Two more days until the freeness starts. What is this story about? Check out the blurb and the tailer.
A last testament, or a lasting testament? What is the secret of Eleanor’s diary? Did Eleanor die in the throws of delusions, or did she find a gateway to the Hollow Hills of the Fair Folk. Jason Silver thinks he knows, for there was no body.
Forever and a Day is free on Amazon for June 12th and 13th only.
A last testament, or a lasting testament? What is the secret of Eleanor’s diary? Did Eleanor die in the throws of delusions, or did she find a gateway to the Hollow Hills of the Fair Folk. Jason Silver thinks he knows, for there was no body.
I am getting asked when the next book is coming out quite a bit now. ‘Serpent of the Shangrove’, book 2 in the Darkspires series will be live sometime in the fall of this year. In the meantime, here is something and with it comes a disclaimer. This is the first chapter and it has not been through my editor yet so may well be subject to change. Like Darkspire Reaches, this is a dark fantasy with romance. Enjoy the pictures. They are all mine. I live very close to the Rocky Mountains.
And to start off, here is a pretty trailer.
“Who let the half-breed in?” the cultured voice of a young female cut through the chatter. Her cruel words echoed to the ceiling in the vast mountain chamber.
Conversation trailed to an end. Faces at the long trencher table turned in one direction. All looked at Copper, his fork hanging, halfway to his mouth, frozen by those words. The celebration ended for him. Here he was at a feast for a hand-fasting, an invited guest and yet an outsider in this now festive main cavern. His friend, Strallen, newly joined to a lovely Drakken girl, sat red-faced with temper and yet said nothing.
Copper was grateful his parents were both absent, for this insult touched them closely. He didn’t think his mother would have let the moment pass, but he must for Strallen’s sake. He brought the lump of now cold meat to his mouth and chewed as if nothing had happened.
All the eyes switched to Rosella, an exquisite girl with long blonde curls sitting next to Lorien, the hand-fasted girl. Once, she had been his playmate before they had both matured.
She giggled, waving her hand in an artful little gesture. “Well, he is a half-breed. Why is he invited to such an occasion? It is not as if any of us would consider him for a mate.” She pulled her arm from Lorien’s sudden grip. “No, I will have my say. Copper is a nobody without pure blood. He has done nothing and he will never amount to anything.”
Strallen half-stood as he leaned over his new mate. “What do you suggest a person can do to change his standing in a world where we have no threats? How a person conducts themselves in company is more important than how pure their blood is. I am sure we will all remember this when you cast about for a mate, Rosilla.”
The girl’s rosy blush of temper paled to milk white. She pushed away from the table, marching towards the passage to the outside with a couple of her cronies in tow. Fitful conversation started amid nervous laughter. Eyes turned to Copper again.
He stood, bowing towards Lorien and Strallen with the intention of getting some fresh air himself. Two of the older Drakken males moved to block his path. The denial hurt more than the insult. How could they think he would go after that wretched girl? They did, so he turned to take a tunnel deeper into the heart of the aerie. His star sense kicked in, giving him private thoughts of the gathering and taking him off-guard. All the girls and most of them men felt the same. They didn’t mind his company as long as there was no chance of him joining their family. He decided right then that wherever he went was better than here.
A whir of wings, followed by a heavy thud on his shoulder pad announced the arrival of Kryling, the little firedrake. Trust that one to be lurking in the rafters. Now he couldn’t keep the ill-tidings from his parents. As fond as he was of Kryling, there was no denying the drake was a snitch.
“This is going to hurt mother. Can you at least keep it from her?”
Angry thoughts slammed into his mind. Kryling was in a fine fury and had every intention of telling Raven precisely who said what. The drake considered it would come best from him and not someone mean-spirited. Tendrils of sympathy began to seep from Kryling, along with a tail wrapped gently around Copper’s neck.
“Don’t worry about the girl. I wasn’t that interested in her,” Connor said, not a lie anymore as he found the thought of her made his guts churn in a sickly way. No, if he found a mate, it would be someone who cared for him as a person, not how pure his blood was.
Kryling sent pictures of hunting with an image of Copper in his wyvern form bringing back three bucks for the table and the girls crowding around.
Turning right at a junction, Coper headed for a lower exit, hoping he wouldn’t meet another Drakken on the way. “No, not everything revolves around who is the best hunter when it comes to getting mates.”
The drake puffed a smug smoke ring and countered with an image of his harem. Strangely, his mates seemed to glare in an angry fashion in this mind picture.
“Having a problem keeping peace amongst all those females?” Copper knew the little drake was trying to cheer him up, but this harem discord hadn’t been part of the plan.
