Flora is in the spotlight at Digital Book Today

Flora gets the spotlight in a Guest Post at Digital Book Today.

Read this fun post about why I write fantasy, and leave a comment about why you love fantasy, too.

Or like it on Facebook. 

The Weekend Extract: Melia & Her Father

The Dragon Carnivale, the third book in The Queen of the Realm of Faerie series, reaches the Mortal World in 31 days. I'm very excited.

In the meantime, I'm posting excerpts from the first two books in the series, Nandana's Mark and The Flower of Isbelline. In this week's extract, Melia, a half-faerie who lives in the Realm of Faerie, travels to visit her father, a druid, in the Mortal World. Although they haven't seen each other in years, they've had some telepathic communications that have disturbed Melia. In this scene she prepares to confront him about his plans to incarnate Umbra, the psychic mass of mortal ash accumulating in the Void.

From Nandana's Mark, "Chapter 8: Achill Island"

Three days later, Melia stood before a small stone building. She raised her fist to knock on its door; her hand stilled midair. More than one shopkeeper in the village had told her she would find the Great Mortal Druid Elynus here. She dropped her fist and stepped back down the steps. Her body trembled.

Elynus’ simple stone abode stood like a solitary sentinel on the sweep of an elevated promontory—Achill Head, the shopkeeper had called it. A thin trail of grey smoke blew from the chimney, dissolving into the grey clouds overhead. Melia heard seagulls clacking in the bay to the south.

She paced in the short grass, staring at the three steps that led up to the cottage. The locals held her father in high esteem. Did she dare confront him? After all, he was a great druid. Who was she to question his work?

Melia felt weak and confused. She hadn’t realized, when she’d arrived on the beach, she’d have to roam the countryside to find her father. For some reason, she’d expected to arrive closer to where he lived. Maybe she should have swallowed her pride and asked Melusine to help her. But that was her hunger talking. Although it had taken a generous fisherman and a benevolent grocer to keep her from starving, and every single muscle in her legs and feet ached, she told herself she was fine.

She touched her hand to her forehead. She couldn’t feel Nandana’s mark, but knowing it was there gave her a sense of purpose. She saw things her father couldn’t bear to witness. Didn’t that mean some part of her was stronger than some part of him?

The wood door swung open. Melia faced a young lady in clean, but well-worn clothes. She carried a wicker basket on her hip. Their eyes met.

“He’s busy, he is,” the young lady said, closing the door behind her. “Best to come back later,” she whispered.

Melia tilted her head. “I can’t.”

“Suit yourself.” The young lady pushed by. “His mood’s dark; it’s all I'm sayin’.”

Melia watched the young lady retreat into the distance. When she was a black stick on the horizon, Melia raised her fist to the door. This time she knocked.

“Go away!”

She recognized her father’s voice. “It’s M...m...melia.” Her body trembled again.

The door swung open. Her father stood before her, a sour look on his face.

He backed away from the door. “You shouldn’t have come.”

Melia followed him inside. “I need to talk to you.”

They stood in a bright room, a massive desk overwhelmed its center. A fire popped and crackled in the hearth to the right; two large oil lamps provided additional light. Bookshelves lined three of the walls. A leather-bound book, an ink pot, several quill pens, and a stack of parchment covered the desk’s surface. A single shadowy doorway stood to the far left of the fireplace.

A stew of emotions simmered in Melia’s stomach. They bubbled up into her ribcage and made her throat feel hot. Over the past three days, wandering around Achill island, she’d wondered what it would be like to see her father for the first time in more than fifteen years. Although she’d never welcomed his intrusions in her mind, there had been a time she’d loved him deeply.

Any lingering affection scattered in his presence. He was as stiff as a fence post and made her feel about as welcome as a horsefly.

He pointed to a chair in front of his desk as he settled himself into a larger one behind it. He steepled his fingers, glared, and penetrated her mind.

Traveling to the Mortal World had strengthened Melia’s confidence.

She pushed him away, but not before she felt his resentment that she was freer than he was, banned as he was from the Enchanted World and Faerie. The look in his eyes told her he was surprised by the force with which she’d closed her mind.

His eyes took her in. “Perhaps Little Bird is not as small as she once was,” he mused.  “Yes, you’ve grown up. Into quite a lovely young lady, I daresay.”

His compliment caught Melia off guard. He opened one of the desk drawers and pulled out a bit of cloth. He handed it to her.

“You’ve got some dirt—” Elynus brushed his fingers between his eyebrows. “—there.”

