tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41830274979482127552023-12-19T20:16:02.387-08:00Shawna ThomasShawna Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12476399575493212858noreply@blogger.comBlogger165125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4183027497948212755.post-9402307011783916692014-08-22T10:25:00.001-07:002014-08-22T10:25:27.694-07:00UpdateIt's been quite awhile since I last posted a blog...<br />
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I've been doing quite a bit of editing, not so much writing. Remember the baby that does not sleep? Well, she's now the toddler who takes the occasional nap. ; ) To feed her curiosity and innate desire to learn, I started teaching her pre-preschool. She already knew how to count to 18 so I'm teaching her number values. She knows the alphabet so I'm teaching her letter sounds, but mostly we're having fun with books, sensory boxes and tons of hands-on activities.<br />
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My husband is done with college... well, until he decides he needs his Masters. ; ) So yay! That means my evenings may be freed up to do some writing!<br />
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So life has been busy, full and good.<br />
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I don't think its a secret that I'm a Christian, a bible-believing, born-again Christian, at least not to my closer friends. I don't mention it much because this is a writing blog, but my beliefs, as anyone's do, permeate everything I do.<br />
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Because I am a writer, and I miss writing, and my life is full of mommy-type things lately, I decided to start a more personal blog. I'm hoping that means this one will be revitalized too.<br />
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Here's to wishful thinking. ; )<br />
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But at any rate, if you'd like to check out my Shawna Guzman blog, <a href="http://shawnaguzman7and1.blogspot.com/">here it is.</a><br />
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It's rather plain right now... mostly because I had a two year old asking for blueberries, and then Paw Patrol, and a few minutes later a popsicle as I was attempting to write it. <br />
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I hope you are all doing well! I miss the writing community! : )Shawna Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12476399575493212858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4183027497948212755.post-5308050211680029182014-03-10T19:55:00.000-07:002014-03-10T22:53:28.598-07:00My Writing Process -- Blog Tour!<blockquote id="yui_3_7_2_1_1394505083265_5949" style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13px; line-height: 15.859999656677246px; margin: 0px 0px 0px 4px;" type="cite">
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My Writing
Process -- Blog Tour!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Step one:
Acknowledgements: Thank you to Jody Wallace and Meankitty (Meankitty has her
paws in everything... and no, not saying that's a bad thing.) who tagged me and
then was so gracious when I dropped that ball flat on the ground.
http://blog.jodywallace.com/2014/03/my-writing-process-blog-tour.html T<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Step two:
Answer the 4 questions below about your writing process.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">1) What am I
working on? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Honestly,
not much. I have a very active almost-year-old who does not sleep. A 20 minute
nap does not constitute sleep. Trust me. It's just long enough to grab a cup of
coffee, sit, open the WIP, read where I left off, get started... and then bang
my head into the keyboard when I hear "mommy" So a better question is
what would I like to be working on. The answer to that is an awesome paranormal
story involving a Native American heroine and native lore. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">2) How does
my work differ from others of its genre? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Well, I
wrote it, duh! Seriously? The currently wannabe story involves real-life
situations and well, a lot of cool paranomal bad guys based on native legends. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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write what I do? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I guess I
write what I like to read. I like bad guys who you almost want to root for.
Almost. Heroes and heroines who are far from perfect and plots that make sense.
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">4) How does
your writing process work? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It's not
working. See question one. Ideally, I have an idea. I think about it, toss it
in the air, catch it, see what floats, what doesn't. The characters almost
always come first. Then I ask questions. Why is he/she there? What does he/she
want? What if. The ideal time for this is when I'm half asleep or in the
shower. Go figure. Then I just go. No huge outline, no index cards. Just me and
quiet... which I am sorely lacking at the moment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Step Three:
Okay, now I need to tell you who else to go see. Jody, of course, who is a
multi-published and talented author who lives in Tennessee with her husband, two kids and two
cats. She is a terrible packrat and likes to amass vintage clothing, books,
Asian-inspired kitchenware, gnomes, and other items that threaten to force her
family out of the house. She also likes cats. A lot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Next week
you need to....<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">1. Go see
Veronica Scott, she of the ancient Egyptian romances and the science fiction
romances! Her bio: "Best Selling author and “SciFi Encounters” columnist
for the USA Today Happily Ever After blog, Veronica Scott grew up in a house
with a library as its heart. Dad loved science fiction, Mom loved ancient
history and Veronica thought there needed to be more romance in everything."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">2. Go see
Petra Grayson, an avid reader buddy I've made on Twitter who may soon dive into
the writing side of publishing. Her bio: "Petra Grayson reads romance
novels and writes reviews whenever life allows it. She’s very spoiled in her
house full of men and keeps busy working out, volunteering, and trying to
remember what life was like as an engineer. She tries to write stories when
things are quiet but so far they contain too much sex and not enough talk. Find
her on Twitter at: https://twitter.com/LietoFine7 or check out her
bloghttp://theoryoflietofine.blogspot.com."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">3. Go see
Jeanne Hardt, who writes historical romance and is the president-to-be of my
local RWA chapter. Her bio: "Jeanne Hardt first thought she would be a
famous singer until she dreamed that a college professor challenged her to
write a romance set in turbulent times. When she woke up...she did! Four books
and a couple years later, her dream professor is still inspiring her to pursue
publishing."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">4. Go see DT
Dyllin, who writes paranormal romance and loves dogs. Her bio: "D.T.
Dyllin is a Bestselling Romance Author who writes in both New Adult and Adult
genres. She is a member of the RWA (Romance Writers of America) and also her
local chapter, the MCRW (Music City Romance Writers)."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Shawna Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12476399575493212858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4183027497948212755.post-3035323159297851762014-03-07T09:40:00.000-08:002014-03-07T09:40:26.674-08:00Today I'll be... Today I'll be over at <a href="http://www.angelahighland.com/2014/03/07/boosting-the-signal-journey-of-the-wanderer-by-shawna-thomas/">Angela's blog.</a> Or rather Bredych will be there. Have you ever met him? If not, you're in for a treat, or destruction... depending on his mood. I've been told he's in his most charming frame of mind.<br />
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Bredych is one of those characters that stays with you. A little know insight? Once when I was writing him, I had a moment of true fear thinking someone so cunning was in my brain. Shivers.<br />
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Today he's explaining why he's not a villain.<br />
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So take a chance, stop by and say hi.<br />
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By the way, this guy would play Bredych extremely well.<br />
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<br />Shawna Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12476399575493212858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4183027497948212755.post-25467493841727031572014-03-06T10:26:00.000-08:002014-03-06T10:26:00.070-08:00Spring I almost feel guilty sharing these pictures because I know a lot of the country is still knee-deep in winter, but it's been spring here for some time and now all the flowers are blooming! <br />
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My favorite blooming tree, our peach--which oddly enough has magenta flowers--isn't blooming yet. We pruned it pretty severely this winter so it's to be expected. This is the apricot.<br />
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These are grape hyacinths, taken five minutes before tiny toddler picked them all for me. ; )
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So what is happening where you live? Spring? Winter?<br />
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Don't forget, there's still time to <a href="http://authorshawnathomas.blogspot.com/2014/03/the-triune-stones-dominion.html">enter</a> a drawing for one of two gorgeous pendants!<br />
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Shawna Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12476399575493212858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4183027497948212755.post-34658525802100509132014-03-04T18:54:00.000-08:002014-03-04T18:54:00.512-08:00The Triune Stones: Dominion Dominion, or Crioch, is the stone held by Bredych.
Dominion is never describe in any of the books, but when Ilythra first “sees” Bredych, she describes him as the red man because of the stone.
The stone is not evil. Ilythra often describes it’s song as sounded tortured because Bredych uses it contrary to it’s intended purpose.
The keeper of Dominion can influence the world around him, influence the way things grow, the weather, but only in keeping with the natural order of things. Bredych controlled a pack of wolves in Journey of Dominion, but he couldn't make. Crioch's keeper can also fold the space between two places and step from one place to the next, but this takes a lot of energy.
We know how Ilythra came to hold a sacred Elder-born stone, but how did Bredych get his? Treachery, of course.
Ilythra gets some insight into the event as she’s walking the roads of Teann. (Edited from Journey of Dominion)<br />
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<b><b>He’d known what he was even then. The thought hit Ilythra full force. She blinked, gazing through eyes that were not hers. <i>I’m dreaming.</i> But this was unlike any dream she’d ever known. </b></b><br />
<b><b><br /></b></b>
<b><b>The path before her stretched into the distance, shadowed by trees and peppered with fern.
Third-person thoughts and emotions mingled in her mind. She was two people, herself and someone else. She fought vertigo and panic to quiet her thoughts, so the other’s could come through. A man. </b></b><br />
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<b><b>Flashes of clear images dissolved and reassembled into something new. Memory.
Slowly a story formed as images and impression coalesced. She felt the poverty, sorrow and lack in his early years. She lived the scorn and alienation of his childhood. And, as the will and fortitude of the man developed and strengthened, she reveled in his intelligence and success. His dramatic rise through the ranks had been merely a by-</b>product of being different from the others and destined for greatness. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>As he had every day for many years, while the others dined in the great hall, he’d set off on a path along the riverbank, shunning the crowded table or the halfhearted invitations to sup with inane nobles seeking handholds to boost their positions. The same nobles who spat at his mother while he clung to her skirts as she begged for a crust of bread.
In the fresh breeze that skimmed off the waters and cooled his skin, he marched along the raging river. He’d always thought better in motion. As his mind sharpened, he pondered his circumstance. Now others groveled at his feet; now he wielded authority. He’d learned power was the only thing worth pursuing. And despite all obstacles, he’d grabbed it—from groom to King’s Steward and one of the greatest alchemists in the land. Although few would know his name if they heard it. He didn’t seek popularity or favor from the nobles. He had no need of benefactors or the limelight. He wanted only one thing: more. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>A few seemingly random accidents and a well-timed rumor of treachery was all it took to clear his path.
