Guest Posts

When we welcome someone else to the site to share their thoughts on all things books and writing

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Horrorfest Short…The Mountain of Souls

witch1Author Georgina Morales joins us again today, for her second feature in Horrorfest 2013. After ‘Talking Horror’ earlier in the week, here she is writing it, with short story ‘The Mountain of Souls’.

This piece is a shortened, re-working in English of “El monte de las ánimas” a tale written by Gustavo Adolfo Becquer, a Spanish romantic writer, famous for his poetry and a central figure in Spanish literature. The title roughly translates as: “The spirit’s mountain”. You can read it complete in Spanish here and in English here. This tale is often read in Spanish-speaking countries as a ghost story, so prefect for Halloween. Blogger Pandapon talks about it in more detail in their post here: http://blog.mangamagazine.net/?p=1106.

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The Mountain of Souls

A Legend of Castile, by Georgina Morales

“Fasten up the hounds and give the signal with the horns for the hunters to gather. Let’s travel back to the town. Tomorrow we shall put an end to that pack of wolves.”

“So soon have you tired, my dear cousin?” Mischievous intent curled up her thin lips in a smile.

“Any other day, my sweet Beatriz, and I would never pass the challenge; but today it is All Hallows Eve, and we are in the Mountain of Souls, after all.”

“I didn’t take you for the superstitious kind, Alonso.” Though her façade remained under control, derision dripped from her words.

“You are unaware of what goes on in this county, because it’s not even a year yet since you graced us with your company. In a little while prayer will sound in the monastery, and the spirits of the dead will ring its bell.”

“The abandoned monastery up in the mount, you mean?”

“Indeed. Ride by my side, my beautiful cousin, and as the journey continues, I will tell you that story.”

And so they went ahead of the group with the Counts of Borges and Alcudiel following their firstborns in procession.

“A long time ago, Templars resided in that monastery; but Templars were not regular monks, you see. They were warriors, too. Once the town of Soria was rescued from hands of the Saracens, the King granted the land to the famous order to continue its defense. This caused bitter animosity with the Noblemen. Lastly, upon the Templars intrusion on restricted land while wolf hunting on All Hallows Eve, a bloody battle erupted.

“Not one side won but the wolves who instead of being hunted devoured a feast like no other. When silence filled the mount again, disincarnate corpses littered the scene and ravaged pieces of clothing swayed like broken flags in the brambles.

“The monastery fell out of use and greenery took over. Since that day, every All Saints Day the derelict bell comes to life; and with it, the hateful skeletons rise to fight in the mount once more.”

Beatriz dared not say a word, and in silence the cortege entered town. Perhaps had she been surrounded by the beat of the city, she wouldn’t have found the toll of the church’s bell so sinister.

That night after dinner, Beatriz sat in front of the fire recalling the amusements of life in court, the balls, the gowns, the art of trickery hiding behind hand fans.

“It’s extraordinary to see the rosy color on your cheeks when not eight months ago you arrived here so sick,” said Alonso, joining her contemplation of the peaceful flames.

“I have the air of Castile and its remarkable people to thank. How will I ever repay their kindness?” She bowed in his direction.

“Perhaps if you stayed…” Catching a sudden twitch of the feminine hand, Alonso went on, “Yet, I can vividly imagine the heartbreak your absence would bring to my dear uncle. Instead, I’ll be happy to offer you the brooch fastening the plumage on my hat. I saw it caught your eye earlier today.” The nobleman extended his hand and offered a blue velvet box. “May this small token forever bring you memories of your time in Soria.”

Beatriz faced Alonso and with disapproving tone, she said, “A well to do woman must never accept a present without compromising her affections.”

“But for especial occasions. Remember, today’s All Saints Day, and yours and mine are bound to celebrate amongst all the others.” Alonso opened the box where rubies sparkled voraciously under the firelight.

“If that would make you happy, very well then.” Beatriz took the box with apathy.

“Is there something, maybe, you may want to gift me?”

The green eyes twinkled. “Yes, indeed.” Beatriz’ long, delicate fingers searched for something on her right shoulder they failed to find. With a gasp, she then covered her mouth.

“Oh, Alonso. Remember the blue silken sash I wore today to the hunt? I had thought to give it to you, but I must have lost it!”

“Where could it be?”

“In the mount, I think!” There again, a gleam of life turned the emerald eyes ever greener.

Alonso paled and bit his lips into a thin line.

“Any other night I would go into the mountain and find it for you. They do call me the Boundless Hunter in these lands; yet tonight is All Hallows…”

“And to risk name and future in a mount full of wolves? Never! I shan’t ask you such a thing, no matter how important the sash were to me.”

Alonso turned away from her sight and after a moment of pause, he kneeled at her side. “I shall bring it to you. Remember me, lovely Beatriz, if we don’t see each other again.”

And with that, he departed the gathering.

The night went on and Beatriz waited for Alonso. Twelve chants bellowed the tower bell when exhaustion finally brought the lady to her bedchamber.

He has been gone for too long, now. It should have taken him no more than two hours.

She went into the oratory for her nightly prayers and came out when either fatigue or apprehension allowed her no further concentration. Away from her devotions and the company of others, Beatriz trembled at the sound of the howling wind. She climbed to bed and let the curtains fall.

Beatriz tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Images from the story Alonso related to her pounded her mind the way the storm battered her window. Hours passed and to the noises outside joined the groans from the inside.

Was that the deep whine of the front door?

A sorrowful cry traveled through the hallways, traversing the castle in her direction, concealing itself under the holler of the wind. The door to each chamber between Beatriz and the entrance moaned its particular tone before her own door creaked open.

