Eagle Quest Released

Publication is proceeding apace on Eagle Quest. It's available in a variety of ebook formats and in print. Here are the links so far:

These PDFs are identical to the print version. Much prettier than the ebook formats at Smashwords.

PDF at Off the Bookshelf. $2.99

PDF at MonkeyJohn's Bookstore. $2.99

Ebooks in five flavors at Smashwords. Use this coupon code: FB44J for a freebie until 5/31/2010. After that they'll be $1.99, but I'll have 1/2 off coupons for my blog readers June 1st.

Flavors: EPUB, MOBI, LRF, PDF, and PDB.

Print at CreateSpace. $8.99 (will be up on Amazon soon).

EAGLE QUEST

Fiona, Hap, Billy, and Mitch make an odd set of friends, as different from the usual junior high school crowd as they are from each other.

Mitch, the oldest of the four, is a half-breed Native American, adopted by white parents. Troubled that he doesn't know his tribe, he avidly studies Native American history and lore. Learning the nearby Bear Valley Wildlife Refuge is a bald eagle nesting site, he wants to add an eagle feather to his medicine bag and explore the refuge as a site for his Vision Quest, a Native American rite of passage. He and his three friends get far more than an overnight camp out as they encounter a black bear, a retired forest ranger living in the refuge, and a pair of eagle poachers. Bringing the poachers to justice, they test their courage and gain confidence in themselves and each other.

Gypsy Woman

Lorrie Unites-Struiff researched like a mad woman for her paranormal mystery romance, "Gypsy Woman," published by Eternal Press (Buy the Kindle edition on Amazon). I asked her to fill us in on Gypsy lore. Take it away, Lorrie!

When I think of gypsies, I think of a nomadic people. I imagine colorful caravans, mystical fortune tellers and beautiful violin music. All romantic, don’t you think?

Researching for my modern Roma family depicted in my novella “Gypsy Crystal,” I found some interesting material.

For instance, one school of thought is that gypsies originated from Egypt, and were called, among other things, Egyptians, or ‘Gyptians, which is how the word “Gypsy” originated.

Today, there are over twelve million Roma living across the world. Many of them are living in the United States and Canada.

They tell many myths about their beginnings. I particularly like the one that tells of, one day while celebrating a holiday around a campfire, a stranger wandered into their camp, and as the usual way of a generous and happy people, they invited him to stay. Oooh, what a mistake.

This was the start of a curse, for this man was a necromancer and insisted the people serve him. The people refused, they loved life and refused to cheat death and serve chaos.

The necromancer raged and cursed them, saying they would forever wander the earth, never to settle and forever be outcasts. He disappeared into the night. The next night an army of the undead stormed and destroyed the land and their homes. Many died--or worse.

The survivors fled, regrouped, drew a circle in the dirt, drew their knives and shed drops of their blood into the earth. They vowed to serve balance and protect the land. When the last droplet fell, a strange feeling overcame them, like the land had embraced them. They heard a voice telling them they were to forever wander the land to preserve life at all cost and they now had the ability to curse their sworn enemies. And their greatest enemy of all was--the undead.

A chilling folktale, no doubt, and had shivers sneaking up my spine.

The Roma people like many others hold certain beliefs and superstitions. You may recognize some of them. I’ll only mention a few.

Good luck charms, amulets, and talismans are common among the Roma. They are carried to prevent misfortune or heal sickness.

How about that rabbit’s foot you carry in your pocket or the horseshoe nailed above your barn? Knock on wood? Throw salt over your shoulder?

Ceremonial events such as christenings, marriages, and religious festivals are occasions for community activity and sharing. They consume enormous quantities of food and drink during these celebrations, and the preparation is long and enthusiastic.

Ahem. I think most of us still go along with this one.

According to traditional Gypsy beliefs, life for the dead continues on another level. Sound familiar?

Gypsies put coins into the deceased’s coffin to help with their journey into the afterlife. Another familiar belief many share.

There are many more, but let’s save them for another day.

I remain the romantic. I still imagine the colorful caravans, the mystical fortune tellers and the sweet violin music under a moonlit sky. How about you?

Lorrie Unites-Struiff
Author of the paranormal romance “Gypsy Crystal”
Amazon Kindle Edition
Eternal Press Edition

Fairies, Faeries, Fae, etc.

Many many, many, many writers are in love with the Celtic myths. I’ve delved into them, too. However, I’m not a big fan of the flitty little cute faeries (or fae or fairies). In Celt mythology, there’s a fairy (or fae or faerie) for just about any purpose. The “serious” fantasies love the idea of the fairy troupe. More than a few equate fairies to Arthur legends, more specifically Merlin.

The third book in the Witches of Galdorheim series, Scotch Broom, is set in the Scottish Highlands. Of course, I had to include at least one fairy in the mix or I’d be violating some unwritten fantasy rule.

If you write Celtic fantasy, then you know that Sidhe is pronounced Shee in Ireland and Sith in Scotland. I wonder where George Lucas got Sith lords? Hmm.

Anyway, I found a particular sidhe I liked. She’s a big black cat with a white chest. Aha! I happen to have the model for said cat (in a much reduced size) sitting at my door every morning demanding a handout. We call her Bitch Kitty. Yes, she has attitude in spades. So, there’s my model for Cait Sidhe, a companion to my erstwhile heroine, Katya.

My Mashup

Katya has already found two companions: Sianach a stag and Cusith (another sidhe) a giant, green hound. They’re tromping through the swamps trying to find the Trow King’s hall in the middle of the Otherworld (the alternate magic world in the Scottish Highlands).

They marched on in a straight line, having no better idea of which direction to go, while Cusith zigzagged ahead of them with his nose close to the earth. Suddenly, the green hound raised his head and bayed. A moment later he galloped across the moor, water splashing when his huge paws hit the tiny pools.

“What’s up with him?” Katya asked.

Sianach lifted his chin for a better view. “He appears to be in pursuit of an animal of
some type.”

“I hope he’s not hurting some little swamp creature.”

“If he is, then the beast is making Cusith pay for the privilege.”

Katya and Sianach walked faster after Cusith, the dog’s trail marked by flying grass and water. When Cusith finally stopped, Katya and Sianach trotted to catch up. The hound was standing over something furry and black that lay on the ground beneath his huge paw.

“No, don’t!

Don’t hurt it,” Katya called out. Cusith turned his head toward her, tongue lolling.

“I won’t. It’s not food.”

Katya reached Cusith’s side and knelt down to examine the raggedy clump of ebony fur. It leapt up, scrabbling for a foothold, but Cusith clamped his paw down harder to hold it still.

“It’s a cat!” Katya said. She reached out with her mind, but met the same blank wall she had with Sianach and Cusith. So, she tried the old-fashioned way. “Here kitty, kitty. Nice kitty.” An ear-splitting yowl almost knocked Katya back on her rear.

“I am not your ‘nice kitty,’ you rude thing! I am Cait Sidhe, I’ll have you know. Surely, this stag . . . and mutt . . . have heard of me.”

Sianach, who stood to one side to stay out of the fray, nodded his elegant head. “Yes, I know you. Not that it is a pleasure.”

The cat hissed and swiped a pawful of razor sharp claws across Cusith’s foot. The big dog quickly released the black cat. “Sorry, Cait,” Cusith said. “Just having some fun.”

Cait sat up and licked a couple of swipes over the white spot on her chest. “Now you’ve covered me with mud. It’ll take hours to get clean again.”

Like I said, this cat fairy's got attitude.

The Wee Ones

Besides the big ol’ gods, legends, and spirits–the ones that get all the press–myths are populated with a myriad of often tiny, more often unmentioned beings. Their job as minor characters in the mythos is not always mentioned, but they exist (well, in the mythical sort of existence) nonetheless.

While writing the Witches of Galdorheim series (heads up to any agents or publishers; it’s available), I delved into western European mythos finding the supporting cast for my books. Like bit players everywhere, they often ended up on the cutting room floor.

