K. Ferrin's Blog, page 26

Call of the Herald, by Brian Rathbone

Title:  Call of the Herald

Author: Brian Rathbone

Synopsis:

Echoes of the ancients’ power are distant memories, tattered and faded by the passage of eons, but that is about to change. A new dawn has arrived. Latent abilities, harbored in mankind’s deepest fibers, wait to be unleashed. Ancient evils awaken, and old fears ignite the fires of war. When Catrin Volker, a teenage horse trainer, inadvertently fulfills the prophecy of the destroyer, she becomes the most feared and hunted person on all of Godsland. With the help of her friends, she must convince the world that she wants only peace.

Review:

Call of the Herald is a fun and quick fantasy adventure read. It is true the primary storyline is a common one within the fantasy genre, but I felt the author handled it with skill and put his own mark on it.  His writing style is welcoming, his characters are well developed and each has a well formed arc throughout the story.  I felt a great deal of sympathy for all of the characters and what they were going through.

The book is a very easy read, appropriate (in my opinion at least) for MG readers. Because of this some readers may find it not challenging enough.  However I feel if you read it with this in mind it is quite a wonderful and entertaining story.

I would definitely recommend Call of the Herald to anyone looking for a fantasy adventure and a fun read.

Desiderium, Monsters the First Ch7

rent-a-moose / Foter / CC BY-NC-SA

My #WedPeeks post for this week is chapter seven of my new novella, scheduled for release this October. Desiderium is a dark fantasy/horror and is for mature readers.

*Warning: There is violence, sex, and a lot of profanity in these pages.

~ SEVEN ~

Release

If I had stayed in bed, everything would have been fine. But I woke up around midnight and could not get back to sleep. I tried, believe me. I was exhausted from night after night of not sleeping. But regardless, I found myself downstairs pulling on a pair of shoes and heading out the door.

It was Friday night, or at least what remained of it. The regularly spaced puddles of lamplight were the only illumination in the dark street. The moon was hidden from view by a heavy fog that blanketed the city. I headed towards the same alley around the same building that somehow changed everything in my life to shit. I was feeling jittery, anxious but also angry and in the mood to push boundaries.

It’s a poor area, the buildings covered with graffiti and the windows mostly busted out. A couple of the buildings actually look as if they would topple over with the lightest touch. Garbage was scattered all along the road as usual, and piled up along the sides. Age, disuse, and depression gather here like shadow gathers at the edge of light. I can feel it pressing in on me like cold, sodden clothing. Clothing I’ll never be able to take off.

It was a second’s thoughtless action. A quick glance down that narrow alley as I strode by. That glance was my undoing.

She sat there, small and alone, halfway up the first block of the alley. She sat on that ledge. One of her legs was bent up on the ledge with her, the other dangling to the ground below, her foot tapping a nervous rhythm. Her skirt gathered in the gap between her legs, exposing pale thighs. A cigarette dangled from one hand, resting listlessly on her raised knee. She was looking directly at me as if she’d been sitting there waiting for me to walk by, and she didn’t blink at my appearance. Her hair was luxuriously thick and long. It was mussed, as if it hadn’t been brushed for days. Her makeup was dark and heavy, smeared as if she’d been crying, or maybe fucking. She wore a thin shirt and no bra, her breasts clearly visible through the thin material.

Despite her disheveled appearance, or maybe because of it, she was stunningly beautiful. Her dark hair framed perfectly formed pixie features, and the heavy black lining brought the rich greenness of her eyes into sharp contrast. She seemed so small, lost, helpless. In the drifting fog she looked like a nymph, transparent and wispy—but one of oil slicks and concrete and broken glass instead of cool forest streams and shady green groves. I half-thought she would fade into the night as I approached.

Don’t go near her, a small voice whispered inside my head. Trouble is sitting on that ledge tonight. Walk by, leave her be. But somehow I knew this woman had something I needed. She held a key to the mystery of Blake’s death. Don’t ask me how I knew or what made me suspect. I just did. I knew it with a cold certainty.

A scent—that scent—was hovering in that alley. That amazing erotic muskiness, and I felt certain it was coming from her. She sat unmoving as I approached, not even a twitch save for her eyes as they followed my progress up the alleyway. I came up alongside her and waited for several long breaths, studying her.

