Archive for July, 2010
Okay, completely lame Sixth Sense rip-off but I do! I don’t believe death means the end. In JINXED, I had Jinx’s first love return to him in a dream, giving her blessing for him to move on. In MYLA BY MOONLIGHT, Queen Tarsha plays a pivotal role in the climax of the story, even though she died in the prolgue. Even in my new release, SALOME AT SUNRISE, the dead people just won’t stay dead.
Bryton is a widower who deeply and desperately loved his wife. Ya know, that really put a crimp in writing the turd a new love interest. He refused to let go of his love for Katina. Rather than force him to (which never works), I let it ride and let Salome find her own place in his heart. I can’t tell you she didn’t have a few jealous twinges, she did, but Katina’s love helped make Bryton the man he was. Salome couldn’t and didn’t want to change that.
Enter the Ghost of Love Passed. (yes, passed as in passed on). Katina in death loves Bryton just as much as she did in life, loves him enough to want him to live, even without her. Her love doesn’t STOP because she is dead. Love never dies, it simply changes form. She promises to never leave him, to live in his heart and through their daughter but he must live in the now. And his now means with Salome.
Yeah, my dead people have as much to add to the story as my live characters. Which is kind of nice with as many characters as I kill off.
SALOME AT SUNRISE excerpt:
“I am called for you. I come to soothe the ache inside. I come to give you peace.”
Bright in the satin sky, the moon shone full with a throng of stars twinkling like torches. Bryton scanned the heavens but could see nothing but light and dark. An outcrop jutted over a vale. The funneled wind pushed at him until he stood at the precipice, the forest tops silvered below him. Icy-green leaves frosted by moonlight didn’t move, though his tunic snapped like a sail.
“I am called for you.”
“Who are you?” he yelled into the night. “Who sent you?”
“I am called to heal your wounds.”
His ragged breath battling the gale, he fisted his hands. “Show yourself to me then.”
The wind calmed but his pulse pounded with a vicious thud. His bones quivered, not from chill but anger. He only knew one person with the power to call a magic spirit—his beloved pain-in-the-ass queen. A dark spot grew larger in the moon’s circle. It flapped powerful wings once and then glided to descent. A fragile second before the owl landed beside him, a swirl of lilac shimmered along the golden brown feathers. A woman stepped off the air and stood before him.
Moonglow dazzled on long hair the shades of the owl’s feathers. A thin gold braid secured it low on her nape, but full waves fought the hold. Wide gray eyes scrutinized him and a tiny smile bowed her pink lips. Her chin was a touch too pointed to be beautiful but it elongated the graceful column of her throat, and his gaze slid down to her one bared shoulder. The delicate exposed curve glistened like cream. Myla’s chiton had been a draped length of ruby red silk affixed at both shoulders. This woman’s chiton shone like blazing fire, sunrise against an ebony sky.
With her hands clasped lightly before her, she bowed her head. “I am Salome. I am called for you, Bryton Haruk.”
“I don’t need a guardian,” he snapped.
“I am not a guardian.”
“Then what are you?”
“I am a peacemaker.”
Snorting, he shook his head. “Yeah, well, you’re shit out of luck then, because I don’t want peace. I want bloodshed and a lot of it. So just fly back to wherever you came from and leave me alone.”
“I cannot do that. I am called for you and am bound to you until you find respite.”
The formality of her words reminded him of Myla when he’d first met her. And that irritated him even more. She’d been a pain in the ass and this one could be no different. Frustration tore through him with a growl. He spun and stomped away from the crag edge only to return and point a finger at her. “I don’t like birds. Go migrate or something.”
“Myla needs to keep her magic nose the hell out of my life. Go tell her that I sent you away.”
“Cannot! Cannot! What can you do? Besides be a bird and a lullaby in the wind.”
Her smile transformed her face, rounding rosy cheeks and crinkling her eyes. The pretty but unremarkable features turned to glorious beauty and his breath caught. “I can help you lay your pain to rest.”