For example, in the opening scene of Bad Spelling, I mention tussers and tomtes. Raise your hand if you can tell me what they are. No peeking at the book OR the internet! Right, you’ve never read the book (except for a couple of you), so you’d not have a clue. Please note in the comments if you already know. Anyone? Go look it up in the Encyclopedia Mythica.

My Mashup

In the third Witches of Galdorheim book, Scotch Broom, I elevate one such small-time player to the exulted role of minion. If you watched the Ice Age animated films, you might be familiar with the proto-squirrel (with fangs) named Scrat.

The screenwriter either made the name up or also hit the Encyclopedia Mythica like I did. If the latter, then he simply used the name because a skrat is not a proto-squirrel at all.

One of the many creatures that are said to move into the farmhouses from time to time is the skrat. He usually lives in a beech tree or a cave and looks like a chicken that has been caught in a downpour. His wingtips and tail drag on the ground. He may also transform himself into a small bird, a goose, a dog or cat, or even a hair-covered man. Any family he lives with becomes rich.

Here’s a brief scene on how the skrat plays its minion role.

A scratching at the door caught her attention. Walking over, she peered through the peephole, but didn’t see anyone there. "Oh, bother. Is some spoiled brat trying to play tricks on the old woman?" She grabbed the handle and jerked the door open, screaming, "I’ve got you!"

Nobody stood on her porch. A clucking made her look down. A scraggly, wingless chicken, looking as if it’d been out in the rain, crouched at her feet. The skrat stood on four wobbly legs, staggered around Cailleach’s legs and into the house. It squatted by the fire and ruffled its feathers.

Cailleach glared at the scruffy creature. She never could tell one from the other, but they had their uses. "What do you want, Skrat? I’m busy--"

Skrat spoke in a high-pitched, ragged tone as if he was gargling pebbles. "I have news."

Cailleach stepped closer. The skrats didn’t bother her unless they had something good to report. "Tell me."

"Witch is near."

The hag considered for a moment. "Is it one of the Wiccans? They’re harmless. Always collecting plants for some potion or another."

"Wiccan, yes, but witch, not wannabe."

Cailleach narrowed her eyes and plucked at the hair growing from her chin. "Where,
exactly?"

"In bogs."

"Why would a real witch be there? Staking out territory?" The crone pondered a moment, then looked down at the skrat, which had not dried out at all. "You watch. Bring your brothers with you. Report thrice daily to tell me what she’s up to."

The skrat nodded its featherless head. "What you pay?"

Cailleach aimed a kick at the skrat, but it scuttled out of the way. "Bother! You’re always asking about pay. Have I ever shortchanged you?"

"No. Want to tell brothers."

Cailleach glared at the creature. "A month’s grain for each of you."

"Done. I go now."

The skrat wobbled to the open door and departed. Cailleach closed it behind the creature, then returned to her fireplace. She swished the brew in the cauldron a few times.

Note: Cailleach is the Scottish Celtic goddess of winter fallen on hard times in the present day world. She’s tired, aging, a mere vestige of her former glory, but a scheming old bitch like her won’t ignore opportunities when they fall from the sky. Which is exactly what Katya does.
#

Guest Post: Using Local Myths & Legends by E.J. Ruek

Today, E. J. Ruek is filling in for me. E.J. is the author of To Inherit a Murderer.

Using Local Myths & Legends, 1
by author E. J. Ruek

A bed-and-breakfast called Cassidy House has a ghost. All the locals know about it. What no one can agree on, though, is who the ghost could be, and why it’s there. You see, Cassidy House has never had a murder or suicide; it hasn’t even had someone die there of natural causes. It’s a relatively new house, built in the 1960s, and, as ghost-infested homes go, it is a pretty boring, single level, six-bedroom rancher. Never the less, the stories persist…as does the ghost.

Read the rest of the article at The Deepening.

Miss any Myths and Legends Post?

If I'm not mythtaken, here's the entire list so far:

Azhi Dahaka the Dragon Demon

The Kazikli Bey (AKA Vlad the Impaler)

Let the Gods into the Fray: Ahura Mazda and Anahita (the Persian Zeus and Hera)

The Three Stooges: Aesma, Buyasta, Naghaithya (Persian Demons)

Amphitrite, Poseidon's Wife

Ceto nee Nessie

What the Heck is a Simurgh?

Cryptozoology: Sasquatch

Horsefeathers! Flying Horses

Crackin' the Kraken

Misunderstood Beings: Trolls

Werewolves: Yes, They ARE Hunky Guys

Magic R Us: Wizards, Sorcerers, Magicians, Warlocks

A Bottle of Djinn

Elemental, My Dear--

PDF Editions Available

I've uploaded the PDF editions of two of my books to Off the Bookshelf. For sales for $2.99 each on my storefront at OTB.

Tales of a Texas Boy: The PDF contains all the great old timey photos I used to illustrate the stories. No other ebook edition has the photos. This PDF is exactly how the printed edition looks.

Eagle Quest: I wrote this book several years ago. No, it didn't find a home with a "regular" publisher or an agent. Looking back on my records, I see that I just didn't have a good query letter. Live and learn, right? This is a perfectly good book for middle-graders.

Fiona, Hap, Billy, and Mitch make an odd set of friends, as different from the usual high school crowd as they are from each other.

Mitch, the oldest of the four, is a half-breed Native American, adopted by white parents. Troubled that he doesn't know his tribe, he avidly studies Native American history and lore. Learning the nearby Bear Valley Wildlife Refuge is a bald eagle nesting site, he wants to add an eagle feather to his medicine bag and explore the refuge as a site for his Vision Quest, a Native American rite of passage. He and his three friends get far more than an overnight campout as they encounter a black bear, an old man living in the refuge, and a pair of eagle poachers. Bringing the poachers to justice, they test their courage and gain confidence in themselves and each other.

Elemental, My Dear--

Earth, Wind, and Fire. Wait for it .... Water. The four classical elements have been part of mythologies since the first time a smarter than average Cro Magnon decided to cash in on his superstitious tribe claiming to have a direct hot line to the somewhat amorphous deities.

Deities and demons have proliferated over the intervening 20,000 years or so, with the winners being those smarties who knew how to cash in on fear.

Earthquakes: Uh oh, the earth god is ticked. If you’ll just give me your hard-won haunch of mammoth, I’ll intercede on your behalf.

Windstorm: Boy, are you in trouble for holding back on my share of the cave bear hide. Ol’ Wind is mighty pissed.

Fire: See what happens if you don’t listen to what I say. Your whole forest burns because you all are bad people. Just lay a pile of pretty shells at my feet and I’ll see if I can placate the Fire Demon.

Water: Oopsie, a flood. Well, wasn’t I the smartie for building that big boat. Did I mention the fare? All goes to the Water God of course.

The natural elements wreak havoc and a clever guy makes out like a bandit.

As time marched on, the elementals took on different names and personalities. The shyster’s way of collecting for multiple personalities for those four basic elements.

Before a caveman could count, um, one. The world was littered with all sorts of mythological beings lined up by the wise shaman to collect trade goods from the fearful masses.

My Mashup

Besides a plethora of gods and demons which I have mentioned some of already, I selected a lovely forest elemental (notice how the element population is dividing and growing) named Ajatar. She happens to be a Finnish spirit and is the main troublemaker in my second book of the Witches of Galdorheim, Midnight Oil.

Ajatar was known as the Devil of the Woods (click the link for a very cool illo), so I set her in a magically protected forest glade. She controlled her local flora (writing tree roots, fast-growing brambles) and snakes to protect her cache of boxes, bottles, pots, a bent bicycle tire, laundry detergent, dried flowers, old tennis shoes, and Andy.

Oh, right, Andy happens to be a changeling, a human who spent much of his life in the Troll Kingdom and is now Katya’s main squeeze. Ajatar kidnapped him to draw out her sister, Ilmatar, an air spirit who had been hiding out on Galdorheim disguised as the old witch (she prefers sorceress) Mordita.

Lots of stuff happens, but the sister finally come together in an epic battle (they’re fighting over a man, wouldn’t you know). Ajatar takes her dragon form, while Ilmatar becomes a giant white roc.

