Sarah Rees Brennan's Blog, page 4

The Turn of the Story Master Post (plus new story)

Originally published at Sarah Rees Brennan. You can comment here or there.

I have been asked quite a lot of times a) what the heck the Turn of the Story is, b) how they are supposed to read all of it where is a post with all the parts! and c) why I have done such a thing.

So I decided to make a Master Post, so you could enjoy everything Turn of the Story related in one place.

I don’t know how to put up links on tumblr (I’m technologically incompetent, don’t look at me…) but I will link to this from tumblr, and I hope everything will be perfectly perfect from then on.

1. What is The Turn of the Story?

(Description cribbed off goodreads so as to get an objective description, and altered for elaboratin’ purposes.)

‘Elliot Schafer has been carried off to a magical land and called to fight… but he has no intention of doing so. He is a little disappointed by the facilities on the Border, but he gets to meet Serene-Heart-In-The-Chaos-Of-Battle, an elf warrior, and Luke Sunborn, an annoyingly brave human warrior native to the magical land he’s crossed into. There are also mermaids, unicorns and assorted battles and political issues, with Elliot alternatively using diplomacy and saying the completely wrong thing.’

I have also often called it the story of the grouchiest kid in fantasyland. It follows Elliot from thirteen to seventeen, and it is a story about fantasy lands and the horrors we don’t talk about in them, and the horrors we carry about inside ourselves, and also the hilarious things possible in a magic land and the beauty of friendship, I hope.

As to how I came to write it…

I had this idea for a book that was a romantic comedy with harpies, and when I pitched it a few places with no go (it’s a weird pitch!) I gave up on the notion. Then I was asked by Kelly Link to write her a story for an anthology, and I said yes because only a fool would say no to the magnificent Kelly.

I wrote the story. It was thirty thousand words long. I cut down the story significantly.

And there it should have ended. But the world of the story, and the characters of the story, kept preying on my mind. One of the main characters (but not the protagonist) haunted me, and his personality and voice were very clear to me. And I was having a tricky time writing anything at the time. So I thought… write a short story from Elliot’s point of view, talking about magical training camp! It’ll be fun. It’ll promote the anthology. This is a good idea.

SOME TIME LATER

FRIEND A: I’m really enjoying the book Sarah’s writing online.

SARAH: *guilty giggle*

FRIEND B: Sarah’s… doing… what.

SARAH: *cringing* It’s not a book.

FRIEND A: It’s going to be at least a hundred thousand words.

FRIEND C: IT’S GOING TO BE WHAT!

FRIEND B: You’re going to die in the gutters, Rees Brennan. Die in the gutters!

You guys can call it a story or a book, if you like. I admit it is book-length! I admit calling it a ‘short’ story would be a naughty fib.

And here it is, in all its very long glory:

THE TURN OF THE STORY

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

I hope you enjoy it!

2. Where Is The Sequel?

Since I wrote the story following Turn of the Story first, I always knew what was going to happen (sometimes distressing, if my poor readers wished a thing I had never thought of and knew was not on the cards… especially if it was a super good idea!) and a few things were not wrapped up in Turn.

The story following on directly after The Turn of the Story is called Wings in the Morning, is from another main character called Luke’s point of view, and is right now only available in an anthology called Monstrous Affections, which is filled by stories by like, Holly Black and Paolo Bacigalupi and Nalo Hopkinson, which are way more awesome than mine!

You can read some snippets from Wings in the Morning here and also here.

You can get Monstrous Affections here or anywhere you wish, or librarify it or borrow it from an anthology-lovin’ friend or find a used copy or whatever legal thing you like.

If you wish for a signed copy, I am doing Monstrous Affections signings with several other awesome authors in the anthology (M.T. Anderson! How cool is that?) at:

McNally Jackson in NYC

Brookline Booksmith in Boston

So you can call and get signed copies from those shops if you wish it!

(I will sign anything people ask for, including Unmade, the latest book, of course. Love signing. Signing’s my favourite. My name’s so long, I keep people trapped and talk to them while I write.)

For those who read Wings in the Morning first and then came found me… I can only imagine your feelings. I am sorry. I am uncontrollable!

3. On The Subject Of The Sequel, Please Do Not Steal It

I have generally made my position on piracy clear: I agree with Seanan McGuire, I don’t like it, plus have you read Seanan’s free InCryptid stories? They are fantastic. I do not like piracy because as a writer people supporting my work legally means that I can eat.

As regards anthologies, writers don’t receive royalties for them, so eating is not my concern, but I do feel like a supremo chump for having written a free book and somehow made people think it’s okay to take other pieces of my work. Also I feel bad for my beautiful editors Kelly Link and Gavin Grant, who very kindly asked me to be part of the anthology and didn’t know what weird things I was going to do.

4. Extras I Wrote For You

For the release of Unmade, I took requests, and one was a request for Elliot in the future which I wrote. To nobody’s surprise, though, it turned out super long and so I am still deciding what to do with it! But just so you know: it exists! There are libraries and battles and making out and misery.

However, I was also asked for a story about one of my favourite minor characters, Adara, and I was very happy to oblige by writing it.

It can be found here: Love from Both Sides and I hope you enjoy it!

Not stories, but for completists here are my thoughts on: elf marriage, writing more (which I have already done, lord, what a disaster I am), elf worldbuilding, and crossing the Border.

And here are Wings in the Morning spoiling thoughts on romance and also romance.

5. Extras To Enhance The Story That Other People Made

Mark Reads, the light of my life, has read up to Part 7 and thus there is half an audio book, basically, for those who like audio books! I adore Mark, who has also read much of the Demon’s Lexicon and the Lynburn Legacy, and I adore the super kind people who sponsored him to read all of them (Natalie began this lovely process, thank you Natalie)! It’s how I discovered Mark, and to be honest listening to his readings of my work has got me through some tough times. (So, the kindness of strangers has illuminated my life, and I think that’s beautiful. Also maybe I am deeply egotistical?)

Mark Reads Turn of the Story Part I, Video 1

Mark Reads Turn of the Story Part I, Video 2

Mark Reads Turn of the Story Part I, Video 3

Mark Reads Turn of the Story, Part II, Video 1

Mark Reads Turn of the Story, Part II, Video 2

Mark Reads Turn of the Story, Part II, Video 3

Mark Reads Turn of the Story, Part III, Video 1

Mark Reads Turn of the Story, Part III, Video 2

Mark Reads Turn of the Story, Part III, Video 3

Mark Reads Turn of the Story, Part III, Video 4

Mark Reads Turn of the Story, Part IV, Video 1

Mark Reads Turn of the Story, Part IV, Video 2

Mark Reads Turn of the Story, Part IV, Video 3

Mark Reads Turn of the Story, Part IV, Video 4

Mark Reads Turn of the Story, Part V, Video 1

Mark Reads Turn of the Story, Part V, Video 2

Mark Reads Turn of the Story, Part V, Video 3

Mark Reads Turn of the Story, Part V, Video 4

Mark Reads Turn of the Story, Part VI, Video 1

Mark Reads Turn of the Story, Part VI, Video 2

Mark Reads Turn of the Story, Part VI, Video 3

Mark Reads Turn of the Story, Part VII, Video 1

Mark Reads Turn of the Story, Part VII, Video 2

Mark Reads Turn of the Story, Part VII, Video 3

Here is a beautiful fanmix and cover made for The Turn of the Story, appropriately called ‘With A Little Help from My Loser Friends.’ Which clearly, now that I think about it, CLEARLY should have been the title.

Beautiful photosets,, more beautiful photosets, and terribly beautiful photosets,.

Also very lovely art and cuties and grumps and rocking out and cute grumps. Also, a romantic song about strange elven courtship

(I know there is even beautiful more, and I love you guys for it, but I admit the world is going dark before mine eyes… I must finish this post…)

6. What Isn’t The Turn of the Story?

It isn’t fanfiction. I’ve heard it referred to fanfiction over and over, and it’s become pretty painful and unpleasant.

(Even though sometimes people are just confused–someone thought it was fanfiction of Lev Grossman’s the Magicians, and since I haven’t read that, that’d be an extra layer of odd–and most people don’t mean anything by it!)

Fanfiction can be an awesome thing: I know several fanfiction writers who I think are amazingly talented and should be published. (I know several other writers, some of whom used to write fanfiction and some who still do, and they are published and extremely wonderful.) I am not dissing fanfiction. This just isn’t it.

This story does not exist in a vacuum: it exists in a world where people insult stories by calling them fanfiction, or like fanfiction. (I’ve frequently seen people who write and love fanfiction do this, which sort of breaks my brain.) All my books have been sneeringly referred to as fanfiction, with the explanation that’s why they were bad and I was bad.

The story is a serial, but so is Susan Dennard’s Starkiller Cycle, or the Captive Prince, or many works by Charles Dickens. The story is free, but a lot of guys write free stuff (Cory Doctorow comes to mind) and his work doesn’t get called fanfiction. Girls’ writing gets called ‘fanfiction’ more than boys’ writing, e.g. I have seen Diana Gabaldon’s writing called Doctor Who fanfiction over and over, but I never see George R.R. Martin’s writing called War of the Roses fanfiction, even though… come on, where are my history buffs at? You feel me, am I right?

And this story has inspirations and references to same, most notably Tamora Pierce’s the Immortals series, but… all stories have inspirations. Do not buy into the nasty lie that girls’ inspirations make their stories ‘derivative’ and ‘fanfiction’ and not really theirs, and that boys’ inspirations mean they are In Literary Conversation with Their Genre.

