Follow the secret lives of Moonlighters Carrie Hinkel-Gill and Margay Leah Justice. For website issues or questions, contact our Webmistress.This blog works best with Mozilla. Scroll down to see today's blog.
Please Disable the Java add-on to your browsers to protect yourself from it's security flaws! Happy surfing!
Our Fantasy Files blog returns with a new look! It's Tuesday, and that means Hollie posted a new review on our Book Review blog!
Be sure to check them out!
There are a lot of interesting things out there to write about and when several writers inadvertently write about the same thing at the same time, it becomes a trend. And when other writers jump on the band wagon and start writing about those same things, they are writing to trend. Some examples are vampires, werewolves and now, angels. Fortunately, the interpretations of these subjects are as abundant and individual as those who write about them, so each story is unique and new. Despite this fact - or maybe because of it - there's no shortage of opinions on the practice of writing to trend.
In one camp, there are those who are highly against it, and they have varying opinions on why, not the least of which is the fear that the market will be glutted with poor imitations of more successful works. In the other camp, there are those who see nothing wrong with the practice and who whole-heartedly embrace it. I'm kind of middle of the road on it. I don't fault those who follow the trend and I don't begrudge the opinions of those who are against it. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion and that shouldn't effect how others act. What matters most is how those individuals feel about what they are doing. As long as they're not plagiarizing other works, there is nothing wrong with following a trend.
Personally, I wouldn't follow a trend unless the subject really spoke to me. Vampires - fun to read about, but I haven't come up with a story of my own I'd want to write about. Dragons? Not my thing. Fairies? Possibly...
Then there are werewolves - here, the lines get a little murky because I do have a book coming out in the fall that deals with humans who shift into wolves, but I wouldn't call them werewolves, at least not in the typical sense. There is no painful metamorphosis with my characters, they shift seamlessly from one form to another and its more of a spiritual, shaman-like (appropriate since their Native Americans) transformation.
And last, there are angels. Angels are huge right now. It seems that everyone is writing about them. There is even talk around the blogosphere that they may be the new vampires. My first book, Nora's Soul, is about angels, and I have a whole series planned around it, the next of which is in the publishing process now. Some might accuse me of following a trend, but the truth is that I've been writing about angels for many years. Although published in 2008, I actually began writing Nora's Soul many years before (I won't say how many!) and I plotted out much of the series long before other books about angels even hit the shelves. I just haven't had as much exposure for my book as others have because I didn't have a marketing team or big publishing house behind me. So I could argue the point that I set the trend - but I won't. That's not the point of this post.
So what are your thoughts on writing to trend? Are you for it, against it? Do you think it has an adverse effect on writing in general? I'd love to see what you have to say on the subject.
Hello, just dropping in briefly to let you know that I'm deep into the edits of my next book, Sloane Wolf. So in lieu of an actual post, I'm just going to tease you a little bit. I just viewed and approved the cover yesterday and it is gorgeous! Perhaps I'll share the pictures with you soon. To whet your appetite, here is a little bit on the story:
For more than a hundred and fifty years, the gray wolf has failed to roam the hills of Massachusetts, leading to the belief that they are extinct. But with a spattering of sightings across the Berkshires, the legend of the gray wolf comes to fruition. The product of that legend, Micah Sloane will go to great lengths to protect his kind from the threat of outsiders, who seek to exploit the legend for their own interests. One thing he didn’t count on, however, was finding his soul mate in the company of such men.
From the first time she predicted a stranger’s imminent death when she was little more than a child, Shiloh Beck knew she was different. Wishing to cultivate her gift, her parents made the fateful decision to enroll her in a private school for paranormally gifted children. Unbeknownst to them, the school was just a front for a research facility simply called the Institute, whose secret board members weaned gifted children from their families to exploit their gifts. Shiloh has spent the better part of her life trying to escape the Institute and reunite with the family she was told had abandoned her.
From their first meeting, Micah and Shiloh share a connection that goes beyond the normal to bond them in a way that love alone cannot. But before they can build a life together, they must deal with the fall-out when the legend of the wolves collides with the men behind the Institute.
Okay, ladies, hold onto your hats. Today, I am going to tackle one of my most difficult challenges yet: I am going to interview (or try to, at least) an angelic bad boy who has a certain, shall we say, way with the ladies. This could either be a grand success - or a complete disaster. Wish me luck!
Without further ado, please allow me to present my interview with Dante:
Cupid: First off, I’m kind of surprised you agreed to this.
Dante: I needed a good laugh.
Cupid: That's all this is to you - a good laugh?
Dante: Of course. It’s all rather comical, if you ask me. Cupid asking questions of me, of all beings. There's just something wonderfully Shakespearean about that - the comedies, not the tragedies. Although, this could turn out to be rather tragic, don't you think?
(Cupid shifts in his chair, uncomfortable. But being the intrepid soul that he is, he trudges on.)
Cupid: You find this rather humorous, don’t you?
Dante: Yes. Rather.
Cupid: Then why bother doing it?
Dante: Let’s just say I’m curious about what Cupid, of all beings, would want to ask me.
Cupid: Shall we get to it, then?
Dante: Oh, please. Let's.
Cupid:
Why did you fall, Dante?
Dante: No build up. I like it.
Cupid: I prefer the direct approach.
Dante: Duly noted. There's something to be said for the direct approach, although it doesn't always work for my...purposes, shall we say?
Cupid: We'll get into that later,if time allows. But first, answer the question. Why did you fall away, Dante?
Dante: Ask Peter. He knows the reason. He's been dogging me for eons about it.
Cupid: I'd rather hear it from you, not your guardian.
Dante: To what purpose?
Cupid: I think you know.
Dante: Are we to play that game, then?
Cupid: Say the words.
Dante: Ask another question.
Cupid: I want you to answer this one first.
Dante: Ask another!
Cupid: Answer this one! Say the words.
Dante: No.
Cupid: Say them.
Dante: I will not.
Cupid
: Why did you fall away?