He glanced toward the gate, where the head of his predecessor still swung in the light breeze, a warning to all others who would dare go against the lord of the castle. Miles Santon had gone to the gallows screaming his innocence, not that it mattered.
The man slowed his rapid pace and stared over the span of water, not quite seeing the glint of sun dance along the gentle waves. Miles and the others were weak. He was not. And now? Now he’d wait a few years. It was well known the king’s son drank far too much during the hunt. The scenario would be predictable. Ever the faithful servant, he’d accompany his prince. Once alone in the thick of the woods… The horse could easily be spooked. Accidents happened all the time. And just that easy, he’d be the king’s favorite, and with the king’s daughter of almost marriageable age… </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>The prospect didn’t fill him with any sense of satisfaction. Too easy. He turned back toward the castle, his mind already on the experiments in his laboratory. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>When two strangers materialized on the path before him, Ilythra blinked, missing the man’s reaction. She experienced a moment of self-doubt as their thoughts mixed. She felt his confusion as though it was her own. For a heartbeat, he feared he’d succumbed to the disease afflicting his father. But she knew the strangers weren’t an illusion and soon after, so did he. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b> Covered in grime and blood, the men tumbled onto the path as though thrown and lay in the dirt where they fell. As she watched, one of the men rose to his feet and looked around.
She saw the men with two sets of eyes, each perceiving differently. She was awed at their beauty. Even wounded and filthy, there was something majestic about the strangers. But she could also feel his greed and growing excitement. <i>He can taste their power. </i>Only then did she notice power swirl around the men, almost encompassing them in its tendrils. One bled heavily. <i>Bind his wounds! </i>Ilythra shaped the thought with urgency. <i>But no, I’m seeing something that already happened.</i> </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>The man rushed to the fallen men and spoke rapidly. One of them answered, but she couldn’t hear the words. As the man drew near, Ilythra recognized the power. She was seeing herself. No, that was only partially true. It was Ilydearta, but with another keeper. She fought a strange jealousy. Did the other man also carry a stone? She strained for a look. Then as Ilydearta’s keeper and her host picked up the wounded man, she felt it. Crioch. The wounded man was Crioch’s keeper. She hadn’t recognized its power. The melody was different, unrestrained, free. </b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioESR-N6c_muAeu7lWZ1kGoKFWjQ8NnR5SN0RU2nHAQfpXvlfHK5ICXSn19OiJtfQHeN5Cf-b4YY-PuyLSF5qHCDHLH3jXcNRXhD-ycq7HHgYeZAg4saTpmdv3f4k0Dj2FQu9NtX0aTEg/s1600/IMG_6706.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioESR-N6c_muAeu7lWZ1kGoKFWjQ8NnR5SN0RU2nHAQfpXvlfHK5ICXSn19OiJtfQHeN5Cf-b4YY-PuyLSF5qHCDHLH3jXcNRXhD-ycq7HHgYeZAg4saTpmdv3f4k0Dj2FQu9NtX0aTEg/s1600/IMG_6706.JPG" height="200" width="149" /></a><b><br /></b>
<b>The scene spun away and as it did, time seemed laid bare, stretched so she could see its path. The wounded man did not survive. She saw him holding Crioch out, his eyes begging. A hand, her hand, his hand reached out to take it, and she felt the certainty that even the gods were aware of her/his greatness and that the man before him was weak and unworthy of his power. He/she took the stone, felt it resonate through his body and promised the man he’d do everything he asked. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>And he had. And more.</b>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1QXaRGOK0irqzqdjOcyb8OAlg9InEVLU-MppJTKu5vV5DeZi48WhEWBij9tDHeeiLIbq7AuuXoFMVAbMdR5qe_wotDinULQGt1ZRtFdhyphenhyphenArIbqgq5OXWrM4DjFAZxus1SSCPu-IeM5A0/s1600/IMG_6705.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1QXaRGOK0irqzqdjOcyb8OAlg9InEVLU-MppJTKu5vV5DeZi48WhEWBij9tDHeeiLIbq7AuuXoFMVAbMdR5qe_wotDinULQGt1ZRtFdhyphenhyphenArIbqgq5OXWrM4DjFAZxus1SSCPu-IeM5A0/s1600/IMG_6705.JPG" height="200" width="149" /></a></div>
In honor of Crioch, I am giving away these two pendants. Enter for a chance to win!<br />
<br />
<a class="rafl" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/7e1cc13/" id="rc-7e1cc13" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
<script src="//d12vno17mo87cx.cloudfront.net/embed/rafl/cptr.js"></script>Shawna Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12476399575493212858noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4183027497948212755.post-79990531180996234412014-03-03T16:33:00.000-08:002014-03-03T16:33:00.598-08:00Back to the Beginning: Part Three<div class="Center">
I thought it might be fun to revisit one of the early drafts of Journey of Awakening. This is the third and final part of Back to the Beginning. If you'd like to read part one and part two you'll find them here:</div>
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<a href="http://authorshawnathomas.blogspot.com/2014/02/back-to-beginning-part-one.html">Part One</a></div>
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<a href="http://authorshawnathomas.blogspot.com/2014/02/back-to-beginning-part-2.html">Part Two</a></div>
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<span style="line-height: 32px;">This chapter has always been special to me. It's one of the few I wrote from personal experience. It was hard to cut it, but it didn't go with the version my editor and I chose. But at least now you can read it. ; ) </span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">CHAPTER 3<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span class="ItalicsCharCharCharChar"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><i>One, two, three, four.</i></span></span>
Sarah counted stripes on the worn pastel carpet, sighed and stopped to eye a
print on the wall. Pointillism. The designer had probably meant well but
failed. Subdued hues and framed artwork could do little to calm anyone waiting
to know if a loved one would live or die and nothing could beat the absurdity
of standing in a hallway admiring a peaceful country scene while her
grandfather fought for his life yards away.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
Frustrated, she entered the ICU waiting room. Several people
looked up and Sarah realized they hoped and dreaded she was a doctor with news;
their faces a strange mix of expectation and relief. Then, as eyes met hers,
relief flooded into the uncanny identification of kinship. She was one of them.
A feeling of solidarity pervaded the small space where the community of
sufferers shared in a universal truth. Small children watched a cartoon on a
television suspended from the ceiling in one corner. Adults napped, lying
across several of the heavily padded chairs. An ice chest and sleeping bags
crowded other corner. Someone was in for the long haul.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
Unsure what to do, Sarah glanced around, her gaze stopping
at a little silver box on a nearby wall.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
“What room?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
Sarah turned to the brown eyes of a young woman, obviously
pregnant, who sat on the edge of a couch.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
“Excuse me?” Sarah said.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
“Do you know which room?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
“No, they just brought him in. The doctor told me to wait here.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
The woman nodded. “Then push either button. Tell them who
you want to see and don’t let them forget you’re here.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
Sarah smiled her thanks, stepped up to the box and pushed
the left button.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“Yes?” The voice was hollow, distant.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“I’m here to see William Kenneth.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“What room?” The woman sounded bored.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“I don’t know. They just brought him in.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“Just a minute.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The intercom went dead and then buzzed back to life moments
later.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
“They’re still working on him. The doctor will come out
when he’s finished.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Working? Finished? What the hell did that mean? As she
debated whether to find a seat or continue her pacing, the door opened. A
collective breath caught in the room.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
“William Kenneth, any family?” A young man dressed head to
toe in blue scrubs walked in.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“I am——” Sarah began then stepped forward. “I’m his
granddaughter.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
The man peered at her for a moment and lowered his voice to
a whisper “I’m Dr. Mosely.” He laid a hand on her shoulder and led her to an
empty section of the room. “Your grandfather has had a heart attack. He’s
stable now.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
“W——when can I——?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“Visiting hours are over.” Then his gaze softened, “but you
can see him for a moment.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The doctor led her back into the hallway then paused before
large double doors and pushed a steel circle on the wall.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Sarah walked into an alien world of hissing ventilators and
the aggressive smell of strong chemicals. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Darkened rooms contrasted sharply
with the bright hallways. Sarah kept her eyes averted from glass partitions
that seemed more like museum cases than hospital rooms. Printed curtains hung
from railings on the ceiling, offering the patients a measure of privacy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Before reaching the end of the corridor, the doctor paused
and indicated a room with a nod of his head. William lay on a bed, tubes
growing from his hospital gown. An IV dripped steadily as monitors beeped and
tiny lights flickered. His index finger glowed red. Sarah traced the line to a
machine. <span class="ItalicsChar"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Ninety-two
point nine.</span></i></span></span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The doctor glanced at a chart. “He’s stable. We’re running
tests now. We’ll know more in a few hours.” He looked up. “Don’t stay too
long.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
For several seconds she stood rooted to the spot, unable to
assimilate that the man on the bed was the grandfather she’d known all her
life. As if pulled inward by unseen forces, his body had shrunk almost beyond
recognition. Sarah’s eyes brimmed over. Until this moment, William’s mortality
hadn’t registered. He was her grandfather, the constant in her life; but now he
seemed so frail, so small. She fought panic. He couldn’t leave her; she
couldn’t face the world alone. Sarah rebelled against her selfish thought but
it fought back; she needed him; his voice, his presence, his strength.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
“Papa?” her voice seemed small against the machines’
persistence. “Papa, don’t you leave me.” She trailed a hand along the creases
of his face and leaned closer to lay her head on his shoulder.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
“Sarah?” The voice was little more than a whisper.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
She straightened, grasping a hand that had taken on the
appearance of a dragonfly’s wing, the skin translucent over veins and tendons. “I’m
right here, Papa.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
“You’ll go to Anatar?” His voice remained a whisper.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“Papa, I won’t leave you. I’ll look after you. I’ll get a
job and——”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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A thin smile touched William’s mouth. “Some things are out
of our control. I’ve accomplished what I set out to do. I’m satisfied. The next
task is yours alone.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
“You rest now; we’ll talk about this more when you’re
better.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“No darling....” His eyes flickered. “Now is the time to
decide. You wear the pendant. You can feel its power. Please, say you’ll take
it back.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
Heat bloomed through her chest as Ilydearta glowed, faint
light seeping through the thin fabric of her blouse. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
A cool breaker washed over
her troubled mind, leaving in its wake a soft narcotic calm and the blurred
image of pebbles whispering on a distant shore.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
“Yes, Papa, I’ll go to Anatar. I’ll take the stone. I’ll
finish what you began.” Sarah closed her eyes to ward away an involuntary
shiver. “But I don’t know how to get there.” <span class="ItalicsCharCharCharChar"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">This
is crazy.</span></span> “And——if I do, where do I leave it?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
The pressure of his hand increased. “No, Sarah, you can’t
leave it. You must find the other two stones. The three stones must be reunited
or Anatar will fall into darkness.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
Sarah fought to still a groan. <span class="ItalicsCharCharCharChar"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Darkness?