And sure, I once wrote (Harry Potter) fanfiction, but Harry Potter is not some sort of crack pipe I can’t put down, and I’d be a terrible writer if it was. You can totally think I’m a terrible writer if you like, but if you do this whole blog must be a trial for you to read.

Also, by calling something fanfiction, you indicate the characters aren’t mine. (Sometimes people just flat-out state the characters aren’t mine, or are in fact other characters.) This sucks for me, because… uh, they are mine, and I love them. (This is also why telling me you love someone else’s characters more than mine is hurtful. You can totally love my neighbour’s kids more than mine! But maybe go to her house and tell her that, instead of coming to my house and telling me that while I weep softly and whisper ‘But I hoped you would like my little Jeremy…’)

I know the vast majority of you who might call it fanfiction aren’t trying to insult it, but after having been insulted a ton in that way, several times in the very comments of this story, I know you guys can see how it might be a sore spot and I know you wouldn’t be hurtful on purpose.

So. Now you are all way too informed about how I feel on this issue. Let us all be awesome to each other and not do this anymore, so I feel like I can write free stories in the future for you without having this hurled at my head. And also so I don’t make any other characters start yelling about how much they hate wizards, sorry Elliot, I might have been projecting a bit there!

Aaaand… to those of you who are just blinking in puzzlement going ‘why would I call it fanfiction???’ thank you for your attention. As you were.

As proof that I truly don’t hate fanfiction, here is a link to Turn of the Story fanfiction, all of which I think is excellent and I was honoured to have written! (My favourite may be the Luke PoV of Part 1. Super sweet.)

7. Why Isn’t There A Link To The Next Bit At The End of Chapter Ten, Jerk?

Because I love school plays too much, and chapter ten is so long that livejournal (which has limits… cruel and restrictive limits!) will not let me add a link at the end.

It is not my fault. I am being cruelly boundarified.

I mean, it is my fault if you blame me for writing too freaking much, but the whole story of The Turn of the Story proves that I have a terrible problem there.

I know, it’s annoying! And I have been told it makes it harder to read. But you can always click on ‘the turn of the story’ tag to see all the chapters, and now you have this master post. So everything’s fixed now! Right, guys? Right?

8. What About Romance?

I tried to make The Turn of the Story have a satisfactory ending on its own: the character arc is Elliot’s, and the story is about him growing up and finding a place of his own, and I hope it does. However, there were limitations necessarily set on me by the fact I wrote Wings in the Morning first, and that means there isn’t a romantic resolution for our protagonist, though he is keen to make a romantic connection! Which… I think is okay, but… just to warn you.

And yes, this does mean there is a romantic resolution in Wings in the Morning. However, I make no promises as to whether it is the romantic resolution you want–not everyone ships the same thing, I could not make everyone happy! But I am sorry to those who were disappointed.

If you wish to know the romantic resolution but do not wish to/cannot yet acquire Monstrous Affections, there is a quote here that makes the romantic resolution pretty clear. Spoilers!

And I will be editing this post to keep it up to date, so if you have any further questions, please ask away! Or… comments or… whatever. I truly appreciate the response to Turn of the Story, and I do hope none of this came off as lecturing or unappreciative. I so hope that this Master Post is all you guys wanted, and that you find it useful.

(And now, to pack for Las Vegas. See you in Vegas, Vegas peeps!)

UNMADE RELEASE DAY – COMMAND ME!

Originally published at Sarah Rees Brennan. You can comment here or there.

Unmade, the last of the Lynburn Legacy trilogy, is out today (Yes that IS a shameless amazon link but if you have a local indie I love you for supporting it!) and I have had the beautiful Cassandra Jean make me a poster for its release, like a movie! A movie with a darkly ominous tagline.

(Our Characters, from the front left and proceeding: Jared Lynburn, Kami Glass, Ash Lynburn, Holly Prescott, Ten Glass, Tomo Glass, Angela Montgomery, Rusty Montgomery, Lillian Lynburn and Jon Glass, Team Good… ish… and Team May Be Marked For Death. You’re welcome, y’all!)

I am also doing a blog tour, so look out for my various posts on various subjects around the web. The writing advice post where I talk about cocaine may, in retrospect, have been an error.

This post is not JUST a showing off of beautimous pictures and sharing my love for y’all. It is, since this is Unmade release day, the place where you can discuss Unmade spoilers of any kind and ask me questions of any kind, though since the book is new it would be super appreciated as in the last post if the spoilers were signalled by a line of stars!

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And I wanted to give you guys a present to celebrate Release Day, but wasn’t quite sure what you would like, so like a DJ and since–wow, hey, two trilogies done, give me five, I am a grown-up writer lady–this is a special occasion, I thought I would take requests.

So tonight, I am at your service. Ask for a little story about any characters you want. Any characters or stories that are exclusively mine, that is: I couldn’t do anyone from The Bane Chronicles without Cassie and Maureen’s input or from Team Human without Justine’s. (EDIT: NOW CLOSED.)

I hope you’ll like Unmade! Thank you for suffering through the series. (I know you were suffering because you TOLD me so, and I ENJOYED it.)

The August Unmade Snippet

Originally published at Sarah Rees Brennan. You can comment here or there.

So Unmade is out next month, and I have an event with Maureen Johnson TONIGHT at which an exciting thing might happen. I hope to see some of you guys there tonight, and I thought as today was a special day it called for the August snippet of Unmade. So soon now, you will all read it, and I will officially have two trilogies out. Like a grown-up writer or something? Maybe!

For those of you wondering if I will ever return to the US after all my UK jaunting this spring and summer, I WILL. In fact, here are a list of places I will be to provide you with a signed Unmade (or a signed any other book. I’ll sign Fifty Shades of Grey. I’ll sign a baby’s face.)

EVENT WITH MAUREEN JOHNSON

Venue:

Waterstones Piccadilly, London

Date:

28 Aug 2014

Event time:

18:30

LAS VEGAS BOOK FESTIVAL

SATURDAY OCTOBER 18TH

(Me, Ally Carter, Sherry Thomas, Sophie Jordan, Tessa Gratton… So many cool people!)

The Magic of the Paranormal 12:00PM in YA Tent 1.

Brodi Ashton

Sarah Rees Brennan

Teri Brown

Tracy Deebs

Nancy Holder

Justina Ireland

Brigid Kemmerer

Emily McKay

moderator: Shallee McArthur

Followed by a signing at 1PM at Signing Tent 1.

MONSTROUS AFFECTIONS TOUR

Wednesday, Oct. 22, 7 p.m.

Brookline Booksmith, 279 Harvard St, Brookline, MA 02446 – (617) 566-6660

Attendees: Kelly Link, Gavin J. Grant, M. T. Anderson, Sarah Rees Brennan, Joshua Lewis

Tuesday, Oct. 28, 7 p.m.

McNally Jackson Books, 52 Prince St, New York, NY 10012 – (212) 274-1160

Attendees: Kelly Link, Gavin J. Grant, Alice Sola Kim, Joshua Lewis, Greg Purcell, Sarah Rees Brennan

Unmade comes out September 23rd. Monstrous Affections, the anthology with the story in it that you guys maaaaaay have noticed me writing a book-length prequel to hereabouts, comes out September 9th. (This means the next two parts… I know! I’m sorry! I’m a disaster!… of Turn of the Story will be put up before then.) So I figured, go over and have illustrious company and sign everything in sight!

For now, enjoy. Or suffer. Sufjoy. Let’s spend a little time with Ash Lynburn.

She excused herself and went into the parlor, where she expected to find some much-wanted solitude.

Instead she saw Ash, sitting in the deep armchair with his head bowed over the book in his lap. He looked lost in thought.

I wanted to be alone, said Ash.

She was surprised: Ash had always seemed to her like exactly the kind of person who never wanted to be alone, but she could feel how much he meant it. He felt sad, in a heavy way that company could not soothe or pierce. He felt like she did.

“I can go,” Kami offered.

No, said Ash. Stay.

Kami supposed they could be alone together. She went and leaned against the window, opened a book and leafed through it though she felt impatient with reading history books now she’d learned Elinor’s secret. She had already done the research and wanted to get to the action. Kami wanted to be done feeling helpless and not able to do anything she wanted to do.

The fierce restlessness of Ash’s thoughts was infecting hers. Investigating his feelings seemed like putting a hand between the cage bars a tiger was prowling behind.

Kami could hear the sound of the party going on, through the little corridor, through two doors. Eventually the noise died down, the creak of the heavy inn door swinging back and forth becoming the most frequent sound, but the party winding down did nothing to ease the cold knot under her breastbone. Kami shut her book and leaned her head back against the window with a small sigh. She felt the hair at the back of her head stick to the condensation on the glass and stared up at the low, wooden-beamed ceiling for a long moment.

There was a sudden touch at her wrist and Kami dropped the book in her hand. It thumped against the wooden floor and the sound echoed. Ash was standing in front of her, his blue eyes darkened with the feeling she had sensed in him before, the feeling she had shared.

His hand was circling both her wrists. He closed his fingers, bringing her wrists together and over her head in one smooth movement. It brought her body forward, brought it against his. She felt the cool slick glass against the back of her hands at the same time as she felt the warmth of his mouth close over hers. He set his free hand on her hip, and she felt the heat and greed of his fingers sliding over the loose silk of Angela’s black dress. He was pressing her hips against the glass and making her back arch away from it, while his warm lips searched hers.