Dante: For love! For Lyric. I fell away for Lyric. Are you happy now, angel boy? I fell away for Lyric.
Cupid: And what happened to Lyric - after your fall?
Dante: We were separated...as penance.
Cupid: But you are still searching for her?
Dante: Yes.
Cupid: Why? Why, after all this time, are you still searching for the cause of your fall - your penance?
Dante: Because I love her still! Isn't that what you wanted to hear?
Cupid: Only if it's true.
Dante: Oh, it's true. So now you can gloat, angel boy.
Cupid: Why would I want to do that?
Dante: Because I am just like any of your mortal subjects, desperate to prove my love for a woman.
Cupid: But Lyric isn't just a woman, is she?
Dante: No.
Cupid: She's a Wayward One, just like you.
Dante: Not just. When she fell, it was not of her own doing - my choice was my own. I fell with my eyes wide open.
Cupid: So what happens now?
Dante: I pay my penance.
Cupid: And search for Lyric?
Dante: And search for Lyric.
Cupid: Why don't you let Peter help you to find her?
Dante:
That meddling, goody-two-shoes angel?
Cupid: The one.
Dante: Because he wants to redeem me first.
Cupid: What's so wrong about being redeemed?
Dante: As I told our friend Peter already, I have no desire – or intention – to be redeemed.
Cupid: Then why did you agree to this? Why bother with this at all? And don't say it's for a laugh because I won't believe you.
Dante: I’m here for Lyric. Why else would I be?
Cupid: Well, this happens to be my area of expertise. Perhaps I could help you.
Dante: We shall see, angel boy. We shall see.
Want to read more about Dante and Peter? Comment for a chance to win an e-copy from Smashwords.
Didn't win? You can always purchase a copy from Amazon or Smashwords (for those trying to economize, it is cheaper on Smashwords).
You can keep up with the author on this blog or follow her on Twitter or Facebook. She likes to connect with people and chat about writing, books, and whatever else comes to mind!
When I first started reviewing books, I had a limiting factor to my reviews that I didn't quite understand - personal bias. I noticed that some of my ratings were weighted differently because of a personal bias.
Sure, everyone has personal biases - what we like, what we don't like - but these shouldn't come into play when "judging" or "rating" an author's book.
Why?
Just because one reader likes or doesn't like something about storyline, doesn't mean that all other readers will react to the same book in the same way. For example, in my review last year of Jay Asher's book, part of my personal experience (or personal bias) came in to play with this book and made it very hard to relate to the main female character, much less like her. This book wasn't bad writing nor was it a poor quality story. It's just that my own personal personal bias about the subject matter made it difficult for me to really believe the main character. Some people liked it and took it for what it was, and others, like me, found themselves wondering what he was doing and how did he figure that could work.
What does all this have to do with Nora's Soul?
Well, my personal bias has to do with god and religion. I find it annoying when what looks to be a decent battle between good and evil turns out to be more of a issue of "lost faith".
I'm not religious, nor have I ever pretended to be, and that's just it, these are my tastes and not the tastes of either the hero, heroine or the secondary characters, which makes it a personal bias of mine.
What's the point of all of this?
I bring this up because I don't like to let my personal biases cloud my reviews of books I read and I strongly encourage other reviewers not to let their personal biases cloud yours. Some reviewers don't, but
The more books I review, the better I am at identifying my personal biases and keeping them from clouding my reviews. However, there are times when I do bring up my personal biases because they are so strongly embedded in my nature that I can't avoid them. Even though I may not have been able to avoid my dislike of tying religion and god to good and evil, I haven't let it skew my review of this book. If I did, it would have less stars.
Despite the fact that god (again, I realize that others may not feel the same as I do, and I can respect that, so please respect that this is a personal feeling of mine, thank you) has a minor presence in this book, Margay has managed to create some wonderfully deep and complex characters that I have come to care about and want to read more of, despite my aversion to the religious tie. Nora, Kyle, Kyle's sister and Nora's best friend, Dante (Bad Angel) and Peter (Good Angel) combine to offer a page-turner with very interesting plot with some distracting (in a good way) plot twists.
I would definitely call this book inspirational because it does offer some very important messages - everyone that wants to can be saved because everyone is worth it and that everyone has a match, it just may not be who you first thought it might be. These are very important messages because they might be able to offer someone renewed hope for some aspect of their life, which is a definite bonus to any book.
This brings me to the main reason for the storyline, Nora herself. Nora was a very firm believer in god and loved all things angelic, until her brother died. Then, she went the opposite and couldn't bear to have any of it around. That's how we find Nora in the beginning of this book. She's struggling with the fact that she doesn't believe what she just saw, an angel. It's not that she truly believes that they don't exist, she's just been trying to convince herself that they don't since her brother died, which makes this storyline one along the lines of crisis of faith.
Now, for this book having a "crisis of faith" undertone, it wasn't as predominant in the book as it could have been. There is no "preaching" done from the author to the reader, only from Peter to Dante and, at the end, Peter to Nora. It was this aspect that allowed me to prevent my personal bias from clouding my review of this book.
This book had plenty of mystery to keep me flipping pages. There were always the questions of when Peter and Dante were next going to appear, and what kind of chaos Dante would create. As a reader, I was always curious to see how Nora would handle that chaos. Plus, it was interesting to follow Nora on her journey to find love and her way. This is a romance book, so it does have an HEA (happily ever after), but is it the one you want? If not, then you know that Margay has made you care about the characters she has created. That's what happened to me.
At the end of the book, I found myself saying, "What? That's it? What about Dante? Why didn't he do more in the book?" At first I thought this was a knock on the book and I quickly slapped my hand against my head in a "duh" moment.
What is that "duh" moment?
Margay did it, she got me to like her characters so much that I wanted more of them! That's not a knock against a book. If anything, it's a testament to how well created her characters are!
Which brings me to my rating of this book. As this is an inspirational romance, there isn't the heat that you'd find in other romance novels, nor the detail for those scenes either. While there's enough mystery created to make this a page turner, it's not the crux of the story either. What I'm getting at here is that many of my reviews usually include a scale gauging these different elements. Today, I'm just giving my overall review for this book:
Well done Margay! Can't wait to read Dante's story! Can I get an ARC of that??? Lol!
