Ashley R. Carlson's Blog, page 3

Blogger Book Fair: Diantha Jones of "Prophecy Of The Most Beautiful." Enter our Amazon gift card giveaway!

Halfway done with this fabulous week in November, the Blogger Book Fair! My third guest is Diantha Jones, author of the Young Adult mythological fantasy novel, "Prophecy Of The Most Beautiful," which is #1 in her Oracle of Delphi series.
Don't forget to increase your odds of winning by entering our Amazon gift card giveaway every day, as well as Diantha's personal raffle for a SIGNED COPY OF HER BOOK! Buy Links:
Only $.99!
Amazon | Other Formats
BOOK BLURB: She has a destiny so great that even the gods fear her.
Constant hallucinations and the frequent conversations with the voices in her head, have earned eighteen-year-old Chloe Clever the not-so-coveted title of "Whack Job" in her home town of Adel, Georgia. Fed up with prescription meds and therapists, she wishes for a life where she is destined to be more than the butt of everyone's jokes and mockery.
Be careful what you wish for has never rung more true.
After a vicious attack and learning that her favorite rockstar is an Olympian god, she is thrust into her new life as the Oracle of Delphi, the prophesier of the future. Setting out to fulfill the prophecy she has been given, Chloe learns of how great she is to become, all the while fighting mythical monsters and trying to outwit the ever-cunning Greek gods who harbor secrets of their own. While on a mission to discover the Most Beautiful, she strives to uncover the mysteries of the demigod Prince who has sworn to protect her with his life…and threatens to win her heart in the process.
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Diantha was born on Thanksgiving Day so that explains why her mother calls her a "turkey." She spent the first 16 years of her life as an official Army brat (now she's a retired one), and has spent the last twelve years living in Georgia (Atlanta, then Savannah). She now resides in Washington D.C. She loves to read and watch movies (Quentin Tarantino is her fave director), and she loves cold weather and french fries (with cheese if possible).
Excerpt of "Prophecy Of The Most Beautiful" Another three blizzard-filled hours passed before their help arrived.
"Och! Check this out!" Ace exclaimed. He had been leading the group through a tight thicket of snow-covered trees. Spotting something up ahead, he took off running.
"What the…hey! Wait for me!" Swindle exclaimed and sprinted off behind him, Bill flying overhead. Soon, they were all running to see what Ace had found.
"Thank the gods!" Dropper exclaimed as they emerged from the grove. Chloe bit her lip to keep from screaming with relief herself. Way to go, Apollo.
It was a cabin, logged and sealed in the corners with bricks. It had a timber wood porch surrounding three sides and a brick chimney spouting puffs of smoke. Flickering light spilled out of the cabin's tiny windows, promising safety and warmth on the other side. The others whooped loudly and leapt up the porch stairs.
Strafford stopped her when she tried to follow them. "Why did you ask him for help?"
How did he know?
She tried her best to pull away from him, but he wasn't letting go of her arm. "It's cold,” she snapped, "and it's snowing! We were freezing to death out there!"
"Bah!" Strafford grunted, releasing her. "They're demigods! They weren' gonna freeze to death, Red!"
That ticked her off. "I'm not a demigod! Dropper isn't a demigod!"
"So it's abou' tha' wanker, eh?"
"Jealous, much? And what's your problem anyway? You can't expect everyone else to hate your dad just because you do!"
He groaned and pulled her by the back pocket of her jeans as she tried to storm away. "This isn't abou' me and Apollo, Red. This is abou' you makin' decisions without askin' me first."
"I don't have to ask you for permission to do anything!" She tried to walk away but he yanked her back, this time cupping her bottom with his hand to keep her in place. If she hadn't been so flustered, she might've slapped him, but…
"You do need my permission, Red,” he said, his face close to hers. "And if you'd consulted with me before you decided to ask a favor from a god without a tribute, I would've told you how stupid of an idea tha' was. Gods don't do anythin' without expectin' somethin' in return.” He let his voice drop a level. "And now you're in a god's debt. And believe me, Red, Apollo will collect on it, and you'll be questionin' whether the favor was worth it when it's time to pay up."
Interview with Diantha: When did you start writing?
I started writing (seriously) in 2010 after I realized my life was not headed in the direction I'd planned for it to go, and there was a good chance it never would. Looking back, I'm so glad I made that wrong turn.
What inspires your writing?
The Quiet. Noise distracts, but in the silence, there are endless possibilities and an entire plane for your imagination to play around in. There's nothing I enjoy more than letting my imagination run buck wild.
What is the best part about being a writer?
The Tingle. You know, that feeling in your stomach when you're about to release a new book or have just come up with your next project. The feeling never disappoints and never gets old.
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Blogger Book Fair: Kayla Curry of "Where The Carnies Are." Enter for Amazon gift card!

Buy Links: Only $.99!
Amazon | Other Formats
Second day of the Blogger Book Fair and I'm proud to introduce our founder, Kayla Curry! She organized this entire event, so be sure to give her some love at her website and Facebook.
Don't forget to read to the end to enter our giveaway for $100 of Amazon gift cards!
Here's the blurb and excerpt from Kayla's New Adult fantasy novel, "Where The Carnies Are." BOOK BLURB: Olive is having a very bad day. She caught her boyfriend cheating on her, she lost her job, and she stumbled into a portal leading to a secret carnival kingdom which she can’t escape. The good news is she meets an eccentric, but stunningly handsome knife thrower. The bad news is she can’t go home for another two months.
The world she lands in is full of sideshow characters, terrifying amusement rides and her biological parents’ past. She was born a carny, but raised as a normal human. Magic lives in her blood, but it hasn’t reached her heart. To find out who she really is, and why carnies are disappearing, Olive must deceive the king with the help of Alex the knife thrower.
Olive and Alex play a dangerous game with their emotions when they decide to have a fling during Olive’s stay. They both lead very different lives and being together would mean one of them giving up the life they've always known.
Tricks and traps are around every corner in this kingdom. Few can be trusted and Olive will need all the help she can get to make it through unscathed.
Author Bio: Connect with Kayla:
Website | Twitter | Facebook
Kayla Curry’s creative mind never sleeps. Literally.
As Kayla sleeps, her active imagination keeps up the work by making her dream all night long. It’s those dreams that provide much of the inspiration for her stories.
Her works include Where the Carnies Are, Obsidian (Mystic Stones Series #1), and many short stories.
She lives in North Platte, Nebraska with her husband and two sons and she plans to keep writing and creating for the rest of her life.
Excerpt from "Where The Carnies Are" I looked around for the nearest sign of life. A faint light glittered from across a field of wild grass. It was far away, but not so much so that I couldn’t get there. Though I dreaded walking through the field in my heels. Sighing, I grabbed my purse, locked the car up, then stuffed my keys into my purse and turned for the light. The ditch was cleared without injury, and I gained a little confidence. The moon was full. The stars shined. I paid more attention to them than the terrain I was traversing. But, who could blame me? I hadn’t seen the stars in a while. The city was too good at hiding them.
The air changed. Traces of music reached my ears. Carnival music? And the smell of cotton candy accompanied it. The music grew louder as I approached and the smell grew stronger too.
After a few more steps, a bright light flashed before me. I was caught off guard, then stumbled and fell, landing face down on a springy, bouncy, flat surface that felt like a giant dodge-ball. Even in the darkness, I could tell that it was yellow. I pulled myself up to a sitting position and gazed at the tall yellow walls to my left made of the same material I was sitting on. I thought I might be in a giant bouncy house.
Panic struck as I realized I couldn’t see my car, or the field I had just been in. What happened? I couldn’t be dreaming. Could I?
That’s when I twisted my head to the right and caught sight of the grandest carnival I had ever seen. Bright lights dazzled my eyes and took my breath away. A large gateway was about 40 feet away with an arch over it that read in lighted letters: Welcome to Crescent Carnival Kingdom!
Crowds swarmed in the distance. No one noticed my arrival, and no one else was on the giant yellow rubber field I sat on. Walking on this would be impossible with heels, so I took them off and shoved them into my purse. Good thing I remembered to paint my toenails. I stood and bounce-walked my way towards the gate. One small step for man, right?
Once I neared the edge of the inflated thing I was on, it sloped down like a giant slide. The slide would take me straight through the gate and onto solid ground. I grabbed my skirt to hold it in place and slid down. The ride down hinted at memories of a younger me.
A giggle escaped me as I tumbled onto the grass. I think it’s the first time I’ve laughed all day.
There were dark admissions booths all around me. I really needed to find a phone or someone who could help me get back to my car. The only people were still at least 80 feet away. They might think I’m insane if I just go tell them I’ve lost my car and somehow landing in the middle of a carnival. I wonder if I fell off a cliff or something. Perhaps the light I saw wasn’t a house, but the top of one of the many rides that loomed ahead. My mind tried to grasp onto reasonable explanations for the sudden appearance of this place.
“A little late to the party, aren’t you?” someone said from the right in an English accent. I turned in the direction of the voice, but I only caught sight of a shadow.
“What party?” I asked.
“It’s only two months until the next season. You’re late getting back.”
The voice came from behind. I spun to try to catch him, seeing nothing again.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “Where are you?”
I kept spinning until a man’s face appeared so close to mine that I stumbled backward. Before I could fall, he caught me and my gaze. His left arm wrapped around my waist like a swing and his right hand held my shoulder.
Author Interview with Kayla:
When did you start writing?
I remember the moment I realized I liked to write. I was in a keyboarding class my freshman year in high school, of all places. We had just finished up a free typing exercise and I had used my free typing time to write a short story. When I finished I felt exhilarated. I actually liked to write!
So the next three years of my high school life were spent taking every writing class they offered, and I also spent that time on the school newspaper staff.
What inspires your writing?
Everything. I get inspired by so many different aspects of life it's impossible to keep track of them. My dreams are a big part of that, but without the things that happen in my everyday life, I wouldn't be able to make sense of my dreams.
What is the best part about being a writer?
I love learning more about myself through my writing. I also love to improve my writing and I can actually see that I'm getting better at it with each book I write. Pushing myself to take risks everyday and also giving myself limits really keeps things interesting for me.
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Blogger Book Fair: Garrett Robinson of "Nightblade" and Amazon Gift Card Giveaway!

