Two for the Price of One by Victoria Chatham

 

AVAILABLE HERE

A reader asked me, "Why have two amateur sleuths when you could have had one?" That was a good question, but apart from the flip response of "Why not?" I admit my characters came about because I so enjoyed Dashiell Hammett's Nick and Nora Charles stories. OK, so that dates me, but I don't mind. Hammett is probably best known for The Maltese Falcon but wrote many detective novels and short stories, some of them no doubt prompted by his years working for the Pinkerton Agency.

Nick and Nora first appeared in the novel The Thin Man, published in 1934. Nick is a retired private eye, and Nora is a wealthy socialite. They both like to drink and have a good deal of flirtatious banter between them. They also had a dog, Asta, who was a Miniature Schnauzer in the novels but was played by Skippy, a Wire-Haired Fox Terrier, on screen. The Nick and Nora characters, played by William Powell and Myrna Loy, appeared in films from 1934 to 1947, had a radio show from 1941 to 1950, and a TV series from 1957 to 1959. 

Later, another couple created by Sydney Sheldon caught my attention. The TV show Hart to Hart starred Robert Wagner as Jonathan Hart and Stephanie Powers as his wife, Jennifer. They also had a dog, a Lowchen named Freeway. The series began in 1979 and ran for five seasons until 1984, followed by eight made-for-TV movies.

Apart from Nick and Nora and the Harts, Agatha Christie penned the Tommy and Tuppence novels, the first of which was released in 1922. Tommy and Tuppence were childhood friends who later married. Tommy is known for his common sense, while Tuppence has a daring streak. His cautiousness is matched by her curiosity. There were five Tommy and Tuppence books, the last published in 1973, so we see Tommy and Tuppence grow from childhood friends to an elderly couple. 

My characters, Lord Randolph Buxton and his wife Lady Serena, grew out of these stories, but I set them firmly in the Edwardian era for no reason other than liking the fashions. The first book was published as Always A Lady, but after a couple of questions from readers, I decided to rework it as Cold Gold and add more to their story. Cold Gold is set in 1907. The next book, On Borrowed Time, is set in 1913 and answers a reader's question about what happened to the Pinkerton agent character from Cold Gold. Shell Shocked is set at the end of WWI in 1918 and, as all three were novellas, were published in one volume as The Buxton Chronicles.

So, not only two for one but also three for one. Enjoy.

Victoria Chatham

  AT BOOKS WE LOVE

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A writing workshop

 I was invited to teach a writing workshop by a local art gallery. They're calling it "the art of writing."

Having 36 books in print, you'd think that teaching a writing workshop would be a no-brainer. Or so it seemed when I agreed to the project. The coordinator asked me for a course outline. It was at that point I realized how unprepared I was!

I drafted an outline of the basics: Plot. Character. Setting. With each of those headings, I spent a few hours listing the essentials, like making your protagonist slightly flawed so he/she is more real. Setting can be a character on its own. 

With those in hand, I reflected on the other parts of creating a mystery: Start with an outline. Create backstories for your characters. Put a hook in the first few pages to engage the readers. Use foreboding to build engagement. Using subplots to add depth to your characters and to provide false leads. Showing vs. telling information. Engaging the readers senses when creating settings (What are your characters hearing, seeing, and smelling?) And research - oh the hours of research.

I pulled quotes from famous writers. Stephen King wrote that a book's plot is only a device to tell a story about the characters. i.e. Your readers enjoy the book because they've engaged with the characters. If you don't have an interesting, relatable character, the reader isn't going to enjoy, or even finish reading the book.

I sent my outline to some trusted beta readers and associates who critiqued my work. (What in hell are you thinking, Dean?) Then, I rewrote and corrected some minor issues. (That's better, but it that really what you want to tell people about writing?) The outline rewrites became an iterative process, with me tweaking it each time I opened the document, or when one of my trusted associates provided input. (Are you going to mention the need find a publisher once the manuscript is complete?)

When my outline was done...or darned close, I stepped back and tried to determine what I was actually going to say with each outline point. Then, I read it aloud, to see how long it would take. (If I had two hours' worth of information to convey). After all that, I made my wife listen to what I was going to present. 

Her response was surprising. "So, those are the things you've got in mind as you write a new book?" 

"It's all become subconscious now. But yes, those are the elements of my writing process."