In honor of Thanksgiving and to show my gratitude and appreciation for our readers, I am going to post the first chapter of my book, Nora's Soul, for you to read. I hope you enjoy it, but mostly, I hope you have a wonderful holiday tomorrow filled with laughter, good times and great food spent with the people you love.
“Angels don’t exist.” Nora Kendall chanted the phrase, just under her breath, as she wove around the linen-draped tables that stood between her and the ladies’ room. Angels don’t exist. Another table skirted. Angels don’t exist. Another step closer. Angels don’t exist. She thrust open the door with a jab of her hand that sent it rocking against its hinges. Only when she’d scurried inside the plush sanctuary and the door slapped shut in her wake did she give thought to the possibility of another person on the other side of it. She glanced around with a guilty start before collapsing against the burnished wood in relief at the realization that she was quite alone in the room. Good. No one to witness her breakdown. For what else could it be? What other explanation was there for her sudden sighting of the—no! It didn’t happen. She didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Just a little flight of fancy caused by heightened excitement over the prospect of receiving a proposal tonight. Yes. That was it. A flight of fancy. She inhaled a breath that sliced against the back of her throat like a razorblade. Swallowed hard. Inhaled another. Yes, she silently coached herself, that’s it. You are calm, you are serene, and nothing can upset you now. Nothing. Breathe in. Breathe out. Good. Her serenity restored, Nora pushed herself away from the door and stood before the mirrored wall over the bank of black marble sinks. Her reflection in the mirror stared back, unblinking. Controlled. Good, she thought. Wonderful. As it should be. All trace of her ridiculous notion was firmly out of her head. No more silly thoughts regarding messengers of God and acts of mercy and— “Stop it, Nora!” she hissed under her breath, squeezing the edge of the black marble counter until her fingers bled white from the pressure placed upon them. “Stop it.” She reeled in a cleansing breath, once again met the impassive gaze of the woman in the mirror. Elongating the syllable of each word, she reiterated, for her own benefit, “Angels do not exist.” She withdrew a tube of lipstick from the microclutch purse that dangled from her left wrist. “They are just figments of some very active imaginations,” she said, pausing to trace her full lips with the pale pink tip. Her reflection followed suit. “But they have no basis in fact. They don‘t exist.” She pursed her lips to test the cosmetic coverage; nodded once, satisfied. “Not for me. Not anymore…” Her voice faltered. She dropped her gaze from the all-knowing woman in the mirror. No fooling her. She knew the truth. She was there through it all, the bad and the worse. Nora’s constant companion in life and delusion. No, there was no fooling the woman in the mirror. Only she knew the truth about the angels—the real truth. The full truth. She was there through it all. She knew. Peter… Memories of her brother rolled through her mind like the reels of an old movie. Cracked, withered around the edges; the images in the center still vivid. Still powerful enough to steal the breath from her lips, the beats from her heart. Peter. The beautiful soul who gave of himself even when it hurt to breathe—no, especially then. So self-sacrificing…he was the sun rising in the east, hope stretching across the sky in a streak of electric colors, painting the world bright even when it was its darkest. Not just the world. Her world. And that was the way she saw him whenever she conjured his image in her mind—as she often did. Standing in the sun at the beach in Ogunquit, his body outlined in gold, pink and purple, arms lifted high in joy…A part of the sunrise he relished. Laughing. Exuberant. Alive. He was everything to a young girl just learning about life. Death. And the futility of fighting against mortality, whether it was one’s own—or that of a beloved brother. Everything she needed to know she learned the day she fought a losing battle against death. Her brother’s death. But how could she truly have expected to win when her only weapon was prayer? Yet she fought like a warrior, girded in faith, using her weapon of choice to its full advantage on the battleground of the hospital chapel. She prayed. Lord, how she prayed. For a miracle. A gift from God. Anything to save her brother. She prayed until the color bled out of her knuckles from the strength of her clasped hands. Until her legs were attacked by pins and needles before they went numb altogether from the hours of kneeling on an unforgiving pew. Until she was delirious with fatigue. Hunger. Thirst. Then she’d prayed some more. Always the same prayer. Over and over. “Please, God, don’t take my brother.” A simple phrase, really. “Please, God, don’t take my brother.” But over time, diluted, the words running together in a stream of incoherence. In the eleventh hour, she expanded upon the prayer. “You can’t take my brother. He’s a good person, he’s never done anything wrong. Take me. I should be the one to go. Everyone knows I’m not always good. But not Peter—he’s always good. He always does the right thing. The world is better with him in it, so please don’t take him away from me. I promise I’ll do better, I’ll be nicer— whatever You want. Just…please let him stay alive for me. Please.” But it was all for naught, she discovered when she was summoned back to his room for the final “blessing.” In the end, the will of God proved stronger than that of a frightened twelve-year-old girl. Peter died despite all of her prayers. He left her with a final request: “Don’t give up your faith in miracles, in angels,” he said, even as the breath left is body in a wheeze. “They’re real. They’re here…now. They’ve come for me…they’re beautiful, Norrie.” He used his last breath to make Nora believe. He failed. The day they put the small box containing his emaciated body in the ground, she went home and removed all things angelic from her room. Ripped pictures from the walls, tore up postcards in her drawers, cut up a comforter bearing their likeness. Dropped all of the remnants of angels into a metal trashcan outside and lit a match. She stood close to the fire—sometimes too close—peering into the flames until all things angelic were reduced to ash before her eyes. She spent better part of her teen years continuing to purge herself of these images despite their annoying tendency to materialize in her room. In her locker at school. In her first car. She tore them, shredded them, burned them. Still, they showed up. The same images. Again and again. Tacked to her walls, stuffed in her locker, dangling from the rearview mirror in her car. She dealt with them in silence until the day her hard-won control finally snapped and she confronted the presumed source of the images. “Mother!” She shouted the word repeatedly until it finally drew the object of her anger up to the second floor hallway where she waited. “I thought I told you I