tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86717351074715737922024-03-13T13:09:42.714-07:00Toad's CornerExplore worlds of fantasy and horror with Toadnerinedormanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12885964421325041778noreply@blogger.comBlogger51125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671735107471573792.post-57411811606939858822011-07-31T00:42:00.000-07:002011-07-31T00:53:56.749-07:00Watcher's Web, Chapter 1 -- Patty Jansen<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vyU0GZqZriU/TjUKAr2YvqI/AAAAAAAAATM/00u5XBc9y24/s1600/Watchers_Web_medium.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 222px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vyU0GZqZriU/TjUKAr2YvqI/AAAAAAAAATM/00u5XBc9y24/s320/Watchers_Web_medium.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635421515611160226" /></a><br /><div><b>Today Toad welcomes Patty Jansen to the House of Toad, who shares the first chapter of <i>Watcher's Web</i> with us today. Thank you Patty!</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Wherever Jessica went, people watched her. </div><div><br /></div><div>Like those two teenage boys leaning on the fence, akubra hats pulled down to shade their eyes. One of them dangled a cigarette in careless fingers, the other swigged beer from a stubby.</div><div><br /></div><div>Neither was watching her now, but she hadn't missed their gawking, nor their low voices barely elevated over the noise of bellowing cattle, shouts and truck engines.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Wow! See that really tall one?</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Bloody hell, yeah. </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>How'd you reckon she kisses a guy? On her knees?</i></div><div><br /></div><div>They laughed, and when she came closer, faced the yard to watch the cattle as if they had said nothing. </div><div><br /></div><div>Jessica walked past them to the gate, glaring at their straw-covered backs. <i>Well, I bloody heard you</i>. She was used to it, anyway.</div><div><br /></div><div>It hadn't been the worst thing people said about her. They hadn't said the words ugly, or creepy, or <i>freak</i>, but she had become used to hearing those words, too. </div><div><br /></div><div>They went into a little hard spot inside her where she scrunched up the hurt, forgot it, and remembered that she might look like a freak, but when she helped John Braithwaite and his mates from the Rivervale Stud Farm at a cattle show and Angus went into one of his fits, they still needed her to get him into the truck without spooking him. No one else could do that. No one knew how she did it, and no one should ever know. Because no one was crazy enough to get into a pen with a stroppy bull, right?</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Well, we'll see about that.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>She grasped the top of the gate with both hands, stepped onto the middle bar and swung her foot over. Jumped. Landed in sun-baked mud churned with cloven hoof prints, and cow pats.</div><div>At least when Angus looked at her, he didn't hide his dislike. A beady eye rolled, a gust of hay-scented air blew from his nostrils. He stiffened, all fifteen hundred-odd kilograms of Brahman bull-flesh of him. Then lowered his head, horns poised.</div><div><br /></div><div>Someone yelled, 'Watch it!'</div><div><br /></div><div>No, he wasn't going to charge. He'd charge at the boys, he'd even charge at his well-heeled owner, but never at her. Call her arrogant, but she knew that, and how she knew it would remain a secret, too, thank you very much.</div><div><br /></div><div>She stopped a few paces inside the pen and crossed her arms over her chest. Well, bugger that. She had a bloody audience. About twenty people, mostly men, sitting on the fence, with cynical hey-look-at-this-mate expressions plastered on their faces.</div><div><br /></div><div>Beef cattle farmers, their lackeys and other hangers-on, those clowns who had partied in the pavilion last night, those who owned the bulls that had occupied the pens next to Angus'. All their animals were already in the trucks, ready to be taken home from the Pymberton show. None of them with a 'best of show' ribbon, like Angus, and none with a diva mentality.</div><div><br /></div><div>It looked like the boys had been trying to get Angus to move for a while. The gate on the opposite side of the pen was open, the ramp in place. Brendan held the door to the truck, ready to slam it. Everything about his expression said, <i>rather you than me</i>. The coward.</div><div><br /></div><div>'Come on, Angus, in you go.'</div><div><br /></div><div>Men sniggered, including the two teenage boys. The one with the cigarette flicked ash into the pen and said something about a whip.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now who was more stupid? Them or the bull? You did not frighten such a prize animal if you could help it. He might bolt and injure himself. An unsightly gash would take him off the show circuit for months. Sheesh! </div><div><br /></div><div>Jessica reached through the fence into the bucket she had dumped there. Her hand came away black and sticky with molasses. Angus loved it.</div><div><br /></div><div>She inched closer, holding out her hand <i>Come on, look me in the eye, if you dare</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>Angus blew out another snort, as if he knew what was coming. Backed into the fence. Met her eyes.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jessica exhaled. Her breath seeped from her in tendrils of sparkle-filled mist, which sought out Angus' fur and crept over his grey-mottled back, a bit like glitter-glue, but alive. </div><div><br /></div><div>Jessica lunged for the rope that dangled from Angus' collar. She couldn't quite reach it, and while Angus backed further away from her, scraping along the fence, he planted his hoof on the end of the rope, squashing it neatly in a fresh pile of dung. Just her luck.</div><div><br /></div><div>A bit closer.</div><div><br /></div><div>She pulled the mist tighter around him, so his coat sparkled and glittered with lights. His outline became fuzzy. She didn't know what to call it, and had learned not to talk about it to anyone. It wasn't that she could communicate with him, but she could tell him what to do. Sort of. In a weird way she couldn't explain in words. The mist soaked up emotions, as far as bulls have emotions, and dampened them, and she could override them with her own. If it worked.</div><div><br /></div><div>Her audience had stopped talking. Anyone who watched always did that, even though they couldn't see the mist and didn't realise it influenced them. That was just as well, because she was making an idiot of herself. Angus was being bloody stubborn, his head still lowered, trampling the rope further into the shit. Something must have spooked him badly. Maybe it was the yapping from the dog pavilion. Well, she and Angus seemed to have something in common--she didn't like lap dogs either.</div><div><br /></div><div>But he was going to get into that bloody truck, preferably before she missed her flight back to Sydney. All kinds of hell would break loose if she wasn't at the school basketball team meeting that night. </div><div><br /></div><div>Jessica focused on Angus' beady eye and let out another deep breath. More sparkling vapour flowed. Pinpricks of light soaked into Angus' mottled fur. Angus relaxed, stuck out his head to nuzzle her molasses-covered hand. </div><div><br /></div><div>But then. . .</div><div><br /></div><div>The threads solidified and the mist spun into tightly-coiled cords, which wove into a formation like a spider's web. </div><div><br /></div><div>What the hell . . .?</div><div><br /></div><div>She froze, staring at the writhing construction. It looked like someone had cast a living net over the bull, made of sparkling mist that yanked and stretched of its own volition, or . . . as if something pulled at the other end. There were shadows in a nebulous space over Angus' back, and male voices, just outside the edge of hearing. The web vibrated and strained.</div><div>A tug of war between herself and . . . Who was pulling the other end?</div><div><br /></div><div>In her panic, she broke loose from the construction. The shadows at the other end of the web faded. The strands dissolved into mist once more.</div><div><br /></div><div>A wet nose touched her palm and Angus' rasping tongue curled around her wrist. The molasses was clean licked-off, but he probably liked the salt of her sweat, because her arms glistened with it. She hoped no one noticed. </div><div><br /></div><div>Her legs still trembling, Jessica pulled the rope and inched towards the gate. Angus followed her meekly, up the ramp, into the truck, where one of the boys was ready to tie him up. </div><div>The onlookers applauded.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jessica leaned against the truck, forcing herself to grin at her audience. </div><div><br /></div><div>'Can anyone give me a lift to the airport?'</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">* * * *</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>About the author:</i></b></div><div><br /></div><div>Patty Jansen is a writer of primarily hard science fiction, space opera and daft fantasy. She is a winner in the Writers of the Future contest, and her story <i>This Peaceful State of War</i> has been published in their 27th anthology. Patty has also published stories in the Universe Annex of the Grantville Gazette and Redstone SF, and local anthologies and magazines, such as <i>Dead Red Heart</i>, <i>Tales for Canterbury</i>, and <i>Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine</i>. Patty blogs at <a href="http://pattyjansen.wordpress.com/">http://pattyjansen.wordpress.com/</a>, about science, writing and about why elephants aren’t big enough. You can also sample some of Patty’s fiction at Smashwords (<a href="http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/pattyjansen">http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/pattyjansen</a> ) or Amazon (<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Patty-Jansen/e/B004MKHXT0/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1">http://www.amazon.com/Patty-Jansen/e/B004MKHXT0/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1</a> ).</div><div>Watcher’s Web is available on:</div><div><br /></div><div>Amazon: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004YDN934">http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004YDN934</a></div><div><br /></div><div>Smashwords: <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/56319">http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/56319</a></div><div><br /></div><div>There are some reviews on goodreads: <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/11253301-watcher-s-web">http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/11253301-watcher-s-web</a></div><div><br /></div>nerinedormanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12885964421325041778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671735107471573792.post-29792744751283258962011-07-24T10:42:00.000-07:002011-07-24T10:59:52.771-07:00Meet Noor Jahangir<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vq240QJ5E-Q/TixdGtvalUI/AAAAAAAAAS8/BxQHb6LEoqM/s1600/image001.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 171px; height: 256px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vq240QJ5E-Q/TixdGtvalUI/AAAAAAAAAS8/BxQHb6LEoqM/s320/image001.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632979603872716098" /></a><br /><div><i><b>Today I welcome an old friend of mine, Noor Jahangir, to share a little about his novel, The Changeling King, which was recently released. Welcome, Noor, and thank you for stopping by.</b></i></div><div><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div><b><i>Give us a little background with regard to </i>The Changeling King<i>. What's the story about? </i></b></div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div> </div><div>The story follows the intersecting adventures of six teenagers, spanning both time and space. The book starts with Vasch and his war-band of trolls arriving on Earth through a magical gateway. Vasch’s primary mission is to kill a boy called Adam Phelps, because of who the boy will become one day. The gateway was opened on the Earth side by a demon, but the backwash of the energy unleashed travels along the lay-lines and opens a second gateway about twenty miles away. The second gateway is buried beneath the mud at the bottom of a lake. Nathan Celic, his brother Logan and their girlfriends, Salina Phelps and Katrina Standbridge, are out swimming in the lake and get sucked through. They wake up to find themselves prisoners of an alien race called the Alvor, on a world called Eridani.</div><div><br /></div><div>Salina’s kid brother, Adam, witnesses the whole event from the lakeshore. Karen Rainbow, the detective investigating the case doesn’t believe Adam’s version of events, but when a series of gruesome killings begin, she knows there is a connection between the kids disappearing and the murders. She takes Adam into protective custody and flees across the moors with Vasch and his warband in pursuit.</div><div><br /></div><div>The sixth teenager is Sultan, a Mughal prince born several hundred years before Adam and the others. He has been trained in statecraft, martial arts and Sufi mysticism. His father’s small kingdom is caught between the machinations of the East India Company and the Mughal Emperor, Akbar. Sultan witnesses his father’s assassination and flees into the jungle. With the hunters closing in on him, he desperately turns to his mystic skills and accidentally transports himself across the cosmos and through time to Eridani; only to be captured by a troll.</div><div><br /></div><div>Bringing all these story arcs together is the Trollking, a changeling child born amongst the alvor and abandoned in accordance with their traditions. The child is raised by trolls and quickly rises to dominate them, before betrayal sees him return to his place of birth in chains. The changeling discovers his heritage and escapes the city with the aid of a goblin shaman, only to return years later at the head of a horde of trolls and goblins. Now the changeling has reined over Northern Kryllon for a century. His demon allies have warned him that his death will come at the hands of a human child from Earth. So the Trollking sends his most trusted warrior, Vasch, to eliminate the threat. Tortured to the point of madness, Sultan languishes in the Trollking’s prison. And the only gateway back to Earth is the Trollking’s throne room.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><i><b>Who are some of your literary influences and what aspects of their writing speak to you? </b></i></div><div><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div> </div><div>I think the earliest literary influence, indeed the one that first made me aspire to write was CS Lewis’s <i>The Lion, the Witch and Wardrobe</i>, which obviously comes through in the whole crossover thing. But I doubt anyone can write in the fantasy genre without also being influenced by JRR Tolkien’s <i>The Lord of the Rings</i>. I like to think that I’ve read quiet widely in the fantasy genre and when I wrote the original draft of <i>The Changeling King</i> I was reading David Gemmell, Raymond E Fiest and David Eddings. </div><div><br /></div><div>David Gemmell’s characterisation, his ability to make men with the quality of legend in them come across as flawed humans is something I wanted to emulate. I hope I’ve succeeded in making my characters think, speak and behave in a manner that real people in similar situations would, rather than a bunch of cardboard cut-outs or caricatures of real people. I also love Neil Gaiman’s and Orson Scott Card’s work. Reading their writing is like eating high quality chocolate truffles. I’ve also enjoyed reading George RR Martin, James Barclay, Brent Weeks , Scott Lynch and a few months ago began the Robert Jordan marathon, <i>The Wheel of Time</i>. Non-fantasy influences include Mary Shelley’s <i>Frankenstein</i>, which continues to influence me and Sidney Sheldon’s sharp sentences and break-neck pacing.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><i><b>Who is your all-time favourite fantasy character and why does he/she appeal to you? </b></i></div><div><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div> </div><div>I’ve got a few favourites, but it’s a throw up between Aragorn from LOTR and Tenaka Khan from David Gemmell’s <i>The King Beyond the Gate</i>. Both of them are lethal with a sword in their hands, but have an inherent nobility and strength of character. Both are also quite tragic figures. The former because he is the heir to a lost legacy and in love with a woman doomed to outlive him, and the latter, because he is caught between two cultures and is forced to choose one over the other. Other favourite characters include Lady Mara of the Acoma from Raymond Feist’s and Janny Wurt’s <i>Empire</i> books, Durzo Blint from Brent Week’s <i>Nightangel</i> trilogy and David Gemmell’s <i>Druss the Legend</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><b><i>What are some of themes prevalent in </i>The Changeling King<i>? </i></b></div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div> </div><div>There are two major themes laced through the whole book. The first is the familiar seen as the other, by viewing our world through Vasch’s eyes, and the other made familiar, through Nathan and the others adjusting to Eridani. The second theme is the longing for home. I wrote the first draft whilst I was at an Islamic boarding school, constantly homesick, and since the age of 11 have never really returned to live at my parent’s home again. I guess that’s why all my characters are homesick too. Vasch wants to go back to Eridani; Sultan wants to go back to Azamabad; Nathan, Logan, Salina and Katrina want to go back to Earth; Adam wants to go back to his mum; and even the Trollking has made his city of birth his capital. There are other themes too, like the absent father and mysticism, that readers will have to figure out for themselves.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><b><i>Which character in </i>The Changeling King<i> is closest to your heart, and why? </i></b></div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div> </div><div>Argh! That’s like asking me which of my kids I love the most! I like most of them, but if I have to choose . . . When I started writing <i>The Changeling King</i> originally, it was Nathan, because he most embodied me at that age. But now, it’s a throw-up between Vasch, because despite being a bit of a monster, he’s a good guy trying to make sense of the world, and Sultan, because he has a sense of duty that forces him to do the right thing, even if he wants to do the opposite.</div><div><br /></div><div>Essentially, they both have a lot to learn about life and hopefully, over the next few books in the <i>Trollking Saga</i>, they will work it out enough to be happy with who they are.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><i><b>How did you pull together the ideas for the novel? Was it a gradual realisation for the story or a sudden burst of creative inspiration that *this* was the story you were going to tell? </b></i></div><div><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div> </div><div>It started with one idea, with Nathan, Logan, Salina and Katrina playing a game that malfunctions and sends them to Eridani (<i>Tron</i> anyone?). Luckily, several rewrites of the book have created a more unique event to get them to the other world. The rest of the story came through unplanned and unstructured, like a fever that I had to get out of my head by writing my fingers raw. But then a decade of re-imagining and learning my craft has refined and built the story up to what it is today. </div><div><br /></div><div>Some of the story arcs and characters, e.g. Karen, Sultan and Vasch, were born in the later rewrites. Even the Trollking’s back-story was a late edition. As for whether this was the book I ‘had’ to write, well, my brother’s recently commented that now that I had that gorilla off my back, I could start writing something decent. </div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><b><i>Now that </i>The Changeling King<i> is complete and available, do you have anything else in the pipelines? And can you share a little about the story?</i></b></div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div> </div><div>I have a few projects running simultaneously, including a non-fantasy YA series and a grown-up fantasy novel. But the most relevant one I suppose is the sequel to <i>The Changeling King</i>, currently titled <i>The Renegade Prince</i>. It’s difficult to say much without ruining the ending of <i>The Changeling King</i>. What I can say is that whilst the original was based predominately on Kryllon, the second book will explore the world of Eridani a lot more. There will be two strong female point-of-view characters and the Earth-side story will also continue. A host of new characters will be joining the cast and the main villain will be the son of the Trollking.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><i><b>Where can people buy your books or follow your updates?