I’ve recently received more than a little flack from writers on Twitter for setting daily word counts for myself, which mystifies me more than I can say. When I observed that it’s difficult to count your progress in daily words when you’re editing instead of writing new material, someone commented, “It’s easy if you don’t track progress at all!”

I’ve got many years of writing experience under my belt and I’m pretty comfortable with my process, so I didn’t have any problem answering him, “If I did that, then I wouldn’t make any progress at all,” and continuing on with my day. But if I’d received that sort of advice as a new writer, unsure of myself and what I was doing? Just the idea makes me shudder.

I thrive under the pressure of a deadline. Give me a goal, even an insane one, and I’ll be stepping up to bat trying to figure out a way to accomplish it before you’ve even finished speaking. I once tried to write 50,000 words in a day, just to see if I could. (I made it to 16k and decided I wanted food and sleep more than I wanted to achieve some arbitrary ambition) But without a goal to propel me and keep me typing away?

I web surf. I catch up on my TV shows. I knit. What I don’t do is write. I need that pressure to keep me going, keep me moving forward, keep me choosing to write when there are so many other ways to squander my time that require much less effort.

The prevalence of this attitude that tracking progress, setting goals, and keeping yourself accountable is a bad thing has bewildered me since I first encountered it, but I ran into a situation today that I think may be what people fear when they give this advice. Things snowballed on top of one another for me this morning and before I knew it it was almost lunch time and I hadn’t written a word. Every time I thought about writing my chest clenched a little bit tighter and another burst of adrenaline clawed through my system. I was staring at the clock practically hyperventilating in my seat, and every time I started to think about putting words to paper, all that came to mind was, “Oh God, I have to write three thousand words a day for the rest of the month in order to finish this book when I want to. It’s 10am and I haven’t written anything. I will never make it. I’m not going to make it today, and I’m not going to finish this book on time, either. It’s too late. It’ll never happen.”

It’s a truly awful state to be in, and if this is what people are imagining others devolving into when they give the advice not to set goals, I can understand it at least a little. It’s not a productive state of mind, and does far more harm than good. But it’s not a reason to not to set them.

The problem comes, I think, when people get in a mindset where they can’t reevaluate goals. When I realized the state I was getting myself into, I didn’t try to force myself through it. That would have done more harm than good. I took a step back and said. “Okay, you know what? Sanity is more important than word count. I’m giving myself the day off.”

Gnothi Sauton. Know thyself. That’s is the part that’s important. Not the setting or abandoning of goals, but the ability to look at what you’re doing and evaluate whether it works for you or not, instead of stubbornly forcing yourself down the road you think you ought to take, when all it ever does is lead you to a dead end. I know that goal setting is vital to my process the same way I know that phase drafting, which everyone seems to be getting excited about these days, would be lethal to it. Does that mean that every time someone mentions the technique, I suggest that they’d be better off pantsing it?

Of course not. There are as many ways to write a book as there are people writing them, and what works for me may not work for everyone else, or even anyone else. It’s my process — that’s all.

I think a vital part of learning to write is learning what works for you, and what doesn’t, and too the ability to reevaluate when circumstances change. And it’s just as important that we let others do the same. One True Way-isms hurt more people than they help.

Copper Kiss, available at Liquid Silver Books

Reina Campbell used to think that term papers were the worst of her problems. Now her werewolf best friend has been murdered, the cops are covering it up, and everyone, it seems, is vying for control of her empathic abilities. With Logan, the city’s sire vamp, at her back, she’s out to stop a murderer, and God help anyone who gets in her way.

But she didn’t count on losing her heart in the process. And they’re both about to discover that the truth goes beyond one were’s death, and the cost of vengeance might be more than her life.

Read an excerpt * Buy the book

I don’t suppose any of y’all are picking up on a wee bit of excitement here or anything? ;)

I am totally pulling a Snitch right now–*points at her icon*–and I’m not even caffeinated!

Excerpt Monday Logo

Once a month, a bunch of authors get together and post excerpts from published books, contracted work or works in progress, and link to each other. You don’t have to be published to participate–just an writer with an excerpt you’d like to share. For more info on how to participate, head over to the Excerpt Monday site! or click on the banner above.

This month, I’m posting another except from Copper Kiss, to celebrate it’s release today from Liquid Silver Books! You can read more excerpts here and here, and if you like what you see, head on over here to buy it.

Logan’s car was in the driveway when they pulled up, and lights glowed within the house. Reina’s heart started to flutter with hope, until she saw Kynan walking towards the house from the car. His shirt was ripped and stained with blood, his face and arms smeared with it.

“Oh my God.” Reina threw herself out of the car before it had stopped moving. She ran to him. “Kynan! Are you all right?”