A little excerpt for your reading pleasure:

Ilmatar spun, danced, and dived. It had been too many years since she had taken her true form. She was the wind, the hurricane, the tornado. Air she was, air she would be. She sighed, and a tree bent with her breath.

She rose with the heat, dropped low and sped across open fields when clouds blocked the sun’s rays. Yet, neither heat nor cold drove her. She flowed over or around as she pleased. When she was in the mood, she flattened everything in her path.

She laughed, and earth-bound creatures cringed at the booming thunder. She smiled, and a gentle breeze danced over hills and valleys. She reveled in her freedom, then grew angry when she thought how Ajatar had stolen this from her. She’d almost forgotten the power and glory that was Ilmatar.

Now, she’d get payback. Ajatar, she vowed, would regret this day for the rest of her life–her brief life, if Ilmatar the air spirit had any say.

But enough reveling for now. She had a job to do. Gathering free air to her as she flew, she coalesced into a cutting shaft, sharp and deadly as any arrow, and one thousand times as large. She swooped up, down, and sideways, leaving a vortex of spinning air in her wake.

Increasing her speed and the velocity of spin, she smashed through the tops of trees and touched down, a whirling cyclone in the center of Ajatar’s glade. Moss and branches whirled through the forest clearing and trees bent away from her, howling, cracking and snapping, with the thunder of rustling leaves.

Ajatar heard her coming; she could hardly miss Ilmatar’s roar. Ajatar grew taller, rising above the treetops, spreading her vast scaled wings. Her mouth gaped and fire roared out. With a single downward thrust of her wings, she soared upward. Ilmatar’s tornado followed close behind.

Note: My buddy Kevin Robinson, who also writes YA fantasy, provided the white roc illustration for me. Thanks, Kevin!
　

A Bottle of Djinn

Genies or djinns are great fun. Robin William’s genie in Aladdin was a hoot. But when is Robin Williams not a hoot? Okay, don’t tell me about One-Hour Photo, Insomnia, or Death to Smoochy. Nobody bats a thousand.

Ahem. That’s not the subject here. It’s genies.

Let’s not talk about I Dream of Jeannie. That is clearly a complete and utter corruption of the wonderful race of magical beings brought to us from Moslem tradition. So, here’s the skeenie on genies.

From Wikipedia:

In Arabic, a genie (also jinn, Djinn, jinni) is a supernatural creature which occupies a parallel world to that of mankind, and together with humans and angels makes up the three sentient creations of God (Allah). Possessing free will, a djinn can be either good or evil.

The Djinn are mentioned frequently in the Qur'an, and there is a Surah entitled Al-Jinn. While Christian tradition suggests that Lucifer was an angel that rebelled against God's orders, Islam maintains that Iblis was a Djinn who had been granted special privilege to live amongst angels prior to his rebellion. Although some scholars have ruled that it is apostasy to disbelieve in one of God's creations, the belief in Jinn has fallen comparably to the belief in angels in other Abrahamic traditions.

Golly, that’s not near as much fun as Robin Williams. Still, a supernatural being that can wreak havoc on humans is right up our alley, right?


My Mashup

In “The Seven Adventures of Cadida,” Bascoda serves Cadida. Well, ‘serves’ is a bit of a stretch. He suggests, advises, and pretty much makes her figure out how to get things done. Every once in a great while, he will whomp up a little magic if Cadida is about to fall off a cliff or something else dangerous.

Bascoda appears in every adventure except one: Cadida and the Great Vizier (Cliffhanger). In that story, an evil genie has tricked Bascoda into the bottle that Aladdin put him in years before. He introduces himself to Cadida as Volfass, Apprentice Djinn Second Class, and claims to be taking over for Bascoda while he’s missing. Cadida is naturally concerned for Bascoda. The evil genie (disguised as a boy djinn) wants to lure her into helping him kill the Great Vizier ---- screeeech! Calling a halt here. The plot is too complicated to explain in full.

The short of it is that Cadida and her gang have to rescue Bascoda from the bottle. To do that, they have to put the bad genie into another bottle. Cadida, Poltrice the water demon, Gravella the cave demon, Sheik the dog, and Sulawesi the eagle are all needed to put that dang bad genie back in his bottle and get Bascoda out.

To learn what else happens to the gang, you’ll just have to buy a copy of the book.

Magic R Us

Wizards, Sorcerers, Magicians, Warlocks: These are the males of the species Homo Spellcasterus. Please comment on how you use these terms in your own writing. If you’re not a fiction writer, feel free to give your opinions as well.

A magician, wizard, sorcerer or a person known under one of many other possible terms in fiction is someone who uses or practices magic that derives from supernatural or occult sources. Warlocks, who are normally the male counterpart of witches, tend to be portrayed as evil, perhaps because ‘war’ is part of their title, and who doesn’t hate ‘locks’?

Wizard: In medieval chivalric romance, the wizard often appears as a wise old man and acts as a mentor. Long, white beards and robes seem to be required for most wizards.

Wizard of Oz
Dumbledore and Harry Potter
Discworld has a plethora of wizards, many inept
Gandalf in Tolkien’s Middle Earth
DC Comics and Marvel Comics both have wizards
Dungeons and Dragons and similar role-playing games
and Mr. Wizard, the science guy before Bill Nye the Science Guy


Sorcerer: Often an alternate term for Wizard. Many of the above mentioned wizards are sometimes referred to as sorcerers (except Mr. Wizard), but there doesn’t seem to be much consistency in doing so.

Magician: This seems to be the catchall phrase for spellcasters, but also includes stage performers with sleight-of-hand tricks, showgirl sawing, and disappearing and reappearing showgirls and white tigers.

Warlock: In Medieval tradition, warlocks are male counterparts to witches. However, modern Wiccans consider the term pejorative.

In some role-playing games, warlocks are demon summoners. After obtaining said demon, they can control them, make them pets, change their litterbox, etc. This usage may stem from the derivation from the Old Norse varð-lokkur meaning caller of spirits. However, the Oxford English Dictionary (the definitive source for all things magic) does not concur. The Oxford suggests the term warlock comes from warloke meaning to secure (a horse) as with a fetterlock. How this translates into a spellcaster, I have no idea.*

My Mashing Isn’t Very Up

I tend to use the standard definitions, although the Witches of Galdorheim series refers to male witches as warlocks. I see nothing pejorative about it. My apologies to any offended Wiccans.

* An excellent article "What is a Warlock?" gives an interesting take on warlocks
　

Werewolves: Yes, They ARE Hunky Guys

The most well-known werecritter is the werewolf. At this time in the cycle of what’s hot, what’s not, werewolves are getting great press via the Twilight books and movies by Stephenie Meyer.

I have to admit it. Werewolves can be totally sexy guys (gals) in human form. Meyer finally got one legendary being right. Well, she agrees with my concept, which I used before I read any of the Meyer saga. To tell the truth, I still haven’t read any of the books, because the first movie put such a bad taste in my mouth. OMG, Edward loves Bella because she SMELLS good?!?!? Gimme a break.

Anyway, I have a six-pack of werewolves in the first book of the Witches of Galdorheim series. Here’s a taste (ha ha, get it?) of my werewolf mashup.

From: Bad Spelling

Rune joined them. “Are we going to stand around here all day? Where’s that alternative transportation you told us about?”

Andy tore his gaze from Katya and scanned the slope. “There it is.”

Katya looked where Andy pointed and gasped. “What . . .?”

“Don’t worry. They won’t hurt us,” Andy said with a confidence Katya didn’t quite trust.

“But werewolves?” There was no mistaking them for regular wolves. Besides being twice the size of the largest of the wolves, the eyes gave them away. Even from a distance, Katya could see them gleaming with intelligence.

“Look behind them,” Andy said.

The big wolves loped along easily, and now Katya saw they were harnessed to a sled, bouncing along behind them. The speed with which they approached told her they would have no problem pulling a heavy load.

The wolves came up the slope and stopped in front of them. The lead werewolf looked at each of them with some interest. Katya felt like an item on a menu, like when they faced the polar bear.