She was wearing someone else’s clothes, feeling someone else’s feelings. She could feel his rapt intentness, so focused on her that it felt as if it was piercing through her, but the piercing was sweet. She turned her face up, kissing him back as he was kissing her, feeling his fingers clench around her wrists and in the material of the dress. She did not want to feel the way she was feeling any longer, and she did not have to—she could feel other emotions sweeping through her like fire, destroying everything that was hers.

“Kami,” Ash whispered against her mouth, “Don’t you know that I love you? I love you. I’m so in love with you.”

THE JULY UNMADE SNIPPET

Originally published at Sarah Rees Brennan. You can comment here or there.

We are at the point of bidding July goodbye, so I figured it was time for an Unmade snippet! I have been super out of it lately, with a trip to Texas for RWA (which was awesome! I didn’t know about the Riverwalk and the Alamo! And despite the MANY BETS LAID AGAINST ME, I did not fall into that river!) and with the fact I’ve been signing thousands of tip-in sheets for the Bane Chronicles.

Tip-in sheets are papers that are bound into the book later, and Cassie and Maureen have already signed them, so I am in a DODGY STATE because I am super in trouble if I spill apple juice or get Nutella on them. I’m also not used to the fanciness of signing thousands of pages at once, so my signature has degraded to the point where it looks like ‘Some Red Buttons’ and I also keep trying to copy MJ or Cassie’s signature a little bit to seem more FANCY. (But I always swoosh the R of Rees. That’s my THING.)

So, I know you guys have been slightly worried about Jared, and this snippet is all about him and bound to make you feel bet…

Whoop, back to signing.

Rob laughed again, deep and fatherly, and put his arm around Jared’s shoulders. Jared could remember a time when Rob had seemed like the father figure Jared had never had but had sometimes wished for, when Jared had desperately wanted this kind of affection and approval.

“You’re right to be afraid,” Rob told him, voice still warm with laughter. “I really do find that source girl very annoying.”

Jared knew how to take a hit. He drew in a deep breath. “You killed my mother for interfering with your plans. Don’t ask me to believe you’d let Kami run around loose.”

“I have no intention of doing so,” said Rob. “She’s enslaved both my sons at different times, and constantly tries to stir up trouble. But if you wanted to keep her, you could.”

It was Jared’s turn to laugh, a jagged thing that rang through the bell tower.

“Are you suggesting I wall her up with Edmund Prescott?”

“That would be my preference,” said Rob. “But you can do whatever you like with her, as long as she’s kept under control. So long as you don’t put her in one of Aurimere’s good bedrooms.”

Rob wasn’t stupid, Jared reflected, or perhaps it was just blazingly obvious what dark things Jared had thought about Kami: how he would have made any bargain to keep her.

He said nothing.

Rob squeezed his shoulder, as they stood united looking down at Sorry-in-the-Vale. The town lay in a valley, like something fragile and precious held in the hollow of a giant’s hand. Able at any moment to be crushed if the giant closed his fist.

“You don’t know anything yet,” he said. “You cannot even dream of what I have planned. So many people are going to die. But those you love will live. All you have to do is be the son I know you can be.”

The son Ash could never have been, the son who could murder without hesitation or regret, kill and kill savagely.

“I think I can do that,” Jared said slowly.

“That’s my boy.”

Jared had no choice. Maybe he could never have been anything else.

Rob walked with him down the tower stairs into the portrait gallery, patient with Jared’s faltering pace. He walked him all over Aurimere, as if he had acquired a hyena and wanted to put it on a leash and parade his exotic new possession around in front of everyone.

There were a lot of mirrors in Aurimere, which Jared had hated once. The mirrors’ reflective surfaces were golden instead of silvery, as if they were made out of gold, copper or bronze. Their frames were made of wrought-iron river weeds and flowers, surrounded by towers and the profiles of drowned women. Actually, it was the same woman, drowning over and over again.

Jared saw image after image of what they looked like walking together, Rob the proud father and benevolent leader, with his hair like a crown. And the boy with the stark scar and the empty eyes beside him, face stony pale over his black shirt, but unmistakably his son. Jared didn’t hate the mirrors of Aurimere any more: they showed him exactly what he wanted to see.

He saw the same reflection in the eyes of a coppery-haired girl in Kami’s English class, one of the sorcerers who sat with them at dinner. She looked at Jared and her eyes went wide with terror.

Jared smiled slowly at her and thought she was going to faint.

He leaned to the head of the table where his father sat, with Jared at his right-hand side, and said in Rob’s ear: “She’s very pretty.”

“Amber?” Rob asked, loud enough so Jared was sure Amber heard. “She is, isn’t she? And she’s your own kind.” He raised his voice even further. “I’m sure Amber would be delighted to instruct you in magic you have yet to learn. Wouldn’t you, Amber?”

Amber nodded mutely. Ross Phillips, at the bottom of the table, glared at Jared. But if looks could kill, Jared would have murdered everyone in this room before Ross had the chance.

Rob pushed his chair back and stood, picking up the glass by his plate. “I hope you’ll all lift a glass to welcome my son to Aurimere,” he said, voice booming.

The ceiling in the dining hall was curved with a hollow rising up in the center to form a cupola on the roof outside. A chandelier hung from the dome by a thick chain. When Rob’s voice rang out the tiny gold-leafed dagger shapes, hanging from the chandelier like jewels from a woman’s ears, jangled and made a sound like faraway bells.

Jared bowed his head in acknowledgment as all the dinner guests raised their glasses. Then he played a game with himself where he glanced at every guest in turn and saw how many he could make look away.

All of them, it appeared. Not one of them wanted to meet his eyes.

FATHER’S DAY SNIPPET

Originally published at Sarah Rees Brennan. You can comment here or there.

It seemed an appropriate time for a snippet. Kami’s parents are designedly very present-and-not-evil in the Lynburn Legacy, and in Unmade Jon Glass gets plenty to do, so here’s…

Kami could intuit where her father was going: down the road by the woods and up the hill to Aurimere, but she didn’t know what his plan was. To see her mother—to beg her to come home? What if she didn’t? What if she did, and Rob Lynburn didn’t like it?

She did not know what her father intended, or what she should do. She didn’t try to stop him, but she did follow him so she could try to protect him.

It was a clear spring morning, bright as if the sun was a lamp whose brilliance had been turned up a few notches, white rays stretching out across a sky lucent as glass. Kami’d had to stop to find her shoes and her coat, and she was trying to be subtle as she hurried, so her father was well ahead of her on the path. No matter how clear the morning, she could barely keep him in sight.

There was no way her father could pass through the flames around Aurimere.

But she was only a little way up the hill when she saw her father reach Aurimere, a small dark figure outlined against the fire, and the living leaping walls of fire flickered and parted like a red sea. Jon passed through the flame. The sorcerers at Aurimere had let him in, and Kami did not know why, and she could not see him at all.

Kami charged up the hill, racing as if she could stop him though he was already gone. She mentally apologized to Angela and did not stop as she ran straight into the fire. She felt tears roll down from her smarting eyes to her scorched cheeks and smelled the smoky scent that was the ends of her hair burning.

Maybe you should wait, Ash told her, and she could feel the wash of his nervousness against her walls.

Maybe you should shut up, Kami suggested. That’s my dad.

Lillian had told Kami about the magical ways to hide yourself, how to wrap yourself in shadows and fade into stone. There were not many shadows on a morning like this, but as Kami pushed open the door and walked into the vast hall she found a few. She took the darkness lurking in the alcoves where marble busts stood, the shadows in the corners of the high ceiling and the dark stairs, and wound them around herself.

She did not think it would stand up long to a sorcerer’s scrutiny, but she went running through the hall toward the sound of voices anyway. If they were distracted, they might not notice, and her father had no magical protection at all.

The voices were not her mother’s and father’s. This was no private meeting between them.

Rob Lynburn had been redecorating Aurimere, Kami saw, to be more appropriate for his evil masterminding needs. In the parlor there was only one of the red sofas left, pushed up against the farthest wall, where the windows were tall, curved at the top like church windows. There was stained glass, too, like a church, but instead of saints and angels the windows showed a blue glass river, a girl’s face, and vivid green leaves in the drowned girl’s sun-yellow hair.

Rob was sitting on the red sofa, talking to other sorcerers who were standing. Kami recognized Hugh Prescott, Holly’s father, who was laughing at something Rob was saying.

They all stopped laughing when they noticed Ruth Sherman at the door, holding Jon Glass’s arm.

“He came to the house and asked to be let in,” said Ruth. “He asked to serve you.”

Rob leaned forward in the same instant Kami hurried forward, through the door, hardly caring if she shoved into a sorcerer or if they all saw through her cloak of shadows.

Nobody did. They were all focused on her father, who was standing in a puffy black jacket, his black hair ruffled by the wind outside, and giving Rob Lynburn a little crooked smile.

“Did you?” Rob asked.

Jon nodded.

“How interesting,” Rob said. “Tell me more.”

Rob did not even bother to climb to his feet. He was a big guy, bigger than either of his sons and a lot bigger than Kami’s dad. His shoulders strained against the material of his checked shirt, his smile was genial, and he looked like a perfect down-to-earth example of English manhood. All except for the cold gleam of contempt in his blue eyes.

“I’m not an idiot. There’s no point fighting you,” Jon said. “I want my wife back, and my kids to live happy and safe. You seem a reasonable man. Your family looked after mine once, didn’t they? I’m willing to offer my services as a source. I’m willing to do whatever you want.”