Like in a Tolkien novel? These things don’t happen!</span></i></span></span> She could
feel the insistent pressure of his hand and something else; his strength ebbing
away like tame rain sucked in by thirsty soil. She panicked, seeking to grasp
at reality in a world of beating lines, blinking lights and hisses. </div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
“But Papa.
I don’t even know how to get there. Do I have to go back to <st1:country-region w:st="on">Germany</st1:country-region>, find
the lake?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
Through a misting of tears, Sarah watched peace settle over
William’s features.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
“The sea, my love...the sea... is your mother.” He labored
a faltering breath. “The sky, Sarah.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
William smiled and closed his eyes. The trace in the
monitor peaked once and flattened into a straight line along the center of the
screen as the beep became a single note.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
Sarah gazed at her grandfather, his outline softening
through a blur of tears. “I love you the moon, Papa.” She kissed his forehead
and stepped out of the room passing the nurses who rushed to William’s bedside.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">CHAPTER 4<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
Sarah stepped into the darkened entry and deposited her
keys in the glass dish, the echoing sound unfamiliar. Until this moment, the
house had seemed to hold its breath waiting for William’s return, now it felt
sad, resigned to a permanent loss.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
As her silent footsteps glided over the wooden floors,
Sarah felt bitterness curdle in her throat. They had always made a game of
walking without noise and trying to sneak up on each other, whether it was in
the house, the beach or the woods. She now recognized it as part of her
training. Sarah’s hand reached to her chest and Ilydearta underneath her
blouse, its beat insistent, prodding, urging. She turned to the worn banister. Upstairs,
she paused before her grandfather’s open door.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
Few had attended William’s funeral: students who read his
obituary in the local paper, the man at the grocery store, a neighbor or two.
Sarah hadn’t cared. She watched as though witnessing a play. Nothing seemed
real.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 35.3pt;">
Her heart beat
with the voice in her head. <i><span class="ItalicsCharCharCharChar"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">He’s gone. He’s gone.</span></span>
</i>Now what? Get a job? The house was paid for but bank statements told her there
was little money left. Her grandfather had wanted her to go to a place called
Anatar; a place better left in a fairy tale. Did he expect her to know how to
get there? Well she didn’t. The analytic part of her brain told her the anger she
felt was part of the grief process. It didn’t help. Surely this was a dream;
she’d wake up soon and tell her grandfather about it while they shared breakfast.
She realized she was pacing up and down the hallway. Her steps echoed in the
enclosed space, a lonely hollow sound. How was she going to get through this?
One arm outstretched, Sarah leaned against the wall, her legs weak. Warmth
bloomed in her chest and for a moment, Ilydearta glowed incandescent. William
and all the love and security he represented receded into the misty background
of her mind and hovered there, an indistinct memory of something beautiful in
her life. She was filled with longing, a craving for something, but for what
she didn’t know. And then a blurred image played like a flickering old film
against her closed eyelids: pebbles whispering on a distant shore.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
The beach. That was it, the house was too small. <span class="ItalicsCharCharCharChar"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">I
need space... Air</span></i>.</span></span> Sarah walked down the stairs and through the
garden toward the ocean. The beach was her sanctuary, the place she would go
when she wanted to be alone. Mist swirled in her wake then slowed, gathering
and resettling to eddy at the feet of tall eucalyptus, their fragrance and
shape adding to her dreamlike feeling. She breathed in the pungent scent as a
breeze rose and a shiver ran through the leaves.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
Before long, she could hear the breakers grinding against
the shore where she’d spent many joyful afternoons, alone and with her
grandfather. The beach was isolated, well away from any tourist attraction and
now, well after sunset, it was deserted.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
The breeze made her skin feel alive. The soft hairs downing
her arms tingled as if charged with static. Sarah narrowed her eyes as the
recurring imagine of a pebbly beach filled her mind. <i>But not this beach</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
Removing her shoes, she walked to the foam crust left by
the last wave. <span class="ItalicsCharCharCharChar"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">The sea, my love...the sea... is your
mother.</span></i></span></span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
Cool sand sent shivers through her body. Sarah gazed up at
the night sky where thousands of stars throbbed in unison with the pendant
lying against her heart. <span class="ItalicsCharCharCharChar"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">The sky, Sarah</span></i>.</span></span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span>A seagull cried overhead. The salt-spray mixed with her
tears until it was as if the ocean cried with her.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
Sarah gazed across the inky depths. The waves fell in one
long splash, like a wall falling, a wall of dark stone capped in fluffy snow.
She regarded the dark water, felt her heart surge with the tide. <i>Come</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
One foot moved forward then another. Cold water eddied
around her calves as she took another step, freedom chasing away the last
remnants of fear. The pebbles in her mind’s shore tinkled like seashell wind
chimes as she stripped off her clothes. Ilydearta catching the starlight, Sarah
dove into the ocean.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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****</div>
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I hope you enjoyed this little peek into what might have been. Let me know if you have any questions about what would have happened next. ; ) </div>
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Shawna Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12476399575493212858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4183027497948212755.post-54997833910342498122014-02-28T04:00:00.000-08:002014-02-28T04:00:04.388-08:00Back to the Beginning: Part TwoI thought it might be fun to revisit one of the past incarnations of Journey of Awakening. In this version, Sarah lives in Seattle, Washington. You can find part one <a href="http://here./">here.</a><br />
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<div class="Center">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">CHAPTER 2<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="Chapterhead">
<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“Most tales have obscure beginnings and this one is no
exception, so I’ll begin with your parents.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“My parents?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“Yes. What do you remember about your mother?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“She sang me to sleep, told extraordinary stories and she
smelled... Mmm, I don’t know but it was wonderful. I can’t remember anything
else.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“No wonder, you were very young when she passed away.”
William placed his cup on the table. “Of course, you have no memories of your
father; he died before you were born but you would have liked him. As you know,
he was an archeologist.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">At Sarah’s nod, he continued. “He was digging in southern <st1:country-region w:st="on">Germany</st1:country-region> when he
wrote about a box he’d found with strange markings carved on its lid. Since I’m
an expert in ancient languages, he included a relief of the markings, lines of
signs, similar to runes but with patterns I’d never seen before, like hieroglyphs
or ideograms. I racked my brain, went up to the attic and dusted off books
forgotten since I attended university. I even posted a photograph of a few
symbols at a haunt frequented by buffs of obscure languages but with no results.
I was never able to decipher the symbols on that box. A few days later, I
received another letter; he was returning home for a brief sabbatical and
bringing his wife with him.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“You never told me my mother was German,” Sarah
interrupted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“No, and I never will, because she wasn’t.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">Questions radiated from his granddaughter but she remained
silent. He smiled, proud of her self-control.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“I picked them up at the airport. I’d never seen a woman as
beautiful as your mother. Beautiful and frail. I didn’t know it then, but her
fragility hid strength of character; a trait she passed to you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">William glanced to the fire; Sarah moved to push a log on
the dying flames.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“When they settled, Charles asked me about the lettering on
the box. I told him I was stumped. I recall how he ran his fingers through his
hair and then began pacing. He told me to sit down because he had one helluva
tale to tell. He said he had unearthed the box in an unexplored part of the
site, took it back to his tent, made the relief that he sent to me and then
opened it. Inside he found a pendant on a long silver chain. When he took it
out, the box crumbled into dust, but there wasn’t any sign of aging on the
necklace. He said it appeared as though it had been created the day before. For
reasons even your father didn’t know, he dropped it in his pocket and didn’t
enter the find in any of the logbooks or tell anyone else about it. For the
rest of the day he went about his duties but couldn’t focus on anything except
the necklace in his pocket. That evening he took it out and placed it around
his neck. Charles said he felt whole for the first time in his life.” William
blinked to rein in a flood of almost tangible memories. The fire brightened and
a faint blue flame tiptoed across the blaze like a butterfly over ripe wheat.
He cleared his throat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span class="ItalicsCharCharCharChar"><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span class="ItalicsCharCharCharChar"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">“‘<i>I walked out of the tent and into the
woods feeling I had a direction, a purpose, but it was soon clear I was lost.