Kryling snapped his wings shut and hissed.
Copper felt more like roaring and for that, he needed room to change to his other form. The back entrance offered a launch from a cliff side and at the same time triggered a faint memory of his first home on another world. He changed in free fall over an azure sea, exhilarated by the smooth shift in bones, muscles and tendons into something huge and very different. He cupped his wings and then a small thud hit him between his shoulder blades. Kryling was along for the ride wherever they were headed, a place far away from any Drakkens.
***
Thick blue mists rose off the shracken swamps as the first rosy light of dawn hit the water. Daybreak came welcome after a sleepless night outside, but he hadn’t wanted to be near others. Droplets of dew settled on the leather of his hide. He didn’t care as long as he was alone, and he aimed to keep it like that.
Launching from the ground, he flew high, working hard with his wings against the heavy air until he burst through the clouds. Far, far in the east, near a distant mountain range, a ring of light flamed and shimmered in the heavens, catching his interest. The middle of the ring showed up a stark black against the red of the dawn sky, like someone had burned a circle in the fabric and the night peeked through.
The sun was well risen by the time Copper settled on a high plateau after a long flight that had dried his wings of all moisture. Was this was the forbidden thing he was not to seek out if he ever saw it? None of the others of his contemporaries had seen the gate, if that is what it was, or he would have heard about it. What if he did something the others hadn’t? Would that make him acceptable as a Drakken? Now he missed Kryling as the little Drake had flown free soon after the outlands of the aerie passed underneath. Kryling knew what the gate looked like for sure, having flown through it as an adult.
While he would need his current form if he decided to go through the gate, he didn’t want the draconian tendencies to influence his judgment. Aside from that, his man-shape would be a lot harder to spot if the aerie noticed he had gone and sent out searchers. He drove the magic inward, and a second later a red mist enveloped his melting body. Bones changed; wings became absorbed; clothes regurgitated. A man wearing flying black leather gear now stood in place of the wyvern. A shudder of compression shook through him at the reduction in size, but then he threw it off to enjoy the sensations of a very different form.
Copper settled down amid the harsh tundra with his back against a sun-warmed rock, wondering why his sire and dam preferred this shape. He liked to fly, although he always reverted when he returned to the aerie, knowing his dam became irritated if he wore his wyvern shape in her cavern. She would be more than irritated with him if he followed through on this plan.
Long ago, in another world, he had a crèche mate. They shared the same hatching and then she was gone. Neither of his parents or any of the others from that time before would speak of what happened except to say the girl kit was dead. A part of him knew this for a lie. His star sense told him all believed they spoke the truth as they knew it, but underneath, in their secret thoughts, they believed she might have survived a little while in a hostile place.
Fourteen years of waiting for the star gate to return dimmed the memories of what happened until now. Anger surged through him again. Fourteen years was young for a man, but not for a Drakken. They called him a half-breed, and yet that was not quite true. His mother, Raven, was the half-breed, if not entirely, for she had magic of her own as well as that of the Drakkens. Her beast form, like his own, was massive. Fortunately, he had taken after his tall sire for his man shape, rather than Raven’s tiny frame.
A faint flash of silver caught his eye. He was too late to dive under a scrubby bush for cover. Kryling, zoomed into his position, chittering and grabbing at his tunic to pull him back in the direction of the aerie. Images of his mother blossomed in his mind from the drake. Kryling was doing his best to make Copper feel guilty enough to comply with wishes of family.
He almost started the change when he noticed something. The little drake wasn’t acting like he had just flown such a great distance, not looking the least tired. None of the other wyverns had appeared and they would have shown up by now if Kryling had caught a ride on one of their backs. The drake wasn’t here for him. Once again his star sense aided him. Kryling was running away from his squabbling mates and wanted the backing of a Drakken shoulder from which to state his case if they caught him. This was why he left the aerie with Connor the night before. Not out of solidarity, but out of the need to evade an angry confrontation of several irate females. He smiled, amused and then returned to his thoughts.
Out here, in the back of beyond, there were not firedrake colonies to report Kryling’s whereabouts. The empty lands stretched for miles as forest and plains, punctuated with a river, meandering as it gained distance from the mountain springs. This was a world lonely of higher species, so no habitations marred the land. Strange to find an inhabitable planet without an intelligent species and yet the Drakkens had done just that when they arrived through the star gate in the first wave. Not so with the previous shift, where two intelligent species were already present. Copper wondered if the ancestors of the fair Angressi folk had been the ones to travel to a new world or it if had been the dark-haired First Born tribe. With a name like that, he rather placed his guess on the tribes. How natural to name oneself in such a way to claim original ownership of a land where another was there before. Also, he knew the tribes to be migratory while the Angressi folk were territorial. Given the tribes had magical talent; it would make more sense for them to be the incomers. Although this raised the question of how land born creatures would get through a sky portal. They must have some way of making the gate lower to the ground, which further ruled out the Angressi, who possessed no magic.