don’t want these things around anymore!” she said, and she tossed a handful of angel pictures at her startled mother. Then she took a defensive stance, fists planted on hips, chin thrust out as far as it could go, and waited for her response. “Well?” But her mother just stood there as the angels fluttered around her in a mockery of true flight, wearing her serenity as a shield against Nora’s anger. In fact, Nora could almost feel her rage glancing off her mother‘s body and turning back on her, two times stronger. How could she do that? How could she remain so calm, keep such a steady gaze as she watched Nora through the cloud of paper cutouts? Dammit, why did she have to be so Donna Reed when Nora wanted her to be more Joan Crawford? At least then, she would feel justified in lashing out at her. But this—this was just not right. How could she fight with someone who wouldn’t fight back? No, she just stood there, watching Nora with a hint of question in her pale blue eyes. She didn’t even flinch when the wing of one creature glanced off her left cheekbone, just below the eye. She just stood there and waited until the last cherub found a resting place at her feet and then, ever calm, Jane Kendall said, “Honestly, dear, I don’t know where these came from.” Seriously? “Oh, so I suppose they just materialized—” Nora wiggled her fingers in a magician-like manner “—on their own?” “Maybe Joelle put them there,” Jane suggested. “You know how she is. Did you ask her?” “She denied it, too.” Nora shook her head in condemnation of her mother and her best friend. “You two are unbelievable. You’re probably in on it together.” She closed her bedroom door with a soft click, separating herself from the compassion she saw etched in her mother’s face. She didn’t need it, after all; she was doing just fine on her own. She just didn’t want reminders of Peter’s blind faith and God’s failing her to hang around, mocking her. Symbolizing her own failure. Her trip down Memory Lane was abbreviated by the sudden opening of the restroom door. She jumped nearly out of her skin before she could check herself. “Oh, sorry,” said the intruder in a wispy voice, “I didn’t mean to startle you.” “It’s all right,” Nora assured her, even though she felt the exact opposite. She forced a smile for the other woman, who was dressed in the black and white ensemble of the restaurant’s wait staff, complete with pristine apron tied about her nonexistent hips. “I was just…lost in my thoughts.” “Are you okay?” the waitress asked, solicitously. “Your date was kind of worried when you jumped up and took off like that. He asked me to check on you.” Her date. Carl Beckett. “So,” the waitress asked, “are you? Okay, that is?” No, I’m totally losing my mind, Nora thought. But she said, “Yes. I’m fine. Just felt a little queasy for a moment there. Nerves—not the food. I haven’t even eaten yet. We haven’t ordered. I’m expecting some good news tonight and I just got totally overwhelmed. But you really don’t need to know that, do you?” The waitress simply smiled at her and said, “Well, all right, then. As long as you’re okay…?” Closing her eyes on her humiliation, Nora faced forward, toward the mirror, once again. “Yes,” she said through tight lips, “just fine. Could you tell him I’ll be out in a few minutes?” But everything wasn’t fine, Nora acknowledged to herself when the waitress promptly withdrew from the damask-walled bathroom. Far from it, in fact, not that she’d admit that to the woman who’d served their drinks. All was not well. She just couldn’t determine the why of it yet. The date was proceeding well. Carl had picked her up on time—a first in their nine months of dating—and he didn’t grumble about the traffic or the poor parking in her neighborhood as he usually did. In fact, he’d appeared almost cheerful. Cheerful and—expectant. Was that why he brought her a box of chocolates and a bouquet of red roses? Was he expecting something from her tonight? After all, he didn’t want to “make a habit” of spoiling her, as he’d told her in the early days of their acquaintance; he didn’t want to build their relationship on a foundation of materialism. So it was either one or the other if he brought her anything at all. The longer they were together, the more often he arrived empty-handed. Not that she minded. She shared his belief that their relationship should be based on something more solid than insignificant gifts, especially if they were committed to it for the long run. And she was. So it was a nice surprise when he presented her with the two gifts. But the capper was their ultimate destination: Zuzu’s, the trendiest new restaurant in the city. Unless someone had a name with clout, they could expect at least a three-month wait on the reservation list before their name moved to the top. But Carl had gotten them in and immediately ordered a plate of oysters and a bottle of their finest wine. All in all, the perfect date. Until she’d found herself racing toward the relative safety of the ladies’ room, where she lectured herself on the existence of angels. They’d been at their table, she nervously anticipating his broaching of the “important subject” he’d alluded to in the car, he squirming upon the dollhouse-like chair in sudden discomfort. Which heightened her own anxiety. She could only think of one reason, after all, that a man would become so flustered with a woman: He was going to make a statement that would have a profound effect on both of their lives. But as he opened his mouth to do so, her attention was distracted by the presence of a golden-haired figure clad all in white. He just moved behind Carl, like an apparition, and suddenly, her whole world kicked into reverse. The actions of the surrounding patrons and wait staff ground to an impossibly slow pace where sound couldn’t even intrude. They were just a blur, a smear of color against the backdrop of a glittering canvas. She’d glanced from the white shadow to Carl, whose mouth yawned wide on a word she couldn’t hear. Her gaze flicked back to the white shadow. She couldn’t see his face for the glare of his stark white suit. That struck a chord of fear in her. Why was he the only one she could halfway make out? Why wasn’t his figure as distorted as the others? Why was he crossing her path today? The last question had jolted her out of the stillness that encased her and sent her scurrying off to the bathroom like a child just awakened from a nightmare, even as the activity around her resumed its normal pace and sound level. “No,” she told her reflection now, “no, Nora. It wasn’t an angel. They don’t exist. Get a grip and go back out there. You’re about to hear something that’ll change your life forever.” Giving herself a reassuring smile, Nora squared her shoulders and left the ladies’ room, unaware of the silent figure, dressed all in white, standing against the far wall, watching her go. “…So,” Carl concluded, his gaze falling just south of hers, “there’s really nothing keeping us together.” Nora stared at Carl for a moment as if she were in a trance. What was that? She saw his lips move, but—what did he say? Another moment passed before she somehow managed to say, “I’m