</b></i></div><div><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div> </div><div><i>The Changeling King</i> is available to purchase from the Kindle store and from Smashwords: <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/66828">http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/66828</a>. The book is currently available at a discounted rate through the Smashwords Summer/Winter sale. You can also download two other short ebooks for free; <i>Trial by Fire</i> and <i>The Dvargar of Amundborg</i>. You can ‘Like’ me on my Facebook page <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Noor-A-Jahangir">http://www.facebook.com/pages/Noor-A-Jahangir</a>, my author’s page on Goodreads <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4951592.Noor_A_Jahangir">http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4951592.Noor_A_Jahangir</a>, follow me on Twitter @noorjahangir, or follow my blog at <a href="http://noorajahangir.wordpress.com/">http://noorajahangir.wordpress.com</a> and visit my website <a href="http://www.trollking.co.uk/">http://www.trollking.co.uk</a>.</div><div><br /></div>nerinedormanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12885964421325041778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671735107471573792.post-44241893658681524512011-07-17T02:17:00.000-07:002011-07-17T02:49:17.555-07:00Review: The Caretakers<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pJZJJUOaAb4/TiKwELooBGI/AAAAAAAAASk/ujqqvlPl2wM/s1600/ctwpfullbook.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pJZJJUOaAb4/TiKwELooBGI/AAAAAAAAASk/ujqqvlPl2wM/s320/ctwpfullbook.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630256070055691362" /></a><br /><div><b>Title: </b><i>The Caretakers</i></div><div><b>Author:</b> Adrian Chamberlin</div><div><b>Publisher: </b>Dark Continents Publishing</div><div>Buy link: <a href="http://darkcontinents.com/2011/04/28/the-caretakers/">http://darkcontinents.com/2011/04/28/the-caretakers/</a> (paperback)</div><div><a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Caretakers-ebook/dp/B004XTX01A/ref=sr_1_1_title_1_ke?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1309682671&sr=1-1">http://www.amazon.com/The-Caretakers-ebook/dp/B004XTX01A/ref=sr_1_1_title_1_ke?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1309682671&sr=1-1</a> (Kindle edition)</div><div><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-caretakers-adrian-chamberlin/1031019015#">http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-caretakers-adrian-chamberlin/1031019015#</a> (Barnes and Noble)</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Blurb:</b> Hear the screams. Feel the pain. Face the evil.</div><div><br /></div><div>As a Cambridge College celebrates a midwinter feast, four uninvited strangers uncover a devastating secret. A secret that must never be revealed… for the love of humanity.</div><div><br /></div><div>Andy Hughes: a man with a dark past and an even darker future. His search for a missing student will lead him to a confrontation with an evil beyond human imagining…</div><div><br /></div><div>Rob Benson: a van driver who discovers a dead wild boar in the back of his Transit. A boar that just won’t stay dead…</div><div><br /></div><div>Jennifer Callaby: Andy’s estranged girlfriend, who discovers the shocking truth of The Caretakers — and the sacred task that they perform…</div><div><br /></div><div>Jason Franklin: a prisoner who holds the key to the fates of them all, and who may well be their only salvation — if he doesn’t destroy them first…</div><div><br /></div><div>A disturbing thriller that questions the nature of evil and the price to be paid for the continued survival of the human race – a price that, for some, is too great to pay…</div><div><br /></div><div><i>The Caretakers</i>… a Master’s Degree in terror.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Review: </b><i>The Caretakers</i> plunges readers into a visceral world of horror situated in the fictional college of All Souls in Cambridge. Adrian Chamberlin knows his stuff with regard offering a well-realised setting. Those who’ve read his short story, <i>The Bodymen</i>, in Dark Continents’ <i>The Spectrum Collection</i>, will pick up on certain themes involving delivery truck drivers, forklifts and dead beasts. But any more said on that and it will ruin the nasty surprise. <i>The Caretakers</i> offers a Cambridge you’ve never seen before and, thankfully, never will. All Souls College is suitably gloomy, with a dark history hidden behind the clunch stone walls. </div><div><br /></div><div>Overall, Chamberlin’s prose is tight, highly descriptive and fast-paced. There were times when I felt he could have gone for a tighter third-person point of view, when viewpoint characters withheld key information as a method to build tension, but the fast pace and incipient sense of horror carried the story through. If gore isn’t your thing, watch out for the finger- and eye-violence. Chamberlin delights in a bit of well-aimed splatter, which had me wriggling in horrified delight.</div><div><br /></div><div>The main characters, Andy and Rob, are fully developed and, although not likeable, at least admirable. Both go through hell, in some cases almost literally, in an attempt to overcome the evil they have inadvertently been tangled in. At times I felt Chamberlin could have cut back a little on the amount of secondary viewpoint characters he employed, but overall he’s handled the large support cast well with a high degree of authenticity in such a way that you can’t help but engage with them. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>The Caretakers</i> combines Lovecraftian themes with the Green Man myth in a reversal of female energies being active/destructive and male energies passive/fertile. The cosmic entity Andraste, is suitably frightening, especially with how she demands that her victims “sing” for her in a novel form of torture that will stay with me for a long, long while. Themes of death/rebirth abound, often in rather grisly situations. </div><div><br /></div><div>As with all the offerings I’ve encountered from Dark Continents Publishing, <i>The Caretakers</i> is a return to horror in the classic sense. If you’re looking for a gritty, bloody and thought-provoking horror offering then this title will remain in your mind long after you’ve turned the last page. This is a strong first offering for a novel-length work and it can only get more dark and terrifying from here.</div>nerinedormanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12885964421325041778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671735107471573792.post-57345945409923026182011-07-10T02:37:00.000-07:002011-07-10T02:47:28.498-07:00Bloody Parchment horror anthology<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6jNy_8DDVqk/Thl0_7Xx4GI/AAAAAAAAASM/7kLdsPRt7s4/s1600/BloodyParchment%2Bvol1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 235px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6jNy_8DDVqk/Thl0_7Xx4GI/AAAAAAAAASM/7kLdsPRt7s4/s320/BloodyParchment%2Bvol1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5627657850994155618" /></a><br />We interrupt the usual Toad's Corner schedule with news hot off the virtual press about the SA HorrorFest Bloody Parchment anthology volume one, which was released this past week. This marks the fruits of the first short story competition hosted by the SA HorrorFest in conjunction with its literary component, Bloody Parchment, which began life as a horror reading event each year at the Book Lounge in Cape Town. <div><br /></div><div>While many of the contributors to the anthology are South African, the competition is open to any writer of horror fiction around the world, the winner receiving free edits for his or her novel- or novella-length work. A selection of the top stories will appear in the next anthology, when it is released. </div><div><br /></div><div>Download your free copy of Bloody Parchment, volume one <a href="http://www.scribd.com/doc/59520067/Bloody-Parchment-Volume-One">here</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>If you are a writer of short horror fiction (entries open to stories of up to 3 500 words, as well as flash and drabbles), you are welcome to check out our <a href="http://bloodyparchment.blogspot.com/2011/07/bloody-parchment-anthology-volume-1.html">submission guidelines</a>. The closing date is October 31, 2011, so you have ample time to get cracking with those scary tales. </div><div><br /></div><div>Feel free to mail me at nerinedorman (at) gmail (dot) com if you have any queries. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>nerinedormanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12885964421325041778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671735107471573792.post-41103090670876925402011-07-03T00:52:00.000-07:002011-07-03T00:59:08.997-07:00Daniel Rambin, vampire sidekick<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vz3-MSB-8_8/ThAgKtgs_yI/AAAAAAAAARo/6jVUfV57_NI/s1600/11274865.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vz3-MSB-8_8/ThAgKtgs_yI/AAAAAAAAARo/6jVUfV57_NI/s320/11274865.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625031302973292322" /></a><b><i>Today I welcome Sonya Clark to Toad's Corner. She's blogging about one of her characters in the ass-kicking urban fantasy novel, </i>Mojo Queen<i>. Welcome Sonya, and thank you for taking some time out to chat with us.</i></b><br /><div><br /></div><div>Early on in the writing of <i>Mojo Queen</i> I knew main character Roxie Mathis needed a best friend. In a moment of mad whimsy a thought occurred to me: vampire sidekick. Gasp! you say, and what kind of sacrilege is this?! Who makes a vampire the sidekick instead of the hero? </div><div><br /></div><div>Someone fed up with all the brooding, romantic, jailbait-obsessed, oh-so-serious vamps filling up paranormal fiction, that’s who. </div><div><br /></div><div>Thus was born Daniel Rambin. Although he does hit a few of the standard vamp qualifiers – he’s hot, he’s sexy, he’s dead – he’s not quite a typical vampire either. </div><div><br /></div><div>The sensibility and world I was creating with Mojo Queen didn’t call for vampire politics or any of the usual types of bloodsucking plots, especially since Daniel is a sidekick. He enjoys tagging along with Roxie on her paranormal investigations, and occasionally he likes to blog about the jobs. He is a beverage connoisseur as might be expected but he’s also a foodie, even though he can’t eat. He likes to take Roxie out to eat and he’s inordinately fond of the Food Network. </div><div><br /></div><div>Almost right away I realized I had an issue that needed to be dealt with: I had to get rid of any possibility of a romantic relationship between Daniel and Roxie. Roxie would get a love interest, sure, but I didn’t want it to be her best friend and I didn’t want to go down the well-trod path of the love triangle. The perfect solution presented itself. Daniel would be Roxie’s ancestor and they would tell people they were cousins. </div><div><br /></div><div>Since Daniel was the sidekick he had to have some wacky character traits, the best one of all being his love for belting out classic country songs at the top of his off-key voice. Blame that one on too many over-heated montages set to twee emo or Hot Topic goth, with the vampire walking through the night all brooding and, um, brooding. My vision of Daniel included him singing Conway Twitty in a karaoke bar, flashing a smile at Roxie that bared just a hint of fang. Most of all I wanted Daniel to be a fun character, not like a lot of other vampires.</div><div><br /></div><div>But he is still a vampire. There came a point in <i>Mojo Queen</i> when I knew that needed to be shown and it chilled me to write the scene. Suddenly I began to see Daniel in a new light. I stopped thinking of him as a wacky sidekick, a character I made up just for a laugh. The more I thought about him the more I wondered about that seemingly goofy choice to make him a fan of classic country. I strongly associate country music with family. </div><div><br /></div><div>Roxie’s “living” family want nothing to do with her so Daniel is all she’s got. Family are supposed to be the people you can trust the most, and Daniel is that to her. But he – like family – is also the one who could hurt her the worst. There’s a lot of cheese in classic country, but when you look below the surface there’s a lot of darkness too. A lot of murder ballads hidden under the beer soaked cheatin’ songs. Without even trying, I had found the perfect music to correspond to Daniel.</div><div><br /></div><div>That darkness is part of what brings Roxie and Daniel together. They share a deep bond in their love of the night, the ease they both feel in the spirit-filled dark. Daniel doesn’t have to hide his fangs and Roxie doesn’t have to hide the fact that she can see auras and spectral energy. They are open with each other but Daniel still hasn’t told Roxie everything about his past. Sometimes when he grabs hold of my imagination and whispers possibilities to me, I think about Daniel’s history. His life as a man, his transition to vampire, and what led him to seek out any descendents. Daniel may not be the protagonist or the love interest of Mojo Queen but he is deeply important to Roxie. As I’ve explored his character more he’s become deeply important to me, too. He’s one of my favorite characters I’ve created so far.</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, one more thing to tell you about Daniel: Roxie calls him “bubba.” But she is the only one allowed to do that. Anybody else tries it and they might get to see his fangs - without a smile.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mojo Queen is available from <a href="http://www.lyricalpress.com">Lyrical Press</a>. Learn more about the author at <a href="http://www.sonyaclark.net">www.sonyaclark.net</a> (including free reads featuring Roxie and Daniel.)</div>nerinedormanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12885964421325041778noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671735107471573792.post-78941968648997526312011-06-26T02:05:00.000-07:002011-06-26T02:14:23.582-07:00Link love: Newgate Jig by DJ CockburnToday I'm giving a bit of link love to one of my favourite short story authors, DJ Cockburn, whose <i>Newgate Jig</i> I read a while back. But in general, Lacuna, the online journal of historical fiction, is all-round a great place for quality literature. <div><br /></div><div>Cockburn's <i>Newgate Jig</i> is another installment following the exploits of his daring sword master, Le Méridien, and a very visceral vision of the London of the past. In my mind I've encountered few authors who are able to give their historical fiction such a ring of authenticity. Hats off to Cockburn. In my mind he's one of the best and I know I'm always in for an adventure of sorts when he's at the helm.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, without further ado, here's the link: <a href="http://lacunajournal.blogspot.com/2011/04/newgate-jig.html">http://lacunajournal.blogspot.com/2011/04/newgate-jig.html</a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">* * * *</div><div><br /></div><div>Toad is constantly on the look-out for fresh authors to feature on her page. If you write fantasy, science fiction or horror, please drop Toad's PA a mail at nerinedorman@gmail.com and remember to put "Toad's Corner" in the subject line.</div>nerinedormanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12885964421325041778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671735107471573792.post-82219160475075498692011-06-19T05:35:00.000-07:002011-06-19T06:00:05.063-07:00Excerpt: Still Life by DC Petterson<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1WExSNXjRXk/Tf3yruW-JoI/AAAAAAAAANY/XbILFnHXTq4/s1600/Still_Life_by_DC_Petterson.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 221px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1WExSNXjRXk/Tf3yruW-JoI/AAAAAAAAANY/XbILFnHXTq4/s320/Still_Life_by_DC_Petterson.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5619914743020922498" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Chapter One</div><div style="text-align: center;">A Plea</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >From: <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>DYLAN@uchi.edu</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Date:<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Wednesday, Sept 28 08:00:00.0000 AM</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >To: <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>conner@chicagopolice.gov</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Subject:<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>MY MURDER!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Dear Detective Conner,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Someone is trying to kill me! I’m scared, and I’m getting desperate. I’m in the philosophy department at the University of Chicago. Someone in the administration says I’m not worth my upkeep. Please, Detective Conner, I beg you to take this seriously. I need your help. Talk to Nohl Dhen, a graduate student in psychology. She can explain everything. There isn’t much time, and I’m very afraid. Please hurry!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >- Dylan</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Chapter Two</div><div style="text-align: center;"> A Hoax?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Maxwell Conner didn’t let himself fidget as he waited for the professor to read the printed email for the third time. The man looked to have maybe twice Max’s twenty-nine years, and probably an extra hundred pounds, though he stood at least a full head shorter than Max’s own muscular six foot three. Still, he had an air of imposing presence, which he used at the moment simply to make Max wait.</div><div><br /></div><div>At least it gave Max a chance to study him. It was, after all, Max’s job to be observant. Frank Glade gave the impression of being a comfortable man, one who certainly liked his pleasures—which, from the look of it, ran mostly to an excess of his favorite foods. Even so, his pressed suit contrasted with Max’s rumpled one, his Spartan and uncluttered desk indicated a man of some fastidiousness. The professor’s hair showed quite a lot of gray sprinkled among the remaining strands of deep brown. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>I’ll age much more respectably</i>, Max promised himself. His thoughts wandered to his own dad, about Glade’s age, whose hair still was a deep red. Max had inherited the hair color; he’d be unlikely to gray like Glade, and his job as a police detective would be sure to help keep him in far better shape. Much more respectably.</div><div><br /></div><div>The professor finally looked up and harrumphed. Max guessed Glade had decided the words on the page weren’t likely to differ upon the fourth or fifth reading. </div><div><br /></div><div>Glade tossed the paper onto his desk. “Detective Conner,” he said. “I’m afraid you’re the victim of a practical joke.”</div><div><br /></div><div>“My lieutenant had the same reaction,” Max acknowledged. “But you understand, we had to check it out. Parents don’t like hearing their kids are being threatened by the college faculty.”</div><div>Professor Glade leaned forward, motioned Max to bend close as if about to reveal a secret, and tapped the printed email with his forefinger. “It says ‘the administration,’ not ‘the faculty,’” Glade said. “Probably meant ‘the board.’ Damn bureaucrats are murder on us all.” And he laughed in a mirthless sort of way, a laugh that struck Max as rather uncaring, given the circumstances.</div><div><br /></div><div>Max raised his eyebrows and did his best to be patient. “I’m afraid I still don’t get the joke.”</div><div>“Of course you don’t,” Glade snorted, and it seemed that his odd laugh tried to break out again.</div><div><br /></div><div>“Of course not!” He stabbed his finger once more at the email hardcopy. “Nohl Dhen is one of my grad students. She’s got a project with a few of her friends from other departments. I just heard their grant money is running out, and won’t be renewed next quarter. They must have gotten wind, and thought they could make some kind of point.” He shook his head, still smiling, and heaved himself out of his chair. He trundled around the desk. “Come with me, Detective. I’ll introduce you to her.” </div><div><br /></div><div>They walked down the hall and found a classroom on the far end. Glade opened the door, and Max heard a young voice, a woman’s voice. It reminded Max somehow of his childhood—a breath of moonlight on a misty evening in the woods—an image quite out of keeping with the technological jargon the voice recited. “Decision-Yielding Large-scale Autonomous Network,” she said. “DYLAN. My team and I designed and built him—” </div><div><br /></div><div>“Detective,” Glade interrupted. “This is Nohl Dhen. Miss Dhen, you’ll have to start back at the beginning.” </div><div><br /></div><div>The young woman looked up at them, and Max’s awareness suddenly held nothing but her eyes. Those eyes drank up the fluorescent light, yet seemed to have a deep glow of their own, black and smoldering coals nestled above Himalayan cheekbones. He’d seen eyes like that before, somewhere, but the memory eluded him, ran from him as he reached for it. Lost for a moment, his breath caught, his throat constricted. He finally blinked and the spell passed.</div><div><br /></div><div>A youthful face of darkened bronze framed those eyes, a small nose above heart-shaped lips, the whole surrounded by a fall of hair like shimmering silk. She wore an oversized Cubs sweatshirt and a pair of baggy blue jeans. She had to be in her mid twenties, twenty-five Max guessed, maybe a couple years older. Her feet dangled far from the floor, and she swung them back and forth in a way that reminded him of the innocent energy of a child, holding a vibrant enthusiasm.