Kami didn’t know what her father thought he was doing. Lillian had already examined him: it might run in the Glass bloodline, but he wasn’t a potential source for any sorcerer. Kami and her brothers were.

Of course, Lillian and Rob were not exactly on speaking terms right now, and maybe Ruth Sherman did not know how to read the signs that identified a source.

“Come here,” said Rob, which meant Kami was right but also that Jon’s bluff was being instantly called.

Dad did not look dismayed. He kept smiling—like a small black terrier stepping up to face a golden retriever confident that he could handle the situation—and walked over to the very edge of the sofa. Rob leaned back farther into the sofa cushions, hair gilded in the light of the stained glass windows, looking up at Jon. For a long moment, blue eyes focused on black, and held.

At last, Rob said softly: “You’re no source. Did you think you could trick me? What were you hoping to do?”

Jon Glass’s smile spread into a grin.

“I was hoping to get close enough to do this,” he said, and Kami’s father—the graphic designer with funny t-shirts, the man who always laughed at farmers and their guns and made jokes about getting one that nobody took seriously—produced a gun from under his puffy jacket. He took aim in one smooth expert motion, moving quicker than anyone in the room, and shot Rob Lynburn.

Writers In the Mirror May Be Closer Than They Appear

Originally published at Sarah Rees Brennan. You can comment here or there.

I have kept adding to two posts about writerly appearances, one srs bzness and one a list of my dreadful misadventures, and I decided to combine them. Guess which post was longer. Guess how many dreadful misadventures I have had.

1) Travelling with Holly Black and Our Friend Plague Through England

So Holly Black and I decided, as we would both be at the WFC last winter, that we’d do a mini tour through England together.

At the World Fantasy Convention there were many fancy people, like Frances Hardinge and Garth Nix and Neil Gaiman and Elizabeth Bear and Scott Lynch and Joe Hill. Since Holly is fancy, she knew many of them. But even the fanciest of people can bear terrible disillusionment with them!

JOE HILL: Hi, Holly.

HOLLY: Hi, Joe.

SARAH: Nice to meet you.

SARAH: Oh you’re wearing a Watership Down T-shirt. I love Watership Down! Who is your favourite rabbit? Mine is Bigwig.

(I keep talking and slowly it becomes clear to me, as both shuffle their feet and look shifty, that NOBODY ELSE has actually read Watership Down.)

SARAH: … This is quite simply an outrage. I go to be alone with my rabbit feelings.

JOE HILL: I’ve read all the other books I have t-shirts for.

SARAH: Please, sir. You wear a t-shirt of lies.

I also moderated a panel in which I came up with titles for everyone on the panel (Frances Hardinge, or the Duchess of Darkness, seemed to like hers) and had dinner with Barry Goldblatt, Agent Extraordinaire, and Genevieve Valentine, whose fiction is even better than her funny reviews. (YOU’RE WELCOME IN ADVANCE!!)

Everything was lovely except–I fell ill. I had pneumonia and then bronchitis once in overly quick succession (long story short: I spent one Christmas a couple of years ago not sleeping in order to fulfill work obligations, and thus took a pickaxe to my health) and that means these days whenever I get a cold things get serious fast. (Moral of the story: do not skip sleep to work! The work ended up being scuppered anyway, so it was a whole goblet full of pointless. PS take vitamins, I guess? I should take vitamins… PPS If someone finds a whole bunch of vitamins but they’re really dusty, should they take them? I’m, uh, asking for a friend.)

I spent the last day of the Brighton WFC in bed. I did get up at one point to go to the pharmacy. It was shut. I leaned my face against the glass and waited for it to be open. The pharmacist was QUITE STARTLED to see me, but I think relieved that I was not one of the first zombies heralding the apocalypse.

Medicated up, Holly and I PROCEEDED on our tour! In London at the amazing Foyle’s bookshop (where you can always find all my books signed because… I come there and sign them by force!) we met up with some beautimous bloggers before the Main Event. They asked us many insightful questions.

SARAH: *at one point tries to answer but coughs too hard*

HOLLY: Are you okay?!

SARAH: go on… without me… save yourself… talk about… narrative tropes…

SARAH: Oh no, is there mascara all over my face?!

LOVELY BLOGGERS: No, there isn’t any mascara on your face.

SARAH: *feeble fistpump* Forgot to… put on mascara.. again, thank God for my… lackadaisical beauty regime!

My eyes were super watery, which meant add contact lenses and everything had a gentle suffusive glow. Holly had her hair dyed a beautimous blue for the tour, and I was so happy because it meant I could always see her.

I have problems with faces at the best of times, and never more so when there is a line of people whisking by.

(ACTUAL REAL LIFE SIGNING IN DUBLIN

SARAH: And who shall I make this out to?

OFFENDED LADY: YOUR MOTHER.

SARAH: … *winning smile* And how do you spell that?

OFFENDED MOTHER: I brought you into this world and I can take you out of it by stabbing you through the eye with your autographing pen.)

So I shamed myself by not recognising several lovely people who came out to see me, and also… developed amnesia.

LOVELY BLOGGERS RECORDING THE EVENT: Sarah did a mime of running away from her critique partners as if she was a fugitive fleeing from justice.

SARAH: … I have no memory of that.

SARAH: This is very exciting! I wonder what I will do next.

Also Holly and I had decided it would be fun to train our way through England, which as we were both coming from Italy (where neither of us live) was tricky in that our cases were GIGLANORMOUS.

HAPLESS BRITISH COMMUTERS: Why would these madwomen bring giant boulders disguised as suitcases on the train?

HOLLY & SARAH: Sorry, so sorry, sorry. Caffeine in the name of God!

Even caffeine was sometimes denied us.

SARAH: I’ll have a flat white, please.

COFFEESHOP LADY: What is that?

SARAH: It’s a… type of coffee? I think?

COFFEESHOP LADY: What kind of coffee?

SARAH: I don’t know! I don’t… drink coffee?

COFFEESHOP LADY: But you want a coffee. And you don’t know what kind of coffee you want.

SARAH: Yes. No. Maybe.

COFFEESHOP LADY: Is this an American thing?

SARAH: Oh yes! It probably is! But I’m not American.

COFFEESHOP LADY: … I hate you.

(some time later)

SARAH: The lady didn’t know what a flat white was and I didn’t know either. Americanisms, man.

HOLLY: ‘Flat white’ isn’t an Americanism. I got one in Brighton because I saw one on the coffee menu and I wanted to try it.

SARAH: So NOBODY knows what it is? COFFEE MYSTERY! Here I got you two coffees.

HOLLY: These coffees are very large.

SARAH: I panicked…

(Months later in London, I saw exactly what a flat white is, and took a picture of it so I would know forever.)

(3 shots coffee, 2 shots milk. Holly’s UK drink!)

In Leeds, it was Bonfire Night.

Neither Holly or I were all that aware of Bonfire Night as a Thing. (Note for all those similarly unaware: a celebration involving fireworks and a bonfire, celebrating Guy Fawkes, a dude who tried to blow up part of the English parliament. Whatever, Americans do Thanksgiving, everyone’s got a weird holiday, St Patrick’s Day is basically St. Boozerick’s Day, let’s be real.) I had read a book in which a kid was murdered and dressed up as a Guy Fawkes doll and told Holly the entire plot in great detail, so she would be prepared for Bonfire Night and all it entailed!

… In unrelated news she was weirdly jumpy all that day. Probably scared of fireworks.

On my daily trip to the pharmacy, I discussed this issue with a kindly pharmacy lady.

PHARMACY LADY: So you’re from Ireland? I’ve heard they don’t have Bonfire Night there.

SARAH: It’s true. Can I have all the cough drops please. Like, all of them. Don’t hold back, baby.

PHARMACY LADY: A neighbour of mine moved to Ireland because there are no fireworks there for her little dog who was terrified of them.

SARAH: But we just… but we have fireworks on Halloween.

PHARMACY LADY: Oh dear.

PHARMACY LADY AND SARAH: *stare pensively at the cough drops*

SARAH: Well, let that be a lesson to everybody not to move countries for a dog.

But here is the thing: I had a really great time on tour, despite my plague. Because of the people who came. Even though I had to refuse to take a picture with one of their babies because I was Typhoid Mary and their sweet tot could not be contaminated by my touch.

In London, I was given a Rubik’s cube necklace for a present. In Newcastle, Holly and I got to sit on a throne.

In Leeds, despite the fact it was Bonfire Night and there was mad traffic and fireworks and possible murder dolls, people came to see us! They may have regretted this.

HOLLY: We’re going to do a storytelling exercise, talking about how different stories are built! Like, if an alien abducted a field full of sheep–

SARAH: What are the aliens doing with the sheep? Wait, what do farmers usually do with sheep once it gets dark… oh wow, I heard the words come out of my mouth and I couldn’t stop them.

HOLLY: So this is a first draft of a story…

SARAH: Nobody tell your friends about this. It just went so wrong.

In Liverpool, my auntie and other awesome people came and I was so proud she saw me with them.

At the end of the tour, I left Holly (crying softly to myself as I did) and went to Cambridge to give a talk to the most excellent Shirley Society, and I was thrilled to be asked. I did skits from A NUMBER of Gothic novels. I have to say, Jane Eyre always goes down well and I think it’s because I have my Mr Rochester impression down cold.

Then I toddled off home. When I got home from Cambridge to Dublin, I had got into a routine of putting on excessive amounts of tour make-up.

