I’m Obsessed. But It’s A Good Thing…Really…

Posted under Uncategorized on September 19th, 2015 by

I’m a little bit obsessed at the moment. I’ve been having so much fun writing TWELVE DAYS OF FAERY and it’s so very nearly finished! As a result, I’ve been taking the ‘big computer’ to work every day and sitting down at lunch to ignore everyone with my ipod plugged into my brain, then coming home with said big computer just to sit down and ignore everyone here, too. My reward for this is a very nearly finished novella and a slightly messed-up brain, plus the joyous satisfaction of having written 1000 words per day on my off days, and 3000+ on my on days–an unheard of burst of productivity that I’ve never before managed.

Thusly, and in celebration, I’m gonna post another excerpt of TWELVE DAYS OF FAERY here for you guys (cos I just know you were slavering at the bit for this). Enjoy, and tell me what you think!

(Oh, and keep an eye out on Monday next for the Cover Reveal! I’m so excited!)

Excerpt from Day Eight

                “Unseelie again,” said Markon, peering into the soft darkness of the Door. “I’m beginning to sense a pattern.”

“There’s not too much difference between Seelie and Unseelie when it comes to humans,” Althea said. “To them we’re more like talking dogs than anything. The Seelie are just as happy to murder us as the Unseelie: the only difference is that they’ll do it with a smile instead of a wink.”

“Ah,” said Markon, grateful for the twin iron bands around his wrists. “Speaking of murder, which particular bit of magic do we have to thank for bringing us to this piece of Faery?”

“Sal was showing me some of the sights yesterday afternoon,” said Althea. “I found a few remnants of magic where Parrin’s first sweetheart and one of the ladies who tried to break the curse were last seen. It’s– well, it seems familiar, but I can’t place it.”

“Does the room look familiar?”

“I couldn’t even tell it was a room,” said Althea, reaching for Markon’s hand. “Familiar or otherwise. Are you ready?”

Markon wrapped his fingers tightly around Althea hand, said: “Oh, about as much as usual,” and stepped through the Door with her.

At first there was only confusion and soft darkness, while they stood together hand in hand to get their bearings.

Then a male voice said: “What a delicious surprise!” from somewhere in the velvet darkness. It was soft, smooth, and entirely seductive.

Althea said: “Bother!”

“Sweetness, that’s not very kind of you,” said the voice reproachfully.

Markon, his teeth set on edge, flexed the fingers of his free hand in an instinctive desire to wrap them around the throat of the speaker. He couldn’t make out anything in the darkness, but as he frowned into the shadows a flare of silvery light burst into being and swiftly formed a swirling ball that gave light to the entire room. In its light, a rather annoyed Althea could be seen, her gaze directed toward the rumpled bed where a half-naked male fae was lounging. He yawned and stretched sinuously for Althea’s benefit, then rolled lightly across the wine-coloured bedspread and to his feet.

“I thought I recognised the magic,” said Althea. “I should have picked another sample.”

“You cut me to the quick,” mourned the fae. His eyes flicked over her in a way that immediately doubled Markon’s desire strangle him, but it wasn’t until the fae strolled over and curled one arm around Althea’s waist that he said curtly: “I take it you know each other?”

“Oh yes,” said the fae, lowering his head in what Markon had no doubt was an attempt to kiss her.

Althea, putting one hand on his bare chest to push him away firmly, said: “Not particularly. Carmine, if you try to kiss me again, I’ll–”

Through his teeth, Markon said: “Again?”

“Sweetness, the company you keep is slipping decidedly,” said Carmine. He released Althea but still stood by far too close.

“This isn’t a social call!” said Althea. She sounded harried. “Markon, this is Carmine. He tried to buy me some years ago. Carmine, this is Markon. He’s my human, and if you even think about–”

“I’m not your human,” said Markon grimly.

Carmine said: “I wanted to marry you, sweetness. There’s a difference.”