</div><div><br /></div><div>She couldn’t have been more than five feet tall, on tiptoes. </div><div><br /></div><div>Max guessed her clearly Asian features put her ancestry in Vietnam, or maybe Cambodia, as her name also suggested. <i>Nohl Dhen</i>. But something else lay hidden in the deep shade of her skin, and her dark, fascinating eyes…</div><div><br /></div><div>Max had to force himself to look somewhere else. <i>This is a potential suspect in a hoax</i>, he thought, <i>not a prospect for a date</i>. He hoped his stare, if anyone noticed it, would be interpreted as no more than necessary professional interest. He pulled out of the moment, his tunneled awareness opening to his surroundings.</div><div><br /></div><div>They stood in a classroom that had been given over to Miss Dhen’s project. And she wasn’t the only one in the room. On a chair in front of Nohl sat a blonde woman in her mid-thirties, dressed in a conservative and rather expensive-looking dark tailored suit. Her almost mathematically perfect hairstyle and makeup presented the mask of a professional, or an executive, precise and tasteful without being flashy. <i>Someone who uses her femininity to put people off their guard</i>, Max thought, <i>while not being obvious about it</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>The older woman held a small electronic recorder. As Glade spoke, she quickly shut it off and turned to face him.</div><div><br /></div><div>“Professor,” Nohl said in greeting, and yes, there again was the breath of moonlight Max had heard, “I was just explaining to Miss Aronsen—”</div><div><br /></div><div>“Lynn Aronsen,” the blonde woman broke in, “of Justin, Blake, and Tortel.” She held out her hand without standing up. Her voice held unusually deep undertones for a woman’s. She spoke crisply and efficiently. “And the two of you are...?”</div><div><br /></div><div>Glade covered annoyance with his seemingly usual laugh. “Professor Frank Glade. This is Detective Max Conner, of the Chicago Police.” Glade stepped forward, briefly took Lynn’s hand, and then dropped it unceremoniously. “Nohl, is this a lawyer?” he asked.</div><div><br /></div><div>“I guess,” Nohl began.</div><div><br /></div><div>“I am,” Lynn clarified.</div><div><br /></div><div>Max raised his eyebrows. “Does someone here need one?”</div><div><br /></div><div>“That’s what I was about to discover,” Lynn answered.</div><div><br /></div><div>Max took the proffered hand she lifted toward him. Her grip, he noted, was strong and firm—<i>no retiring female, this one</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>“I was asked to be present as counsel,” Lynn went on, and she looked at Nohl, “but I’m not quite certain by whom.” She turned back toward the others. “Won’t you be seated?” she invited them.</div><div><br /></div><div>Glade gave his nervous laugh again. He clearly wasn’t used to someone else taking charge. For his part, Max was willing to play along in order to learn the lawyer’s angle. He glanced at his surroundings as he pulled up two more chairs, suddenly aware his earlier fixation on Nohl had distracted him from making needed observations. </div><div><br /></div><div>Tables surrounded the room, the whiteboards on the walls behind them covered in diagrams and symbols he didn’t understand. The tables supported perhaps a dozen computer monitors and keyboards, with at least as many PCs and laptops sprinkled among them. In one corner stood a large cabinet with glass doors through which Max could see row upon row of electronics, circuit boards, and wiring. Various other devices crowded every surface, items he couldn’t identify, and everything seemed to be connected to everything else by a tangled web of cables. </div><div><br /></div><div>He noted other, unrelated detritus amid the chaos: the inevitable college-standard pizza boxes and half-full cartons of pop littered the corners, an incongruous department-store mannequin of a boy about ten sat on a table behind him, a chess set and another board game with a myriad of little round pieces occupied a far corner, a deck of playing cards scattered randomly around one monitor. Max smiled to himself. <i>Geeks and their toys</i>, he thought. <i>What else would I expect on a college campus?</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>“I don’t know what your little stunt was supposed to prove,” Glade said, waving the printout of Max’s email at Nohl.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>If he can’t get control of what’s going on</i>, Max thought, <i>at least he’ll intimidate his grad student</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>Nohl looked confused for a moment, but her eyes grew more focused and sure. She turned to Max. “You got one, too? An email, I mean. That’s why Ms. Aronsen’s here—”</div><div><br /></div><div>“I’ll take a look at that,” Lynn said, and snatched the paper from the professor’s hand before anyone could react.</div><div><br /></div><div>Max made his voice as calm as he could. “College students like pranks,” he said to Nohl, and he eased himself into one of the chairs. “But falsely reporting a crime is against the law. You could be fined, or worse—”</div><div><br /></div><div>Nohl blinked, and scowled. “I didn’t send those emails to you and Ms. Aronsen,” she rushed. “I don’t even know what’s in them.”</div><div><br /></div><div>“There’s no crime reported here,” Lynn noted, flicking a painted fingernail against the paper.</div><div><br /></div><div>Her voice sounded cool and efficient, emotionless and unflinching. “If it had claimed someone had already been harmed, yes, but it doesn’t say that.”</div><div><br /></div><div>“No,” Max returned, a little taken aback, “but even <i>threatening</i> murder is a crime. This email does imply such a threat has been made.”</div><div><br /></div><div>Nohl’s eyes widened. But before she could speak, the lawyer did, shaking her head. “<i>Does</i> it imply that? Tell me, do you know who is supposedly being threatened? Is it—well, <i>who</i>?” Lynn’s tone held an intimation of hidden knowledge.</div><div><br /></div><div>“Whoever this Dylan is,” Max answered, confused. “And it says Miss Dhen here knows about it.”</div><div><br /></div><div>“I <i>didn’t</i> send the emails,” Nohl repeated, louder. Annoyance crept into her voice, or perhaps a little fear. She reached for the paper, but the lawyer held up her hand, motioning Nohl to wait.</div><div><br /></div><div>“<i>Someone</i> sent them,” Professor Glade countered. “This project was your idea, Miss Dhen. Everyone knows that.”</div><div><br /></div><div>“Nohl,” Lynn said, and she patted the student on her knee to calm her. “You’d better tell the detective about Dylan. Don’t say anything more, but tell him who—I mean <i>what</i>—” For an instant, a flash of confusion seemed to line the lawyer’s face. “No, I really do mean <i>who</i>—who Dylan is.”</div><div><br /></div><div>Max leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. The lengths to which the lawyer went to seem cool and efficient and precise meant her struggle with words <i>must</i> have been intentional. Lawyers, Max knew, had to be good actors. “You have my attention, Miss Dhen. Who is Dylan?”</div><div><br /></div><div>Nohl took a deep breath. She looked directly at Detective Conner. But then her gaze shifted, focusing past him, over his shoulder. “Dylan,” she said, speaking very deliberately, “say hello.”</div><div><br /></div><div>“Good afternoon, everyone,” said a voice from somewhere behind.</div><div><br /></div><div>Max twisted around. He knew no one else had joined them. He would have heard footsteps. And he saw no one else when he turned, only that strange little department-store mannequin he’d noted before. It was the size and appearance of a ten-year-old boy, dressed in a young boy’s jeans and a flannel shirt, with a face of impassive and immobile plaster.</div><div><br /></div><div>Still motionless, the mannequin spoke again, in a youthful voice gushing with excitement. A speaker must have been mounted somewhere within it. “I’m really happy to meet you, Detective Conner!”</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">* * * * </div><div><br /></div><div>Buy <i>Still Life</i> here: <a href="http://lillibridgepress.com/book/DCPetterson/Still_Life">http://lillibridgepress.com/book/DCPetterson/Still_Life</a> (including the cool video trailer) and the Amazon page is here: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Still-Life-ebook/dp/B003ZYFCZ6/ref=pd_rhf_p_t_2">http://www.amazon.com/Still-Life-ebook/dp/B003ZYFCZ6/ref=pd_rhf_p_t_2</a></div><div> </div><div>DC Petterson has been writing since he was six; science fiction, fantasy, songs, poetry, historical and philosophical essays, and the occasional email. He lives near Minneapolis with his wife, a dog, and a lizard. He has two kids, two grandkids, and a late-model Kia. He enjoys video games, expensive cigars, and single-malt scotch. He works as a software consultant (which has nothing to do with his novel, <i>Still Life</i>), plays guitar and piano, and hasn't the first clue how to write a short bio.</div>nerinedormanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12885964421325041778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671735107471573792.post-44367681920022191782011-06-12T11:21:00.000-07:002011-06-12T11:32:44.632-07:00Tea with TC Southwell<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oKjrIlIGa30/TfUGQX9gVnI/AAAAAAAAAM0/fpOi-kWP9iw/s1600/SabreSW.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oKjrIlIGa30/TfUGQX9gVnI/AAAAAAAAAM0/fpOi-kWP9iw/s320/SabreSW.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617402988594222706" /></a><div><i>I've known TC Southwell for years. I've beta-read for her in the past, and we've enjoyed many conversations about the publishing industry. Based in South Africa, TC has amassed a fantastic body of work and I am pleased and honoured to have her on Toad's Corner today.</i></div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>Tell us a little about the stories you write.</b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>I write pretty much exclusively in the science-fiction and fantasy genres, specifically epic or high fantasy set in worlds of my own making. I have one crossover series, <i>The Cyber Chronicles</i>, which combines fantasy and sci-fi. It starts off more fantasy and then becomes almost totally sci-fi from book four, <i>Cyborg</i>. <i>The Queen’s Blade</i> series is pure high fantasy, although it doesn’t rely much on magic. <i>The Broken World</i> and <i>Demon Lord</i> series are also high fantasy, but with a fair amount of magic, and the <i>Slave Empire</i> series is pure sci-fi. My stories are all intensely character driven, and I love all my heroes and heroines, which is why I enjoy writing about them so much. </div><div> </div><div><i><b>Which one of your characters are your all-time favourite and why?</b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>That would have to be Blade, my oh so sarcastic and troubled assassin, who captured my heart long ago with his biting wit and underhand good deeds that no one will ever make him admit to. He’s just so complicated and twisted; a complete sociopath with a secret heart of gold. </div><div> </div><div><i><b>What are some of the recurring themes prevalent in your stories?</b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>I think my most obvious recurring theme is the element of romance in my stories, which all have a strong hero and heroine who go through the mill to overcome the odds stacked against them and find happiness together. Another common theme is my heroes are usually troubled individuals with horrific pasts, but that’s what makes them so interesting, I find. </div><div> </div><div><b><i>How do you approach novel-writing?</i></b></div><div><br /></div><div>The best way I can describe it is ‘channelling’, which is what my agent called it when I told her how I do it. For me, it’s utterly effortless. I simply write the story that pops into my head, and the only thing that slows me down is how fast I can type. If I try to change something, I hit a block, and I have to go back to the point where I made a conscious decision to stray from the story in my head and follow the original track. When I write, I have absolutely no idea what’s going to happen in the next paragraph or even the next sentence sometimes, so for me writing is just as much fun as reading. </div><div> </div><div><b><i>You initially released </i>Demon Lord<i> in print in South Africa, this was before the rise in popularity of ereaders and epublishing. How has this shift in emphasis in publishing affected you?</i></b></div><div><br /></div><div>It has given me access to the international market without having to deal with publishers and editors, so my books remain as I wrote them, which is a bonus for me. It means my market is smaller, and I have to do my own marketing, but at the same time I’m able to offer my books at low prices and some for free, since only my e-publisher takes a small cut. I plan to make use of POD (Print on Demand) publishing next, as I have had requests for paperback versions of the books.</div><div> </div><div><b><i>Do you have any advice for wannabe authors?</i></b></div><div><br /></div><div>I would recommend they also take the e-publishing route if they have trouble finding an agent or publisher, as this does not preclude them from finding a paperback publisher once they’ve made a name for themselves with e-books, so it can only be beneficial. Other than that, I would advise them to write stories they love, because then other people will love them too. When you’re passionate about something, it shines through.</div><div> </div><div><i><b>Who are some of your favourite authors and why?</b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>Stephen Donaldson, C S Lewis and Anne McCaffrey are some of my favourites, although I have read numerous wonderful books whose authors’ names I don’t recall. I think these authors appeal to me because their stories are character driven and have the ability to transport me to a fantasy land for a grand adventure. Of course, I was young when I read CS Lewis’ books – he introduced me to fantasy, and it left a lasting impression. </div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>Do you have any works in progress readers can look forward to?</b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>I will soon be publishing the next six books in <i>The Cyber Chronicles</i> series, which I’m currently editing. These are Book IV, <i>Cyborg</i>, Book V, <i>Overlord</i>, Book VI, <i>Warrior Breed</i>, Book VII, <i>Sabre</i>, Book VIII, <i>Scorpion Lord</i>, and Book IX, <i>Precipice</i>. I want to complete all of them so I can publish them in one go and people can buy the entire series, or the rest of it, if they want. After that I’ll finish writing the seventh book in the <i>Demon Lord</i> series. Then I’ll have to decide which series I want to write another book in next, as they are all on-going – I’m not good at final endings! </div><div> </div><div><i><b>Where can people find your books, follow your blog or Twitter feed?</b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>All my books are available on my site <a href="http://www.tcsouthwellbooks.com/">http://www.tcsouthwellbooks.com/</a> with links where people can buy and download the ones that have been published, and also see all the upcoming titles, with their covers, that will be published in the near future. I also have a blog dedicated to the Demon Lord series <a href="http://demon-lord-book.blogspot.com/">http://demon-lord-book.blogspot.com/</a>, and I’m on Facebook, too, <a href="http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=57950568448">http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=57950568448</a> . Nothing on Twitter yet, but that’s something I need to look into when I have a bit of time. </div>nerinedormanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12885964421325041778noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671735107471573792.post-1960332888851588332011-05-29T02:00:00.000-07:002011-05-29T02:12:37.629-07:00Book review: The Left Hand<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fur53kfQYlY/TeIN8zNSghI/AAAAAAAAAMY/DH4TwPpnSdI/s1600/TLH%2Blo-res.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 219px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fur53kfQYlY/TeIN8zNSghI/AAAAAAAAAMY/DH4TwPpnSdI/s320/TLH%2Blo-res.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612063423846318610" /></a><div><b>Title: </b><i>The Left Hand</i></div><div><b>Author:</b> Serenity J Banks</div><div><b>Publisher:</b> Dark Continents Publishing, 2011</div><div><b>Buy link:</b> <a href="http://darkcontinents.com/2010/11/15/left-hand/">http://darkcontinents.com/2010/11/15/left-hand/</a></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Blurb: </b>Meet Eddie Kane: ex-cokehead and current, clueless sidekick to the enigmatic Calif Cryste, badass vampire hunter extraordinaire—and unforthcoming warrior of God. In the midst of a two-man crusade to put a kibosh on the vampire populations currently besieging the tribal lands of the Midwest, Eddie can’t help but notice that the string of death and destruction in their wake has begun to draw a certain, uncomfortable amount of attention from the local media. Enter obsessed FBI Special Agent Doug Degulchi, suspended from the agency over his proofless conviction that these two are “the guys,” and Eddie finds himself an unwilling player in an over-arching drama as Calif’s own misguided sort of apostles begin to fall into place. Meanwhile, the vampire hordes race to multiply their ranks in anticipation of a coming battle even Calif cannot (or will not) predict, and Eddie hasn’t even had a chance to face his own demons yet. Whether or not Eddie’s prepared to accept the truth, though, the second-born is here to wage war… on his own, if he has to.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Review:</b> This novel is so much more than just a badass vampire hunter with a clueless sidekick playing Robin to his Batman. Serenity J Banks plunges readers into a dystopian vision of the American Midwest that left me feeling scratchy behind the eyes by the time I’d finished reading.</div><div><br /></div><div>Eddie starts out as a weak character who chain-smokes his way through the story. Not only does he have an addictive personality, but he has demons from his dysfunctional upbringing he needs to process before he can take on the undead demons he and his partner hunt. While he may seem passive at first, he slowly grows into himself as he makes sense, in his own way, of the horror that surrounds him and Calif. He is very much an unreliable narrator, and therein lies the beauty of following the tale from his perspective. </div><div><br /></div><div>Calif is the mystery man, the hero with a purpose who shows rather than tells Eddie what their quest is all about. All I can say, without revealing spoilers, is that all will be revealed, and there is a very poignant <i>raison d’etre</i> for Calif. Though his silence is maddening, readers will later come to and see why exactly. All I can say is that the story is so much stronger for Banks having resisted the temptation of making the man a viewpoint character.</div><div><br /></div><div>Delgulchi, the hapless FBI agent, follows in the wake of the vampire-busting pair, whose very existence spell the end of his career. His obsession with discovering the truth drives him to the brink of madness. </div><div><br /></div><div>But Banks returns the undead to the realm of horror, which is a refreshing change in perspective after all the glitter we've experienced in the media. There's nothing sexy about the vampires readers encounter in this story. They're mean, hungry and are more apt to rip your throat out than pause to share pleasantries. Her vampires are frightening and overwhelming. </div><div><br /></div><div>Threaded through this tale is an alternative viewpoint on the Christian mythos that is not mired in the tired Hollywood ideals of light and dark. Our heroes are tattered, tired and face overwhelming odds.. Mankind is doomed, and its savior is not here at the behest of their redemption. From a broader perspective this appears to be a development of the vampire mythos, but I sense it’s far more than that. Eddie, as the narrator, tries to explain but the only terminology he has available, is based on a Western viewpoint. We view this tale through his subjectivity and I gain the idea that a different character would have applied a totally different explanation to the tale.</div><div><br /></div><div>In closing, I'll say this much. <i>The Left Hand</i> is not an easy read. But it's definitely one of the most thought-provoking stories I've read all year and I recommend it to readers who like substance, grit and despair in their reading matter. Serenity J Banks is a masterful storyteller and I'll be keeping my eye on her from here on in.</div><div><br /></div>nerinedormanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12885964421325041778noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671735107471573792.post-879442956767827842011-05-22T04:23:00.000-07:002011-05-22T04:31:19.318-07:00Short story: Scarlet Night by Ashley M Christman<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FGBLFc0sCD8/Tdjz4EB_o7I/AAAAAAAAAMA/c-eZm3wLruI/s1600/Headshot%2Bcomp.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 254px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FGBLFc0sCD8/Tdjz4EB_o7I/AAAAAAAAAMA/c-eZm3wLruI/s320/Headshot%2Bcomp.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609501480370283442" /></a><br /><div><div>Ashley M Christman is an urban fantasy writer whose book, <i>The Witching Hour</i>, is available from Lyrical Press. To contact her, visit her website <a href="http://ashleymchristman.webs.com/">http://ashleymchristman.webs.com</a>.