I knelt beside her and reached a hand toward her. Her eyes shifted to my hand. She gave no other indication of movement, but my hand froze and I could feel my balls rise into my gut. I felt real danger emanating from her, and I pulled my hand back. Her eyes met mine.

That musky scent was getting stronger and stronger, and I could barely breathe as I stared. She looked through me, beyond me, and I felt as if she weighed what she saw there as I struggled to keep my wits while desire bubbled up, threatening to overwhelm me. It felt like something was taking control of me against my will, but I didn’t want to put a stop to it even if I knew how. I thought of the fey powers of the fairy folk from the fantasy novels I read. I had dismissed such things long ago, but caught in her gaze, and captivated by that heavenly scent, I wondered.

“There are many things that go bump in the night, Terryn. I am one of them.”

Her voice was soft, rich, and loamy. I thought of the forests I had hiked through in Oregon. Thick fertile soil, towering trees draped in green and water dripping incessantly from above. Then I thought of the dank, trashy smell of garbage dumps, of smoky vehicle exhaust, the grimy smell of the city. What I’d imagine the taste of that dark film that coats the bottom of your shoes after walking through the city on a wet night would be like. The funky smell of my dick the morning after a night of epic fucking.

Goosebumps rose on my arms and my fingers tingled. My stomach clenched more tightly as she stared at me, unmoving, her eyes wide and liquid.

“There is such animal in you. It is in all of you, you can’t escape it, or control it,” the girl purred. “Oh, you struggle so to keep it contained but it just waits, always ready to roar back and take over. I have seen it in the eyes of those who turn away. I have smelled it on you, and I have tasted it on the men sweating and grunting above me. It only needs the teeniest bit of prompting, Terryn.”

Her voice was the most captivating sound I’d ever heard. The image she painted with her words made me uncomfortably aware of her body—the long stretch of exposed thigh and the curve of her breasts so clearly displayed beneath that thin top. Oh my god, I wanted her, and with the few tattered shreds of control that remained to me I shifted away, thinking of the sense of threat that had come from her when I first reached out my hand.

“Humanity is just a thin veneer over the heart of a beast. It is so easily stripped away when the opportunity presents.”

“How…” I had to stop to clear my throat before I could continue. “How do you know my name?”

She gave a short laugh, deep and throaty. “I know you,” she said. “At least, I knew someone once who was a lot like you. He, also, wanted to awaken the beast within and free himself from the bonds of humanity. He sought me, just as you do.”

I shuddered—a deep quake that made my knees feel weak and my muscles shaky. My brother, I thought. She knew Blake.

“Yes,” she said, as if she had heard my thoughts. Perhaps she had.

“I am hungry.” She continued almost lazily, reaching toward me. Her hand found the hard bulge in my pants and grasped. “You desire me as well. I can offer you the escape you seek, if you choose to follow. Would you like to see what happens when you leave everything behind? When you truly let go? I can show you. I can take you there, Terryn, if you want to come. But only if you truly want to see.”

That heady scent surrounded me in a cloud of desire, and those black-lined eyes grew deeper and wider. I felt myself falling toward her, my already hard cock throbbing against her hand. I knew it was wrong—somewhere inside me a voice was crying out that I was in danger—but that voice, and that body, that scent. I would go anywhere with her. I would do anything to be with her. I wanted to see what she offered. I wanted to slip the cuffs of humanity and travel with her to places yet unexplored, even if I had to break both thumbs to do so. I had been seeking darkness for over two years, and in this woman, I had found it.

“Sophie.” The name floated fleetingly across my mind, but fell quickly aside as another wave of that heavenly scent washed over me.

There are a million things that I once wanted and sought. And there are a million more I would do if given the chance. But right then, all I wanted to do was her.

Somehow, she had risen and pulled me up with her without me noticing. She tugged me gently toward a doorway next to where she had been sitting. Darkness cloaked us as we walked through the doorway. “I can’t see,” I whispered to her. She laughed and pulled me more insistently toward her.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you hurt yourself. I wouldn’t waste you that way.”