In the thick darkness you can only find in deep forest on a moonless night, I
slipped down an embankment to the shores of a lake. The waters drew me and I
accepted their call.’</i></span></span><i> </i>Those were his exact words.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“You mean he went for a swim at night? In an unknown lake?”
Sarah asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“Yes. He did. He swam for a long time, unafraid, and when
he pulled himself out it was daylight. He thought he was losing his mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“He wandered through countryside of tall lush trees and thick
undergrowth, not knowing where he was or how to get back home. After a while,
he came across a small cottage and knocked on the door. An old woman answered.
He tried German then English, French and Spanish, but she didn’t understand and
he couldn’t make heads nor tails of her language. She probably thought he was a
beggar of some kind because the woman gave him bread and shooed him away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“He crossed a field munching on the bread when he saw a
beautiful woman picking flowers and fell in love with her. I’ve never believed
in love at first sight, but didn’t doubt
him. You could see it in his eyes. How he wooed her, I don’t know; they couldn’t
even communicate. But he did. Kari took him to an abandoned cabin. There she
visited often to bring food and take long walks as they learned each other’s
language. After several months, he felt homesick and asked Kari to go with him.
She agreed. A few nights later, they returned to the lake and swam. Halfway
across, he knew they’d returned to this world. They climbed out onto the shores
of a lake in <st1:country-region w:st="on">Germany</st1:country-region>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“Later, when I learned her language, I asked her why she
followed him to a strange land. She told me she’d suspected she was pregnant
with you and that she’d found her home and her family in Charles. She would
have followed him anywhere.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">William paused. Sarah’s brows drew together wrinkling her
forehead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“I know, it sounds like a fairytale. It isn’t.” William
pulled the necklace from underneath his shirt. “This is the pendant your father
gave me before returning to <st1:country-region w:st="on">Germany</st1:country-region>.
I didn’t understand then why Kari was frightened of it. I do now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“After your father died, I did my best to make Kari feel at
home. We would spend long evenings practicing her beautiful language”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“Anatarian?” Sarah’s eyes grew large.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“Yes, love. I hated taking credit for such a magnificent
tongue. I didn’t invent it. It exists... somewhere else.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“You mean another country?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">William took a deep breath. “Over the years I’ve considered
the issue, Sarah. You know I’m a practical man, more at ease with scientific
laws than legend or fantasy. But even a practical man knows some things defy
explanation. Perhaps another dimension is the best description. Your mother
spoke often of her land, Anatar, of the people and their traditions. I asked
her about the pendant. She called it <i>Ilydearta</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“Doorway?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">William nodded. “More literally, ‘Waymaker’. It’s one of
three powerful stones created in ancient times. She didn’t know how much of the
legend was true and how much fantasy.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“It all sounds like fantasy to me.” She tilted her head,
eyes narrowing. “Is this a practical joke?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“No, Sarah. I am quite serious.” He smiled. “And in my
right mind.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“One of three powerful stones? How is a stone powerful?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“I don’t know, but this one is. I believe it is as its name
suggests: a facilitator between worlds. Though I’ve never tried it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">Sarah’s swallow was audible. “Where are the other two?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“I don’t know and neither did your mother.” William
shrugged. “But for Anatar to be whole, this stone must be returned.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">Sarah’s face lost more color. “What do you mean?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“Ilydearta must go back to Anatar.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“And you’re going to take it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“No, child. You are. It’s what your mother asked of me
before she died. It’s what you’ve been trained for.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">Sarah leaned back. Large eyes, full of shock and confusion
regarded him. “That’s what the lessons were for? My whole life you’ve been
training me for something as outlandish and ridiculous as taking a rock to
another... dimension and you didn’t think I deserved a choice?” Her eyes
blazed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“You wouldn’t have unders——”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“I understand now,” her voice rose and leaned forward.
“This is crazy. How could you do this to me? I mean, this is crazy.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">She was close to hysterics. William reached a hand toward
her then let it drop. How to make her understand? He sighed, unbuttoned his shirt and removed the necklace
from around his neck. “This is yours. Your heritage. I force you to do nothing.
I’ve done what I had to do and so will you.”</span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">Arm outstretched, the large blue stone caught the light of
the fire. He watched Sarah hesitate, and then take the necklace from his hand
as a spark flashed across her eyes, leaving a streak of wonder in her gray
irises and something else, perhaps fear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Center">
<br /></div>
<div class="Center">
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 200%;">#<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Center">
<br /></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">Sarah watched her grandfather exit the room, aghast at his
sudden departure. In an instant he’d metamorphosed, his skin sagged, deep
furrows rearranged his face. Gone were the genial expression and his boundless
energy. When he stood from his chair, he was a frail old man burdened with
unbearable tiredness. She listened to his faltering tread fade as he climbed
the stairs; her chest constricted with a heavy sensation of guilt and shame at
her outburst. As she stood to race after him, Sarah’s hand unconsciously
offered the necklace up to the firelight. The stone radiated a field of blue
across her arm and her skin rippled with a tingling sensation. Images flashed
across her mind. She saw stone cottages nestled in fields dotted with poppies
against a background of blurred mountains, scenes that reminded her of the old
Irish postcards she once saw at <span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">the university.</span> Sarah
closed her eyes and gripped Ilydearta tighter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<i style="background-color: white;">Before her stood a
door: dark, heavy and carved with strange markings. When unseen hands opened
it, she stepped through to stop before a dais and a tall man. Dark hair
highlighted by a silver circlet topped a pale face with the beauty of youth and
the wisdom of age radiating from his eyes. He stood watching her, his bearing
regal, but without display. Green as the forest after a rain, his eyes drew her
in, beckoning, seeking beyond her appearance and into her heart. She felt
naked, exposed. He spread his arms in a gesture of welcome and smiled.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<i style="background-color: white;"><br /></i></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">Sarah blinked and, feeling a sudden weakness in her legs,
sat down. She stared at the stone throbbing rhythmically in the crook of her
hand. Swathed in silver filigree, the jewel was beautiful. <i>Sapphire? No</i>. Sarah moved it from one hand to the other, testing
its weight, the vestiges of her vision slowly clearing like morning mist. She
ran the tips of her fingers over the smooth stone. “What are you?” Sarah was
startled by the sound of her voice. She turned the pendant over. Okay, there
was something about the necklace, but a doorway between worlds? That was incredible.
Wasn’t it? Her grandfather obviously believed it. And her grandfather.... She
glanced up the darkened stairway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“This can’t be real.” Sarah spoke to the empty room. Sarah studied
the stone for any clue to its origin. </span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">“Ilydearta.” The jewel seemed familiar as
if this were a reunion instead of an introduction. She felt as though it were
weighing her as much as she examined it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">Without conscious thought, she slipped the necklace over
her head. The flames in the grate flickered. She blinked. With sudden unwavering
certainty, she knew her grandfather’s outlandish tale had to be true. <i>We belong together.</i> The thought issued
from her mind yet she looked at the stone in surprise. Was this what her father
felt, her grandfather? “And I’m to take you to a world I’ve never seen? Don’t
even believe in?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">Sarah’s heartbeat sounded in her ears. Slowly the lights
dimmed and she straightened, suddenly alert. The furniture seemed blurred. She
massaged her eyelids to clear her vision; the air had darkened, thickened like
odorless smoke. As an overwhelming foreboding gripped her, Sarah glanced up
toward the second floor </span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span class="ItalicsCharCharCharChar"><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span class="ItalicsCharCharCharChar"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Papa! Did he call?</span></span> She
bounded up the backstairs pausing before her grandfather’s room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">William didn’t answer her knock. She opened the door a
fraction. “Papa?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Manuscript">
<span style="background-color: white;">He was sprawled on the other side of the bed. She charged
through the door. “Papa!”</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Shawna Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12476399575493212858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4183027497948212755.post-61418421708344619212014-02-26T04:00:00.000-08:002014-02-26T04:00:03.294-08:00Back to the Beginning Part OneBooks usually go through quite a few revisions before they make it through publication. The Triune Stones went' through, I think, more than most, especially the first, Journey of Awakening.<br />
I was looking through some old files and found the, almost original, beginning. It is so different from how Journey of Awakening starts now that I thought I'd share. For the next few days, I'll post a parts of the first chapters. All of it in one day might be too much.<br />
<br />
In this version. Sarah doesn't start out in Anatar. She lives in Seattle, Washington. I hope you enjoy this.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="Center">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">CHAPTER 1<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
White wings flashed as gulls soared against an angry
sky. Sarah Kenneth followed their serene ballet, a puff of wind chilling her
skin and whipping dark hair into her eyes. After taking the porch steps two at
a time, she paused under the eaves to fumble with her keys, appraising the
leaden clouds. The day had dawned overcast, promising a downpour but never
delivering more than an occasional misting. The storm had finally come of age. <i>So am I.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“Stratus and cumulonimbus.” She shook her head. <span class="ItalicsCharCharCharChar"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Can’t
even admire a storm without classifying cloud formations. Get a life, girl.</span></i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“Twenty-one.” Her key slid into the lock. A magical
number. More times than Sarah could recall her grandfather’s answer to a
question had been: ‘I’ll tell you when you are twenty-one’ or, ‘when you’re
twenty-one, you’ll be an adult and you’ll understand.’ Sarah smiled, feeling
the extra weight in her bag. On the way home, she’d stopped by the liquor store
to buy a bottle of wine for dinner, another benefit of her coming-of-age.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
The oak door creaked as she pushed against it. “Papa,
I’m home.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“<i>Koreie sindu
awau</i>,” a voice called from further in the house.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
Sarah sighed. “I’ll put it away.” Even though she was
now an adult, she wondered if her grandfather would always treat her as if she
was seven.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
Before storing her bag in the foyer’s closet, she removed
the bottle of wine. Carefully, Sarah slotted a <i>bokken</i> on the vacant hooks above her katana and ran a finger over
the sword’s curved scabbard. She stepped back. It appeared lithe and feminine
compared to the claymore and the heavily decorated schiavona, which
hung on the adjoining wall. “The new Kendo instructor is good,” she called,
slipping off her shoes in exchange for the tabi waiting in a battered wicker
basket.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
Her grandfather appeared through the kitchen door.