</div></div><div>Today Toad shares Ashley's short story, <i>Scarlet Night</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">* * * *</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span>The decadence of the 1920s and its jazz scene had always appealed to me more than the bleak and dreary Victorian or Edwardian ages. The booze, the jazz bands, the brightly lit nightclubs—oh, how I adored them. And no matter how many times I had seen the dabber men in their pressed tuxedos, I never got enough of them. I devoured them, consumed them and sometimes women, but it was the men I adored most of all. The alcohol that filled their blood and the way their hearts seem to beat faster in their chest, pumping more of their elixir throughout their bodies as they grew aroused; that was what I loved.</div><div> </div><div>Tonight was no different. As I made my way across the room, drinking a very expensive champagne, I was on the prowl. Observing every nuance, every subtle twitch of the lips, the gestures of the hands—I knew what I was looking for. And I found him, standing in a corner near the black lacquered piano with a glass of scotch in one hand and a cigarette in the other. </div><div><br /></div><div>Even from across the room, I was able to lock on to his scent; the smell of sweat just starting to surface from his pores in the heat of the summer night. As my body slid from the bar stool and slinked through the crowd towards my target, a sense of silent satisfaction washed over me, warming me from the inside. My hand instinctively reached towards him, extending itself, giving him a clear glimpse of crimson painted nails that matched my lipstick. “Do you have a spare?” I asked coolly, with a glint of mischief in my eyes. Everything about this singular moment oozed seduction and sex. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span>Cole Porters’ “Let’s Misbehave”, began to play as the orchestra leader took his place in front of the gold plated microphone. The parquet flooring of the dance floor was filled with young inebriated couples dancing the Black Bottom to the upbeat melody. </div><div><br /></div><div>“Spare,” the youth replied with a lithe in his voice, making his statement an obvious question. I pointed to the cigarette hanging from betwixt his fingers. He nodded and stammered, “Oh, terribly sorry. I didn’t realize. I have another, yes.” He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and produced a gold cigarette case. He flipped the clasp open on it and selected a neatly rolled white cigarette. </div><div><br /></div><div>Reaching into the decadent sparkling clutch that matched my white dress, I produced a fourteen inch cabriole cigarette holder with a rhinestone tip. The young man placed the cigarette in the end of my cabriole and lit it with a match. I took a long drag of it and then exhaled the smoke, making little o’s. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span>He watched me as I did this, slowly licking his lips. “I’m Edward,” he said in a distinctly British accent. He sounded well educated and upper crust. It was an accent that one would associate with the royal family. He was obviously either very rich or a blue blood, possibly both. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span>“Do you have a last name Edward?” I questioned with a smirk.</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span>“Cromwell,” he answered returning my smirk with one of his own. It was in that single look from him, that I knew that he was nowhere near as innocent as he appeared. He was a cad, a delicious cad. “What’s your name?”</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span>“Lucy.”</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span>“Do you have a last name, Lucy?”</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span>“Just Lucy for now,” my smirk turned into a grin. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span>He finished the last of his scotch and set the crystal glass on the tray of a passing waiter. I continued to smoke my cigarette, enjoying the atmosphere and the music. “Do you happen to like long moonlit walks just Lucy?” He grinned at his joke and then took the a puff from his cigarette. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span>I let out a small chuckle and put out my cigarette in a nearby ashtray. Wrapping my arm around his, I let him escort me out of the club and onto the balmy Parisian streets. Every so often a car would pass or a couple speaking French would walk by. “So tell me something about yourself,” he asked as we stopped in front of the Tiffany’s shop window. The display was a series lamps on one side and signature Tiffany diamonds and silver on the other. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span>“What do you want to know.” I turned to him, my eyes catching his. Both of ours smoldering like embers fresh from the fire. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span>“How about your last name to begin with?”</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span>“What is the incessant wish to know my full name?” I replied.</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span>He shrugged, “I’d like to know the name of the woman who has bewitched me.”</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span>Of one thing I was absolutely sure, he was charming. He had managed to successfully combine the naivety of youth and the charming subtle seductions of a man with more worldly knowledge into one complete persona. If he were good in bed, I wouldn’t kill him. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span>“It’s Kincaid,” I answered stealing the name from a tag that I had managed to glimpse on the inside of his jacket. “Miss Kincaid.” I emphasized the fact that I was single. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span>He smiled once more and then leaned in to kiss my lips. I kissed him back with a fervent passion that was inappropriate for a sidewalk on the Champs-Elysee. Breaking away from the kiss, I whispered, “My flat is not far from here.”</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span>He smiled and nodded as I pulled him further down the boulevard to a large apartment building with a doorman on the outside. I winked at the doorman as he held the door open and led Edward through the empty lavish lobby to the elevator. The poor guy was either about to meet his maker or be given the opportunity to play for a very long time. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span>There was a flurry of hands and a sense of urgency as we disrobed. Our clothes were flung here and there, pale flesh touching and caressing as we hit the silk sheets of my palatial bed. I climbed atop of him, mounting his pelvis, but not yet allowing him to enter. My skin began to glow in the darkness as my inner demon took hold. He entered me and I took him. The cantankerous sounds of our love-making, my feeding, filled the room and carried themselves out of the open doors to the balcony and the night. Edward hung above me, kissing me gently. “What are you,” he whispered. I grinned and knew that he wouldn’t die. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span>Not yet at least. </div><div><br /></div>nerinedormanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12885964421325041778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671735107471573792.post-5984020496946324882011-05-08T05:17:00.000-07:002011-05-08T05:34:12.935-07:00Tea with Pamela Turner<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cFQsVXeF7OQ/TcaNKDjuESI/AAAAAAAAALg/gMN9MTjGuyQ/s1600/deathsword.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cFQsVXeF7OQ/TcaNKDjuESI/AAAAAAAAALg/gMN9MTjGuyQ/s320/deathsword.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604321990202495266" /></a><br /><div>Today Toad welcomes the delightful Pam Turner to her corner, author of <i>Death Sword</i>, an urban fantasy featuring angelic conflict, with a difference.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><i><b>Where did your interest in angels start?</b></i></div><div><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div> </div><div>Hard to say. I’ve had a fascination with angels since childhood but <a href="javascript:void(0)">Publish Post</a>my perceptions then were influenced by the Church. It wasn’t until a friend told me about Gustav Davidson’s <i>A Dictionary of Angels</i> that my interest in them intensified. The book blew away almost every preconceived notion I had about angelic beings, holy or fallen.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><b><i>Your writing suggests you know the area where </i>Death Sword<i> takes place quite well. Care to elaborate?</i></b></div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div> </div><div>I’ve lived in Louisville, the setting for <i>Death Sword</i>, since the early 1990s. The Highlands and Old Louisville are areas I often visit. Old Louisville is famous for its Victorian and Italianate houses as well as St James Court, which is where Xariel lives. The Highlands caters to an eclectic crowd and Bardstown Road is a popular area for window shopping and people watching with its specialty boutiques and galleries as well as coffee houses, restaurants, and pubs.</div><div> </div><div>My goal is to write more stories using Louisville as a back drop. For one, when I’m out taking photos, I can say it’s for research. </div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><b><i>Was there a specific "a-ha" moment when you came up with the premise for </i>Death Sword<i> or was it a slow, pot-boiler of an idea?</i></b></div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div> </div><div>Wish I could remember. I wrote Death Sword for National Novel Writing Month in 2008. I don’t know as there was a specific “a ha!” moment. At some point I wanted it to be a story about a complicated relationship. But I made several changes after the first NaNo draft. Xariel was originally the antagonist and Samael was a minor character. Eventually I wondered what would happen if Samael became so obsessed over Xariel that it pushed him to kill. I guess it’s a story about obsession and a need for vengeance, real or imagined. Anyway, I tore down the original structure, leaving only the framework, and proceeded to rewrite the story. Characters’ names and motivations changed until the book became what it is now. </div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><i><b>Who will enjoy this story, and why?</b></i></div><div><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div> </div><div>I hope people who enjoy reading urban fantasy (as well as dark fantasy) and paranormals will like it. Also, since Karla is in her early 20s, it might appeal to college students. Those who are drawn to occult stories about demons and angels also might enjoy it. (Crosses fingers.) </div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><b><i>Can your readers expect a follow-up to </i>Death Sword<i>?</i></b></div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div> </div><div>I’m currently revising the second book, <i>Serpent Fire</i>, which takes place in Louisville shortly after the events of <i>Death Sword</i>. There are four books planned, each one focusing on an angel of death introduced in <i>Death Sword</i>. The first draft of the third book, tentatively titled <i>The Devil Inside</i> is almost finished.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><i><b>What are the three books you'll always have on your bookshelves and why?</b></i></div><div><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div> </div><div><i>The Stranger</i> (Albert Camus): Camus had a profound impact on my writing, not only with this book but also his short story <i>The Guest</i>. </div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><i>A Dictionary of Angels, Including the Fallen Angels</i> (Gustav Davidson): This has become my go-to book for angel research. There’s enough information between the covers to write several angel-centric stories.</div><div><br /></div><div>Dragons and Fantasy Beasts (Finlay Cowan): This is an artist’s reference book but it’s indispensable for anyone who writes fantasy. Not only does Finlay give background information but also references for further study. Even better, creatures from various mythos are profiled, from the familiar (Nosferatu and Medusa) to the more unknown (Zilant and Alkonost). His companion book, <i>Incredible Characters</i>, is another must-have for my bookshelf.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><b><i>Links:</i></b></div><div>Website: <a href="http://pamelaturner.net/">http://pamelaturner.net</a></div><div>Blog: <a href="http://pamela-turner.com/">http://pamela-turner.com</a></div><div>Twitter: <a href="http://www.twitter.com/PamelaTurner">http://www.twitter.com/PamelaTurner</a></div><div>Face Book: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#!/pages/Pamela-Turner-Author/110336548987093">http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#!/pages/Pamela-Turner-Author/110336548987093</a></div><div>Email: pamturner97@gmail.com</div><div><br /></div>nerinedormanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12885964421325041778noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671735107471573792.post-22277494523739036912011-05-01T00:28:00.000-07:002011-05-01T00:35:37.853-07:00Introducing J Damask<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-acOFyAErVx4/Tb0NQHbB2VI/AAAAAAAAALQ/sWR8zfTo4yo/s1600/wolfatthedoor333x500.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-acOFyAErVx4/Tb0NQHbB2VI/AAAAAAAAALQ/sWR8zfTo4yo/s320/wolfatthedoor333x500.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5601648082040248658" /></a><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-I5UmSvSF5-0/Tb0NP9fA2iI/AAAAAAAAALI/b8aqodg-_UI/s1600/me_2010_icon.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 183px; height: 183px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-I5UmSvSF5-0/Tb0NP9fA2iI/AAAAAAAAALI/b8aqodg-_UI/s320/me_2010_icon.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5601648079372605986" /></a><br /><div><i>Today Toad welcomes an urban fantasy author, J Damask, who offers readers a glimpse into the very different world of Singapore, one that I do not believe we see painted with such magic and beauty, and with an obvious love for the supernatural. </i></div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>Wolf at the Door is set in Singapore, which is a world away from most urban fantasy novels out there. What do you offer your readers?</b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>A different world/landscape. An unique perspective, that there are also shifter types in places like Southeast Asia, a region itself rich in myths and legends. </div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>Why wolves? And what makes your wolves-who-are-also-people different from those encountered in fiction?</b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>Wolves are my favorite animals. ;)</div><div><br /></div><div>What makes them different? They are wolves *and* humans. The wolf is inseparable to the human and vice versa. To me, the stereotype of the half-man, half-wolf never really appeals to me. To me, a wolf should be a wolf, four-legged. They are also a people, a race steeped in tradition and culture (in this case, Chinese). They honor the Chinese lunar festivals as much as they honor the hunt and chasing prey.</div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>Tell us more about Jan and some of the conflict she faces.</b></i></div><div><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div>Jan Xu is the daughter of the leaders of the Xu pack/clan. She is also married with two girls. She faces the dichotomy of being wife, mother, daughter and sister - she struggles and tries to balance all these roles while knowing that she is wolf. </div><div><br /></div><div>Jan also has a younger sister, Marianne, whom she has a stormy relationship with. This stormy relationship is explored in the novel. She wants the rift to heal, yet Marianne has her own ideas... </div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>Do you have any favourite legends you can share? </b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>have many. *chuckle*</div><div><br /></div><div>One is the legend/story of Madam White Snake. Madam White Snake is a snake spirit/jin who falls in love with a human scholar. With her maid-in-waiting Green Snake, Lady White Snake wants to live a comfortable married life. Yet, as stories go, things are not smooth. A Buddhist monk is determined to separate White Snake with her human husband, because snake spirits are evil and should be destroyed. He concocts a plan to unmask her for what she is, putting a magical potion in her wine (or tea). As a result, she reverts back to her snake form. Her husband is shocked (of course). A long battle ensues with White Snake imprisoned in the end.</div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>Who are some of your favourite authors and why?</b></i> </div><div><br /></div><div>Anne McCaffrey, Marion Zimmer Bradley, Octavia Butler, Frank Herbert - They showed me different worlds where I happily explored. ;) At the same time, I was inspired to write!</div><div><br /></div><div>I was also inspired by the strong female characters too. [That's why I tend to write strong female characters in my stories... Hehe!]</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">* * * *</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>J. Damask is the pen-name of Joyce Chng who writes speculative fiction and has published her fiction in online magazines and small presses like Semaphore Magazine and Crossed Genres. She likes werewolves, steampunk and all things speculative fiction. When she's not writing, Joyce is busy wrangling kids (two girls!), cat-herding and container-gardening. She sometimes wishes she has more time to write. Her website is found at <a href="http://awolfstale.wordpress.com/">http://awolfstale.wordpress.com</a>.</div>nerinedormanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12885964421325041778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671735107471573792.post-59697621900694697462011-04-16T22:15:00.000-07:002011-04-16T22:46:27.600-07:00A wild ride with Sheryl Nantus’ latest offering<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DHdzJBhpFtU/Tap-pguHNRI/AAAAAAAAAKo/dj0vW2MGnK4/s1600/WildCardsandIronHorses72LG.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DHdzJBhpFtU/Tap-pguHNRI/AAAAAAAAAKo/dj0vW2MGnK4/s320/WildCardsandIronHorses72LG.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596424738584343826" /></a><br /><div>Fans of a Wild West-type setting should sit up and take notice of Sheryl Nantus’ <i>Wild Cards and Iron Horses</i>, which plays out in a frontier town in the American West. With a strong steampunk flavour, the novel tells the story of a dashing gambler, Jon Handleston. He arrives in the upwardly mobile town of Prosperity Ridge, intent on winning a poker tournament so that he can repay an old debt.</div><div><br /></div><div>But Jon has a problem. An old injury has resulted in his right arm being crippled, and he can only move it with the aid of a clockwork brace of great ingenuity. While this doesn’t aid his card-playing beyond helping him use both hands, the loss of a spring results in the device not working to its full potential; a serious blow to Jon’s confidence.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sam may just have the answer to Jon’s problem. She’s a maverick for her era: a woman who dresses in men’s clothing and is obsessed with mechanical devices. An engineer extraordinaire, she soon catches Jon’s heart when she offers to help him fix his brace.</div><div><br /></div><div>But things aren’t all plain sailing. Victor Morton, one of Jon’s bitter rivals, is after the secret of Jon’s brace, which he believes offers the wearer some uncanny advantage at the poker table and he will stop at nothing to ensure the device’s destruction.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sheryl, as always, delivers a story chock-full of action with memorable characters. I found her steam-powered mechanical horses to be an interesting quirk, and like the fact that she touches on the consequences of industrialisation. </div><div><br /></div><div>Today Toad also welcomes Sheryl to the Corner for a little Q&A. It's love to have you back here, lady. </div><div><br /></div><div><div><i><b>Tell me about Jon. How did he come knocking at your door?</b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>I've always loved gamblers in the Old West and thought that I'd bring my own character out to play in the New Old West, as it were. But I wanted him to have a different motivation other than just make money and con sweet women, so I wondered about the circumstances under which an Englishman would find himself in the Western United States.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Civil War wasn't just between two factions in the United States. It involved many countries who watched and waited to see which side would win with observers on both sides along with many who sought to make money off of the pain and suffering. Unfortunately Jon ends up being pulled along with the family tide when his father sees an opportunity and rushes to exploit it.</div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>Environmental pollution is quite the issue with this story. Care to elaborate?</b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>Well, I put part of the blame for that on Second Life, a virtual world where I visit and play as a clockwork dragon in the steampunk town of New Babbage. We're always talking and joking about the soot and dirt in the air from all the new-fangled inventions and when I started writing <i>Wild Cards</i> I went back and looked over the Industrial Revolution - and it was a dirty, gritty world right from the start. It didn't take much to transplant it to the American Frontier where the fresh air could and would be easily destroyed by the addition and exploitation of the virgin territories.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's a trade off. Breathing problems for technological advancement. And many are willing to make that trade and/or suffer for what they can get to make their lives better.