Beatriz ceased to breath, her heart threatened to burst, and her mind conjured images of ravaging wolves and frightful skeletons.

The wood under the carpet squeaked as if under the pressure of inexistent feet, one and another, every time closer to her side. The wail again echoed softly through the thickness of her curtains; and they moved!

Beatriz gasped, for abject horror had imprisoned her throat. Darkness swallowed her whole.

The next morning, when the Count of Borges came to let his daughter know the dreadful fate of the Alcudiel heir, he came upon a tragedy of his own. Beatriz rested on the bed, but instead of the tranquil kiss of Morpheus, it was Lyssa who had visited her; and in a final paroxysm of madness and terror, she had taken Beatriz’ life.

No violence desecrated her beauty; she had died of fright. The evidence laid on the way her pale lips parted in a silent scream. On Beatriz’ blonde locks that were now a matted nest. But above all, it was evident in her bulging eyes that refused to stay closed, perchance avoiding in death the blackness that had swallowed her last moments of life.

Since then, it is said that on All Hallows night, after the monastery bells ring, Templars riding equestrian carcasses and Noblemen dressed in shrouds haunt a frail-looking woman that runs around Alonso’s tomb. All in direct line from the Alcudiel Castle’s top windows.

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Georgina Morales - Profile Image Georgina has featured several times on our blog before, sharing her own horror genre writing, as well as her love for all things spooky. You can take a look at two of her previous features here, if you’d like to see her book Perpetual Night or her popular guest post My Letter to Stephen King.   About the Author From early on Georgina Morales felt fascinated by the horror genre. The stunning covers tantalized her with promises of endless darkness and obscure tales. While other girls dreamed of becoming princesses, her young mind weaved stories of madness to fit those covers. Years later, after settling in New England, she felt perfectly at home surrounded by dark woods and abandoned buildings. It is from those places and memories that she writes, spinning stories from inside the obscure corridors of the mind where not many venture and very few come out alive. Her debut novel, PERPETUAL NIGHT, was published in 2011 alongside other stories. On Halloween 2013 the anthology GOTHIC BLUE BOOK III: THE GRAVEYARD EDITION by Burial day Books will include her most recent tale, A DIARY OF MADNESS. For more information about her shenanigans, stalk her here:

Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/pages/Perpetual-Night-by-Georgina-Morales/159894374059399?ref=hl

 Blog- www.diaryofawriterinprogress.blogspot.com

Goodreads- https://www.goodreads.com/author/dashboard

Amazon- http://www.amazon.com/Georgina-Morales/e/B004L93XQE/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

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We have several other spooky short stories coming up this week, so make sure you check back with us to see what has been lurking in the minds of our regular bloggers and author pals (mwah, ha, ha).

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Horrorfest Post…Best Horror Books of All Time…?

trick-or-treaters01

Today’s guest post comes courtesy of Used Book Search.net and originally featured as an article on their site earlier this year. Who better to tell you about the best horror books of all time, than a blogger who spends much of their time reading and reviewing books? 🙂

Used Book Search is a free, simple to use book price comparison tool. They also have a team of book lovers writing book recommendations and reviews. If you’d like to find out more, check out the link to their site, or stalk them in the following locations:

Facebook:https://www.facebook.com/usedbooksearch.net?ref=hl

Google Plus: https://plus.google.com/108474677192291298961

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The Best Horror Books of All Time…?

Most people like a good scare. Stories that get the adrenaline flowing have captivated us throughout much of recorded history, as dark and sinister legends are perhaps older than the written word. While many horror films rely on the element of surprise, with monsters jumping out from the shadows, books often offer a slower burn, one that’s oftentimes more terrifying. So if you like the thrill of wondering what’s lurking behind the shadows or making sounds in the night, we’ve got you covered with five of the best horror books of all time.

Now, we’ve already covered the Best Stephen King books so that eliminates those from contention here. Certainly, The Shining and Misery (among others) would have been considered, as King is the modern master of the genre. And Dracula is so notable that it was featured in our Best Classic Literature list. But that still leaves us with five of the most truly terrifying and mesmerizing horrors books ever put to print.

What horror books should you read if you haven’t done so already?

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Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

One of the more frightening aspects of Mary Shelley’s classic mad science tale, Frankenstein, is that she got the idea from a dream and penned it at the tender age of 19. Cinematic adaptations have morphed the Frankenstein monster into the green, bolt-necked icon that’s deeply ingrained within our cultural consciousness today, so it’s easy to forget that Shelley’s classic focuses more on Dr. Frankenstein himself and his mad wonder at having created life only to be horrified with the monster he has unleashed upon the people close to him and the world at large.

exorcist

The Exorcist by William Peter Blatty

One of the most frightening horror films of all time was based on one of the most terrifying and suspenseful novels. Just as a Jesuit priest is having a crisis of faith, he’s called upon to tend to a girl who has been afflicted by some powerful diabolical force. The priest initially only wants to treat her as psychiatrist, but soon the disturbing physical transformation leads him to believe she is in fact possessed by a demon. When a more qualified exorcist dies of a heart ailment while attempting to perform the rites, the protagonist priest is left to do battle with a demonic force that beyond his comprehension.

