20
Mar
Please enjoy this guest post by Sheryl Steines, author of the urban fantasy novel, The Day of First Sun. Then read on to learn how you can win huge prizes as part of this blog tour, including $450 in Amazon gift cards, a Kindle Fire, and 5 autographed copies of the book.
The Strong Female
I am always amazed to hear that, in the year 2012, women are still talking about strong female characters. It’s funny that we’re always surprised when one comes along. Even in Hollywood, actresses still can’t find roles to sink their teeth into. As a reader, I look for characters that I can relate to in some way; a character who is more than a damsel in distress but less than an unfeeling, mean, witch. I’m putting it gently, but I’m looking for someone, who when facing a problem, doesn’t necessarily need a man to bail her out–a woman who can take care of herself in spite of her vulnerabilities. Because in reality, women are multi-layered and complex. We don’t fall to one end of an extreme or the other.
When I was younger, I started reading Danielle Steele, but I couldn’t read her for long. Her female characters were far too needy and always put themselves in a position of requiring a savior. Even as a child, I couldn’t help but wonder why these characters always needed a man to improve their lives. Why couldn’t they simply take care of themselves? It seemed as though female characters fell into two camps, and only two. They were either villains, witches, someone to be hated and despised, or they were weak, pathetic, your classic damsels in distress. Why is fiction lacking real women, women who can simply be human and celebrate all that they are?
As I got older, I found myself drawn to shows like Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I saw in Buffy a strong character. Yes, she could kick ass, kill the vampires and fight the demons. She also had a brain, could plan, and could save the world each week. But she wasn’t uni-dimensional. She also has a side that liked clothes, shoes and boys, a side that was feminine, a little vulnerable; a side that, okay, sometimes needed to be saved. She was a complex female character, real and human, a character with whom I could definitely relate.
The strong female character isn’t a caricature or stereotype. She’s not a total wimp like Snow White, and she’s not a total monster like the evil queen. She falls somewhere in the middle. She’s reactive, emotional, human, sexual, confident and sometimes unsure of herself.
When I originally wrote my character Annie Pearce in The Day of First Sun, I wrote her as a no-nonsense person, strong and smart, the girl who could survive on her own. But she didn’t feel genuine. As the story unfolded and changed, I rewrote her, gave her friends and family with whom she could interact. I gave her feelings, gave her stress. I let the other characters take charge once in awhile and offer some support. I melded two halves into one woman–a strong woman, who can take care of herself and ask for help when necessary. We’re not perfect, so why should our characters be? Instead, why can’t we make them simply authentic?
Charlize Theron made a really compelling comment regarding her character in the movie Young Adult. She said, “Women are usually either really good prostitutes or really good mothers. Maybe women are finally getting the chance to play more honest characters,” Theron said. “We usually don’t get to play bad hookers or bad mothers — or anything in between.”
Maybe it’s time to be a little more real and a little more honest.
As part of this special promotional extravaganza sponsored by Novel Publicity, the price of the Day of First Sun eBook edition is just 99 cents this week. What’s more, by purchasing this fantastic book at an incredibly low price, you can enter to win many awesome prizes. The prizes include $450 in Amazon gift cards, a Kindle Fire, and 5 autographed copies of the book.
All the info you need to win one of these amazing prizes is RIGHT HERE. Remember, winning is as easy as clicking a button or leaving a blog comment–easy to enter; easy to win!
To win the prizes:
- Purchase your copy of The Day of First Sun for just 99 cents
- Fill-out the simple form on Novel Publicity
- Visit today’s featured social media event
Help my blog win:
The tour blogger who receives the most votes in the traffic-breaker poll will win a $100 gift card. When you visit Novel Publicity’s site to fill-out the contest entry form, don’t forget to VOTE FOR ME.
About the book: A vampire, a rogue wizard and an army of soulless zombies are par for the course for Annie Pearce and Bobby “Cham” Chamsky of the Wizard’s Guard. But when the non-magical princess, Amelie of Amborix, is murdered by magical means, a deeper plot unfolds. Get it on Amazon.
About the author: Behind the wheel of her ’66 Mustang Convertible, Sheryl is a constant surprise, using her sense of humor and relatable style make her books something everyone can enjoy. Visit Sheryl on her website, Twitter, Facebook, or GoodReads.