We climbed stairs for what seemed an eternity. All I could think of was getting her beneath me, or above me. I wasn’t picky. And goddamn, it was taking a long time to get to wherever she was leading us.

Finally, she pushed me down and I felt a soft bed beneath me. My clothes were gone—I had no recollection of taking them off. I still couldn’t see anything, but I cared little for that. All I cared about was the feel of her climbing on top of me and wrapping her legs around my middle. All I cared about was the scent of her in my nostrils and the heat of her around my dick.

Finally, no judgment, no pretending, I could let myself go, wander at last into that darkness that I had sought for so long. I opened myself entirely and let her consume me as waves of pleasure washed over me again and again.

 

if you’d like to read more of Desiderium you can find it here:

Ch1

Ch2

Ch3

Ch4

Ch5

Ch6

And for the next chapter in line you can click here.

Desiderium – Monsters, the First Ch 7

rent-a-moose / Foter / CC BY-NC-SA

My #WedPeeks post for this week is chapter seven of my new novella, scheduled for release this October. Desiderium is a dark fantasy/horror and is for mature readers.

*Warning: There is violence, sex, and a lot of profanity in these pages.

~ SEVEN ~

Release

If I had stayed in bed, everything would have been fine. But I woke up around midnight and could not get back to sleep. I tried, believe me. I was exhausted from night after night of not sleeping. But regardless, I found myself downstairs pulling on a pair of shoes and heading out the door.

It was Friday night, or at least what remained of it. The regularly spaced puddles of lamplight were the only illumination in the dark street. The moon was hidden from view by a heavy fog that blanketed the city. I headed towards the same alley around the same building that somehow changed everything in my life to shit. I was feeling jittery, anxious but also angry and in the mood to push boundaries.

It’s a poor area, the buildings covered with graffiti and the windows mostly busted out. A couple of the buildings actually look as if they would topple over with the lightest touch. Garbage was scattered all along the road as usual, and piled up along the sides. Age, disuse, and depression gather here like shadow gathers at the edge of light. I can feel it pressing in on me like cold, sodden clothing. Clothing I’ll never be able to take off.

It was a second’s thoughtless action. A quick glance down that narrow alley as I strode by. That glance was my undoing.

She sat there, small and alone, halfway up the first block of the alley. She sat on that ledge. One of her legs was bent up on the ledge with her, the other dangling to the ground below, her foot tapping a nervous rhythm. Her skirt gathered in the gap between her legs, exposing pale thighs. A cigarette dangled from one hand, resting listlessly on her raised knee. She was looking directly at me as if she’d been sitting there waiting for me to walk by, and she didn’t blink at my appearance. Her hair was luxuriously thick and long. It was mussed, as if it hadn’t been brushed for days. Her makeup was dark and heavy, smeared as if she’d been crying, or maybe fucking. She wore a thin shirt and no bra, her breasts clearly visible through the thin material.

Despite her disheveled appearance, or maybe because of it, she was stunningly beautiful. Her dark hair framed perfectly formed pixie features, and the heavy black lining brought the rich greenness of her eyes into sharp contrast. She seemed so small, lost, helpless. In the drifting fog she looked like a nymph, transparent and wispy—but one of oil slicks and concrete and broken glass instead of cool forest streams and shady green groves. I half-thought she would fade into the night as I approached.

Don’t go near her, a small voice whispered inside my head. Trouble is sitting on that ledge tonight. Walk by, leave her be. But somehow I knew this woman had something I needed. She held a key to the mystery of Blake’s death. Don’t ask me how I knew or what made me suspect. I just did. I knew it with a cold certainty.

A scent—that scent—was hovering in that alley. That amazing erotic muskiness, and I felt certain it was coming from her. She sat unmoving as I approached, not even a twitch save for her eyes as they followed my progress up the alleyway. I came up alongside her and waited for several long breaths, studying her.

I knelt beside her and reached a hand toward her. Her eyes shifted to my hand. She gave no other indication of movement, but my hand froze and I could feel my balls rise into my gut. I felt real danger emanating from her, and I pulled my hand back. Her eyes met mine.