The lead wolf said, “Good morning. Hmm. Humans, not trolls. Interesting.” The wolf looked over his shoulder at the others. “Remember, King Olaf hired us to deliver these people to where they want to go. You are not to eat them.” The other wolves nodded, but their long tongues hanging over gleaming, razor-sharp teeth was not a reassuring sight; their mouths dripped saliva in a most disconcerting manner.

The lead werewolf turned his pale yellow eyes back to Andy. “So, where are we going?”

Andy briefly explained what they wanted. The werewolf nodded and said, “If I understand correctly, we are looking for the Sami tribe. Do you realize they’re nomadic?”

“Sort of. All I know for certain is that they spend much of their time on the northern coast.” Andy glanced at Katya. “Anything else?” She shook her head.

The wolf stared at Andy for a moment, then said, “Well, come closer so I can smell you. The girl, too.”

Katya hung back. “Why do you want to–? Oh, I understand. You can find the Samis through our scent.”

“Very good, young lady,” the werewolf answered and sniffed at her outstretched hand. He licked it once, and Katya jerked her hand back. “Taste helps, too,” the werewolf answered, with a hint of humor in his gruff voice.

Two Gypsies Get Together

My good buddy, Lorrie Struiff, posted one of my stories on her website. The connection? Her book, "Gypsy Crystal" (Eternal Press) was just released on Kindle.

My story, "A Visit to Potter's Field," features an unusual gypsy fortune teller. This story appeared back in 2007 on Lorelei Signal and was included in the "A Time To...Volume 2," the second Lorelei Best of anthology.

I love the Lee Kuruganti illo (on this post) that accompanied the ezine release. Too bad it's off in the archival world and no longer available on-line. But that's okay. It just means I can loan out Gypsy Griselda to my friends.

Crackin' the Kraken

The Kraken is a fearsome beast. Yikes! Just look at that shot from Clash of the Titans (the remake). From Encyclopedia Mythica we learn that the Kraken isn’t a Greek myth at all. The good old Vikings claim the Kraken as their own.

In Norwegian sea folklore, the Kraken is an enormous sea monster which would sometimes attack ships and feed upon the sailors. It was supposed to be capable of dragging down the largest ships and when submerging could suck down a vessel by the whirlpool it created. It is part octopus and part crab, although others refer to it as a giant squid or cuttlefish.

To find something like the Kraken in Grecian myth, you have to look at Ceto the Sea Serpent. In the legend of Perseus, Andromeda is chained to a rock to be fed to a sea monster. Not the Kraken. A sea monster.

Okay, kids. Have we got it straight now? However, what do we care where any legend begins or ends. We mash up myth, legend, and folklore to our heart’s content.

My Mashup

I’ve got two here. I already talked about Ceto the Sea Serpent who helped Katya the hemi-witch in book 2 of my series, The Witches of Galdorheim (not yet published). Ceto is more likely the culprit intent on eating Andromeda. But in my book, she’s one of the good guys.

I use the Kraken by name in The Seven Adventures of Cadida. The story (Cadida and the Sea Beast - In Over Her Head) is the last in that book and has Cadida hooking up with a merboy, Dolph, who turns out to be the son of Poseidon. He was cast onto dry land by his evil uncle (who wants the throne, duh). Cadida, with the help of her genie and demon buddy, Poltrice, take the lost merboy back out to sea.

The little dhou they’re sailing is smashed to bits by a big, bad sea monster. Poor Dolph goes down with the ship and the others believe he’s lost. But, lo! He comes up out of the waves riding the Kraken like a bronco. Once the beast recognized him as Prince Dolph, he was as tame as a merboy’s pet could be.

So, watch your sea monsters! If you knowingly and with malice aforethought decide to mash your myths, then peace be with you. But if you know not from whence your myth has come, you’ll have some ‘splainin’ to do, Lucy.

Horsefeathers!

That archaic term means something is unbelievable, nonsense, hogwash, bull puckey.

What does that have to do with myth and legend? Flying horses, of courses. The remake of Clash of the Titans is coming soon to a theatre near you. In the trailer, Pegasus is a gorgeous black horse with ebony wings. Feathered wings. This has been the tried and true formula since Grecian myth. From the Encyclopedia Mythica:

Pegasus

In Greek mythology, Pegasus is the winged horse that was fathered by Poseidon* with Medusa. When her head was cut off by the Greek hero Perseus, the horse sprang forth from her pregnant body.
* Percy Jackson’s father does get around. A lot.

I’ve never been convinced that a winged horse would also have feathers. In Seven Adventures of Cadida, I introduce not one, but two! flying horses.

My Mashup

Cadida and the Sultan’s Horse - Horsing Around

Cadida finds a talking, flying, fire-breathing horse named Baakir hiding in her father’s stable. He’s trying to look casual, but Cadida notices that he’s whistling and hiding his head in the corner of the stall. Highly suspicious behavior. When Cadida approaches, an eagle flies through the stable at head height scaring the horses, including Baakir. He levitates a foot into the air and spits fire out of his mouth, setting the hay on fire.

Cadida rushes to the rescue and beats out the flames. She and Baakir have a little chat while he explains that he’s a cross-blood horse, mostly horse, but just a wee touch of dragon blood. This means he can fly (without wings) and breathe fire. However, he’s not very good at either talent. Cadida helps Baakir gain control over his magic.

Cadida and the Dragon Demon - Blood is Thicker

After Baakir has headed back to the Sultan’s Palace (where he lives), Cadida and her genie run across Azhi Dahaka, the dragon-demon which provided (unwillingly) the blood to make Baakir a flying fire-breather.

Trapped high atop a mountain, they watch while the dragon heads for the palace. From what he’d said before escaping from the caves (just stick with me here; I don’t want to give away every plot element), Cadida and Bascoda believe the dragon wants to harm their friend, Baakir.

They’ve got to get off that mountain fast. Bascoda gives wings to Cadida’s mare, Rosetta. But we all know that horses don’t have feathers, so Rosetta’s beautiful wings are covered with the same lovely hair as the rest of her body. The little mare takes to her new appliances immediately, carrying Cadida to the Sultan’s Palace to save Baakir.

There we have it. Two flying horses, but not a one with feathers.

NOTE: The illustrations are from "The Seven Adventures of Cadida" and are the copyright of Teri Santitoro, who illustrates as 7ARS.

Cryptozoology

Sasquatch, Big Foot, Fouke Monster, Yeti, Skunk Ape, Abominable Snowman, Fear Liath, Chiye-tanka, Quatchi (the name of the Sasquatch mascot for the 2010 Vancouver Olympics), etc, etc.

There’s hardly a more ubiquitous critter that’s never been scientifically proved to exist than the Sasquatch. I prefer that term or Big Foot since I live in the US Northwest, and he’s our monster.

I’ve toyed with the big guy in a couple of stories. Funny thing, I just keep seeing him as a bartender. The picture is by Holly Eddy and adorned my story in Lorelei Signal titled "Chilpequin 22 Miles." The story also appeared in "A Time To... Volume 1," the best of Lorelei Signal for 2006.

But the first time I gave Sas a job was way back in the 80s. This tale first appeared in Bewildering Stories in 2007. An audio version is attached. I’ve changed a few words, but it’s mostly the same.
　
FAIR’S FAIR

I lurched across Pioneer Square, hurt by the turned-away eyes. I wish they`d look at me. Go ahead and stare! After the car wreck and the flash fire, the doctors did their best to put me together, but even a pro can`t fix a thing if some of the parts are missing.

I dragged my body into a bar and pulled myself up on a barstool, making sure that the cash register blocked my view of the mirror. As usual, I sat with head bent, hat pulled down over my eyes.

"What’ll ya have, buddy?" the bartender’s rough voice rumbled.

I looked up, expecting the usual gasp of surprise or disgust, the eyes shifting left or right. I got neither. The bartender looked straight in my face, continuing to wipe the glass he held.
I was the one who gasped. He was over seven feet tall with one of the ugliest faces I’d ever seen, including my own. He was poorly shaved, the stubble continuing down his neck to disappear under his shirt.

