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Monday, June 15, 2009
Excerpt MondayIt's Excerpt Monday again! This month, I'm sharing an excerpt from my upcoming Samhain release, Blood and Roses. The last thing Arjen wants is a vampire in his bed, despite the rest of the world's obsession with the creatures. Unfortunately, his reticence is precisely what attracts Maikel van Triet to him. After hundreds of years of being adored because of what he is, Maikel is enthralled by Arjen's apathy. I stopped before my door, fingertips resting on the handle, and turned back to him. I held my other hand out, open, palm up. "Is it a tryst you want?" I asked him. "Or to stay the night?" We both of us ignored the fact that it was nearly dawn, and night to him meant the full bright of day. He laughed a little. "A tryst, no. That's not what I came for." He counted guilders into my palm, more than I normally charged for a full night, more even than I'd have asked of him, enough that it was all I could do not to gape in astonishment. When he had finished, he curled my fingers around the coins and held my hand in his, looking up at me with a crooked smile. "I'm Maikel," he said quietly. I looked down at the silver glinting between my fingers, enough to turn this whole miserable night into a remarkably profitable one. "I know who you are." I pushed my door open and led him inside. "Do you, then?" That odd, bemused half-smile still hovered about his face. He lingered in my doorway, watching as I crossed to my bureau and put his fee in my coffer. "I had wondered." "You are Maikel van Triet, and a vampire, and your reputation precedes you." He knew it, of course. It was not only the brothel whores who fawned over his kind. Some days, it seemed all anybody in Amsterdam cared to talk about. He closed my door with a muted click of the latch and crossed to the window as I tucked my coffer into the back of a drawer. My view looked out over the canal, and the sounds of conversation and gurgling water drifted up to us on the night's breeze. "What will you?" I asked when it seemed he might stand there looking out until the sun rose. "Your reputation has preceded you, but not so much that I know your desires." He did not answer me at first, but closed and latched my shutters with deliberate care. When they were shut fast against the approaching dawn, he turned to face me, hands braced behind him on the sill. "I desire a bed until dark," he said. "And surety that the shutters will remain closed until then." My brows climbed my forehead. I stared at him, nonplussed. "That's all?" His head fell forward, sending a lock of dark hair curling against his cheek. It didn't quite hide the slight smile that curved his lips. "And the decency not to send me to bed hungry." I had expected he might request something of the sort. Still, I turned aside, crouching to tug at a boot as pretense, for fear my expression might betray me. I was not like the others, who took vampires to bed and proudly displayed their bites the next morning, whispering in rapturous tones of an experience so transcendental it brought them closer to God, or who hoped silently that a patron might one night take too much, and make her one of his own. I did not care to be bitten. But he was a patron, and I had taken his coin. Barefoot, I straightened and rolled up my cuff to uncover my left arm, the arteries of which were said to carry the sweetest, purest blood, pumped direct from the heart. I crossed to the bed and sat on it, stretched my arm out toward him, wrist turned up. He sat facing me and took my hand in both of his. His thumbs brushed across my wrist and lingered over my pulse. "You don't like me, do you?" he asked without a bit of resentment. He didn't look away from me and there was no challenge in his gaze, nothing in it daring me to confess. It was simple and direct, an honest request for nothing more or less than the truth. I shrugged and broke my gaze away. "Not very much, no." I had to look back when he laughed, soft and amused. "And yet you would offer me this?" "You paid for it." He kept my hand cradled in both of his, holding it in his lap like something cherished, fingers stroking tenderly. "I believe I am at a disadvantage. You seem to know a great deal about me, but I do not even know your name." He didn't look away from my wrist, where fine blue veins drew wandering tracks beneath the skin. "It's Arjen," I said in a voice gone rough and dry. "Arjen," he echoed and bent over my wrist. His hair fell about his face, so I could not see. His lips were warm on my skin, his kiss as sweet as a lover's. My fingers curled against my palm, then spasmed when his thumb dug into the flesh, finding a vein and pinning it in place. I braced my other hand behind me, fingers digging into the blankets. His lips parted, breath gusting across my skin like a summer breeze off the water, hot and damp. His mouth formed a seal on my skin, sucking hard enough that I gasped and had to wrestle down the urge to jerk back. His fingers, gentle before, now held my hand with an iron grip. I could try to pull away, but I doubted he'd let me. Fangs pricked my skin like needles, probing. And without warning he bit deep, sinking into me. I thrashed, unthinking, as agony coursed through me, and realized it hadn't been