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The Call of Cthulhu and Other Weird Stories by H.P. Lovecraft

It’s difficult to even imagine where the horror landscape would be today without 20th century scary story pioneer H. P. Lovecraft. This anthology of some of his best and most unnerving short stories continues to influence the genre to this day. The titular story introduces the reader to the frighteningly enormous tentacle-faced beast of Cthulhu who slumbers at the bottom of the ocean for all time, destined only to emerge once the Earth reaches an apocalyptic age. However, a cult works feverishly to hasten his inevitable awakening. And that’s only one of the many spine-tinglers in this marvelous collection.

let the right one in

Let the Right One In by John Ajvide Lindqvist

This Swedish vampire novel is both full of a mix of suspense and chills, and it also tugs at the heartstrings more than most horror stories are inclined to do. When the often bullied 12-year old Oskar befriends a strange neighbor girl, he doesn’t know how dangerous she is. Turns out the girl is a vampire, one who is eternally preserved in childlike form and whose adult guardian undertakes the grisly business of killing community members in order to harvest their blood so she can eat. Oskar’s bond with Eli grows, as does their co-dependence, which is both sweet and intensely ominous in its implications.

House_of_leaves

House of Leaves by Mark Danielewski

Much like the domicile in its title, House of Leaves is both agoraphobic and claustrophobic due to its bizarre and unsettling structure. Formatted with footnotes, shreds of documents, and strangely-shaped paragraphs and sentences that sometimes include only a few words on a page, this book details the supernatural dimensions of a room in a house that seem to go on infinitely into darkness. As the house’s occupants eventually explore the vast labyrinth of paranormal space, the sanity of all involved begins to unravel in this chilling and mesmerizing work of fiction.

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Horrorfest Post…Talking Horror

witch1Back by popular demand, our guest today is author Georgina Morales 🙂

Georgina has featured several times on our blog before, sharing her own horror genre writing, as well as her love for all things spooky. You can take a look at two of her previous features here, if you’d like to see her book Perpetual Night or her popular guest post My Letter to Stephen King. 

With Halloween fast approaching Georgina has joined us today to talk about – what else – horror!

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TALKING HORROR

By Georgina Morales

Come October and 70% of the world’s population is starving for horror consume. During this month, ranks of everything-scary lovers swell with seasonal fans joining in the adoration. Black and orange splash every window display and while stuffing our face with themed candy, we scour the surface of the earth for more horror. More books, more blogs, more movies, more stories…

But the field is growing beyond the bounds of a month. If the amount of shows sprouting on TV were to serve as a measure of the public’s interest in a subject, I’d say it’s fair to assume the spooky genre is en vogue. Maybe even entering a golden age. But really, how far back goes our fascination with the dark side?

These days we think of Horror as a genre that encompasses a wide range of nightmarish scenarios. From the classic haunted house, to the very real human monster that is a serial killer. However, as recently as the 19th century, humanity found the most reason to be scared in death and the deep darkness where demons dwell. And while ghost stories were part of oral tradition centuries before Guttenberg was even born, it was Romance and Drama that held a stronghold on literature.

Then, in 1764 Horace Walpole used the romantic elements of the time to write the story of a haunted castle. Oh, innovation! But he was no fool and fearing the rejection of the literary community—ever the snobs—he published the story in anonymity. Buyers were told THE CASTLE OF ORANTO was an old manuscript found in an abandoned monastery where a man of vision found it and decided to publish it.

And here you thought The Blair Witch Project had been the first.

Three things happened immediately after: 1. The book became a success among critics and readers alike. 2. Walpole could not stand to watch fame and money scape through his fingers and published the second edition with his name attached. 3. Critics realized they’ve been duped and held the story as literary garbage.

One would think that after two centuries the elite would’ve gotten over their spite, but no. Horror is still considered barely above picture books. Talk about holding a grudge.

But no matter what pundits said, the public demanded more and publishers were more that happy to supply. But what do you call these books that don’t fit on the known genres? Walpole offered an answer once more. He had subtitled his first book A GOTHIC STORY and the name caught up. For a century, Gothic literature rocked the world, and when it seemed about to die, Poe appeared and perfected it for our delight.

These are stories of abandoned castles, cemeteries, or monasteries infested with vengeful ghosts where the characters never question the plausibility of the supernatural, they simply know. Heroes have a tendency to madness, damsels faint a lot, and an overcast sky or raging storm betrays the dubious nature of the villain.

Gothic literature is a staple that every Halloween lover should try, even the young ones since, given the Victorian moral standards, most of the classic works could be considered PG13 at most. But, if you like a more modern approach and simply can’t stand fainting women, there’s plenty of modern gothic for you. These stories will feature contemporary characters in traditional settings. The poor souls… After all, how would you react to a haunted castle or a family curse?

So, this Halloween when you are looking for a moody read to set your spirit right, why not turn to Gothic lit, either modern or classic. Just beware of stormy weather and the dark.

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Georgina Morales - Profile Image About the Author

From early on Georgina Morales felt fascinated by the horror genre. The stunning covers tantalized her with promises of endless darkness and obscure tales. While other girls dreamed of becoming princesses, her young mind weaved stories of madness to fit those covers. Years later, after settling in New England, she felt perfectly at home surrounded by dark woods and abandoned buildings. It is from those places and memories that she writes, spinning stories from inside the obscure corridors of the mind where not many venture and very few come out alive.

Her debut novel, PERPETUAL NIGHT, was published in 2011 alongside other stories. On Halloween 2013 the anthology GOTHIC BLUE BOOK III: THE GRAVEYARD EDITION by Burial day Books will include her most recent tale, A DIARY OF MADNESS. For more information about her shenanigans, stalk her here:

Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/pages/Perpetual-Night-by-Georgina-Morales/159894374059399?ref=hl

 Blog- www.diaryofawriterinprogress.blogspot.com

Goodreads- https://www.goodreads.com/author/dashboard

Amazon- http://www.amazon.com/Georgina-Morales/e/B004L93XQE/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

 

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Horrorfest Post…Witches and Halloween

witchcraftbookFor our opening feature in Horrorfest 2013, we’re welcoming author Mari Wells to the blog, to share with us some of the history of Halloween and how it all began with witches. Mari has some great posts on her blog on everything from witches to vampires and so if this post gets you in the mood for something else, we definitely recommend you head over there to take a look. 