"I said, what’ll ya have, buddy?" he repeated.

"Uh, scotch," I whispered. This was not a man, I thought. His nose was a snout; his canines long and pointed; his arms would have hung to his knees. He looked like those pictures, except for the shave and clothes, of course. My own appearance made me bold; people tolerate questions from those they pity.

"You look like one of those Bigfoot monsters," I ventured, made bold by my own visage. His chuckle was a guttural cough.

"So?" he said nonchalantly.

"So, how can you be here? Why haven’t the cops or the zoo come to get you?"

"You oughta know the answer to that, buddy," he grinned.

"What do you mean?"

"C’mon, you’re almost as ugly as me. It works great–right, buddy?"

I could see how it worked for him. When you’re as ugly as that, no one looks at you. He`d have no problem hiding out in the city.

"But, why?" I wanted to know.

"We–yes, there’s lots of us–did okay in the woods until all those science guys and hunters started comin’ after us. We want to be left alone, so we went where no one would think to look for us."

Dollar signs danced before my eyes. "What if I turned you in?"

"Now, you wouldn’t do that, buddy." His confident gaze met mine.

I decided quickly, and answered – "Right . . . fair’s fair."

Gypsy Crystal by Lorrie Unites-Struiff

I know this is a damned good ebook since I worked my butt off critting for Lorrie. I'm so proud of her, I could just spit.

Check out Gypsy Crystal at Eternal Press.

Isn't that a cool cover?

Ahem, settling down and writing a review now.

Rita is a cop. However, she's also of Romany blood and has a crystal that helps her find the bad guys. Using it, she can see the face of the last person the corpse saw before death. This works pretty well until, the last face isn't right. Rita thinks that her crystal's not working right, so she consults mom.

Problem is, the crystal is working fine, but the killer is...not so easy to find.

From that beginning, Gypsy Crystal takes you on a wild ride from the modern world into a dark family secret. A major hunk, Matt, shows up to work the case. Rita is attracted, but tries to keep her distance. However, Matt knows things about the serial killer stalking the streets that Rita does not know. Together, they must find a horrible beast from the past who's killing prostitutes, but only because the taking is easy and the beast needs blood.

Ms. Unites-Struiff carries the story into the realm of the supernatural, along with some hot scenes between Rita and Matt, to take the reader along on a wild, supernatural ride. Great read.

Ceto nee Nessie

Ceto the Sea Serpent

In my as yet to be published series about a teen witch who can't spell worth a damn, our erstwhile heroine gets a little help from an unusual source. Did you ever wonder why there are so few sightings of the Loch Ness monster? Well, Nessie vacations on Ultima Thule, which may be the remnants of Atlantis.

She's not fond of the name Nessie or Loch Ness Monster and prefers to go by Ceto. From http://encyclopedia.thefreedictionary.com/Ceto :

In Greek mythology, Ceto or Keto (Greek: English translation: "sea monster") was a hideous aquatic monster, a daughter of Gaia and Pontus. The asteroid (65489) Ceto was named after her, and its satellite (65489) Ceto I Phorcys after her husband. She was the personification of the dangers of the sea, unknown terrors and bizarre creatures. Eventually, the word "ceto" became simple shorthand for any sea monster. The term cetacean represents a case in point. Her husband was Phorcys and they had many children, collectively known as the Phorcydes or Phorcydides. In Greek art, Ceto was drawn as a serpentine fish. Ceto also gave name to the constellation Cetus.

My Mashup

Ceto and Nessie become one. She's not a bad, um, person, but much misunderstood. She finds my heroine adrift in the northern seas sitting on a block of ice. Oh, yeah, the block contains the body of her father. Ceto finds this all fascinating and helps my heroine dock the ice block at Ultima Thule and find a messenger to send for help from the Witches' Island of Galdorheim in the Barents Sea.

Amphitrite - Poseidon's Wife

Poor old Amphitrite doesn't get much press as the wife of Poseidon. She's not even mentioned in Rick Riordan's Percy Jackson series. If she was, I missed it. In the Seven Adventures of Cadida, Amphitrite appears, but she doesn't get a lot of page time.

Here's the Encyclopedia Mythica writeup:

Amphitrite

The queen of the sea, variously given as the daughter of Oceanus and Tethys or of Nereus and Doris. When the sea god Poseidon wanted her as his bride, she declined the honor and hid from him in the Atlantic Ocean. A dolphin not only located her, but also brought her back to him, and he married her. The dolphin was awarded a place in heaven. Their son is the fish-man Triton. Amphitrite was portrayed on Greek mphoras together with her consort, riding in a chariot pulled by sea creatures, or sitting on a sea creature, surrounded by Tritons. She is decorated with the attributes of a queen, her waving hair covered with a net, and sometimes with the pincers of a lobster attached to her temples.

The Romans referred to her as Salacia.

The name means something like "The third one who encircles (the sea).

The Mashup

In the "Seven Adventures of Cadida," Amphitrite shows up in "Cadida and the Sea Beast - In Over Her Head," when Dolph, the merhunk, must battle with his wicked uncle, Terrapin, in a dual to the death. Of course, Amphitrite wants her son to win, but she's not so big on the the obvious fact that Dolph is falling for Cadida. Amphitrite appears with a high-pitched voice (dolphin squeaks) and has a crown of crab claws.

This story shows Cadida helping out the merboy, Dolph, find his true meaning. Nasty old uncle, Terrapin, got a witch to toss Dolph out of the sea. He doesn't remember his background, but Cadida, Bascoda, and Poltrice (the pool demon) help him recover his memories and win his true place as Prince of the Sea.

The Three Stooges

I used lots of Persian mythology in Quest for the Simurgh. If you’d like to know more about the three boys and Faiza standing up to the gods and demons, you can get the Kindle version on Amazon for a paltry 99 cents.

As always, the Encyclopedia Mythica provides the source material.

The Three Stooges (Daevas) of demons in Quest are minions of Dev, the war god.

Aesma
Aesma is the demon of lust and anger, wrath and revenge. His wrath is mainly directed towards the cow (go figure). He is the personification of violence, a lover of conflict and war.

Buyasta
An ancient Persian demon of laziness who tries to prevent people from working.

Nanghaithya
An archfiend. Nanghaithya is the personification of discontentment.

My Mashup

Dev (the little devil) wants war to usher in Armageddon. Why? Because war is his thing and wiping out all humankind is on his to-do list.

To that end, he sends three daevas (demons, if you will) to turn Faiza’s companions on the quest to the dark side (sort of a Darth Vader thing).

Aesma appears to Parviz in the form of a bear with a serpent’s tail. Parviz was a slave and has a mile-wide chip on his shoulder. Aesma fuels that anger and convinces Parviz that the others are his enemies, not his friends. He’s told to wait for Dev to call him into battle. And, of course, keep his mouth shut about the little meeting.

He sends Buyasta in the form of a giant spider to Bahar, who has always dreamt of becoming a warrior. The demon takes advantage of that dream to make Bahar fall asleep (laziness) and dream of himself as a mighty fighter in a huge battle. The good part: Bahar is kicking major butt. The bad part: The butts he’s kicking are those of his best friends.

Nanghaithya has a little un-pep talk (he’s a voice-over character) with Harib claiming that his friends all laugh at him and only keep his company because his father is rich. The demon attempts to make Harib discontented with his relationship with the others. Harib, however, is having none of it. He’s the only of the three boys who stays true to Faiza.
　

Let the Gods into the Fray

"Quest for the Simurgh" is available at:

Print $7.95

Large Print $8.95

Kindle 99 cents

Quest borrows mostly from Persian mythology, but the gods pretty much match up to the Roman and Greek gods. Essentially, every civilization re-uses the same gods, but give them different names and their own special flavor.

The heros are often the mighty warrior types: Hercules, Gilgamesh, Samson. Since I’ve written this books for kids, my heros are teenagers, not at all like the legends, but might become legendary themselves. But they’re not in mythology, so you’ll just have to read my book to find out about them.