Melia twisted the rag in her hand. “It’s not dirt. Nandana—”

“Say no more,” her father said. “I usually recognize the Illustrator’s work. It’s usually more—”

“Delicate,” Melia finished his sentence.

He smiled. “Yes, that’s the word I was looking for. But young people do like to have their own styles, don’t they? It’s quite unusual, gives you an exotic look. Does it serve some purpose? Awaken your third eye, perhaps?”

Melia didn’t know what he was talking about. Nandana hadn’t mentioned anything about her eyes, let alone a third one.

“Did you know Nandana’s Hindi?” her father asked.

“No,” Melia said.

“Her husband died; he was young. So was she. Her culture dictated a faithful wife go with him. They were going to burn her alive on his funeral pyre. She was frantic, then she found the way to the Realm of Faerie. I don’t think she’s ever come back to join us mortals. No reason she should. Illialei’s much safer for her these days.”

“She didn’t tell me,” Melia said.

Would Nandana have told her, if Melia had ever gone back to visit her? How many times had she wanted to return to the Illustrator’s shop and talked herself out of it? A pang of sadness settled in her chest. She’d have to fix that when she returned to Illialei.

Once again her father had turned the conversation away from himself. On the shores of the Nyssalei he’d talked about Queen Luisa, now he talked about Nandana. Melia shifted her gaze to the fire; its heat stifled. She recalled the horrible vision of the Illustrator dying with her grey cat beside her.

“You can’t incarnate Umbra. You must think about others beside yourself.” The clarity of her speech felt like a small—yet important—victory.

Her father’s eyes hardened, but he said nothing. His silence unnerved Melia more than any outrage she’d anticipated. Although her heart raced, she was determined to match his quiet. In those still moments, Melia recognized her father’s strength within her. She’d always dwelled on her faerie-blood, the gifts it had bestowed and denied. Not once had she considered what traits might have come to her by way of her father’s blood. By matching his resolve that afternoon, it became clear strength of will was one of them.
Continue reading this weekend's extract here.

Eating Magic: My Soul Needs to Eat

I'm reading What Dreams May Come by Richard Matheson. You must understand I saw the movie starring Robin Williams and Annabella Sciorra fifteen years ago on the cusp of my own recovery from a suicide in my family. I couldn't explain sitting in the theater what each moment of this movie meant to me. EVERYTHING. It was truth and hope and promise and validation. It was F*@King Fantastic

Fast forward fifteen years and I pick up the book because it's on sale on my kindle. The reviews say it's better than the movie. For me that's quite a promise. But I'm finding it a very cerebral read. So far. I must say I'm a bit surprised. Okay, disappointed. The ideas are good, but the emotional context feels flat. I actually find myself thinking: The Celestine Prophecy. Ugh.

But the movie exploded with color. Emotion was in your face. Jumping from the screen. Sitting in the seat beside you. Trying to sit on top of you. Book and film are two very different media. I think Richard Matheson came up with an incredible story. And I think Vincent Ward and the cast and crew of the movie brought it to life.

Maybe I'll feel differently when I finish the book.
Maybe I won't.
But I will never forget how watching the movie What Dreams May Come was part of my re-entry into a world that I felt very ambivalent about re-entering for a very long time.

I read. I write. I watch movies and t.v. shows. I listen to music.
To feed my inner life.
Because in the end, all we have is what we imagine and my soul needs to eat.

If you enjoy Eating Magic, try The Queen of the Realm of Faerie. The first book, Nandana's Mark, is free.

The Weekend Extract: Ryder

Only 38 more days until the third book in The Queen of the Realm of Faerie series, The Dragon Carnivale reaches the Mortal World. I'm having such a hard time waiting!

Tapping my laptop, jiggling my foot. What about some Weekend Extracts to pass the time?

Sounds like a great idea to me. Over the next six weekends I'll post two extracts from Nandana's Mark, two from The Flower of Isbelline and…drum roll, please…the last two weekends I'll post two from The Dragon Carnivale. Awesome.

Here we meet Ryder. He's going to make a big decision. One that's going to change the course of his life. F-O-R-E-V-E-R. No, he hasn't met Melia, yet, but he's going to follow his heart wherever it takes him! Gotta love a guy like that!

From Nandana's Mark, "Chapter 5: The Renegade Priest From Idonne"

Ryder stared at the sword enshrined in the glass case. The blue shimmer of its blade lit the room. Named Koldis, a single ruby crowned its hilt.