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Witches and Samhain

The witch’s “High Holiday” or “Great Sabbat” Samhain is what non-witches call All Hallows Eve or Halloween. Samhain is pronounced Sow-n (like Cow-in) in the U.S. the pronunciation is Sam-hane and means summer’s end. This holiday is the witches’ New Year. 

According to the Old Celtic calendar, Samhain was the beginning of the year. Some witches still celebrate it as the New Year – it’s been called “The Witch’s New Year”.

It’s an important celebration among witches as it marks the change of summer (the end of summer and the growing season) to winter; also, it’s time to shift from the Goddess to the God.

The Celts remembered the creations of the world, when chaos became order on Samhain. On this night, the spirits of the dead were allowed to roam the earth and visit with loved ones. They also believed that the veil between the dead and living was thinner than any other time during the year.

Other ancient cultures who also held this belief and celebrated their dead on October 31 eve and November 1st were the Egyptians and Pre-Colombian Mexico. It was easier to communicate with the spirits of loved ones who died during the year. This is part of the story behind ghosts at Halloween.

It’s commonly believed that dead could predict the future. Tarot, crystal ball, and tealeaf readings are preformed more on Samhain than any other night, because it’s easier to reach the dead to assist in the readings.

Samhain was also the time livestock was reduced to numbers needed to survive the winter. Freshly slaughtered sheep and cattle where roasted on Samhain bonfires called Balefires for the holiday feast. A part of the meat was salted and stored for the winter. These fires burned atop mountains along the length and breadth of Britain and much of Western Europe –a visual line of Pagan associates. 

Witches spend this day and evening with their passed ancestors. These ancient cultures believed in leaving plates of food outside for friendly spirits (the candy part of Trick-or-Treating), taking their ancestors’ favorite foods to their burial grounds, or setting extra places at the dinner table.

The Celts believed any clothing that stayed outside on Samhain would take on bewitching abilities for anyone who wears them.

A well-known Halloween game of bobbing for apples has roots in the Roman festival of Pomona, which was celebrated on November 1st. Apples were peeled in one long strip. The peel was tossed over the left shoulder. The peel would land on the ground outlining your future spouse’s face.

We also shouldn’t forget the Jack o’ Lantern.  Ancient pagans would carry a candle with them on their travels on Samhain to symbolize the spirits leaving this world into the next. They often placed their candles in carved hallowed turnips. Years later Americans began using pumpkins; maybe because they were easier to carve.

The Church allowed the pagans to keep their holiday, but saw it as a way of converting them to Christianity. They began celebrating the dead, but only those who believed in God. The Samhain holiday became All Saints and All Souls day in order to remember the blessed dead.    

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Our guest post today comes from author Mari Wells, here you can find out more about her. 

Mari’s love of the paranormal goes back to her tween years with origins in vampirology. In recent years, she has increased her vampire knowledge, and expanded it to other paranormal beings.

Mari lives in the Northwest Pacific with her husband, and four children. Her writing is balanced around homeschooling all four children and keeping house. She burns the candle at both ends in order to write, adding to the ambience of her paranormal stories.

 Her paranormal pieces have been included in supernatural magazines, websites and blogs. Other stories appear online and in print.

Want to know more? Check out the links!

Blog – www.mariwells.wordpress.com

Author Facebook Page – https://www.facebook.com/pages/Mari-Wells-Author/281939828573987?ref=hl

Twitter – @Mari_Wells4

Goodreads – http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/15866377-mari-wells

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Hosting…Dianna Hardy’s Flash Blog Tour

Omnibus Banner

Today we’re excited to be hosting a guest post by author Dianna Hardy, as part of The Witching Pen flash blog tour. If you have not yet read The Witching Pen series, these posts may contain spoilers, as it is now on the last book!

Dianna combines a titillating mix of paranormal romance and urban fantasy into her writing to bring you stories that are action-packed, fast-paced and not short of heat, with the focus on both character development and the plot. She writes both full-length novels and short fiction. All further info can be found at diannahardy.com

 See here for all blog tour dates and posts: http://www.thewitchingpen.co.uk/1/post/2013/08/not-long-to-go-now.html

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The Last Dragon cover front smallWith The Last Dragon being released on 4th October, we’ve been having a little recap at everything that’s happened in this paranormal fantasy romance series so far. Today I’m talking about the music of darkness, sorrow, hope and love.

In short, these are the tracks I listened to the most when writing the series, the first being Fix You, by Coldplay. It’s a gorgeous song that came to me while I was writing book two, The Sands Of Time. It captured everything that was happening in that book, from both Amy/Pueblo/Paul’s point of view, as well as Mary and Gwain’s point of view, and it brought to life the deeper layer of sorrow that underlies the series. To this day, I think that Fix You can symbolise every single character in the series, including those in The Last Dragon.

Link to YouTube: http://youtu.be/k4V3Mo61fJM

The second song that got under my skin and didn’t let go was Halo, by Beyonce. Without a doubt it’s Gwain and Mary’s song (although we can also hear Karl and Elena in it) and for me, it’s always symbolised hope. There’s something about the song that has always made me think of Mary’s exuberance and her larger-than-life personality. This song is hope and faith.