Buy Links:
Only $.99!
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Here we go, friends--The Blogger Book Fair has commenced! Read all the posts this week to learn about awesome authors and their work, and go to their blogs to see my info. Don't forget to scroll to the end and enter our giveaway for Amazon gift cards in $50, $30 and $20! Without further ado, here is Garrett Robinson's New Adult fantasy, "Nightblade."

BOOK BLURB: Everyone begins their life dreaming of the great person they could become, only to have those hopes battered and broken by the world around them. The world tells them they’re not special. Family convinces them to abandon their goals for the safe route, the sure route.
Loren has been born to cruel parents and raised in an obscure village. She’s long resigned herself to an unremarkable life under the sway of a father who beats her and a mother who sees her only as means to a dowry. Loren’s dreams have almost burnt out—until fate rekindles their spark into a flame that will consume the world.
SOMETIMES ALL WE NEED IS A PUSH.
When Loren meets the fugitive wizard Xain, she dares to hope again. Escaping her village, she finds the nine kingdoms more complicated and dangerous than she could have imagined. But at long last, she’s ready to face the challenge or die in the attempt.
Loren has reclaimed her dreams—this time for good. Armed with only her wit and her courage, she will do anything to become the woman she’s always wanted to be: Nightblade, the most renowned thief in all the land.
     Nightblade Special Offer
From November 10th through November 14th, you can pick up Nightblade, the first book of the Nightblade Volumes, for only $0.99 on Kindle! What's more -- if you finish and review Nightblade, I'll send you a FREE ebook copy of Mystic, the second book in the series!
Just fill out the form at http://garrettbrobinson.com/free-mystic.
99 cents and a review — two books. It doesn't get much better than that.
Garrett Robinson was born in Los Angeles, California. Throughout his childhood and into adulthood, he was encouraged to learn by his parents, who not only ensured he had access to thousands of books whenever he wanted, but who traveled with him around the world and helped him do so once he was out in the world on his own. Throughout high school, Garrett excelled in creative writing, churning out millions of words and far surpassing all of his classmates.
After school, Garrett discovered a love of, and has had a budding career in the independent film industry. In today's digital age, however, he has discovered that new creative models are necessary to succeed. To that end, he has begun turning all of his film ideas into self-published books, in hopes of drumming up support and readership for the stories he has created.
Connect with Garrett:

Website | Twitter | Facebook


                                                      Nightblade Excerpt
Loren imagined she could feel her father’s eyes on her back as she ran. Her steps came faster and faster still, but soon Xain began to tire and flag behind her. She had to slow her pace to match him, and every step seemed an irredeemable loss.
“You must hurry,” she said. “He will find us.”
Xain did not bother with an answer. He could move no faster, and they both knew it. After a time his ankle caught upon a protruding root and he stumbled, and in that moment her father struck.
He leapt from the shadows between two thick oaks. His hand lashed out, cracking against Loren’s cheek. She fell to the ground with a cry and struggled up before he could pin her down. But he did not come for her. When she rose she saw him atop Xain instead, wrapping an arm around the thinner man’s throat. Xain’s face turned red and edged toward purple. He fought to bring a hand around, scrabbling for her father’s face, but her father caught the hand and twisted it, prompting a screech of agony.
Hearing that cry of pain, Loren’s mind turned to ice. Never had her father hurt another in her presence—except when he fought her mother, and Loren only wanted each to hurt the other as much as possible. But now her father threatened to crush the life from her one chance, the only man who Loren had ever truly thought could save her from the life of pain and obscurity she feared.
Icy rage turned white-hot, and Loren drew the dagger. She leapt at her father with the blade held high. But her father saw her coming and released Xain, scrabbling to his knees and away from her wild swing.
He rose and roared like a bear brought to bay. The sound dampened Loren’s sudden burst of fury, and she hesitated a moment. That moment was enough, and like a snake her father lunged. One hand gripped her wrist to hold the dagger helpless. His other hand curled into a fist that he drove into her face.
Stars erupted at the edge of her vision, and Loren doubled over. Her father squeezed her wrist until the dagger dropped to the grass, then let her follow it. She gasped at the pain in her eye, blinking as she fought to clear her vision.
“Spawn of soiled seed,” said her father. “You have been a plague and a pox upon me since the day you first clawed air into your lungs.”
He kicked her. The hard leather of his boots felt like a tree trunk. She screamed, trying to roll away, but he only kicked her in the back.
She could not see. She could not think. Where was she? Who was this man, and why did he want to hurt her so? Why did some part of her mind scream that he should love her, pick her up and cradle her in his arms and promise to take the pain away? Instead he only gave her more.
Her eyes fell on Xain, who crouched several yards away. The wizard’s lips moved, and his eyes began to glow. He held a hand curled at his side, and Loren saw the flash of fire within it.
“No!” she cried. “Don’t kill him!”
Xain froze. His lips stopped moving, and the fire wisped out in his palm.
The shout drew her father’s gaze. His ugly, beady eyes fell on the wizard, and his lips split in a grimace, revealing spots of blood.
He leapt catlike upon Xain and bore the wizard to the ground. This time he wrapped his hands around Xain’s throat, digging his fingers in deep. Xain’s eyes bugged forth as though they would burst from their sockets. He gasped a phrase, and blue lightning sprang into being, but it vanished before he could unleash it.
Loren’s heart broke. Xain would not have been here if not for her. He might have died on the way to Cabrus, and he might not. But she had brought him to this place and then brought her father’s wrath, and now Xain would die for it.
She could not allow it. She saw the dagger lying near her fingers, and thought of her childish dreams. Nightblade could not allow it.
She fought to her knees. Her bow still hung on her back, and by some grace of the gods its string was whole. Her fingers felt like wood, but she forced them around the bow’s haft and pulled it free. Shakily she brought an arrow to string and half-drew, then took two stumbling steps forward. This time her father had eyes for nothing but Xain.
Loren kicked as hard as she could, and something in her father’s face broke under her boot heel.
He fell away, rolling over and over to put distance between them as he screamed in rage. In a blink he regained his feet, but there he paused. Loren’s arrow rested at full draw, aiming straight for his heart.
Slowly, her father’s hamfist hands came up on either side of his head. For every inch they climbed, the fury in his eyes redoubled.
“No more,” said Loren. It came out as a whisper. “No more will you torment me. I am leaving, father, and I mean never to return.”
“You mean to defy me?” said her father. “You will do your duty as a daughter or—”
She pulled just a little harder on the bow, gaining another inch of draw. Her father’s voice fell to silence.
“You have never done your duty as a father,” she said. “I feel I owe you nothing.”
“You owe me everything,” he said. “I could have killed you in the cradle. I could have killed you when I woke up today, and moved my bowel on your corpse. I made you, and now I see I made you worthless.”
“Then when I leave you shall suffer no great loss,” she said.
She felt that his words should have stung, but she was beyond them. They were only a stronger flavor of the same things he had said all her life. And in this moment, now that another fate beckoned her, she stood under his sway no longer.
Xain had finally regained his breath, and he came to stand at her side. He muttered, and as his eyes glowed white a ball of lightning hovered in his grasp.
“You think you can escape me?” her father said, changing tack. “I learned these lands years before I spilled you between your mother’s legs. Nowhere in Selvan can you hide from me. Ready yourself for sleepless nights by a bright fire. For if you close your eyes in sleep, if for even a moment you let yourself sit in darkness—”
Loren loosed the shaft. It sank into her father’s thigh. He collapsed to the ground without a scream, but with a gut-deep grunt of pain.
“Chase us now,” said Loren.
She turned and walked away from him, stopping for only a moment to retrieve the dagger and replace it in its sheath. She did not turn to see if Xain followed her, but after a moment she heard footfalls behind her.
Her father’s hateful screams followed them for a long while.
Interesting Information about Nightblade
The Nightblade Volumes are a WEEKLY serial — I publish a new 10,000 word episode every Friday at 12:00pm PST. Every eight episodes compose one book, which is published as a complete work in ebook and paperback.
Nightblade is the first book in the series. The second book is Mystic. Those who like Nightblade, and want to keep reading, can go review it on Amazon. If they fill out the form at http://garrettbrobinson.com/free-mystic, I'll send them an ebook copy of Mystic for FREE.
Readers can also subscribe to the series. For ebook enthusiasts, this is THE CHEAPEST way to read! Pay $2.99 a month, and I'll send you an episode every week — TWO WEEKS before it's published to Amazon! It's cheaper than buying the episodes individually, and it's even cheaper than buying the volumes!
You can check that out at http://garrettbrobinson.com/nb-sub
Author Interview with Garrett: When did you start writing?
I began writing as a teenager, scribbling fan fiction from my favorite science fiction and fantasy stories. But it took my mother's passing at the age of 25 to convince me that if I didn't try, honest to God, to make it as an artist, then it would never happen.
I published my first book in December of 2012, and since then I've put out more than a million words in fantasy, sci-fi, thrillers, comedy and horror.
I don't plan on stopping.
What inspires your writing?
I think the most exciting phrase a writer can ever utter is, "Hey, wouldn't it be cool if...?"
Ideas are all around us. Sometimes they come from things we wish we saw in the world more often. Sometimes they're just things that are really, really cool. A girl who sees thoughts when she makes skin contact. A guy who becomes a zombie, but can still think. Kids who become wizards in another world when they sleep. A girl who wants to make it in the big time — but in a fantasy setting.
No idea is a bad story idea. Find out what's important to you, and construct a story around that.
What is the best part about being a writer?
Anyone who's published a book knows what a rush it is to hear from your readers. The best writers write from inspiration. They write the sort of story that THEY would want to read. There's nothing more gratifying than hearing, from a complete stranger no less, that they were personally touched by your book.
Even better is are those who you deeply, truly affect. The best feeling in the world is to hear that a reader can relate to what my character is going through, and that in some small way I helped them through a difficult time. You can't beat that.
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Meet The Cast Of "The Charismatics"

Vasser Witte Ambrose Killaher I have some pretty exciting news to share with you all.

1) I got the cover concepts back from my designer, M.S. Corley, and they are GLORIOUS. Amazing. Better then I could have dreamed.
WANT TO KNOW WHAT THE BEST PART IS?! You have a chance to see the two concepts that were my favorite! All you have to do is subscribe to my newsletter by this Sunday, because on Monday I'm sending one out with both covers. (PLUS you'll get a free copy of my short story, "Cruel," which I just spent all day making look extra pretty for you all!) The link above actually goes to my NEXT announcement, which is that--
2) I AM HOLDING A RAFFLE TO GIVE AWAY FIVE FREE E-BOOKS OF "The Charismatics" TO YOU GUYS *BEFORE* THE BOOK RELEASES. That's right--BEFORE it releases, the pretty little Kindle edition and PDF will be sitting in your inbox. Around December 7th or so. So go HERE to my prizes page and do the various things (subscribe to my newsletter, tweet a message, COMMENT ON HERE :) etc.). A lot of them you can do every day to increase your odds. So go sign up my dears to win a copy! I've been hard at work with my formatter Stuart Whitmore of Crenel Publishing to discuss the look and style of the interior, and I'm really excited. It's going to look professional and beautiful, because you deserve it!

3) The Blogger Book Fair is NEXT WEEK Monday through Friday! What is that, you ask? Well, it is a great event I'm participating in when authors, bloggers and readers host each other on their sites to discuss upcoming books. I am hosting five authors here, and will be posting excerpts of their books and interviews, giveaways/raffles, AND we are giving away Amazon gift cards in $50, $30 and $20 so you can enter for those here too every day.

So now that you've entered my giveaway and subscribed to my newsletter ... I want to share the cast of characters from "The Charismatics" with you, and the actors I would choose to play them in a movie. And surprisingly--Jennifer Lawrence is NOT included. I know, I know. It's a tragedy. Duchess Ambrose Killaher. (Full name Ambrosia). 18-years-old, native of Thillen. Long dishwater-blonde hair, brown eyes, baby face. Ambrose was married to Erik La Marck and sent to the snowy city of Shinery a year previously. She talks a lot when she's nervous, and likes to help the peasants (called denizens) who live under the floating citadel where the rich reside. Her only friend is Roan.
Roan. He is Ambrose's invisible companion, with her since they both can remember. He can transform into any animal form needed, but his favorites currently are sparrow, snow fox and grey wolf. His origins are mysterious/unknown. Erik La Marck. Erik is Ambrose's husband, originally from Badenheim. He has despised Ambrose since the day they were married for reasons unknown. Short, blonde and blue-eyed, with squirrely features and a frail, bitter disposition. He is not included in governmental matters, though he and Ambrose are the "monarchs" of Shinery.
Senator Elwick Rathe. High-ranking official in Shinery. Works for the corrupt world government called Legalia. Hates denizens/servants, and preys upon them in secret ways. Angry for being "exiled" to Shinery. Wants to return to Legalia's Headquarters in Eeden and work in their Research Department. Has a sordid history with Ambrose's uncle and hates them both.

Uncle Harland Killaher. Ambrose's uncle, and her only close family member still alive. Uncle Harland is also a high-ranking official for Legalia, though Ambrose has never known exactly what he does. Would visit Ambrose every year as a child and bring her gifts. Handsome and debonair. Has a secret agenda.