</div><div><br /></div><div>Definitely food for thought.</div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>Mechanical horses are a big plot feature with this story. How would these be used? Ridden or to draw carriages? </b></i></div><div><br /></div><div> Well, the idea is to use them to pull stagecoaches but also to provide individual travel - how great would it be to never have to rest your horse or worry about his feed, other than how much coal you shovel into his belly? The only problem is, of course, that you're riding or being pulled by possible bombs, if the pressure ever goes too high and they explode…</div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>You mention an independent nation for Native Americans. How would this have occurred in your setting keeping in mind the actual turn of events in history?</b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>Well, in my version of American History the Native Americans move against the government just after the Civil War, offering a choice - either negotiate for a separate Indian Nation or they'll start up another Civil War for their freedom. Lincoln, seeing a country already exhausted and war-weary, agrees to set apart a huge section of the West for the Indian Nation. </div><div><br /></div><div>Of course there are and would be internal problems among the Native Americans, but I felt that I couldn't write about the Old West and not mention these First Americans. </div><div> </div><div><i><b>Are you planning on returning to your frontier setting with future stories?</b></i></div><div><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div>I'd like to. I've already thought about exploring outside of Prosperity Ridge and visiting other towns, perhaps even the emerging Indian Nation. But, as with all things, it depends on how sales go and how the muse takes me. Which is a plea to go buy <i>Wild Cards and Iron Horses</i>, of course. I have no shame.</div><div><br /></div><div>Buy <i>Wild Cards and Iron Horses here</i>: <a href="http://store.samhainpublishing.com/wild-cards-iron-horses-p-6042.html">http://store.samhainpublishing.com/wild-cards-iron-horses-p-6042.html</a></div><div><br /></div><div>Or visit Sheryl at: <a href="http://www.sherylnantus.com/">http://www.sherylnantus.com/</a></div><div><br /></div></div>nerinedormanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12885964421325041778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671735107471573792.post-17250879778011936322011-04-10T00:12:00.000-07:002011-04-10T00:20:39.504-07:00Some mojo on the side...<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5Z5a-yb-21E/TaFZ3TdWkWI/AAAAAAAAAKI/_DcRPn8gWog/s1600/mojoqueen333x500.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5Z5a-yb-21E/TaFZ3TdWkWI/AAAAAAAAAKI/_DcRPn8gWog/s320/mojoqueen333x500.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593851018821931362" /></a><br /><div>Today toad welcomes Sonya Clark to her corner and features a free, downloadable read that supplements Sonya's upcoming urban fantasy release, <i>Mojo Queen</i>. <i>Mimosas at Dusk</i> is available in a variety of formats.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Sonya Clark writes at a desk equipped with High John the Conqueror root and a mojo hand. She has worshipped at the mother church of country music, traveled the back roads of the blues highway, been to the crossroads at midnight, and though she’s never cooked up a mess of polk salad, she has been to Graceland four times. She lives with her husband and Yorkie in Tennessee. </i></div><div><br /></div><div>Learn more at <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.sonyaclark.net">www.sonyaclark.net</a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>MIMOSAS AT DUSK</div><div>PDF:</div><div><a href="http://ow.ly/42ppR">http://ow.ly/42ppR</a></div><div> </div><div>MOBI:</div><div><a href="http://ow.ly/42pqQ">http://ow.ly/42pqQ</a></div><div> </div><div>EPUB:</div><div><a href="http://ow.ly/42pro">http://ow.ly/42pro</a></div>nerinedormanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12885964421325041778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671735107471573792.post-75492024049945729682011-04-03T00:02:00.000-07:002011-04-03T00:20:23.642-07:00Tea with Lee Mather<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2BXocHaGYSA/TZgfo7xDCfI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/XV4BEzNomCk/s1600/The%2BGreen%2BMan%2BAdvert.GIF" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 199px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2BXocHaGYSA/TZgfo7xDCfI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/XV4BEzNomCk/s320/The%2BGreen%2BMan%2BAdvert.GIF" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591253725479111154" /></a><br /><div>Today Toad welcomes horror author Lee Mather to the corner. Welcome, Lee, and thank you for dropping by.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>The Green Man<i> touches on the theme of belief in the supernatural, but also on fears. Care to elaborate?</i></b></div><div><br /></div><div>The story centres on the uncertainty of death and how we use religion, faith and our spiritual beliefs as safety nets. The protagonist in <i>The Green Man</i> is a product of the modern world, where we find it increasingly difficult to place trust and faith in anything not easily explained. It was a natural progression that he would see death, viewed without any support system, as a pretty terrible and hopeless concept. Generally speaking, I think we find comfort in control. We like to have answers to our questions. The fear in death comes from not knowing, from not having control.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>Are there any events that sparked off </i>The Green Man<i>?</i></b></div><div><br /></div><div>Not specifically <i>The Green Man</i> – in terms of an origin for the story my Mum once claimed to have seen a "little green man" when I was younger and this used to annoy me as a boy. Her tall tale stuck with me and this is where I got the idea of the clash between two belief systems, and in essence two cultures. I adapted this to be spiritual rather than alien and brought in the premonition and plane crash elements to suit the themes I wanted to address. With regard to writing in general, this is only my second published piece and I guess I got to a point in my life where I wanted to stop thinking about writing something and actually go out and do it instead. </div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>Who are some of your favourite authors, and what is it about their books that keeps you reading?</b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>I do enjoy horror, fantasy, science fiction – but to be honest I’ll read anything with a good heart. As a reader I want to care. As a child, when I first became interested in reading (and writing) I used to love stories with a sense of adventure and heroism – Enid Blyton, Willard Price, that kind of thing. Stories that stick with me these days are usually ones that can operate on a number of levels and make me think.</div><div><br /></div><div>In terms of modern authors, then Joe Hill is someone I would recommend, in particular his short stories. Twentieth Century Ghosts is a must read, but only a few of the shorts I would class as pure horror so don’t buy it expecting a fright-fest. John Ajvide Lindqvist is also a writer to watch – it’s already had two successful film interpretations but <i>Let The Right One In</i> is a stunning book, particularly juxtaposed against the tween horror culture that is so massive right now. The works of Alan Moore are also well worth a read for the uninitiated out there.</div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>When did you know you had to be a writer?</b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>I remember writing a short called <i>Blue Fire</i> when I was twelve years old for a school project (I drew a lizard man in chainmail for the front cover!). It was a fusion of fantasy and horror thriller – kind of a rubbish fusion of Terry Brooks and Dean Koontz. But I loved piecing it together – and after that my grades in the creative writing bits of English got better and better and I thought that writing was something I could do for a living one day. But my path didn’t take me there straight away. I studied business, went to university, got a job, met a girl, bought a house. But there was an itch – the desire to be a writer never left me, and only recently have I been able to draw enough focus to sit down and actually write. To be honest, what I’ve found is you don’t need much to start a story, the trick I’m still learning is being able to finish one.</div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>How do you approach your writing: do you plot beforehand or write however the story flows?</b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>A bit of both really! I have a concepts file where I’ll jot abstract ideas – and these could range from anything from a full outline, to an idea for a character, or a place, or a scene. I then select one and focus on what I think is particularly interesting about that idea and try to put it in the context of a story. If I don’t have an outline at that point I’ll pull something loose together, with a few points on the qualities the key characters should have as well as any crucial plot points. Sometimes I can have quite a tight focus at this stage and the outline may not differ too much from the end product, but even in the few things I have written to date, I have been flexible enough to let the story or the characters take over. I think you have to be as a writer – the characters need to be as real to you as possible and it makes sense to me that their decisions may take you in a slightly different direction to what you originally planned. The challenge comes from reshaping, from adapting and improving until you come up with something you’re proud of as a writer.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>Any useful links?</i></b> </div><div><br /></div><div>My website is <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.leemather.org.uk">www.leemather.org.uk</a> which contains details about me and has excerpts of my writing.</div><div><br /></div><div>I also have a blog site <a href="http://leemather.livejournal.com/">http:\\leemather.livejournal.com</a> where I post articles, interviews and the occasional short story.</div><div><br /></div><div>And if anyone wants to look me up on Facebook then they are more than welcome!</div><div><br /></div>nerinedormanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12885964421325041778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671735107471573792.post-36355330350692773752011-03-27T01:39:00.000-07:002011-03-27T01:48:49.454-07:00A Little Midnight Reading by Jess Harris<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b2IfUN_Ao-I/TY756GekNKI/AAAAAAAAAJw/Mmz-iAchMRI/s1600/Helens%2BGuest.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b2IfUN_Ao-I/TY756GekNKI/AAAAAAAAAJw/Mmz-iAchMRI/s320/Helens%2BGuest.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588678964179907746" /></a><br /><div>The man’s muscles rippled under olive-skin that glistened in the moonlight. Helen’s gaze bonded to his Adonis-worthy physique, covered by only sandals and a short exomis. He extended his hand, and Helen accepted it. He led her through the front doorway toward a narrow boat, which (as can only happen in a dream) was anchored in shallow water just outside her house where her street should have been. Her close-cropped grass was now a beach of pebbles, worn round and smooth by the patient sea.</div><div> </div><div>His eyes drew her toward him, into the water. </div><div><br /></div><div>Helen faltered when the waves touched her feet. The man tugged gently for a moment, then released her and continued alone. A soundless wind filled the sails and the vessel gave a low groan before slipping away from shore. His continued to face her, bearing a remorseful though not quite pleading expression, as he shrank into the night. </div><div><br /></div><div>Helen plunged into the icy tide and cried out, “Wait!”</div><div><br /></div><div>“Wait!” Helen woke from the sound of her own voice, sitting bolt upright, sheets a jumble, cold sweat beading on her face.</div><div><br /></div><div>She’d had this dream before. She loved, and hated it. Mostly, she resented the way it interrupted her sleep.</div><div><br /></div><div>Warm milk and a bit of midnight reading usually returned her to a comfortable drowse, so she shuffled groggily toward the kitchen.</div><div><br /></div><div>As she passed the glass patio doors, where only a few hours before she’d enjoyed a glass of amorgiano and a few chapters of Jane Austen’s <i>Northanger Abbey</i>, she saw an open book on the table outside.</div><div> </div><div>Disturbing.</div><div><br /></div><div>In all these years alone in her house, Helen had never, to the best of her formidable memory, left a book outdoors unattended. Yet there it was amongst pine straw and beech leaves on her otherwise gleaming glass-topped patio table. </div><div><br /></div><div>Bad enough that this absurd dream roused me in the middle of the night, now I have to worry whether I’m losing my mind. </div><div><br /></div><div>The microwave clock read twelve-seventeen as she placed a cup of milk inside. Two and a half minutes would warm it nicely. </div><div><br /></div><div>But first she would have to retrieve her book and clean the patio table – Helen could no more abide messy nature remnants on her furnishings than she could leave a beloved book exposed to the elements, once she was aware of either.</div><div><br /></div><div>As she made her way toward the patio, she paused to straighten a hardcover book on the end table. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>Northanger Abbey</i>. </div><div><br /></div><div>Helen froze. </div><div><br /></div><div>If <i>Northanger Abbey</i> was here, then what book was on the patio table? </div><div><br /></div><div>Her arms prickled with gooseflesh as the more important question, who put it there? occurred to her.</div><div><br /></div><div>She put her hand over the soft flesh of her throat which was puling with the beat of her heart. </div><div>An intruder.</div><div><br /></div><div>Helen laid one arm protectively across her bosom and wished she was wearing more than a nightshirt. </div><div><br /></div><div>911, call 911… Helen reached for the telephone, lifted the receiver, then put it back down.</div><div><i>And tell them what, that I’ve left my book outside, and would they please retrieve it for me</i>? </div><div><br /></div><div>Old Mrs. Bergren next door would have a jolly laugh at that. </div><div><br /></div><div>No police; Helen was on her own. </div><div><br /></div><div>She lifted her umbrella from its rack by the door and crept down the hall to the bedroom. </div><div>A screeching sound pierced the air and Helen jumped, hitting the wall, then felt foolish when she realized that it was only the timer alarm of the microwave. </div><div><br /></div><div>Helen understood that her thumping had cost her the element of surprise, yet composed herself and continued, cat-quiet, ears perked for even the slightest sound. She pressed her back against the wall as she approached the threshold to her bedroom, then took a long, slow breath. She threw herself inside, umbrella aloft like a samurai’s kitana.</div><div><br /></div><div>Nothing. </div><div><br /></div><div>She probed the air, thrusting the umbrella into her closets and under her bed. Satisfied that her boudoir – the most private sanctum of her very private life – was free of outsiders, she donned a robe and continued her search.</div><div><br /></div><div>She skulked from room to room, sweat dripping from her brow as she grew increasingly certain that, even though she had not yet found the invader, she was not alone. </div><div><br /></div><div>Helen came last of all to the place she should have suspected foremost, given the sign that had first alerted her. She entered her study. </div><div><br /></div><div>It appeared perfectly normal at first glance, but something was out of place. She ran her fingers across the rows of books on the wall-to-wall shelves, starting in reference, working through the popular titles, on to the classics…</div><div><br /></div><div>There – between The Theban poems and <i>The Odysse</i>y, where <i>The Iliad</i> should have been slumbering – a gap. </div><div><br /></div><div>Her fear turned to rage as she ran through the house and flung open the patio door. </div><div><br /></div><div>She scanned the small yard, umbrella before her as both sword and shield. The high privacy fence and sparse shrubbery provided a clear view and little concealment. </div><div><br /></div><div>The yard was empty.</div><div><br /></div><div>She cocked her head, hands on her hips. </div><div><br /></div><div>What an odd intrusion. </div><div><br /></div><div>She had not so much as looked at Homer in months, so there could be no mistaking it; someone had been in her home. They had removed only one item – a thing of no great monetary value – and did not even take it away, but merely left it on the...</div><div><br /></div><div>Right beneath her gaze, a page turned in the breathless night.</div><div><br /></div><div>She blinked, squinted, stared at the empty chair.</div><div><br /></div><div>“Who are you?” </div><div><br /></div><div>It was a curious thing that now, after the fierce arousal of the previous minutes, Helen felt remarkably un-fearful. She was more than a little irritated, but not in the least afraid. She felt…anticipation? Dare she say even hopefulness?</div><div><br /></div><div>“Who are you?” She demanded of the nothingness before her.</div><div><br /></div><div>A head appeared first, flickering like a trick of moonlight. Then she saw freckled arms emerging from a blue shirt. The man – ordinary, middle-aged, with graying brown hair – solidified somewhat as he turned toward her. </div><div><br /></div><div>Helen’s heartbeat fell from the gallop of confrontation to the familiar shuffle of disappointment. </div><div><br /></div><div>“You’re not my dream man.” </div><div><br /></div><div>The ghost looked up, left eyebrow raised in a quizzical arch. Pages flipped, stopping at a woodcut illustration. A diaphanous finger touched the image of the face that launched a thousand ships.</div><div><br /></div><div>His head tilted upward with a sardonic grin.</div><div><br /></div><div>“OK, I’m no Helen of Troy either.” </div><div><br /></div><div>She became aware that her robe had slipped open in her haste. She pulled it shut and said, “I should change into something more appropriate.”</div><div><br /></div><div>The ghost shrugged and returned his attention to Homer.</div><div><br /></div><div> “I suppose this is going to be a purely platonic relationship.”</div><div><br /></div><div>The ghost nodded without glancing away from the book.</div><div><br /></div><div>Helen huffed. </div><div><br /></div><div>She returned to the kitchen, silenced the microwave, and tested her milk. She gave it another thirty seconds, sampled it a second time, and was satisfied.</div><div><br /></div><div>She retrieved <i>Northanger Abbey</i> from the end table before returning to the patio. As she sat next to the once-again invisible reader, she noticed that the pine straw and leaves were missing from the table. </div><div><br /></div><div>“Where did the nature mess go?”</div><div><br /></div><div>The reader in the blue polo shirt glimmered back into translucency, and thrust a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the yard next door. </div><div><br /></div><div>“Well,” Helen said, “you have some usefulness.” </div><div><br /></div><div>She sipped her milk and settled in for a little midnight reading.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">* * * *</div><div><br /></div><div><div>Jess Harris is an internationally published writer who is not quite ready to give up his day job as a US Army officer. He is a member of MinnSpec Writers’ Network, MN8 Novelists’ Retreat, founder of SoFriedSpecFic, and adjunct member (strap-hanger) of SA-based Adamaster Writer’s Guild.</div><div><br /></div><div>He writes: dark science fiction; urban fantasy alternate history; high fantasy with practically no magic; mysteries where anyone, including the lead detective, might wind up dead; humorous horror; and “literary crime fiction” (whatever that means.) His biggest challenge is often deciding what genre a particular piece falls into.</div></div>nerinedormanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12885964421325041778noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671735107471573792.post-35228419049631051112011-03-20T00:50:00.000-07:002011-03-20T01:07:16.695-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iG5-pKrAViI/TYW0j7cd3ZI/AAAAAAAAAJU/7OIgLCq9cD0/s1600/454457.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iG5-pKrAViI/TYW0j7cd3ZI/AAAAAAAAAJU/7OIgLCq9cD0/s320/454457.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586069442168479122" /></a><br /><div>I’ve a sweet tooth for Sandra Sookoo’s writing, so when I heard she’d started working on SF, with a strong romantic twist, my interest was sufficiently piqued to pick up a copy of one of her latest titles―<i>Damaged Cargo</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>What more could a gal ask for: a strong-willed female pirate captain with a penchant for corsetry; a man with a mission to rid a planet of an evil dictator; and a strong-willed crew of misfits, all tumbled together on the <i>Wraith Orchid</i>?