(my roommate comes home to find me on the sofa, with a tissue in hand but wearing fancy clothes and with my face made up)

ROOMIE: Sarah! You’re home! And you said you were sick! But you look great!

(next day, roommate comes home to find Sarah in her jammies, which she would be living in for the next two weeks. Hair is up in the Pufftail, an adroit combination of a ponytail and bun, with extra bits of hair sticking out all over everywhere. When wearing the Pufftail there always seems to be much more hair than the pufftail-wearer actually has.)

ROOMIE: … oh I see.

2. New Orleans to Wales In One Week

(This one just happened, but it TIES in with this winter! As follows…)

When on tour with Holly there were questions about writing LGBTQ characters–Holly, because she is a graceful soul, would answer gracefully. I would probably give everyone whiplash by switching from joking around to being super furiously serious (because I would never want a reader to be hurt by my kidding around).

In New Orleans at the Romantic Times convention, I moderated a panel on LGBTQ in YA: those on the panel were Malinda Lo, Scott Tracey, Jenna Black, Suzanne Brockmann and Melanie Brockmann, and it was an honour to moderate them.

In Hay on Wye in Wales, otherwise known as the Town of Books which I may have mentioned a time or two before… I had the privilege of interviewing Cassandra Clare and we took readers’ questions, some of which were to do with that very subject.

This article shows Cassie saying there should be more LGBTQ fiction in YA: the article itself is great, but the comments to this piece are truly gross.

It reminded me of this quote I saw on tumblr – ‘me most of the time: people are okay, I guess. like no one is 100% bad.

me after reading the comments section in any article, ever: this world can only be cleansed with fire.’ It is absolutely horrendous that the lovely excited readers at that event, who loved those characters and those pairings, one of whom said she’d been helped come out by these books, have to live in the world that produced these comments.

I was there to emcee for Cassie, and there to moderate the LGBTQ panel (and I was very happy to a. be asked to be on it but also very happy to be b. the one moderating–since I’d much rather see Malinda Lo or Scott Tracey talk on this subject than me… though I’d also like to see, say, Malinda to be asked to talk about other subjects too.) So in both cases I was mainly there to ask questions and facilitate discussion. (And make some jokes. I made… some jokes. I did a skit, but it was about the gay love story in Suzanne Brockmann’s Troubleshooters series. I am dedicated to moderation, but I am also a Woman Who Loves Skits Too Much.)

The subject is a wide, wide one: we could barely scratch the surface in New Orleans, though we were able to discuss how several on the panel had moved LGBTQ characters from minor to major over the course of a series, that Malinda Lo’s Ash and Huntress are set in a world without homophobia and how refreshing that is, that we have almost all received hatemail about said content but far more lovemail, that we wanted to see more girls who liked girls.

Scott Tracey said that he knew editors and agents who had turned books down explicitly because of LGBTQ content–editors and agents who went on to say they wanted diverse books in public. Malinda Lo said, very truly, that the numbers for LGBTQ YA books were not really on the rise. Cassandra Clare, miles and days later, said there were publishers who turned down her books explicitly because of the LGBTQ content too. I rolled my eyes and said I was sure they were sorry now, and that it had worked out great for her. And it has, and for her readers, but wow there are a lot of roadblocks toward getting this out there. Writers have to want to write it and promote it, publishers have to want to publish and promote it, bookshops have to want to buy in and promote it, readers have to want to buy it and talk it up.

We live in the world of those comments, so it is hard and there are no diversity points or ‘sales because you’re shocking and daring’ or whatever to be had. But the people who attended those events, readers and writers and everyone, really are trying to change that world. And I think they are all GREAT. (My humble self excepted but I try to be okay.) (And I think lots of people should be excited for Scott Tracey’s next book, which he told me about after the panel during what we called LGBTQ in YA Drinks with several panelists and several attendees.)

At Romantic Times, I met so many lovely people. I was recognised on the street in New Orleans (very exciting, made me feel famous, wish to go back to Bourbon Street, also: there are many dress shops in New Orleans, people don’t tell you about the dress shops.) I had dinner in a restaurant where they keep a special table for the ghost.

I also may have visited the World War II museum with Beth Revis and Carrie Ryan, and played dress up.

At Hay on Wye, I was super excited because there were celebrities. Maybe too excited. People were worried.

SARAH: If I see Judi Dench I’m going to divebomb her.

PUBLICIST: No but Sarah… you mustn’t…

SARAH: I’m kidding, you all know I’m kidding…

CASSIE: Who was the last person you tackled? When was it?

SARAH: It was FIVE DAYS AGO, quit living in the past because I have CHANGED!

I was super, super excited to meet Henry Winkler, famous for Arrested Development, Hank Zipzer and Happy Days. But I didn’t divebomb him! Are you guys proud? I hope so.

(Cassie’s spotted the hat on her shoulder!)

He was the nicest guy in the world, and we talked about events, about dyslexia, about his dad not wanting him to be an actor, about where to buy the best food in New York. He was great. But then I always meet the greatest people at book events.

The late great Maya Angelou said “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” I’ve always tried to remember it, for events–people came here all this way, entertain them, think of them!

But it’s true not just for the people appearing but for everybody. Seeing and meeting readers makes me feel great. I don’t, and I won’t, forget how you all make me feel. And I thank you very much for it!

I’m looking forward to seeing and feeling some more at the events next week in the UK and Ireland, and later in the year in Texas and Vegas! http://sarahreesbrennan.com/appearances/

(Seeing and feeling some more…? I wrote it, I realised how it sounded, and I’m just going to leave it here, because this is EXACTLY THE KIND OF STUFF I will say when I meet you in person!)

I’m sorry in advance…

UNMADE SNIPPET FOR THE HAY ON WYE BOOK FESTIVAL!

Originally published at Sarah Rees Brennan. You can comment here or there.

As I prepare to jaunt down tomorrow to the Hay on Wye Festival of Books, it seemed an AUSPICIOUS TIME to put up the Holly and Angela snippet I had promised.

Looking forward to seeing you, Walesians! Looking forward to seeing you, town of books and books and books!

Angela had agreed to stay in the Water Rising and study Aurimere books with Holly, but Holly was sure that Angie had not thought this process would last long into the night. Angie rested her elbows on the table and regarded the world with a pissed-off stare, as if she hated the night, tables, and air generally.

“What?” she asked flatly.

“Uh,” said Holly. “It’s really nice of you—and Rusty, of course; I like Rusty, who doesn’t like Rusty, he’s so likable—to let Henry stay with you. And to let me stay with you. I really appreciate it. And so does Henry. I’m sure.”

“Okay,” Angela said.

“I mean, it’s not just staying with you, of course. This is a tough time, and—and I bet Henry is grateful for the support. And of course Henry really enjoys your company.”

Angela made a slight face. Holly couldn’t interpret it, other than knowing it meant things were not going well. It was possible that Angie hated appreciation, Henry, the very sound of Holly’s voice, or all of the above.

“Okay,” Angela repeated.

She got back to turning the pages of her book. Holly felt more and more like a creeper, the kind of guy who didn’t say suggestive stuff but did insist on having a conversation, who hassled beautiful girls who obviously wanted to be left alone.

She only knew one way to do things. She didn’t know how girls were supposed to go after other girls.

And yet Angie had fancied Holly once before, and Holly hadn’t even meant to do that. Maybe the problem was that Holly was being too subtle.

“You look tired,” was Holly’s next venture.

She knew that was not the smoothest possible thing to say, but she had a plan.

“Almost constantly,” Angela replied, staring at her book and resting her fingers against her temples. “I am tired of asshole sorcerers, I am tired of having my life threatened, and I am tired in the sense that I want a nap. Yes. And your point would be?”

The temptation to say “Never mind,” and also hide behind the sofa because Angie was terrifying, was almost irresistible.

But Holly wanted to be brave, and she wanted to have this. Guys were often really persistent, and it worked: she didn’t want Angela to think Holly wasn’t trying hard enough because she didn’t like her enough.

Holly braced herself and jumped to her feet.

“Oh, I was just thinking,” she said with forced and perhaps slightly manic brightness. “You must be super tense! How about a massage?”

Before she finished speaking, she had her hands on Angela’s shoulders, so much narrower than a boy’s shoulders and almost fragile-feeling, even though she knew Angie was strong. She felt for an instant a sense of accomplishment.

Angela’s shoulders moved under her hands in a shudder of indignant recoil, like a scandalized maiden snake whose Victorian sensibilities had been deeply offended.

The movement was enough: Holly had her hands off Angela and up in surrender, but Angela spun around in her chair and wheeled on her anyway.

“What,” said Angela, and the ice in her voice chilled Holly, “do you think you are doing?”

“Sorry,” Holly muttered. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It was right out of order, Holly,” Angela said.

She was not even standing up, but she was a tower of outrage. Angie might go around traumatizing people, but she always knew exactly what she was doing.

Holly didn’t know how to behave, had never quite known how to be friends, let alone anything more. She was the fluffy idiot her parents had always believed, the girl the other girls didn’t want to be around, not someone who knew the magic trick of being taken seriously. She was so, so stupid.

Holly knew she was blushing and was afraid she was going to cry, which would be even more humiliating.

“I was just trying to—” she got out.

“What?” Angela demanded. “What were you trying to do?”

“Never mind,” said Holly.

UNMADE SNIPPET

Originally published at Sarah Rees Brennan. You can comment here or there.

Long have I promised an Unmade snippet, and been bribed with kittens and readers’ tears and all the things I enjoy for one, which is much appreciated!