“Anatarian, please, Sarah.” A linguistics professor and fluent in several
languages, William preferred his own invention, a language he’d developed
before she was born. Sarah sometimes teased that Anatarian was the native
tongue of the Kenneth household, and they its only users.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
One generous eyebrow rose, losing itself behind silver
bangs as his smile widened. “How long did it take you to beat him?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“Twenty minutes. But what a match!” She rubbed her side
and flinched, “I’ll have the bruises to prove it. He was impressed I already
knew Kenjutsu, even more...” Sarah wrinkled her nose. “What’s that awful
smell?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“Ah! My frostbite preventive,” William called over his
shoulder as he scurried out of sight.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
Sarah followed, her feet whispering against the silky oak
floor, and leaned against the wooden frame of the kitchen door. Some of her
earliest memories were of her grandfather bent over the stove, brewing one
concoction or another. But then she hadn’t had an ordinary childhood. She watched
him lift a blackened pot off the burner. A wild mop of white hair, always in
need of a trim, dipped to brush wiry eyebrows crowning intense blue eyes. He
took to the role of mad scientist well.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“Are you going to stand there watching?” He nodded at
the table. “Hand me that bottle, please.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
Sarah passed over the container, jumping back to avoid
a waft of pungent steam when he lifted the lid. Noxious fumes filled the small
kitchen. She blinked back tears, her sinuses cleared. “Frostbite? Are you sure
it’s not an expectorant?” Sarah opened a window, breathing in the damp, cool
air.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“An added benefit. Were you afraid the smell was your
birthday dinner?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“The smell? No. I know you better than that.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“Good.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
Their eyes locked and she felt the uncanny intensity of
his gaze.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“The cake’s in the refrigerator, but don’t peek. It’s a
surprise. Still raining?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
As if returning from a dream, she combed a hand through
her dark hair, smoothing out the rougher patches. “Yes and no. The sky can’t
make up her mind.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“The sky is female now?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
Sarah watched golden fluid drip through a strainer into
the glass jar. “Of course she is. You think a male could change his mind so
quickly?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
William smiled. “Was that a bottle of wine?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<span lang="NO-BOK"><br /></span></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<span lang="NO-BOK">“Uh
huh, for dinner.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<span lang="NO-BOK"><br /></span></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<span lang="NO-BOK">“Red?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“Anglianico.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“My favorite; good girl.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
The kettle sang. Sarah prepared tea and settled into
her chair. She knew what was coming next.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“Now, let me tell you what I’ve done, so you can
reproduce it as necessary,” William’s voice took a familiar lecturing tone.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
Sarah sipped her tea. When she was small, she would sit
in the back of his class, enthralled by the words and ideas Professor Kenneth
offered his students. For the last ten years, she had been his only pupil,
sharing in his vast liberal <span style="background-color: white;"><span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">knowledge</span>
of standard subjects, and a dusting of unusual ones: herb craft, survival
skills and primitive technology. Besides the Kendo, Iaido, Kenjutsu and
kickboxing lessons she’d practiced for years, he’d also enrolled them both in
medieval history classes and botany. She’d often pondered that her <span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">knowledge</span> would com</span>e handy in
the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Amazon</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Forest</st1:placetype></st1:place> or <st1:country-region w:st="on">Papua New Guinea</st1:country-region>, but in <st1:city w:st="on">Seattle</st1:city>?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
She felt a pang of guilt. When Sarah’s mother died
shortly after her father, her grandparents had taken her in. Then, after
Grandma died, William retired early to attend to Sarah’s education full time. Her
grandfather was brilliant, kind and his love for her permeated his every
action. Perhaps he pushed her a little at times, but they were all each other
had. It was enough.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
William paused mid-sentence. “Sarah, this is a special
day and here I am lecturing. You only turn twenty-one once. Why didn’t you stop
me?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
She shrugged. “One day, I may be caught in a blizzard
with nothing but a potato and a pepper and I’ll have you to thank for keeping
all my toes. Of course, have you noticed it rains more often than it snows in <st1:city w:st="on">Seattle</st1:city>?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
He peered down his slightly crooked nose, his eyes
stern.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“What? I was kidding.” Sarah sighed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“Sarah… never mind.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“Papa, I’ll remember. If the pepper is hot on your
tongue, it’ll warm your skin but dilute it with an inert substance so it
doesn’t burn and further damage the tissue. If you don’t have access to a
pepper, add a little oil to the meat of a baked potato and apply it to the
affected area.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
William smiled. “Very good. But don’t forget, that cure
is for minor frostbite only.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“Yes, if I faced major frostbite, I might be more
worried about dying than losing a few digits.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
A cloud passed over William’s face but he pointed
toward the liquid-filled jars. “No, use my formula and your skills and you won’t
die or lose any digits.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
Sarah cleared her throat. “So, what <span class="ItalicsChar"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">did</span></span>
you make for my birthday dinner?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“Your favorite: roast beef, potatoes, carrots and
parsnips.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“Carrots and parsnips? You found them already?” Theirs
wouldn’t be ready for weeks. She kissed his wrinkled cheek. “I love you the
sky, Papa.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
William stroked her hair. “And I love you the moon,
Sarah. Don’t you ever forget it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Center">
<br /></div>
<div class="Center">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">#<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Center">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar" style="text-indent: 35.3pt;">
William placed one last dish
into the cupboard, closing its door with finality. He was stalling. Rain
battered the windowpane. Sarah moved to the window, opened the sash and breathed,
a look of delight on her delicate features.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 35.3pt;">
His throat
tightened and he felt his resolve weakening. <i>Have I done the right thing? </i>The ghosts that haunted his sleepless
nights returned unannounced. For years, he’d driven her mercilessly, drilling
Sarah for her destiny and in doing so, he’d stolen her childhood and the
wonderful years of careless youth. His schedule of extra classes, training and
activities occupied her waking hours, including weekends. She didn’t have
leisure for a social life. At times, it had broken his heart to watch her as
she saw other children playing or groups of teenagers indulging their
foolishness. She hadn’t complained, much. Sometimes he wondered if some hidden
part of her knew that she was different. He’d taken her out of public school
after first grade when he realized, eventually, peer pressure would overcome
even a child like Sarah. There was too much at stake. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar" style="text-indent: 35.3pt;">
Reaching inside his shirt,
eager fingers sought a pendant, his breath quieting as a rush surged through
his veins like cool frothy water. Tonight he needed its power more than ever.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
His eyes sought Sarah standing by the open window.
Five-four and not an ounce of extra fat on her slender body, she was now taller
than her mother had been. Her hair had grown. He’d never learned how to style a
girl’s hair. The first few years, after his wife died, he fumbled about with
clips and rubber bands and finally opted to keep it short. Now, Sarah’s hair
fell just past her shoulders, a curtain of mahogany silk. When she turned around,
his heart sang at the unbound joy on her features with the wind on her face. Tiny
droplets of water clung to her cheek mirroring the gleam in her eye. Her eyes
were her best feature, a deep silky gray that sparkled when she laughed.<span class="ItalicsCharCharCharChar"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="font-size: x-small;">
<i>Yes, I have done my duty.</i></span> </span></span>He released the pendant, the ghosts
gone.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“Shut the window, you’ll catch a cold.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“Nonsense, you’ve taught me better. But I will make us more
tea to go with our cake. Earl Grey?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“Thank you.” William caught a flash of concern in
Sarah’s expression. Her eyes had always said more than her words.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“You seem preoccupied. Are you okay?” Sarah asked,
placing the kettle on the stove.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
He wasn’t but he wouldn’t tell her. He had greeted the
morning with a sense of anticipation and dread. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about
me.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“Who else am I going to worry about?” Sarah’s smile lit
her face but her eyes darkened with concern. “Papa, go sit down.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
William nodded and moved to his easy chair, a hand caressing
the pendant.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
Purpose gave him strength. Years of preparation would
come to fruition today. The stone warmed in his hand, its power coursing
through his arm. “Yes, it’s time.” His words seemed loud against the crackling
fire and distant bustle in the other room.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
Closing his eyes, William swam in his memories where a
parade of faces both warmed and chilled his heart. His mind settled on Sarah,
his life. The stone throbbed. William felt her presence and opened his eyes to
see Sarah entering the room, a tray in her hands. When he wore the pendant, he
seemed to have an added sense; vision beyond what his eyes could see. Magic. He
both hated and loved the stone. Hated because it had ruled his and his
granddaughter’s lives, stolen carelessness and the bliss that ignorance could
bring. <span style="background-color: white;">Loved because it was what it was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">Sarah</span>
walked with supple movements. Born with natural grace, her agility had improved
with time. <span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">Sarah</span> had
been only four when he signed her up for ballet lessons and then gymnastics and
martial arts; at fourteen she’d won her First Dan black belt and moved on to
Kendo. He smiled. His granddaughter: the Samurai. <i>Child, you’ll need everything you’ve learned.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“My, you look deep in thought.” Sarah set the tray on
the ottoman and poured the tea.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“You know how old people are, collecting cobwebs.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“The last thing I would call you is old.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“But I am, Sarah.” He sipped the hot tea. “I bet you’re
wondering what you’re getting for your birthday.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“The question has entered my mind.” Her eyes sparkled. She
arched an eyebrow. “A trip to <st1:country-region w:st="on">Japan</st1:country-region>
to study with a Fifth Dan?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
William threw his hand in the air. “Children, what are
you going to do with them?” He watched firelight play in her hair. “No, Sarah,
today you are an adult and for your birthday, I’ll give you a story.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“A story?” Sarah sat in a chair opposite his. Her
intelligent gray eyes never leaving him. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
<br /></div>
<div class="ManuscriptChar">
“Yes. A story.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Shawna Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12476399575493212858noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4183027497948212755.post-51292342904403056672014-02-25T09:12:00.000-08:002014-02-25T09:12:00.291-08:00The Triune Stones: Ilydearta <div class="MsoNormal">
In any series, getting to know the characters is key. Will
the reads like them, hate them? Will they be real? In the Triune Stones series,
the three stones play as big a part as almost any character so I thought an introduction
might be in order <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8L3s1rJBDwK7xs946uexL4H0W_SK-7DtBXuSyYp9YZrDzUfptKM7dgIs2vvKhCjV0aP-qxMdl8_6FVvkEEXUD22szGTu-S5gmXz5eBQgW9QbLktyj8F3QU1DudYFv2rSNeP-pDMevhyphenhyphen0/s1600/JourneyOfAwakeningFinalcover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8L3s1rJBDwK7xs946uexL4H0W_SK-7DtBXuSyYp9YZrDzUfptKM7dgIs2vvKhCjV0aP-qxMdl8_6FVvkEEXUD22szGTu-S5gmXz5eBQgW9QbLktyj8F3QU1DudYFv2rSNeP-pDMevhyphenhyphen0/s1600/JourneyOfAwakeningFinalcover.jpg" height="200" width="126" /></a>In Journey of Awakening, we are introduced to Ilydearta.</div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
In Siobani, the language of the Dawn Children, Ilydearta
means Doorway, or Waymaker. From the
first draft to the last, it didn’t change much in appearance: <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>With her eyes closed
and life swirling around her, she pictured the stone in the necklace. Dark blue
and swathed in silver filigree, the jewel was beautiful and as hard as it was
to explain, she understood that it was now part of her, or who she was
becoming. Who am I becoming? A chill of fear shot up her spine.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sara’s grandfather gives her the stone on her birthday, but
it is Sara’s father who originally found it. This is Sara relating the story to Maelys. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“My father, Arles, was
a peddler. My grandfather lived up north. He was a warrior who had hung up his
sword in favor of a plow. One day, my father came home with a tale almost too
strange to be believed. He had been traveling through an empty land of rolling
hills. The sun had begun to set when he came upon two men digging in a field.