greed that made him hold me so tight. I'd have torn my wrist open on his teeth if he'd let me. He drank, sucking hard at the wound with a rhythm that echoed the thundering beat of my heart. I twisted and tore at the blankets, struggling against the overwhelming instinct to fight. He bore me down onto my back, his body stretched along mine, and pinned me in place with a surprising strength for someone as lean as he was, so that I could not fight even if I tried. For my benefit, I wondered, or for his? His fangs never withdrew, and his throat never ceased its steady, rhythmic sucking. I had suffered any number of indignities at the hands of my patrons, and most of them I had done in willing trade for the coin they put in my coffer. But I had never felt as completely helpless as I did then, fully clothed beneath Maikel's slight weight with his fangs buried in my wrist. You can find the full list of participants here, or follow some of the links below: Mel Berthier, Urban Fantasy (PG 13) Bria Quinlan, Rom Com (PG) Christina DeLorenzo, YA (PG 13) Bryn Donovan, Paranormal (PG) MG Braden, Contemporary Romance (PG 13) Babette James, Fantasy Romance (PG 13) Cynthia Justlin, Contemporary Romance (PG 13) Kaige, Historical Romance (PG 13) Adelle Laundan, Contemporary Romance (PG 13) Jeannie Lin, Historical Romance (PG 13) RF Long, Paranormal (PG 13) Crista McHugh, Paranormal (PG 13) Bria Quinlan, Rom Com (PG) Dara Sorensen, Paranormal (PG) Grace Draven, Fantasy Romance (R) Cate Hart, YA- Paranormal (R) Aithne Jarretta, Paranormal (R) Inez Kelley, Contemporary Romantic Comedy (R) Kim Knox, Erotic- Sci-fi Suspense (R) Cherrie Lynn, Erotic- Contemporary Romance (R) Alina Morgan, Urban Fantasy (R) Stephanie Adkins, Erotic- Supsense (NC 17) Evie Byrne, Historical Romance (NC17) Ella Drake, Sci-Fi Romance (NC 17) Annie Nicholas, Sci-Fi Romance (NC 17) Kirsten Saell, Erotic – Fantasy (NC 17) Labels: ExcerptMonday Monday, May 11, 2009 It's Excerpt MondayHere's an (unedited) excerpt from Copper Kiss, my upcoming release from Liquid Silver Books: A shiver rippled down Reina's spine, a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room, and spread icy fingers up the back of her neck. All thoughts of sleep fled. Slowly, she sat up and reached her empathic senses out, searching for the disturbance. What she found was a void, an absence where there should have been her own residuals, and Brett's, and Adri's fading ones, still lingering about. But just beyond her door there was nothing, only a cavernous emptiness that made terror run through her veins. She felt out for the wards she had set around her room the first day she and Adri moved in, reached empathic fingers up to the ceiling and down into the floorboards. And in the doorway, just before the void, she found a tiny opening, a paper-thin slice made with surgical precision, just big enough for a man to slip through without anyone the wiser. If she hadn't woken, if she'd slept through the tiny shiver of reaction that the breach had sent through her... She reached blindly for her nightstand, and the cross she always placed there when she removed it for the night. Her fingers grasped metal that burned like ice. She drew it close against her chest and reached out again, found the small, solid weight of her cell phone. Quiet, she eased the flip phone open and thanked any gods who were listening that she had thought to program Logan's number into her speed dial. Two buttons--one for the number, one to send--and help would be on its way. She pressed the first, gripped her cross tightly, and hoped she'd be able to last until it arrived. And, reaching for the second, the button that would connect the call and bring in the cavalry, a slow, sibilant voice whispered, "Oh, little girl. I wouldn't do that, if I were you." She froze, while every fiber of her being screamed for action. Froze in fear and panic and indecision, and the sudden overwhelming certainty that if she just held absolutely still, if she didn't make a sound, he might forget about her and go in search of other prey. Flight was impossible, trapped in her room where the only exit led directly into danger, and to fight was sure suicide. Anyone who left an empathic void like that was a vampire, and not a newly-fledged one. Anyone who could slice through her wards with such neat elegance had psychic skills beyond her comprehension. A low chuckle slid down her spine like razors. "Put the phone down, child, and let's talk." She lowered the phone to the nightstand, let the plastic case click audibly against the wood. Her bedroom door swung open on hinges that she was sure had never been so quiet for her. All she could make out was a shadow darker than the benighted hall behind him. He stepped into the room with a slow, purposeful stride, the calculated stalk of a predator who knows his prey is cornered and all that's left is to wait for the proper moment to strike. She curled her hand around the edge of the nightstand and fought the insane urge to run. "Fine," she said in a voice that somehow managed to sound strong and steady. "Let's talk." A flash of smile in the darkness, starlight reflecting off of pointed teeth. "You're an empath of some skill." A twist of shadow suggested a head tilting back as he inspected... what? The posters on her