Link to YouTube: http://youtu.be/bnVUHWCynig

Now, let’s talk about the darkness. Although there are dark elements throughout the series, in terms of music it didn’t seep into me until a reader suggested the song Closer, by Nine Inch Nails to represent the series. Wow. At the time of listening to it, I was writing Lucifer, and … yeah. Let’s just say that that song brought him to life for me more than a little. In many ways, I found The Last Dragon the darkest book out of all of them for me to write (and not just because of Lucifer).

Link to YouTube: http://youtu.be/PTFwQP86BRs

Lastly, I’m going to talk about love. And the song that represents the love in this series came via another reader who suggested A Thousand Years, by Christina Perri. At first, I didn’t think anything of it, and then I was in a coffee shop a few months back, writing a very poignant Last Dragon scene and this song came on the system, and everything fell into place. The entire scene came alive under my fingers as I typed it up listening to this song; the entire series also played out in my head. So here it is – true, unconditional love; acceptance; forgiveness.

Link to YouTube: http://youtu.be/rtOvBOTyX00

Of course there were other songs I listened to as well – and you can see the readers’ choices for the series theme song here http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL_BA0pQ9LrZKg_vta0koHkz-DDXCAY-lm – but those were the main ones that I hit repeat on, over and over again, to help capture certain parts of the books 🙂

Before The Last Dragon explodes into publication, read book one of the series, The Witching Pen, currently FREE to download across most retailers! See here for download links: http://www.diannahardy.com/the-witching-pen.html

The Witching Pen eBook Cover Small  It’s hard being the most powerful witch on the planet. It’s even harder when you’re a twenty-five year old virgin who’ll lose all of that power the moment you sleep with someone … that’s why Elena’s never slept with her best friend and flatmate, Karl, despite the true feelings they harbour for each other.

Elena’s about to discover that there are even more difficult things in life to deal with. One of them comes in the form of a pen she discovers one day, a pen that allows anything she writes to come to pass…

Suddenly, it’s not just her powers or her heart that’s at stake, but her very soul, as a dream demon with a seductive pull uses the pen to try and turn her away from her reality, and from Karl.

But the pen is just the beginning. Everything Elena has believed in is a lie, and her world is about to fall apart…

The entire series can be viewed here: http://www.diannahardy.com/the-witching-pen-novellas.html and mark 4th October on your calendar to know how it all ends with The Last Dragon.

Author of The Witching Pen and the international bestselling Eye Of The Storm series.

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Want to know more? Check out the links! 

Website: www.diannahardy.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/authordiannahardy

Twitter: www.twitter.com/thewitchingpen

The Witching Pen website: www.thewitchingpen.co.uk

TWP n Last Dragon Blog Tour List

Don’t forget! Anyone that comments on the blogs participating in the tour will be automatically entered to win one of 3 Swag packs. Dianna will pick the three winners once the Blog Tour has finished 🙂

 The Swag packs include each:
– 1 signed M’Angeal Fridge Magnet
– 1 Witching Pen Omnibus Keyring
– 1 Witching Pen Omnibus Bookmark
– 1 Witching Pen Omnibus Postcard

– 1 The Last Dragon Coming 4th October postcard

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Why Books Are Important in the World.

I’ve just read this fantastic post, from the blog of a new follower of ours. What better way to start a weekend – possibly when you’ll be writing – than with some inspiring words about books?

Thanks for the follow Kg – love the blog 🙂

kgbookspub's avatarDiscovering the World of Book Publishing

Nothing can add to our intellect more than reading a book.  In books, we can experience new things that we would not normally be able to experience. With an active imagination, you can go to other worlds or made up worlds. Books can change our lives and other people’s lives. Reading can make us more intelligent. Without reading we wouldn’t know anything that we know today. Our forefathers have taught us more than we know.

We as individuals are capable of inventing new ideas, creating manuals to teach others how to save lives, writing books to teach our children about history, other cultures, the world around us and setting up new laws that will forever change our lives and the lives of others. We have educated ourselves beyond our ancestors by reading and studying books and manuals. We now can read manuals about healthcare, how to fix things, how to…

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IAM Guest Post…Why I Write YA

Guest Feature

Guest Feature

Today’s guest post about why she writes YA is by Lisa Y. Potocar, author of Sweet Glory. In our second feature today you can find out more about her novel, but for now, let’s find out why Lisa writes YA 🙂

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First, I’d like to thank Melanie, Stephanie, Tony, and Jade for hosting me on their “Aside From Writing” Blog today. I’m thrilled to be here, and I hope that you’ll be entertained by my story: How I came to write for young adults. Also, I hope you don’t mind that I’ve copied my entire “Author’s Note” from Sweet Glory, which perfectly explains why I targeted young adults for my audience. Happy reading…..

Dear Reader,

 I hate history!

 Now that I have your attention … I’ll tell you that I actually love history, but I didn’t always. So what made me want to go digging up facts to weave around fiction—especially for a debut novel—when I could have easily plugged my primary protagonist and her plot into a more familiar setting? And why target young adults for my story’s readership?

 I was in my early thirties when my mother coaxed me into touring some of Newport, Rhode Island’s historical homes. At the time, my career in health care was often stressful due to a rapidly changing atmosphere and incessant backlogs; any getaway was a welcome diversion. While at the Hunter House, the melodic voice of the tour guide, dressed in colonial costume, lulled me back to a moonless night during the Revolutionary War. In this Georgian-style mansion, overlooking the harbor, I pictured Admiral de Ternay, commander of the French fleet, seated on a rose floral sofa in a parlor paneled with pine board grained to imitate rosewood. Under the glow of candles, resting in pewter holders crafted by local artisans, he is discussing with his staff strategy for defeating the British navy in support of America’s colonial forces. As I imagined the admiral unrolling a map to show the offensive position of British ships along the coast, I was rudely seized from my trance by the tour guide’s demand to proceed to the dining room.