It didn’t take him long to guess they were grave robbers. He ran them off, but
they had already broken into a barrow. He placed everything back in the dark
hole on top of the skeleton until he came to a box. He told my grandfather the
box was covered with strange markings he didn’t understand, yet he recognized
the quality of the workmanship. But that’s not what caught his attention.
Although everything else in the grave had suffered the ravages of time, the box
looked new. My father thought that it might have belonged to one of the robbers
but knew he’d never see them again and if it was theirs, it was probably
stolen. He took the box back to his cart and placed it on the seat next to
him.” Sara paused, almost hearing her grandfather’s rich timbre as he had
related the story.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“That night, when my
father made camp, he opened the box. Inside he found a pendant on a long silver
chain. When he took it out, the box crumbled into dust. There wasn’t any sign
of aging on the necklace. It appeared as it does now.” She lifted the pendant.
“For reasons even my father didn’t understand, he placed it around his neck,
hiding it under his tunic. He said he felt odd but went on his way and shortly
after, met my mother. She had been traveling with her family.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>The fire brightened
and a faint blue flame tiptoed across the blaze like a butterfly over ripe
wheat. Sara cleared her throat. “He fell in love as soon as he saw her.
Grandfather said he didn’t doubt it because he could see the love in my
father’s eyes. How he wooed my mother, I don’t know, but he did. She left her
family and all she knew to follow him. Grandfather said he asked her about it
and she’d told him that in my father, she found her home and her family. She
would have followed him anywhere.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Sara paused. “My
father was divided. He still wanted to be a peddler, but didn’t want to expose
my mother to that lifestyle. She wouldn’t be swayed. When they left, she was
pregnant with me. She died in childbirth.” It was a story she’d known her
entire life, but that never ceased to fill her with longing. What would it have
been like had they lived? To know a mother’s touch? A father’s love? She loved
her grandfather but theirs had been a solitary existence.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Maelys’s dark eyes
gleamed but she remained quiet.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“The next time my
grandfather saw him, my father had been wounded by bandits. Grandfather treated
the injury the best he could but it was too late, and my father died.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfbfK0JmOon9KlloZefhldKfCS1bpjJ7bLggSn6vGjr9ZjCXOtZm3z0xeii9owuslhMEPXOUO5KqM3noKhJlGQU0FlMSPEmVmeBr0SPlQLPbL56XgUOwCrMqoanpA60BRJXfUcaoqBKl4/s1600/photo+%252895%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfbfK0JmOon9KlloZefhldKfCS1bpjJ7bLggSn6vGjr9ZjCXOtZm3z0xeii9owuslhMEPXOUO5KqM3noKhJlGQU0FlMSPEmVmeBr0SPlQLPbL56XgUOwCrMqoanpA60BRJXfUcaoqBKl4/s1600/photo+%252895%2529.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“Is that why your
grandfather taught you Shi’ia and the healing arts? To defend yourself?” Maelys
asked.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“You know I practice
Shi’ia?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Maelys’s gaze didn’t
waver. “I have eyes.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Sara shook her head.
Her dark braid moved against her back. “I asked him that same question. He said
he only sought to prepare me, but that I had a different destiny than my
father. He said…” Sara swallowed. “He said my father told him that he may have
possessed the stone, but he was not a keeper, merely a vehicle to get the
necklace to me. He knew it as soon as I was born. He told my grandfather to
keep me safe. To prepare me.” She met Maelys’s cool gaze. “My grandfather saved
the stone for me. Until I was ready.” Tears pricked her eyes. I’m ready,
Grandfather. How wrong she’d been. Sara gazed at the stone, surprised by the
weariness that now weighed down her body.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For the story of how the stone was left in the grave, you
will have to read Journey of the Wanderer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ilydearta is called the Waymaker because it can make a way
where none seems possible. Sara first uses it without conscious knowledge. It
is how she survived her boat capsizing. It is how she found Maelys, one of the
few people who could teach of her Teann, and the stone. She needed these things
to happen and the stone found a way.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It does not change matter or our physical existence in any
way, but it opens the bearer’s eyes to possibilities. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In Journey of Dominion, when it was time to
attack the castle, she was able to see where the fortifications were weak and
direct the siege engines accordingly. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is the stone you’d want if you had to walk across a
minefield. To observers, she’d appear very, very lucky. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And you may be lucky too. Enter this contest for a chance to win your own Ilydearta. </div>
<a class="rafl" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/7e1cc12/" id="rc-7e1cc12" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
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<o:p></o:p>Shawna Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12476399575493212858noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4183027497948212755.post-13084809872822436532014-02-24T01:30:00.000-08:002014-02-24T01:30:00.294-08:00Journey of the Wanderer<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKFzDTBIjybO0L8FFDyIrSE5o8_9zLZdCsttbXEVgtNYJlfl5sigtAYM0VtqbKnkyzKwFIYvIPZLIFZg9JfEWx1uYsndWvGRKcC32V9ret-AAW_KZqNA35Hsh3JHnzJoEVJT1TujVCxuo/s1600/CARINA_0214_9781426897993_JourneyOfTheWanderer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKFzDTBIjybO0L8FFDyIrSE5o8_9zLZdCsttbXEVgtNYJlfl5sigtAYM0VtqbKnkyzKwFIYvIPZLIFZg9JfEWx1uYsndWvGRKcC32V9ret-AAW_KZqNA35Hsh3JHnzJoEVJT1TujVCxuo/s1600/CARINA_0214_9781426897993_JourneyOfTheWanderer.jpg" height="400" width="252" /></a>The day is finally here. Journey of the Wanderer, the last book in the Triune Stones series, hits the cyber shelves today!<br />
<br />
I am full of excitement and a bit of melancholy. To celebrate this event, I'm giving away three copies of Journey of Awakening to three lucky contestants.<br />
<br />
Enter below!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
You can pick up your copy at these three retailers or any other online vendor!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://ebooks.carinapress.com/9D90C6AE-F937-4E82-B932-213EFA3F5CCF/10/134/en/ContentDetails.htm?ID=13379815-A5CA-4BD2-914A-50B4DEBDA0D9">Carina</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Journey-Wanderer-Triune-Stones-Shawna-ebook/dp/B00GKBIRYE/ref=la_B00IISEESU_1_5?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1393023329&sr=1-5">Amazon</a><br />
<a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/journey-of-the-wanderer-shawna-thomas/1117366864?ean=9781426897993">Barnes and Noble</a> <span style="color: #454545; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"> </span><br />
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<script src="//d12vno17mo87cx.cloudfront.net/embed/rafl/cptr.js"></script>Shawna Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12476399575493212858noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4183027497948212755.post-89864041876447528652014-02-16T08:37:00.002-08:002014-02-17T09:15:35.724-08:00Please Welcome Barbara Longley<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Please help me welcome Barbara Longley to my blog. I've been a fan of Barbara's for some time, but my esteem has recently increased. She's combined two of my favorite things--American Indians and Scottish Highlanders--into one book. A must read! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Today she's talking about her favorite heroine!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"> ***</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I like
feisty, confident heroines, and Alethia Goodsky definitely fits into this
category. The Tuatha Dé Danann character searched long and hard to find just
the right person to send back through time, finally choosing Alethia who grew
up on the Anishinaabe reservation in northern Minnesota. Along with her
“special” abilities, Alethia had much needed survival skills. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">TRUE TO
THE HIGHLANDER’s plot has lots of twists and turns, and Alethia barely has time
to catch her breath between her perilous adventures. She’s sent to
fifteenth-century Scotland to save someone’s life, but she doesn’t know whose
life is in danger. Naturally she sets out to save everyone, believing that
accomplishing the task will be her ticket home. Of course she hadn’t counted on
losing her heart to Malcolm, our delicious hunky alpha male hero. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">After
the serious nature of my contemporary Perfect, IN trilogy, writing the time
