There Is No Meme

The theme this week doesn't even make much sense to me, frankly. It's supposed to be me vs my protagonist, expressed in a meme.

?????

Since that's clearly not happening, I'll give you some of my recent #bookqw and #scififri posts from twitter... meme-ish looking LOL.

Buy links (because it wasn't released when I talked about it last week and now it is!):
Amazon     iBooks     Kobo     B&N

From Star Cruise: Songbird in the USA Today Best Selling Embrace the Romance Pets in Space 2 anthology.

I love the CANVA tool and I enjoy making little mini posters each week for the word prompt on the various twitter hashtags...fun stuff!

Hope you're having a great weekend...

Kicked in the Teeth by My Own Protagonists

Here's our innocent, but intrepid author, as kitted out and prepared for this pair of protagonists as possible. And yet.

This is the pair of protagonists. When they aren't beating the crap out of one another, it's the author they're pummeling. As a result, this book looks like this:

Happy Halloween!

In honor of my favorite day, we here at the SFF Seven are roasting ourselves with a little meme of Author vs Protagonist.

May your candy be plentiful, your goblins wicked, and your potions potent.

Defying Themes - and Succeeding Anyway!

The sun cresting Pusch Ridge in Tucson, spilling light through the cleft at sunrise - so beautifully dramatic.

I came to Tucson to give the Saguaro Romance Writers my workshop on Defying Gravity: Writing Cross-Genre and Succeeding Anyway. They're a terrific group and we had a great time.

This week's topic at the SFF Seven is Make a Meme: You vs. Your Protagonist. And I... just can't do this. I'm staying at my mom and stepdad's house in Tucson, and my mom says she thinks memes (she pronounced it may-may) are silly and I should tell all of you that. 

I admit I'm not a huge fan of memes either - and I don't really think of my protagonists as other, so I'm coming up empty on that one. However, I thought I should let you all know that the SFWA Fantasy Storybundle sale is almost over - ending November 2 at midnight ET! Last chance to buy four books for $5 or twelve books for $15! My book, LONEN'S WAR, is part of the core four books, so here's a little excerpt of that, if you'd like to check it out!

********

Lonen had seen many strange things in the past weeks. Impossible magic and horrific deaths that would take him years to purge from his nightmares, if he ever could.

If he lived that long.

The sight of the woman in the window hit him with enough force to unbalance him. Through the blood-drenched night, he’d kept focus on one kill after the next and only on that, much the way he’d climbed the wall, except that he slit the throats of defenseless women, one after another, instead of reaching for holds. They died so easily, seeming oblivious to his approach, focusing their placid attention outward to the battle where the booming assault of the sorcerers diminished and ceased as their sisters succumbed to the blades of Lonen and his men.

The fact that they didn’t fight back, that they remained so vulnerable, sickened him, each death layering on unclean guilt that he’d ignored until the vision of the woman in the window knifed into him like an unseen blade. Maybe it was because her fair coloring was so much like the first woman he’d killed. After that one, he hadn’t looked at their faces, taking the dispensation offered by their featureless masks.

For whatever reason, the sight of her gripped him, standing in the open window, illuminated by candlelight in an otherwise dark tower that rose from a deep abyss. Her hair shone a copper color he’d never seen on a living being, like a hammered metal cloak that shifted with her startled movements. She put a hand to her throat, eyes dark in her fine-boned face. A creature from children’s tales perched beside her, staring at him intently. He would have thought it a statue carved from alabaster, but it swiveled its head on its neck to look at the woman, then back to him.

Lonen had seen illustrations of dragons in his boyhood books, but they’d been huge and…fictional. This thing looked very like those, only smaller—maybe as long as his forearm, not counting the tail. All white, it shimmered in the bright torchlight from the walls much as the woman’s hair did. It sat on its haunches, taloned feet clutching the stone windowsill, bat-winged forearms mantled. Large eyes with bright green shine dominated a wedge-shaped head with a narrow jaw and large ears. It lashed its long, sinuous tail against the stone, as a cat watching birds would.