That musky scent was getting stronger and stronger, and I could barely breathe as I stared. She looked through me, beyond me, and I felt as if she weighed what she saw there as I struggled to keep my wits while desire bubbled up, threatening to overwhelm me. It felt like something was taking control of me against my will, but I didn’t want to put a stop to it even if I knew how. I thought of the fey powers of the fairy folk from the fantasy novels I read. I had dismissed such things long ago, but caught in her gaze, and captivated by that heavenly scent, I wondered.

“There are many things that go bump in the night, Terryn. I am one of them.”

Her voice was soft, rich, and loamy. I thought of the forests I had hiked through in Oregon. Thick fertile soil, towering trees draped in green and water dripping incessantly from above. Then I thought of the dank, trashy smell of garbage dumps, of smoky vehicle exhaust, the grimy smell of the city. What I’d imagine the taste of that dark film that coats the bottom of your shoes after walking through the city on a wet night would be like. The funky smell of my dick the morning after a night of epic fucking.

Goosebumps rose on my arms and my fingers tingled. My stomach clenched more tightly as she stared at me, unmoving, her eyes wide and liquid.

“There is such animal in you. It is in all of you, you can’t escape it, or control it,” the girl purred. “Oh, you struggle so to keep it contained but it just waits, always ready to roar back and take over. I have seen it in the eyes of those who turn away. I have smelled it on you, and I have tasted it on the men sweating and grunting above me. It only needs the teeniest bit of prompting, Terryn.”

Her voice was the most captivating sound I’d ever heard. The image she painted with her words made me uncomfortably aware of her body—the long stretch of exposed thigh and the curve of her breasts so clearly displayed beneath that thin top. Oh my god, I wanted her, and with the few tattered shreds of control that remained to me I shifted away, thinking of the sense of threat that had come from her when I first reached out my hand.

“Humanity is just a thin veneer over the heart of a beast. It is so easily stripped away when the opportunity presents.”

“How…” I had to stop to clear my throat before I could continue. “How do you know my name?”

She gave a short laugh, deep and throaty. “I know you,” she said. “At least, I knew someone once who was a lot like you. He, also, wanted to awaken the beast within and free himself from the bonds of humanity. He sought me, just as you do.”

I shuddered—a deep quake that made my knees feel weak and my muscles shaky. My brother, I thought. She knew Blake.

“Yes,” she said, as if she had heard my thoughts. Perhaps she had.

“I am hungry.” She continued almost lazily, reaching toward me. Her hand found the hard bulge in my pants and grasped. “You desire me as well. I can offer you the escape you seek, if you choose to follow. Would you like to see what happens when you leave everything behind? When you truly let go? I can show you. I can take you there, Terryn, if you want to come. But only if you truly want to see.”

That heady scent surrounded me in a cloud of desire, and those black-lined eyes grew deeper and wider. I felt myself falling toward her, my already hard cock throbbing against her hand. I knew it was wrong—somewhere inside me a voice was crying out that I was in danger—but that voice, and that body, that scent. I would go anywhere with her. I would do anything to be with her. I wanted to see what she offered. I wanted to slip the cuffs of humanity and travel with her to places yet unexplored, even if I had to break both thumbs to do so. I had been seeking darkness for over two years, and in this woman, I had found it.

“Sophie.” The name floated fleetingly across my mind, but fell quickly aside as another wave of that heavenly scent washed over me.

There are a million things that I once wanted and sought. And there are a million more I would do if given the chance. But right then, all I wanted to do was her.

Somehow, she had risen and pulled me up with her without me noticing. She tugged me gently toward a doorway next to where she had been sitting. Darkness cloaked us as we walked through the doorway. “I can’t see,” I whispered to her. She laughed and pulled me more insistently toward her.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you hurt yourself. I wouldn’t waste you that way.”

We climbed stairs for what seemed an eternity. All I could think of was getting her beneath me, or above me. I wasn’t picky. And goddamn, it was taking a long time to get to wherever she was leading us.

Finally, she pushed me down and I felt a soft bed beneath me. My clothes were gone—I had no recollection of taking them off. I still couldn’t see anything, but I cared little for that. All I cared about was the feel of her climbing on top of me and wrapping her legs around my middle. All I cared about was the scent of her in my nostrils and the heat of her around my dick.