walls? "I could use your talents." "You break into my apartment, cut through my wards, and you're trying to recruit me?" Her voice rose to a shrill pitch that belied her terror. He laughed quietly. "Your pitch sucks." "Does it?" He laughed at her. "Well then, how about this for incentive. If you do not offer me your aid, I shall tear your throat out and drink your blood as from a fountain." Bile rose in her throat. She forced it down and locked her knees against the faintness that threatened her. Lily's uncertain words echoed through her memory. There was a man. Adri didn't say much about him, just that he was harassing her. He wanted her to do something for him. "Oh God," she whispered. His smile flashed through the darkness. Her finger twitched toward the phone. He held up a hand. "I really wouldn't." "Why? You'll rip my throat out?" Her voice was tight with fear, but anger was beginning a slow burn deep in her chest. "Better get on with it, then." "You won't help me?" He laughed. He sounded delighted. "Whyever not?" Slowly, she inched her hand toward the phone. And focused on keeping the other very, very still. "I'm starting to suspect you killed my best friend. That doesn't put you very high on my to-do list." "Oh, tut." He made a moue of disappointment. "That's such a petty reason. I could give you eternity, child." "Eternity as one of your relatives? I think I'll pass." With a flick of her wrist, she slapped her hand onto the phone and pressed the button to connect the call. Almost immediately, an iron-cold grip circled her forearm and pulled her away. He was a tall, solid presence before her, still cloaked in shadows. His fingers bit deep into her arm, at odds with the pleasantry of his tone. "Well, my dear, that is unfortunate." He pushed her back against the bed, bent over her throat. "Are you sure I can't convince you? We're kin of a different sort, you know. Campbells, both of us. Magic always did run strong in our line." "If you're going to start giving me a 'blood is thicker than water' speech, you can save it." He slid a finger along her throat. The tenderness of his touch was even more revolting than the blatant hunger in his gaze. "Are you sure? Think hard. I won't ask again." "Oh, I'm sure all right," she said. And when he leaned in, fangs bared, she twisted the arm he'd pinned between them and shoved her cross against the vulnerable skin beneath his chin. You can find the full list of participants here, or follow some of the links below: Kirsten Saell, Erotic Romance/Fantasy (NC-17) RF Long, Fantasy (PG) Gina Ardito, Historical Paranormal (PG) Alina Morgan, Urban Fantasy (PG 13) Inez Kelley, Rom Com (R) Labels: ExcerptMonday Sunday, May 10, 2009 Review: The Forest of Hands and Teeth, by Carrie Ryan The Forest of Hands and Teeth by Carrie RyanIn Mary's world, there are simple truths.I've been having a really hard time figuring out what to say about this book. There's been an awful lot of excitement going on about it (including my own), and I hesitate to say it, but...it didn't really work for me. The trouble is that I really enjoyed Ryan's writing. I've seen it described as "lyrical", and I certainly can't argue with that. I found the plot fairly gripping, especially once they left the village and broke out on their own. The characters -- and Mary in particular -- are where it failed me, though. And...I'm going to have to back up here and admit that it was pretty obvious from about the halfway point that this book wasn't going to do it for me, and I spent a lot of time when I wasn't reading trying to figure out why, and what I was going to say about it. And I decided that the problem was that I was the wrong audience for this book -- that it was a bildungsroman, a coming-of-age story, and as a reader I didn't have the patience for it. I kept wanting Mary to roll up her sleeves, take up the lemons that had been given to her, and make the best darn lemonade in her power. I kept waiting for her to grow up and start dealing with things like an adult, and I didn't want to wait until the events of the story shaped her into that adult. I figured I could chalk it up to "the wrong book for me, and the wrong reader for the book". But...I finished the book, and realized that I was wrong. It's not a coming-of-age story. Mary doesn't grow up. She's no wiser or smarter or more reasoned than she was at the start of the book. She makes the same selfish, foolhardy, impassioned, irrational decisions all the way through the book, and for the most part she never really has to sit down and face the fact that that's a really stupid thing to do in the best of times, and even more so in the kind of dire, fight-for-survival, life-or-death situations that she finds herself in. And, the more I think about it, the more I remember other coming-of-age stories that I did enjoy. A Companion To Wolves comes first to my mind as a story about a boy growing into a man that never once left me sitting there grinding my teeth wishing the main character would stop acting so darned childish. But also Jacqueline Carey's Kushiel's Dart, which tops the list of my favorite books of all time. Phedre spends a lot of time in that book being thoughtlessly privileged and capricious and self-absorbed, but it never irked me the way that this did. I also hard time