Bam! It struck me then that my apathy for history was rooted in the dull, lifeless presentations of it all through my schooling (no offense intended to my educators; I respect that they had a ton to impart in a short time). Viewed in this vivid, more personal way, some of the same, long-forgotten facts and figures, which had been crammed into my head in the classroom, suddenly sprang to life. I developed a new appreciation—indeed lust—for history! And I was determined to learn more. The very day I returned home, I became an ardent reader of historical fiction with lots of adventure. Amongst my favorites: the Kent Family Chronicles and North and South Trilogy by John Jakes, master weaver of history around complex plots and subplots. Through his colorful descriptions, I absorbed much about the times and the people. The bigger pattern sewed by our country from its beginning to the present became neatly ordered and clear to me. I suddenly found myself gravitating toward nonfiction, diving for greater pearls of wisdom where historical fiction teased. Wow! I became eager to nurture our young adults down the same footpath. If I had been armed with the potent knowledge of how the past shapes our future, I most definitely would have taken an active interest in my country and its politics long before I hit my thirties.

Researching for historical fiction is just as much fun as reading it; fascinating things turn up everywhere. What seed actually sprouted my story? While reading about Civil-War curiosities, including places haunted by ghosts, I discovered that around three hundred known women, both Yankee and Rebel, disguised themselves as soldiers to fight for their country, and thousands more reinvented themselves in other ways, such as nurses and spies. There is enough documentation for this era to sink an armada of ships, but scant about these pioneers. Besides the more famous cast (Nurses Dorothea Dix and Clara Barton, Doctor Mary Walker, and Union Spy Elizabeth Van Lew), one female kept reaching out to me from the graveyard of records: Sarah Edmonds, alias Frank Thompson. She trimmed her tresses, enlisted in the infantry, and set off on a journey to play soldier, nurse, and spy. Aha! My primary protagonist was born: the bold, adventurous, sixteen-year-old tomboy Jana Brady who seeks to create a new meaning of what a woman can do during the tumultuous years of the Civil War.

I shall stop here with trying to convince you of the merits in knowing history, especially as belongs to your country. But I challenge you to visit your nearest historical site and see what ghosts come out to play with you. I’ll bet you say you had fun!

 

Warm regards,

 Lisa Y. Potocar

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Lisa Potocar   I’d like to sum up by adding that in creating Sweet Glory, I discovered my niche in writing historical fiction and a home in the young-adult audience, which I feel my writing style most aptly suits. However, I had hoped that Sweet Glory would garner crossover into the adult market, and I’m thrilled to report that it has. About 90% of my readership is adults  (who I hope are excited enough by my story to pass the word of it along to their children, grandchildren, nieces, nephews, etc.—Laugh Out Loud).

If you’re interested, check out the great reviews Sweet Glory received from the International Historical Novel Society & HistoricalNovelReviewBlogspot.com on my website at: http://lisapotocar.tateauthor.com/what-they-are-saying/. They further support why I write for young adults.

Again, I’d like to thank “Aside from Writing” for allowing me this wonderful opportunity to share my writing journey with you. I had a blast and I hope you did too!

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Want to know more? Check out the links!

http://www.lisapotocar.tateauthor.com (Website)

http://www.facebook.com/LisaPotocarAuthor (Facebook)

http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5779385.Lisa_Potocar (Goodreads Author)

http://amzn.to/THkzMp (Sweet Glory on Amazon)

http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13454119-sweet-glory (Sweet Glory on Goodreads)

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IAM Guest Post…Why I Write YA

Guest Feature

Guest Feature

Today’s guest post on about why she writes YA books is by lovely author Ron C. Nieto. We featured a cover reveal for Shattered Silence earlier in 2013, which is Book 2 in the Ghostly Rhapsody series.

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Ron C. Nieto is a fantasy and romance author who has been writing in her secluded fortress for the longest time. Recently, she had a talk with her cat and decided that she should share her creations, because it was selfish to hoard them all for herself.

Why do I write YA?

Because it’s my very own version of Dorian Grey’s portrait: allows me to live vicariously through my characters and be forever seventeen. Mwahahahaha!

Or perhaps not.

You know, the first time I thought about writing YA I wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, genre wise. It looks like a ridiculous question now but I spent my teen years reading Homer, Walter Scott and Dostoevsky, so… forgive my ignorance?

The truth is that time passed, I began to read what most normal teenagers do (albeit in my twenties) and, suddenly, YA happened. Only after I had completed my first draft and had gone a first round of revisions and edits I began to consider the “Why” of it:

I realized I wanted to say something.

Which might sound obvious, but cheekiness aside, it isn’t. Up until I began writing YA, I thought I only wanted to tell a story, to meet new characters and have a fun time. Then, all of a sudden, I had this bunch of ideas about love and about dreams and about fighting chances, and my characters wanted to do something more than taking a stroll: they wanted to be passionate, and a little bit crazy, and they weren’t scared of crashing down every time they took a leap.

And when you think about it… isn’t that what being young is all about?

If I remember correctly, ten years ago I saw the world painted in extremes of happiness and sorrow, love was the greatest thing of all, trust was something earned and given over a shared laugh and a can of coke, and if a cause was good enough to believe in it, then it was good enough to fight for it. These days I’m much calmer. I think about crisis and about making it to the end of the month. Worst of all, I usually double-check when confronted with an act of kindness, looking for the catch.

