Where I Write

This is my office, where I write fantastical prose about zeppelins, corrupt governments, and futuristic Victorian clothing (at least I am right now with my steampunk WIP). As you can see, I have an official “writing” chair, with the side ripped up by another item in the picture—my destructive cat, Ava. She rarely sits on my keyboard, instead preferring to leap onto the back of my chair at random times and give me mini-heart attacks. To the left is a notebook full of my WIP’s character names, places, and inspiration/themes to remember, as well paperwork for my one of my current jobs, as an editorial intern for Arizona Foothills Magazine. The post-its are quotes that inspire me, including my favorite by William James: “Our belief at the beginning of a doubtful undertaking is the one thing that assures the successful outcome of any venture.”

Where I’m Inspired

I get inspired in a variety of weird places, but felt it best not to take pictures of the inside of my cluttered car or shower—yes, the shower. Please tell me I’m not the only person who gets inspired there; the entire idea behind my current WIP came to me in the shower after watching a Real Housewives of Orange County episode…so yeah. Weird times and places. This is a picture of my whiteboard, which really helps to arrange my thoughts as I plod through my current novel. When I’m writing, I can just spin my chair around (and yell “Wheeee!” if I go ‘round a few times before stopping) and refresh my memory about the current scene, or brainstorm ideas if I get stumped.

To Be Read

Being that I am a huge supporter of e-books and the digital age of the publishing industry, I buy my books on my iPad more often than not. Currently, my TBR list includes Rosehead by Ksenia Anske, Blackbirds by Chuck Wendig, How We Fall by Kate Brauning (a first cousins’ romance?! What?!), and Divergent by Veronica Roth (to see what all the fuss is about).

About Ashley

Ashley R. Carlson is a fantasy author and editorial intern for Arizona Foothills Magazine and Midnight Publishing. Follow her on Twitter @AshleyRCarlson1 for thoughts on Tinder, animals, and self-publishing, and check out her blogs at http://www.ashleyrcarlson.com/ and http://midnightpublishingllc.com/writing-editing-publishing-industry-blog/. Ashley lives in Scottsdale, Arizona with two dogs and a mean-spirited cat. Ashley will release her debut novel, a steampunk fantasy, in Fall 2014.

Top Ten Tuesday: Ten Characters I’d Want on a Deserted Island

Today’s Top Ten Tuesday is the top ten characters I’d choose to have with me on a deserted island. I’ve only dipped into five different books, though.

Hermione Granger (The Harry Potter series by JK Rowling). My reasons for choosing Hermione should be obvious: she’s clever and versatile. Obviously life would be easier if she had her wand with her, but even if she didn’t, her knowledge of random trivia would definitely come in handy. I’d pick 18-year-old Hermione, though, not 12-year-old Hermione. Because she’s passed her OWLs.

Katniss and Primrose Everdeen (The Hunger Games series by Suzanne Collins). I’d wager anyone doing this week’s Top Ten Tuesday who reads a lot of YA will have Katniss on the list, because she’s the ultimate survivalist—good with a bow and traps, knows how to skin an animal, great with her herb lore and so on. I’m adding Prim because she’s competent with low-tech medicine options and isn’t as likely to freak out and go comatose as her mother is.

Jude (The Rephaim series by Paula Weston). Jude is nearly indestructible, and totally hot. He also has an in-depth knowledge of boats—he wouldn’t just be eye candy! (Plus there’s a chance he may be able to teleport. Useful!)

Yukiko and Buruu (The Lotus War series by Jay Kristoff). Yukiko’s fast with a sword and able to talk to animals…and if she had her thundertiger, Buruu, with her, we’d have a way off the island if the boat thing doesn’t work out. Plus Buruu can create storms with his wings so we’d have a source of water. The only downside would be the language barrier—Yukiko is from a Steampunk fantasy version of feudal Japan. I wonder if Hermione speaks Japanese? If she doesn’t, Jude might. He’s travelled.

Gandalf the Grey; Aragorn, son of Arathorn; and Samwise Gamgee (Lord of the Rings by JRR Tolkein). These three are all being added for different reasons. Like Hermione, Gandalf knows a lot about a lot, and we might be able to use his fireworks to make flares. Aragorn could supplement the food brought in by Katniss—although I’d wager those two would get it on in a hot minute—and help Prim with healing herbs. And Sam would be in charge of cooking.