connecting emotionally with Mary, for a number of reasons. Mary does a lot of navel-gazing during the book, and that sort of constant introspection made me impatient to get on with the action. And a large part of her thoughts throughout the book revolve around her feelings for a certain boy. Now, I absolutely love a good love story, and it doesn't take a lot to make me throw myself behind the main romance in a book and cheer for it for all I'm worth. But it does take more than telling the main character telling me she loves somebody, and then never showing me why. There's no substance to it, it's not built on anything more than Mary's say-so, and in the beginning I was content to take it at face value and wait for all to be revealed in the course of the novel, but that never really happened. And I had a very hard time getting behind Mary's feelings for this boy when they caused her to do things like stop and contemplate the color of his eyes while their house and only shelter is being invaded by the Unconsecrated. Which, I suppose, is all a long-winded way of saying that I enjoyed the writing and the story, but the character whose eyes we saw it all through ruined it for me. Thursday, March 12, 2009 Review: Sunshine, by Robin McKinley Sunshine by Robin McKinley Rae Seddon, nicknamed Sunshine, lives a quiet life working at her stepfather's bakery. One night, she goes out to the lake for some peace and quiet. Big mistake. She is set upon by vampires, who take her to an old mansion. They chain her to the wall and leave her with another vampire, who is also chained. But the vampire, Constantine, doesn't try to eat her. Instead, he implores her to tell him stories to keep them both sane. Realizing she will have to save herself, Sunshine calls on the long-forgotten powers her grandmother began to cultivate in her when she was a child. She transforms her pocketknife into a key and unchains herself--and Constantine. Surprised, he agrees to flee with her when she offers to protect him from the sun with magic. They escape back to town, but Constantine knows his enemies won't be far behind, which means that he and Sunshine will have to face them together.I have been a fan of Robin McKinley's for a long time. Beauty was the first book I ever checked out from my high school library and I absolutely loved it, I read Chalice just a few months ago and loved it, too. There have been a few exceptions -- I still haven't managed to finish Deerskin, for example -- but for the most part I love them, and love them well enough that pretty much any McKinley book is an instant-purchase. So when I found out that she'd ventured out from YA and written an adult novel -- and one about vampires, no less -- Well. Be still my heart. Sunshine lived up to most of my expectations. The first section of the book (it's broken up into four "parts", and I was sucked into this book so strongly that I was nearly three-quarters of the way through it before I realized that it didn't have any chapters) is absolutely fabulous. I've neglected sleep, work, and even sustenance over my addiction to this book. Sunshine's voice is very different from what I'm used to from McKinley, but absolutely delightful. I loved seeing baking through her eyes, and much like Chalice made me really wish that I liked honey more than I do, Sunshine made me really wish that I could manage to bake a loaf of bread that didn't turn into a sour brick. And Constantine -- I don't have words for how much I loved Constantine. You could chain me up in a crumbling ballroom with him any day. I did have a few nits -- Sunshine has a tendency to tell us about the way her world works, and I felt this bogged the story down, especially the latter half. I would have much preferred to be shown these things, and spared the infodump. There are also some well-meaning types in the book who keep asking Sunshine to put put her life on hold, and herself in danger, in order to help them out with their fight against the Others that threaten humanity, and I kept wanting Sunshine to put her foot down and tell them to stop ordering her around and assuming that when they said "Jump," she'd answer, "How high?" That said, though, while Sunshine's reactions may not have always been what I wanted her to do, I did think that they were incredibly realistic for the situations she found herself in, much more so than many vampire books I've read. Goodness knows, I probably would have been just as scared out of my wits and overwhelmed as she was. Likely more so. Also, from a purely selfish-reader perspective, I wanted much more of Con than I actually got. But in all fairness, McKinley could've had Con jumping in on every page and it probably still wouldn't have been enough for me. Despite my few minor complaints, I did really enjoy this book. It's definitely a keeper, and I'm sure it will be one of the books that I routinely pull off my shelves to reread favorite passages. Saturday, March 7, 2009 Review: Horizon, by Lois McMaster Bujold Horizon by Lois McMaster Bujold In a world where malices—remnants of ancient magic—can erupt with life-destroying power, only soldier-sorcerer Lakewalkers have mastered the ability to kill them. But Lakewalkers keep their uncanny secrets—and themselves—from the farmers they protect, so when patroller Dag Redwing