Monthly Archives: May 2013

Got myself a copy of Inferno

Today is the release of Dan Brown’s first novel in, can you believe it, four years (nearly five). I am a huge fan, particularly of his Langdon novels, but even i will admit i was a little bit disappointed with The lost Symbol. From the moment i heard Langdon would be making a return and the novel would be about Dante’s Inferno i had been checking the internet every couple of weeks, searching for news on release dates, plot, settings etc… And now finally i have got a copy. I’m reading 5th Wave by Rick Yancey (awesome book) at the moment, but i’m speeding through it pretty fast: one, because it’s brilliant and two, because i want to start Inferno. Let’s hope Dan Brown has made improved on The Lost Symbol and delivered us another Da Vinci Code. 

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Who is Clara Oswald?

I thought it might be cool to start a post about theories behind who exactly Clara Oswald is in Doctor Who. We have seen three incarnations of her now and each of them has been even more mysterious than the last. Could she be a timelord? Is she some sort of relation to the Doctor? I myself am clueless to who she could be, but if anyone else has a theory please post it below and we’ll see who was the closest when the reveal comes in a few weeks. 

Meet YA paranormal fiction author Su Williams…

I’d like to welcome YA paranormal fiction author Su Williams, who is touring the web with the first book in her series, Dreamweaver. For all fans of Twilight, The Mortal Instruments or simply if you enjoy fantasy, Su is a name to watch out for. You can find out more about her and her work here…

What is your first memory of reading?
Oooo, do we really have to go that far back? I remember sitting with my mother on the couch with a book splayed out on my lap. The nightly news blared on in the background—stories from Viet Nam. (**cringe** I just dated myself.) But despite the news, I remember feeling safe and warm and curious about all the little marks in front of me that made up a story.
 
What is your first memory of writing?
Really writing, not just making more little marks on paper with crayon. It was probably sometime in elementary school when I discovered poetry and decided to try my hand. Of course those writings were…well, elementary, but I put all my heart into loving words for my Mom and Dad and family…even my goldfish, Po Po.
 
Do you have a writing process? A specific place to work? Regular hours?
I know some people say there are two kinds of writers; pantsers – who write by the seat of their pants; and planners – who graph out their story before they write it. Then, I heard about a percolator, a writer that lets the story drip and filter. Personally, I would add ‘puker’. I know, that’s nasty. But it’s true. A scene for my books will come to me, inspired by some random life event and I grab any random piece of paper, and jot it down. It’s not until later that I add all the scenes together to make a story. So now we know—writers write one or a combination of four ways: Pantser, Planner, Percolator and Puker. And here’s a link to the NaNoWriMo article: http://blog.lettersandlight.org/post/33164071079/pantser-planner-percolator
As far as where I work, my king size bed has become my desk and my room is my office. I write when I can, but at this point, I haven’t really written in months. Waaaah! All this book promo stuff is very time consuming.
 
What was the last book you read?
Scarlet by Marissa Meyer. It’s the second book in her Lunar Chronicles series. The first book was Cinder, a cyborg take on Cinderella.
 
What are your plans for the future, in regards to writing? Do you have any new books in the works?
I’m about two-thirds done with the second book in the Dream Weaver series entitled Rock Star. I got to interview band members from a group called Hell’s Belles, an all-girl AC/DC tribute band. I only have a couple of scenes for the final book, Private Eye, and I’m rolling around an idea for a book called ‘What If I Don’t Have Tomorrow?’ that will be a cross between ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’, ‘Christmas Carol’, ‘Quantum Leap’, and ‘Butterfly Effect’.
 
Can you pitch your book in a single sentence?
Dream Weaver is a young adult paranormal fiction story of mind-benders and mind-breakers.
 
What genre do you enjoy writing in most and why?
I like writing in young adult fiction, I think because that’s what I read. I haven’t  read too many ‘adult’ books. They just feel kinda, I don’t know, stuffy? There’s just have a feel about them I don’t like. Gosh, what does that say for me? I need to grow up? Nah, I don’t think growing up means you have to lose sight of being young. I remember the things that gave me angst or sent me to the moon when I was in high school. Some of the things I kept as my most deep dark secrets in high school are issues I had no idea would become as common as they are now. Issues like depression, suicide, and cutting never came to light then, and now they have ‘Self Harm Awareness Day.’ I like that maybe some teen will read my book and realize they aren’t alone and someone really does understand how and what they feel. And maybe another reader just needs a good love story or an escape to a different possibility.
 
If your book was adapted into a movie, who would be your ideal cast?
Doesn’t every author hope their book lands a movie deal? Of course, I’ve thought of who my ideal cast would be.
Emari Sweet – Haley Ramm http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1391252/
 Nickolas Benedetti – someone who looks like Elvis Prestley or Adam Lambert (or maybe Jackson Rathbone)
Sabre James – Matthew Gray Gubler http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1693763/
Zecharias Sweet (Emari’s dad) – Hugh Dillon http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0227003/
Jane Sweet (Emari’s mom) – Kathryn Morris http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0606700/
 
Where do you find inspiration?
Inspiration can come from anywhere. A word in movie. A sentence in a book. The smile of a friend. A necklace my daddy gave me. I find moments and objects in my life that may seem mundane on the outside, but I try to manipulate them into something compelling. One indie author wrote on a thread recently, ‘Where don’t I find inspiration?’
 