</div><div><br /></div><div>Captain Emma Gardine keeps everyone at arm’s length as she travels the galaxy, always ready to take advantage of an opportunity for a tidy profit or a quick steal. For her, men are merely a means to an end, a way to satisfy her physical urges. Hiding her vulnerability, she goes about her daily business with a tough-as-nails exterior. That is, until she meets Tarik Vertouth, who works his way on board her ship with ulterior motives – hostile takeover. Tarik needs the <i>Wraith Orchid</i> to fulfil his mission: to kill his despotic father, the ruler of the planet Nazulara. </div><div><br /></div><div>Today Toad welcomes Sandra to her corner for a cuppa tea and a chat about her novel.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>I’ve heard you mention on some of your blogs that this one’s very much geared toward </i>Firefly<i> fans. Care to elaborate?</i></b></div><div><br /></div><div>Well, I hadn’t really thrown my hat in the ring with writing SF, so after watching <i>Serenity</i> and not liking it, I bought the <i>Firefly</i> DVDs. I ended up really loving them, which gave me an idea. My husband had been nagging me to write another SF book so I took inspiration from the ship and the costuming of <i>Firefly</i>. Instead of cowboys, I made my crew pirates and had a great time doing it.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>Why name the ship the </i>Wraith Orchid<i>?</i></b></div><div><br /></div><div>Now that was interesting. I needed a name for my ship. I’m totally bad at it so I had help from my husband, who is a total sci-fi geek. I chose “orchid” because these plants are rare and varied, kinda like the crew and “wraith” because they slip through galaxies, stealing and generally making trouble. Even though it’s a cargo ship, it needed a grand name.</div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>If you had to pick lead actors for your two main characters, who would be top on your list?</b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, wow, I’ve never thought about that. I actually based Emma off one of my close friends. This gal has held her own in bar disagreements, neighbor fights and all kinds of stuff, and she does it in heels with a “take no prisoners” attitude. I suppose, if I had to choose, Angelina Jolie would be good, because let’s face it, she looks good with guns strapped to her, LOL. As for Tarik, hmm, maybe Russell Crowe. He does well with serious roles and can be nasty when he needs to.</div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>You offer a social “return” to Victorian norms in your futuristic setting. Why is this? Why would people look back to that era for their styling? </b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>I liked the idea of this because things were simpler then. There was very much a set of rigid rules and norms in place to control society—at least on the surface. In my fictional world, I instituted that as an additional constraint and a breeding ground for pirates. You can’t buck the system if there isn’t a tough one in place. I also adore historical writing so it was only natural to combine the two in this story.</div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>You’ve left some untied threads near the end. Is there a sequel in the pipelines?</b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>You bet. I didn’t think there would be, but somehow, sci-fi is now in my blood and I can’t walk away. This spring I’ll be starting work on the follow-up novel. This will be Tomis’s story as well as one of Tarik’s sisters. I’m excited to begin work on it since the notes are quite expansive and very complicated. Will the <i>Wraith Orchid</i> be back? On the fringes I think. It won’t be about them as much.</div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>Thank you for dropping by at Toad's Corner, Sandra. We hope to have you visit again soon!</b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>Go purchase <i>Damaged Cargo</i> here: <a href="http://purplesword.com/zencart/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=4&products_id=58">http://purplesword.com/zencart/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=4&products_id=58 </a></div><div><br /></div><div>Amazon: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Damaged-Cargo-ebook/dp/B00433TYW0/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1295184994&sr=8-2">http://www.amazon.com/Damaged-Cargo-ebook/dp/B00433TYW0/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1295184994&sr=8-2 </a></div><div><br /></div><div>All Romance e-books: <a href="http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-damagedcargo-454457-143.html">http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-damagedcargo-454457-143.html</a></div><div><br /></div>nerinedormanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12885964421325041778noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671735107471573792.post-56531924832781210202011-03-13T01:17:00.000-08:002011-03-13T01:27:55.122-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KWwZknn6ajI/TXyMIMYTZRI/AAAAAAAAAIs/CGf1JWrmpVQ/s1600/spectrum.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 273px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KWwZknn6ajI/TXyMIMYTZRI/AAAAAAAAAIs/CGf1JWrmpVQ/s320/spectrum.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583491710422574354" /></a><br /><div><b>Title: </b><i>The Spectrum Collection</i></div><div><b>Publisher:</b> Dark Continents Publishing</div><div><b>Authors:</b> Simon Kurt Unsworth, John Irvine, Sylvia Shults, Tracie McBride, Adrian Chamberlin, Carsin Buckinham, Maureen Irvine, David M Youngquist, Serenity J Banks and John Prescott.</div><div><b>Buylink:</b> <a href="http://darkcontinents.com/2010/11/15/spectrum-collection/">http://darkcontinents.com/2010/11/15/spectrum-collection/</a></div><div><br /></div><div>If a collection of well-realised horror is your cup of tea, then <i>The Spectrum Collection</i> won’t disappoint. Tightly edited and engaging, these stories and poems are slivers of horror offering glimpses into other worlds readers can enter knowing that things can end very badly, in all the right ways.</div><div><br /></div><div>First up is <i>The Elms, Morecambe</i> by Simon Kurt Unsworth. The author sets about weaving his story in a manner that isn’t often as successful as this example: a story told within a story. We learn about Wisher, a haunted man, who tells his story to Nakata, whom I assume to be a journalist of some stripe in an eatery. Although slow-moving, the story nonetheless conveys the sense of a great sadness and a mystery that is never quiet explained. No great denouements here but still thought-provoking.</div><div><br /></div><div>The direction of <i>Wild Goat Curry</i> by John Irvine became very clear early on in the story and although the concept of a hunter getting his just deserts is an old, dear one, I feel this story misses the mark slightly. It’s well written but the plot needed just that little extra push to give it a stronger twist, because I wasn’t all that surprised or horrified at the ending.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Wicked Appetites</i> by Sylvia Shults takes a playful nod at the current fascination with vampires in contemporary fiction, and elicited a few chuckles on my part although I had a good inkling as to how wrong the tale would go. Once again, I feel the ending could have been stronger but overall Shults delivers an entertaining tale.</div><div><br /></div><div>Although I’m no fan of poetry, <i>The Tooth Fairy</i> by Tracie McBride is deliciously nasty for my tastes. I was suitably moved to read it out to my partner, and we shared a quiet chuckle.</div><div><br /></div><div>Adrian Camberlain’s <i>The Bodymen</i> is on my shortlist for one of my favourites in this collection. Offering a nod to classic splatterpunk and Stephen King, and although by no means unique in its subject matter, this little yarn tells the grim tale of an unfortunate series of events surrounding a pet crematorium. To say any more would lead to spoilers. </div><div><br /></div><div>Another story about just deserts, <i>Lemminaid</i> by Carson Buckinham is quite vivid when it comes to evoking the setting but it was another where I could see the twist coming from a mile away. Still, the end is suitably inevitable for the main character and Buckinham provides some fine, sold writing.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Lost</i> by Maureen Irvine, although offering me the enjoyment of seeing typical husband-and-wife interchanges, didn’t work for me. One of the major issues I had with it was the omniscient point of view, of head-hopping between the wife and the husband. The obvious horror element also didn’t do much to scare me or build tension. Other than that, it’s still an evocative piece.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Archi’s Story</i> by David M Youngquist hit all the right spots for me. Maybe it’s because I’m a big fan of the Rodriguez brothers’ films, or just that zombies are the “it” thing at the moment. This is a novel masquerading as a short story, so in the shorts stakes, it’s not a classic fit for the vehicle. However, Youngquist has created a compelling tale with characters I immediately loved. This is begging for treatment into a longer format or, dare I say it, a screenplay. This one also hits my favourites list.</div><div><br /></div><div>Maureen Irvine’s <i>Gift from a Vampire</i> is pretty. As far as poetry goes, I’m a poor judge but I did like this piece.</div><div><br /></div><div>With the current literary trend showing preference for end times-themed stories, <i>The End</i>, by Serenity J Banks, addresses all the issues plaguing modern culture. This is not so much a post-apocalyptic tale of horror as an examination of the futility of human existence in the light of absolute finality. Thoroughly depressing, this tale is not for the squeamish. Well done, Serenity. You’ve got a winner here.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Lest We Forget</i> by Tracie McBride is also on my short list for the hits from this collection. Stark, the tale hints at the horrors of a twisted Orwellian future at the hand of a mysterious dictatorship, it examines the emotions of people who have accepted their lot. There are many subtle undercurrents in this story, which begs a second read.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>My Sister Doesn’t Live There Anymore</i> by John Irvine is a haunting mood piece. While it doesn’t have a heavy horror element, the story did offer a somewhat poignant illustration of sorrow.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>The End of Leonard Bangston</i> by John Prescott didn’t quite work for me. Perhaps the shades of a Roald Dahl story were too fresh in my mind, but I saw the ending’s shape very early in the piece. Also, while I applaud the visceral detail the author gives in describing the house, I almost felt there was too much style and not enough substance to the tale. Nonetheless, visceral is possibly the right word to go with the story.</div><div><br /></div><div>Overall, this is a pleasing collection of short stories and, in my opinion, well worth the investment. It reads quickly and, in general, the tales are suitably grim, grisly and dark, as one would expect from a good horror anthology. Go buy this and read it on a rainy night, at your own peril!</div><div><br /></div><div>* * * *</div><div><br /></div><div>Have a novel in the F/SF/H genres you'd like reviewed. Email nerinedorman@gmail.com with "Toad's Corner" in the subject.</div><div><br /></div>nerinedormanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12885964421325041778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671735107471573792.post-72736975505330476492011-03-06T05:33:00.000-08:002011-03-07T05:03:08.455-08:00Rhune: Dawn of Twilight<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qVAcb2ymtfk/TXOPlw12ZhI/AAAAAAAAAIY/boMh9pG2y6I/s1600/RHUNE%2BColor%2BLogo%2BFinal.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580962242170873362" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 258px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qVAcb2ymtfk/TXOPlw12ZhI/AAAAAAAAAIY/boMh9pG2y6I/s320/RHUNE%2BColor%2BLogo%2BFinal.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Toad welcomes Jason Sonia to her corner today. While the focus of this blog has been on genre fiction, thus far, role-playing games are often popular with readers of genre fiction. Jason's achievement has been the release of his own setting, Rhune: Dawn of Twilight, which offers gamers his vision of a Stormpunk setting. Even better, the primer is available as a free download.</div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>Which role-playing games got you started, and what do you gain from the activity?</b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>I discovered role-playing games (RPGs) through comic books in my early teens, so naturally I was exposed to a lot of material by TSR. The first game I remember playing was a game called Marvel Superheroes. As a fan of the X-Men, I easily absorbed the material and the concept of being a hero. At the time, I was really into Wolverine and I wanted to build a variation of his character so I could join the X-Men. The desire to fight Sentinals and stop dark, government conspiracies appealed greatly to me. Unfortunately, at the time, only one of my friends really liked the game. So, we took turns running each other through battles and that was the extent of my experience as a superhero. Later that summer, another friend suggested we try Advanced Dungeons and Dragons (2nd Edition). We put a small group together and the rest was history. I was hooked.</div><div><br /></div><div>Unlike comics, RPGs allowed me an opportunity to really explore character concepts that I resonated with. I wasn't a passive participant. I could really get in there and get my hands dirty. As a young teen, this was a wonderful way to explore a number of concepts that a great deal of my peers weren't forced to deal with. There were moral dilemmas, social issues, and a number of themes that demanded I look beyond the surface and try to figure out what was going on - at its heart, the spirit of creativity and investigation snagged me. Moreover, it was something that really excited me with its endless potential. It was a never-ending novel in which I was one of the key stars. It definitely appealed to my ego!</div><div><br /></div><div>Today, RPGs continue to serve as an outlet of exploration. However, as an adult, it's a much more relaxed journey. Most of the gamers I know enjoy blowing off steam with some dice and a chance to beat down the bad guys (which, sadly, doesn't happen that often in reality). I tend to run a lot of games, so I find a definite enjoyment in telling stories. I especially like when the characters in those stories have complex (dare I say devious) reasons for adventuring. I find RPGs both emotionally and intellectually satisfying - much in the same way a great film draws you away - except they require you to be active. They require you to be involved. There's a certain interconnectedness about an RPG group that you don't see everyday. That, and gamers have a quirky, weird sense of humor. I like that, too.</div><div> </div><div></div><div><b><i>Tell me more about Pathfinder.</i></b></div><div><br /></div><div>The Pathfinder Roleplaying Game is an elegant revision of the 3.5 edition of the world's most popular roleplaying game. When Wizards of the Coast (WoTC) announced in fall of 2007 that they were going to release the 4th edition of Dungeons and Dragons, a huge cross section of the 3.5 community started to look for other alternatives. Luckily, the people over at Paizo Publishing, LLC (who had developed both Dungeon Magazine and Dragon Magazine under license for WoTC) had taken steps to develop their own version of the game and Pathfinder was born. I'm sure there's a lot more to it, but they'd really have to step up and speak. I'm not the man for the job (yet).</div><div><br /></div><div>People interested should definitely check them out, though. <a href="http://paizo.com/">http://paizo.com/</a> should get you there.</div><div> </div><div></div><div><i><b>Where does Rhune originate? What is Stormpunk?</b></i></div><div><strong><em></em></strong> </div><div></div><div>Rhune: Dawn of Twilight was born in the spring of 2006 in a little coffee shop called Aghora in Houston, Texas. Having evacuated from New Orleans, La for Hurricane Katrina, I was one of many New Houstonians trying to make sense of what I was doing and where I was going. I spent a lot of time reading, doodling, and talking with my friend Tom about what made heroes really potent figures. Naturally, we spoke at length about Joseph Campbell's Hero With a Thousand Faces, the Star Wars movies, and everything Tolkien. It was long before we started to look a little deeper and I started to study Norse myth (which, ironically, I had never had much of a connection with - I tend to favor Mediterranean myth). I started to read more about Ragnarök, Heimdallr, and Odin's Sacrifice. </div><div><br /></div><div>At the same time, I was starting to submit material to Dungeon and Dragon magazines. I wasn't having much luck and when I voiced this, Tom simply asked me, "If you have these strong ideas about a particular setting, why not write them down and create it yourself." At the time, I scoffed at the immensity of the work and shrugged my shoulders. I simply didn't have the time or resources. </div><div><br /></div><div>Years later, after I moved to Kuwait for work, I found I had both. So, I wrote Rhune: Dawn of Twilight.</div><div> </div><div></div><div><b><i>Was it difficult creating your world?</i></b></div><div><strong><em></em></strong> </div><div></div><div>Building the outline wasn't hard. I've been gaming for over 17 years and I know what sort of material makes it into splat books. I know you need to build enough to keep people engaged, but open enough so that anyone can tell their particular story in that setting. Designing a world means details, but only to a point. I kept this in mind when I was building the outline. Once I had what I felt was a strong starting point, I just moved forward.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then I wrote, designed, revised, wrote, revised, wrote, and wrote some more. Luckily for me, I had a lot of practice with Wolfgang Baur's Open Design (<a href="http://wolfgangbaur.com/default.aspx">http://wolfgangbaur.com/default.aspx</a> ).</div><div><br /></div><div>After a while, I started looking for artists (and this is where things got expensive). I discovered I had to communicate with them on a much different level, but once I achieved that, the product really started to come together. All in all, I think I built Rhune: Dawn of Twilight in about 8 months. Obviously, I've been holding it close to my heart a lot longer than that, but that's really what it took in terms of production. I know that since Rhune: Dawn of Twilight released at Gen Con, we've had to make several small revisions, Currently, though, I think it's a strong product that really syncs with the Pathfinder Roleplaying Game system. </div><div><br /></div><div>Stormpunk is a term I coined to describe what happens when you merge traditional steampunk with Norse myth, Ragnarök, and planar travel. At its heart, Rhune has a wild-eyed, cold as hell, kind of feel to it. It has technology, but it also has the gritty issues the come along with industrialization. It's supposed to leave the player feeling a little small and a little dirty.</div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>What does Rhune offer players?</b></i></div><div><strong><em></em></strong> </div><div></div><div>I'm a big fan of the old material that White Wolf put out in the 1990s. I lovedVampire: The Masquarade, Mage: The Ascension, and the whole World of Darkness. What I think made that venue so successful wasn't necessarily its ties to the supernatural (although I'd be a fool to ignore those elements), but it's clear and concise adaptation of character archetypes in its various games. You had personas that were believable - and therefor easily playable - because they were based from a reality we saw daily. I loved that idea (and it's not new - Joseph Campbell and Carl G Jung both covered the concepts) and wanted to take it further. So, I focused on letting ideas become driving forces for the people of Rhune: Dawn of Twilight. I looked at racial boundaries, national boundaries, and what sorts of groups would drive what sorts of ideas. I wanted it to mirror reality a little, too. So, I gave people less concrete to stand on and forced different groups to try and explain Ragnarök in their own ways. Alongside the rampant spread of industrialization, this got interesting...</div><div><br /></div><div>I believe Rhune: Dawn of Twilight offers players an opportunity to play characters that step outside of the traditional fantasy genre by giving them a world that isn't much different then their own, at least socially. The people of Midgard face a complex problem (Ragnarök - effectively the end of the world) and everyone has a different idea about what should be done. Some want to stop it. Some believe its divine justice. Some believe its just another conflict to be won. Some people are rushing towards it. Some people think it's a big lie. Some people simply don't care.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>If you were to be a character from Rhune, what would you be?</i></b></div><div><strong><em></em></strong> </div><div></div><div>I think I'd play a witch. They have a connection to something alien that most people in Rhune: Dawn of Twilight simply don't get. They're not necessarily good OR bad, but they are definitely different. They definitely scare people. After that, I'd have to switch gears and play a dwarves cleric - for much the same reasons I'd play a witch. They're a concrete class that has little room for doubt. They know (or so they think) the gods, their Will, and what must happen at Ragnarök. I think that sort of blind devotion would be a blast. To never question? To never doubt? Yeah,I think I could ham that up a little.