sorry. I don’t think I heard you right.” She gave her head a little shake to clear it of its lethargy. “Did you just say—nothing keeping us together?” Carl cleared his throat, shifted his stocky frame on the chair that squeaked in protest. He was hiding something from her. Usually, he was rather straightforward. So—what was it? “I think,” he began, faltering over the words, “we’d be fooling ourselves if we try to pretend there’s something here when there isn’t. We want different things, Nora. You want a lifetime commitment done up with all the trimmings. And I want…freedom. I’m just not ready to settle down right now, Nora,” he said, meeting her gaze for the first time since he began his obviously-rehearsed speech. “I thought I might be—I mean, you’re a great girl and all and if I was going to settle down with anyone, it’d be you, but—” “Who is she, Carl?” Nora asked, her voice little more than a whisper. “This isn’t about me. I know it. You know it. So do me a favor and just be honest. Who is she?” Dropping his gaze once more, Carl admitted, “A friend of my mother’s. I know there’s that whole age difference thing, but I’ve got to admit I’ve always been kind of attracted to her and, well, she’s just gotten a divorce so she doesn’t want anything more than sex, either…” He was leaving her for an older woman? How could this be happening? Rubbing a finger along the furrows of tension between her brows, Nora asked, “Then what’s with this, Carl? Why bother with the candy and the flowers and the fancy restaurant? And the oysters! Why would you order oysters if you were planning to dump me?” “I like oysters.” “You like oysters,” she repeated as if she were learning a foreign language. Why did that one phrase sound so incongruous when added to the rest of the conversation? Oh, Lord, she was losing her mind. First angels, now this. Carl shifted on his chair again, rested an arm on the postage stamp of a table as he leaned toward her. His voice lowered, he said, “Look, I know what this time of year means to you—your mother told me all about it before she set us up, she told me holidays were hard because of your brother dying near Thanksgiving—and I feel like a total ass, I mean the timing sucks, but…Doreen wants to go away for Thanksgiving and I really can‘t do that without feeling like a total heel if I‘ve still got you here, holding out for a ring and a chapel.” He took a breath before plunging forward with the admission, “I just wanted to soften the blow. I’m sorry if I misled you.” Nora passed a trembling hand over hair scraped back from her fresh-scrubbed face in a severe French twist. She had to get control of herself, but—she couldn’t believe this was happening. Couldn’t believe that the “something important” to which Carl had eluded earlier was their future apart, not together. Everything was planned out in her mind, so…where did she go from here? Well, at least he was being a gentleman about it. So good for you, Carl, she thought. You are a true gentleman. At least she thought so, until he said, “Listen, I hate to cut out on you so early, but you took a lot of time in the ladies’ room and I promised Doreen I’d meet her at seven to take her granddaughter trick-or-treating and I’m already late. So why don’t you stay, enjoy the wine and oysters—oh, and order anything you want for dinner. Don’t worry about the price. I-it’s the least I can do. I’ll just tell the staff to put it on my tab. How does that sound to you?” “Great,” she lied, even as she thought, He’s leaving me for a grandmother. Bad enough that there was another woman, worse still that she was an older woman, but—a grandmother? Seriously? Hiding her trembling lips behind her wine glass, she reiterated the lie, “Just…great.” “Wonderful! I knew you’d see reason,” he exclaimed in relief. Jumping from his chair—which he somehow managed to catch in his large hand before it toppled over—he skirted the table to her side and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “You’re a good girl, Nora Kendall. I’m really glad I got a chance to know you.” “Me, too,” she lied again, closing her eyes. Why wouldn’t he just go away already? Stop dragging it out, Carl. Just go away now. “Oh, here,” he said and she felt him thrust something into her clenched hand. Something papery. Money? “For the ride home. I’ve really got to go now. Doreen’s going to kill me.” Nora didn’t open her eyes to look at the bill in her hand until she heard him move away from the table. A fifty dollar bill. He gave her a fifty dollar bill for a taxi? Add that one to a list of firsts. “Excuse me, Miss?” a voice sounded at her right shoulder, startling her out of her reverie. “Your date sent me over to see if there’s anything I can get you.” Glancing up with disinterest at the owner of that pheromone-laden voice, Nora perked up when she noticed that he was cloaked all in black when the waiters’ attire was relieved by white shirts and red boutonnières. But not this man. Everything was black, from the silk of his shirt to the leather of his shoes. Even the flower in the lapel of his long blazer was black. How odd. “I’m sorry,” she said, trying to force the befuddlement from her brain by knitting her brows together. “I didn’t…what did you say?” Oh, man, why did he have to be so attractive? She couldn’t think straight as she stared up into the perfection of his face with its dark eyes and the even darker hair that framed his sculpted face in long, curling tendrils. Now, this was more to her liking! If only she could concentrate on what he was saying. “Your date thought you might like to order now,” he repeated. “So, would you?” “Yes—yes, that would be good.” “So what can I get you?” “I don’t know, anything—everything,” she said in an off-handed manner. “You decide.” A slightly decadent, devilish smile slid across the man’s full lips then, robbing Nora of any further capacity for coherent speech. “As you wish,” he said in a voice so deep, so resonant and beautiful, it rumbled through her, wreaking havoc with all of her senses. She just smiled and watched him go, her eyes drawn to his physique like an artist’s to the statue of David. Man, she thought as he disappeared into the kitchen, what was the bigger sin? Having a body like that—or ogling a body like that? If it was the latter, she would gladly commit the sin. It wasn’t like she was hurting anybody by enjoying the view, after all, and this was the only time she’d ever be able to eat in a place like this, so why not indulge? She had reason to re-think that sentiment when the sculpted waiter proceeded to bring out one of everything on the menu. An arctic wind assaulted Nora as she left the warmth of the restaurant behind her. It arose from nowhere to swirl around her, slicing her to the bone and stealing the breath from her lips. Where had that come from? Nora wondered. It was only October, for heavens’ sake. Granted, it was the last day of October, but still. . . A little early for the deep-freeze. With a shudder, Nora huddled beneath her cape as she paused at the street corner. Uncertain. What was she supposed to do now? She’d planned to grab a bottle of expensive wine on her way to celebrate her