Arms spread wide, he glared at her. “So do it, birdie. Do your damnedest so you can fly into the night.”
Like petals dropping from a full blooming rose, her smile fell. Her head shake spread her hair along her back in ripples of maple cream. “Peace does not come like a ship on the water. You must open your heart and be ready to accept it.”
He crossed his arms and shifted his jaw. “My heart is dead. I have no use for pretty words or pretty women unless their legs are spread. Are you offering?”
“Is that what you require? ’Tis an easy enough request.” Salome slid her feet apart, widening her stance on the rocky outcrop.
Her naive compliance with his brash proposition ripped a grunted laugh from him. “Go away, Salome.”
The scent of wild honey assaulted him as she stepped closer. The elegance in her movement melted her gown to her skin, caressing curves hidden beneath silk. His thighs tightened and his gaze dropped to her throat. His body responded but that was easy to ignore. He’d always liked beautiful women, admired their form even when he had no intentions of acting on those thoughts. She was small, tiny compared to him, barely reaching his Adam’s apple. A long-fingered hand moved toward him and his knees locked to prevent stepping away. Her touch, light as a feather, landed above his heart.
“Your heart is not dead, only wounded. Only you have the true power to let go of your anger, your hate, your pain. I am but a tool to aid you.”
“I have enough tools. I have this.” Metal rasped against the scabbard as he drew his sword. The leather-wrapped grip felt right in his hand, familiar and soothing. He refused to think about her palm pressed to his chest feeling the same way. “I don’t need anything else.”
Starlight danced along the blade, highlighting the sheen, the scratches, the lethal edge, the etched word Salvation.
Her gaze traced from tip to hilt then returned to his face. Twilight-gray, her eyes held infinity and he fought against getting lost in them. They stared with never-ending patience. “You need me.”
Teresa: Just so you all know, I’ve read this awesome book and it is absolutely awesome. I love books that make me cry or makes me feel something, and this book does just that. It’s a totally new look at both shapeshifters and fantasy.
So, now for what you’ve been waiting for. For your chance to win a copy of Salome at Sunrise, leave a message and tell us what you think about ghosts, dead people, or even a combination of both! The contest will run until Monday!
For those who aren’t familiar with Carina Press, they offer some of the most amazing and most unusual stories published today. These are some of their first authors visiting here with us, and I have to say, if this is what they have to offer, I’ll be going back for more Carina books. Carina has single handedly brought back not only amazing fantasy romance, but also some great westerns as we saw earlier this week, and now, Native American tales.
So join with me and welcome
Liz Fichera, the Author of Captive Spirit.
I believe that we can thank Stephenie Meyer and the mega-popularity of her TWILIGHT SAGA for the growing popularity of Native Americans in mainstream books and film. And unless you’ve been hiding underneath a rock, you’ve probably heard of the very talented and supremely hawt, Taylor Lautner (aka Jacob Black), who claims some Native American ancestry (specifically Ottawa and Potawatomi) through his mother. Definitely add me to the ranks of Team Jacob!
I adore books with Native American characters, legends, epic themes, rugged settings and, of course, a love story. These are also the type of books that I love to write.
CAPTIVE SPIRIT is my historical romance debut from Carina Press. It’s very much a modern-day love story set in the Sonoran Desert at the dawn of the sixteenth century among people known as the Hohokam Indians. The Hohokam also vanished from the desert around 1500 and no one knows why. Cool, huh? This is the little piece of intriguing history that inspired me to write CAPTIVE SPIRIT.
Here’s a tease:
Aiyana isn’t like the other girls of the White Ant Clan. Instead of keeping house, she longs to compete on the Ball Court with her best friend Honovi and the other boys. Instead of marriage, she daydreams of traveling beyond the mountains that surround her small village. Only Honovi knows and shares her forbidden wish, though Aiyana doesn’t realize her friend has a secret wish of his own…
When Aiyana’s father arranges her marriage to a man she hardly knows, she takes the advice of a tribal elder: Run! In fleeing, she falls into the hands of Spanish raiders and finds herself being taken over the mountains against her will. Now Aiyana’s on a quest to return to the very place she once dreamed of escaping. And she’ll do whatever it takes to survive and find her way back to the people she loves.