Armed with that information, I sent the outline to a friend who's a retired magazine editor. She called the next day and said, "Do you really think you can get through all of this in a one semester class?" When I replied that it was going to be a two-hour workshop she responded, "Talk fast."

With the workshop now history, and feedback in from the students, I'll add a few items. Give your readers enough description so they have a mental image of the characters, without describing the number of pores on their nose (That was from a class member). We laughed and discussed how our mental images conflict with the actors Hollywood has chosen for the roles of our favorite characters. The best "disappointment" story was the casting of Tom Cruise, who's not a big guy, as Jack Reacher who Lee Child describes as a muscular giant.

I think the class's favorite suggestion was from Nevada Barr who I quoted, "Write three pages a day. After a year, you'll have a book!" It's great advice about the volume of output you need, but also about discipline and the need to be consistent.

If you want a window into what I've done, I suggest you check out the books I've written on my publisher's website. 

Hovey, Dean Doug Fletcher series - BWL Publishing Inc. (bookswelove.net)

Oh, the Horror..... By JD Shipton.

 As we shamble through the rustling leaves toward another Halloween (Samhain, for our Celts and traditionalists), we might bear in mind that genre Horror has not always been among us. 

We have to read at our pleasure a veritable cornucopia of gruesome tales, nay, whole sections of bookstores devoted to the uncanny and the unsavory.  Some authors have reached a sort of literary super-stardom on the backs of this genre- obviously King springs to everyone's mind, but also folks like Thomas Harris and Anne Rice have unquestionably done very well for themselves.  In some of the titles of the past 10 years, the subject matter as a general topic of conversation alone would make me have to slap an R rating on the title of this blog post, as authors really stretch to find the limits of the dark corners of human imagination.  

But before we had Dracula or Frankenstein, Poe's myriad works or Porphyria's Lover, there must have been some work that lit the fuse on the whole thing?  I mean, we've got monsters and myth and unsettling human acts in any double handful of period fiction going back, say, 500 years, but the essence of the whole shebang really seems to stem from The Castle of Otranto- Walpole's thumbed-nose to the flood of romanticism of the time.  It really has it all and really sets the tone:  dark settings, towering architecture, ghosts and specters, and the purposeful evocation of human terror.  

So maybe this spooky season, before reaching for the remote and watching all the Texas Chainsaw Massacre movies in a row (again), maybe take a look back in time to the granddaddy of em all, and try to see Walpole's influence in the genre today.  

The Hardest Goodbye...by Sheila Claydon

 

Find my books here

I'm finally culling my books. Years and years of books. Books stacked and sometimes double stacked in bookcases and on shelves in the sitting room, the study, two of the bedrooms, even the utility. It's not that I haven't sorted through them before. Over the years I've culled them several times, but to little avail because those empty shelves  act like a magnet, filling up with more books in the blink of an eye. 

They are not all my books either. Some have been left behind by long dead parents, some by adult children, some by friends. Then there are the ones kept for visiting children, from baby's first board books to books for young teens and every age in between. But what to do with them?  Once upon a time local charity shops welcomed books. Now, since the advent of the electronic reading device and online books, not so much. I'm as much a culprit as any because I regularly download audio books from the local library to make house chores more interesting, as well as ebooks for when I'm relaxing. I still read paper books though, which is why those shelves keep filling up despite my best intentions. 

Now, however, I have found a solution. A community library. 

 

Across the UK many of our public libraries have closed because of lack of funds. Fortunately my village escaped the cut but a neighbouring one didn't and now houses have been built on the site of what was once a much used facility. Something wonderful has arisen out of its destruction, however. A determined community group that has raised funding, found affordable premises, and set up a community library run by volunteers. It has become so successful that it has now spread across two venues with something for everyone. Storytime for children, creative writing classes, IT classes, coffee mornings, quiz nights, a home service for people who cannot travel to the library themselves...it has become a real community hub and just the sort of place that needs my books. 

Now incentivised, I am beginning to pack them up. The children's books are easy as all the children in the family are far too old for them, so after removing a handful of favourites to pass on to my daughter for any future great-grandchildren, they are packed into two large boxes ready for collection. 