Finally, no judgment, no pretending, I could let myself go, wander at last into that darkness that I had sought for so long. I opened myself entirely and let her consume me as waves of pleasure washed over me again and again.

Weekend Writing Warriors Blog Hop #2

It’s Sunday and you know what that means. Weekend Writers Blog Hop! This is my second entry in this blog hop – I love it! Here there be talented writers, so you better go check them out here:

This excerpt is from a novella I will have out in October. It is a dark urban fantasy, definitely for mature readers. The novel is about a man’s descent into madness and self-destruction after the bizarre and mysterious death of his brother. This excerpt contains profanity and is at the beginning of the story. He’s just had a violent sex dream and in his sleep has engaged in some disturbing sexual behavior with his partner Sophie.

Without further ado, Desiderium:

She relaxed slightly on the bed, her anger cooling somewhat. “You go sleep on the couch Terryn. I’m too freaked out to have you in here. And you are going to a therapist tomorrow and I’m not even kidding. You need to work this shit with your brother out, it’s making you crazy.”

“This has nothing to do with Blake, Sophie. I fucking hate it when you bring him in to every argument we have!”

“Well you’ve not been the same since… since he passed.”

You can read more of this story on my website. I’m releasing it chapter by chapter through the end of this year, posted on Wednesdays.

Born of Water, by Autumn M. Birt

Title: Born of Water

Author: Autumn M. Birt

Synopsis:

In the buried archives of the Temple of Dust may lie the secret to defeating the Curse, a creature which seeks to destroy 16-year old Ria for the forbidden gifts she possesses. But it is from among the ranks of those who control the Curse where Ria will find her best chance of success.

Only the Priestess Niri can save Ria from the forces that hunt her, if Niri doesn’t betray the girl first. Along with Ria comes Ty and his sister, Lavinia, both bound to defend Ria from the Church of Four Orders. However, Ty has been living a life less than honest and keeping it from his sister. To survive a journey that takes them across the breadth of their world, the four must learn to trust each other before pursuit from the Church and Ty’s troubled past find them.

Review:

I enjoyed Born of Water.  I’m a sucker for stories involving elementals and I really enjoyed the magical system used in this book.  The characters are well fleshed out and popped off the page.  I particularly liked Darag and his people/community, and his relationship with Lavinia. There is a bit of romance in the story, but this book is firmly in the fantasy adventure camp.  I particularly loved the themes of corruption and power explored in the book.

There were a number of spelling errors that could use some fixing.  There were a couple of places where things seems somewhat out of whack, one of Ty’s outbursts in particular seemed out of place to me.  These are factors to be aware of, but they were minor in my opinion.

Overall I would say this is a solid fantasy read.  If you enjoy adventure and magic you’ll likely enjoy Born of Water.

Desiderium – Monsters, the First Ch 6

My #WedPeeks post for this week is chapter six of my new novella, scheduled for release this coming October. Desiderium is a dark fantasy/horror and is for mature readers.

*Warning: There is violence, sex, and a lot of profanity in these pages.

 

~ SIX ~

Hunted

God is punishing me. I’m certain of it.

I’ve never been to church a day in my life, and a year ago I would have told you that he doesn’t even know who I am because he’s never heard my voice. But I’m wrong. He knows me, he sees me. And he’s punishing me.

Something changed that night in the alley, though I don’t know why or what could have changed it. It’s like that ledge was something holy, and by coming on it I somehow defiled it, bringing a curse down upon myself. Despite the sneaking out, things had been going perfectly, but now they’re fucked. Since that night, since that instant, things have gone to shit and I can’t explain why.

My dreams have changed again. They changed from the wonderful passion play that Sophie and I both enjoyed into something dark and dirty. The fucked-up evil shit came back. They still begin the same, but the ending has started to vary, and they’re becoming increasingly dark and disturbing. Worse still, Sophie knows. The wonderful interlude of enjoying each other without question is definitely over.

At first the contents of the dreams just morphed into a bizarre kaleidoscope of images. Naked flesh, but twisted and distorted, swollen and misshapen—something out of a Dali painting. And the sounds changed from the heavy breathing of two people making love to the desperate panting of the hunted. The gasping became terror filled; passion of an entirely different sort. And then came the screaming. Jesus Christ, I have never heard sounds like that. The truly terrifying point was when I discovered it was me, the unholy sounds ripping from my throat, Sophie shaking me and yelling my name, trying to wake me.