So here it is.

It is hiiiiighly spoilery for the end of Untold. I’m just warning you. It’s also a little… it’s a little bit… it’s not right is what I’m telling you. I’m not right.

The last two times Rob Lynburn had opened the priest hole, Jared had tried to kill him.

The first time, Jared had tried to strangle Rob with his bare hands, and the second time he had used a weapon. There were not many weapons available when buried alive in a wall. The body of Edmund Prescott, twenty years dead, his fair hair turned white and brittle and hanging like spiderwebs in his gray sunken face, was all that Jared had.

Jared had shoved up Edmund’s sleeve, rotten and disintegrating under his hand. Underneath his clothes, Edmund’s body had shriveled to nothing but papery skin over bones. Jared tore the skin away and ripped a bone free out of the forearm.

He had spent some time—he did not know how long, time was hard to tell in this lightless trap—sharpening the bone against the stone wall of his prison. Hiding the bone in his sleeve, he waited.

Rob had lifted him out, and Jared had pretended to be more drugged than he was, head lolling, mumbling something about help and his mother. Rob had bent over him, almost seeming concerned.

Jared had whipped out his weapon and tried to plunge the bone into Rob’s throat.

He had caught Rob unawares. Some of Rob’s sorcerers had been with him and one had grabbed Jared’s arm, pulling it back, so the wound was shallow instead of the gaping hole Jared had planned. The next minute, Jared had been pinned to the floor by the sorcerers as he struggled and lashed out under their hands, Rob’s rage washing over him as magical pain.

Rob had taken hold of Jared’s hair and banged his head, rhythmically and sickeningly hard, against the stone floor.

“Very resourceful, my boy,” he’d said. “I’m impressed. Don’t try it again.”

They had left Edmund Prescott’s body in the priest hole with him, but Jared had not tried it again. They would be expecting it now.

The food they gave him was drugged with something that made him drowsy and his magic not work. At first he did not eat it, but it became clear the choice was eat drugged food or starve to death, and the food let the days slip by faster, filled them full of dreams.

He was sitting with his head against the wall, dreaming, when the priest hole opened, a pale square of light on the wall above him. He felt himself being dragged up by magic, back against the wall, helpless as a puppet on Rob’s string.

The light of day hurt his eyes: he squinted, dazzled, and in his blurry vision Rob’s face almost looked kind.

“How are you today, Jared?” he asked gently. “Ready to be a dutiful son?”

Jared was lying on the ground. He knew he must look pitiful, dirty from the grave below, not able to see or stand: he tried to raise himself on one elbow and could not quite manage it—the elbow kept slipping away from him.

“Yeah,” he grated out. “I’ll be a good boy. Don’t put me back down there.”

Sight and sound slipped out of his reach: the last thing he saw as his vision darkened was Rob’s proud smile.

UNMADE COVER

So the Unmade cover has sneaked out, and thus I get to show you guys it in all its glory!



Do you liiike it? I hope so! I like that it has Kami, the Crying Pools, and a SUNSET which implies THE END OF DAYS.

This the back of the book:

Who will be the sacrifice?

Kami has lost the boy she loves, is tied to a boy she does not, and faces an enemy more powerful than ever before. With Jared missing for months and presumed dead, Kami must rely on her new magical link with Ash for the strength to face the evil spreading through her town.

Rob Lynburn is now the master of Sorry-in-the-Vale, and he demands a death. Kami will use every tool at her disposal to stop him. Together with Rusty, Angela, and Holly, she uncovers a secret that might be the key to saving the town. But with knowledge comes responsibility—and a painful choice. A choice that will risk not only Kami’s life, but also the lives of those she loves most.

This final book in the Lynburn Legacy is a wild, entertaining ride from beginning to shocking end.

Unmade is out September 23rd, and I hope more than anything else that you will like the insides. The end of my second trilogy. Am I a grown-up author now? Maybe. Kind of...?

For those who have already seen the cover, I bring you... a snippet.

Unmade is set a couple months after the end of Untold. This is highly spoilery...

When he woke up, he was back in the priest hole, high walls and shadows all around him. He was never going to get out of here again, and he had failed.

Instead of crying or screaming, he focused on Edmund Prescott’s shrunken body, his pale, hanging head and gray profile.

“Hey, buddy,” Jared croaked. “Miss me?”

The sound of his own voice scared him. He turned his face away from Edmund, and laid it against the cool stone surface of the tomb. This didn’t matter, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut, pressing his face so hard against the wall it felt like his own bones were grinding against the stone.

None of this mattered, and it would all be over soon. He wasn’t going to last long in here. Rob would get tired of trying soon enough, and everyone outside Aurimere must already presume he was dead.

Everyone outside Aurimere would never learn any different now.

She was probably sorry he was dead, but she would obviously rather he died than her little brother. She had Ash now. She would be all right: she would be better than all right, and better off without him.

He had to concentrate on that. These last moments trapped in the dark, trapped with the dead, meant less than nothing. They weren’t even real. They were happening to someone who was already dead. She was real, though, real somewhere out in the world and the light. If he could have wished for anything in his life it would have been for her to be real, and she was. He had heard her laugh on the air and not in his head, that marvelous marveling sound, and seen the tender sacred curve of her face and her mouth. She would not end when he did. He had been granted his wish, he had been infinitely lucky. He could bear this: this did not compare to the gift he had been given.

This did not matter at all.

THORIN DREAMBOATSHIELD: Dreamboat Reloaded

Originally published at Sarah Rees Brennan. You can comment here or there.

I have written you a parody, sweet internet, as a belated Christmas gift! I hope you enjoy it. My special thanks go to James, Rachael and Caitriona, who went to see the movie with me, especially for putting up with me declaiming dwarf poetry in public places (both times).

OUR MOVIE OPENS ON: The Prancing Pony, the bar where all exiled royalty go to smoke up & throw down.

THE SCENE: is grim, dark, and damp.

PETER JACKSON: *eats a carrot, grimly and darkly*

THORIN: All I want is to eat some food and admire my own reflection in a tin cup.

GANDALF: Let’s talk about how to combine my two interests: quests & hobbits.

12 MONTHS LATER: on a quest with a hobbit.

BILBO: We’re being chased by orcs, as in the previous movie, and by a giant bear, which is new and distressing. Thoughts? Solutions?

DWARVES: We’re looking at you, Gandalf.

GANDALF: I’m looking unsurprised, dwarves. Okay, we can take refuge in the house of an unpredictable dude I know who might kill us.

THORIN: What I’m hearing is ‘not an elf.’

THORIN: … And I like what I hear.

DWARVES: Holy god the bear almost ran right into the house.

GANDALF: Probably because this is the bear’s house.

DWARVES: Let’s get this straight. You hid us from the bear in the bear’s house? Wizards tread a fine line between cryptic and crazy bullshit and, Gandalf, 2 u the line is a dot!

ORCS: Well, our pack of giant wolves could never defeat that one bear! Time to quit.

AZOG: I must leave this movie, in order to serve the dark lord.

AZOG: But what would the Hobbit BE, without an evil orc pursuer?

AUDIENCE: It might somewhat resemble the book!

AZOG: I’m delegating the dwarf hunt to Lazy Eye the Orc!

LAZY EYE: It’s an honour.

BEAR: runs through Budweiser commercial, becomes man

BEORN: I suppose you were expecting a long Beorn sequence like in the books?

AUDIENCE: Well, yes, I mean, this is one short book turned into three long mov-

BEORN: What you don’t know is that as well as being a bear, I am now also a ninja. Blink and you’ll miss me. I am a ninja bear. Milk?

BILBO: It sure was nice of that ninja bear to give us ponies. Oh ninja bear, we hardly knew ye.

THORIN: On to Mirkwood forest! It looks possessed by evil.

GANDALF: I LOVE it!

DWARVES: It’s become clear to us all that Gandalf is a danger junkie who goes bungee jumping on the weekends.

GANDALF: Wait, I’ve just thought of something possibly even more dangerous I could do. Enjoy the cursed forest y’all!

BILBO: Wait before you go, I had something to tell you, uh, it’s on the tip of my tongue, rhymes with: snark bored thing!

BILBO: Dark… lord’s… you use it to bind them all. Dark Lord’s rope. Dark Lord’s fuzzy handcuffs. Hang on.

GANDALF: Tell me later. I promise I’ll be back before the climactic action of the movie. Pinky swear!

BILBO: I’m sure we’ll be fine on our own in the forest!

DWARVES AND BILBO: immediately get high on spider fumes

DWARVES AND BILBO: and kidnapped by giant spiders

BILBO: Hey the Ring makes me able to understand the giant spiders who have kidnapped us! Invisibility cloak & evil language translator, is there anything the ring can’t do? It’s like a naughty pocket knife.

SPIDERS: Dwarf for breakfast, hobbit for second breakfast!

BILBO: Why won’t this magic translator ring turn off!

GIANT SPIDERS: We’d like to eat the dwarves. The trolls called us and said it was what all the cool kids were doing these days and were we ready to rock?

DWARVES: We are surely doomed!

SCENE: But who is that, twirling through the trees like a Tarzan who took ballet? LEGOLAS!

LEGOLAS: Stupid dwarves. Stupid sexy dwarves. You’re our prisoners now.

AUDIENCE: Who put that stick up Legolas’s butt?

LEGOLAS: Please do not speak of that painful prank.

LEGOLAS: Ew who is this a picture of?

GLOIN: My wife!