Sorting the adult books is not so easy. Oh there are some that we know we'll never read again...crime novels, science fiction, some romances, although none of the Jane Austen. There are the books that we thought we would enjoy until we started reading them, the pocket dictionaries in a variety of languages, autobiographies where the writer thought they were more interesting than they actually were. It doesn't take long to pack these away. But what about the others? The titles that remind me that I've been intending to read them again for years, the few that I haven't ever gotten around to reading, the ones that I probably won't ever read again but which gave me such pleasure when I did that saying goodbye to them would be like saying goodbye to an old friend.

Then there are the travel books, and the books on art. Books on writing too. And books that were presents. How could I possibly give those away? And what about the cookery books, and the gardening books? There's a book about herbs too, and another one about spices and how to use them. Then there are the classics...Dickens, Shakespeare, Twain, Austen...I can't get rid of those either. Sorting out a single shelf takes a whole morning. Shall I pass on the Steinbecks, what about Salinger, and what about those whole rows of Joanne Harris and Joanna Trollop. Will I really want to read them again when there are so many other books out there to choose from? Decisions have to be made, but it's far from easy because so many of these books are warm memories. And to my mind, a house is not a house without books, so I will have to keep some on my shelves. All I need to do is decide which ones I cherish as old friends, and which ones I can wave fondly on their way.

As I tackle yet another shelf, the community library keeps me going though because it really does need my books more than I do. And I might even add some of my BWL books to the boxes too! What a wonderful place to find new readers.

Apples Please by Helen Henderson

Fire and Redemption by Helen Henderson
Click the title for purchase information

The weather is changing and you won't hear any complaints from me. Autumn is probably my favorite season. Cool nights are perfect for sleeping, while warm (but not overly hot) days lure you outside. Harvest is is full swing. Pick-your-own pumpkin sites and haunted hayrides have sprouted in fields. It is also the time of year when I miss living up north. 

Peaches reign supreme where I now live. While my family farm had a peach tree, the fruit was really only suitable for the deer. Apples are my preference. Unfortunately, the clime here is not suitable for apple orchards so apples are only available in 3-pound bags in the grocery store. Quite a change from autumn in my old town. In addition to five large apple orchards where you could pick your own or buy them by the bushel, bins of many apple varieties including MacIntosh, Granny Smith, Rome, and Winesap were neatly lined up across the front of the markets. To supplement the locally grown apples, additional large bins were transported down from upstate New York.

 

As a child, our farm had a small apple orchard of about a dozen trees. They weren't the short, well-trimmed ones from the professional orchard. Instead, they were tall, ungainly, and fun to climb. Picking apples from the lower levels required standing on the hay wagon and snagging them with an apple picker, a small metal cage attached to a long pole. For fruit higher and out of reach, we climbed the tree then extended our reach with the apple picker.

Picking was just the start of the work. The apples had to be washed, peeled and cored, and cut into slices.

A snippit of what could easily be an autumn get-together. From Amulet and Redemption.

Nearing the central fire, Feldt gestured everyone to benches. As soon as she sat down, Deneas could tell the seats were recently vacated. A wave brought over several girls bearing plates of steaming fruit pastry and mugs of chilled water. As they ate, Deneas paid attention to both her friends’ conversations with the caravan leader and the people he waved over, and to the group gathering on the other side of the fire. While some faces reflected hope, for most of the traders, their eyes held fear and mistrust.

Betrys handed her plate to a waiting girl and leaned over. “Feldt is taking me on a walk around the second camp.” Then added in a whisper Deneas swore she heard in her mind rather than her ears. “They are good people. Just scared.”

Whether the fruit is baked into pies, cobbler, crisp, in the middle of puff pastry, or Amish apple cake, I will take apples please.

~Until next month, stay safe and read.   Helen

To purchase the Windmaster Novels: BWL

Helen Henderson lives in western Tennessee with her husband. While she doesn’t have any pets in residence at the moment, she often visits a matronly husky and a youthful feist who have adopted her as one the pack. Find out more about her and her novels on her BWL Author page.

Book Launch for The Tom Thomson Mystery Announced.

To learn more about Nancy's books please click on the cover above.  

https://bookswelove.net/authors/canadian-historical-mysteries/

 

I'm happy to announce that the book launch for The Tom Thomson Mystery will be on November 16, 2024 at 1pm MST. The Purple Platypus Bookstore 5003B 50 Avenue in Castor Alberta will be hosting me and I'm thrilled to work with Lynn Sabo, the owner. There will be refreshments and perhaps some swag.