But that isn’t where it stopped. They kept changing, the images, the sounds, and soon the shifting shapes became my brother entwined with someone who was most definitely not his wife Kate. It was disturbing enough to be dreaming about my dead brother fucking some strange woman, but the screams of pain became Blake’s, and the woman changed, too. Her mouth distorted into an enormous, flat O shape with row after row of teeth encircling a mouth that took up almost all of her face. Only her eyes remained, and the mouth attached itself to Blake’s abdomen. It reminded me of a picture of a Lamprey Eel mouth I had once seen in biology class in high school. That’s when the screams began anew.

Her fingers grew into claws that dug and ripped into Blake’s flesh and her skin turned a flat, scaly gray as her breasts grew into sharp horns that curved out from her chest. Her eyes took on a narrow, slitted reptilian shape and glowed a sickly green color like diseased bioluminescent algae floating on a black ocean. The creature ripped at Blake’s body with its claws, breaking open his flesh, but no blood came out—only dark, rusty dust. And Blake, screaming. He sounded inhuman, a sound I have never heard before. I once heard two cats fucking out in the field behind the house when we were camping out as kids, and the sound had lifted every hair on my body. I always thought that had to be the creepiest noise ever, but not any longer. This was worse. Far worse.

When I’m awake, I hear sounds. I hear voices whispering my name, and phantom touches brushing across my shoulders, pressing on my chest, grasping my balls.

I swear it’s real.

I am haunted.

And tonight. Christ. My hands are shaking with the retelling. And goddamn it, but I can’t keep from crying. I am a coward—it’s hard for me to say, but actions speak louder than words, and the shaking and tears betray me.

In tonight’s dream, Blake started screaming my name. Screaming for me to help him while his body was ripped apart and sucked dry by a tooth-lined maw attached to that vaguely womanish body. He screamed my name until his voice was choked off, and then there was only silence.

When I woke up from the dream tonight I lurched into the bathroom and vomited. It had felt so real, it had sounded so real. What the fuck is wrong with me? Am I finally losing my mind after these years of grief? Is that thing in the dream the thing that got my brother? Is it seeking me now? Is this the darkness I have been seeking? Is this what I have to battle and destroy? Ice fills my stomach whenever I think about it. How do you kill something like that?

It’s been two weeks since I came on that ledge, and since then the dreams have been increasing in frequency and violence. Am I being punished for my animalistic hunger and indecent behavior from the last few months? For spewing my seed in dark alleys and hanging out at dingy clubs acting as if I’m searching for my brother’s murderer, but really chasing something else, even if I don’t know what that might be? Months have gone by with nothing, and yet I go to the same places, talk to the same people, spend more time away from Sophie and away from my job. What am I playing at? Maybe I am just a sick perv, using Blake’s death as an excuse to indulge my sick fantasies.

I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I do know I can’t return to my bed and to Sophie right now. Not after that. I slip on my clothes and head out the door and into the dimly lit streets of the city. Sophie will kill me if she finds out I left again. She’s been getting increasingly agitated by my frequent late-night vanishing acts, and she’s less and less reticent about showing it. She hasn’t openly confronted me about it yet, but I see the challenge in her eyes when I look at her now. And the fear. I know she and Kate have talked about it, and I’ve stumbled in on one or both of them red-faced and blotchy, with dark rings beneath their eyes from tear-washed mascara. It’s only a matter of time before the challenge becomes open and verbal. I don’t know what I’ll do when that comes. I won’t stop my search…or whatever this journey is. As much as it scares me, at least I’m on the offensive and taking action. And if I’m completely honest, this thing scares the shit out of me, but I also have a perverse fascination with it. I want to see this thing. I need to know.

I know that Sophie and Kate both look at my behavior and see my brother. It isn’t like that. I wish I could reassure them and make them see that this is different. I am not my brother. He was a victim, I am a predator. I am going to kill the shadow, not succumb to it like Blake did.