***

[Insert Blog Post Here]

Posted under Uncategorized on September 15th, 2015 by

I should be here writing a blog post. In fact, you probably think I am. And maybe I am, just a little bit. But the fact of the matter is that I’m sick, I don’t feel like writing a blog post, and I’m more than a little caught up in the novella I’m finishing off this week (hopefully), not to mention the novella I’m plotting.

Happily, I have the good fortune of blogging to an audience of both readers and writers, who have great imaginations. So please, imagine a fantastic, thought-provoking blog post here. Shade it with all the colours of the imagination, and admire the careful strokes of its immense profundity.

Thank you.

Now I can get back to Markon and Althea, and that dashing and perennially shirtless fae, Carmine. You’ll thank me later.

P.S. If you haven’t signed up for my mailing list, you really should. I’m doing a cover reveal for TWELVE DAYS OF FAERY in the latest edition, and you’ll otherwise have to wait another week or two -gasp!- to see it in all its beauteousity.

Spindle On Tour: AKA, Sharing Is Caring!

Posted under Book Blog Tour, Spindle on September 12th, 2015 by

Fantasy Banner New

SPINDLE is on tour this week with two other wonderful books: SERVANT OF THE CROWN and THE FREY SAGA.

SPINDLE - 2000Hencely (yes, I did just make up a word. I do that) you can catch up with myself and SPINDLE for a guest post at Mythical Books (What If…?), an exclusive excerpt of SERVANT OF THE CROWN byServant Of The Crown pic Melissa McShane on Brooke Blogs, and an exclusive excerpt and sneak peek for book four with THE FREY SAGA by Melissa Wright on Beck Valley Books.the frey saga pic

You can also enter the Rafflecopter Giveaway to win a copy of each of the books and a $30 Amazon gift card at any of the links above, so yay!

Many thanks to everyone who already entered, and to all the fabulous people who shared links and retweeted tweets! You’re all fantastic!

Sneak Peek: Shards Of A Broken Sword

Posted under Book Blog Tour, Book Excerpts, Novellas, Shards Of A Broken Sword on September 7th, 2015 by

Between Spindle (Two Monarchies #1) and the upcoming Blackfoot (Two Monarchies #2), I’ve decided to release two novellas in my (currently) three novella series Shards Of A Broken Sword. The first, Twelve Days Of Faery, should be published shortly before Christmas, and the second, Fire In The Blood, will hopefully be released just a month or so after the first. As you may guess, that means I’ve been VERY busy. I’ve been using a different process for the novellas, too; and so far it’s been wonderfully effective and quite reasonably enjoyable. Then, in between writing and plotting, I’ve been ferreting through stock images and premade covers to find suitable covers for suitably low prices. When I get bored with THAT, I start picking out excerpts of Twelve Days Of Faery to show you all. Lucky you, huh?

In Twelve Days Of Faery, King Markon of Montalier is at the end of his tether. His son, Prince Parrin, is afflicted with a rather nasty curse that slaughters, maims, or brutally attacks any woman with whom he so much as flirts. After the rumour that sweeps around the kingdom, promising that any woman breaking the ‘curse’ will be eligible to marry the prince, there is no shortage of willing volunteers. Unfortunately, there is also no shortage of bodies piling up.

Markon needs to do something, but what? Can a visiting enchantress from Avernse help, or is she simply another accident waiting to happen? And will Markon be able to give her up to his son if she does break the curse?

Well, that’s it from me! Spindle is on a whirlwind tour with Prism Book Tours, so I’ll be tweeting about that during the week, with a quick post midweek to catch up with all the action. In the meantime, do enjoy this sneak peek from Twelve Days Of Faery!

***

Still, when Markon introduced Althea to Parrin, she didn’t seem particularly coy. She curtsied to him with less depth than she had curtseyed to Markon, and said in an offhand manner: “You’re rather prettier than I expected from the portraits.”

Parrin bowed and smiled, but he looked as though he was no more sure than Markon was that he’d been given a compliment.

