Cassandra Page's Blog, page 41
July 10, 2014
Five things to do after you finish your manuscript
In case you missed it, here’s my July post over at Aussie Owned and Read, where I make suggestions about things you can do after you finish drafting your manuscript that don’t involve either submitting it to agents or editing it immediately.
Originally posted on Aussie Writers:
As I draft this blog post, I’m a chapter away from finishing my fourth manuscript. It’s also the third and final book in my Isla’s Inheritance trilogy—and it’s under contract with a scheduled release date partway through next year, so needless to say I’m pretty keen to get it whipped into shape so I can present it to my editor with a pretty pink bow wrapped around it.
A virtual bow. You can get those, right?
But here’s what I’m going to do (after I do an ecstatic dance around the house, frightening the dogs, and have a brag on Twitter):
That’s right. I’m going to step away from the manuscript. And, gentle reader, if you’re in this situation you should too. If you’re anything like me, you’ll want to dive headfirst into that precious document, to roll around in your words. You’ll be riding the rush of those final…
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July 9, 2014
Excerpt and giveaway: ‘Gypsy’ by Trisha Leigh
Gypsy (The Cavy Files #1)
by Trisha Leigh
Release Date: 13 May 2014
378 pages
Inconsequential: not important or significant.
Synonyms: insignificant, unimportant, nonessential, irrelevant
In the world of genetic mutation, Gypsy’s talent of knowing a person’s age of death is considered a failure. Her peers, the other Cavies, have powers that range from curdling a blood still in the vein to being able to overhear a conversation taking place three miles away, but when they’re taken from the sanctuary where they grew up and forced into the real world, Gypsy, with her all-but-invisible gift, is the one with the advantage.
The only one who’s safe, if the world finds out what they can do.
When the Cavies are attacked and inoculated with an unidentified virus, that illusion is shattered. Whatever was attached to the virus causes their abilities to change. Grow. In some cases, to escape their control.
Gypsy dreamed of normal high school, normal friends, a normal life, for years. Instead, the Cavies are sucked under a sea of government intrigue, weaponized genetic mutation, and crushing secrets that will reframe everything they’ve ever been told about how their “talents” came to be in the first place.
When they find out one of their own has been appropriated by the government, mistreated and forced to run dangerous missions, their desire for information becomes a pressing need. With only a series of guesses about their origins, the path to the truth becomes quickly littered with friends, enemies, and in the end, the Cavies ability to trust anyone at all.
Goodreads | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | The Book Depository | Amazon
Excerpt
“Oh, Lordy, I am so sorry! My mom’s always sayin’ I’m so clumsy I could trip over a cordless phone.”
A breathless, sweet, female voice chatters the apology as hands try, with little success, to drag me back to my feet using the straps of my backpack. She’s behind me, so not the person whose age of death I just saw in my first two minutes here.
Fail, Gypsy.
“Are you okay?” A second voice, male and with a smooth, local drawl, mingles with the first.
The dead kid is a boy.
I jerk my hands into my chest, trying not to be obvious about it. Wishing with all my might I could take it back. Forget. Turn away without seeing the attached face. Of course there isn’t, and when my body remembers how to breathe again, I open my eyes.
He’s tall, a few inches over six feet, with hair the color of sand and eyes that shift between gold and brown, like maple syrup in the sunlight. More than the intriguing shade, it’s the genuine kindness in them that stands out to me. My heart flutters, then seizes.
Dead. He’s dead.
“It’s okay, I’ll live.” I wince at my choice of words and busy myself with brushing imaginary dust off the skirt of my uniform.
The clumsy girl stands as high as my shoulders, and the upturned nose and smattering of freckles combine with her chin-length white-blond hair to remind me of Tinkerbell. At least she seems to have a better attitude than the jealous, spiteful fairy.
Her pale eyes fling more apologies my direction, but I hold up my hand. “Really. No big deal.”
“Oh my gosh, thank you for being cool.” She grins, and it lights up her entire body. “I’m Maya.”
“Norah.”
“You’re new?”
“How could you guess?”
“Because they rest of us learned to avoid Maya while she’s double-fisting coffee and a cell phone back in the seventh grade.” Oh, goodnight nurse. The boy who’s going to die before he graduates from high school would have eyes that make my stomach attempt to fly.
I imagine literal, iron plates of armor clicking into place over my face, my skin, my heart, then flick a glance his direction. I snatch my cell phone from his palm. “Thanks.”
“I’m Jude.” He sticks out his hand.
Even though my aversion remains, even though I don’t want to confirm what I saw, there’s no point in keeping to my hands off rule. Not touching him now won’t change anything.
“Norah,” I say again, laughing a little at the absurdity of repeating my name. Our hands touch, his skin soft and electric at the same time, like he scooted his feet across a shag carpet. The little hairs on my arms, at the back of my neck, stand up.
18. 18. 18.
I pull my hand away, fixing my smile and swinging back toward Maya. “You caught me, I’m new. And I’m supposed to be in the office but I have no idea where that is, so this is at least half my fault, stopping in the middle of the hall like that.”