travel historicals has been a blast. The second in the Novels of Loch Moigh
trilogy is entitled THE HIGHLANDER’S BARGAIN, (July 2014) and in this one,
Robley of clan MacKintosh travels to the future. The third, THE HIGHLANDER’S
FOLLY, is Hunter’s story. He’s the deaf child Alethia adopts in book one. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Incidentally,
my ex is from the same reservation my heroine is from, and my first teaching
job was on the Lower Sioux Dakota Community. Everything my heroine
does—beading, brain-tanning hides, making moccasins—I’ve tried. I’m good at the
beading and moccasin making, but I suck at tanning hides, and I have not hunted
or trapped.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9PM0WYYSKsZ5pb9_rlebJZ8Mg9tmOBlm3IfPX7uA7mp9sMHgpBNhhXfrqEJJNOqWj2X3cjWdAsAaHTomuaTYDk41tl9s5dd11ejV6wsRjZ352oh7p6mz3KsQTZeigX-CzSTfu_s3rf4I/s1600/Longley_TrueToTheHighlander_front_cvr_FINAL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9PM0WYYSKsZ5pb9_rlebJZ8Mg9tmOBlm3IfPX7uA7mp9sMHgpBNhhXfrqEJJNOqWj2X3cjWdAsAaHTomuaTYDk41tl9s5dd11ejV6wsRjZ352oh7p6mz3KsQTZeigX-CzSTfu_s3rf4I/s1600/Longley_TrueToTheHighlander_front_cvr_FINAL.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Blurb:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Native
American violinist Alethia Goodsky had plans for her future, and they didn’t
include time travel, hocus-pocus good luck charms, or heroic deeds. And she
certainly never intended to lose her heart to a fifteenth-century Scottish
warrior or an orphaned boy unable to hear her music. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">A
life hangs in the balance, and only Alethia can tip the scale. This is all the
supernatural being posing as a Renaissance festival fortuneteller reveals
before transporting Alethia back in time to the Highlands of Scotland. Alethia
must unravel the mystery before it’s too late if she’s to return home. She
throws herself into the task only to have her efforts thwarted by her
overbearing, self- appointed protector—Malcolm of clan MacKintosh.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">It
is 1423AD, the year before Scotland’s King James is ransomed from the British
to take his rightful place upon the throne. The Highland clans are at each
other’s throats, and all of Scotland suffers under the ruthless reign of their
regent, the duke of Albany. Treachery and intrigue rule the day, and all
Malcolm wants is peace. Finding a gently bred woman alone on MacKintosh land
can only mean more trouble. When the exotic foreigner reveals her strange tale,
Malcolm believes she was placed in his path to warn him of coming danger. He
cannot allow the willful beauty to put herself in harm’s way for his sake.
Malcolm is determined to keep Alethia safe and by his side—if only she’d let
him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Surrounded
by enemies, with the mystery still unsolved, passion grows between Malcolm and
Alethia until her heart is torn. Should she follow the dictates of reason and
find a way home, leaving Malcolm and the young boy she’s adopted behind, or
should she listen to her heart and remain true to the Highlander?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Buy link: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/True-Highlander-Novels-Loch-Moigh-ebook/dp/B00EZCY0L4/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1392657255&sr=1-1&keywords=true+highlander"> Amazon</a> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Visit Barbara at her <a href="http://www.barbaralongley.com/">http://www.barbaralongley.com/</a><a href="https://www.barbaralongley.com/"> </a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Shawna Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12476399575493212858noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4183027497948212755.post-62206544721445587132014-01-27T13:04:00.002-08:002014-01-27T13:04:56.185-08:00When life influences fiction<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifTaYiBKXw-9DspW-LpA1oiQzkw7ZI9j4YSwTbcyAx3BMCtzlFvvIkPb6gG3FTzzFC_5hcbOCxuz5ETLsP9hFPKwbFjuh1jSONCfQD8sdm1brK7HSuUZOoLAZQv-wiXa3rPxmeRVyIu3E/s1600/134.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifTaYiBKXw-9DspW-LpA1oiQzkw7ZI9j4YSwTbcyAx3BMCtzlFvvIkPb6gG3FTzzFC_5hcbOCxuz5ETLsP9hFPKwbFjuh1jSONCfQD8sdm1brK7HSuUZOoLAZQv-wiXa3rPxmeRVyIu3E/s1600/134.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a>Most of us have seen the coffee cup and magnets that warn
people to be careful or they might end up in a writer’s novel. I know I’ve been
asked several times if my characters are based on any “real” person. Until now
I’ve always said no. But in Journey of Wisdom, I decided to immortalize someone
very dear to me. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We rescued Shadow, our dog, from a shelter. He quickly
became part of our family. He checked on the kids every night, let them dress
him in clothes, and was the most loving, faithful dog ever. He grew sick 2012.
The vet said, besides exploratory surgery, there was nothing we could except
hope the antibiotics worked. They didn’t.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I was working on a scene in Journey of Wisdom and suddenly,
it just seemed a perfect place to honor the world’s best dog. This is a short
excerpt:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>The fire began to falter, having consumed Mohan’s offering.
He stood, too tired to move. His will was gone, as though it too was eaten by
the flames. Something moved behind him. Mohan spun on the balls of his feet,
drawing his sword.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>A dog limped out of the forest near the clearing’s edge. Its
dark gray coat was matted and wet in places. The dog paused several wheels away
from Mohan. It whined once and wagged its shaggy tail. Mohan groaned. It was
wounded, probably from the Rugian attack. He walked forward to put the mongrel
out of its misery.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>The dog looked up with dark, sad but hopeful eyes. Mohan
slowly stretched out his hand. The dog whimpered softly and licked Mohan’s
fingers.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>“You’re the only one left.” Mohan’s voice broke. Where once
there was laughter, family, there was only death.</i></div>
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And no, Mohan doesn’t put the dog out of his misery. The dog
helps ease his... which is also a testimony to Shadow. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>He whistled, and the dog raced between the trees toward him.
It was only recently that the dog would let Mohan out of his sight and even now
not for long. His habit of trailing Mohan and his gray coloring had inspired
his name: Shadow... Adoration lit his dark eyes. Mohan patted the dog’s shaggy
head. Shadow still had a slight limp but more than enough energy. “We’ll be
home in a few hours. Are you ready to meet your new troupe?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVD0lUPZ4KhShP4QMiOKiaPRaU0-TVuiDoHiqFUwLgPs04hHxRTTg8coMsYRA-ocLilW0ahFbLBbJWPjWUMBDKYfK9ljWFCKJkpx2ZAKUybRPz9FMfWLI14QhoGPdEr4gH6sUCXWnS4JE/s1600/112.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVD0lUPZ4KhShP4QMiOKiaPRaU0-TVuiDoHiqFUwLgPs04hHxRTTg8coMsYRA-ocLilW0ahFbLBbJWPjWUMBDKYfK9ljWFCKJkpx2ZAKUybRPz9FMfWLI14QhoGPdEr4gH6sUCXWnS4JE/s1600/112.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a>Shadow touched my family with his loyalty and love. I
thought it a fitting tribute to let him stand by Mohan’s side and do the same.<o:p></o:p><br />
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We still haven’t been able to buy another dog. Recently,
however, we did let a kitten into our home. Baby steps.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Do you have a pet that is part of your family?<o:p></o:p></div>
Shawna Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12476399575493212858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4183027497948212755.post-36647214019439152652014-01-20T03:30:00.000-08:002014-01-20T03:30:02.600-08:00Interview with Shawna Reppert<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwFetI09L4Q6wWkd7io6_HdQQZW1f5vIQFXjsADWeWWzqX7Qd_KWI-4hyH6Mqi4JnJmx4-Sh27TRLhDCte1wXXYZJr0KUFN0r3DTzNzBD5FiI7JSRnmkozyCQYwOjAZwUNgFbiPAo2jPU/s1600/TheStolenLuck300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwFetI09L4Q6wWkd7io6_HdQQZW1f5vIQFXjsADWeWWzqX7Qd_KWI-4hyH6Mqi4JnJmx4-Sh27TRLhDCte1wXXYZJr0KUFN0r3DTzNzBD5FiI7JSRnmkozyCQYwOjAZwUNgFbiPAo2jPU/s1600/TheStolenLuck300.jpg" height="320" width="202" /></a><br />
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Today, I am pleased to share my blog with Shawna Reppert, the other Shawna at Carina Press. ; ) Shawna graciously agreed to an interview. Without further ado, here she is. <o:p></o:p></div>
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You’ve been quite successful with your short stories. What
made you decide to pursue publication with Carina? ~ <b>I had been shopping
The Stolen Luck to fantasy publishers for a while, and getting the same sort of
response. ‘We love your characters, we
love your writing, great plot, but we have no idea how to market it. A writer friend of mine told me about Carina
and how they publish (among other things) male/male fantasy romance (at the
time I didn’t even know that was a genre!) I sent it off to them, they loved
it, and they knew how to market it.