He took her arms, held her still when she might have whirled off in a hundred different directions. “I’m fine, Reina.” He hesitated and glanced towards the house.

She didn’t wait to hear more; she ran for the door.

Inside, the house was in an uproar. People ran from one place to another, shouting to others as they went. Everyone bore wounds, but all were on their feet and more or less intact.

Everyone but Logan, who sat on the couch in a daze, the eye of the storm of activity. Reina ran to his side. She dropped to her knees in front of him, took his hands in hers. “Logan?” Her voice wavered, caught, broke like ice on the pavement.

more…

Welcome to Excerpt Monday! If you want to join in the fun, you can stop by the Excerpt Monday blog for more information.

This month’s excerpt is a scene from my current work-in-progress, Iconoclast:

It had been a very long time since Samyazaz was a child. He remembered it as a quiet time, a time of study and learning, marked by the wonder of discovery and the somber honor of his duty. He had never even been so careless as to rip a garment, to his recollection.

The first time Sariel and Baraquiel had brought their young daughter to him, her palms scraped raw and dirty scuffs upon the hem of her skirt, he had been speechless with appalled surprise.

Now, years later, as he ushered her into his workroom yet again, he thought ruefully that he had ceased to be surprised by her. Weary resignation had taken its place.

“I was in a hurry,” she said by way of explanation, and remained standing even though he motioned for her to sit upon his table. “Father said we were having the Council over for supper and I must be well-presented, but I lost myself in the library and before I knew it—”

“You were running,” Samyazaz said grimly, stretching out her arm. The shoulder of her sleeve was in tatters, its edges stained with flecks of blood. Through the rent camisole he could see that her arm was abraded and inflamed. A few long cuts had gone deep enough to break the skin.

“My feet flew right out from under me.” She sent him a sheepish grin, which he countered with stern disapproval. It was not lost on him that she had not rebutted his statement, but had not conceded to it either.

“It is unbefitting a Watcher to run through the halls of her own home,” he scolded her, not for the first time and surely not for the last, as he drew a dagger from his drawer. He turned in time to catch her making a face.

more…

It’s that time again! Excerpt Monday! This month I’m sharing an excerpt from Sacrifice, my upcoming release from Liquid Silver Books.

When an unnatural eclipse hangs in the sky, portending doom, Ryllana is chosen to be sacrificed to ensure her land and her people’s survival. She expects her fate will bring a swift, violent death at the claws of Teppal’s beast. But though the beast comes to claim her, he does not devour her. Instead, he carries her away to his castle.

There, she waits for him to return and demand the sacrifice required of her. In the meantime, she finds a companion in the beast’s human servant, Draig, who surprises Ryllana with his tenderness and compassion. Despite herself, she begins to fall for him — but the beast still waits, and the secrets Draig is keeping might destroy everything she loves.

The eclipse rose in my window and passed out of sight at midday, so I had no means of tracking the time beyond the number of candles that I burned through. It might have been minutes, or days, when my door crashed open. I jumped, my heart in my throat, and a smile bloomed across my face to see Draig in the doorway. I pushed my books aside and started toward him, but cried out in dismay not halfway across the room, for his tabard dripped with blood and he clung unsteadily to the jamb. His face was ashen, his head drooping forward, as though he hadn’t the strength to hold it upright.

I ran to him and helped him to the bed. He held on to me, stumbling across the rug. I eased him onto the bed, then took his face in my hands and turned it to me. His expression was slack, his eyes half-closed. “Draig!” I cried. “What happened?”

He opened his eyes. It looked as though it took a great effort. “Ryllana,” he breathed, and smiled as though it was a wonderful surprise to see me. Then he grimaced and groaned with pain. “I’m hurt.”

“You don’t say.” I pulled frantically at his tabard. “Draig, help me! I must see where you’re injured.”

He rose up onto his elbow and I began to strip his tabard off, but his strength only lasted a moment before he collapsed back onto the bed. His ragged breathing made fear twist through my stomach.

“A kiss, lady,” he whispered, a thread of sound. “For strength.”

I stared down at him. “Don’t be absurd. Now is not the time.” I gripped his tabard at the throat and tore it open down the front. Draig blinked at me, but didn’t protest. It took another moment to unlace his shirt, and then I had his chest bared.

Four parallel gouges cut across his chest, each as long as my forearm and bleeding freely. I clasped my hands over my mouth, horrified. “Oh, Draig…” I sought out his gaze. “This is bad.”

He nodded, and I saw recognition in his eyes. He knew. He knew, and had come to me. I crouched on the bed and tore strips of fabric from the hem of my robe, trying not to cry. I could clean him and bandage him, but little more. I had meager sewing skills, and no needle or thread in any case. I helped him sit and wound the makeshift bandages around his back, then took his hand in mine and bent over it, pressing a fierce kiss to his palm.