Beautiful, both of them, and as fantastical as if they’d stepped out of one of those storybooks. The wonder of the sight swept away all the bloody horror. She was the bright face of the terrible magics—something lovely, pure and otherworldly. Something in him lunged at the prospect of such beauty in the world, a part of him he hadn’t known existed. Or rather, a part he hadn’t thought survived from childhood. That sense of wonder he’d felt looking at those storybook illustrations, long since lost to the grind of the Golem Wars. He lifted a hand, not sure what he meant to do. A salute? A greeting?

“Prince Lonen!” Alby ran up, bow in hand. “Why do you—a sorceress!” He reached for an arrow and notched it, a smooth, practiced movement that Lonen barely stopped in time.

“No,” he commanded. “Stand down. She wears no mask. She isn’t one of them.”

“They’re all the enemy,” Alby insisted through gritted teeth, resisting Lonen’s grip. “She’s seen us.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Abruptly weariness swamped Lonen. Far too soon for him to wear out, as much remained to be done. That bright bubble of the fantastic had distracted him, the shattering of that brief moment of childlike wonder more painful for the sudden loss of it. He’d have been better off not feeling it at all. “Her people are largely dead, their defenses falling around them. Look out at the plain.”

Alby followed his nod. Grienon, enormous and low in the sky, waxed toward full, shedding silvery light on the quiet field. None of the magical fireballs or earthquakes thundered through the night. The golems had dropped like corn stalks after harvest. The Destrye forces moved in a familiar cleanup pattern, groups of warriors methodically searching the field for the dying, to either save or dispatch, depending on which side they’d fought for—and if they could be saved. Other groups remained in pitched battle, but the Destrye had the upper hand. Without their magic, the Bárans would eventually fall.

For as many years as they’d worked towards this day, Lonen had expected to feel jubilation, triumph, the roar of victory. Not the drag of exhaustion and regret. Their plan had worked far better than any of them had dared to hope—and yet only bleakness filled his heart.

The copper-haired woman’s fault, for showing him a glimpse of a dream of something more than monstrous death and destruction. He’d been better off hoping simply to live to the next moment, or not to die in vain.

Hope and the promise of wonder could destroy a man’s spirit more surely than a well-wielded blade.

With one last look at the woman in the window, he turned his back on her and her false promise. “Come, Alby. Let’s find a ladder or stairway down to the city inside the walls, so we can open the gates.” One that wouldn’t plunge him into that dark abyss. “There must be stairs or ladders that the sorceresses climbed. By sunrise, Bára will be ours.”

Soon he would be done with this evil place.

Cover Reveal and Excerpt LADY OF THE NILE

I was excited to do a cover reveal this week for my next paranormal romance, set in ancient Egypt. I hadn’t written one in quite a while and it was fun to dive back into my version of 1550 BCE! I also have a new scifi romance coming in November – more on that next week.

Here’s the story:

Tuya, a high ranking lady-in-waiting at Pharaoh’s court, lives a life of luxury, pageantry and boredom. Khian, a brave and honorable officer from the provinces temporarily re-assigned to Thebes, catches her eye at a gold of valor ceremony. As the pair are thrown together by circumstances, she finds herself unaccountably attracted to this man so unlike the haughty nobles she’s used to. But a life with Khian would mean leaving the court and giving up all that she’s worked so hard to attain. As she goes about her duties, Tuya struggles with her heart’s desires.

When Tuya is lured into a dangerous part of Thebes by her disgraced half-brother and kidnapped by unknown enemies of Egypt, Khian becomes her only hope. Pharaoh assigns him to bring the lady home.

Aided by the gods, Khian races into the desert on the trail of the elusive kidnappers, hoping to find Tuya before it’s too late. Neither of them has any idea of the dark forces arrayed against them, nor the obstacles to be faced. An ancient evil from the long gone past wants to claim Tuya for its own purposes and won’t relinquish her easily.

Can Khian find her in time? Will he and his uncanny allies be able to prevent her death? And if the couple escapes and reaches safety, what of their fledgling romance?

The excerpt:

Facing down the attacking Hyksos hordes at the Meribe Pass had been easier in many ways than preparing to meet a grateful Pharaoh to receive the reward for not accepting defeat. Captain Khian walked the line of his small troop murmuring encouragement, straightening a sword here and making a joke there, anything to lighten the men’s tension as they waited outside the ceremonial chamber for their moments under Pharaoh’s eye. It wasn’t often that common soldiers had the chance to stand in front of the Living God who ruled Egypt. The idea was terrifying.