“I understand that you have a rather difficult problem,” continued Althea. She was remarkably business-like for a girl who had just been discussing marriage. Not a maidenly smoothing of the hair or sparkle of the eye. “I have a little bit of an idea about it. May I ask questions?”

“Of course,” said Parrin. He was cautiously admiring her, though Markon was pleased to see that he didn’t go so far as to smile. The boy was thoughtless, but Markon would like to think that he wasn’t so careless as to potentially endanger Althea.

“The first two girls, the fiancées–”

“Yes, lady?”

“Both of those were accounted to be accidents, weren’t they?”

“Yes, lady. The countess was thrown from her horse in the courtyard and the princess was attacked by bandits when she returned home from a visit.”

“How long between the betrothal and the death for the countess?”

“A few weeks,” said Parrin, tugging at the cuffs of his jacket. He had been very fond of the girl, thought Markon with a pang: he had also been the one to find her.

“The princess?”

“A few months.”

Althea frowned, a quick, reflexive action. “You weren’t immediately engaged again afterward, were you?”

“No: I met Jeannie at court and we stepped out a few times. She disappeared before it even got about that we were thinking of each other. After that it seemed to take less and less to activate the curse.”

“What set it off most recently?”

“I smiled at the girl,” said Parrin glumly. Markon couldn’t blame him: he remembered what it was like to be Parrin’s age, and the idea of being unable to so much as kiss a girl without something unfortunate happening to her was horrible to contemplate.

“And how long was it before it took effect?”

“A few days,” said Parrin.

“I see,” said Althea. “Stand up, please.”

Parrin did so, looking rather nonplussed.

To Markon she said: “Would you hold this? Thank you,” and pressed something circular and metallic into his hand.  He looked down at the ring, somehow more real in his hand than it had looked on her finger, and took far too long to realise what she was doing. When he finally did understand, Markon started forward, his hand closing around the ring convulsively. By then Althea was on tiptoes with her hands cupping Parrin’s face, kissing the boy with some force and not a little skill if his reaction was anything to judge by.

Markon felt a rush of molten anger unlike anything he’d ever felt before. He didn’t think he moved or even thought, caught up in the stunning heat of it, but that was his hand gripping Althea’s arm with white fingers and tearing her away from Parrin, and that was his other hand shoving the ring back on her finger, his own slightly shaking.

Althea, her eyes rather big but not at all frightened, said a thoughtful: “Ow,” up at him.

It was left to Parrin’s rather frantic: “Dad! Dad, she didn’t mean any harm!” to bring him to the realisation that he’d clutched Althea to his chest, and that he’d not been gentle about it. Parrin was evidently of the persuasion that his father objected to what could technically be called an assault on a royal personage.

Markon, breathing heavily through his nose, released Althea. She hadn’t struggled at all and now merely smoothed her dress and hair as though she hadn’t just put herself wantonly in danger.

“You said you were going to work from the outside!” Markon said furiously.

“No, I didn’t,” said Althea, and there was a suggestion of stubbornness to her mouth. “I said I could if it made you uncomfortable. I also said it would make more sense to investigate from the inside. You didn’t object.”

“I object!” said Markon in exasperation. “I object very much!”

“Well, it’s too late now,” Althea said reasonably. “And it’s proved remarkably useful, too. For instance, I’m now quite sure that you’re not dealing with a curse– well, not in any technical sense of the word, anyway.”

“What?” demanded Markon, in less than cordial tones.

“I was already pretty certain it wasn’t,” she told him. “None of the girls have anything clinging to them—well, apart from some rather nasty magic, totally unconnected with the prince—and neither does the prince. As a matter of fact, they all seem to have– at any rate, I could only be certain that there was no curse by taking off the ring.”

“And putting yourself in exactly the kind of danger I didn’t want you to be in!” said Markon testily. “I’ve a good mind to send you packing!”

“No, you don’t,” said Althea.