Hickory rescued farmer girl Fawn Bluefield, neither expected to fall in love, join their lives in marriage, or defy both their kin to seek new solutions to the perilous split between their peoples.Horizon is the fourth book in Lois McMaster Bujold's The Sharing Knife series, and picks up pretty much immediately where Passage left off, with protagonists Fawn and Dag and their small group of farmer and Lakewalker friends about to embark on the long (and long-awaited) trek back home. I really enjoyed the supporting characters that we got to know in Passage, so I was pleased to see that they all had significant roles to play in this book too, as well as some new faces. In fact, I was very impressed with Bujold's ability to handle this cast of characters. When Dag and Fawn's party swelled to twenty-five people, most of them new and unfamiliar, I was skeptical that she'd be able to pull it off without it feeling crowded, jumbled, or confused, or without some members of the throng being neglected on-page. But my worries never came to fruition -- the characters were all distinct individuals, and I never got confused between them or felt like they were there to serve a purpose and then cast aside to be forgotten. This book (and, indeed, the whole series) is rife with cultural conflict and bitterness between her farmer and Lakewalker characters, but Bujold never resorts villainizing one side, or even one character. Farmers and Lakewalkers alike do foolish or cowardly or noble or terrible things, and many of their actions are born out of the best of intentions, or in service of their own laudable and understandable intentions. I was really impressed with how deftly she handled these interactions and subtleties. The Sharing Knife series was my first introduction to Lois McMaster Bujold's work. I've enjoyed every one of these books, and Horizon was no exception. The plot starts at a slow-but-enjoyable simmer, carried along by the reader's vested interest in the characters and conflicts. But when the action comes, it does so swiftly and mercilessly, and left me frantic to know how it would all work out. I will definitely be looking for more of Bujold's books, and keeping my fingers crossed that this is not, as it seems to be, the end of Fawn and Dag's story. Monday, June 16, 2008 The Dreaded QuestionI've heard it said that the question writers most dread hearing is, "Where do you get your ideas?" Well, not this writer. I could wax rhapsodic for hours about where I find my inspiration, about how I love to take fairly well-known legends like the romance of Eros and Psyche in Greek lore, or more obscure tidbits like the gwrach-y-rhibyn of Wales and twist them on their heads to find something new. That question is an easy one for me. No, the question that I hate to hear, that I absolutely dread, is "What's your book about?" Arrgh! Bad enough that we writers are expected to condense tens of thousands of words of story into a few pages for our synopses, or a few lines for our blurbs. Now laymen expect us to be able to spout out a pithy one-liner that will adequately convey to them the story that's in our heads? I don't know about any of you -- but I can't do it! This morning, I told a coworker that I started writing on a new book this weekend, and this was the first question out of his mouth. Now, for all that I've just started, I feel I have a fairly solid grasp of what this story is and what it's going to be about. But in order to convey to him what's in my head, I'd have had to sit down with him for an hour. Not exactly an appropriate answer for an early-morning run to the cafeteria. If we'd had the time, I'd have told him that it's about the choices we make without even knowing it, and how the repurcussions of those decisions can shape the rest of our lives. It's about learning to love -- others, yes, but mostly learning to love ourselves, flaws and all. I'd have told him that it's heavily based on the lore of the Dead Sea Scrolls, the Book of Enoch, and other apocrypha, and that it's influenced by the steampunk genre and the Hero's Journey structure. If I'd had the time to tell him, and the time to prepare, I could have shared a glimpse of this story that's growing in my head. Instead, I stammered out, "It's about fallen angels. Kind of," and kicked myself for the rest of the morning. Because it is very much about fallen angels -- kind of -- but that's not the half of it. What about the other writers out there? Do you dread this question as much as I do? Or is there another question that makes you cringe at the thought of having to answer it? Friday, June 6, 2008 When Good Books Go Off CourseI've been thinking a lot about authorial promise lately. It's a term I first heard used in regards to the explicitness of sex scenes in romance novels, and why readers sometimes get angry when an author fades the scene to black. The idea is that the tone and frankness an author chooses to use creates an expectation within the reader of what the sex scene will be like, when it finally comes around. It's when the frankness of the two don't match up that problems happen, readers get annoyed, and books hit walls. And I think this holds true for more than just sex scenes. I'm currently reading Deerskin, by Robin McKinley, and I was absolutely engrossed at the