</div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>Where can people find Rhune?</b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>People interested in Rhune: Dawn of Twilight can download the primer from Rhune's website:</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.rhunedawnoftwilight.com/">http://www.rhunedawnoftwilight.com/</a></div><div><br /></div><div>There's also maps and adventure suggestions. The best part? It's all free. </div><div></div>nerinedormanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12885964421325041778noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671735107471573792.post-73817066149188257202011-02-20T02:08:00.000-08:002011-02-20T02:17:01.851-08:00Meet Liz Strange<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-p6vsDpStLBk/TWDp9jrC6wI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/j_VEy--CKAs/s1600/Liz3%2Bsml.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 261px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-p6vsDpStLBk/TWDp9jrC6wI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/j_VEy--CKAs/s320/Liz3%2Bsml.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575713582441753346" /></a><br /><div>Today Toad welcomes Liz Strange to her corner. If you're interested in vampire fiction with a difference, Liz is sure to offer up a saga worthwhile taking a look into.</div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>When did you know you wanted to be a writer?</b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>I think I knew I wanted to be a writer at about the age of three, when I started my first series of books about a bird family. I couldn’t physically write yet so I dictated them to my mother. But when I seriously thought about pursuing a career as a writer? That happened in the summer of 2008. I’d had stories and abandoned novels I’d worked on over the years, and <i>My Love Eternal</i> (my first published book) was pulled out of a dusty box and revised.</div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>Was there a defining moment where you got the idea for your first published novel?</b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>My novel was inspired by things I liked and things I didn’t like in the vampire fiction I’d read. As my readers will find, my stories are much darker than many of the others in the "paranormal romance" market, verging on being horror. My vampires are monsters and they know it, but they still have enough of their humanity remaining to be empathized with. </div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>Why vampires? What is it about these creatures of the night that appeals to you?</i></b></div><div><br /></div><div>I like the idea of living forever, in both an amazed and horrified kind of way. It would be incredible to experience so many things, see the world around you change, but it would also be terrible to watch those who get close to you eventually die. There is something beautiful, and yet haunting about the idea of vampirism.</div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>If you were to go into solitary confinement for a year, which are the three books you'd take with you and why? </b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, hard one. Ok, if only three I’ll say <i>The Picture of Dorian Grey</i>, <i>Interview with the Vampire</i> and <i>A Handmaid’s Tale</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>Describe your writing process.</b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>I am a write as I go kind of girl. I very rarely have an outline, though I do make notes to myself as I go along about things I should follow up on. I am very serious about my research though. If I’m going to reference a geographical area, or a different time period I want to be as accurate as possible. </div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>Care to share a bit about your upcoming projects?</b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>I am working through the edits on the final book in my <i>Dark Kiss Trilogy</i>, <i>Born of Blood and Retribution</i>. I’ve finished two other novels and a novella that I hope to get out into the marketplace soon. </div><div><br /></div><div>Thanks so much for having me at Toad’s Corner! </div><div><br /></div><div><i>Useful links:</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Website: <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.lizstrange.com">www.lizstrange.com</a></div><div>Twitter: <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.twitter.com/LizStrangeVamp">www.twitter.com/LizStrangeVamp</a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>nerinedormanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12885964421325041778noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671735107471573792.post-27726783493700708712011-02-13T08:28:00.000-08:002011-02-13T08:44:57.100-08:00Tea with Cassandra Jade<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lWt3QhVtbNQ/TVgIb5SyMKI/AAAAAAAAAII/0En_Ut_jLFU/s1600/DarkJade3.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 172px; height: 283px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lWt3QhVtbNQ/TVgIb5SyMKI/AAAAAAAAAII/0En_Ut_jLFU/s320/DarkJade3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5573213814200086690" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VdqS_knAy5c/TVgIbVfRaXI/AAAAAAAAAIA/eI6MH2Fho84/s1600/deathsdaughter%2BFull.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VdqS_knAy5c/TVgIbVfRaXI/AAAAAAAAAIA/eI6MH2Fho84/s320/deathsdaughter%2BFull.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5573213804588788082" /></a><br /><div>Today Toad welcomes Cassandra Jade, author of <i>Death's Daughter</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>Tell us a little about yourself and what got you started with writing?</b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>I’ve always just loved reading and telling stories. There was something magical about being able to turn a page and be in a whole new situation and I loved creating as much as I loved experiencing. I particularly loved creating new characters and throwing them into the craziest situation I could imagine. When I was fifteen I had to write out a list of goals that I wanted to accomplish within ten years for school. I decided I wanted to finish writing a novel. From then I started focusing more on working through to the end of my stories but it has only been in the last few years that I’ve managed to find the time.</div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>Who are your three favourite authors and why?</b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>My favourite would have to be Traci Harding because she created one of my favourite characters (Tori Alexander from the <i>Ancient Future Trilogy</i>). Her mix of fantasy and history (and recreation of history) completely captivated me when I was in school and is still one of my favourite reads today.</div><div><br /></div><div>There are so many other authors but I would have to go with David Eddings and Terry Pratchett as my next two favourites. Both write fantasy but use humour to really engage the reader. Pratchett does this in an over-the-top manner that makes you laugh out loud while Eddings seems to slip the subtle sarcasm into the narration and makes you smile.</div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>Why do you write?</b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>I write because I like to find out what would happen if… I’m always asking what <i>if</i> and by writing fantasy I can play out any scenario I like and lead the characters to a logical resolution. I think that is what really kept <i>Death’s Daughter</i> going. I wanted to know what would happen if everything you believed about your life wasn’t true. Admittedly, the question has been asked before but it is one of those questions where there are infinite answers depending on who you ask and how they react.</div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>How do you go about crafting a story?</b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>Usually I’ll start with something simple, like an outline of a character or a single scene or something that gets my attention. I’ll spend time playing with the idea in my head and add different elements to it and slowly the idea starts to take shape. At this stage I know whether this is just a passing idea or something I want to spend time developing and I decide whether I want to start taking notes on it or not. </div><div><br /></div><div>Eventually the idea ends up in a notebook and it may stay there forever, particularly if I’m currently working on something else. If it gets to the stage where I’m going to turn it into an actual story, I will write an outline of events and do some character mapping and then I’ll start writing the first draft. Quite possibly I need to take a more methodical approach to crafting a story in the future but at the moment I like that at each stage I step back and think about what I’m doing and I can jump between ideas and notebooks.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>Sum up </i>Death's Daughter<i> in three words.</i></b></div><div><br /></div><div>I tried. I really did and I cannot think of three words that would sum up <i>Death’s Daughter</i>. The best I could come up with was: <i>Desperately seeking escape from destiny</i> – which is five words and more of a classified advertisement than a summary.</div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>Useful links:</b></i></div><div>My blog is Cassandra Jade in the Realm (<a href="http://cassandrajade.wordpress.com/">http://cassandrajade.wordpress.com</a>).</div><div>My Twitter is @darkened_jade</div><div>An excerpt from Death’s Daughter can be read on Lyrical Press (<a href="http://www.lyricalpress.com/deaths_daughter_excerpt">http://www.lyricalpress.com/deaths_daughter_excerpt</a>)</div><div><br /></div>nerinedormanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12885964421325041778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671735107471573792.post-1943391719371178112011-02-06T03:02:00.000-08:002011-02-06T03:06:58.465-08:00Short Fiction: The Accident by WJ Hill<div>It was an accident. Daniel never meant to hit the hitch-hiker who had suddenly jumped out in front of him with his thumb held out. He slammed on the brakes and tried to swerve. The screech of tyres on the tarmac – followed by the thud of the hitch-hiker's body hitting the bonnet would ring in his ears for the rest of his life. Trembling, he got out of the car and went to look at the scene. The long, winding country road was empty. No witnesses. He swatted the idea away. Daniel Moynahan was a decent, law-abiding citizen and would do right by this person, whoever he was. </div><div><br /></div><div>The hot summer day was drawing to an end and, despite the hazy heat, Daniel shuddered. Nausea welled up in his belly as the implications of the accident began to filter through the sense of dissociation that was taking over. On autopilot, he rounded the front of the car and, to his surprise, saw no visible damage. </div><div><br /></div><div>The sickening thud of the hitch-hiker hitting the bonnet, followed by the brief darkening of the windscreen as he rolled over the front of the car replayed in Daniel's mind. He had just hit someone and possibly killed him. Why was there no damage to the car? He walked around to the back, fascinated and a little scared. Was he losing his mind? Had he imagined the collision?</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, he had definitely hit the brakes. The stink of burning rubber wrinkled his nose before he even saw the twin lines where he had skidded to a halt. A feeling of being watched crept into his consciousness, nudging him to look further into this. It occurred to him to check the overgrown ditch. There should have been a smell of blood – or worse – his logic told him. If he had really hit someone, that was. Still, Daniel pushed aside all notions of just writing it off as an hallucination and decided to investigate. He knew that, if he didn't, he would spend the rest of his life asking himself why not. Besides, there was always the chance that it was just an hallucination. He had to be sure.</div><div><br /></div><div>There was a crowbar in the back, behind the driver's seat. He went back to the car and took it out, then went along the ditch, using the crowbar to pull away the berry-laden brambles, starting from where the bonnet of the car was, and working backwards. When he reached the end of the skid marks, he almost gave up, but curiosity and a desire to resolve this compelled Daniel to continue the search for the hitch-hiker's body, which he just knew was somewhere along here. On the fringes of his awareness, he could sense a pleading to keep going, to uncover the truth of the matter, as if the hitch-hiker was standing beside him, urging him on. </div><div><br /></div><div>Unwilling to let him down, Daniel kept walking along, poking and pulling at the undergrowth along the ditch, ignoring the cold fingers of fear that were creeping up his spine. The hitch-hiker was somewhere along here, he just knew it. A brief glimpse of dirty blond hair and intense blue eyes widened in surprise and horror flashed through Daniel's mind. The feeling grew stronger, as if the hitch-hiker was waiting for him in the ditch, ready to spring out and shout, “Gotcha!”</div><div><br /></div><div>But it wasn't quite like that after all. The next pull at the brambles and bindweed revealed a dirty trainer and a bit of denim. Daniel gulped and pulled the curtain of weeds up anyway, and uncovered more denim, soaked, rotten and stuck to the maggot-eaten corpse. Flies buzzed up in an angry cloud as he yanked at the undergrowth. Light glinted off the frame of a pair of broken spectacles that hung halfway off the ruined face. Horrified, Daniel stepped away and threw up. He put his hand on his heart as he passed by the spot where the body lay on the way back to his car, then called the police. As he waited for them to arrive, the oppressive feeling of being watched faded, as if the hitch-hiker was glad to have been found at last. </div><div><br /></div><div>* * * *</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Toad welcomes submissions of guest blogs, short stories, poems, art and excerpts from published and (some) selected unpublished authors. Please mail <a href="nerinedorman@gmail.com">nerinedorman@gmail.com</a> for further information</i></div>nerinedormanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12885964421325041778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671735107471573792.post-57956934854633970102011-01-30T08:26:00.001-08:002011-01-30T09:12:10.584-08:00Tea with Manda Benson<div>Today Toad welcomes Manda Benson, author of a number of SF novels, for both adults and younger readers. </div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>You have built a very detailed setting. Where did the initial spark for your milieu occur? </i></b></div><div><br /></div><div>In <i>Pilgrennon’s Beacon</i>, the physical setting in the story is real locations in the British Isles. Because of this, planning the book in this respect required far less thought than my fiction that involves more fantastic places. However, it required much more in the way of active research. </div><div><br /></div><div>Because I wanted locations to feel authentic, I had to visit places and study maps of areas I wasn’t familiar with in order to get a feel for them. In a way, it was more complicated than writing a story set in a purely fictional setting, as the landscape can’t be warped to fit the plot, and there are certain limitations to suspension of disbelief if you’re going to add something to an existing place for the purpose of the story.</div><div> </div><div>The greatest influence on the book was undoubtedly the Outer Hebrides. The Isle of Lewis is made up of breathtaking landscapes, yet its beauty is in many ways desolate and barren, and treacherous. The wind tears over crags and peat moorlands with no trees to offer shelter. The stony cliffs and empty beaches stand against the wrath of an ocean which the size and shape of the island make it impossible to escape. Of the sparse stone houses that do exist on Lewis, many </div><div>lie in ruins, and there seem to be more graves than living people. </div><div><br /></div><div>If you go to Harris, the landscape there looks like it could be the surface of a moon. I was captivated not only by the islands’ wild beauty, but by how forbidding and even slightly sinister they were. Adding a mysterious beacon on an island with a haunted lighthouse (the haunted lighthouse is real; the beacon isn’t) seemed a great way to make a really atmospheric setting for a technothriller.</div><div> </div><div>In terms of the social landscape <i>Beacon </i>is set against, I use a political structure for the society in some of my other books that’s very different to the sort of democracy we see in politics today. The series of which this book is the first volume is about the revolution that leads to this radical new society.</div><div> </div><div><b><i>The Star Archers have their progenitor in </i>Pilgrennon's Beacon<i>. Tell us more about your archers and their origin.</i></b></div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div> </div><div>Readers of the <i>Galactic Legacy</i> books (<i>Dark Tempest</i> and the forthcoming <i>In the </i><i>Shadow of Lazarus</i>) might recognise some references and similarities between the two worlds. <i>Galactic Legacy</i>, <i>Pilgrennon’s Children</i>, and <i>Days of the Meritocracy </i>(not yet published) are three distinct series that span different eras of a common history. <i>Pilgrennon’s Children</i> is near future and set mostly on Earth, <i>Days of the Meritocracy</i> is a few hundred years from the present and set within the Solar system, and <i>Galactic Legacy</i> is in the distant future, when a large </div><div>portion of the Galaxy has been colonised.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>I wouldn’t like to say anything too specific about the connections between them, partly because I think this sort of thing is best left to mystery and reader interpretation, but also because I might have an idea for a book at some point in the future that would invalidate something I’d earlier said!</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><i><b>You offer readers a very British SF viewpoint. How does your world view differ from the standard tropes?</b></i></div><div><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div> </div><div>I write about what I know. A large proportion of the book-buying public are American, but it would be no use me setting a book in America, because I’ve never been there and I don’t know enough about it to make it realistic. I think (or rather hope) that most people would prefer to read something authentic about an unfamiliar place and culture than read a book that doesn’t do justice to a place and culture they already know.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><b>Pilgrennon's Beacon<i> isn't quite YA fiction, although your protagonist is quite young. What are some of the prevalent themes in the novel and why do you think it appeals to a broad readership?</i></b></div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div> </div><div>The thing is, I didn’t start writing <i>Pilgrennon’s Beacon</i> or plan the series as being for any particular age group. I simply had a story that demanded to be written, so I wrote it. I’d had the idea of the origins of the Meritocracy and how it was sparked by a feud between two scientific luminaries in the autumn of our modern era for some years, but neither of these characters seemed the right PoV to work with, and I had never really been sure how to put these ideas into a novel. As the idea continued to develop in the back of my mind during a hiatus and while I was writing some other things, another character, a girl who knew very little about her own past, came into the picture and I realised at once that this was her story.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>When I sent it to writer friends to critique, a number of them commented that it worked well as a YA book. Initially I thought this wouldn’t work because the book was too grim and the ideas were too complicated and "grown up", but as it turns out, these are apparently the sort of things a lot of young people look for in fiction.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><i>Pilgrennon’s Beacon</i> is in essence a near-future Pandora story. It’s also a story about a feud, about vengeance, forgiveness, and about self discovery. Central to the plot are the relationships between Dana and two other adult characters who follow the creator-destroyer-preserver motif. One person who beta read the book with the caveat that he didn’t really connect with child characters enjoyed it for the adult characters’ stories. I hope this book has something for everyone.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><i><b>What are the three most important SF works any SF author should have on their shelf, and why?