“Of course I don’t!” groaned Markon. She’d achieved more in a couple of hours than any of the girls (or in fact any of the enchanters he’d called in) had achieved in the last couple of years.

“Parrin can’t be expected to live his life locked away from women–”

“I should think not!” said Parrin feelingly.

“–and it’s not good for your kingdom, either. After a while you get people making snide remarks about the crown sacrificing the people on the altar of succession, and then–”

“Small disturbances that become bigger ones,” finished Markon, meeting her eyes. “Factions forming across the court and perhaps an accident or two for myself and Parrin.”

Althea nodded. “Exactly. I’m rather good at this sort of thing, actually. Try to trust me a little.”

“You have a fortnight,” said Markon.

***

Points Of View: Who Are You Blogging For?

Posted under Blogging, Points Of View on September 3rd, 2015 by

It’s a sentiment I see quite often. One I’ve seen at least twice in the last week and usually a couple times every week as a regular thing. It’s something I kinda agree with but never thought too much about until it occurred to me that I also kinda disagree with it.

The gist of this sentiment is that if you’re a writer with a blog, You should be blogging for readers, not other writers. You should be putting out content that readers find interesting. You shouldn’t be writing blog posts on how to do a great kickstarter, or how to build up that email list. You shouldn’t be putting up blog posts on which advertising efforts worked for you, and which ones didn’t.

Which is all very well and good, and I totally agree that as a blogger, I want to be pulling in new readers.

However.

I think we’re all forgetting one very important consideration, and that is this: most writers are readers. We love reading. For most of us, reading was the gateway that led to writing. And we’re always on the lookout for our next good read. So I don’t think we should be afraid of blogging for writers once in a while.

Also, if you want an example of a talented and very successful writer who blogs almost exclusively for other writers, check out Lindsay Buroker‘s blog. It’s been immensely helpful to me personally, and you can’t say that it’s a blog for readers. Yet Lindsay is doing remarkably well for herself.

It all goes to show, as Chuck Berry said, that ya never can tell…

I Found A Thing On The Interwebz #1

Posted under Cool Stuff, Distractions, I Found A Thing On The Interwebz on August 27th, 2015 by

Cool stuff I randomly found on the internet: Bookcase Edition! I found this lot on IncredibleThings.com

I’m sure you’ve got room in your life for bookshelves like this:

Platzhalter Expanding Bookshelf

If your bookshelf always seems to be bursting at the seams, maybe you should just let it. You’re obviously not going to stop collecting more books than you have space for, so why not store them on something that adapts to your needs. Although after a certain point you may realize it would have been more prudent to just by a second regular shelf instead. Source

Or this:

Tangram Bookshelf

Creative use of shapes, endless possibilities.
If you liked playing with Tangram blocks as a kid, but can’t quite bring yourself to break out the blocks as an adult, this book case will alleviate the urge. Get the shapes you need and create unique artwork that expresses your style. Source

Or even this:

Rolling Shelf

Take advantage of more shelf space by making it bend to your will. Create interesting arrangements with varying heights and options with the Rolling Shelf. The flexible ends made from strips of wood are held together by fabric that allow them to be rolled up to make room. Source

And my personal favourite:

DIY Inverted Bookshelf

Follow these simple instructions and create your own upside down book shelf that freaks out your roommate. It’s a quick enough project that you can do it before he gets up for work. Unlike the time you stapled his coat to the ceiling, this won’t damage any property. In fact, the bookshelf is completely functional. Source

This has been partially reblogged from IncredibleThings.com, and the other VERY COOL bookshelves can be found here.

You Are What You Eat Read

Posted under A Writer's Life, Adventures In Real Life, Adventures In Retail, Dayjob on August 24th, 2015 by

At the Day Job I meet a lot of interesting people. And by interesting I mean people who have punchups at the service desk, entitled crusties who bring 60+ items through the 15 or less counter while berating anyone who dares to tell them they can’t do it, and that bloke who always comes in with striped thermals under his  knee-length shorts. (Seriously, I love that bloke. I get a kick out of seeing what colour stripes he’ll be rocking each time).