Vasser Witte. 20-years-old, originally from Chillingham. Newest Legalia board member in Shinery, though he has hidden motives for joining. Has a secret past that he is ashamed of. His entire family was killed when he was five, during his father's trial for treason against Legalia. Saves Ambrose during an attack by the rebel group Exodus. Tall and muscular, with golden hair and hazel eyes.
Evelyn Smyle. Arrived from Legalia's Headquarters to assist with new developments in Shinery. The king's "deacon," or right-hand. Snakelike, venomous. Uses her feminine wiles to get her way. Also has a secret agenda. Cannot be trusted.

Lakeman. A denizen who is a servant in the citadel--position: night guard. Assigned to stand outside of Ambrose's chambers overnight. Kind, weathered face. Has three daughters. Father-like, feels sympathetic toward Ambrose due to her isolation and treatment by her husband, Erik.


Merry. 18-year-old denizen girl chosen to be one of Ambrose's handmaidens. Very beautiful, with brown hair and large eyes. Unfriendly and cold toward Ambrose, due to her hatred of Legalia and the nobility who allow the denizens to suffer. Very talented with fashion and enjoys picking out Ambrose's outfits.

Lisbeth. 16-year-old denizen also chosen to be one of Ambrose's handmaidens. Sweet and childlike, with tiny features. Kind and gentle-hearted. Skilled at doing Ambrose's hair in the braided-bun style traditional of Thillen. Loves to dance.

Professor Hubert Clubberill. Legalia member who was commissioned to build a giant zeppelin for the government's use. Extremely overweight and loves food, alcohol and luxurious things. Has a very dark past involving Legalia that he has buried deep within himself due to shame. Weak of spirit, but a kind man. Ambrose Killaher Roan Erik La Marck Senator Rathe Uncle Harland Vasser Witte Evelyn Smyle Lakeman Merry Lisbeth Professor Clubberill That sums up the main characters for you all--there are a few smaller characters I may add in time, but now you know the major players for "The Charismatics" and how I see them in my head. It's getting so close to release time, and I just hope you love these characters as much as I do.
Don't forget to subscribe to my newsletter by Sunday to see my cover concepts, and enter the giveaway for a free e-book!

Until next time, keep writing and keep dreaming!

How To Win At NaNoWriMo

Photo credit: Alex Stoddard For those of you who don't know what NaNoWriMo is, it's National Novel Writing Month: for the month of November anyone and everyone who has a story inside of them is encouraged to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days.
Insane, right?!
Yes. But that's okay, because you have to be insane to be a writer--it's part of the job description. (I DID write a novel about an alternate universe with invisible animal companions and floating cities and all sorts of other crazy fun stuff. It's fun to be a writer, because in your world you can DO WHATEVER YOU WANT WITH IT.)
I recently tweeted how NaNoWriMo changed my life last year, because it forced me to really buckle down and WRITE A DAMN NOVEL instead of talking about or getting 10 pages in and becoming bored. 
And here I am a year later, about to release my debut "The Charismatics" in less than two months, and it is a surreal feeling. But it's a true testament to the phrase, if I can do it, so can YOU.
This tweet also led to a fantastic interview with Erik Marshall, Ph.D. over at his WET Podcast: Writing, Education and Technology when he read it and wanted to know more. We talked for over an hour about HOW NaNoWriMo changed my life so that I switched careers, how I managed to write a novel in a month (and "The Charismatics" in two months this summer), beta readers, writing sex scenes, and some details about my book, of course! Check out the audio interview here, and the video will be posted in the next few days.
I'm not doing NaNoWriMo this year, because I'll be writing the fifth and final draft of my novel once I get it back from my editor, Lauren Wise at Midnight Publishing with her thoughts. But I still wanted to give my thoughts on how to *win* at NaNoWriMo.
 
So read, laugh, enjoy. And you might think I'm not serious about these ... but I am DEAD serious. Because I speak from experience. (Like I said ... all writers are insane.)
1. Break up with your significant other for the whole month of November.
2. If you don't want to break up with them, then inform them that they won't be seeing you (awake) for the next 30 days.
3. Put your local pizza place's number in your speed-dial.
4. Tip your pizza delivery person generously, so that when you call them at three a.m. shouting "MY WORD COUNT IS 3,059 AND I NEED PIZZA AND THE CHARACTERS WHO DON'T REALLY EXIST ARE FIGHTING MY DECISIONS" they will *actually* risk showing up at your house again.
5. Get used to your character's fighting your decisions and doing their own thing .
6. Learn to sleep and type at the same time.
7. Also learn to control your dreams, so that you can outline your next scene if you *do* fall asleep on your keyboard in a moment of human weakness.
8. Learn to shower in two minutes or less, while using the steam on the shower door to write out the outline to your next scene.
9. Sex is out of the question (unless your partner is okay with discussing various character names for your novel's love interest while the deed is done, and they let you practice calling them said names to see which one sounds the sexiest).
10. Plan on not doing anything that you enjoy for 30 days, including but not limited to binge-watching Netflix series, having any contact with friends/family for longer than one minute in which you text them, "I'M WRITING, I'M STILL WRITING AND WILL ALWAYS BE WRITING FOR THE REST OF TIME UNTIL I REACH MY WORD COUNT FOR THE DAY AND THEN IT WILL START UP TOMORROW AND I MISS THE FEELING OF SUNLIGHT ON MY SKIN AND I'M NOT SURE WHEN THE LAST TIME I SHOWERED WAS BUT IT WAS A WHILE AGO BUT I'M STILL ALIVE SO THAT'S GOOD LOVE YOU BYE."  

So there you go, my tried and true methods. Go forth my little NaNoWriMers, and WIN!
As always, keep writing and keep dreaming!
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How To Handle Criticism Correctly

Photo credit: Sarah Ann Loreth As I sent off my fourth draft to a round of beta-readers for some final thoughts before publishing my debut novel, "The Charismatics," I realized something: I NEED TO GET PREPARED FOR CRITICISM AT EVERY TURN. Good, bad, constructive, weird, silly, bizarre, attacking, troll-like, well-intentioned--every kind of criticism possible. I am creating a product to be read--and ultimately judged--by other people. Hopefully MASSES of people. I have just placed a giant target on my back that says, "JUDGE ME AND MY ART RIGHT NOW IN A PUBLIC WAY." And it is terrifying. But also exhilarating.

Want to know a couple secrets about me? Here goes ...

1) I distinctly remember having a club formed against me when I was in first grade, (tentatively) titled, "The No Ashley Club." That is no lie. My desperation to be liked back then was PALPABLE, and it made me a target.
2) The night before my first day of sixth grade, I STUDIED the book entitled "How To Be Popular In The Sixth Grade," by Camy Baker. That was probably the dumbest book ever written, by the way--because I ended up being the least popular girl in the sixth grade.
3) I really, really, REALLY cared about what people thought about me growing up. And I still do, a lot of the time.

None of these things make me sound very qualified on the "taking criticism correctly" front, now do they? Au contraire, dear readers, because I've had a lot of practice ... So here are my tips on how to take criticism of your writing, your FACE (Renee Zellweger, anyone?!) and your life, correctly . I'm going to use my book as an example for some of these tips, but I think they are applicable to all forms of life and interaction.
1) If you ask for criticism, prepare yourself for the answer. The TRUE answer.
I learned this with "The Charismatics" when I sent it out to some beta-readers recently. I received a VARIETY of responses, ranging from "this is wonderful," to "this part was confusing," to "the main love interest is HOT!" (Why thank you, I know, he is my dream man), and a kind message that went along the lines of "this wasn't my cup of tea, couldn't get into it. Best of luck!" I sat there for a moment after I read it, feeling hurt. But this was a fantastic response to receive from someone, especially this early on in the game, because it reminded me that:
-Not everyone is going to like/love/tolerate my book, and that is OKAY!
-Be gracious and thankful that anyone has taken the time to give it a chance at ALL.
The same principal can (and should!) be applied with any endeavor. Went on a date and they didn't call you back? Be gracious/polite in any future interactions. Bad review at your restaurant? Same thing. Those are the risks we take every day by putting ourselves out there to be judged, supported, and loved. And if you show kindness and a polite manner in any of these interactions, who has ultimately won? YOU. The answer is YOU.