good news with Joelle, but those plans were dashed. What was she to celebrate now? The rather polite way Carl had let her down? The fact that she’d somehow managed to retain her dignity when all of her plans for the future lay shattered at her feet? Should she give herself a pat on the back for not creating a scene and making it easier for Carl to dump her? She simply didn’t know what to do now. Maybe she should get the wine anyway and commiserate with her old friend instead. If nothing else, Joelle would find the humor in the situation—as she always did—and maybe it would lessen the sting of betrayal. A gentle tug on her cape released Nora from her fretful ponderings. Startled, she glanced down—into a sweet pixie face that boasted the widest blue eyes Nora had ever seen on a child. Despite the sadness and confusion that permeated her soul, she couldn’t help but to smile at the girl, who was dressed in an angel costume. At Nora’s encouraging smile, the girl ventured in all innocence, “Are you a good witch…or a bad witch?” She ignored her mother’s dismayed gasp and held firm against her restraining hand as she awaited Nora’s answer. A twitch at the corner of her lips was the only indication that Nora found humor in the question. Preserving a serious manner, she squatted down before the girl, her cape flaring prettily about her, and said, “I’m a good witch.” Happiness lit the girl’s face as she turned to her mother. “See, Mommy? I told you she was a good witch!” Nora intercepted an apologetic look from the woman before she ushered her daughter away with an admonishing, “Come along, sweetie, it’s time to go home.” The girl’s response was swallowed up in the noise of city traffic as they receded from Nora. With a bittersweet smile, Nora pushed herself up from her crouch, glanced about. For the first time that night, she actually saw the horrifically-decorated shop windows with their mummies and monsters, cauldrons and spider webs, witches and bats. A reminiscent sigh escaped her. Oh, how she’d once loved Halloween… The memories barely had time to take root in her mind when she was suddenly presented with a cigarette. She declined the unspoken offer with a shake of her head without even verifying who extended it. The cigarette disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared. “You don’t smoke?” At the unexpected sound of that voice, Nora jumped as if someone had touched a live wire to her spine. Her heart set up a dangerous cadence in her chest; she pressed a fist against it in a vain attempt to establish calm. Breathed in. What was he doing here? And out. Had he followed her? In. Well, of course he did, ninny. Out. But—why? She turned to confront the black-clad waiter from the restaurant—and immediately faltered at the sight of him standing there. Maybe it was the casual pose, legs braced slightly apart. Or the way he regarded her with an inquisitive look and a radiant smile. Whatever it was, he literally took her breath away and made her forget what he asked her. On a whim, she just shook her head to the negative and hoped it was an appropriate response. His smile enigmatic, he released a cloud of blue smoke on a sensual sigh and watched her through the haze, his eyes intent, laying bare her soul. He held her prisoner like that for what seemed like a lifetime condensed into one minute before he spoke again. When he did, it was on a different topic. “All didn’t go well in there, I gather.” “No. I expected…” “What?” “Something that wasn’t there,” she murmured. With great effort she shifted her gaze away from his toward the city traffic racing past them in a blur of Technicolor and exhaust fumes. Shaking herself free of despair, she half-turned back to the waiter whose face was now wreathed in a ring of cigarette smoke. “I have a really bad habit of doing that.” “Doing what?” “Holding out. Waiting for something to materialize that doesn’t exist.” “Kind of like angels,” he said. “People say they’re there, but if you can’t see them or hold them in your hand…” “Do they really exist?” she finished the thought for him. With a shiver, she burrowed deeper into her cape and scanned her surroundings as if trying to remember which way to turn. “Guess I better be off,” she said, her voice holding little conviction. “You take care now.” “Oh, I will.” “And try not to smoke too much,” she advised, glancing back at him. “It’s hell on your lungs.” “I know,” he said with an ironic twist of his lips, turning the cigarette about to study the burning tip. But he made no effort to put it out, apparently undisturbed by the reminder of its health risks. “Devilish habit,” he added with relish. “Well,” she said, stepping off the curb at a break in the traffic, “I’m off now.” With a fragile smile in the waiter’s direction, she disappeared into the clamor that surrounded them. Dante had little time to enjoy a low chuckle over his encounter with his quarry—oh, sorry, Nora Kendall—before he felt the air shift about him. The current of warmth assaulted him from behind. Wonderful, he thought, just what he needed now to put a kink in his pleasure. Peter. He didn’t turn to acknowledge the other; that would be the gentlemanly thing to do and the devil knew he was no gentleman. He inhaled, long and deep, on his dwindling cigarette. He released the smoke through his aquiline nose in one continuous stream. And waited. His patience was rewarded a moment later when Peter stepped out of the shadows, his stark white attire shimmering bright against the blur of color that surrounded them. The picture of the perfect angel. Dante’s lips curled in distaste. “Well, well, look what the wind blew in,” Dante said. If he had expected Peter to respond to that bait, Dante was destined for disappointment. In fact, it barely registered a reaction as he halted alongside Dante on the sidewalk. His tone barely tolerant, but just as deep and musical, Peter asked, “What are you doing here, Dante?” Flicking a glance at him, Dante ignored the question in favor of taking another pull on the cigarette. He deliberately blew the smoke into the man’s angelic face— and chuckled in delight when Peter waved the smoke away with an agitated gesture. “Peter,” Dante pronounced as the wind picked up about them, whipping their long coats about their sculpted thighs like flags at full mast. “I should’ve known you’d be here tonight.” “You didn’t answer my question.” “I know.” “What do you want with the girl?” Peter demanded. “What do I ever want with them?” Silence stretched out before them relieved only by the sound of their coats flapping against their legs. Peter finally broke it by saying, “You can’t go on like this forever.” “Oh, yeah? Watch me.” “Oh, I will.” Peter glanced toward the midnight-dark sky as a rumble of thunder sounded above them. “And you can be assured that I’ll do everything in my power to prevent you from achieving your goals.” “I’d expect no less.” “But let me tell you one thing. Soon—perhaps sooner than you think—you are going to be brought to your knees by a woman so pure, so innocent, your existence as you know it will be completely undone and you will serve the purpose you were meant to serve. And not your own.”