He pulled from my grasp and raised his hand to my cheek. “A kiss, lady,” he whispered again.

I shook my head wildly and dashed tears from my cheeks. “Fool,” I whispered down at him. “How can you think of stealing kisses now?”

“So be it, then.” He gave me a crooked smile. “Will you refuse the last request of a dying fool?”

I covered my face in my hands, protests rising unbidden to my lips. But they were an empty comfort. We both knew the truth. He might die, and there might be nothing I could do to prevent it.

I knelt at his side in the mattress and put my hands to his cheeks. I looked gravely down at him, his face grey and pale, then bent and pressed my mouth to his.

I meant it to be only that, a momentary brush. But when I tried to draw away, he curled his hand around the back of my neck and held me to him with startling strength.

His lips coaxed mine, urging them to part so he could take the kiss deeper. I pressed them together and shook my head. When he persisted, I broke away. “Don’t tax yourself,” I commanded unsteadily. “You’ve better things to save your strength for.”

“Better things than kissing?” He eased back onto the bed with a lopsided smile. “I can only think of a very few.”

“Living?” I demanded.

His smile softened, warmed. “What’s the use of that when pretty women refuse to kiss you?”

Make sure to check out the rest of this month’s great excerpts!

Mel Berthier, Urban Fantasy (PG 13)
and
Bria Quinlan, Rom Com (PG)

Joining us this week:

Kinsey W. Holley, Paranormal (PG)
Caitlynn Lowe, Epic Fantasy (PG)
Dara Sorensen, Paranormal (PG)

Babette James, Fantasy Romance (PG13)
Christina DeLorenzo, YA (PG 13)
Nika Dixon, Romantic Suspense (PG 13)
Bryn Donovan, Paranormal Romance (PG13)
Kaige, Historic Romance (PG-13)
Julia Knight, Fantasy Romance (PG 13)
Adelle Laudan, Contemporary Romance (PG 13)
Jeannie Lin, Historical Romance (PG13)
RF Long, Paranormal (PG13)
Rebecca Savage, romantic suspense (PG 13)
Crista McHugh, Paranormal Romance (PG 13)
Michelle Arroyo, Historical Romance (PG 13)

Jax Cassidy, Contemporary Romance (R)
Maya Doyle, Paranormal Romance (R)
Cate Hart, Paranormal (R)
Ali Katz, Historical Erotic Romance (R)
Inez Kelley, Romantic Comedy (R)
Aislinn Kerry, Paranormal Romance (R)
Elise Logan, Fantasy Romance (R)
Cherrie Lynn, Paranormal Romance (R)
Alina Morgan, Urban Fantasy (R)
Vivienne Westlake, Erotic Historical (R)

Stephanie Adkins, Erotic Romance (NC 17)
Evie Byrne, Medieval Paranormal Romance (NC 17)
Kim Knox, Erotic SF Romance (NC17)
Lauren Murphy, Erotic Romance (NC 17)
Kirsten Saell, Erotic Romance (NC 17)

It’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.

What starts as a simple arrangement soon becomes something more than either of them expected. But vampires are shallow, fickle creatures, and Maikel could never truly love another. Could he?

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)

Here’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.”

more…

The Forest of Hands and Teeth by Carrie Ryan

In Mary’s world, there are simple truths.

The Sisterhood always knows best.

The Guardians will protect and serve.

The Unconsecrated will never relent.

And you must always mind the fence that surrounds the village. The fence that protects the village from the Forest of Hands and Teeth.

But slowly, Mary’s truths are failing her. She’s learning things she never wanted to know about the Sisterhood and its secrets, and the Guardians and their power. And, when the fence is breached and her world is thrown into chaos, about the Unconsecrated and their relentlessness.

Now she must choose between her village and her future, between the one she loves and the one who loves her. And she must face the truth about the Forest of Hands and
Teeth. Could there be life outside a world surrounded by so much death?

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.

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.

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.

As Dag’s maker abilities have grown, so has his concern about who—or what—he is becoming. At the end of a great river journey, Dag is offered an apprenticeship to a master groundsetter in a southern Lakewalker camp. But as his understanding of his powers deepens, so does his frustration with the camp’s rigid mores with respect to farmers. At last, he and Fawn decide to travel a very different road—and find that along it, their disparate but hopeful company increases.

Fawn and Dag see that their world is changing, and the traditional Lakewalker practices cannot hold every malice at bay forever. Yet for all the customs that the couple has challenged thus far, they will soon be confronted by a crisis exceeding their worst imaginings, one that threatens their Lakewalker and farmer followers alike. Now the pair must answer in earnest the question they’ve grappled with since they killed their first malice together: When the old traditions fail disastrously, can their untried new ways stand against their world’s deadliest foe?

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.