Then, of course, there are the ones who are interesting for a different reason. Quite often as I’m putting a customer’s groceries through, it’ll come out in the conversation that I’m a writer. The conversation then usually veers in one of three directions.

  1. Customer is VERY interested, and wants to know what sort of thing I write. When told that I write YA and NA Fantasy (most particularly rewritten fairytales) they ask to know my name so they can look me up. They are thereupon given my card.
  2. Customer is interested, and confesses to reading quite a lot, but not usually fantasy/YA etc. Depending on whether or not they are also interested in blogging/self-publishing/etc, I may or may not hand out a card.
  3. Customer wishes to tell me ALL THE WISDOM and let me know exactly how I should be writing, what I should read to be successful, and that I should give them my phone number so they can encourage/mentor/teach me the ways of life. (None of these so far have actually been writers, just rather pompous but kind-hearted individuals who genuinely seem to care about my growth). They make me want to back away slowly, but mean no harm. I try to avoid giving them my card.

This afternoon I had one of the less off-putting interesting ones. We had quite an interesting chat about The Classics (which he wanted to know if I had read, and was kind enough to approve when I said that I had— well, some, anyway). He then wished to know which classic authors I enjoyed. Of course, I mentioned Austen, Dumas, Scott et al, which he seemed mildly pleased about. I was on the right track, he said. We then moved on to Shakespeare, where we had slightly differing views on his tragedies (I find them highly amusing, and full of rich themes like hope and love and forgiveness).

Then he asked if I had read Kafka, Dostoyevsky (yes, I had to Google it to find out how Fyodor_Mikhailovich_Dostoyevsky_1876to spell it) and a few others that I either didn’t recognise or found vaguely familiar but was uncertain of their body of work. When I confessed my ignorance, he smiled kindly and said that I was going in the right direction, but that I should broaden my horizons. I agreed generally, but said that some of the classic authors I didn’t enjoy at all; to which he replied that reading them wasn’t about pleasure, it was about broadening the mind. Sometimes, he said, you have to force yourself through them: they’re heavy going, but worth it in the search for illumination (my paraphrasing here).

That got me thinking. As a writer, everything I read has an effect on me, even things that I really dislike. In one way or another, every book I’ve read has contributed to my ability as a writer, even if that contribution was how not to write. Sometimes I’ll dislike a set of characters and love a setting. Sometimes I’ll greatly admire a plot and dislike everything else about the book. Sometimes I’ll just hate a book so much that I can only think of how I would have written it AND NOT RUINED IT. In one sense, therefore, reading for the sake of broadening my mind and my skill isn’t to be lightly dismissed.

I do not, however, tend to continue reading things I don’t like. I don’t read just for the sake of broadening my mind. I read for pleasure. (With the exception of Christian authors like Sibbes, Spurgeon, Goldsworthy and others, whom I read both for pleasure and instruction). I’m not even sure that I should read merely for the purpose of broadening my mind. If there’s no love for what I’m reading, why bother? Even when I read biographies and autobiographies, I read because I’m interested in the person, and thus could still be said to be reading for pleasure. I’ve gotten past the age where I feel that I have to be able to proudly proclaim that I’ve read this great author or that famous poet: I feel quite happy in proclaiming that I read for pleasure.

Will I read Kafka and Dostoyevsky? Possibly. Probably. Maybe. But I’m pretty certain it’s going to be because I want to, and not because I should.

Villanelles And Story Structure

Posted under Poetry, Story Structure, Stuff you learn on August 17th, 2015 by

Villanelles and Story Structure. What do they have in common?

Absolutely nothing.

Well, except for the purely personal connection that I studied them both this week. Also, if you think about it, villanelles have a very rigid structure that- huh. Maybe they do have something in common. But I digress. Or do I? I’m not sure anymore.