I think I’m not the only one who changed like that overtime. I think it’s happened to all of us—it’s this dreadful thing called “growing up”. And I can’t help but believe that those golden, teen years were much purer, more… genuine.

I write YA because I want to remember what it was to be “me”, to care for the truly important things like friends and crushes and annoying family members. Because I want my older readers (yes, I know a lot of you are there!) to remember, to go back a little and rescue those feelings.

And because looking back, in my memories everything was simpler and easier… but when I was living those memories, some silly things were huge, so I want my younger readers to see themselves in perspective, to find themselves in my stories, to hopefully entertain them and maybe, just maybe, change them a little too, so they stay true without all the extra grief involved.

It took me a lot of time and effort to realize it, but I think I write YA, quite simply, because I need it.

Silent Song

   The princess of the school, Alice, is keeping a secret that could strip her of her high school fame. She is obsessed with the school’s outcast, Keith, but not just him – his music. 

   Since the inspiration for the song hit, Keith can’t get it out of his mind. The song must be played; it demands to be played. He knows the music is changing him, but he is unable to stop it. 

   Music has the ability to move you, enlighten you, and take you to places you have never dreamed of. And this particular piece? It has a life of its own and makes you forget who you really are. 

   As Keith and Alice learn of one another to the notes of that one perfect tune, they can overlook their roles and discover who they could be together. But they also discover someone else is listening and intends on keeping Keith to herself, possibly for an eternity.

 

 

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Want to know more? Check out the links!

Author website
Twitter account
GoodReads profile

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IAM Excerpt…As You Wake by Amy Martin

 

Guest Feature

Guest Feature

One of our favourite YA books in 2012 was Amy Martin’s debut, In Your Dreams. Today she joins us for a feature on the sequel As You Wake, which is out now! You can check out an exclusive excerpt right here, and enter our grand prize competition to bag a copy of your own!

As You Wake - Cover

Zara “Zip” McKee and Kieran Lanier thought they had put the threats from Kieran’s past behind them in the first installment of the In Your Dreams series. But when danger comes for them once again, Zip, Kieran, and their families find themselves on separate summer road trips that none of them had anticipated. When all paths converge in North Carolina, the two families are forced to deal with each other and the secrets they’ve kept out of love and fear.

But Kieran is keeping the biggest secret of all from everyone but Zip. He hasn’t had a dream—about the future, about anything—for months. And while Zip and Kieran are grappling with what the new twist in Kieran’s sleeping disorder might mean, a mysterious stranger reveals information that could change Kieran’s life–or end it.

Excerpt from As You Wake: 

I grab the section of chain link fence that’s rusted away from the pole and hold it aside just enough for Kieran to crawl through to the grassy area under the press box. As I follow him, the fence snaps back into place, scraping my skin through my shirt.
“You okay?” Kieran asks after he turns just in time to see the fence smack against me. He helps me to my feet, and I lean back against one of the metal pillars hidden away in the shadows.
“Yeah. I’m good,” I assure him before changing the subject. “You probably shouldn’t have rushed through your chem final.”
His arms circle my waist, strands of hair falling into his face as he looks down at me. “It was worth it,” he whispers, the smile I give him quickly swallowed by a wave of kisses. My hands wander up underneath his plain white t-shirt, my thumbs grazing the base of his rib cage on either side. Once we finally come up for air, my head foggy and my fingers nearly stuck to his skin with sweat, Kieran takes my face in his hands and looks at me dead on. “I love you,” he says, my ears ringing on hearing him say those words to me for the first time. “I couldn’t let you leave for Chicago without telling you that.”
I don’t hesitate. “I love you, too.”
“And I’m not just saying it because we’re going to be apart for a while,” he goes on, and I hold myself back from saying Or forever in my head or out loud. “I’m saying it because I’ve known all along.” He must see the question in my eyes, because he continues with “But not because I dreamed something beforehand. I’m talking about after we met…I just…I’ve always known somehow. And I kept telling myself, ‘Kieran, you need to stop being such a wimp and tell her. If she doesn’t say it back, then she doesn’t say it back, but at least you’ve told her—‘”
“You’re babbling,” I point out, and he gives me the goofy grin that endeared him to me the day we met.
“Yeah. Little nervous, I guess.”
I put my hand to his cheek. “Don’t be. I love you, Kieran.” My mouth enjoys saying the words, words I’ve never said to anyone outside my family. “I love you. I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it, because it’s the truth.”

He doesn’t make me say it again. We merge once more, the now-familiar ache of desire in my stomach and the early afternoon heat building up under the press box conspiring to make me weak. I just want to lie down with him in the scrubby grass so we can kiss until all thoughts of Frank Dozier or anything else become a distant memory, but after a few minutes, Kieran pulls away, my lips straining to stay on his.

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Author Biography

Amy Martin wrote and illustrated her first book at the age of ten and gave it to her fourth grade teacher, who hopefully lost it in her house somewhere and didn’t share it with anyone else. Not counting that early experiment in self-publishing, In Your Dreams is Amy Martin’s first Young Adult novel.

A native of St. Charles, MO, Amy currently lives in Lexington, KY with her husband and a ferocious attack tabby named Cleo. When not writing or reading, she can usually be found watching sports, drinking coffee, or indulging her crippling Twitter habit (and, sometimes, doing all three at once). You can follow her on Twitter at @ThatAmyMartin.

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You can read our 2012 review of In Your Dreams here and an interview with Amy here. 