LEGOLAS: My condolences.

GLOIN: All elves are assholes.

LEGOLAS: Whoa whoa hold onto everything who is THAT?

GLOIN: My darling son Gimli.

LEGOLAS: AND IS HE DATING ANYONE?

GLOIN: He’s sixty-two, he’s much too young to date!

LEGOLAS: So what I’m hearing is young, single and ready to mingle? Papa like.

GLOIN: Papa DOES NOT LIKE!

LEGOLAS: I’m sorry but I’m going to have to keep this picture as, uh, evidence.

FILI: You can take my blades but you can’t take my swagger.

ELF GUARDS: Give us that other blade in your hood. And that other one. Jesus this dwarf is like a blond cutlery drawer with a strut.

FILI: … Dammit. I wonder what my little bro is up to? No doubt also resisting the elven menace!

KILI: AHHH GIANT SPIDERS! I need a hero! I’m holding out for a hero/’Til the morning light/She’s gotta be sure/And it’s gotta be soon/And she’s gotta be larger than life.

TAURIEL: You rang? And I shot and stabbed four giant spiders?

KILI: Why do giant spiders suddenly appear/Every time you draw near?/Just like me they long to be/Close to you!

KILI: Oh no I am your captive! I am utterly helpless in your hands.

TAURIEL: Don’t worry, I’m not going to mistreat a prisoner.

KILI: I volunteer for a cavity search!

TAURIEL: No dice but I like your moxie.

LEGOLAS: Why does that dwarf stare at you, Tauriel?

TAURIEL: Uh, have you seen me? Teeth, good. Hair, beautiful. Kill count, in the thousands. What’s not to like? And hey, that dwarf is tall for a dwarf.

TAURIEL: Also dreamy for a carbon-based life-form of any sort.

LEGOLAS: He’s hideous.

TAURIEL: Legolas, tell me what your elf eyes see, seriously, I think you might need elf spectacles. Is it Aidan Turner’s babelicious face?

LEGOLAS: I don’t think dwarves are hot Tauriel GOD OKAY? I DON’T! What are you trying to imply?

(meanwhile, in the cells, due to different beauty standards confusion)

DWARVES: Ha ha that elf is making fun of your looks and calling you tall!

KILI: I don’t care I think she’s beautiful! I’m going to tell her she has the beginnings of a fine ginger beard!

IN THE THRONE ROOM OF THE ELVEN KING: Look upon the elf king’s immaculately threaded eyebrows & despair!

THRANDUIL: As one incredibly good-looking king to another, what say we make a deal?

BALIN: And then what did you say, Thorin?

THORIN: I made an anatomically impossible suggestion involving his elk, his tiara and a stick of celery!

BALIN: … Thorin you will look great on our money but you are not a diplomat…

THORIN: Ugh, elves!

BILBO: Just sneaking around invisibly in the elf fortress, watching the elves get undressed and have personal conversations.

THRANDUIL: Watch out, girl, because Legolas fancies you.

TAURIEL: Yeah, that’s Legolas, Your Majesty. He sure is… attracted to females of his own species.

THRANDUIL: Little scamp.

TAURIEL: How’d you come to that brilliant conclusion?

THRANDUIL: I couldn’t help but overhear you coming in today saying ‘Stupid sexy princes staring at me with that look in their eye!’ Who else could you have meant?

TAURIEL: You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes.

THRANDUIL: Is that a dragon? Sounds like a dragon’s name to me. Ugh, dragons!

TAURIEL: Do you ever think that perhaps if the whole world outside Mirkwood becomes a wasteland full of giant evil spiders and giant evil sorcerers, that might go poorly for us?

THRANDUIL: Do you ever think there’s more to life than being really, really ridiculously good-looking? No, me either.

TAURIEL: Forgive me for inquiring about your personal life, but did you model for the Mr February picture in the Dreamy Dwarves of Middle Earth calendar?

KILI: Er… yes.

TAURIEL: I, uh, really admire your work.

TAURIEL: So we’re having a party because of the starlight. Partially because our king is a total lush, but also partially because elves are super into light. So into it. Sooo into it.

KILI: I think I’m picking up what you’re laying down here, girl.

KILI: So this one time, I saw a… fire moon, which as you can imagine, gives off a lot of light…

TAURIEL: Down in the basement, lock the cellar door, and baby, talk dirty to me.

LEGOLAS: GOD I’M LONELY.

FILI: As the dwarf in the cell nearest to you, Legolas… Don’t even think about it. Don’t even think about thinking about it.

THORIN: Obviously, given my stance on elves, making a pass would be suicide.

LEGOLAS: *bursts into tears and runs away to practice his archery*

BILBO: I’ve come to free you all!

THORIN: That’s wonderful news, Bilbo! The light of my handsomeness shines approvingly upon you.

KILI: That’s awesome, Bilbo, but could we remain in dread captivity for like, two more days…?

BILBO: This way to the cellar where you’re going to hide in barrels!

KILI: Three, tops.

ELVES: One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, gotta get some more.

ELVES: Seriously all our barrels are empty.

ELVES: Say what you want about coke fueled rages and all our tax money spent on tiaras, the king knows how to party.

DWARVES: *escape in barrels but are hampered by elf soldiers, elf drawbridge and orc diversion*

KILI: I’ll raise the drawbridge, Uncle Thorin!

ORC: I’ll shoot that hot dwarf in the leg, Uncle Lazy Eye!

FILI: Kili!!!!! I’m all out of knives, you don’t want to know where that last one was hidden!

TAURIEL: I’ll save you (for the second time in a total of four times in this movie) boo!

KILI: Did my heart love til now? Forswear it, sight! For I never saw orcs stabbed in the face by a lady til this night.

DWARVES: *escape in barrels down a waterfall*

BOFUR: I wish Gandalf were here. You know how that freaky guy loves white water rafting.

CAPTURED ORC: You know the black-haired young dwarf—

TAURIEL: The hot one. You mean the hot one.

ORC: Somewhat gifted in the facialur region, yes. The archer.

TAURIEL: He does archery? Hold my extensive weaponry Legolas, I fear I may swoon.

ORC: … So we shot him…

TAURIEL: Tell me his star sign. Favourite food? Favourite colour? Tell me more about our common interests!

ORC: Are you poisoned by our evil arrows? Because he sure is.

TAURIEL: … I’m going to RIP OFF your HEAD.

ORC: I thought we were having a fun time with girltalk! What is this hostility about?

LEGOLAS: So you might have wondered why Tauriel got all het up about a dwarf just now…

THRANDUIL: Son I have been drunk for fifteen hundred years I have noooo idea what’s going on.

LEGOLAS: That explains all your fancy frocks.

THRANDUIL: But one thing I do know is that I look amazing!

THRANDUIL: You may be wondering why I cut off that orc’s head, and you may be wondering about why I encourage evil spiders to roam the land, and you may be wondering why our forest is accursed, and you may be wondering about various garments in my elven wardrobe, and you may go on wondering, because loose lips sink ships and I wish to preserve my elven mystique.

LEGOLAS: Dad why do you have to be so cryptic and long-winded you are not a wizard.

LEGOLAS: Dad you are embarrassing me!

LEGOLAS: Legolas loves short declarative sentences!

LEGOLAS: Where’s Tauriel?

GUARD: She ran out of the door yelling ‘I’ll save you my sweet dwarfsel in distress!’

LEGOLAS: I’m sure you misheard her. She was probably saying something about needing to use the loo.

LEGOLAS: … Excuse me for just a moment.

LEGOLAS: You cannot go running into Laketown because you want the d!

TAURIEL: What?

LEGOLAS: The dwarf. I was using text speak.

TAURIEL: Oh, right. Let’s do it for Middle Earth, Legolas!

LEGOLAS: Come home right now young lady.

TAURIEL: I bet you could steal Gloin’s phone and get that hot redhead’s number.

LEGOLAS: Okay, but only for Middle Earth!

DWARVES: Hello handsome smuggler, what way is it to Laketown? Has anyone told you that you look kind of like the young pirate in Pirates of the Caribbean? Or if… pause, picture it… someone were to put some kind of a dark wig and sideburns on a certain elf of our acquaintance…

BARD: We live under the cruel reign of Wicked Ginger Stephen Fry, none can enter Laketown!

BALIN: What up smuggler dude, u got kids, u wanna make some money?

THORIN: Ugh, civility!

DWARVES: Okay let’s pool all our cash.

GLOIN: I gotta save money for Gimli’s dowry

BALIN: Are you sure about that, ’cos it seems to me that someone liked what those elf eyes saw.

GLOIN: SHUT UP AND TAKE MY MONEY, but mostly shut up!

KILI: While we’re on the subject, I’m writing some incredibly romantic poetry, and I’m just checking—what rhymes with ‘elf’?

THORIN: Barf rhymes with elf.

BARD: I’m going to smuggle you all in, hidden in barrels and covered in dead fish!

BARD: I have a spare barrel to be filled with dead fish that Bilbo can hide in.

BILBO: … yay?

BARD: I use it as a chamber pot.

GANDALF: So I want to investigate the evil arising in our land, but something really awful could be happening to those poor dwarves and that hobbit, who are all morally speaking my responsibility…

RADAGAST: Yes, but let me present to you an ancient wizard saying, full of wisdom. ‘Screw those guys.’

GANDALF: *strokes beard* There is much in what you say, Radagast.

RADAGAST: And a rep for being unreliable and off doing your wizard thang could get you out of a lot of the boring bits of questing in future.