“I’ll walk you. It’s right on my way,” the boy offers.
Maya rolls her eyes at me in a manner that suggests we’ve been sharing nonverbal cues for more than two minutes. “If you don’t want to be alone with Jude, I understand. But if you don’t care, I’m going to let him take you because I’m supposed to meet with the yearbook sponsor…” She glances at her phone. “Five minutes ago.”
“No, it’s fine. He’s fine.” Lord in heaven, did I just say that?
Maya snorts, and the heat in my face promises she didn’t miss my unintentional comment.
I grew up around boys, so snorts at double entendre isn’t exactly new to me, which only makes the fire in my cheeks all the more vexing. It’s surprising to learn that things can still embarrass me.
“You know, it’s not the first time I’ve heard that,” Jude jokes, his smile catching my attention.
My lips return it without permission, even though my face is about to melt off.
“Yes, it is,” Maya chirps. “It so is the first time he’s heard that. Norah, we’ll have lunch instead, okay?”
I nod, but she doesn’t see me because she’s already halfway down the hall, waving over her shoulder.
Giveaway
Enter to win here!
About the Author
Trisha Leigh is a product of the Midwest, which means it’s pop, not soda, garage sales, not tag sales, and you guys as opposed to y’all. Most of the time. She’s been writing seriously for five years now, and has published 4 young adult novels and 4 new adult novels (under her pen name Lyla Payne). Her favorite things, in no particular order, include: reading, Game of Thrones, Hershey’s kisses, reading, her dogs (Yoda and Jilly), summer, movies, reading, Jude Law, coffee, and rewatching WB series from the 90’s–00’s.
Her family is made up of farmers and/or almost rock stars from Iowa, people who numerous, loud, full of love, and the kind of people that make the world better. Trisha tries her best to honor them, and the lessons they’ve taught, through characters and stories—made up, of course, but true enough in their way.
Website | Goodreads | Twitter | Facebook
July 8, 2014
This Writer’s Space: review and call for submissions
It’s been almost six months since I started my This Writer’s Space series (there have been twenty weekly posts in all, if that helps you with the maths). Which is just crazy. I love that my random little idea actually worked, and that nineteen other writers were happy to give me a glimpse into their personal spaces and share them with everyone. It’s a little confronting, especially given the average writer is at least a tiny bit introverted.
I don’t have a TWS post scheduled for this week. I’m not sure whether that’s because the idea has run its natural course, or because the northern hemisphere has gone on summer holidays. Maybe both. (Also: it’s freezing here and I’m jealous! Just so you know.) But I thought I’d take the opportunity to remind you of all the lovely ladies and the one equally lovely fellow who have taken part. I’m providing links, so if you missed one or more of the posts it’s easy to go back and have a look.
If you’re interested in taking part in the series, I’d love to have you. You don’t have to have a book already free in the world — the series is dedicated to all writers, not just published ones. I love both kinds! If you’re interested, shoot me an email at cassandrapage01[at]gmail.com. ([at] equals @, obviously.)
Thanks to everyone that’s taken part to date, too. I love your faces!
July 7, 2014
Top Ten Tuesday: Blogging (and bookish) confessions
This week’s Top Ten Tuesday theme is ten blogging confessions. But the example post they gave is for bookish confessions. Because I doubt I can manage ten blogging confessions. Although maybe I can. Let’s see…
Sometimes I draft blog posts at work, although I don’t post them from there, because my employer’s firewall has a JUST SAY NO policy about social media, even blocking helpful blogs like Grammar Girl. Probably the most notable work-drafted post is this one: What not to say to your editor. Because I was very angry. (For the record, the writer I blogged about there is getting a tiny bit better … although this week he defended a word choice because he was using it in a “commonly understood way that any English speaker would understand”. Except me, apparently. But at least he says thank you now.)
If I buy an ebook and love it beyond all reason, I order the paperback afterwards. I just can’t help myself. I’ve got six full-size bookshelves that are getting very cluttered. And I love to look at my pretties. The only catch is that if it’s a POD release (via small press or indie publication), I usually wait till it’s available on The Book Depository. Amazon’s paperbacks might be cheap, but the shipping to Australia can double the price of a book from them.
I don’t blog about things I really want to share. Like most writers who are querying manuscripts, I’ve found there are various highs and lows on that journey, and sometimes I really want to do a virtual happy dance or cry into my WordPress pillow. That’s one of the reasons that writers who post saying they have an agent or a contract are so giddy about it. Because finally they can TELL PEOPLE. (See here. And here.) Even now, there are things I could blog. But I cannot blog the things. Perhaps one day.
Why can’t I blog the things? Because querying agents and publishers is like Fight Club. You don’t talk about it. If you’re not sure why, read The Art of Oversharing by Summer Heacock. It’s both educational and horrifying.
I signed up to a blog tour company’s promo emails to get extra content. The one I chose was YA Bound, as I’m sure regular followers of my blog will have already figured out, on account of their logo being splattered all over certain blog posts. That’s where most of my book blitz posts with excerpts and giveaways come from. But on the bright side, I’ve discovered some awesome-sounding books that way. Now to just find the time to read them all… (Note: they also regularly have slots available for reviews as part of book tours, so if you’re a baby book blogger looking to get your hands on more books to read, check them out!)