As usual, the "real" info is from the Encyclopedia Mythica.

Ahura Mazdah

In Persian belief, Ahura Mazdah ("Lord Wisdom") was the supreme god, he who created the heavens and the Earth, and another son of Zurvan. Atar, his son, battled Azhi Dahaka, the great dragon of the sky, and bound it in chains on a high mountain. The dragon was, however, destined to escape and destroy a third of mankind at the final reckoning, before it was slain. Ahura Mazdah was the god of prophetic revelation, and bore both Ahriman and Ormazd.

As leader of the Heavenly Host, the Amesha Spentas, he battles Ahriman and his followers to rid the world of evil, darkness and deceit. His symbol is the winged disc.

Anahita

The ancient Persian water goddess, fertility goddess, and patroness of women, as well as a goddess of war. Her name means "the immaculate one". She is portrayed as a virgin, dressed in a golden cloak, and wearing a diamond tiara (sometimes also carrying a water pitcher). The dove and the peacock are her sacred animals.

Anahita was very popular and is one of the forms of the 'Great Goddess' which appears in many ancient eastern religions (such as the Syrian/Phoenician goddess Anath). She is associated with rivers and lakes, as the waters of birth. Anahita is sometimes regarded as the consort of Mithra.

My Mashup

I use Ahura more or less as described in the mythology book. Because he was the leader of the Amesha Spentas (the good guys), I decided to portray him like Zeus or Thor, just another god amused at the foibles of humankind, but rarely steps into the action. He is also equated with Mithra, so I have him married to Anahita (see below). Ahura shows up in only one chapter ("Demons and Deities") and he chats with Anahita about the progress of the heros. He claims to have set up the whole situation (just like a man).

Notice that I liked Azhi Dahaka so much, I gave him a major role in "The Seven Adventures of Cadida." See Azhi's post here.

I made Anahita my main character’s supporter. She appears to Faiza hovering over a lake. She tells the girl that one or more of her companions (three boys, wouldn’t you know) will be seduced to the dark side by demons. In typical godly fashion, she can’t give Faiza a straight story; she only hints at what might happen.

Lesser Known Mythologies and Folklore 2

Returning to the Seven Adventures of Cadida:

Kazikli Bey

Most of you have heard of Vlad the Impaler, right? Count Dracul, the model for Dracula? Well, Kazikli Bey is the middle-eastern translation, something like "The Impaler Prince."

In the "Seven Adventures of Cadida," I thought that giving ol' Vlad a different face would be a nice twist. What if Vlad didn't really impale anybody? What if he was trying to gain peace between the rampaging warlords that messed up good ol' Romania? It's all in the PR. If he puts himself out as the baddest mother in the valley, wouldn't you think it a bad idea to cross him?

So, my gal Cadida tries to go off on a cruise ship and ends up in a slave market. Lucky for her, an ancient crone pretty much forces her to buy a pendant. It's Kismet! The Kazikli Bey happens to be in the market for slaves and, noticing that Cadida is wearing the locket stolen from his mother, he purchases her. He turns out to be a really nice guy. He's not thrilled he has to act the badass, but it's the only way he sees to bring his country together in peace.

The story is titled "Cadida and the Kazikli Bey - A Bottle of Djinn."

Read all the stories in The Seven Adventures of Cadida. Purchase at The Genre Mall or give me a shout out for a copy.

　
　

Review for "Quest for the Simurgh"

Clayton Bye reviews books for The Deepening. He just posted a nice review of my juvenile fantasy, "Quest for the Simurgh." Visit the review site for lots of good, thoughtful reviews by Clayton. You can also ask him to review your book!

Four teenagers discover their magic teacher, Wafa, has disappeared. The condition of his home suggests he didn’t leave willingly. On a table, his teaching book lies open at the section devoted to the mythical bird known as the Simurgh. Someone has chalked a large X across the open pages. Some of the youngsters think he has been kidnapped by mountain raiders. Others feel the X means they are to go in search of the Simurgh. All agree they must go after their mentor.

So begins a quest that takes the young adventurers from their small desert village into the mountains and, with the aid of a strange little man they encounter, right through one of the mountains into an enchanted land, a place full of natural beauty, life, mythical creatures, demons, gods and spirits.

Read the rest of the review at The Deepening.

Lesser Known Mythologies and Folklore

Do you ever get tired of the same old fairies (fey), dragons, norse gods, greek gods, roman gods?

I try to find stuff that's not completely shopworn. Yeah, I do use some of the good old standards, but I also try to bend and twist them a bit. Other writers more famous than me do the same. Otherwise, nothing would ever be fresh and new. Sometimes I disagree with certain re-interpretations, but I appreciate that they're trying to change it up.

I thought I'd post some tidbits of mythologies that I've used in my books.

The Seven Adventures of Cadida

Throughout the seven (that's a magic number, you know) tales, I've tossed together a mixed salad of middle-eastern mythologies and just some plain old nonsense. However, things I have appropriated from the real mythologies include:

Azhi Dahaka

From Encyclopedia Mythica:

A storm demon from Iranian mythology. He steals cattle and brings harm to humans. It is a snake-like monster with three heads and six eyes who also personifies the Babylonian oppression of Iran. The monster will be captured by the warrior god Thraetaona and placed on the mountain top Dermawend. In a final revival of evil, it will escape its prison, but at the end of time (fraso-kereti) it will die in the river of fire Ayohsust.

My Mashup:

The Great Vizier (now entombed, waiting for something interesting to happen) had used Azhi Dahaka's blood to create a flying, fire-breathing horse. Excellent for combat, I'd imagine. Unfortunately, the Franken-Horse could only levitate a few inches and puff a wimpy flame when startled. However, Azhi escapes his imprisonment (see above) and knows this horse named Baakir is his umpteen times grandson and wants to find him.

Our erstwhile heroine, Cadida, tries to protect Baakir from the dragon only to learn that Azhi just wants a family reunion.

Azhi is mentioned in "Cadida and the Sultan's Horse - Horsing Around" and "Cadida and the Dragon Demon - Blood is Thicker."

More to come:

The Kazikli Bey

Bascoda the Djinn

The Kraken

Poseidon

Amphitrite

Merfolk

Read all the stories in The Seven Adventures of Cadida. Purchase at The Genre Mall or give me a shout out for a copy.

Karen Newman - Mistress of the Dark

An update: Karen's poetry book, "Toward Absolute Zero," has been nominated for a Stoker award. Congratulations to Karen and all other nominees. I thought it a good time to re-run my interview with Karen.

Today, we're talking with Karen L. Newman: poet, editor, evil mind. Karen has the perfect combination of talents to succeed in the strange and dark world of horror poetry. She has authored two poetry collections, Eeku and ChemICKals, in addition to over 150 of her poems and short stories have been published, both online or in print in places such as Dreams and Nightmares, Star*Line, Cthulhu Sex, Aoife's Kiss, and The Sword Review. She won the 2005 Mary Jane Barnes Award, been nominated for a Dwarf Star, and received two honorable mentions in The Year's Best Fantasy and Horror.

ChemICKals is available from Naked Snake Press.
EEKU is available from The Genre Mall.

Find Karen at MySpace and her website.

Karen is a busy lady. She's an editor at Sam's Dot Publishing for the poetry journal Illumen and Appalling Limericks. She's also an editor for Afterburn SF.

Marva: Thanks for dropping by, Karen. How is a nice girl like you involved in all this dark stuff?

Karen: I always liked horror movies as a child because of the wide range of emotions that were brought out. I feel "dark stuff" is easier to work with because of these emotional responses it evokes.

Marva: Your new collection, ChemICKals, is based on actual chemicals, with poems for several of the common household products, metals, gases, and drugs. Here's an example for the readers:

Oxygen

As emphysema ate her lungs,
Faye chain-smoked
while being
constantly connected
to an oxygen tank.

Thin and bedridden,
she huffed and puffed
until she lit herself up,
forming a human cigarette
that left a long cylindrical ash,
as the flaming tank
torpedoed the house.