Let me start again. This week I discovered a structured form of poetry known as villanelle thanks to Harriet Goodchild, who besides being a talented (and rather terrifyingly clever) author, is also a talented poet. Basically, a villanelle is a poem with five stanzas of three lines, followed by one stanza of four lines (a total of nineteen lines, if you’re counting). According to Wikipedia, “It is structured by two repeating rhymes and two refrains: the first line of the first stanza serves as the last line of the second and fourth stanzas, and the third line of the first stanza serves as the last line of the third and fifth stanzas. The rhyme-and-refrain pattern of the villanelle can be schematized as A1bA2 abA1 abA2 abA1 abA2 abA1A2 where letters (“a” and “b”) indicate the two rhyme sounds, upper case indicates a refrain (“A”), and superscript numerals (1 and 2) indicate Refrain 1 and Refrain 2″.

Basically, it’s the sudoku of poetry. The second lines of each stanza have to rhyme with each other, as do the first and third (until you get to the sixth stanza, where the first, third and fourth lines all rhyme with each other). It’s incredibly structured, and incredibly difficult to write. (Yes, I tried). It’s also oddly freeing to write, and the structure feels more like a guide than a constraint.

Besides being interesting in it’s own right, it was also interesting to consider the villanelle in light of the fact that I’d been musing on story structure at the start of the week. I’ve always had a bit of a love-hate relationship with story structure: partly because I’m primarily a pantser (meaning I most often just sit down and write without doing any planning in writing) and partly because it took so long for me to understand what story structure actually is. I’ve since done a lot of study on the subject (aka, read a lot of books by Steven Brust and Patricia Wrede, and paid special attention to any other book I read where the structure leapt out at me), and it has been borne in on me over the years that the structure of my own books requires more work. Interestingly enough, I received a crash course in structure this week and last, over at Janet Reid’s blog. Janet periodically runs flash fiction contests on her blog, which I love to enter as a form of practise even though I’m seriously outclassed by most of the writers there. I was going over the finalists’ entries a week or so ago, and though quite a few of them aren’t my style of preference for reading, it struck me how very much they could say in very few words (100 words max). This turned my interest from looking for flash fic I liked, to flash fic that really worked, without regard to preferred style.

And that, of course, brought me to structure- for it was the structure of each of the pieces that gave each so much depth. The closest thing I can compare it to is looking in a telescope. There are so few words used, but the effect is wide-ranging and immensely vast. It feels as though there must be so much more than 100 words there. I learn best via reading (and perhaps osmosis of words) and let me tell you, reading those flash fic pieces over the last two weeks has been the schooling of my life. I so much appreciate all those talented writers who enter the contests.

Now we come to the crux of the matter. You want to know if I succeeded in writing a villanelle (shush, child, shush: of course you do). I did write my own villanelle, and it turns out that the only thing I feel really poetical about is my morning cup of tea. (My magnum opus is Ode To A Cockroach (RIP), so that should give you some idea of my poetic range). Therefore, enjoy this villanelle about my first morning cup of tea, and be thankful that there are no insects involved. It has no real rhythm, meter, or in fact merit, but it was fun to write.

The First Cup Of Tea

Cup meeting saucer, bergamot in flight
Amber swirls from the tealeaves and sinks fast
A curl of steam variegated through light

Silence that rings with a chink! clear and bright
Teaspoon abandoned, steam rising ‘gainst glass
Cup meeting saucer, bergamot in flight

Dreams linger gently, away out of sight
Fingers curled ‘round the cup, warm to the last
A curl of steam variegated through light

Plate piled with shortbreads: a secret delight
Beside glazed honey jumbles- saved for last
Cup meeting saucer, bergamot in flight

Eyes flutter shut, open wider and bright
Smile as I savour this morning’s repast
A curl of steam variegated through light

Dappled light playing on walls painted white
First warmth of sunshine through icy-cold glass
Cup meeting saucer, bergamot in flight
A curl of steam variegated through light

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