At least I think I am. What’s so different between what I’m doing now and what he did just prior to his death? I don’t know what he was up to during those weeks and months before he died, but we all know that he slipped out night after night to wander the city streets. We even had him followed sometimes. He never stopped to chat up a whore or solicit drugs. He wandered, but not aimlessly. He wandered with great focus and intent. And he wandered until he vanished. And he vanished every night. No one could find him after he had slipped away like that. He was simply there one moment, and then gone the next. It baffled the hell out of the investigators we hired, and he slipped the watchful eyes of more than one of them and in more than one place.

God damn it, Blake, why didn’t you talk to me? Is this what it was like for you? Haunted by some phantasm, driven almost mad with desire and the frantic need for satisfaction? Am I following in your footsteps? Or is it different somehow for me, as I feel it is? Maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part.

I never vanish. I simply walk. I come home in the mornings, after the sun has risen above the horizon and bathed the darkness of my dreams and fears with the shining light of day. I’m not a religious man, but if I were I would believe in the power of sunlight. The stories of vamps and demons burning up in the light of the sun must be true. I know it burns up my demons. In the daylight I can forget about unnaturally beautiful women who turn into monsters and take the lives of people I love. I can breathe freely and feel like I’m not one of the hunted.

But what if I’m imagining it all? Is it all in my head? Or am I really following in my brother’s ill-fated footsteps?

 

 

Join the blog hop! Every Wednesday share a piece of your fantasy writing, whether a bit of flash, a short or an excerpt! Sign up below, see the details here.

 

Three Critical Things I Learned From Publishing Magicless

Magicless went public in July of 2014, so I am now about two months into the life of a published author. I’ve learned a lot of lessons over those two months, as well as the year prior during which I finished writing the book and got it ready for readers.  Here are the three things I feel were the most critical lessons I learned about writing and publishing.

1. It is remarkably easy

Technology is an amazing thing and it has made the actual act of publishing easier than I ever would have imagined. It requires only five little steps. 1. Write a book 2. Professionally edit the book 3. Hire a professional cover designer 4. Hire a professional  interior book designer 5. Publish on whichever platforms you desire, including print on demand if you’d like physical books as well as ebooks.

Five steps are all that stand between you and being a published author.

2. It is remarkably difficult

It takes a very long time to write a book. It is among the most enjoyable things I do, and it’s among the hardest things I do. It varies by the day. Sometimes by the minute. It all depends on how generous my muse is at any given moment.

And editing – ugh! If you thought the writing was hard just wait for the editing.  You’ll read your manuscript 5, 6, 8, 12 times. You will pay someone your hard earned money to point out all your mistakes – the silly little ones and the ones you can fly a commercial jet through. You will rewrite and rewrite again. For Magicless I rewrote the ending four times before I hit the one that was right.

I laughed, I cried, I bled from my forehead.

3. Marketing is the hardest thing you’ll ever do

If you’ve spent time in marketing as your day job this may not apply to you, but hands down this is the hardest part of the process. There is no recipe for marketing success. You’ll get as many opinions are there are people in the world and they will vary wildly. Most of the mistakes I’ve made so far in this process have been around marketing. I’ve spent three digits + on a marketing approach that resulted in exactly one click. Not a sale, mind you. Just a click. And I’ve done this more than once.

Goodreads giveaways are an excellent way to generate buzz and I will do that again. Doing a giveaway on Amazon is another great way to generate buzz and get your name out there – though it will obviously not create any revenue for you. The only thing I’ve really found that works is networking. Spending time in places where your readers go and engaging with them.  And by engaging I mean actually talking to them, not talking at them. And it is slow going when you don’t have a name to stand on. Magicless is selling regularly, but I’m not making enough to quite my day job anytime soon!

Marketing is a scientific study. Put on a hard hat and a lab coat – you’ll need them both. Experiment, record the results, then try something new. Eventually you’ll find those things that work best for you, your product, your niche.

There’s no question this is a turbulent journey. But it is also incredibly fulfilling and I’d not change it for anything. If you understand that the process takes time, build an excellent product (hire professionals!), and keep at it you will find your tribe and find success as you define it.