Actually, I’m going to go back to The Hunger Games and add Peeta Mellark. I’m not sure whether Sam can bake. That might complicate Aragorn wooing Katniss though. ;)

So that’s my ten. I’ve got hunting, general knowledge (and magic), a boat, medicine and cooking taken care of. Plus Aragorn and Jude are honeys, and Peeta’s not bad either. I’d be set!

Review: ‘Behind the Scenes’ by Dahlia Adler

High school senior Ally Duncan’s best friend may be the Vanessa Park – star of TV’s hottest new teen drama – but Ally’s not interested in following in her BFF’s Hollywood footsteps. In fact, the only thing Ally’s ever really wanted is to go to Columbia and study abroad in Paris. But when her father’s mounting medical bills threaten to stop her dream in its tracks, Ally nabs a position as Van’s on-set assistant to get the cash she needs.

Spending the extra time with Van turns out to be fun, and getting to know her sexy co-star Liam is an added bonus. But when the actors’ publicist arranges for Van and Liam to “date” for the tabloids just after he and Ally share their first kiss, Ally will have to decide exactly what role she’s capable of playing in their world of make believe. If she can’t play by Hollywood’s rules, she may lose her best friend, her dream future, and her first shot at love.

I feel like I’ve been saying this a lot lately, but I don’t normally read contemporary fiction. I picked this one up because I “met” Dahlia via Twitter and then started following her blog, where she posts all sorts of interesting and informative posts for writers (plus a whole passel of book reviews and recommendations). I love her snark, humour and heart — all of which are things that come across in Behind the Scenes. In spades. Truckloads, even.

Unlike my other recent contemporary reads, though, this book isn’t one that tears your heart out and stomps it into the dirt. I kind of appreciated that — I wasn’t in the mood to be sobbing into my pillow when I read this BASICALLY IN A SINGLE DAY!

The thing that makes Behind the Scenes is definitely the characters. None of them are perfect, not even the gorgeous Hollywood actors. Especially not them. I don’t think there’s a single character that doesn’t make a stupid decision at one point or another, but those decisions didn’t make me feel like I was watching a car accident. Instead, I was so immersed in the story and the characters’ headspaces (especially Ally’s, as the POV character) that I was totally understanding and supportive of them in all their complexity. To the point where when Laim’s friend Josh has a go at Ally for something dumb she did, I was all, “WOAH, WHAT?!” right there along with her.

The friendship between Vanessa and Ally is complex and sweet; it could have very easily have been one-sided, especially given Ally ends up working as Van’s assistant and doing most of the “giving” in the relationship. But Vanessa only hired Ally because the latter needed a way to make money for college, and Ally refused to just take the money as charity or a loan. Plus Vanessa does what she can to help Ally out in other ways.

Also, let’s take a moment to appreciate that Vanessa is a Korean actress, not a blond bombshell. This wasn’t just tokenistic diversity either; one of the reasons Ally is so keen to help her friend’s career is that she’s been there for her with icecream and tissues every time Vanessa was rejected from a role for not being Caucasian enough. It’s one of the layers that form their relationship. The racism Vanessa faces from some quarters is by no means the central theme of the book — Dahlia doesn’t rub our noses in it or anything — but it’s there and feels real.

And then there’s Liam. Ah, Liam. He’s a little bit troubled without being a bad boy (unlike Josh, who is both of those things). He’s intelligent, witty, charming, and — as you are if you’re a Hollywood heartthrob — drop-dead gorgeous. All the talk of his blue eyes and defined abs were enough to make a girl drool. *fans self*

Another key relationship is the one between Ally and her family. It was nice to see a YA book where the family unit is present — for the most part, anyway, as her dad spends a lot of time in hospital being treated for cancer — and all look out for each other. Ally’s little sister Lucy is adorable (and actually, I just realised she may be the only character that dosen’t make a stupid decision — there was one after all). I just wanted to give her all the hugs.

This is a great, light YA read with huge dollops of romance and some of the funniest dialogue I’ve read in a long time. I was disappointed when I finished it. Five happy stars!