From Nora’s Soul, by Margay Leah Justice, published by Second Wind Publishing LLC (Nov. 2008), available on Amazon.com.
Hey, everyone, I have to do the proud mom thing today and take my daughter for a college placement test, so I am posting an old favorite of mine (some of you might have seen it elsewhere on the Internet) for today. Hope you enjoy it, Margay
Ah, the first blush of romance. The first time you see the idea, sitting there in the corner of your mind, trying to get your attention in that inconspicuous manner these ideas sometimes adopt. You look away, convinced that there is no way this idea could possibly go anywhere. It’s just a fluke, a fling. Surely, you’ll forget it by morning. But when you look back, the idea is still there, sitting in the corner, flirting with you. So what’s a harmless little flirtation? You approach the idea cautiously, in a manner you hope is suave and sophisticated, but as you get closer, your excitement rises. Your heart begins to race. You lick your lips in anticipation. It’s even more exciting up close. So you flirt with it, spend the night with it, take it home with you. In the morning, you’re surprised that it’s still with you. After two months, you begin to believe this idea has a future. So you cultivate it, give up sleep for it, nurture it as it grows within you. Soon, what began as a nugget of an idea in your mind blossoms into a full-blown creature. It grows within you, like a fetus in a womb, becoming bigger by the month, more substantial. You can almost feel it move within you; you carry it everywhere, wherever you go, it’s there with you. All of your energy is devoted to it.
After a suitable gestation period, your little nugget of an idea, which you have affectionately begun to call “the book” while you search for the right title, is ready to make its appearance. Your months of labor are about to pay off as you prepare to deliver your book into the capable hands of the publisher who will introduce it to the world. But wait, his assistant has to help you clean it up a bit first and you are struck by the niggling thought, What if my baby’s ugly? What if I put this out there and no one likes it? But with the reassurances of your publisher, you clean the book up and send it back, maybe with a prayer or two, and you wait. Now it’s time for your baby to prove its worth.
As you can tell from my whimsical tale above, writing and publishing, to me, often mimic conception and birth. The stages of both are remarkably similar. There is the courtship period when you are first introduced to the idea that will one day take over your life. Followed by the get-to-know you period during which you decide whether or not the idea has longevity and you want to commit to it. Once you make that commitment, there is the gestation period – I think you can guess what happens here. The idea grows and grows, taking on a life of its own, convincing you that you are mad, suffering from a hormonal imbalance, or both. But in the end, it’s worth it because you deliver a rollicking, three hundred page epic that someone is bound to love – and not because they’re related to you.
So I guess you could say that Nora’s Soul is the first of my literary babies. She is almost six months old now, having made her debut in November, and growing stronger every day. Bringing her to the attention of the public is similar to the care and nurturing of an infant, requiring constant vigilance. Yet the pay off is that people are noticing her, some are cooing over her, and others even want to take her home with them. She may just be crawling now, but soon she will gain her legs and walk on her own – and I will sit back in amazement like any proud mother, thinking, Wow, I can’t believe I created that! And in the grand tradition of mothers everywhere, I will want to create another one, forgetting all of the pains and labor involved in the process. Keep your eyes open for the debut of Nora’s brother (figuratively speaking, of course), Dante. Thank you for riding along with me on this whimsical journey into my take on writing. I hope you enjoyed the trip as much as I did.
Have you ever had a character invade your mind? When you thought you were done with him, has he ever come back to haunt you, or to prove otherwise? It happened to me. When I began to write Nora’s Soul, the character of Dante was just a satellite character in my mind, a device to move the story forward. But he had other ideas and he just wouldn’t be silenced. He invaded my mind, took over my thoughts, and even tried to –
Dante: Stop, woman! You like to think you’re my creator, but we both know the truth of that, don’t we? Margay: But I did create you. Dante: Tell them how I came to you in a dream. Margay: All right, so you came to me in a dream - Dante: I love invading dreams. I don’t get to do it very often. Margay: Can I tell the story? Dante: Oh, yes. Please do. Margay: Thank you. As I was about to say, it was one of the more vivid dreams I’d ever had, a fully realized scene of the two of us on the dance floor, dancing the night away. Dante: I love dancing. Margay: Dante, please. Dante: Oh, sorry. Go on. Margay: But you were something of a devil and that is how I first thought of you. But as the story came to develop, I realized that you were more of an angel, just a…misguided one. You’d lost your way somehow. You’ve been rather stingy on the details. Dante: If I told you everything up front, what fun would that be? Margay: Yes, I must admit it’s been more fun pulling the details out of you with a pair of tweezers. I just wish I didn’t have to go through Nora to get them. Dante: Ah, yes, Nora. Sweet girl. Margay: We’ve talked about this, Dante. You can’t have her. She’s not meant for you. Dante: Can’t I have anyone? What kind of power do I have if I can’t take whomever I want? Margay: Don’t forget free will. It’s all about free will. You see, they have to choose you. If they don’t choose you, you can’t have them. Dante: I never did like free will. It’s always messing things up. Margay: Dante, come on now. Maybe we should just talk about the book. Dante: Yes, do that. Talk about the book. Margay: At its core, Nora’s Soul is a story about one woman’s journey to rediscover her faith – in herself, in her beliefs, but along the way, she is challenged by two angels, one light and one dark. The light angel, Peter, wants to help her reconnect, but the dark angel, Dante, wants something entirely different. He wants her soul. Dante: Nice summary. Margay: Thanks. Dante: I just hope you got the story right. Margay: Well, I guess you’ll just have to wait until the release date to find out. Dante: So you’re not even going to give me a little hint about how it turns out? Margay: Nope. But if you go to my website http://margayleahjustice.com, you can read an excerpt. Dante: And you thought I was the devil. Margay: If you’re done, I’d like to regain some control over this article. Dante: Oh. Sorry. Margay: Right.