</b></i></div><div><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div> </div><div>I’m going to sidestep that question in a way. I don’t think it’s particularly important to possess or even read science fiction in order to write science fiction. Science fiction is any fiction with a speculative scientific element. It doesn’t have to conform to any sort of stereotype, and you don’t have to write it to a formula. What constitutes a good book tends to be a matter of taste on one hand, and on the other a lot of pretty awful fiction by most people’s standards has been grouped under the broad umbrella of SF. So, the most important books? </div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>Firstly, get a style manual. If you want to write anything, you’ll want other people to be able to read it. I’ve heard a few times, mostly from unpublished writers, that things like punctuation don’t matter and that the editor who eventually accepts their books exists to fix such problems. That’s rot. An editor’s job is to make sure the book is in the publisher’s house style and to correct mistakes. If there are twelve errors in every paragraph, that goes beyond the remit of correcting mistakes. It means the writer can’t use the English language properly. You wouldn’t go to a job interview or a friend’s wedding wearing Wellington boots and clothes you’d worn to muck out a stable in, would you? </div><div><br /></div><div>Poor command of the written word looks unprofessional and means readers are likely to reject it without giving the story a chance. So proofread your writing carefully. Buy a style manual, read it, and try to follow it to your best ability. That means either the Oxford Style Manual </div><div><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Oxford-Style-Manual-Robert-Ritter/dp/0198605641/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1293718642&sr=8-1">http://www.amazon.co.uk/Oxford-Style-Manual-Robert-Ritter/dp/0198605641/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1293718642&sr=8-1</a> or the Cambridge Handbook </div><div><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Butchers-Copy-editing-Cambridge-Copy-editors-Proofreaders/dp/0521847133/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1293718767&sr=8-2">http://www.amazon.co.uk/Butchers-Copy-editing-Cambridge-Copy-editors-Proofreaders/dp/0521847133/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1293718767&sr=8-2</a></div><div>for those in the UK, or the Chicago Manual of Style </div><div><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Chicago-Manual-Style-16th/dp/0226104206/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1293718957&sr=1-2">http://www.amazon.com/Chicago-Manual-Style-16th/dp/0226104206/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1293718957&sr=1-2</a></div><div>or the Associated Press Stylebook </div><div><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Associated-Press-Stylebook-Briefing-Media/dp/0465012620/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1293718923&sr=8-1">http://www.amazon.com/Associated-Press-Stylebook-Briefing-Media/dp/0465012620/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1293718923&sr=8-1</a></div><div>for those in the USA.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>Secondly, buy a factual resource on the area you’re writing in. If you’re writing a novel about quantum mechanics, get a good quantum mechanics textbook. </div><div><br /></div><div>Read relevant scientific articles in magazines and on websites. There’s always going to be a proportion of speculation and conjecture in science fiction, but the stronger you ground that in what’s already known, the more believable it will be and the more inclined readers will be when you need them to suspend disbelief or make a conceptual leap. Also, you can get some great ideas for novel premises just reading about current research.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>Lastly, although science fiction with bad science is bad science fiction, science fiction with bad characters is bad fiction. Read a wide variety of books of all genres, not just SF, and analyse what works about the characters in the books you enjoy. The third book can be any book with characters you connect with, for whatever reason. Join online writing groups and discuss </div><div>characterisation methods to help you integrate realistic characters meaningfully in your plots.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><i><b>You own Tangentrine Ltd, the publisher of Pilgrennon’s Beacon and two of your other books. Why did you decide to set up your own business to produce your books?</b></i></div><div><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div> </div><div>I submitted <i>Pilgrennon’s Beacon</i> to a lot of agents and a few publishers that accept unsolicited submissions. I got requests for more and nice comments, but no offers. Often publishing professionals commented that it was just too unusual to be commercial or they didn’t like the science-fiction aspect of it. </div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>After that I gave up and left it to rot on my hard drive for a few years, along with a few other novels and novellas and one dreadful novel that was the first one I wrote, but this particular book kept coming back to haunt me. <i>Pilgrennon’s Beacon</i> is intended to be the first part of a series, and I kept getting the urge to write the next book. I couldn’t justify spending time on something that would be unpublishable on the grounds that I’d been unable to sell the first book, yet this was interfering with my ability to get on and write new books.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>I looked into what call themselves "self publishing companies" – publishers like Lulu and Createspace that will publish any book for little or no upfront fee and take a cut of the profit from selling it, but I quickly realised these weren’t going to be appropriate for my requirements. They didn’t allow enough control over the design of the book, and the charges per book printed meant I would have had to price the books unacceptably high. Instead, I decided to set up a publishing company and contract a printer, which works out more cost effective as you only pay the printer rather than having to pay a middleman as well, and the quality of the books is much better.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><b><i>Would you recommend self publishing to other authors?</i></b></div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div> </div><div>No, not unless you have experience writing and you’re prepared to do a lot of research and work. If you’ve just finished writing your first book, chances are there are going to be a lot of things wrong with it that you don’t yet have the experience to spot. Put the book away for a few years and write some more, then see if you still feel the same way about it. Self publishing needn’t be very expensive, but bear in mind that, to create a product that looks professional, you will have to learn typesetting and design (or pay someone else to do them for you). I was fortunate in that I have friends who are graphic designers and editors to give me advice and do a few thorough proofreads. You will also have to pay for industry-standard software and manage your business’s finances.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>If a reputable publisher wants to publish your book, I’d still say let it. Self publishing really is a lot of work if you want to do it properly. Good publishers have contacts and money to throw at marketing, so you will nearly always sell more books that way. Getting a bit less money per book sold and sacrificing some editorial control is worth that in my opinion. If you’re going for electronic publishing only, even then the good small e-presses offer a stronger option by having connections with vendor sites. When my book <i>Dark Tempest </i>was published by Lyrical Press, a significant proportion of sales came through a vendor called Fictionwise. Established publishers are able to set up agreements with this sort of vendor to make their books more prominent and </div><div>attractive to buyers.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>For those who are ready to try self publishing, I shall be running some more articles to do with the matter on my blog soon. </div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://adventuresinselfpublishing.blogspot.com/">http://adventuresinselfpublishing.blogspot.com</a></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><b>Pilgrennon’s Beacon<i> is the first volume in a series. Can you tell us more about the other books?</i></b></div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div> </div><div>The series is called <i>Pilgrennon’s Children</i>. I am currently writing the next book, <i>The Emerald Forge</i>, which I hope to publish sometime in 2012.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><b><i>Useful links...</i></b></div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div> </div><div>UKAmazon</div><div><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Pilgrennons-Beacon-Children-Manda-Benson/dp/0956608027/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1293719272&sr=8-1">http://www.amazon.co.uk/Pilgrennons-Beacon-Children-Manda-Benson/dp/0956608027/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1293719272&sr=8-1</a></div><div><br /></div><div>UKKindle</div><div><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Pilgrennons-Beacon-Children/dp/B004E113SE/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1293719272&sr=8-2">http://www.amazon.co.uk/Pilgrennons-Beacon-Children/dp/B004E113SE/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1293719272&sr=8-2</a></div><div><br /></div><div>US Amazon</div><div><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pilgrennons-Beacon-Children-Manda-Benson/dp/0956608027/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1293719250&sr=8-1">http://www.amazon.com/Pilgrennons-Beacon-Children-Manda-Benson/dp/0956608027/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1293719250&sr=8-1</a></div><div><br /></div><div>US Kindle</div><div><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pilgrennons-Beacon-Children-ebook/dp/B004E113SE/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1293719218&sr=8-2">http://www.amazon.com/Pilgrennons-Beacon-Children-ebook/dp/B004E113SE/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1293719218&sr=8-2</a></div><div><br /></div><div>Read an excerpt on Smashwords</div><div><a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/31139">http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/31139</a></div>nerinedormanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12885964421325041778noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671735107471573792.post-20041125735844412632011-01-23T02:09:00.000-08:002011-01-23T02:26:55.399-08:00Tea with Kelly Harmon<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_PX4dlJZtVBg/TTwCXB83VtI/AAAAAAAAAH0/pUdTqKcLjfo/s1600/BSCover_Final.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_PX4dlJZtVBg/TTwCXB83VtI/AAAAAAAAAH0/pUdTqKcLjfo/s320/BSCover_Final.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565325834207057618" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_PX4dlJZtVBg/TTwCW043fgI/AAAAAAAAAHs/UFWC_2Tus6o/s1600/Kelly_03172010_e.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 255px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_PX4dlJZtVBg/TTwCW043fgI/AAAAAAAAAHs/UFWC_2Tus6o/s320/Kelly_03172010_e.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565325830700629506" /></a><br /><div>Today Toad welcomes Kelly Harmon to her corner.</div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>What made you realise you wanted to be a wordsmith, and what career path did</b></i></div><div><i><b>you follow to get there?</b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>I’ve always written fiction. I can’t remember a time that I didn’t want to be a writer.</div><div><br /></div><div>I scribbled constantly in a three-ring binder full of loose-leaf all through grade school. At home, I would use my mom’s Royal manual typewriter, eking out one or two typed pages a day before my fingers would smart from those sticky keys.I harangued my parents continually for an electric typewriter, which I finally received for my 12th birthday. That’s when I really started churning out the words. (That’s also when I taught myself to type–I still can’t use my</div><div>right pinky to shift.)</div><div><br /></div><div>I studied journalism in college because I thought it would offer me more job opportunities than an English degree would. It did, but not many.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>What are, in your opinion, some of the most important interests an author should cultivate?</i></b></div><div><br /></div><div>In order to write well, I think authors need to know a great deal about people and relationships. Knowing what makes people tick, or what motivates them, enables a writer to create believable characters. It’s the tiny details, knowing the psyche of a character, and writing it into the book, which will make the straight-A, goody-two-shoes character’s sudden leap into hitch-hiking and</div><div>prostitution seem believable, rather than just convenient for the story’s sake.</div><div><br /></div><div>Relationships are very telling about people. In a book, if the husband treats his wife like dirt, but bows and scrapes to his mother...what does that tell the reader? Maybe the guy’s just an ass, or a Momma’s Boy. On the other hand, he might have some psychological problems that manifest in other ways. A good author would know how this guy will react in certain situations – and in other</div><div>relationships – and use that information to carry the plot forward.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>Was there any specific event that sparked off </i>Blood Soup<i>?</i></b></div><div><br /></div><div>It wasn’t an event, so much as a research jaunt, that sparked the idea for the story.</div><div><br /></div><div>I’m an avid genealogist, and at the time I was writing <i>Blood Soup</i>, I was putting together a family cookbook which included a recipe for a special-occasion soup called "Czarnina" (char-NEE-nah), or, in English: blood soup.</div><div><br /></div><div>Despite the title’s connotations, blood soup isn't so sinister a meal. Blood constitutes only a small fraction of what is used to create the broth. The other ingredients are fairly routine and include cloves, peppercorn and fresh apples and pears to create a sweet-and-sour soup. The soup is dark in color (<i>czarnina</i> means “black”) and I’d toyed with using the title as a play on words for the dark theme of the story.</div><div><br /></div><div>Instead, my mind continued to return to “blood” as the key to the story.</div><div><br /></div><div>As I worked through the plot, I thought of ways blood could be used for healing or as a medicinal ingredient. Taking it a step further, I wondered at the efficacy of using blood to save the life of another person: Could blood from a well person pull a dying person back from the brink? Could it strengthen a weak constitution? I considered whether or not a person could subsist on a diet of mostly blood...human or animal. And, what happens to someone who develops such a taste, so much so, that it’s like an addition?</div><div><br /></div><div>That line of questioning solidified Prince Amalric’s character: he was a weakling as a child and fed blood to fortify him. He came to crave it as a youngster, often demanding it. He reveals his strong temper - like an addict - when someone has eaten the last bowl of soup which he considers his.</div><div><br /></div><div>Although King Theodicar set in motion the events which lead to Amalric’s eventual rule, <i>Blood Soup</i> is actually about Amalric , whose blood lust was thrust upon him by a determined father and who must come to realize that he’s not the rightful heir to Borgund.</div><div><br /></div><div>And that's how <i>Blood Soup</i> came to be.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>Briefly share what </i>Blood Soup<i>'s all about.</i></b></div><div><br /></div><div>Blood Soup is a story about murder, betrayal and comeuppance.</div><div><br /></div><div>The story opens with a pregnant Queen Piacenza. Her husband, King Theodicar, naturally hopes for a male heir. The Queen is from Omera, where the first born rules, no matter the sex of the child. This causes no end of friction between them.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Queen’s nursemaid, Salvagia, casts runes about the birth. Over and over, they yield the same message: “A girl child must rule or the kingdom will fall to ruin.” The women are convinced the baby will be a girl.</div><div><br /></div><div>When the queen finally gives birth, the nurse and the king are equally surprised, and Theodicar is faced with a terrible choice. His decision will determine the fate of his kingdom. Will he choose wisely, or will he doom Borgund to ruin?</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>What advice do you have for anyone considering being a wordsmith as a career option? (this includes being a journalist.) What should they study and what career options are available?</i></b></div><div><br /></div><div>If you want to write fiction, don’t find a writing job at all. Get a degree in something else you enjoy and take some writing classes on the side. Choose something that pays a decent wage and/or is a job someone is always looking to fill. This way, you’ll have a skill set you need to make some money while you’re waiting for your novels and short stories to be published.</div><div><br /></div><div>(Yes: this advice runs completely counter to what I did, which was to study journalism in college and work for newspapers. I found the experience invaluable when it comes to learning about human nature; but the hours were long and stole time I could have been devoting to writing fiction.)</div><div><br /></div><div>There’s another reason I advise studying something other than writing: you’ll gain extensive knowledge in another subject which you can use in your fiction.</div><div><br /></div><div>For instance, if you study archeology...you can write a novel - even a series of novels - with the main character being an archeologist or the setting being an archeological dig. Your writing will be richer for your having studied the subject so extensively already. Imagine not having to do all that research!</div><div><br /></div><div>If you want to write non-fiction for a living, an English or journalism degree (or even, public relations/advertising) could lead to a variety of jobs: reporting, writing brochures or sales literature for foundations or large companies, translation, advertising, etc.</div><div><br /></div><div>You could go the reporter route...but there’s more money to be made in freelancing. The difference is: you’ve got to work harder for the freelance dollars. You’ve got to make your own leads, find your own stories, and be organized enough – and driven enough – to make it work for you.</div><div><br /></div><div>High-paying writing jobs often require specialized experience: medical writing, legal writing, engineering, etc. If you want a high-paying writing job, explore those venues.</div><div><br /></div><div>Can you write non-fiction and fiction? Sure, I do it all the time. But I’m not certain you can make a full-time career out of either if you do them together.</div><div><br /></div><div>That being said: your mileage may vary. No matter what you decide... good luck!</div><div><br /></div><div>Useful links:</div><div><br /></div><div>Website/Blog: <a href="http://kellyaharmon.com/">http://kellyaharmon.com</a></div><div>Twitter: @kellyaharmon</div><div><br /></div><div>Read the first two chapters for free at Scribd:</div><div><a href="http://www.scribd.com/doc/27623529/Blood-Soup-by-Kelly-A-Harmon">http://www.scribd.com/doc/27623529/Blood-Soup-by-Kelly-A-Harmon</a></div><div><br /></div><div>Buy Links:</div><div>Eternal Press Link: <a href="http://www.eternalpress.biz/searches.php?genre=22">http://www.eternalpress.biz/searches.php?genre=22</a></div><div>Also available on Kindle:</div><div><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Blood-Soup-ebook/dp/B003B658CK/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2">http://www.amazon.com/Blood-Soup-ebook/dp/B003B658CK/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2</a></div><div><br /></div><div>Fictionwise: <a href="http://www.fictionwise.com/ebooks/b96782/Blood-Soup/Kelly-Harmon/?si=0">http://www.fictionwise.com/ebooks/b96782/Blood-Soup/Kelly-Harmon/?si=0</a></div><div><br /></div>nerinedormanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12885964421325041778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671735107471573792.post-80538664580608204002011-01-16T00:01:00.000-08:002011-01-16T00:06:46.110-08:00Short Fiction: Deepening Twilight by AE Rought<div><div>The angel breezed by, wings sparkling and halo askew. She giggled, a high sweet sound in the deepening twilight. A devil followed close behind, tail dragging in the gravel, pitchfork snagged on the angel’s skirts.</div><div> </div><div>Then, their mother walked past. Each engrossed in their pursuit of sweet treats, and all oblivious to me.</div><div> </div><div>I lay beneath a golden maple, upon the carpet of autumn’s splendor. A chill breeze unsettled my costume in its passage. And, the fallen leaves whispered softly beneath my weight--complaining, displeased that my blood stained them crimson…</div><div><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;">* * * *</div><div><br /></div><div><i>AE Rought is compulsive. Coffee, writing, chocolate, coffee, writing… When not indulging in hunky heroes, gorgeous heroines and their tangled lives, AE can be found crafting, beading, watching </i>Ultimate Fighting<i> on TV, maybe even walking the dog. Luckily, her real life gun-slinging, sword-swinging hero of a husband tolerates that little personality quirk pretty well. So do her kids. The cat, however, not so much—he still walks across the keyboard on occasion.</i></div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>Links:</i></b></div><div><a href="www.aerought.com">www.aerought.com</a></div><div><a href="www.twitter.com/aerought">www.twitter.com/aerought</a></div><div><a href="www.facebook.com/AERought">www.facebook.com/AERought</a></div>nerinedormanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12885964421325041778noreply@blogger.com0