I almost never review books in exchange for free copies. I can only think of two instances where I have. One was Twelve Steps, by one of last year’s successful Pitcharama entrants, and one was Silver Tides, over at Aussie Owned and Read before we got our two book reviewers on board. The reason is that I have *counts* fifty-nine paperbacks or hardcovers sitting here waiting to be read, plus two I’ve ordered that haven’t arrived yet and a preorder that hasn’t been released yet, PLUS at least another twenty ebooks on my Kindle. At the speed I read that’s enough to get me through till at least Christmas 2015.
Assuming I don’t buy any more books before then.
Which I will.
As an aside, I have over 80 books on my to-be-read pile. And that doesn’t count the pendng releases I haven’t preordered. Holy crapbiscuits! That’s more than I was expecting.
I used to rarely review books at all, anywhere. But then a bunch of awesome writers I know and love from Twitter and Aussie Owned had their books come out and I know how valuable reviews can be for new writers trying to break through and make a name for themselves. (This doesn’t mean I lie in my reviews, mind you; I do mention any things I don’t like alongside the stuff I do.) Since then I’ve expanded it to include most books that I read.
Except for the children’s books. Because you probably don’t care much about my struggles to read The BFG aloud to my son. That dialogue was haaaaaaaaard, you guys.
I read a lot of blogs, but rarely comment. I know I’m not alone in this, given how many hits my blog gets a day relative to the number of comments. In my case, it’s because I use email subscriptions to keep track of my favourite blogs; I read most of them in my email client on my smart phone, which doesn’t make it very easy to write something in reply. I’m more likely to pin a post I love or tweet a link to it than I am to comment.
I try really, really hard to only use open source, free graphics. Occasionally I buy stock, such as that fireworks graphic I used on Saturday. But sometimes the desire for an animated Pixar or Doctor Who gif overwhelms me. I just hope that, if Disney and the BBC come after me, they decide it was more of a homage than theft. It’s not like I’m hosting entire shows here, after all. HOWEVER, I feel very strongly about stealing art for use on blogs. Don’t do it, kids. (Or if you do, at least link back to the artist’s page so it’s more like a free advertisement. They may forgive you, then. Of course, they may not — it’s always better to get permission. Be squeaky clean.)
I schedule almost all my blog posts. I expect most people do, so this may not be a shock. But the best time for me to post is in the morning, Australian time, because then that also catches the US evening crowd. And since by then I’m usually either on my way to or at work (with its unfriendly social media firewall), that means I have to schedule stuff.
On that note, it’s dinnertime and I’m hungry. ;)
Book launch: ‘Papina’ by Katie Hamstead
Forrest and Braydon Miller moved to the small town of Papina to follow their dreams and start a family. Braydon loves her new life in the quiet town, kept alive by the prestigious boarding school overlooking the valley. She is so proud of her husband’s work, helping the teens on the reservation.
Until one day, Forrest doesn’t come home.
Scandal spreads when one of the teenagers is found missing, too. But Braydon refuses to believe her husband would leave her. When the teen is found, she isn’t talking—literally.
While Braydon’s heart is breaking, she needs to hold her crumbling life together, raise her son, and find a way to love the teenager enough to find the truth of what happened to her husband.
Goodreads / Amazon
About Katie
Born and raised in Australia, Katie’s early years of day dreaming in the “bush”, and having her father tell her wild bedtime stories, inspired her passion for writing. After graduating High School, she became a foreign exchange student where she met a young man who several years later she married. Now she lives in Arizona with her husband, daughter and their dog.She has a diploma in travel and tourism which helps inspire her writing. She is currently at school studying English and Creative Writing.
Katie loves to out sing her friends and family, play sports and be a good wife and mother. She now works as a Clerk with a lien company in Arizona to help support her family and her schooling. She loves to write, and takes the few spare moments in her day to work on her novels.
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July 5, 2014
Review: ‘Scarlet’ by Marissa Meyer
Cinder, the cyborg mechanic, returns in the second thrilling installment of the bestselling Lunar Chronicles. She’s trying to break out of prison — even though if she succeeds, she’ll be the Commonwealth’s most wanted fugitive.
Halfway around the world, Scarlet Benoit’s grandmother is missing. It turns out there are many things Scarlet doesn’t know about her grandmother or the grave danger she has lived in her whole life. When Scarlet encounters Wolf, a street fighter who may have information as to her grandmother’s whereabouts, she is loath to trust this stranger, but is inexplicably drawn to him, and he to her.
As Scarlet and Wolf unravel one mystery, they encounter another when they meet Cinder. Now, all of them must stay one step ahead of the vicious Lunar Queen Levana, who will do anything for the handsome Prince Kai to become her husband, her king, her prisoner.