Here is an advance reader's review:

Thomas Thomson was a Canadian artist best known for his landscapes. He spent his summers capturing the scenery in Algonquin Park, Central Ontario, first in oil sketches on small wooden panels and then producing larger works on canvas during the winter in Toronto. His best-known piece of work is The Jack Pine. What isn’t so well known is how Tom died. On July 8^th, 1917, Tom’s canoe was found overturned in Canoe Lake, not far from where he set out. His body wasn’t discovered until July 16, 1917, also floating in the lake close to where the canoe was found 8 days earlier.Was he murdered? Did he commit suicide? Or was his death accidental? Nobody knows.

Nancy M. Bell has skillfully woven the threads of fact and fiction in her rendition of what might have happened. Her protagonist is young Harriet St. George, a very modern-minded young lady who loves escaping her strict family, particularly her stern father. She also summers at Mowat Lodge on Canoe Lake in the Park. She loves to tramp through the woods, canoe, fish, and paint to her heart’s content. Her friend Winnie Trainor, also a summer visitor, is sweet on Tom, while Harriet appreciates his skill as an artist and does her best to emulate him. But then Tom is missing.

Harriet suspects the Lodge managers, Shannon and Annie Fraser, of being involved in illegal activities. Who should she turn to for help? Besides Winne, the Park Ranger, Mark Robinson, is the only person she can share her suspicions with. All the characters are clearly introduced and have their place in the story of the search for Tom. The ending is unexpected and dramatic, and some readers may not see it coming, but it is an entirely satisfying conclusion to a true Canadian mystery

VM Chatham

I thought I'd include a small excerpt as well, just to whet your whistle.

This is the Preface:

Hello, let me introduce myself. I am Harriet Agnes St. George. I’m sure you’re wondering what I have to do with Tom Thomson, or indeed, with the mystery surrounding his death. I’m a painter as well and the wilds of New Ontario, that which you now know of as Algonquin Park, is one of my favourite places to indulge my passion. Being the early 1900s it is unusual for a woman to wander about unchaperoned, and in the bush at that. But let me assure you, I am no ordinary woman. I like to think I’m the forerunner of a new breed of women who will strike out and demand to be allowed to reach their full potential without the mostly unwanted advice of some male figurehead. It is only in April of this year of our Lord, 1917, that women are allowed to vote. About time too, in my opinion.

Let’s just say, it’s a good thing my dear Great Aunt Lois left me a sizable amount of money in her will, in my name and solely in my control. Much to my father’s anger and dismay. But I digress.

Tom Thomson and I used to haunt the same places and tramp the same paths and portages, sometimes alone and sometimes together. Winnie Trainor often accompanied one or both of us, most often Tom as she had a soft spot for the man. Winne wasn’t a painter, but she did love to fish and was always happy to help portage. And she did have a yen for Tom, as I have mentioned.

So, leaving you with this bit of background information, I will endeavor to tell the tale of Tom Thomson’s death and the aftermath as I know it. The subject is still a painful one for me, so as you will soon see, I have set the story down in third person rather than first. It’s a way of distancing myself from the grief and the anger at the treachery that ended Tom’s life and his career.

Chapter One- to give you a taste of Harriet's character

Harriet St. George stepped off the train at the Canoe Lake Station and smoothed down her skirts. Tipping her head back, she took a deep breath of the sharp air of early May. It was so wonderful to be free from the restraints of her rather conservative family. Here at Canoe Lake, Harriet could dispense with the cumbersome skirts and traipse through the bush clad in trousers and a flannel shirt. Not to mention the much more comfortable boots she wore while in the woods, exploring for the perfect site to set up her portable easel and paintbox. She loved the French name for her paintbox: Pochade. It rolled off the tongue so nicely. Harriet giggled and refrained from doing just that. The locals already thought she was a bit strange, well except for Winnie Trainor who also liked to gad about in trousers and spend hours fishing out on the lake.

Shaking her head, Harriet turned to collect her luggage, not much more than the aforementioned paintbox and a duffle stuffed with what she would need for a summer of painting and fishing in the Park. Hopefully, the Frasers of Mowat Lodge had received her telegram, and her room would be ready when she got there. With the paintbox in one hand and the duffle over her shoulder, she went in search of the park ranger, Mark Robinson, who kept track of all comings and goings in the Park and had promised to arrange her transport from the station to the Mowat Lodge.