At last the scribe touched his elbow. “You can march in now, captain.”

He nodded, gave his soldiers one final, critical inspection. “We’ll do the Jackal Nome proud, men.”

Khian set the pace, walking behind the young scribe, keeping his proud military bearing, not looking to the right or the left but focusing on the glittering dais where Pharaoh’s golden throne sat and the Great One himself waited to honor them. He might be only a landholder, commissioned to fight in the war against the invaders, rather than one of the career officers, and his men might be farmers in their daily lives, but by the gods, they’d held that damned pass and saved the day for Egypt. Pride for what his troops had accomplished in battle filled his heart and pushed aside trepidation over being in a completely foreign environment now. He just wanted to get through the ceremony without disgracing himself or his men in front of the ruler.

The scribe had them line up off to the side, awaiting their moment with Pharaoh, who was still speaking with a group of ambassadors. “Your name will be called and then move forward in front of the throne. Salute and stand at attention.”

“We’ll do as you instruct.” Khian clenched his hand on the hilt of his sword. He gazed across the chamber while he waited, taking in the crowd of courtiers attending the audience. For the most part the nobles, officers and functionaries were a blur of painted faces, fine clothes and elaborate jewelry but one woman caught his attention. She sat near the queen, so was obviously high ranking, but her expression was sweet rather than haughty and she stared at him as if trying to give him encouragement. Could she tell he was nervous about committing an inadvertent error of royal protocol? The lady smiled, plying her ostrich feather fan flirtatiously. He made a slight bow to her, before he abruptly remembered where he was.

Ridiculous as it might seem, he felt as if he had a friend here.

Boredom had been weighing on Tuya all afternoon. She’d sat through many audiences at the court of Pharaoh Nat-re-Akhte and this one was no different—newly arrived dignitaries to greet, a few issues needing  Pharaoh’s judgment, gold of valor to be awarded to a deserving soldier or two. In her five years as chief lady-in-waiting to the Royal Wife, Tuya had seen all variations.

Pharaoh would present the gold of valor next, and Tuya found herself glancing at the assembled soldiers. The officer captured her attention instantly. Something about his face drew her gaze. He had the look of a man going into combat and she guessed his unfamiliarity with royal protocol and the customs at court might lie at the heart of his tension. Or he was worried for his men that they’d manage the moments under Pharaoh’s scrutiny with honor. Direct attention from the living god was a frightening thing to most people.  She wished she could take the officer aside for a moment and reassure him that Pharaoh was a kind man, a soldier himself in fact, and would most likely be tolerant of any minor breaches in protocol from overawed rural troops.

The captain was looking at the crowd now, as he waited, and when his attention turned to her, she smiled and tried to project encouraging thoughts for him. It doesn’t matter how the court perceives you, only Pharaoh’s opinion counts with the gods.

Nonfiction Flash

Nonfiction Flash:

My father is visiting until tomorrow. He gets all the attention. Sorry. Not sorry. I'll be back when I'm not playing tour guide.

Trick or Treat

NEWS: I'm starting a newsletter soon, so if you want to be in on the updates concerning the Persephone Alcmedi series, the Immanence series, or just want to be in on the fun, check out my website today. Note: It's a double opt-in, so there'll be an email to confirm. Thank you, kindly!

TRICK or TREAT   (891 words)

Andrea had fussed too long over her costume and make-up, but it had to be the best. She was the prettiest, richest, and most sought after among her film-school pals and had to maintain that reputation. Typically, she arrived fashionably late, but tonight she'd misjudged the traffic and now she was irresponsibly late. Night had fallen full before she arrived at the secluded address scrawled on the back of a tarot card. It was just trite enough that it had to be Annie's idea. It was like her to throw a last-minute party, and to add to the spirit of the season by a pseudo-anonymous invitation. 

After parking her pink Porsche, Andrea resettled her witch costume and made sure her breasts mounded above the bustier just right, then added her pointy hat and scanned the many vehicles lining the road. She recognized George's BMW, Annie's Lincoln, and Jimmy's jacked-up truck. No one was in them, of course. The party started almost an hour ago. She'd have to walk-in alone. But that was fine; she knew how to make an entrance. She'd just have to make up an excuse, like her agent had called to say he'd lined up a new audition.