I reviewed Cinder less than three months ago and now, having read Scarlet, I have one regret about that first review — that I already gave Cinder five stars, because there’s nowhere left to go with Scarlet. It deserves at least half a star more than the original. But I don’t want to adjust the rating for Cinder down either, as it was an excellent book in its own right.
The thing that made me enjoy Scarlet more was that the predictability that came with the Cinderella story — that she’d go to a ball and lose her (ahem) “glass slipper”* — was less obvious in Scarlet. Partly that’s because Queen Levana’s evil scheme is hotting up, and the political intrigue and world events of this awesome sci-fi Earth have more of their own life. Partly that’s because the elements of Little Red Riding Hood that Scarlet’s story pay homage to are woven in a little more loosely. There’s a girl with a red hoodie, a street fighter named “Wolf” from a gang of “wolves”, and a missing grandmother. But no woodcutter to speak of. Unless Thorne was meant to be the woodcutter…? If he was, I missed it!
That being said, I saw almost all of the plot twist coming. I don’t think it was telegraphed as clearly as was the one in Cinder; maybe it was just a lucky guess. My suspicions didn’t undermine my enjoyment of the book, though. (I also have my suspicions about who will play the part of Rapunzel in the next book, Cress, but I’ve only just ordered it, so I’ll have to wait and see. ;) )
We have a few new characters in this book. I’ve already said how much I love Cinder, Kai and Iko, and all three are in this, some in particularly delightful ways (if you’ve read the book I’m sure you can guess what I mean). Scarlet is a fiery redhead of the old school of fiery redheads — she carries a gun and isn’t afraid to use it, and when we first encounter her she’s throwing tomatoes against a wall in a fit of rage. She’s rash, but loves her grandmother more than anyone in the world. Still, I really liked her, if not quite as much as I did Cinder. Wolf is the most beautifully depicted broken bad boy I have ever seen; tragic, dangerous and torn, he really struggles throughout the book with his attraction for Scarlet. (Ok, that’s a spoiler, but a tiny one — of course the boy is interested in the girl; it’s a YA novel! Also, it’s in the blurb. Phew, I’m ok.)
And Captain Thorne…well, I couldn’t shake the mental image of Captain Jack from Doctor Who and Torchwood. Although his ship was more like Serenity from the movie of the same name (and the TV show Firefly) — it even had two transport pods, a medbay located off the cargo hold, and an engine that sounded very similar to Serenity’s, full of cables going everywhere and an engine that rotated in the open.
I think I loved the ship more than any other character, for that reason. You can’t take the sky from me!
Uh, sorry, got a little sidetracked there. Five stars.
* Note: if you haven’t read the first book, no, that isn’t a euphemism for anything naughty. The most either of these books have in them is kissing.
July 4, 2014
WOOHOO!
Not a very useful blog post title, I grant you, but I’m pretty pumped.
Because I just finished writing the first draft of the third book in the Isla’s Inheritance trilogy.
My fourth completed novel.
Holy cow.
To celebrate, here are some fireworks. (Also because it may still be the Fourth of July somewhere in America – hi, America!) I’d prefer cupcake cannons but I don’t have a picture of those.
WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! *spins away in excitement*
July 1, 2014
This Writer’s Space: Nik Vukoja
Today on This Writer’s Space we have Nik Vujoka, Nest Pitch‘s Chief Bunny. Nik has kindly offered to share an excerpt with us from her new Chapbook — you can find it at the bottom of this post.
Where I Write
Although I move around a bit, I mostly write in my bedroom, on the bed. I’ve got a TV/DVD in there, a big coffee table which works as my ‘bedside-table-come-mini-office-bookshelf’; and I can look straight into the back yard when I want to relax my eyes. As you can see, bed, laptop, notepad… and Feline Overlords!
Where I’m Inspired
Woo, this is a harder one to answer. Sometimes it’ll be something someone says or something I read or even something on TV. But usually it’ll come from practically nowhere. I am well known for waking at some ungodly hour with an idea that I simply must put to paper.
To Be Read
OK, that’s HUGE!
I was looking at my ‘want to read pile’ on my Goodreads page and then looked at my ‘to be read’ pile and it’s like, OMG, are there enough hours left in my life?
Right now I have a lot of fiction I’m hoping to get to this year and quite a lot of non-fiction. I’ve recently bought a few books at a local bookshop: some on Queen Elizabeth I, a few on the Romanovs, the Habsburgs and sister Marie Christine and Marie Antoinette. I also want to re-read a book on Catherine the Great, but that one runs at around 800 pages so I’m avoiding it.
As for fiction:
The Masked Songbird by Emmie Mears
The Kiya Series by Katie Hamstead
I’m holding out for the second in the December People series by Sharon Bayliss
I still need to read book #2 of the Ever Series by Jessa Russo
A Touch of Darkness by Tina Moss
Twelve Steps by Veronica Bartles
And Isla’s Inheritance by a certain Cass Page!
As well as a few others.
About Nikola
Born in Croatia, my family moved to Australia when I was two. Thirteen days after landing, mum gave birth to my twin brothers. A month after my youngest brother, Steve, was born, my maternal grandmother came from Croatia to live with us.