The duffle was heavier than one would expect, but that weight made Harriet’s heart light. Along with the few clothes stuffed haphazardly in the bottom, most of the room was taken up with her collection of oil paints, brushes, and thin wooden shingles that she intended to use painting en plien aire. She’d copied that trick from a fellow painter she’d met last summer. Tom Thomson tended to paint quickly, but with an accuracy and feel that Harriet envied, any place he found a scene in the woods that spoke to him he captured it on the shingle boards. Only later did he transform the rough painting on the board into a canvas, usually over the winter when he returned to Toronto.

Someday, she promised herself. Someday women artists would be recognized as well as the men. She loved the vibrant new style that was developing in the Canadian art world. Slipping away from the traditional method of reproducing a scene in minute detail. The advent of photography was slowly making that form of art less popular. Thomson’s use of colour and bold strokes of paint intrigued Harriet and she vowed to attempt to hone her own skills this summer.

“Oh, Mark. There you are,” she greeted the tall, thin park ranger who stepped out of the station house.

“Miss St. George.” Mark acknowledged her with a tiny bob of his head.

“Oh, please, it’s Harriet,” she chided him. “Once I ditch these skirts you’ll be hard pressed to tell me from the locals.” Harriet gazed at the thick bush and the pale blue early May sky, the lake where the ice was just beginning to break up. “I do love this place.”

“Harriet, then, if you wish. I’m sure if your father was here he wouldn’t approve of me being so familiar.”

“Pish posh on my father. I’m free for the summer of his stuffy ideas of what is proper for a young lady.” She giggled. “I have my Great Aunt Lois to thank for this freedom. She left me a generous inheritance with strict instructions to use it as my heart desired. And I desire to spend the summer here, in Algonquin Park, painting and fishing. Watching the stars and moon shining over the lake.”

I hope you enjoy the tale. Until next month stay well, stay happy.

Running Slow by Janet Lane Walters #BWLAuthor #MFRWAuthor #Writing #Slow

 I'm working on a new series. The first book is called The horror Writer's Demise. This time the story writing is going slow. I've been working on it sonce I left the hospital four or five months ago. The rough draft is finally finished.

Rough drafts are interesting things. When looking it over, I realize most of it is dialogue so there is much to fill in. I always wonder if other people when writing rough drafts do the same thing and just put down mostly dialogue. Now I must go back and turn this into a book. Hopefully this will go quicker than the rough draft did. The process will start today where I describe settings, people and events taking place.

I realize once the revision process takes place this will become a real story. Now if I can find where I stored the cover.

Art in the darkness, by J.C. Kavanagh

 

The award-winning Twisted Climb series
(Book 1, The Twisted Climb, is also available in audio format)
Click here for the purchase link:
https://www.bookswelove.net/kavanagh-j-c/

Earlier this year I wrote about the sun's multiple solar flares (coronal mass ejections, or CMEs) and the resulting aurora borealis illuminating the night sky over the northern hemisphere. Sadly at that time, cloud cover in the area prevented me from viewing them. Until now.

Above our heads was this vision - an angel? A dove? What do you see?
This type of Northern Light is called a 'Divergent Coronal Aurora.'

My partner and I are avid sky watchers and when we read that a Category 4 CME (Category one being minor, five major) was on its way to earth, we prepared ourselves for an art in the sky event. Coats? Check. Touque? Check. Portable chairs? Check. Wine? Absolutely check.

Scientists have determined that solar flares from our sun have an eleven year cycle. This year, 2024, is the final year of the solar cycle and, as is typical for the cycle's end, the blasts occur more frequently and with more strength. The result? The most beautiful art-in-the-dark-sky you have ever seen.

Photos taken October 9 at 9 p.m. from our front yard
in Tiny Township, Ontario, Canada

An undulating veil of colours.
All photo credits to my partner, Ian.

Solar flares (CMEs) occur when a powerful geomagnetic solar storm takes place on the sun's surface, causing a burst or multiple bursts of energy. These energy bursts erupt into a coronal mass ejection (CME) which launches billions of tons of plasma into space. The plasma travels at an incredible solar wind speed of 750-800 km per second (470-500 miles per second). The magnetized plasma particles will take a couple of days to reach our planet and when they arrive, the earth's own magnetic field prevents it from reaching us directly. Instead, the active plasma is dispersed across the magnetosphere, resulting in the famed aurora borealis. The magnetized plasma will, however, have the capability of disrupting hydro grids, causing radio/GPS black-outs and degrading satellite reception. High-altitude planes will lower their flight path in order to avoid exposure to any radiation leaking through the magnetosphere.