Yup, that's not exactly romantic poetry. Tell us a little more about ChemICKals. What sparked (haha) the idea for the collection?

Karen: I have an MS in chemistry and I used my chemical knowledge to write the collection.

Marva: Well, that explains it. Going back in time, when did you start writing poetry and, more specifically, the dark poems and stories?

Karen: I wrote my first poem as a senior high school English assignment for entry in a local poetry contest. I won honorable mention for a poem entitled "The Prisoner", about a man awaiting execution. I wrote some poetry in college, but never tried to publish them. I quit writing until late 2003. My first sale was the poem "Atomic Mistress" in Scared Naked Magazine in March 2004.

Marva: I included some of your biographical information at the top of this post. Is there anything else you'd like to add? Home, family, pets?

Karen: I live in Kentucky and have two cats, Fluffy Buddy, a 14-year-old girl, and Tri-Paw, an 11-year-old boy with three legs. I write and edit full time. I started, sponsor, and judge the Speculative Poem Award for the Kentucky State Poetry Society Contest.

Marva: Here's the spot where I leave it entirely up to the interviewee to say anything you want to my blogreaders. 500 words or less. Go for it.

Karen: My current projects include a third poetry collection, Toward Absolute Zero, which contains over forty dark mainstream poems. I’m looking for a publisher for that. I’m working on a horror/science fiction novel, tentatively titled No More Lawn Mowers and set mostly in Kentucky. My short story "Red Leather Jeans" will appear in the next issue of Cthulhu Sex Magazine and I have poetry upcoming in Star*Line, The Written Word, and Beyond Centauri. On the editorial front, the next issue of Afterburn SF will go live around July 14 and contain eight action-packed science fiction, fantasy, and horror stories. I’m currently reading for the September issue. Please stop by. There are four great stories in the current issue and many others archived. I’m also reading for the spring 2008 issue of Illumen. Visit Sam’s Dot at http://www.samsdotpublishing.com/ for guidelines and to read and order their other fantastic magazines. Thanks for the interview, Marva, and to everyone for reading it.

Marva: Thanks for stopping by, Karen. See you on the dark side.

Caren Johnson Agency Pitch Contest

I certainly admire the moxie of Caren and Elana (Roth) to read through a few hundred pitch paragraphs.

Given the rush to read a paragraph, get an impression, then write a comment, I won't blame the agent for mistaking my genre. That's the fault of my pitch. She said it was "traditional fantasy." Seems to me that traditional fantasy pretty much has to be set in a fantasy world, usually of the medieval variety, and that magic is prevalent.

Wrong, wrong, and wrong.

My setting is the real earth, which I think my mentioning the Arctic and Siberia more or less implies.

Yes, I have a witch, but the world is not filled with magical creatures; just the odd insane Shaman, and a few others not mentioned in the pitch at all.

My timeframe is modern. Alas, I really should have mentioned some of the items that show that this book is more an urban fantasy (but not set in urban environments).

So, watch your pitch. Be overly basic and they probably won't get what your book is about.

Traditional fantasy? I'll take the blame by not saying "Contemporary MG/YA fantasy set in the real world" right at the top of the pitch. Maybe the misunderstanding wouldn't have occurred.

SPLAT by Lorrie Struiff

My good friend and critting partner, Lorrie Struiff has a newly-annointed website. To tempt you to go visit Lorrie, you can first read her story, "SPLAT." Guaranteed to give you multiple chuckles. Remember the name. You'll see more of Lorrie's work for sure.

SPLAT was originally published in The Cynic zine, then went on to be chosen to be reprinted in their “Best Of” edition.

Read the rest of SPLAT here.

"Winnie, skydiving with me is the best twentieth anniversary gift a wonderful wife like you could ever give me," Stan said. He gave me a quick hug before we climbed into the flimsy plane.

My instructor–of five hours had given me the final go-ahead to jump in tandem with my hubby who had already earned his two-star rating.

"Perfect togetherness," Stan called it. A few other names for this insane togetherness crossed my mind, but I refrained from voicing them. I wanted to prove I could be as adventurous as his other friends were, especially Barb, the gal piloting the plane. The one I referred to as 'the Barbie doll with a southern drawl.'

Our plane neared the jump point. The butterflies in my stomach morphed into crazed crickets. Untangling my hands from the wall webbing, I tethered my guide-wire and inched closer to Stan, nearer to the open bay door. I swallowed hard and my ears popped like two giant corn kernels in a microwave. The icy wind smacked my face and froze in my lungs.

The ground, way, way, down there, looked like a patchwork of small lumpy quilt squares. I trembled out of sync with the vibrating deck. My breakfast pushed up into the back of my throat, and I needed to pee.

Lorrie does have a way with comedy.

KIDLIT CONTEST

Check out the KidLit blog about the 500 word contest going on now.

Send in 500 words of your completed MG/YA manuscript for a chance to win a 15-page crit or other wonderful prizes.

How I Got My Agent 15

Contributed by Bodwen:

Dear Agent:

I'm not sure if you remember me, but my name is Margaret Mitchell. Last August I sent you my historical novel entitled GONE WITH THE WIND. You rejected it on the basis that my protagonist was too unsympathetic, the title was too vague, and the book was too politically incorrect and lacked sensational detail and commercial appeal. I just wanted you to know that I have taken your suggestions to heart and have completely rewritten the draft and my query letter. Below is my new letter for your consideration:

***
In my 40,000 word novel "A CONFEDERATE GENTLEMAN VAMPIRE." 17 year old SCARLETTE is a bit of a misfit. She is too pretty, too outspoken, and her rich family thinks it is wrong to own slaves. But trouble starts when superhot bad-boy vampire RHETT rides into town and falls head over heels for her. He gives up blood-drinking to win her heart, but she barely notices because she's got a crush on her best friend's boyfriend, ASHLEY. And then the war breaks out, and sadistic GENERAL SHERMAN goes around with his evil troops violating women and hacking the genitals off the men. When Sherman develops the hots for Scarlette's innocent little sister SUELLEN, Scarlette visits Rhett in jail and offers her neck, asking him to turn her into a vampire so that she can use her supernatural strength to protect the cherished little sister she loves.***I know how you said that the book drags in the middle, so the story ends shortly after this. Rhett refuses to bite her, instead declaring his undying love. Scarlette realizes that she loves him too, so they share many tender love scenes before Rhett returns with her to the plantation to unleash his vampiric fury on Sherman's men. The book ends with a big wedding in a cemetery. I fake out the reader into thinking it is Scarlette and Rhett getting married, but it's actually Suellen and her shy boyfriend, Mr. Kennedy. If you like this one, I've already started work on the sequel "V IS FOR VAMPIRE-LOVER."

***
The war is over and Sherman returns to Georgia as a sadistic and relentless vampirehunter. When Scarlette refuses to tell him where her lover Rhett is hiding, Sherman makes her wear a scarlet V on her bodice. Little does anyone know, but Scarlette's ex-boyfriends, THE TARLINGTON TWINS have been turned into perverted evil zombies determined to make Scarlette into their unwilling slave. Will Rhett risk the wrath of Sherman to pass his vampiric curse onto Scarlette to keep her safe from their fetid touch?
***

How I Got My Agent 13

How I Got the Best Agent Ever
by Charles Dowd, http://charleswdowdy.com
(posted on Nathan Bransford's Forum as an entry to the Guest Blogger contest)

I just got off the phone with my new literary agent! I am beyond excited and I want to share this story with other writers!

This woman has blasted my head into the clouds. She said my writing was unique and visionary. She said it was full of wit, and delivered in a somewhat manic style.

Perhaps that’s where the conversation took a turn that left me a little pensive. She asked some of those personal questions that all writers dread. How are you supposed to answer them? Too much information and you might bore her to death. Too little and you might seem like you’re trying to hide something.

So I ‘fessed up. I can be a little manic sometimes. The doctors call it maniacal or clinical something or the other. Whatever.

Then she asked if I had any personal problems she needed to know about. Me? I’m boring 101. You know, there was that little dustup with the IRS, but who hasn’t had problems with them? In fact, outstanding IRS liens tend to make someone more normal in my eyes. Or normaler.