I started school without being able to speak English, so my first year of school wasn’t fun. But Nana was! Nana had wonderful stories to share with us about dragons and wizards and witches and warriors kings. She’d regale and often frighten us with scary stories with magical Slavic creatures, igniting in me a life long fascination in history and Slav mythology.
We didn’t own a TV for several years, but I don’t recall missing it. Winter evenings were spent on the veranda watching thunderstorms as Dad told us about The God of Thunder “Perun” while summer evenings were for star-gazing.
I’ve worn many hats, have several degrees and diplomas and have lived in Australia, Croatia, Germany and France. I don’t know if it’s because of the family’s nomadic start, but I tend to like new places and new adventures, and reinvention.
In the past 5-6 years I have learned a lot about the art of writing. I also learned I could not work fulltime and write. So I left my fulltime employment, took my life savings and decided to dedicate myself to my craft. And while there are times when the “cheque’s in the mail,” I have not regretted my decision.
I have just published a chapbook of poetry, sonnets and short stories, with illustrations and 25% from each sale will be going to AnimalsAsia. You can find out more and see a sample of the poems here. If you quote CODE: RL33S (not case-sensitive), you’ll be entitled to a 30% discount if you buy the Chapbook.
Personal blog | Nestpitch | Twitter
Excerpt: Perun & the Flaming-Winged Owl
Please do not copy, reproduce any part of the below without Nikola’s permission.
Ivan knew what was coming. Charlene’s tightly crossed arms were the first signal, the second, how she unconsciously placed her feet when angry. This time she had them in the third ballet position, an auto-reflex after a childhood of lessons.
Ivan had come to recognise the strength of his wife’s emotions by her body-language. Strumming fingers over crossed arms equalled, Tabasco Chilli Pepper anger. Tapping foot was a little less angry, Jalapeño Chilli. And ballet position number three; tangy Bell-Peppers — in other words, he could make fun of her without fear until she’d hit Habañero Chilli heat — pretty damn close to She-Devil-Hell. How so much passion could burst free from her tiny frame was one of Charlene’s many mysteries. A reasonable mind would question how she managed to open a pickle bottle. Even after so many years together, she charmed him.
Charlene’s top lip crinkled. He braced himself. At least he knew the topic, he knew what he was about to do wrong. Not that he agreed. Charlene had a tendency to know she was right, even when she was completely illogical, irrational or simply emotional. He loved that about her. It should have been a turn-off, but damn if it didn’t make the gold flecks in her eyes dance! Ivan hid the smirk creeping over his face as best he could as she inhaled oxygen in preparation for a breathless rant.
“Seriously, Ivan, I don’t know how many times we have to have the very same conversation. It’s not like I, well, you know, how I…” She rolled her eyes. “I really don’t like your mother telling those stories.” Charlene’s hazel eyes stared at her husband with as much accusation as she could force through them.
“They’re creepy,” she added.
He tried to take her seriously. If she caught his smirk, he’d never win. “They’re only stories, and the kids love ’em,” said her husband.
“Until they begin to imagine one of her creatures is hiding in the bushes.” Charlene huffed before adding, “Some of them are just scary shit Ivan; you have to admit that.”
Ivan said nothing.
“I know you’re Croatian an ’all,” she demanded, “But when we got married I didn’t expect our children to have a grandmother who scared the crap out of them!” she demanded.
Ivan squinted his almond-shaped eyes, “Sorry, I should have added into our vows, and my wife agrees to allow Mama to tell tales of an ancient land to our future children, of witches called Jezi Babas who steal your soul, of Perun, God of Thunder riding his chariot, and of Vukodlak—”
“—You’re being an idiot,” Charlene interrupted, jerking her head as a curly ringlet hid eyes changing from hazel to steel-grey.
Ivan looked at his wife. Her cheeks flashed with a soft pink. She barely wore makeup. She didn’t need it, just a little mascara to highlight her eyes. Her cheeks flashed with a soft pink. Anger only made her look more attractive.
He knew she was angry, what tapping feet and ballet positions didn’t give away, her eye colour did, but this was about family pride and cultural history and for once Charlene would not get the last word.
“And you’re being unreasonable.” He rose from his seat and walked over to the percolator to pour himself a long black. After a deep breath, he lowered his voice. “How are Mama’s stories any less frightening than some of the stuff by the Brothers Grimm? How’s it okay for our kids to read Harry Potter, but it’s not okay for Mama to tell them the stories of their own Croatian mythology?”
“They’re only half Croatian,” she said, just indignant enough to wound.
“Okay, yes, my kids aren’t what, Aussie enough for you? If you didn’t want your kids to have Croatian blood you should never have said yes to me. They are only half Croatian, and my wife is Australian, and what is Australian anyway? Are they also one eighth Irish, a sixteenth Italian and what, one sixty-fourth Koori? And what else?”
Ivan took a sip of his coffee and turned his back on her. His voice softened a little. “I don’t want us to fight over something you should understand. It’s my heritage.”
He turned back to face her and put the mug down. “This is who I am and they are half me. You can’t love all of me and dismiss their half of me too.”