2) One person's opinion doesn't equal everyone's opinion.
I wish I'd understood this better when I was younger regarding other kids' treatment of me. If I was bullied by a few people, I took it so deeply within myself that I believed everyone thought that way, or even worse: that it was the truth. In turn I acted out of desperation, shouting mentally from the classrooms and the lunch lines and exuding from my very pores this message: "Like me! LIKE ME! WHY DON'T YOU LIKE ME?! Am I not good enough?!"
This made me a target back then, and it would make me a target now, with my book and in my daily life. When you are desperate, you are irrational. When you don't have a strong, confident foundation of belief in yourself, you are easily swayed by one person's words. This means that if one person writes a bad review for your book, or a mean comment on Facebook, that it might ruin your whole day. Even worse, YOU MIGHT RETALIATE. (which is RULE NUMERO UNO to NEVER DO in the Author Etiquette Manual.)  Because you are giving that person, that ONE person, a lot of power. Power they don't deserve. There opinion doesn't equal everyone's. So don't make it that way in your mind.

3) Identify whose opinions weigh the most, and forget the others!
Regarding my book, I received a critique from my mom, who is not a fantasy or young adult book reader typically. A couple issues she had were regarding the "world," and a few other opinion-based thoughts. We decided that I needed some input from a more appropriate source: a younger-aged reader who enjoyed fantasy and YA very much. And the critique I received from this individual was SO helpful on numerous levels. Because that was my audience; that was the opinion that mattered most for this particular situation.
The same principal can be applied in life. Whose opinions do you care about listening to? Your family? Your friends? Your significant other? Your professor? Your pastor? Who do you admire, look up to, cherish? And who feels the same about you, and wants to see you excel?
Those are the opinions you want to take into yourself and give a place in your heart. Not the words of a troll on social media. Not the rejection of someone you met on Tinder (no personal relation to me here WHATsoever ...).
No. The behavior and words of others who are insignificant (in the big scheme of things) to your life don't matter. They have not earned that place of importance in your mind and heart. Only give the space to those who have.

All right my dears, those are my tips on how to handle criticism correctly. Now GO criticize my book on Goodreads, RSVP for my book launch party on December 13 on Facebook, and go hug a loved one (including your pets). You are all special and wonderful, and don't ever EVER let someone's words take that feeling away. God made you perfect, just as you are. Even when we don't feel like those words are true, they are the truest words ever spoken.

Want to read an article about an author named Kathleen Hale who did NOT know how to take criticism correctly and ended up basically stalking someone who gave her a bad review? Go here.
Want to read another awesome article about how to respond (or more appropriately, how NOT to respond) to criticism as an author, written by my favorite Chuck Wendig? Go here. 

And as always, keep writing and keep dreaming!

Why Jennifer Lawrence and I Should Be Friends

In honor of my THIRD DRAFT OF "The Charismatics" BEING COMPLETED and sent to my wonderful editor, Lauren Wise, at Midnight Publishing (where I also write posts about self-publishing, the industry, and more ... you should go there, but NOT YET!), I have written a fun little post to celebrate.

So I'm going to be honest, and share an embarrassing little tidbit about me. Before I had completed the first draft of this novel, I was driving to meet my parents for dinner. And as I started driving, I started imagining something. And that something was:

-I dedicated my finished book to God (of course), my family (of course), and.....
JENNIFER LAWRENCE, because we should BE FRIENDS.
-Yep. I decided that I would dedicate "The Charismatics" to Jennifer Lawrence, and proceeded to imagine myself being invited to "The Today Show" to be interviewed by Matt Lauer when my book made it big. I'm talkin' BIG.
-And Matt says to me, "So Ashley. You dedicated your book to Jennifer Lawrence, and in it said that you two should be 'friends.' Are you friends with Jennifer Lawrence?"
-And I would smile and blush (since my face would be BRIGHT RED on national television; I have this horrible blushing thing that happens whenever I'm nervous) and say, "No, no, I've never met her. Just really look up to her, and think she's hilarious, and that we'd get along."
-And THEN he would say, "Well we just so happen to have Jennifer here for an interview, and she WANTED TO MEET YOU."
-And THEN Jennifer Lawrence would come out and hug me and I would keel over and die of happiness and we would become best buds and she would star in the movie version of "The Charismatics."

So you wanna know why we should be best friends?
1. We both love FOOD--pizza, especially. She's not afraid to tell everyone, and neither am I. Sometimes, when I eat food ... I think it's better than se--well, nevermind. You get the idea. And I BET she feels the same way. Except when she was dating Nicholas Hoult ... I'm not sure there's a pizza in the world more delicious than se--well, more than "spending time" with that young lad.

2. We both fall a lot/are extremely clumsy. Today, I slammed my head on an open cupboard door while I was putting dishes away (IT OPENED ITSELF, I SWEAR). Jennifer fell down while she was walking up to receive her Oscar.

3. We both love The Real Housewives Of ... Everywhere. And binge-watch a variety of other deep and moving reality TV shows that air on Bravo and E!. Really! Here's proof! (I'm not a stalker, I swear. JENNIFER I AM NOT A STALKER.) Sooooo, basically we should binge-watch these shows together. While eating pizza. And getting foot massages from Nicholas Hoult and Jennifer's other hot ex-boyfriends (except for that frontman from Coldplay. He is WAAAAY too old for her. And a dad. What are you thinkin', Jen?!).

4. We have no filter. She talks about peeing in the ocean being her favorite part of filming The Hunger Games: Catching Fire. I talk about my smelly bathroom to potential suitors, and my first AND worst kiss ever. We are pretty much ourselves; take it or leave it. (But you should take it. Because it's usually quite entertaining.)
I wrote a little post about this, regarding being "completely myself" and that being the key to happiness. I think it's very true; but it doesn't mean I don't scare people with my brashness (And if they don't like it, they can just fu--erm, sorry. They can go FROLIC off into the sunset).

5. AND finally ... WE ARE REALLY TALENTED AT OUR CRAFTS.

Hahahaha.

Haha.

Ha. Ha ha. That doesn't sound conceited or anything.

But seriously; I really do admire Jennifer Lawrence for how talented she is, and do hope that one day (probably not YET, but that remains to be seen once my novel is out there for the world to see/read/judge/review/love/hate/spit on/feed to their cat) I can match her level of expertise.

Because that is ultimately my goal to give to all of you: an escape, an exciting story, one that moves you, one that makes you laugh and cry and root for the protagonist and hate the villain-- like only an amazing story could. If I've done that, then I don't even need to be friends with Jennifer Lawrence ... because I've already achieved my highest goal possible (besides saving all the animals in the world, of course).

Stay tuned for updates with "The Charismatics," I'll be waiting with bated breath for my editor's thoughts, that's for certain! Also, I will be having a book launch/birthday party in Arizona on December 13 to celebrate, and I will be signing print copies for those who want them. If you are in the area, you are INVITED! More info on that soon.
Until next time, keep writing and KEEP DREAMING! I did, and now I have a book that's nearly completed.
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Thoughts You Might Have After Becoming Single

Photo credit: Alex Stoddard In order from right after the break-up until now, this weekend in October, as I sit at HOME watching How I Met Your Mother re-runs and contemplating ways this could be any more depressing.

RIGHT AFTER A TWO-YEAR RELATIONSHIP ENDED:
-I can't do anything except eat strawberry shortcake for dinner and watch The Devil Wears Prada (This really happened...no it didn't. Yes it did).
-Who is going to help me fix things around the house now? 
-I guess I don't have to cook for someone anymore.
-Grocery shopping is overrated.
-Shaving is also overrated.
-Self-tanner is NOT overrated once I get back into the "field" (I'm pale as an albino who's lived in a darkened cave for all eternity. I'm...basically Gollum. Or something).
-I'm so glad Culver's custard place closed down the street from my house. Or I'd be there every ... week. Not every day, no no no, I have a little thing called self-control.
-I guess I don't "technically" need birth control anymore...or do I? Ugh, I'm once again embarking into the land of strange penises...