When I wrote CAPTIVE SPIRIT, for some reason I saw Adam Beach in my head when I wrote Honovi’s character, probably because I’ve had a super major crush on him since his SMOKE SIGNALS days, which also happened to be written by a fav Native American author of mine, Sherman Alexie. If Taylor Lautner had been a little older when I started writing CAPTIVE SPIRIT, who knows? I may have channeled him instead. J
I still think Adam Beach is all sorts of hot, especially in this photo of him decked in deerskins, and he happens to be an incredibly gifted actor. I didn’t have a specific girl in my head when I wrote Aiyana’s character, but I must say that the Carina Press artists nailed her perfectly on my book cover, right down to her unusual green eyes.
Today, I’m also giving away one free digital copy of CAPTIVE SPIRIT to someone brave enough to leave a comment or ask a question. The winner will be announced on this blog tomorrow morning. Don’t be shy. I don’t bite.
Liz Fichera is an author from the American Southwest by way of Chicago. She likes to write stories about ordinary people who do extraordinary things, oftentimes against the backdrop of Native American legends. When she’s not plotting her next novel, you can find her on Facebook or her blog, discussing writing, books, hunks du jour, LOST reruns or the best brands of chocolate. Please visit her web site because it can get real lonely in the desert: http://www.lizfichera.com/.
CAPTIVE SPIRIT is available through Carina Press, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and wherever digital books are sold.
Hello: I’m Elise Warner, the author of Scene Stealer and Id like to thank Teresa D’Amario for inviting me to blog on her site.
I’d like to introduce you to a few of my favorite people. The men and women who live in the pages of my cozy mystery have taken over but I’m still enormously fond of them. First, I’d like you to meet Miss Augusta Weidenmaier, a retired schoolteacher and an indomitable woman who understands children and is determined to find Kevin Corcoran. Kevin is the kidnapped nine-year old spokesperson for the Cowboy Bob’s Big, Bad Burger commercials. Kevin’s agent is Abner T. Bean (Abner is a sweet man, too sweet to be an agent.)
I mustn’t forget Lieutenant Brown, the police officer in charge of this fast food caper who not only has to find Kevin and his kidnapper, he has to put up with Miss Weidenmaier’s interference. The action takes place in New York City from Greenwich Village to Lincoln Center. Central Park to a television studio where a talk show host named Norman Bottoms will say anything to reach an audience that’s bigger than Letterman’s, Leno’s or Oprah’s.
I’d like to share an excerpt from my cozy, here are the thoughts of Kevin Corcoran, the nine year old boy who has been kidnapped and is locked in the cold basement of an Off-Off- Broadway theatre. A noise wakes Kevin up. The child is cold and frightened.
Could it be a ghost? Ghosts of dead actors wandered around theatres. If this theatre was haunted, he might bump into John Barrymore or Edmund Kean. Would they still be walking around? Maybe they would appear and help him. Probably not. Old actors didn’t like children. Didn’t like dogs either. Called them scene stealers. Ghosts were silly anyway. “I’m too old to believe in ghosts,” he whispered. “Besides ghosts don’t wear shoes. Ghosts glide everywhere—through walls and windows and trees—everywhere.”
I hope you’ll enjoy reading Scene Stealer as much as I enjoyed writing it with the help of my associates – Miss Weidenmaier, Kevin Corcoran, Lawrence Dunn and their friends and adversaries.
Before becoming enthused about writing, I worked in the theatre. I began writing plays – one titled Small Time won the Guinny presented by Theatre Guinevere. Short stories and articles followed and now my cozy. To learn more about Scene Stealer, please check out the following addresses. Scene Stealer may be purchased at Barnes & Noble, Amazon, Carina Press and wherever eBooks are sold. A complimentary copy of Scene Stealer will be given to the person who submits the most interesting comment.