beginning. I loved the way she was able to make the narration sound lke a fairy tale. In the opening chapters, we learn about the main character, the princess Lissar, her beloved sighthound, Ash, and her somewhat-unusual life in the palace. I loved seeing how Lissar came into her own as she grew to adolescence, how she shrugged off what ws expected of her and followed her passion. I was very thoroughly engrossed, and very much enjoying the woman I was reading about, and looking forward to reading more. And then Lissar suffered a terrible trauma, ran off to the mountains, and forgot pretty much everything. She doesn't remember who she is, where she came from, or why she left. She doesn't even remember what farmland is until she happens to see some. A goddess heals her wounds, and in doing so drastically changes her appearance so she will not be recognized. She also gives her magical abilities. If this were the opening of the book, I think it might be another matter, but as it stands, this is just about at the halfway point. All those promises the book made to me when I started are thrown out the window, and I feel like I'm reading about another woman entirely. I'm a little miffed about it. It is not what I was led to expect. The part tht breaks my heart is tht it's an incredibly well-written book. But it's not the book I thought I was reding, and I'm having a little trouble moving past that and enjoying it for what it is. I'm not sure what's to be done about it. I'm not sure what can be done. Should authors stop throwing plot twists and surprises into their books? How boring that would be! Should readers suck it up and deal with it? I'm not sure that's the right answer, either. There's something to be said for the fact that I'm sitting here thinking, "This is not the book I signed on for," and feeling slightly betrayed, and I don't think that's a thought any of us want to be going through our readers heads about our books. This isn't the book that's had this effect on me, either. I've read other books that have caused a similar reaction, that turned away from the course I thought we had set, and left me impatient, irritated, or frustrated. I don't know that there's an easy solution for this, from either a reader's or a writer's perspective. But I'll be keeping it in mind, especially as I look at my own work. And I'm going to keep going with Deerskin. Because it is a very well-written book, even if it's not the one I thought I was reading. Thursday, May 29, 2008 This is what I get for being unfaithfulFor a long time, I've been a monogamous writer. I started a project, worked on it faithfully until it was done, and I didn't start anything new until it was. I might start to develop and prewrite one project while finishing another, but I was very firm -- I didn't start Chapter One until I'd written The End. Lately, though, that's been changing, and it's come to a crisis point the past few weeks. I've got too many projects to finish, and now that I'm working full-time, not enough time to devote to all of them. I'm torn! There's the finished novella that needs to be revised and resubmitted to my editor. I love this story, and I really want to do right by it and find it a good home. But it needs a lot of restructuring that's going to require my complete attention. Then there's the sequel to All that Glitters. This one needs some more scenes, a slight restructuring of the ending, and a final polish before I submit it. And there are a couple ideas for more sequels bouncing around in my head that depend on it, so I need to get that one sold before I can do anything with the others. And then there's the new kid on the block, the idea brimming with NRE that keeps popping up and distracting me any time I let my mind wander. It is shiny and new and terribly, terribly exciting, and I'm very anxious to work on it. So far, I've been able to restrain myself and keep to plotting and prewriting, but my resolve is weakening. It keeps calling to me with its siren-song promise of exciting characters, awesome worldbuilding, and a city I can't wait to lose myself in. So, I'm stuck. I've got too many projects to work on (and a dozen more clamoring to be taken off the back burner) and not enough time to devote to all of them. So far I've been managing, doing as much as I can as often as I can, and trying to focus my energy onto finishing the sequel to All that Glitters, but I'm not really happy with the division of labor. Has anyone else found themselves in this sort of pickle? Got any tips on how to manage your time when there's not enough of it to go around? Wednesday, April 23, 2008 "All that Glitters" and "Psyche" available now! Psyche, by Aislinn KerryAfter months of text messaging, Psyche has fallen in love with a man she's never even met, so when she finally gets the chance to see him face-to-face, she leaps at it. However, their meeting doesn't turn out quite the way she expected. E hides in the dark and refuses to let her turn on the lights. Psyche's startled at first, but willing to overlook a few idiosyncrasies while they get to know each other in person. Their relationship flourishes--until the night Psyche's curiosity gets the better of her. Light reveals that E is Eros, the Greek god of love and desire, and he is furious that she broke her word. She begs for forgiveness, but he won't give it. In breaking her word, she broke his trust. She must seek help from a goddess and brave the dangers of the underworld in order to prove herself and win back the man she loves.  