17
Feb
A land of speckled grey
A whisper in the mist
A hand of mottled clay
A shadow upon the grist
A bird at play amongst the skies
A figure in the shade
A child, one that dies
A darkness amidst the glade
All these things had clouded round
The village for to seek
A home, a hearth, a living speak
Yet buried upside down
Caper and dance, laugh and fall
The devil’s daily bread
Now slay them fast, now slay them all
And the leader you must behead
And piss upon his gravestone now
For tomorrow you’ll be drowned
10
Feb
Thanks to a couple kind readers, I now have a smile stapled to my face for the rest of the day. I was working away at the day job when a G+ notification email popped up. Not something I usually get, so, hey, figured I’d look.
This is what I saw.
The summary is question:
Bloodaxe thought he was in for a nice relax. He was, after all, dead.
And then some jumped up prick of a god told him he had to rescue a kingdom. His own kingdom, in fact. So Bloodaxe grabbed his, well, axe, and leapt back into the fray.
First, though, he had to be born. And learn not to crap his pants. Then he could get to the killing. Lots and lots of killing.
This is his story.
Last Friday, I was asked to write a guest post for Thomas Knight on fantasy architecture, for his 29 Days of Fantasy event. Writing it was a blast, and here’s an excerpt from it.
You’ve all seen Lord of the Rings, right? (If you haven’t, go watch all three, and come back tomorrow. You’ll thank me). Now, most people think about the story, the sweeping epic tale of victory through perseverance. I’m not going to talk about that. I’m going to talk about something a little duller: Architecture. Specifically, Fantasy Architecture.
In Lord of the Rings, it mostly lives in the background, created through the use of brilliant fantasy art and CG. And in fantasy stories, that’s all too often where it lives – the background. And if it’s not in the background, it’s architecture that looks Asian or European, architecture that draws on landscapes and vistas taken from the medieval world.
In both cases, the author is missing out on a wonderful opportunity to create a mood, a feeling that carries throughout the novel. Take modern architectural design – a well traveled person can look at a city and see exactly where he or she is. And that’s how architecture should be used in fantasy as well.
Here’s some fantasy art that conveys much of what I’m looking for. Yes, I know, it’s a boat, not a building. But it’s unique, and different, and I bought that book (and read it) based on just the cover. And while the architecture of your fantasy society might not sit on the cover of your book, once the reader turns to the first page, you can be damn sure it’s going to make an impression.
Okay, great, you’re saying. Architecture matters. But I’m not an architect and I haven’t got a clue how a building is designed. And it doesn’t matter. It’s called fantasy for a reason. The construction process doesn’t need to be described in detail, the building doesn’t need to pass contemporary safety codes, and the author shouldn’t let fine detail cramp a good story.
So, you want to do that. You want architecture that fits the story without taking too much space. First step – for each culture, pick one or two words or phrases that describe their architectural design. As an example, I’ll use ‘Open’ and ‘Windy’. (I’m cheating, by the way. I already built this culture). ‘Open’ – most contemporary architecture uses this to mean open plan, but think a little outside the box – remove walls. So every building has no exterior walls, aside from some grass mats that can be rolled down in a storm.
To read the rest, just click on through.
1
Feb
Update: Bloodaxe hit Kindle this morning!
I haven’t talked about Bloodaxe much on here, but it’s a new short story that will be released to Kindle Select in a week or so. I’m using it as a trial of the platform, and I’m hoping for good things after Breaking an Empire did 2,500 downloads in a single night.
The prologue of Bloodaxe is already posted on the website here. You might want to read it before getting to the fun below.
Being born hurts. A lot.
I felt like I was being squeezed through a rawhide bag by a former member of my personal bodyguard. The one who killed people by strangling them with an iron bar. Not wire. Bar.
After that, I got smacked around by a particularly ugly old crone, then cleaned up and handed over to a woman with enough gold cloth that she had to be a duchess. Not bad for a second time around. Much better than a peasant, although I had always liked dear old mum and dad.
I was small enough I figured it was better to be polite, so I said “Hello”. Turned out some of the connections weren’t working right, since all that came out was a squawk. And so it turned out I was going to have to go through a normal childhood, complete with all the annoying stages of growing up. Lovely.
Whichever god thought this was a good idea is going to wake up one morning with me standing over him with an axe. A bloody great one. And if I don’t find out which one it is, I’m going to start with Frethden, god of trickery, and work my way in from there.
I’ve been through childhood once, and it turns out the only reason I remembered it fondly was because I didn’t remember it at all. Learning not to crap your pants? I’m so very glad I now have complete memories of that.
Anyway, less faeces and deicide, and more storytelling. It turned out I had been born into the duchy of Trond, which was the smallest of the duchies that once made up my kingdom. Bigger than the three earldoms and two baronies that sat around it, but smaller than the other two duchies. Situated nicely in the middle.