TWO MONTHS LATER:
-Single life is fucking awesome. I don't have to clean beard clippings from the sink anymore, I can go out to bars with my gals, and no more stinky man-farts surprising me from under the bedcovers!
-I love having the whole bed to myself. How did I ever get any SLEEP sharing it with someone?
-What's this "Tinder" business?
-Guys on Tinder are ridiculous. And entertaining. I'm gonna go on a date with one!
-That was...not my best idea. But it's okay, because I love myself and I'm an author!
-Guys at bars are still...just like guys at bars. Except that I'm two and a half years older now, so they REALLLLLLLY seem like a bunch of egotistical assholes now.
-I'm so glad I don't have kids. Or a husband. But my nephews are pretty damn cute. And it'd be nice to have someone to cook for and share my bed with.

NOW:
-Am I going to be alone forever?
-Am I going to be one of those ladies, those CAT LADIES, who dies and isn't discovered for three weeks?!
-Ted Mosby from HIMYM is really annoying and whiny. And he has weird, spiky hair.
-Oh my God. I'm going to be like Ted Mosby. Forever alone.
-I really wish that Culver's was still open down the street.
-Friday nights as a single, 25-year-old girl, SUCK. Too old to make bad decisions, too young to give up completely.
-Guess I'll just re-read Twilight tonight. Because that's healthy.

Hope I brought a smile to your face; singlehood is full of wonderful emotional surprises. I've got a date with Edward Cullen now.
Until next time ... kiss and cherish your loved ones. It's nice to have someone to share your bed with, even if they take up most of the mattress and fart in their sleep.

Keep writing and keep dreaming! I will be...
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What I Learned Printing With CreateSpace

I know, I know--I said that I was going to film myself OPENING the package--it was completely by accident that I opened the cardboard box yesterday, expecting it to still be wrapped in some sort of paper--it wasn't. So I'm sorry about that, but I can PROMISE you that I did get a little misty-eyed. When The Charismatics arrives in the mail be prepared for a torrential downpour of tears, and that I WILL record.
**YouTube hates me and cut off two minutes of my video. I already spent three hours waiting for it to upload as it is, so I'm just going to give you a run-down here about as well about what I learned from printing my FIRST WORK EVER ON CREATESPACE:
1. I chose the 6x9 size to print it with, and personally I feel that it is WAY too big. Twilight, the book I am basing my own design off of, is smaller--the 5x8 choice that CreateSpace offers. So I would strongly recommend going with the smaller size--6x9 just seems far too big, personally.

2. I chose cream paper for the interior--comparing it to Twilight I can see that it is similar, but definitely more yellow, than Twilight's pages. After I'd done some research I found that cream is the most popular interior color for fiction, due to it's ease on readers' eyes. I plan on keeping the cream color, but do recommend trying out the white if you are curious or averse to yellowish pages.

3. I designed my cover on Canva, and CreateSpace did warn me that the cover wasn't high-enough quality for print. I could see some "graininess" with the lettering and the picture, so I recommend either hiring a cover designer or using CreateSpace's Cover Creator for your own work. I designed a back cover with a short description of Cruel and two reviews from Amazon. This was the style that Ksenia Anske did for the back of her novel, Rosehead.

4. **Cut off in video: I discussed how dealing with the correct page numbers was difficult. If you are converting a Microsoft Word file, it is from an 11x8-sized page. Thus, if you put page numbers on those, when CreateSpace takes your doc. file and converts it to a 6x9 PDF, your pages have changed and the numbers no longer apply. What I ended up having to do was to look at the PDF file once it was converted and write down the page numbers they became, and then change them in the Microsoft Word file. It still messed up Cruel's first page (I have it down as page 8 but it's actually page 6), so I anticipate this being one of the most difficult things about formatting my own manuscript. I'll probably have to figure out how to re-size my Microsoft Word file to a 6x9 page so that I can assign page numbers correctly.

5. **Cut off in video: Connect with/About Ashley R. Carlson pages. I included these at the end of my short story, and suggest you do too. This was discussed in Mark Coker's Smashwords Style Guide, and I think it's useful for print books as well as e-books. These pages introduce me to readers, and Ksenia Anske just wrote a blog post about her theory that readers who feel like they "know" and "like" an author are more inclined to review AND to review a book highly. Makes a lot of sense.

6. I chose Times New Roman for the font, and discuss in the video that I don't really care for it--the lines seem a bit close together and hard to read. This would probably only worsen with a smaller print size. So I will look into fonts to use that don't have a copyright (Times New Roman doesn't) but emulate the one in Twilight that is easier to read.

Please share your own tips and experiences with CreateSpace, especially regarding page numbers if you have mastered that particularly mysterious art.
Perhaps the most exciting part of this whole experience is how EASY it was to do--the book came within four days and it exists. IT EXISTS. A print version of my work. So go on and do it yourself, already. 
Until next time, keep writing and keep dreaming!
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Chapter Two of "The Charismatics"

[image error] I had a really fun time designing this temporary cover on Canva. I strongly recommend using this for your social media designs--this one was completely free. The only downside is that I used this program for Cruel's cover as well, and their designs are not 300 dpi (which is necessary on CreateSpace for a high quality print cover). So don't use this program for print books or you will regret it. But for e-books, it's great! Per request, I've decided to post the second chapter of my debut novel, The Charismatics . If you haven't read the first chapter yet, find it here. Also, if you want to know more about Ambrose, the main character, I wrote a Character Blog Tour post about her and the world I've built here. SO far I've heard:

-The main character (Ambrose) and her invisible friend, Roan, are funny and have an interesting relationship.

-The world building is exciting, but some more details are necessary to flesh out the various cities, as well as the juxtaposition between the nobility--who are the rich and live on floating islands called citadels--and the denizens, who are the poor who live on the ground below in villages called urbs. So I will work some more on that.

-That it has reminded readers of Neil Gaiman's Stardust and Philip Pullman's The Golden Compass, as well as the movie Ever After. I can say that I classify that my book has supernatural elements, a heroine who is "finding herself" and trying to use her position for good, and a corrupt governmental system that is close to be overrun. It is a very precarious civil climate, and the readers of The Charismatics will be seeing a world full of secrets that is on the precipice of a major war, not only between people but between worlds.

In other news, I've tinkered with CreateSpace for my short story, Cruel , and have a proof coming in the mail in about ten days. I plan on making a YouTube video of me opening it, ONE because I will probably freak out to see something I've written in actual print form, and TWO because I want to show you guys what a book looks like when it's been formatted, edited, and had a cover designed by one very technologically-inept person--ME. There are bound to be mistakes but I want to show you guys just how easy (and hard) it can be to self-publish your work! So stay tuned for that.

As always, please subscribe to my newsletter if you are inclined. I'm sending another one out in a few days and it's got book recommendations, song recommendations, and will have some special prizes in the near future (I'm thinking of raffling off some signed copies of The Charismatics and if you're subscribed, you'll have a better chance of winning).

Please share your thoughts with me on the chapter below; I will be starting the third draft on October 2nd with the responses I received from my beta readers, and then it's off to my editor, the wonderful Lauren Wise with Midnight Publishing. It's all coming together, and it can come together for YOU TOO.