Whatever. Then there was that stalking conviction, but I later got married to my stalkee, and if that doesn’t say a lot about my resolve then I don’t know what does. So, outside of that kind of thing, I’m just a regular Joe Regular. You know, a Joe Regular who likes to spend most of his time alone so he can make up stories in his head, and occasionally has loud conversations with the characters in his books, often when his mind is in neutral, like when he’s on the subway, or driving a church bus full of children or senior citizens.

And then I suddenly thought, how did this conversation with my dream literary agent end up in the third person? Or maybe I said that aloud? Whatever. But I was pretty sure I’d read something about keeping all phone conversations with prospective literary agents out of the third person.

So, then our non third person conversation turned toward her agency agreement and such. This was more comfortable conversational ground for me, except I was forced to admit that, as a temporary resident of the state of Illinois, I would not be able to enter into any kind of binding legal contract whatsoever for the next four to six years. But I had already put my bean to this issue before beginning the querying process, and had some options ready for her. I told her about my cousin, who’s into car detailing down in Miami. He’d already agreed to play me on book tours and do any television interviews. We don’t look very much alike, given that he’s from Africa and my side of the family hails from Norway, but surely some kind of plan could be hatched with the marketing folks when it came to the book jacket. You know, a picture with some serious facial hair, or lots of shadows, or something artsy like that.

As far as any book proceeds, or advances, or whatever, I think I earned BIG points when I told her she could just keep that money for the next four to six years. Talk about showing trust from day one. I told her I’d just come pick it up when we could arrange a mutually beneficial time, preferably late at night, and that I would rather it be delivered in small, non-sequential bills.

Whatever! I’m easy to work with. And that was one point I really hammered home. I am EASY. I accept editorial direction with the best of them. I’ve got like twenty three hours a day to write. So I have been producing reams and reams of material. And I can deliver it all electronically, you know, unless the warden is being a horse’s ass because some degenerate lifer started a riot in the shower. Turned out the poor, hopeless bastard had gotten smitten with some white collar mullet, and the rest of us were all screaming, “Stop wiggling, let it happen, let it happen,” but this tease of an accountant had to play hard to get and somehow things quickly escalated from a steamy shower room to bloody shanks, water cannons and tear gas.

While this wasn’t the kind of dazzling personal news I wanted to share with my new agent, she had to admit that you can’t buy that kind of writing material. How true that was, and I seized this time to inform her that after any sizable prison riot, getting material to write on is next to impossible, and would she mind accepting manuscripts handwritten in my own blood on the back of 64 oz soup can labels?

And I’m sure I’m reading WAY too much into this, but this was where she went kind of silent on me. You know, I’m sure she was just weighing it all before making that last second commitment to my literary superstardom. Probably just imagining which magic button she’d push that’ll rocket my name up there with the Browns, and Rowlings and Palins.

At least, that’s what I think was happening.

I don’t know, because at that unfortunate moment our call was cut off. It appeared I was out of time and change. Maybe I could have bummed another dollar and gotten the guys in line behind me to wait, but that shower room Lothario with the monstrous loofha was the next man up, and that was not the kind of grief I needed right then. Besides, I’m sure my new literary agent accepted my silence as acquiescence and vice versa. Great minds think alike and all that. She’s the best, right? I’ll probably be able to call her back next week and find out we already have an offer. Multiple offers. From the biggest houses. In fact, I’m sure we will. After all, she’s the best literary agent out there and we are now ONE.

Gosh, by next week, I guess the only question will be whether our relationship will have reached the point where I can call her collect.

Whatever. I’m easy.

How I Got My Agent 11

How I Got My Agent
by Sandy Schoen


My book had everything!! It had characters the audience already loved, because of the show, but I made them even better. The main character was so wonderful that all the audience, even the guys, couldn't help but identify with her, even though she wasn't part of the original show. Unwanted teen pregnancy, nuclear explosions, losing family, orphans, long-lost relatives coming out of hiding, aliens, angst, drama, humour. Everything was jam-packed into 100,000 words. Everything, that is, but a second half.


It sat on a fanfiction website for a few years. Every now and then someone emailed me, begging me to finish it. I always responded politely and said real life was interfering, but I hoped to get it finished soon. That's the polite thing to do.


Then I got a letter that was from a real agent. Us serious writers can tell. He found my story when he was desparate for something to read, and was so hooked he just had to know how it ended. Because this was a real agent, not some internet fanboy, I wrote him a nice long reply explaining how, now I was out on parole, I didn't have time to write. The parole officer insisted I go to work every day, and the welfare lady kept bugging me to feed the kids and clean the bathrooms. They won't even let me have internet at home after the last visit, so I had to go to the library to work.


Now I pack up the six kids and go to work every day in the agent's house. That keeps the welfare lady happy. He keeps telling me he's got an editor all lined up, but this one wants even more chapters than the last one. I might dump this agent, though. He got upset when I experimented with headers and put my name on the top of each page.


That's how I got my agent.

How I Got My Agent 10

by Jane Lebac

Read her blog at http://philangelus.wordpress.com/

How I got my agent was kind of cool. I had been struggling to play a really difficult piece on my violin for about an hour one Sunday night when I was stopped by a pounding on the door. I answered, violin in hand, to see my next-door neighbor, who introduced himself as a literary agent.

"I know," I said, because it's a really old apartment building and I'd been able to hear some of his phone conversations through the thin walls.

"Have you ever thought of writing a novel?" he said. "If you quit playing that thing and write one, I'll represent you."

I said, "I know a good thing when I hear one!" and the guy's mouth twitched as he looked at my violin, but I didn't ask what he meant.

Besides, I'd been about to give up hope that my plan would work. I'd already spent the past three years living next door to Janet Reid, Kristin Nelson and Rachelle Gardner, and all it had gotten me were a few calls to the police, angry messages on my answering machine and a picture of a violin smashed in pieces and repaired with duct tape pinned to my door with a six-inch stiletto heel.

How I Got My Agent 9

By Laura B. Diamond

See Laura's blog at: http://lbdiamond.wordpress.com/

We met five years ago, quite by accident. During an internet search, I came across a website detailing a group of “exclusive agents” who had completed their training and were ready to find their one and only client.

The way it worked was: My agent had signed up with a manager or “handler” who promised to develop a personalized publicity and marketing plan. Potential clients could review said profile on the handler’s website and contact her if they felt they would be a good fit.

Needless to say, the process was daunting. My agent had found such a conscientious handler that she did not allow immediate contact with her agents. That’s right. Before she even let potential clients meet with an agent, the manager required an initial contact request via e-mail to be sent to her. This was followed by a phone interview where she collected standard information for background checking. Then if, and only if, those two communications went well, she scheduled a face to face—and observed!—interview with one of her agents.

Lucky me, I passed the first two steps, no problem! The handler invited me for an interview and I accepted. So, I drove five hours to Extreme Eastern New York, USA and had my initial interview with my dream agent. Boy, was I nervous! I wondered if she’d like me, if we’d get along, and if we’d have the same “vision” for my work.

Well, as soon as my agent and I met, it was an obvious match. We had the same playful attitude, the same interests and hobbies, and we even liked the same TV shows! She completely loved my manuscript and supports me 100%.

We signed a contract on the spot. Five years later, I have no regrets.


Picture of Grace Anne Diamond of GAD Literary Services, LLC:

Quest for the Simurgh

Quest for the Simurgh

Just a reminder that Quest for the Simurgh is available on Amazon, Barnes & Nobel, and CreateSpace. I've also just formatted a Large Print edition of Quest, which will be out as soon as I order and approve my proof copy. I've been looking hard at the PDF, so I think it's pretty clean. Here are the current links.

Amazon Kindle 99 cents

Amazon Trade Paperback $5.99

Amazon Large Print Edition $8.99

Barnes & Noble Trade Paperback $7.15

Barnes & Noble Large Print Edition $8.95

Barnes & Noble ebook (for nook and other ebook formats) $1.99