Or not so nicely in the middle. The other two duchies didn’t like my new parents very much, and decided to do something about that. Specifically, they sent several assassins in the night, plus a rather large force of regular soldiers. And when you’re four years old, it doesn’t matter how many years of battle-hardened reactions you have, you still need to run and hide. At least being four meant I could hide in a tiny cubbyhole.
It turned out the gold cloth wearing woman who was my new mother was fairly skilled with a rapier. Significantly more so than my new father, who got himself skewered within moments. I’d have been sad, except I only ever saw him at a distance, or at state affairs. Not exactly a loving father-son relationship. So, new mum dispatches the assassins, including the one who got the duke, finds me, and decides to leg it, since there’s rather more soldiers around who belong to the other duchies than to ours.
She calls, I come, we’re whisked off through miles of secret passages and tunnels, and end up climbing out a trapdoor hidden in the back of the fertilizer shed of a local farmer. I liked that touch. Sneaky, devious. Gave me more respect for the duchess. What I didn’t like was the damage a shaggy pony can deal to four year old buttocks. I’ve acquired battle scars in less painful ways.
I also didn’t like the irony of the gods. Because my Mum and I ended up living in a peasant village. On a hillside. Farming. Yes, I was once more a peasant farmer. I hadn’t liked it the first time I was growing up and I didn’t like it now. And how the hell was I going to fulfil my destiny of returning to save Rudvic if all I had to work with was some dirt and the clots who ate it?
30
Jan
Yes, Breaking an Empire hit the Amazon Top Ten for Epic Fantasy. Granted, it’s in the free section, but not bad for a novella that didn’t have all that much marketing behind it.
And yes, it’s still free, and will be for a little while longer. Until Bloodaxe arrives, probably.
Just in case the numbers change, here’s the screen capture.
26
Jan
If you’ve ever seen my author bio, it mentions that I really really love skiing.
And if you’re curious what that skiing looks like, here’s my brothers giving quite a demonstration. They’re better than I am, if you’re curious. Downside of being the oldest.
18
Jan
Would you like to buy my epic fantasy novel Tarranau? It’s available for the low low price of $75.35. No, that’s not a typo. The used book traders on Amazon have gone crazy again.
Today I’d like to welcome Emma Newman to The Four Part Land. Emma is the brilliant (and English) author of 20 Years Later and The Split Worlds, and an author who is always a joy to read, and to talk to. Two years ago, back when I was first bumbling around Twitter, Emma saved me from many a class of boredom by pointing me towards the first collection of short stories set in The Split Worlds, which I devoured with haste. So it is with great pleasure that I’m able to host one of her Split Word stories here today.
This is the eleventh tale in a year and a day of weekly short stories set in The Split Worlds. If you would like Emma to read it to you instead, you can listen here. You can find links to all the other stories, and the new ones as they are released here.
The Final Test
Michael came to his conclusion over the chicken soup. It was arguably the most important in his entire apprenticeship and it had killed his appetite.
“Are you feeling ill?” Alfred asked, seated opposite.
Michael looked into the other apprentice’s eyes, bloodshot from too much study. Could he lose his advantage by being open? No, he was years ahead of Alfred, and it could help to review his reasoning out loud.
“I’ve examined the tests we’ve been given over the years,” he said, voice low enough to blend with the general murmur of the dining hall. “I’ve passed every single one and I’ve never failed any assignment over the last decade, but I’m still just an apprentice. Why?”
“That’s for him to know and us to speculate,” Alfred said, dunking his bread.
“No, it’s because there’s a secret test.”
Alfred shook his head. “You sure it’s not your arrogance preventing your elevation?” When Michael started to pick up his bowl, Alfred reached across, pressed his arm down. “I’m sorry. Do you know what the test could be?”
Michael settled again, bit off a chunk of bread and chewed it slowly, giving himself time to consider whether to share. “The door at the end of the corridor in the northern wing,” he finally said. “The one we’re forbidden to open. I think the test is to do just that.”
Alfred’s eyes widened in a most satisfactory manner, giving Michael the sense of superiority he enjoyed so much. “Surely not. It’s one of the first rules of the house.”
“Exactly,” Michael replied. “We were too green to question anything then so we don’t even think about it now. We all know about the room, but no-one goes near it, because that rule was laid down so early.”
“You’re wrong,” Alfred said. “Why not have faith in him knowing when you’re ready?”
“But that’s my point!” Michael stopped himself from banging the table. “What if he’s waiting for the first apprentice to show some initiative? Perhaps he’s been waiting for hundreds of years for just one man to come to this same conclusion.”