Without the Drakkens, what had happened to the lost kit? Would the Angressi or the First Born kill such a one, helpless though she was? What was her name? Jazzler? Her fate bothered him. If he went through the gate he risked being trapped for years. No Drakkens now inhabited the other world. All hands would be turned against him. On the other hand, he had a few days to find a trace of the lost kit before the portal shut again. Do nothing, or know for sure? Maybe if he proved himself by a deed of courage he could gain acceptance. Rosella was right. He had done nothing, but he could alter that. Copper let the change come with his decision. Right or wrong, there was nothing for him here.
I got asked this question this evening and yes, it is a valid one. The ivory towers are now a thing of the past, along with the dinosaur, which is a typewriter. My office is all high tech with a wall of screens, a desktop, fax/copier, modem, router, phone, keyboard, desk, ergonomic office chair, fan, etc. Perhaps not as romantic as a solitary being in an ivory tower but we move with the times. Yes, I have posters, paintings and collages on the wall along with banks of bookshelves. No, this isn’t the limit of my library, just the most relevant stuff I might need for research. My personal predations occupy one entire wall in my basement, floor to ceiling.
I don’t know that I would call writing lonely any more although it was once. I am talking to people on and off all day about this and that. Things like what is the word for…(description of the thing) and other writerly things as well as just chat. I talk to my publisher and my colleagues and then there is social media marketing, which takes up at least two hours a day. In this world, time makes no difference. Cyberspace connects people in the blink of an eye. If out of a working zone frame, then emails and direct messages can be left and will be answered when the person in the other time zone picks up in their waking time. It is not really that much different from working in an office and interacting with colleagues there.
Actual writing is not lonely when the words spill out because it is like a movie running only instead of being behind the projector, watching what is happening on the screen, a writer is behind the screen pulling all the images onto that strip of fabric between the audience and themselves. I think we would all say the same about our characters being very much alive, although they only live in our imaginations. Our worlds are formed right down to the last petal on the ultimate flower and be sure we have figured out a season for all things. Weird really as I don’t know where I am going with a story as I am writing it, although some can plot out an entire novel before hand. Mine up sticks and run away from me, wilfully going in what ever direction they please. The thing seems to take off on a life of its own. Maybe folks would think I am lonely, although this is not what I feel, which is in a crowd, although I can’t see the folks but they are there in cyberspace an unseen but very real presence.
As for a physical presence, I have the very bad cat, who must be with me at all times to supervise. LOL
I guess a person gets to know that they have had a reasonable impact for their published books when a needy, and unimaginative person crawls out of the woodwork to leave an extremely slanderous and personal attack, couched in the form of a review up on Amazon. (Who removed it.) And then this person modified it, stuck it up again and left the personal attack in the comments of the hate filled review.
While I don’t know this person from Adam, I can guess at their intent. Fans have told me they are starting up a reviewing blog business and need to make a name for themselves. Instigating a high profile slanging match on social media, Amazon and anywhere else would be a good place to start, so let’s pick someone who is popular. The problem here is that I do not respond to reviews anywhere and I will not respond to this personal attack in the form of a review or a comment on a review. What a person thinks about this story is their opinion and to that they are more than entitled, just as the 40 people who adored it are entitled to theirs. The unacceptable is the personal attack and my only response to this is another complaint directly to Amazon. I hope this person realizes they will get no joy from me and goes picks on someone else.
Does this happen? Yep, as stories follow life and without the lows, the highs will not entrance. Most people with an atom of sense will read a story blurb to see it the genre is something they like and then they will go on to read the first three chapters offered for free on Amazon. Most people with a molecule of gray matter will also read the reviews and see where the majority opinion lies.
Yes, there are going to be some hysterical diatribes condemning the story for all sorts of reasons. Some of these will be because the person grabbed a free or discounted book without bothering to see if it fitted their reading needs. Others may be offended by certain content, or what they have misinterpreted, having read one word and jumped about three miles high to the wrong conclusion. One person went to every single Amazon site, whether English speaking or not, to diss a book that was the same genre as that person’s soon to be published book. (1 week later). Another person decided to set up a reviewing blog and in order to get people to pay for these, began dissing authors at random with slanderous remarks on the reviews left. This is despite this person’s blog stating they never say nasty things about the author. Mmmm, right. To all of this the author must never respond. Basically, it is a ‘don’t feed the trolls’ imperative.