All that Glitters, by Aislinn KerryKynan Pritchard has come to Paris to start a new life, one free from the gruesome nightmares--and the accusations of insanity--that have plagued him from childhood. He's used to a hard-luck existence, but when a stranger comes to his aid, he thinks maybe that luck is changing. Aneirin is strong and brave, everything that Kynan wants to be. And Kynan falls for him. Hard. But Kynan's nightmares are about to become reality, and not even Aneirin can protect him from the monster who's stalked him across the continent. The gwrach-y-rhibyn threatens everything--Kynan's life, his sanity, even his love for Aneirin. To defeat her, Kynan will have to risk becoming the very creature he hates. Thursday, April 10, 2008 Thursday Thirteen!
Wednesday, April 9, 2008 Carpe Nocturne, by Tawny Taylor Thursday, April 3, 2008 Thursday Thirteen
The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted! View More Thursday Thirteen Participants Monday, February 4, 2008 Coming Soon -- All That GlittersI am just thrilled to announce that All that Glitters, which was one of the final winners in Samhain's First Lines contest, will be released on April 22nd.  All that Glitters Running from a nightmare…falling into the arms of a monster… Kynan Pritchard has come to Paris to start a new life, one free from the gruesome nightmares—and the accusations of insanity—that have plagued him from childhood. He’s used to a hard-luck existence, but when a stranger comes to his aid, he thinks maybe that luck is changing. Aneirin is strong and brave, everything that Kynan wants to be. And Kynan falls for him. Hard. But Kynan’s nightmares are about to become reality, and not even Aneirin can protect him from the monster who’s stalked him across the continent. The gwrach-y-rhibyn threatens everything—Kynan’s life, his sanity, even his love for Aneirin. To defeat her, Kynan will have to risk becoming the very creature he hates. Thursday, January 10, 2008 It's Booking Through Thursday! `How did you come across your favorite author(s)? Recommended by a friend? Stumbled across at a bookstore? A book given to you as a gift? Was it love at first sight? Or did the love affair evolve over a long acquaintance? My favorite authors of the moment, subject to change as fast as my reading list does, are Jacqueline Carey, Laurie R. King, and Ellen Kushner. Nonny Morgan introduced me to Jacqueline Carey when she sent me her copy of Kushiel's Dart. It was definitely a matter of love at first sight. I inhaled Dart and immediately ran out and bought the sequels. Carey was the first author since I started writing who I was able to read without being distracted by my internal editor. The beauty of her story left me awestruck. Laurie R. King I discovered by happy accident. I had heard tell of a Sherlock Holmes novel that gave him a young female apprentice, and told it as her story. One of my first memories of reading is lying in bed at night, alternating reading chapters of The Hound of the Baskervilles with my dad, so I've always had a love for Holmes. Twisting the stories so that they had a female protagonist enthralled me. I ran over to my high school library, snatched The Beekeeper's Apprentice out of another student's hands, and was hooked on the first line. (The protagonist is a girl after my own heart -- she reads while she walks!) This was a slower love affair. I really enjoyed The Beekeeper's Apprentice, and waited impatiently for the next book in the series. Each one that I read made me fall more and more in love with her. Ellen Kushner is the most recent addition to my favorites list. My good friend Terra read Swordspoint a few months ago, loved it, and was so certain that I would love it that she informed me she was getting it for me for Christmas. She was absolutely right -- I adored it, as well as the "sequel", The Privilege of the Sword. I am now Friday, July 6, 2007 Writing, New Amsterdam, and the Five Stages of GriefI finished New Amsterdam three days ago, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since. I try to put it out of my mind, to focus on my current book, to think about something -- anything -- else, but no matter how hard I try, I keep coming back to it. Poking it, prodding it, talking about it, turning it over and over and trying to get some sense of closure, of understanding. This morning, it occurred to me: I'm grieving. I don't get this way over books very often. I get emotional, certainly. I laugh, I love, I hate, I rage. But I don't cry, almost never. The last time I remember crying over a book was when I read Where the Red Fern Grows in elementary school, and my mom came home and found me lying on the carpet, bawling. I might have cried over Bridge to Terabithia, too, but I'm not certain. I don't cry over books, but I very nearly cried over New Amsterdam. In any case, this revelation got me thinking about the five stages of grief, and by golly, I've gone through every one of them but the last. Denial -- Oh my, yes. Lots of denial. I have been trying really hard to just pretend that the last ten