So as always, keep writing and keep dreaming!
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Want to support me as a writer? Donate!                                                                           Chapter Two
                                                                 Unnecessary Roughness
I follow Flossie’s footsteps around the twists and turns of the staircase, noticing the sounds of a crowd up ahead. When I burst into the hallway I collide with an old woman—the Duchess of Mantica, based on her enormous headdress—and she clucks at me disapprovingly.
“Excuse me, my apologies Madam,” I mutter before weaving through the hordes. Flossie’s disappeared somewhere—she was an extremely fast runner—and the hallways are now teeming with people finishing one event and attending another. Concerts and burlesque shows and gambling have been going on for over a month in Shinery’s citadel, their existence increased tenfold due to the Winter Solstice holiday. My attendance is frowned upon without my husband’s accompaniment, and Erik refuses every time I ask. 
     Servants carrying trays full of exotic liquors parade by as well, and the laughter of Shinery’s drunken nobility grates on my ears. I lock eyes with Judith, my servant friend, and she’s startled by my expression.
“Are you all right Tsarina?” she asks quietly, handing me a glass of champagne. I take it, the liquid shivering inside from my shaky hands.
“I saw, well, I don’t know what I saw… I mean, the servant boy…” I sip the champagne in hopes it will quell my nerves, and the fizz burns my nose.
“The servant boy? Was it Thomas? The boy transcribing at dinner?” Judith’s eyes flash angrily, and she seems to know the answer without me saying it.
“I have to go,” I say, pushing away from her. The nobles’ outfits overwhelm my eyes; hats with giant feathers and whirring butterflies, men in top hats that shoot sparks into the air; all the latest styles from the fascinator designer, M. Stanzel.
I follow the familiar path left, then right, then left again, and up a set of stairs to one of the northern towers. The night guard always locks my bedchamber door from the outside after ten o’clock, with Erik being the only other person with a key. He’s yet to use it in the year I’ve been here, and sometimes I wonder if the guard can hear me talking to Roan, or sobbing into the pillows when homesickness strikes. He must know that no husband visits his wife in that room, and I wonder whether he thinks I’m the defective one; unlovable. I tried in the beginning to be warm, welcoming, and sensual for my husband … I still try. My body aches sometimes for a gentle touch, and most days lately I feel so tightly coiled it’s uncomfortable. Not tonight though—the thought of Senator Rathe’s aggressive behavior against that poor servant has drained any sensual thought from my body like an open tap. I push open the heavy oak door into my bedchamber, searching immediately for Roan. His favorite forms lately have been furry and catlike, to ward off the biting chill. Although the floors are heated and a roaring fireplace comes to life with the flick of a switch, being in the highest tower of the palace puts me at a giant disadvantage for staying warm.
“Roan? Roanie?” I shout, looking in the sitting room, under the bed, in the closet—all of his favorite spots. He is nowhere to be found, and my heart accelerates. 
“No. No.” Maybe Senator Rathe swatted him somehow and he’s lying there, injured or even dead.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” I say, circling the bedchamber a second time. I’ve never not known if Roan was safe, because he’s always been near me.
I start to cry, and hear footsteps coming up the stairs. I turn to the giant clock on the wall and nearly scream. It’s 9:59—one minute before I get locked in.
“Please sir, please not yet,” I shout, running toward the door and opening it to the guard who approaches. I’ve lately begun saying goodnight to him through the door, and though he’s never responded, I hope there’s some compassion there. He can’t lock it until Roan comes back—I’ve never been away from my companion.
“Please!” I shout again, startling the guard.
“Sorry?” he says, looking extremely uncomfortable to actually see me in my boudoir. He’s a middle-aged man, with a kind face and deep-set lines. He looks like a family man, weathered by hard times and hard work.
“Um, mister…oh my, I apologize, I’ve never even gotten your name—I know this is a strange request but I, um—I’m waiting for someone. And you can’t lock the door until they arrive.”
The guard doesn’t say anything, obviously miffed by this exchange. He frowns, and I realize he must know that Erik never comes to visit me here. So it could only seem that I’m waiting for someone else.
“It’s not what you think,” I blurt out, trying to salvage his impression of me, “It’s a friend. That’s it; I am just waiting for a friend. And they should be coming back any minute. P-please.” My voice shudders at the end, the anxiety for Roan’s safety threatening to crack me open like a child’s cogbox.
“There she is!” comes another voice from behind the night guard, and for a moment I’m paralyzed with fear that it’s Senator Rathe, come to have his revenge.
A white blonde head comes up and around the sizeable guard, and it’s Erik, stumbling up the stairs and reeking of mead.
“The woman of the hour!” Erik shouts into my ear, a cloud of mead-breath causing me to step back. I stare between the two men, a range of emotions roller-coasting through me. “Lakeman, your services are no longer needed,” Erik slurs toward the guard, flipping his hand dismissively in the man’s direction.
Lakeman looks between the two of us, obviously perplexed, and focuses his eyes on me for a few moments longer. He scrunches his eyebrows in a fatherly way, seeming to want to know if I’m all right with this. My heart pangs for a moment, to have someone worry about me this way—my own father died when I was still an infant. I nod my head slightly, and start to half-drag Erik into my bedchambers as Lakeman turns and walks down the steps. Erik’s too drunk to even close the door, so I leave it slightly ajar, saying a little prayer than Roan will sneak through soon.
I wonder if Erik can see the outline of my heart through my dress as it pounds—I’ve been imagining this night for months and now that he’s here to stay the night, I barely know what to do with myself.
“Can I get you something? Would you like me to call down for some tea? Are you hungry maybe?”
Erik waves me off, mumbling incoherently and staggering into my bathroom. He stands in the doorway and slowly unbuttons his pants before proceeding to urinate into my bathtub.
When he’s finished Erik turns and approaches me, his silken undergarments bunching out of his pants.
“Aren’t you going to wash your hands?”
“What?” Erik replies, taking me by the shoulders, “What’s some ‘dirt’ to you? Always touching yourself and making me watch—”
He seizes the sleeves of my velvet smock and starts to yank them off violently. I hear the threads ripping and I try to wriggle out of his grasp, which only makes it worse.
“Ow!” I yelp as he continues to claw at the long sleeves, “You’re hurting me! I’ll take it off, all right? All right!?”
Erik lets go of me, his eyes bloodshot and wild. He looks like a crazed beast; one of those rabid poltergeists from the Forbidden that parents say come in the night if their children don’t obey their wishes.
“Hurry,” Erik slurs as he falls on my bed.
I walk into the closet, rubbing my arms where he grabbed me. I take my dress off gingerly and place it in the hamper for cleaning, inspecting the two red handprints already forming on either shoulder.
“Ow,” I mutter again, scanning the closet once more in the hopes that Roan might be tucked amongst the clothes, sleeping. I go over to the armoire and pull out the lingerie that I was supposed to wear for our wedding night. Technically I had worn it, waiting on the bed all night for Erik to arrive, which he never did. And never has, until tonight. Although his state of mind was not part of my fantasies of our married nights, I feel an overwhelming pressure to show him that I am desirable; a good wife to have. I slip on the white lace nightie and walk barefoot back into the bedroom. Erik has turned all the lights out, and the fireplace’s warm glow is soft and inviting. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
“Hello,” I say shyly, feeling his eyes on me like fingers and not sure that I like it. It will probably just take some getting used to; I remind myself to be glad that he’s capable of looking at me this way.
“Come here,” Erik says, his voice thick. I approach the four-poster and an errant thought of hiding in the bathroom until he passes out flashes through my mind. It’s not supposed to be like this…
Once I climb onto the bed, Erik throws me against the pillows, shoving his mouth onto mine. His tongue is slimy and foreign, with the horrible taste of mead, bitter and rancid, making me want to gag. Erik continues to kiss me, his tongue licking the outside of my mouth at times. I stifle a laugh, realizing that I’m probably no better at this sort of thing. Erik is twenty though, so I’ve assumed he might’ve had some practice with a few servant girls in his adolescence. Erik begins to suck at my neck, making loud slurping noises.