GANDALF: Very sage. Much wise.

BARD: Hey, let me into Laketown. Ah, poor man’s Wormtongue, what’s up?

POOR MAN’S WORMTONGUE: That is hurtful! My name is Alfred!

DWARVES: And now to sneak in sneakily, like dwarf ninjas!

LADY OF LAKETOWN: … I see handsome dwarves.

POOR MAN’S WORMTONGUE: I think, due to the fact Bard sassed me one time, that he might be planning to democratise Laketown.

WICKED GINGER STEPHEN FRY: O God, poverty & injustice don’t exist in countries with democracy! Something must be done!

THORIN: Ugh, Laketown, where they failed to shoot a magic arrow at a dragon like the losers they are!

BALIN: Please excuse Thorin. He gets very angry at people with bad aim. He is a terror at carnivals.

BARD’S CHILDREN: Father, what are these unsettlingly attractive tiny men doing in our home?

BARD: Don’t worry about a thing, children, I’m just going to arm them and let them go free.

THORIN: These weapons are junk.

BALIN: These weapons will do fine. We’re kind of on the clock here.

THORIN: Ugh, logic! Let’s break into the armoury.

DWARVES: Okay Bard, we’ve gotta go enact Thorin’s crazy plan because he’s the king. So long and thanks for all the fish.

BARD: Wait… Thorin… this reminds me of an ancient prophecy I saw embroidered into an old tapestry…

THORIN: There is no way this breaking-into-the-armoury plan could ever fail!

KILI: *swoons in the armoury, makes a racket.*

THORIN: … Just elf everything. Just elf everything right to hell.

BARD: Tapestry with ancient prophecy, tapestry with ancient… here it is!

The royals will return

The last of Durin’s line

Oh they won’t be the brightest

But they will be super fine

Watch the king strut his stuff

Commend your souls to God

We will make poor life choices

Cause he’s got a bangin’ bod

BARD: … oh no.

WICKED GINGER STEPHEN FRY: To the dungeons with these dwarves!

THORIN: Stop! Before you arrest me, ask yourselves: am I… unusually handsome?

BARD: Don’t listen to him, listen to me! I’m pretty hot myself.

WICKED GINGER STEPHEN FRY: Wasn’t it your ancestor who failed to shoot a magic arrow at a dragon? Ha ha ha!

PEOPLE OF LAKETOWN: Oooh, burn! And we mean that literally! Bard’s grandpa sure didn’t win many ring tosses!

THORIN: You’ve got the assorted weaponry, I’ve got the looks, let’s make lots of money!

PEOPLE OF LAKETOWN: All hail the king!

BARD: !!!

THORIN: Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.

THORIN: Fili, we’re leaving your baby brother behind in Laketown.

FILI: That’s madness, Uncle Thorin. Have you seen my baby brother? He is adorable!

THORIN: You’re going to be king one day, Fili, because you are of the line of Hottie Dwarves. Ours is the Hotness. And the crown. And sometimes being king means saying ‘screw that guy.’

FILI: Screw you, Uncle Thorin.

THORIN: That’s not—that’s not what I meant at—get back here young man!

BILBO: I’m sure Gandalf didn’t totally leave us here to die.

THORIN: Oh you sweet summer child. Forward!

BILBO: …But he pinky promised!

GANDALF, WHO IS INDEED MANY MILES AWAY AT AN EVIL FORTRESS, HAVING TOTALLY LEFT THEM TO DIE: Reveal yourselves evil beings!

HUGE ORC ARMY: Hi.

GANDALF: I regret my life choices

(Here I must break off in my parody to tell a personal story. Recently I went to France with my mum and dad, and this conversation occurred.

SARAH: What do you mean, you don’t know the way?!

DAD: I thought you’d tell me, because you have the goo goo maps.

SARAH: …

DAD: All young people have the goo goo maps. On their phones, you know.

MUM: ‘Gauche’ means right!

SARAH: Let me out of this car!

What I’m trying to say is, giving Thorin a map was dwarf cruelty by Gandalf, and that experience was exactly what seeing the dwarves try to find their way to Erebor was like.)

THORIN: Damn you, goo goo maps!

BILBO: Guys? Guys, this way.

BALIN: ‘Gauche’ means right!

BILBO: Guys, over here.

BILBO: Well if Thorin is like Aragorn, and the spiders are like trolls, then maybe this dwarf door is hidden with a riddle like in The Two Towers…?

MORAL: All dwarf doors are hidden with riddles.

MORAL: Dwarves love to mess with you.

THORIN: Ugh dwarves!

FILI: Bard, let us in!

BARD: No, I hate you guys!

FILI: Kili is attractively disheveled and seems to have orc poison consumption!

BARD’S TEENAGE DAUGHTERS AND SON: Come in, come in, we’re huge fans of One Dwarfrection.

THORIN: Bilbo, go into the dragon’s lair and find me the symbol of dwarf kingship.

THORIN: It’s a great big diamond the size of your head.

THORIN: Dwarves are not a subtle people.

SMAUG: Why are you here, to steal stuff?

BILBO: Uh… no way. I came here to look upon your magnificence.

SMAUG: Oh. Wow. Well, I, what do you think?

BILBO: Amazing. Better than I’d heard. Superfragilistic. I have to say, I have my doubts, I thought that no dragon could top that cute dragon from How To Train Your Dragon, or the classic Puff the Magic Dragon, but baby… you’re number one!

SMAUG: Oh, I, really, wow, you didn’t even get me from my good side, let me turn around, how you like me now?

BILBO: Oh my God that side’s even better. You know what would be awesome? If I could just follow you around for the rest of your life telling you how fantastic you are. We could solve crimes! Mainly you would solve crimes and I would tell you how fantastic you are.

SMAUG: Go on, go on… wait a second! That’s ridiculous! Dragons do not solve crimes!

BILBO: Are you certain about that, because I sure feel busted.

SMAUG: I am strong, I am invincible, I am dragon!

SMAUG: I am a confident independent self actualised dragon who does not need to smoke!

SMAUG: I am a lot of metaphors that are going to totally kill you.

THORIN: Let’s do this nutso plan I came up with! It is the only chance!

BILBO: Hang on, isn’t this a bit similar to how Thorin was yelling ‘I have the only right!’ at Bard?

DWARVES: This is how Thorin wins all arguments: I have the only cupcake!

BARD’S CHILDREN: So Dad’s in the slammer and we have a dwarf dying on the chaise longue. It’s true what they say, hot dwarves cloud the minds of men. Well, at least things can’t get any worse.

ORCS: Hi.

BARD’S CHILDREN: Oh we are all so totally elfed.

TAURIEL & LEGOLAS: *save them all*

TAURIEL: I especially saved Kili from orcs. (Number of Heroic Rescues: 3!)

LEGOLAS: The orcs are going this way! Come, Tauriel!

TAURIEL: But Kili needs a ministering elfgel! But I guess I did make vows to my prince or whatever… and I do love killing orcs…

FILI: On your way, elf, I totally have this. I am lovingly placing my baby brother’s head in a bowl of walnuts. It is an ancient dwarvish remedy.

TAURIEL: … So staying it is then.

BOFUR: I have kingsfoil!

TAURIEL: I will use this athelas to save Kili!

BOFUR: … You might want to wipe the pig saliva off it first.

TAURIEL: *heals*

AUDIENCE: Elf Saves Dwarfsel Count At All-Time High of Four!

KILI: When you turn off the lights/I get stars in my eyes/Is this love? Maybe.

KILI: Does this make you the rightful king of Laketown or just the rightful king of my heart?

TAURIEL: *hearts*

FILI: *coughs* This is super awkward.

FILI: Jesus, how am I going to tell Ma that my little brother is an elf fetishist?

ON THAT ROMANTIC NOTE WE CUT TO: a room full of dusty dwarf corpses!

THORIN: If this is to end in fire, let us all burn together!

DWARVES: Is that meant to be inspirational?

BILBO: Thank god you’re pretty.

GANDALF: Wow, I’m in a cage and not dead! Woo hoo! Party party party–

SAURON: Wizard want a cracker? Wizard want a cracker?

GANDALF: … I wish for death.

LAZY EYE: Look, man, I’ve got no beef with you, I shouldn’t even be here, I’m hunting for dwarves–

LEGOLAS: WILL EVERYBODY JUST STOP TALKING ABOUT DWARVES!

LAZY EYE VS LEGGLES: Showdown!

THORIN: Step 1 of my cunning plan – Trash talk the dragon.

THORIN: Step 2 – Bedazzle the dragon.

DWARVES: R U 4 real

DWARVES: R U srs right now?

DWARVES: Is he bodysurfing on a molten gold lava river?

DWARVES: What the actual elf.

DWARVES: … Whoa did Thorin’s plan work?

SMAUG: Nope.

THORIN: I am stunned!

DWARVES: Uhhhh us too yep, tot’lly, very startled.

ORC: Being headbutted by an elf is awful because first there’s the headbutt, and then there’s all their whipping hair—it’s like Hurricane Goldilocks up in here.

LEGOLAS: I have a nosebl—You made me bleed my own blood! Nobody makes me bleed my own blood! Nobody!

LEGOLAS: One way or another (for instance by stealing a horse) I’m gonna getcha.

ORC: And it’s too late (in the movie) for you and your white horse… to catch me now…

SMAUG: I’m going to kill everybody in Laketown! Especially those two hot baby dwarves!

BILBO: … Mistakes were made.

BILBO: … Mostly by Thorin.