She felt her chest knot with guilt but didn’t know what to say to make that word disappear.
He wished she hand not said “half” anything. She knew how it cut him. How he considered it one of the cruelest words because it seemed so innocent, so harmless, so unsullied. Half-hearted, half-arsed, half-wit, half-cast, half of something, he’d often said was a subtle way of saying something wasn’t worthy of full value. Ivan loathed it in all its forms.
“I’m sorry babe, I didn’t mean…”
Ivan put his hand up as he almost spat, “Perhaps we could tell them true stories, Jack the Ripper or the Black Death? Or we could share the real meaning of ‘ring around the rosy’ or how the Hundred Years War began?”
“Well.”
“Well, what?”
“It’s just that.”
“Just what. Seriously, what is it? Is it that it’s Mama telling the stories, or is it that the stories weren’t recreated by Disney. Or is it that I don’t really see the issue?” She’d gone too far. He couldn’t let it go. She was sure she was right, but challenging his heritage was not the way to convince him–ever.
Charlene’s voice softened. “If she must tell them her stories, can she at least pick the nice ones?”
As she conceded, Ivan relaxed his face, took a sip of his coffee, and allowed a slight smile to settle. “So it’s agreed. Mama will mind the kids tonight?”
“And Mama will tell Adam and Katarina a nice story tonight,” Charlene said as she intentionally did a fake eyelash that made Ivan grin.
“Yes, Mama will tell a nice story tonight.”
He gave Charlene a hug as he whispered, “Are we friends again?”
Charlene shrugged, pretending anger, but her shoulders were loose. Still Ivan thought better than to salt her defensive wound. “One of the things I have always loved about you is that damn stubborn streak.”
By nightfall Adam, tall and lanky for nine, and six-year-old pixie-cute Katarina, were bundled into the family car along with their pyjama’s and Katarina’s favourite stuffed teddy.
As they pulled up in front of Grandma’s house, her porch light enticing them to enter, Charlene said, “Remember, you promised, no scary stuff.”
With the kids safely inside and his mother warned, Ivan and Charlene left their children with Mama and her wild fairytales.
“So, what will be do tonight?” asked their Grandma as two sets of eyes, one hazel like his mother’s and the other as green as an emerald, shone back with eager anticipation.
“Tell us a story, Grandma,” chirped Katarina. With a giggle she added, “Make it a scary one.”
Grandma chuckled. “All-right-ty then, let’s make some popcorn and I’ll tell you a story, but nothing too scary, we promised your mum.”
Katarina looked at her older brother. Adam shook his head and Katarina was satisfied Grandma was joking about the story not being scary. The scary kind was always the best.
Their Grandma thought for a moment as she patted a heavy purring Sir-Purrs-a-Lot. Adam renamed him when he was just a kitten, all grey fluff with his big eyes and pushed in nose. Every time Grandma picked him up, the kitten would purr loudly. His ‘real’ name was Ghost because of his grey fur, but once Adam started calling him Sir-Purrs-a-Lot, so did everyone else.
Fully five years old now and not nearly as playful as when he was a fuzz of kitten energy, he’d become Grandma’s best friend. She once said to Adam, “I keep him and he keeps me.” Adam pretended to understand.
“I’ll tell you the story of the Flaming-Winged Owl,” said their Grandma, her words breaking Adam’s trance on the cat as well as throwing both children into action.
They knew the routine. While their grandmother popped the corn, they had just enough time to dump their bags into the spare bedroom, prepare two large glasses of milk and nestle into the comfy sofa.
With the lights dimmed, Grandma in the middle, bowl of popcorn on her lap, a warm blanket covering all three of them and Sir-Purrs-a-lot taking advantage of the empty sofa-chair by the radiator, the children waited. There was no way of knowing what sort of marvellous creatures would be in one of Grandma’s stories. A shape-shifting monster, evil witches, battling Gods…
Grandma took a deep breath. “A long time ago, Perun, God of Thunder and Lightening became very angry with his brother Veles. Veles was the god of the Underworld and, like all Gods, had no place or business going to the world of man. But Veles had left the Underworld, and this made everything in the world of man unbalanced.
“Night fell in the middle of the day, only to return a moment later. The mountains grumbled and the sky shimmered bright red. Perun, furious at his younger brother’s mischievous behaviour, threatened his brother with bolts of lightening but Veles simply hid from the lightening spears.
“So Perun commanded the Goddess of Winter, the Princess Morana, to pelt Veles with rain, then hail and also with wind and snow blizzards, but Veles singed the rain with fireballs, turned the hail into snow, and the snow into waterfalls to feed rivers and oceans.
“Veles laughed at his niece, Morana, telling her, ‘Go, go back to your father and tell my brother I fear him not, and fear you even less, little niece. Tell him I like this world of man and think I will stay here.’
“By now the humans suffered. As night and day mixed unnaturally, nothing grew, crops failed, grass died and soon cows and sheep would have nothing to eat. Even the wild creatures of the forest suffered. Everything was dying, even hope.”
“Were even bunnies and birds dying?” asked Katarina.