The diverging point of a coronal aurora.
Note the stars are visible behind the aurora.

Due to light pollution, viewing the magnificent auroras may be difficult for those living in urban/city areas. However, if you don't want to wait eleven more years for the tail-end of the sun's next cycle, I recommend taking a trip to a rural area that has a large expanse of sky. That's the best way to capture this stunning, awe-inspiring act of nature. First, confirm that a severe geomagnetic event (CME) has taken place and within days, the aurora borealis will be on display. Noteworthy, though, the aurora borealis is something you will not find in The Twisted Climb series. What you will find is a full-moon, night-time world where nothing is as it seems and where you have to climb in order to 'fall' asleep. And also avoid the wicked intentions of Dick Hatemore. So if you enjoy adventure, action, suspense, drama and inexplicable paranormal activity, you will love the award-winning Twisted Climb trilogy. 

In the meantime, stay safe and be sure to tell the ones you love that you love them :)

J.C. Kavanagh, author of
The Twisted Climb - A Bright Darkness (Book 3) Best YA Book FINALIST at Critters Readers Poll 2022
and
The Twisted Climb - Darkness Descends (Book 2) voted BEST Young Adult Book 2018, Critters Readers Poll and Best YA Book FINALIST at The Word Guild, Canada
AND
The Twisted Climb,
voted BEST Young Adult Book 2016, P&E Readers Poll
Voted Best Local Author, Simcoe County, Ontario, 2021
Novels for teens, young adults and adults young at heart
Email: author.j.c.kavanagh@gmail.com
www.facebook.com/J.C.Kavanagh
www.amazon.com/author/jckavanagh
Twitter @JCKavanagh1 (Author J.C. Kavanagh)
Instagram @authorjckavanagh

The Importance of Good Background Development and Research, By H Paul Doucette

 Hi everyone,

I have been fortunate over the course of my writing career to meet many people who

have read my stories and who have generously offered their impressions of my ‘style’. The

three main comments I receive (as opposed to criticisms) have been about the dialogue,

minimal narrative and the historical backgrounds and settings. The first two are generally

considered the cornerstones of story writing, however, I believe that as characters and their

interactions (dialogue) are fundamental components so to are the settings in which they live.

For my stories, I strive to create settings as though they were another character in the

story, telling their own tale. Settings are canvas upon which our players live their lives and

behave, or misbehave, as the story dictates. As such, we must ensure that we give our

readers a place to set their feet, where they can follow the characters down dark streets, into

their homes, places of work, etc. The settings give them dimension and us an understanding

behind their motives.

Settings require careful and accurate development. Remember, many of our readers

likely have lived or are living in very similar, recognizable settings. The best and easiest

setting to construct is the drawn from we already know; our own place. However, in my view,

that is not enough. A good setting is viable, recognizable and, in many cases, have a sense of

history. Therefore, take the time to research your setting; infuse it with ‘life’, something that

happened, that was once.

Your characters will thank you by being seen as believable and your readers will want

to visit your ‘places’ to check up on the people they have met.

A last thought for your consideration. If you can create a believable sense of place

maybe consider giving your characters the chance to tell your story. Remember: your

narrative ought only to be use to bring the reader to the threshold of the story, let them

discover the intention behind the action.

Just a thought.

Thanks for reading this and I look forward to reading your opinions.

H Paul Doucette

How to make the unnatural seem natural by Tobias Robbins

My book, The Remnants of Pryr,  comes out this February. 

Visit my BWL Author Page here: https://bookswelove.net/robbins-tobias/

When one of the ancient founders of Pryr returns after a long exile and claims the world will end, the nations must adapt and learn to work together. If not, the Breath of Ruination will bring about a world-ending catastrophe. The kaleidoscopic cast, including gods, assassins, poets, and scientists, provides interlocking accounts in this geo-political drama that dates back to the founding of civilization.

 

I really wanted my story to have a “believable unbelievability” to it. That is to say, I wanted my fictional world to feel as close to real as possible but still be distinct from our real world. For the natural environment, I tried to focus on balancing out the scientific components to make it seem legitimate, while also adding wild fantasy that would give it a visual uniqueness.