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Want to know more? Check out the links!

http://www.theamymartin.com
http://www.facebook.com/amy.martin.writer
Twitter: @ThatAmyMartin

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IAM Excerpt…from ‘Bronze’ by B B Shepherd

Guest Feature

Guest Feature

Today’s guest author is B B Shepherd and we’re featuring her YA novel Bronze (The Glister Journals). Earlier this week we posted an interview with her, and now you can check out an excerpt from Bronze…

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 Synopsis 

Allison Anderson is a normal but not exactly average fourteen year old girl. She knows she’s a little different, but it hadn’t bothered her too much—until now. Moving away from everything she has ever known to a new house, new neighborhood, and new school is bad enough, but it’s her first year of high school too. She’s more aware of her social and physical limitations than ever before. And then there are the new people she meets: the tough-looking girl in her home room; the cute but dangerous-looking boy she first saw before school even started; the quiet, older girl who keeps to herself; the sullen-looking, seemingly isolated junior that doesn’t seem to trust or like her at all. Can they be friends? She’s been the victim of bullying in the past. Can she trust them? While her peaceful new home only amplifies her doubts, she begins to learn that things are not always what they seem. Her world is turned upside-down by these and other new friends, two-legged and otherwise. Life soon becomes more complicated, and much more interesting!

Bronze

Bronze

Excerpt from the first chapter of Bronze

 

I slowly put the sketchbook down, took the earphones out, and turned my complete attention to the dog. It likewise faced fully toward me and stood, panting, as if waiting for a cue.

“Come here,” I said in a soft voice, patting my leg encouragingly.

The dog stopped panting for a moment, its head coming up and ears twitching forward as if to encourage me in return. I laughed a little and continued to talk in the quiet voice, telling it how pretty it was, and wouldn’t it like to come and see me? It hopped through the decorative split-rail fence at the edge of the yard and walked calmly toward me. As it got closer it began wriggling, its stub of tail seeming to wag its whole body. I was struck by its beautiful, pale blue eyes.

“Who are you?” I asked it.

The dog was so fluffy I couldn’t even tell if it was male or female. I waited for it to sniff my hand which was resting against my knee, then reached to the top of its head and scratched. It tried to lick my face and I laughed again, scratching a little more roughly around its ears and neck. We sat together for quite some time, me stroking and scratching the lovely, soft fur, and the dog obviously basking in the attention, occasionally taking the opportunity to lick my hand, my leg, and continuing to try to lick my face if I bent too close.

It was leaning contentedly against my leg as I stroked it and I was wondering where it had come from—probably from a neighboring property—when the dog’s ears perked up and its shoulders tensed. Its body didn’t move, but its attention turned toward the street and the direction it had come from. After a moment I could hear an engine, a high, uneven revving approaching from that direction, and a rider on a motorcycle came into view around the corner in the road. As he slowly drew closer, the engine noise dropped to a lower, even drone. He was looking from side to side, ahead, and sometimes behind as he drove. He had almost passed the house when he caught sight of me, looked away, did a quick double take, rode the bike in almost a full circle in the middle of the road, then sat staring at me, legs to the ground, his bike idling.

I realized at once, of course, that it was the sight of the dog which had caught his attention, not me, but that didn’t stop my cheeks from feeling like they had burst into flames. It wasn’t a response I was used to and I hoped that he wouldn’t be able to notice it that far away, or that my sunburn was covering it. I thought he was the most attractive boy I’d ever seen. It was difficult to tell how tall he was, but the one jeans-clad leg I could see looked long and slim, and the tanned arms holding the handlebars of the motorcycle were very well-muscled for someone who didn’t look too much older than myself. I guessed he was probably about sixteen, but could have been older. I would be turning fifteen in January, but was sure I looked about twelve.

The boy’s hair was a medium brown and even at this distance I could see highlights of a lighter shade. It was a little on the long side, longer than most of the boys I’d gone to school with anyway, and slightly wavy. His face was tanned too, and while I couldn’t tell the color of his eyes, his eyebrows were dark and finely shaped. From what I could tell, at this distance and with my imperfect vision, he looked really cute.

My mind was racing. Should I just sit here? Maybe he was waiting for me to do something. Should I stand up? Not a good idea. Long expanses of skinny burned flesh with welts and scratches from my ramble the other day could hardly be attractive. He probably wouldn’t see them from the road, but I knew they were there. Should I talk to him?

‘Um . . . hello . . . is this your dog?’ Of course it was his dog. Why else would he even be looking over here? That would sound way too stupid.

‘Um . . . nice dog. What’s its name?’ I’d have to yell if I wanted him to really hear me. I didn’t like yelling. My voice would probably crack and squeak; it always did if I tried to talk loudly.

The next thing I knew, he gave a loud, high-pitched whistle—I was impressed that he didn’t have to use his fingers in his mouth to do it—revved his engine twice, and raced back down the street the way he had come. The dog hadn’t shown any inclination to move until hearing the whistle, though it had been watching the boy the whole time. Now it didn’t hesitate or look back at me, but tore after him and soon disappeared from sight.

For some unknown reason, I shivered violently—then mentally slapped myself. I was such a wimp. My friend Brenda was always telling me so. Sometimes I was a dork and a couple of times I had thought her on the verge of calling me a loser, but she was right. I had no social skills to speak of and absolutely zero experience with boys. And, so far, prospects for change didn’t look good.

Aside from Writing: Remember to enter the MASSIVE book giveaway here on the blog, where you could win books by all our featured authors!

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Want to know more? Check out the links!

Series website: http://www.theglisterjournals.com/

Author’s Goodreads page: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4984592.B_B_Shepherd

Indiebound: http://www.indiebound.org/book/9780982893609

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/0982893612