“Oh, um, that kind of hurts—” I mumble, and Erik murmurs something into my shoulder, where he’s biting the skin quite hard.
“Sorry, what?” I say, and Erik surfaces.
“I said, ‘shut up Ambrose.’ This is what you want, isn’t it? Me to come here and do my ‘husbandly duties’? Well guess what—I can’t. I can’t do that with you, even if I wanted to! And I don’t want to; you’re not the one I want, never will be!”
Each word is like a needle to my ears, and his hands shake with emotion.
There’s a loud slam off the side of the bed—it’s the dagger I keep hidden under my pillows, dislodged by the commotion.
The sound startles Erik and he stops, his eyes truly focusing on me for the first time.
“I…I’m sorry,” he stutters, getting up from the bed, holding a hand out on the post to steady himself. “I received some news tonight, bad news and I…”
Erik looks over at me and his eyes are glassy, like he’s near tears. I’ve never seen such a blatant show of emotions from my husband before. I’d almost feel bad for him if my neck and arms weren’t throbbing from his aggression.
“That doesn’t mean you should take it out on me.”
“I know that. I’m sorry. It’s just that she’s left me now, because of all this! This isn’t how I wanted my life to happen. Did you want your life to be like this?”
“Like what?”
“This!” Erik gestures to the two of us, the bedroom we stand in, and out toward the bay windows and the whole of Shinery.
I slowly slide off the bed and Erik backs away from me, looking guilty.
“Did I want to move here with barely a day’s notice and marry a man I’d never met? To a city I’d only heard of, surrounded by strangers who ignore me, you included? No, Erik. Can’t say I wanted any of this.” I walk to the bathroom and inspect my neck for marks. “But I did it because that’s what I’ve always done. Listen when I’m ordered. But I thought that maybe…you and I would be a team. That I would have someone to cherish and love me, finally.” The last part barely comes out as a whisper.
There’s no answer from the bedroom and I look to see that Erik is gone, the front door ajar, with a cruel draft coming in and rustling the drapes. I push it nearly closed, leaving a crack for Roan. I take the dagger and shove it back amongst my bedcovers before getting into the shower. Though nothing happened with my husband, I feel unclean. Broken. Rejected.
The hot water burns invitingly and I leave the lights off, curling up on the shower floor under the stream to watch the fireplace’s reflection dance on the bathroom mirror. Sobs rack through me, sadness because of my farce of a marriage, the cruelty against that poor servant boy, and for my courageous Roan--
“Lady?”
I sit up in the shower, blinking through the darkness. “Roanie?”
He flies over the top of the shower and changes mid-air into my favorite creature, a grey wolf. I cling to his coarse fur, crying as he nuzzles my neck and licks my face with his giant pink tongue.
“I’m so s-s-sorry for leaving you there,” I say into his neck, tufts of fur sticking to my lips. I rinse them off in the water and Roan starts to laugh as I continue to spit fur out of my mouth.
“Don’t even think of apologizing again,” Roan says, “Because I’m fine. My goal is always to keep you safe, and running from that disgusting man was exactly what you should have done. Now get cleaned up, because I have something to tell you.”
“Okay,” I say, standing up and rinsing the rest of his fur from my front.
“Lady?” Roan asks as I slide the door to let him leave.
“Hmm?”
“The door was open. It’s way past ten o’clock. Why didn’t the guard lock it?”
Roan shakes off the water from his fur as he stands there, spraying the walls and tub with droplets. I consider lying to my companion to spare him any guilt, drying myself with a fleece towel.
“It’s a long story,” I mutter, changing into pajamas and checking the door—it’s still unlocked from the outside so Lakeman hasn’t returned, and I can’t lock it from the inside.
“Shove that chair under the door handle,” Roan says from the bed, and I do as he instructs, though I doubt any more drunken intruders will make their way into my chambers tonight. I plan to sleep with my hand wrapped around the dagger, just in case.
“So where were you?” I ask when I’ve tucked myself under the comforter. “You weren’t stuck in Rathe’s ear that whole time?!”
“No, I wasn’t. But that ogre did knock me a good one, and I must’ve fallen into his lapel somehow. I woke up and was just about to leave when I heard a voice I recognized.” He stops and averts his yellow, wolfy eyes.
“Who’s voice?” I ask, and Roan still doesn’t answer. He doesn’t want to tell me.
“It was your uncle.”
“What? Uncle Harland’s here? But why hasn’t he come to see me…”
The pain is apparent in my voice; it stings when my favorite family member has come to Shinery and not even bothered to say hello.
“Maybe he just got here,” I continue, “and he’s going to surprise me for the Winter Solstice. That could be it, right? He knows I love surprises.”
Roan is quiet for another minute, which doesn’t make me feel any better.
“Well, maybe … but it sounded like he was leaving tonight.”
“Oh.”
The thought of the two men having a civil conversation—now that I know what a twisted man Senator Rathe seems to be—makes this night feel even stranger.
 “So what were they saying?”
“I’m not quite sure. Something about King Aero, and how Uncle Harland’s work is nearing completion. Senator Rathe seemed jealous, and your uncle asked if he was still experimenting. He said no.”
I think back to his conversation with Thomas tonight; that odd contraption he tried to use on the boy.
“So he lied.”
“I guess so.” Roan shrugs his wolf-shoulders and licks my cheek. “Then they started talking about something called ‘Exodus.’”
The word is foreign to me. “Exodus?”
“Apparently some group calling themselves Exodus has been staging rebellious acts in a few of Legalia’s cities the last few weeks. Senator Rathe said they caught a few of the denizens who were involved, but can’t seem to find any of the actual members.”
“But why would anyone do that? Legalia is meant to help everyone. Give them jobs, protect us all from the uncivilized places.” The words sound hollow to my ears, even as I say them.
“I guess the selection ceremony for your handmaidens is mainly ‘to quiet the denizens’ rumblings,’ in Senator Rathe’s words.”
I chew on a fingernail, lost in thought.
“So my uncle didn’t say anything about plans to see me?”
“No he didn’t. I’m sorry, Lady.” Roan changes into a massive snow leopard and his whiskers tickle my cheek. “Your turn now. Tell me why your door was still open tonight.”
I was hoping Roan forgot about that. “I don’t want to. You’ll feel bad.”
“Now I really need to know.”
“Fine. Erik came to my chambers tonight. He was drunk and he started kissing me, but it hurt—”
“He hurt you?” Roan starts to rise from the bed and I grab his scruff.
“Stop! Stop. What are you going to do about it, anyway? He’ll barely feel a thing.”
He turns his leopard face to me, fangs bared. “I can turn into an elephant and sit on him! He’s bound to feel that!”
I can’t help but giggle, which enrages my companion even more.
“Roanie, calm down. It’s all right. He stopped after a minute and apologized. Then he started going on about some other woman, and how she no longer wants him or something, and asked me if I wanted any of this.”
Roan comes back and curls up next to me. “Another woman?”
“Apparently.” My voice is tinged with sadness.
“And you promise he didn’t hurt you?”
I shake my head. “Not physically, at least.” My chin starts to tremble and the prickling of tears returns to my eyes and nose.
“Oh Lady,” Roan says, nuzzling me. I wrap my arms around him and we settle further into the blankets.
“I don’t know what to do about any of this. I’m so confused.” My head feels like its whirring like the wheels inside a Lineator. 
 “Go to sleep,” Roan says, noticing how my eyes droop with exhaustion. “We’ll figure all of this out in the morning.”
“We will?”
“I have no idea. But it seemed like the right thing to say.”
Just as Roan says this I hear the footsteps of the night guard returning, following by the loud click of his key in the lock. I don’t know if Erik told Lakeman to return, but the guard seems to wait a moment, checking to hear whether I’m all right, before going back down down the stairs.
                                                                                             ***
An hour passes and I am still awake, my arms and neck aching slightly from Erik’s roughness. Roan sleeps next to me, his stomach rises and falling, dreaming his leopard dreams, whatever they may be. Never have I felt so confused about the men in my life than in the past day—Erik, Senator Rathe, my uncle—leaders meant to protect those in their care. Yet I can’t shake this feeling that I’ve been lied to; never questioning before whether Legalia’s motives were in my best interests. That stops tonight.
“No more,” I whisper out loud to solidify my decision, curling my hand around the dagger under my pillow, a gift from a man who might be involved in Legalia’s secret experiments. An uncle I barely even know.