“Yes,” said Grandma. “And this made Perun very sad and even angrier at his brother.”
“What did Perun do?” asked Adam.
“Well,” Grandma’s voice rose sharply. The children recognised this tone; the story was about to get good.
“Perun had no choice but to send his beloved Flaming-Winged Owl. This was no ordinary owl; this was a special owl, with magical powers!”
Adam reached over and poked Katarina. She giggled before saying, “Adam wants to know why the owl’s so special.”
“Oh, Adam wants to know, and you don’t?” teased Grandma. Katarina giggled again before nodding.
“Well. This is not just a magical owl; this owl is also Perun’s friend.”
Their Grandma looked at both children and lowered her voice a little as she added, “His only friend.”
Adam tried to pretend this didn’t surprise him but Katarina couldn’t keep her green eyes from turning into saucers.
“Gods have a lot of power, but they have few friends. That’s why this owl was special to Perun.”
“And was Perun afraid the owl would get lost?” asked Katarina.
“Oh, much worse. You see magical creatures are not supposed to live in the world of man, and the longer it stayed with humans, the more danger it was in. Why!” exclaimed Grandma, “It could even die!”
Katarina’s bottom lip trembled a little, “Is the owl going to die?” she asked.
Adam, always the protective big brother tried his best to make light of her fears. He rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in the air. “The owl’s not going to die!”
“But Grandma…” Katarina began.
“She said it might die… but I’ll die if you keep interrupting!”
With Katarina sufficiently satisfied that her big brother would not let the owl die, she snuggled deeper into her grandmother, took a handful of popcorn and smiled. “Please continue,” she said very properly, then giggled again.
The old woman smiled. “Perun tried one last time to convince his brother to return to the Underground, but Veles continued to ignore him. Even as Perun’s words rumbled around the world like thunder, Veles paid no attention, instead skipping across the world causing buildings to tumble down, mountains to crumble and rivers to bubble with hot poisonous water.
“Perun knew he had to save the human world, even if it cost him his friend. Good Friend, he said, ‘You must fly to the land of man and use your magic to return my brother to the Underworld. You must make this happen, even if this means we shall never see each other again. You must be willing to sacrifice everything if that is what is needed. Will you do this, my old friend?’”
Adam jumped in excitement, “What did the owl do?”
“The owl turned to his friend, because Perun was also the owl’s only friend. They had been best friends for thousands and thousands of years, together protecting the world from high in the clouds, among the stars of heaven. They were so close, they were like family. And even though one was a great god and the other a magical bird, and really to look at them, they seemed so different, they were the same inside.
“The owl looked at her long-time companion and said, ‘We have been almost as one for these many years. If this is what I must do to bring order to the world, I do it not only the world, but because you ask this of me. As I know you would risk everything for me, so I happily risk everything for you.’
“And with that, Perun’s Flaming-Winged Owl flew from the heavens to search for and return Veles to the Underworld.”
Adam reached deep into the nearly empty bowl of popcorn as he asked, “So the owl’s a girl?”
Grandma nodded.
“What’s her name?”
“I’m not sure she had one,” said Grandma.
“Oh, Grandma, everyone has a name!”
“Well, I don’t know her name. Maybe she has one and I don’t know it, or maybe because there is only one Flaming-Winged Owl, she doesn’t need one… or maybe because it’s just she and Perun, she never thought she needed a name?”
Adam shrugged off further questions. “What happened next?”
“Well, Veles saw the owl and knew instantly it was his brother’s owl, because there is only one like her. He also knew the world of man was dangerous for her, but he didn’t care and ignored her request to return to his home. He was not yet finished having fun in the world of man.
“The owl plucked her feathers of pure magic from her tail and scattered them over Veles, hoping to bind him and them force him back to the Underworld. But this was not enough magic to make Veles return. Because he was magical and also a god, he was very powerful. And because he was from the Underworld, unlike Perun or the owl, Veles did not lose his powers in the world of humans.”
“Why not?” asked Adam.
“Because when you die, first you must go to the Underworld before you pass to the heavens, so Veles is linked to the world of man like no other magical being.
“It’s only after your soul passes the Underworld that it can enter the afterlife. And this permits Veles to live among people.
“When nothing Perun’s owl said or did, changed Veles’ mind, Perun knew he had no choice. Perun asked his friend to scatter her burning feathers through the air. If she plucked and lost too many, she would not be able to fly back to the heavens, and without the magic of the heavens, she would die.
“To the people looking up, it seemed like the sky was aflame and the end of the world had come. But to Veles the Flaming-Winged Owl’s feathers were like shackles, their power binding him and forcing him back to the Underworld.
“As Veles returned to the Underworld, Perun struck the opening to Veles’ Kingdom with three bolts of lightning, saying to his brother, you have frightened the people and the animals for the last time and though a mortal soul can enter your world, you can no longer leave it. Veles tried many times to escape, but Perun’s magic and power was greater than his younger brother’s.
Perun’s Flaming-Winged Owl had just enough feathers to return to her friend in the heavens. She was weakened, but she lived and as soon as she felt the power of the heavens enter her heart, she began to recover.