“Perhaps he’s waiting for a man who knows as much as you but has kept his humility,” Alfred said, taking up his spoon. “Be patient, this is a way of life not-”
Michael stood, unable to stomach that platitude again, and left his supper on the table, ignoring Alfred’s chuckle. No more languishing amongst the hopefuls, waiting for a moment that might never come. It made perfect sense; why else have a locked and heavily warded door in the same wing of the house that the apprentices studied in? If it contained something genuinely secret or dangerous it would be out of sight, and certainly not pointed out during their first week. Alfred was just another mediocrity, it was time for him to show them what it really took to become a sorcerer.
The northern wing would be empty now, it gave him the perfect opportunity to study the wards and warnings engraved on the door and its frame. He was astounded by how easy it was to deconstruct into component parts, applied his knowledge as Alfred ate his soup and condemned himself to never being anything other than an apprentice.
The gentle hiss as the ward broke told him the room had been kept airtight. Interesting. He opened the door, reaching for the light switch only to find it wasn’t in the usual place. He stepped in, fumbled along the wall as the door shut and sealed itself behind him. Finally his fingers brushed the Bakelite and he flicked the light on.
That’s when he saw the bones.
He could make out three skeletons and the tattered remains of their clothing. The outline of a doorway was being burnt into the opposite wall, an effect he knew well; a Way was being opened. He forced himself to stay calm, the room could have been staged to frighten him, and he mustn’t show it had worked.
The outline became a wooden door which opened. The sorcerer stepped through, clapping slowly, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. “I knew it would be you Michael.”
Once he’d got past the mundane clothing, Michael saw only pleasure, no anger. His chest swelled. “Thank you master.”
“I always knew you had great potential.” The sorcerer reached into his pocket, pulled out a plain silver band and held it towards him.
It looked identical to the only ring his master wore, was this the subtle mark of one of the elite few? Michael slipped it onto a shaking finger.
“Tell me,” the Sorcerer stuffed his hands in his pockets and leant against the wall, his usual formality gone. “What exactly did you think would happen if you broke the wards on the door?”
Michael felt like a five year old again, terrified by the cool intellect of the man who had become his parent, his teacher, his master. It didn’t matter that he was as tall as him now. “I hoped you’d be pleased I’d realised there was no other way to progress, that I found the last test.”
“I am pleased,” his master said. “A sorcerer answers to no-one in his own kingdom, so your instincts were correct to challenge my rules. But the test wasn’t realising thus, nor was it a test of your ability to break the wards, even though I suspect you’re the only apprentice capable of doing so.”
Michael looked at the skeletons, feeling a droplet of sweat trickle down to the small of his back. “Have I passed?”
The sorcerer laughed. “Look behind you. What do you see?”
Michael’s imagination furnished him with a slavering beast, a sword about to run him through, his peers watching and laughing and even one of the Fae themselves as he turned around. Instead, all he saw were formulae. But when he looked closely at the sorcerous markings, he only recognised a small fraction of them.
“Wards,” he guessed, and mercifully, he was correct. “Ah! So the final test is to break these?”
“Almost. You’ve spent practically all your life under my tutelage. All of your training, all of the trials have led to one question Michael, one you’ve already answered without even knowing it: Do you think like a Sorcerer?”
“I do! Otherwise I wouldn’t even be here!”
“Then break the wards.”
“I… I need an artefact from my room, and some time and a-”
“Stone.”
At the sorcerer’s command, Michael felt his body become rigid, realised what the ring was there to do.
“You failed. If you truly were ready to be a Sorcerer, you would have brought every artefact, every tome, every tool for any eventuality. But you still think like an apprentice, believing I was waiting to congratulate and elevate you for being brave enough to break a rule. If you’d truly been ready, you’d have been prepared to murder me, to fight for your life or even just break the most complex formulae without a moment’s hesitation. I’ll leave you to contemplate that amongst your peers,” he waved a hand at the bones. “And when you can no longer bear to examine your failure, and instead turn your anger towards me for not giving you a second chance, ask yourself this; when there are seven sorcerers for seven kingdoms, why on earth would we need an eighth?”
6
Jan
My soul sat forth, ‘pon my hand
and lectured ’bout my goal
It spoke of things far away
things dreamed in far off lands
“Go!”, it said, face all full of fury
“Go and find another one,
for I am done with thee”
And off it went, slipping from my palm
I looked around, but saw no soul
wandering then, I went
I searched high and low yet found no hint
I begged and cried and sought to steal
but never came within my grasp
Till one fine day, I settled down
my face within the grass
Life had passed me by
and I expired there at last