Ahead, a bright orange arrow pointed across into the woods.

The beat of music thumped from the barn atop the distant hill. The illumination from within seemed minimal, as only a dull hint of light pierced through the filthy windows. But they had a good playlist on. She assumed Jimmy was in charge of the music. 

After a baleful look at her high-heel shoes and thinking up a good passive-aggressive scolding for whoever didn't advise her to at least wear wedges, she left the street and stepped onto the path through thick underbrush. When it suddenly ended, hundreds of costumed people stood lining the way. She halted with a gasp. Immobile and silent, each held a carved pumpkin lit within.

"Did you all wait for me?" Her cheeks flushed.

No one answered.

"What are you doing here? Hasn't it started up at the barn?" 

Still, no one answered.

"Stop being creepy!" She marched as best she could to the closest, and pulled at the silly plastic face mask. "Is that you, George?"

It wasn't her boyfriend. It was a mannequin. So was the next and the next.

Andrea felt ashamed for having been fooled, but no one was here to see her get fooled. Besides, who had hundreds of mannequins, let alone costumes? And who had time to carve hundreds of pumpkins? This had to be George's idea. He was going to be a great director some day soon.

Each unique orange face bore a wicked grin, and was positioned to leer as she passed. The flickering candles added an ominous ambiance. 

It was wildly spooky - perfect for a Halloween Dance party. That was the thought she kept foremost as she walked to the barn. It took her fifteen minutes to arrive. This grassy terrain was murder in her heels. 

When she stepped up to the door, she reached for the handle, then realized she heard no voices.

The hair on her neck stood on end, so instead of opening the door, she peered through the crack, shifting left to right to see the broadest bit of the room.

She saw no one, but they’d gone all out for the décor. Red streamers, bloody-looking sheets and plastic screening. Annie’s father worked at MGMs prop department. She’d obviously had him call in some favors. And, there had to be hundreds of candles burning in there, and red petals dotted the floor.

Oh! George is going to propose a la the Horror films he loves so much. Yes! Finally. And I’m late! They’ve seen me coming and are waiting for the big entrance.

She resituated her hat, squared her shoulders and threw open the door.

Still seeing no one, she stepped in. Were they hiding? “George?” she moved deeper into the barn…and realized the streamers looked like entrails. It wasn't petals on the floor either, but splattering of sticky red...blood? They really went all out for this. She touched one of the 'streamers' and her hand came away covered in red goo. “Ick.” 

She’d have to wipe this off. Scanning around for the food table where there would have to be napkins, she saw the rustic stairs leading to the upper floor. The upper steps were lost to darkness but the lower steps each had severed heads sitting upon them. Some had eyes open, some were shut. She gasped. That’s going too far.

Completing her scan, she saw no food table. What kind of party doesn’t offer some kind of drink and snack?

Something creaked. She spun back to the stairs as a boot slid into view. Someone was coming down. 

She watched the dirty boots descend, unable to see the person wearing them for the dark. But her eyes caught again on the heads. They were placed two-to-each-side, yet the bottom step was different. It had two on the left, they looked like Jimmy and Annie…and on the right…George.

There was room for one more.

Understanding and dozens of thoughts collided in her brain as air rushed through her nostrils and she emitted a shrieking scream that echoed across the hillside.

From within the stairwell, a deep voice said, "Cut." 

Taunt Not the Sprites on Halloween Nights

Tit for tat.
You started that.
With actions so cruel and mean.

We were fine
On our own
In the forest, quite alone.
Until we heard the first widow scream.

Her fright
Pierced the night.
Halting our dances under the light
Of the bright, bright, bright, harvest moon.

In tribes and clans
We swept across our lands
Towards the sounds of terror mounting.

Atop roofs and deep doors
We crouched
Ready for wars.
Our countenance fierce and frightening.

For their charity
We defend
The spinsters and lonely women
Against the horrors of children flouting

All honor and respect
Shrill voices loud with threat
Their chorus a malicious chanting

Trick or treat.
Give us something good to eat.
Or by dawn, your house will be burning.

So we crept into the street
Shadows dogging their feet
Spells draining their youth and arrogance

Once the veil closes
The boyos
They knows it
Their souls are owned by the damned