Weekend Writing Warriors Blog Hop

So I’ve been looking for a way to network with other bloggers and writers and what did I find? The Weekend Writing Warriors Blog Hop! I am so excited to join in this week. This is my first ever blog hop – I’m moving up in the world!

This snippet comes from my novel Magicless, a young adult epic fantasy novel that was published June of this year. Enjoy…

The entire room was exploded outward as if flung from the impact of a giant’s hammer. Everything had shattered, splattered, and then stopped. He looked for Jobin and saw him just as he’d been moments before, standing calm in a paused maelstrom. Jobin’s eyes were still closed, his face pale, his tendons and muscles bulging with the effort of controlling his power. Magicless felt himself moving slowly, as if through thickened gravy, until he was set gently down on a piece of brick still largely intact in the floor. Just as quickly as it had gripped him, the weight abruptly lifted from his chest and he could breathe and hear and move freely again. He stood a moment in shock, staring at Jobin’s calm and open eyes.

“Jobin.” Magicless could barely get the word out.

“I’m fine Micah, but I won’t be able to hold it forever.

Please make sure you spend some time perusing the other delightful entries in this blog hop – you can find them all at the below link. And think about joining the fun next week!

Productivity Hacks for Writers – Tip #3

Productivity Hack #3: Keep a List

I know I know… this isn’t a unique productivity hack, you say. Everyone talks about lists. And lists are too restrictive! Yes, I can hear you face palming from here. You are right, everyone talks about lists and they do so for a reason. You are also right in that they can become restrictive and overwhelming. But they are also an invaluable to way hold onto ideas, keep track of goals, stay on top of what you need to do on a given day, and most importantly, to help you track progress toward your goal.

Lists can certainly be demotivating. If you pile stuff onto your list with aggressive schedules and impossible deadlines you are not doing yourself any favors. Properly used though, lists can be quite freeing.

I’ll use myself as an example. I am an idea person. Plot nuggets fall into my lap by the handfuls and they pop into my mind at all times of the day. I might have a dream that spins off into an idea for a book, or a line in a movie might trigger something I want to do for my current work in progress. This is a good problem to have, I’m not complaining, but trying to remember all of these things becomes a stressor for me. Also, having so many things ‘to-do’ can easily become paralyzing for me. I begin frantically working on all of them, wanting to give them care and feeding so they don’t wither away into nothing, but really doing none of them proper service. In the end this is a trap. I spin my wheels, burn rubber, smoke up the neighborhood, but I get no where. I get nothing done. I’m like a hamster on an exercise wheel. Not a good place to be if your not a hamster.

This is where lists come in to save the day. When a plot nugget, character, or nonfiction book idea pops into my mind I write it down and it goes into an idea file (a list) where I promptly, and with intention, forget about it. I feel no stress about this because I know its been documented and I can come back to it later. I forget about it with intention so I can focus on the project it is I am working on right now and work it until it is complete. Once I’ve completed the current project I go back to my idea list and pick the next project – one that has the most promise of moving me forward toward my goal – and get working on it.

Not only does this process allow me to focus on select projects until they are complete, it also allows me to easily see how much progress I have made. I can look back at the day, the week, the month or the year and easily see what I’ve done. For many people this is incredibly motivating. The list allows you to focus on the rewarding view of what you’ve accomplished. That is a great feeling.

Desiderium – Monsters, The First Ch5

My #WedPeeks post for this week is chapter 5 of my new novella, scheduled for release this coming October. Desiderium is a dark fantasy/horror and is for mature readers. There is violence, sex, and a lot of profanity in these pages – you have been warned!

~ FIVE ~

Shadows

As Terryn’s taillights faded into the night, a dark shape detached itself from the brick wall that backed the ledge upon which Terryn had just been resting. It hovered over the spot for a moment and then sunk down onto the ledge where that man had spent himself. A vaguely head-shaped mass bent over the still-steaming jizz, and a black tongue snaked out, tasting.

The shape paused, and then hungrily settled itself over the come and began rhythmically moving against it. No one was there to watch in the dark, but if someone had, they would have described the movement as a woman grinding herself against an object of great pleasure.

It took some time, but eventually the shape’s movements sped up, and the shadowy figure shuddered heavily. After a few moments, it drew itself up and faded away into the night.