“Oh, that’s good,” said a satisfied Katarina.
“Yes, it was good, but that’s not the end of the story.”
“Did Veles find a way to get out again?” asked Adam.
“No, much worse,” said Grandma.
“What happened?” asked Adam.
“Well, there’s more to this story. Do you want to hear the rest?” she asked. The children both nodded.
“There’s still a little popcorn left in the packet. Shall we pop it too and then I’ll tell you the rest?”
Her grandchildren jumped off the sofa so quickly it woke Sir-Purrs-a-Lot. Before Grandma could say another word, the children were already in the kitchen, almost empty bowl of popcorn in Katarina’s hands.
June 30, 2014
Double cover reveal: ‘Forget Me Not’ and ‘Remember Me’ by Stacey Nash
Those of you who have followed me for more than, like, five minutes will know that I’m a big fan of Stacey Nash. She’s one of the co-founders of Aussie Owned and Read — it was her that invited me to take part — and she beta read Lucid Dreaming for me. She received her contract offer for Forget Me Not at the same time as I received one for Isla’s Inheritance. I was lucky enough to sign with Turquoise Morning Press rather than the doomed Press Which Shall Not Be Named.
Stacey wasn’t so lucky. Not long after FMN released, her press folded.
But then this absolutely crazy thing happened. At around this time, Stacey was contacted by someone at Harper Collins. She’d subbed FMN there over a year earlier, and they wanted it for their new digital imprint. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeee! It’s pretty much the perfect fairy tale ending, and it couldn’t have happened to a nicer human. That’s why I’m over the moon to be part of the cover reveal for the new (and much prettier!) Forget Me Not, as well as for Remember Me.
Both of which are available for preorder (something I’ve totally done already). Go go go!
Amazon | iBooks | Google Play | Goodreads
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
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.
June 27, 2014
Excerpt and giveaway: ‘Honey Queen’ by Christina Mercer
Honey Queen
by Christina Mercer
Release Date: 31 May 2014
Love is honey sweet, but it comes with a fatal sting . . .
Melaina Maris needs wings to fly the gap between loving Sam and her family’s ancient curse that forces carnal love and then kills the male lovers. She won’t let the same fate that killed her father befall another. She refuses to allow her goddess-created bloodline to continue. But there’s no easy way out, especially after the curse turns her into the Honey Queen—savior to honey bees—intensifying her charms.
To help her fulfill the curse’s demands in the least harmful way, her grandmother takes her to mate with terminally ill Boyd. But Boyd’s gay. And an expert in mythology. Instead of having sex, Melaina learns how she might summon the goddess who created the first ancestor bee-charmer and cursed her bloodline. Melaina’s magic—tears to save honey bees from endangerment—could be enough to persuade the goddess to end the curse. But an unexpected discovery soon changes that hope, spinning Melaina into a swarm of love, friendship and death.
Excerpt
The kiss of a sting sends heat up my arm. I don’t flick away the stinger. Instead, I watch the barb pulse like a heartbeat as it unloads its venom. Pleasure and guilt war within me. I’ve never before felt the sensation of a sting, as if a swarm buzzed through my veins. Nor have I ever murdered one of my own. But life with our honey bees changed last summer. Now our connection to them is even more twisted, morphed into a love-hate battle I wish would end.
“I know,” I say with partial regret, as squadrons of bees swoop in to investigate their sister’s death. The banana-like scent of alarm pheromones fills my nose. I pull on my glove, deciding not to kill any others or further tempt fate. Even one sting raises my risk of becoming like Mom, crazy with need, using alcohol to replace her addiction to bee venom. But I had to understand what seduced my mother. I had to taste the pleasure that deceives, so that I know firsthand what I’m fighting against.
I wait until the buzzing heat of the sting fades, ignore the temptation to expose my flesh again, and continue to work the hives. Three colonies down, three more to go—just enough to pollinate our fruit orchard and release the pheromones Gran, Mom, and I need to stay alive.
A part of me misses the rows of hives that used to make up our apiary, how spring’s arrival was like a big party with a million honey bees as our guests. A bigger part of me misses my mother who, before last summer, danced in the orchard every morning and sang to me every night. Now it’s my turn to come out here in the morning and greet bees that would kill her in a wing’s flutter but that we both depend on for life.
Giveaway
1 ebook of Honey Queen (INT)
1 “Honey Bee” swag pack (USA):
bookmark
buzz card
beeswax lip balm
honey sticks
honeybee charm
Enter here!
About the Author
Christina Mercer is an award-winning author of fiction for children and young adults. She took Writer’s Best in Show at the 2012 SCBWI CA North/Central Regional Conference, was a Semi-Finalist in the 2010 Amazon Breakout Novel Award Contest, and won Honorable Mention in the 21st Annual Writer’s Digest Self Published Book Awards. She holds a degree in Accounting from California State University at Sacramento and a Certificate in Herbal Studies from Clayton College of Natural Health. Christina resides in Northern California enjoying life with her husband, two sons, four dogs, and about 100,000 honeybees.