It was well past midnight. The halls of the library—famous throughout the Enchanted World and the purpose of the Order of the Idonnai’s existence—stood silent.

The young priest’s ragged breathing filled the room.

The first time Anton had brought him here as a seven-year-old boy, Ryder had wanted the sword. When he’d asked if he could have it, his mentor had boxed his ears and said, ‘Idonnic priests do not fight.’

It had been the first and last time he’d kicked Anton in the shin. His pious mentor hadn’t administered the whipping that had left three thin white lines across his back, but he’d watched until the young boy had stopped calling out for Garrick.

Ryder had been abandoned at the priesthood’s gates as an infant. Garrick, the baker who supplied the order with loaves of bread every morning before the sun rose, had been the one to find him. In the emotionally remote world of the priesthood, Garrick, and his wife, Shilda, were Ryder’s only source of affection.

Now, Anton was the head of the order. He’d never forbidden his protege’s visits to Garrick and Shilda’s home, but he’d made it clear he didn’t approve of Ryder’s fondness for them. He’d also contracted with another baker for his services, as soon as it had been in his power to do so.

Ryder tightened his grip around the large rock in his hand. He’d scoured Idonne’s rocky seashore for months searching for the perfect stone. The first rock he’d brought back to his austere quarters had had a single sharp plane. He’d traded it out with four more before he’d settled on the one he held tonight. One of the rock’s edges sharpened into a jagged point. For weeks, night after night, lying awake on his pallet, he’d practiced shifting it into the right position. He didn’t need to look down now to know the stone’s point was centered.

Garrick and Shilda would be disappointed with his decision to become a common thief. As far as he could see, that was the only flaw in his plan. But there was no way around it.

For twelve long years, Ryder, now nineteen, had been trained in the rigors of Idonnic research and documentation. Despite his lack of passion for the work, he had a talent. As Anton’s favorite, he’d been assigned to a closely guarded branch of Idonnic knowledge: The study of Umbra.

He'd read and reread every scrap of information the priests had collected about the mass of psychic ash accumulating in the Void. A product of mortal impotence, frustration, and failure, Umbra had formed a discrete identity and become self-aware over the eons. He intended to enter the realm of the material plane. He had discovered a means to do so. He meant to destroy the Whole.

The priesthood was wrong to do nothing, and the Oath of Non-Interference Anton had tricked Ryder into taking a year ago—to the day—choked him. Vowing to chronicle and observe, never to act, violated every fiber of his being.

There was also the ill-defined thing the young priest could not name that called him. It radiated from deep within his heart, and of late, it left him sleepless most nights. As the summons grew more insistent, the need to leave Idonne dominated his thoughts. But he couldn’t leave without the sword.

He understood the consequences. If he took one step closer to the case, if he raised his left arm to shatter the glass with the rock, if he took the sword and fled Idonne, he’d be a fugitive throughout the Enchanted World for the rest of his life.

He looked around the room. There were no guards, no spells of enchanted protection. Only the library’s labyrinth of marble halls hid Koldis from the rest of the Enchanted World. The sword wasn’t safe. Rumors had already reached his ears. Sorcerers and witches from Kyrakkos sought the blade and its counterpart, the bejeweled basin Ormrun.

The magical sword and basin opened a portal in the veils between the worlds. Plunged into Ormrun, Koldis became the key to unlock the ancient door. Umbra could leave the Void and travel through the Parallel of Shadows. He could incarnate his consciousness into a vessel of his choosing.

Last week a war captain from Huros had dined with Anton. He’d asked about Koldis. His tone had been casual, but Ryder was convinced the pretense for the visit had been a charade. The captain sought the sword.

He raised his left arm. No one who wanted Umbra’s power for themselves was going to get it.

He would sail to Faerie with Koldis.

Although there had been no sightings of Ormrun in more than a hundred years, there was no evidence the bowl had ever left the Realm of Faerie’s shores. The dwarves, Haff and Gweff, had forged the sword and the basin in the bowels of the Ruadain Mountains for the water elemental, Isolt. But Umbra had appropriated the basin’s power.

Ryder believed he could find Ormrun and take it, with Koldis, to the Grey Council on the Isle of Minnanon. The grey faeries who sat on the council were the only creatures in the Whole immune to the siren call of Umbra’s power. They were the ones to safeguard the sword and the basin.

Yes, his heart said, sailing to Faerie is the right thing to do.

He brought his arm down with all the force he could summon.

Continue reading this weekend's extract here.