Well, there you have it. Character. You just never know when a character is going to invade your thoughts – or take them over completely and try to run your life. But what are we without the characters that populate our books, our movies, our lives?
If you would like a chance to get to know Dante better, read about the havoc he wreaks in Nora’s Soul. He is quite a character. Hope you enjoy him as much as I do.
Hello, everyone, thank you for your readership of Moonlight, Lace and Mayhem. As the second week of our existence draws to a close, I am offering up a print copy of my debut novel, Nora's Soul, as a prize to one lucky commenter. As some of you probably know, it is the first book in a series about the struggle between two factions of angels: dark angels and light angels. And the hapless humans who come between them, of course! So I am going to open the floor to your angel stories. Have you ever encountered an angel? Would you want to? What would you do if you did stumble across an angel? And most important (to me), do you like reading about angels?
For those of you who do like reading about angels, check out Gracen's post from yesterday, Angels...Do You Believe? Informative stuff in there, I must say. And you can always check out my author blog for more tidbits about Nora's Soul at http://margayleahjustice.com. But to whet your appetite for this contest, here's a blurb of the book:
When angels of light and dark collide on earth… Once he held a favored position in the heavens. But one moment of weakness casts Dante out and now he is cursed to walk the earth, collecting the souls of vulnerable women to buy his way into hell. All hell breaks loose… But standing in his way is Peter, an angel of light. Peter is everything Dante is not. Pure, above reproach. And determined to prevent Dante from achieving his goals. Peter will stop at nothing to protect the souls in his charge, even if it means achieving the impossible – leading Dante back onto the right path. And no one is safe from the fall-out. Nora Kendall believed in angels. Once. But then she lost her brother to cancer despite all of her prayers – and she lost her faith in all things angelic. Now, she is a lost soul who wanders through life like a sleepwalker, playing it safe and leaving the risk-taking to others. Kyle Cameron is one of those risks. Burned by a bad marriage, his only concern now is providing a stable life for his children, who are left motherless by the unexpected death of his wife. This means working overtime to grow his architectural firm into a viable business – and leaving the care of his children to the care of someone he trusts. Despite his past connection with Nora, Kyle isn’t certain that she’s the right person for the job. He also doesn’t want to reconnect with her and repeat history. But fate – and the machinations of two angels – has other ideas.
The winner will be picked by Random.org and announced tomorrow, Sunday, April 26, 2009. Be sure to check back and see if you have won.
If your name is drawn as the winner, you will need to e-mail me at Margay1122@gmail.com with your e-mail address to claim your prize.
Please note: New winners will be chosen from the remaining entries if prizes are not claimed within one week of drawing. There are no exceptions.
The story begins in a small New England town where a little girl with a big imagination learns how to put words on paper. From the first moment the girl picks up a pencil, she beholds its magical powers and her eyes light up with wonder. With just a few strokes of her hand, she is able to transfer the words swirling around in her head onto a piece of paper. A story! She can write a story. So she does. Many years later, she is still beholding the wonder of the words swirling around in her head making their way onto paper, only now it is through the magic of computers, not pencils. And the “paper” is sometimes virtual or neatly gathered into a nice cardboard binder with a pretty picture on the front and not the blue-lined medium of her youth. She is a writer.
So began my humble journey. From my imagination to my reality, it all began with a love of words – and the desperate desire to get them out of my head and onto paper. Long before I realized that there was a word for what I was doing – writing – I put pencil to paper and let my imagination have free reign. Whether it was in pictures or words, I felt compelled to put it on paper. Everywhere I went, I carried a notebook and pen. Every place I visited, I hoarded brochures that inspired my imagination. My favorite place to hang out was the local travel agency whose employees indulged my habit of collecting pamphlets advertising trips to faraway places. I was always planning, researching, writing and rewriting. For me.
In the beginning, I wrote for my own pleasure. Even my friends and family had to fight to get a peek at what I was doing. It was a private thing and I didn’t want anyone sharing in it. Perhaps I was afraid that they would get an intimate glimpse into who I really was as a person and wouldn’t like what they saw. Perhaps I was afraid that they would laugh at me because I really didn’t have the talent to write. Or maybe I was just stingy and wanted to keep it all to myself. Whatever the case, I didn’t start out thinking that I was going to publish some day. I just wrote because I was driven by some unknown need to do so. It wasn’t until junior high school, at the encouragement of my English teacher, that I began to realize I had some talent for this. If an English teacher thought I had promise, then surely I must – right?
Still, I kept my writing mostly to myself. My friends and family still had to fight for a peek at what I was working on, even when I was half-heartedly sending out submissions to publishers. I think, in the beginning, I sent them out expecting to be turned down to justify my suspicions that I wasn’t good enough to be published. With that knowledge in hand, I could go back to writing for my own pleasure and stop the nagging of others who thought I should publish what I wrote. For me, then, writing was still a very intimate thing that I wasn’t ready to share with the world for fear of exposing myself to it – and coming up short. After all that time, I was still worried that I wasn’t good enough.
In the beginning, I didn’t have the confidence in myself – as a person or a writer – to pursue the dream in earnest. It did smolder in the back of my mind, a little ember lit by my first feeble attempts at getting published, but it didn’t begin to burn up my misgivings until I’d learned to believe in myself. I realize now that I had lived in something of a cocoon back then and didn’t have enough life experiences behind me to instill the confidence I would need to pursue this career. And one thing I have learned on this journey is that you need a lot of confidence – in yourself as well as what you write – in order to achieve any level of success. If you don’t believe in yourself, who will?
So it begins with a dream. It is sustained with belief. And it is achieved with perseverance. Whether it is an epic tome or just a flash, it all begins with the same things: A blank page, a big imagination, and you.
Margay Leah Justice is the author of Nora's Soul, available on Amazon.com
Posts