 

Fireweed- It is so named because of its bright red color and the burning sensation caused by the thorn's poisonous coating. Thin, wiry it grows to knee height. Thorns are barbed and intended to break off easily allowing more time for the poison to spread.

Scourge fungus- White mushrooms that grow in patches. Their fast-growing roots emit a digestive enzyme that breaks down flesh as easily as metal or stone. Spores grow and spread quickly. Fire must be used to cleanse the infected area if the rare Harken dirt can not be found.

Grasp grass- Carnivorous trap-setting plant. Its roots burrow a deep hole and its blades grow long enough to fill the hole to appear as normal short grass. Once a creature steps into the pit, the blades curl inward pulling in to digest the creature with acidic resin excreted at the bottom of the hole.

 

Cloven steed- Quadripedal mammal with a long neck and head. Each leg ends with feet that are made of four small hooves clumped together. Easily trainable for riding and combat. 

Dune leviathans- Large insectile body composed of many segments each with a set of stubby spikes that help it travel under loose sand. Its head has four forward-facing horns that it uses to dig or use for protection. 

Shaggy monohorn- Heavy four-legged creature large enough for one rider. It has a single horn between its eyes used to gore other creatures. Its long matted hair collects mold and bacteria giving off a repulsive odor.

Bloodhunter bats- Tiny mammals with wings that are lined with sharp bone along the edge for slicing creatures mid-flight. As blood is drawn the bat uses their circular, jagged-toothed mouths to suction on, and lash at the cuts with their spiked tongues. 

Light-eyed grazer- Medium-sized quadruped with thin legs and quills running down its back. It has three horns and can be found in a variety of colors. 

Scissor-beaked turtle- Large, shelled reptile, suitable for riding into combat. The mouth comes to a long point of hard bone that when closed acts as a scissor. 

 

Fuming Plateau- Located near the eastern coast of Pryr. Geysers of steam almost constantly erupt with varying sizes. The columns of steam take on the color of chemical deposits, red, yellow, green, and blue. Bioluminescent bacteria give the geysers a glow. 

Garnet Forest- Enormous stone trees with no leaves and jagged spikes and crooked blades for branches, they can grow high enough to reach clouds. They are commonly in a reddish hue such as burgundy or even brown. 

Acidic Sea- Acid content in water breaks down tissues such as flesh and plant fibers. Given enough exposure it will eat away at metals as well. The sea surrounds the supercontinent of Pryr. 

Neon Canyons- A labyrinth of caves and crevasses; some large enough to contain whole cities. The smooth translucent stone has glowing neon gas veins streaking just below the surface, constantly lighting the canyons.

 

 

Notions of Promotions

 

A lovely promotion for Seven Aprils!

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A writer acquaintance of mine once achieved her lifelong goal...to have one of her books reach New York Times best seller list. This was a great promotion in her mind. She said, "Now I know how my obituary will start-- 'New York Times best-selling author...'"

In life as well as art, we receive many promotions. My dad served in the United States military (National Guard and Army) for much of his long life. He first achieved the rank of Sergeant. His men loved the way he looked after them and called him "dad" even though he was in his twenties. While in Europe during World War II, his superiors thought him officer material. They sent him for a crash course in recently liberated Paris, after which he became a lieutenant and back into the field of war with new duties. So, as he often laughed about later, a scrappy son of Irish and French Canadian immigrants from Hell's Kitchen, Manhattan, who dreamed of going to West Point, became a commissioned officer and a gentleman by way of the Sorbonne, Paris. What a promotion!

Sgt. Charbonneau

I love my promotion to mother. For the rest of my life, I will be known as the mother of three wonderful human beings, Abby, Marya, and Lawrence.

More recently, daughter Marya's decision to become a mother gave me another promotion...to grandmother. Wow, this one is totally undeserved and great fun! 

Desmond and his grandma up to no good together

In my work life, I was so pleased to be asked to become a co-author with Jude Pittman of the Canadian Historical Mystery Series. I've long been a reader and admirer of the series of novels based in the Canadian provinces that BWL publishes. So to be asked to contribute to it? A great honor and promotion!

What are the promotions of your life, dear readers? I hope you've had many and that they've brought you joy.