Who are your top three favourite authors and which of their books do you like best?
Maggie Stiefvater – “Shiver”–Beautiful & poetic
            http://maggiestiefvater.com/
 
Lisa McMann – “Dead to You” (Lisa knows just where to plunge the knife and twist for good measure)
            http://lisamcmann.com/
 
Marissa Meyer – “Cinder”– Great author and all-around sweet lady
            http://www.marissameyer.com/
 
Of course, I’m a die-hard Harry Potter fan too. Deathly Hallows rocked.
 
Are there any indie authors you like?
Well, of course, Sam Whitehouse. He amazes me.
Liz DeJesus is a burgeoning YA indie author. http://liz-dejesus.livejournal.com/
And Angela Scott writes the BEST zombie/old west ever! Yes  zombies in the old west! http://www.angelascottauthor.com/wanted-dead-or-undead.html
 
But I feature indie authors weekly on my blog. I really believe the only way any of us will succeed is to stick together. So check my blog weekly for new authors and links to purchase their books.
 
Thank you, Sam, for the opportunity to meet some new friends in Great Britain.
 
Check out the links below for more information about Su and her book. 
 
 

Extract from a short story i’m writing

The wolf’s breathing seemed to echo from every direction, as if the forest itself were taking great, rattling breaths. But the girl didn’t hear it, couldn’t hear it, for her heart thundered so loud in her ears as she ran, that it drowned out all other sound. Glacial air forced its way down her throat, like a fist, pushing back the sour bile that terror and exertion formed in her stomach. Freezing motes of snow bit her cheeks and blurred her eyes, all but blinding her and casting the twilit forest around her into hazy silhouette. The basket hooked in the crook of her arm beat hard and fast against her hip. She steeled her hold on it: she couldn’t drop it. With her free hand she rubbed her streaming eyes clear; vaulting a fallen tree she would have been blind to only a moment ago.

Now she could hear the wolf: its guttural snarls punctuating the silence, its great paws thudding against the earth. The girl knew it was closing in, and though her legs screamed in protest and her throat stung with every intake of breath, she quickened her pace. She had to clear the forest- she didn’t stand a chance if she didn’t get out of the trees. Her rolling, wide green eyes caught fleeting sight of the ravens, dozens of them, perched in the twisted limbs of the towering trees overhead. The inky birds took up a cawing chorus, looking down at the girl, with black, indifferent eyes.

The lower branches of the trees snatched at the girl’s face, seeming to reach across her path like the clawing arms of a jostling crowd.  And for all her ducking and weaving it was only moments before her pale face and arms were patterned with cuts. The whole forest seemed to be trying to stop her. Logs she had not seen, emerging to trip her; pools of mud as thick as tar swallowing her leg up to the knee; scree covered inclines that broke away beneath her scrambling feet. And all the while she fought on, lungs burning, head spinning, the wolf grew closer. So close now she could hear its gnashing jaws.

But just as despair and sheer exhaustion threatened to claim her entirely, the girl saw light up ahead. Great shafts of scarlet sunlight reached towards her, like beckoning fingers, through the dark trees. She put on another burst of speed as the trunks thinned and she hurtled out into the open. At that instant, when hope flooded terror, something heavy hit her in the back. Pain: sharp and searing, struck out across her back and before she could throw her arms up to stop herself, the girl landed hard to the scrubby earth. The wolf’s jaws snapped so close to her ear that she felt its fetid breath on her cheek.

Fury rose within her and the girl rolled away, screaming as the claws pinioning her, ripped free. Leaping to her feet she thrust her hand into the basket. Her fingers closed around the hilt of what she sought and she pulled the sword free from the basket’s enchanted depths.

“Stay back, wolf,” Red spat. “Or you’ll feel the temper of my blade.”

What could have been a smile curled the wolf’s pointed, fang lined maw. It padded slowly forward: twice the size of Red, the muscles of its back legs tightening like cords as it prepared to pounce.

Red stared into its yellow, lamp like eyes, as she tossed aside the basket and brandished her sword. The beast growled: a deep resonant sound that rumbled up from its throat. Its raggedy, pointed ears twitched and each strand of its thick coat of black, blood streaked fur, seemed to stand on end. Then, in a movement so lightning fast it rendered the wolf a blur, the beast bounded forwards. Yelling her fury, Red curled her fingers tight around the sword’s hilt and thrust the blade forth, driving it up and into the exposed belly of the wolf. There was strangled yelp, a sickening crunch of bone and a wet splashing sound as Red tore the sword free, releasing the wolf’s innards.

Heart thumping, entire body trembling, Red stared down at the great wolf, dead at her feet. Then, she turned her back on the beast and set off for the village silhouetted in the distance. A wind picked up, Red’s scarlet cloak rippled about her. In her hand, the bloodied sword glistened in the last traces of twilight.

 

 

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