pages don't exist. Anger -- See my previous post. *grin* Bargaining -- I've been doing lots of this, too. From "Maybe if I talk to her, maybe if I just tell her how upset I am, she'll understand. Maybe once she knows what she's done, she'll just say she's sorry for it, that she wishes she could go back and change it, and then it will all be okay" to "Well fine. I am just going to create my own not-Jack character and stick him in my own book, and I will love him and treat him right and it won't matter that Ms. Bear was such a meanie." Depression -- Yep, that too, and it's a large part of the reason that I've been trying to keep my mind off of it. Because inevitably, I come back to it and I think about it and I just get so sad. It makes me just want to curl up in bed and mope for days. Acceptance -- This one...this one I haven't gotten to yet. I do hope I will. I hope I can get this damn book out of my brain and move on. The thing I keep coming back to, the thing that keeps making me want to scream and cry and wail, is that it's just so senseless. It seems almost random. I keep thinking, "It's not like there was nothing they could have done to save him. It's not like it had to happen." A comment on the Q&A post that Bear put up today helped me get a little bit of insight, a little bit of understanding. It helped me take one small step toward acceptance. She said, "You made me care, and then you made it hurt, and that's the endless Sebastien theme." And, you know, it is. And I can kind of get that. Putting us in Sebastien's shoes, giving us a small taste of his eleven-hundred-plus years of loving and losing over and over and over and over again. But... That's the thing. I keep thinking maybe I can understand, maybe that, I can accept. And I keep thinking it, and then thinking, "But..." But it didn't make sense. But it's so pointless. But it could have been done so many other ways, so many better ways. But there wasn't a set-up for his death, it just happened, out of the blue. But we weren't given a chance to prepare. And then I sigh and think that Bear's response to all of these protests would probably be, "Yeah, well. That's life." And yeah, it is. People die for pointless, senseless reasons all the time. People go through life blithely taking for granted that everyone they love will still be there the next day. And then something happens, they turn around, they wake up, and suddenly one of those loved ones is gone, just like that. Out of the blue, no set-up, no chance to prepare for it. That's life. But... But New Amsterdam isn't life. It doesn't even pretend to be -- it's alternate history. It's not life. It's a story. And that's what I keep sticking on. I don't remember who said it, but it makes me think of the quote, "The difference between reality and fiction is that fiction has to make sense." And that, I think, is where Bear failed with New Amsterdam. Taken as a whole, it doesn't make sense. It doesn't work. (You should, of course, read this with a great big "IMO" tacked on to the end of everything I'm saying here. From the comments on Bear's blog, I gather it worked just fine for a number of people. But it didn't work for me, and I know I'm not the only one.) It puts me in mind of another quote. I don't know who this one came from either, and it should probably be considered more paraphrasis than direct quotation, but the gist of it is, "If someone gets shot by a gun in Act 3, then the audience had better see the gun lying in the drawer of the desk in Act 1." And that's why New Amsterdam's ending didn't work for me. We saw no gun. I knew from the beginning that something bad was going to happen, because Terra wailed when she finished the book, and I figured that could only mean that either something happened to Jack, or something happened to split Jack and Sebastien up. And even with those strong suspicions, even watching for it and waiting for it, a page before it actually happened, I still wasn't sure. I still thought maybe, maybe I was wrong. Maybe I'd misinterpreted what Terra had been wailing about. When a reader knows what's coming and is searching desperately for any hint of its existence and it still takes her by surprise, you're being too damn subtle. From what I've read in Bear's posts and comments, it seems like she's trying for an Important Life Lesson sort of theme, in this ending1. It seems like she's trying for something literary. And that, too, makes me think about that second quote. Because I didn't think I was getting Literature when I picked this book up. I had no clue. For 95% of the book, it reads like any other commercial fantasy novel2. You can't pull out a gun in Act 3 that wasn't there in Act 1 and expect the audience to accept it, and you can't tack a Tragic Ending onto a fantasy novel and expect to turn it into Literature. That said, she did nearly bring me to tears, and three days later, I still can't stop talking about her book. And that, at least, is impressive. But it still doesn't mean the ending works. 1Actually, she pretty much says that flat-out: Rocks fall. People die. Life goes on. 2I don't mean to suggest that it's average. It is, as I said earlier, quite good. What I mean is that that seems to be the genre niche it fits itself into. |
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