So, for a moment, lets just look at the earliest forms of literature of a mostly non-religious nature. I am talking about fairly stories, the ones Disney has capitalised on and the ones we read our kids at night.
Cinderella. Insignificant girl is abused by her stepmother and sisters, takes up offer of unfair magical entrapment goodies to snag prince.
Sapsorrow. King’s daughter flees home to live in filthy state to avoid having to marry her own father. Uses stolen bridal dresses to ensnare prince.
Beauty and the Beast. Father trades away daughter to save himself from beast, whom she eventually promises to marry. Early bestiality thoughts? He turns into prince, but she didn’t know he would.
There is more than an element of horror in fairy stories and yet we read them to children. Beauty or the reverse is in the eye of the beholder. It is not so much what is said, but how it is interpreted and presented.
Here is one I haven’t heard for years.
cog·i·tate
[koj-i-teyt]
VERB (USED WITHOUT OBJECT) [COG·I·TAT·ED, COG·I·TAT·ING.]
1.
to think hard; ponder; meditate: to cogitate about a problem.
VERB (USED WITH OBJECT) [COG·I·TAT·ED, COG·I·TAT·ING.]
2.
to think about; devise: to cogitate a scheme.
It slipped into my mind today as I was contemplating the books I have just read and that I now intend to review after a time spent cogitating them. It is a word that describes exactly the process being undergone. If there is a modern word that is better, then I cannot recollect it.
Why is it words go out of usage? Sometimes it is because of a grandeur of presence no longer needed in this world of the instant fix. Sometimes it is because of the word coming from a foreign language, such as legerdemain, a wonderful world conjuring up the impossible. Somehow it doesn’t sound the same with the modern translation of ‘slight of hand’.
Will I try to resurrect cogitate in one of my books? Nope. I leave that to those who write literary fiction. I have no intention of raising speed bumps in stories that have people catapulted out of the world I have worked really hard to bring alive because they need to find a darn dictionary. In the meantime, I will continue with my cogitation.
This post was in part spurred when my doctor asked for my signature on a petition to ban the use of computers in every class, which really is a terrible idea as it does restrict the ability for developing original thought in young minds. Books are where learning should be happening. Which comes around to the subject of history or the increasing lack of it as a school subject.
What is so important about what happened in the past to a load of dead people? Evolution of intelligence and social behavior, in a few words. As a species, we have learned from the triumphs or the mistakes of our ancestors. A person wouldn’t plant fruit bushes in a soggy field as they would die, but rice? Oh yes. Certain behavior patterns have proven to be good for the health and happiness of people over the years. Basic simple things like don’t kill people, take their property, or molest their women.
Yes, molest is a fairly big taboo going right back to when men started to carve out bits of land and claim ownership. Naturally, they wanted to pass the land to their sons but the thing about fatherhood, that is until modern times, is a man could never really be sure if he were the biological father of his own children unless he suppressed women into subservience, hence the huge taboo about molestation of the female person. The more sophisticated the society, strangely enough, the more the danger of molestation happened. Going back to history, say from about 1830 to 1914 there was a big surge in moralism driven by various religions. While this resulted in the virtual cloistering of most women in one way or another, it also resulted in the biggest surge of prostitution, deviant sexual behavior, (I don’t mean homosexuality, which has been around since the dawn of man, but rather nasty and dangerous practices such as auto erotica and pornography to name a couple), sanctimonious behavior, racial discrimination and outright brinkmanship.
So looking back on history, it is easy to identify what was bad and why it didn’t work. Totoal sexual repression of young people was and still is one of the worst choices. Sometimes those instincts break out in the young and then people get hurt. Take a young man and tell him he can’t as much as kiss a girl until he marries one when he may be somewhere in his twenties and that is going to be a tough call. All the sanctimonious preaching in the world will not stop nature any more than the ancient King Canute of old England could order the tide to stop coming in from his throne on the beach. He gave up when his feet got wet. Of course, if the lapsed youth happens to be famous he and his family will get crucified by the press. Perhaps a better understanding of the intricacies of the lessons history has to offer might have shown these people that what they were insisting upon from their kids was way off to the left field. The number one lesson history teaches is that any form of suppression will ultimately lead to rebellion.
That said, this is a sad day for some people and the press should back off before they do more harm. Yes, someone did a wrong thing as a result of other people doing the wrong thing for what they thought were right reasons. It doesn’t really matter after all these years. What does matter and did back then, is the victims in the case. The lid has been wrenched off the jar of their very modest world and left them exposed. They are the reason this press hounding must stop and the reason why children must be educated properly in all the subjects, so the mistakes of the past are not repeated.