Working with them has been a fabulous experience.</b></div>
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You have an interesting background taking care of less than
average animals. Tell us about an interesting experience. ~ <b>One of
the great privileges of owning a high-percentage wolf hybrid was watching the
whole wolf-pack dynamic work. They are
such great negotiators and problem-solvers!
I was visiting a friend who also had a hybrid, and since it was summer,
we left the door open so the wolves could wander in and out. Seamus (my wolf) and Loiosh (hers) were out
playing in the fenced yard while we were in the living room talking. Loiosh came in first, and since I was sitting
on his spot on the couch, he came and sat on me. Which was fine, not the first time I had a
lap full of wolf. </b></div>
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<b>Seamus came in later,
and looked at me and at Loiosh. Now,
Loiosh was dominant to Seamus, so Seamus wouldn’t challenge him directly, even
though Loiosh had *his* mommy. I could
practically see the gears turning in his head.
Seamus went over and put his head in my friend’s lap. Well, Loiosh couldn’t have that, so he went
over to displace Seamus. Who gracefully
yielded, and came over to sit across my lap.
Which is what he wanted all along.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>It’s also fascinating
to observe wolves. . .any canine, really.
Their sense of smell and their hearing is so much keener than our own
that they are almost experiencing a completely different world, something I try
to showcase when I have a werewolf character in wolf form.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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It would be wonderful to experience that kind of intelligence in action. I was in love with Lipizzan stallions when I was younger.
Tell us about yours. ~ <b>Oh, my. Do you have a few years? (OK, I’ll try to keep it brief.) I’ve had Pluto III Canada (barn name
Celeborn, AKA His Lordship, AKA The Bright Center of the Universe) since he was
a baby. I bought him as a young foal. He’s
great to have around. . .such a huge personality, and so full of himself. And
he is a great ambassador for the breed.
He is so gentle that, when I took him to horse expos, I was able to let
little kids into his stall to pet him.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>We used to show, but
neither of us found it as much fun as I had anticipated, and when the economy
tanked and the bottom dropped out of the rare breeds market, it was no longer
economically practical to promote him as a breeding stallion. (Though he is still available for breeding.) Meanwhile,
we sometimes play at warhorses with the Society for Creative Anachonism, which
he thinks is great fun. And when I was
injured in a car accident last year, and was so stiff and sore that I could
barely climb on, he was so incredibly careful and considerate of me, and way
more generous and forgiving than he usually is under saddle, because he knew I
was hurt and he had to take care of me.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>If any horse geeks
among the readership want to drool over his stats, pics, video, etc., his website is <a href="http://www.evenstarlipizzans.com/">www.EvenstarLipizzans.com</a><o:p></o:p></b></div>
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I love the names of your animals! Is your background Celtic? ~ <b>By blood, not a drop. But the
Irish are great at adopting people. Hang
around the ceilis (dance socials, parties) often enough, and you’re one of
them. One of the musicians said that,
since Celts originated in Germany, and I’m almost half German by ancestry (via
Pennsylvania Dutch), that makes me kind of a Celt. Personally, I think that might have been
stretching it.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>Seriously, I have
always been drawn to Celtic history, music and culture. At the risk of sounding a little flaky, I
think it’s a past-life thing.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>And it is an odd
coincidence that my parents gave me an Irish first name when there’s no Irish
in the family. Actually, my eldest two
siblings named me. I think my eldest
brother had dated a girl with the name; anyway, he liked it. And my eldest sister jumped on the bandwagon
and decided that <i>would</i> be my
name. I was the youngest of seven, so my
parents were out of names and just sort of went with it.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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The youngest of seven? I'll have to pick your brain later. I have seven children too. At times, it's tough balancing them all. Do you have a favorite character? ~ <b>Isn’t
that kind of like asking a mother who
her favorite child is? </b></div>
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I honestly thought that when I wrote it. So yes, I'd say that's an unfair questions. ; ) ~ <b>I’d say my
favorite character is usually the one I’m writing at the time, though members
of my writing group have accused me of being in love with Raven from
Ravensblood. I do have a thing for tall, dark and handsome,
keen intelligence and dry humor. (Is
it wrong to be in love with your own protagonist?)</b></div>
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No, it's not. In fact I'd say it's a requirement if you want the readers to fall in love with him. What’s your guilty pleasure? ~ <b>I don’t believe in feeling guilty
about pleasure. But one of the
less-productive things I do when I’ve had a bad day is re-watch Doctor Who
episodes, either new or classic. If I
really want to spoil myself, I will have a pop-tart while watching Doctor Who,
as this was my Saturday treat when Doctor Who was on PBS when I was a kid.</b></div>
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Sound doctrine! : ) What’s your ideal day like? ~ <b>Sleep in, write some, ride some,
dance or listen to music (or both) in the evening with some good whiskey and
good friends.</b></div>
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I know you’re a fan of Irish music. Does music influence
your writing? ~ <b>Oh, yes. Sometimes directly— I
put out a collection of three flash
(short-short) stories thematically connected by the power of music. The collection is called <i>The Three Tunes</i>, a well-known ceili (Irish social) dance, so named because it is
danced to a set of three traditional tunes.
My short story ‘We Don’t Serve
Your Kind’ has a taste of Irish pub culture, and a bit of music as well. Music makes at least a cameo appearance in
most of my work, as in the bar scene that opens <i>Ravensblood</i>, and my current work-in-progress has a harpist
protagonist and bardic magic is central to the plot. And the protagonist to my short story <i>The Beast Within</i> (also a main character
in the werewolf steampunk/Victorian detective novel I’m shopping) got his
surname from a dance we were learning in class the night before I sat down to
write it. (I have a hard time coming up with names sometimes)<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b>I think the music
also influences my writing on a deeper, less
explicable level. Since I’ve been
spending more time going out to music, I’ve had more and more people describe
my writing as ‘lyrical’. And there’s
been many times that I’ve gone into dance class totally stumped as to the
direction I wanted a story to go in, and by the time I was driving home from
class it was all clear.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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What if anything surprised you when you were writing The
Stolen Luck? ~ <b>I actually had no intention of it being any kind of a romance. I was interested in the central question of
how far even a good person will compromise his morals and values to protect the
people and land he loves. The romantic attraction between the two characters
came about from the classic question writers must ask themselves: how can I make this situation even more
difficult for my protagonist, but the more I delved into the characters, the
more the attraction between them felt inevitable. Now, of course, I can’t imagine the book
without it.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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And now for an unrelated question. In your opinion, in a battle between a lycan and a vampire, who wins and why? ~ <b>It all depends on how the writer writes the lycan, and how they write the vampire. As long as it’s internally consistent to the story (and as long as the vampires don’t sparkle) it’s all good. I myself have written two different versions of werewolves for two different universes. I have one vampire story on a back-burner, actually a novelization of a rather cryptic nineteenth-century ballad. But if my vampire and my werewolves met (necessarily through the intervention of a TARDIS), they would be on the same side, so the point would be moot.</b></div>
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<b>Cover blurb for The
Stolen Luck:<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpF-TiQ8p3lN5r_V-kibvlR-VP8rE8X1BjVjwXk31IoTwztTubQONzrkoNYyX_gVdfaKuUZGe7EljI5U4po_QrzjUcEEvZNzWDVljKl7lVGXFfj4DENqJhWIaZ8euzaHf94x7V4gwbR8Q/s1600/TheStolenLuck300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpF-TiQ8p3lN5r_V-kibvlR-VP8rE8X1BjVjwXk31IoTwztTubQONzrkoNYyX_gVdfaKuUZGe7EljI5U4po_QrzjUcEEvZNzWDVljKl7lVGXFfj4DENqJhWIaZ8euzaHf94x7V4gwbR8Q/s1600/TheStolenLuck300.jpg" height="320" width="202" /></a><b> </b></div>
How far will a good man go to save his home and loved ones?<o:p></o:p><br />
Lord James Dupree must recover his family’s stolen Luck, the elven talisman
that has protected the Dupree lands for generations. Without the talisman, the
Dupree vineyards are failing and creditors are closing in. The Luck is his only
hope of saving his home and his family from poverty and ruin.<br />
Despite his abhorrence of slavery, James wins an elven slave in a game of
cards. The slave, Loren, provides the only chance to enter the Lands Between
and recover the stolen Luck. Despite James’s assurances and best inten- tions,
Loren does not trust his new master and James finds it all too easy to slip into
the role of slave master when Loren defies him.<o:p></o:p><br />
As the two work together through hardship and danger, James finds himself
falling in love with Loren. And when a hidden enemy moves against them, he must
choose between his responsibility to his family and his own soul.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn9-qMNRtSlni1Fr3XKEVuxIGH-7qBJw7n3FaU3ByKkyF0ZxCoxrpmzgnI0cCKaWyxKY9ngGDlExEtW1_PdbvpGSWCFdirZEgCPnzKKXvKxHExQWesp0BWTAmoWsHVe6gFEVzRnOODJpo/s1600/raven-andrea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn9-qMNRtSlni1Fr3XKEVuxIGH-7qBJw7n3FaU3ByKkyF0ZxCoxrpmzgnI0cCKaWyxKY9ngGDlExEtW1_PdbvpGSWCFdirZEgCPnzKKXvKxHExQWesp0BWTAmoWsHVe6gFEVzRnOODJpo/s1600/raven-andrea.jpg" height="198" width="200" /></a></div>
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<b>Cover blurb for
Ravensblood:<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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In a life of impossible choices when sometimes death magic is the lesser of
the evils, can a dark mage save the world and his own soul?<o:p></o:p><br />
Corwyn Ravenscroft. Raven. The last heir of an ancient family of
dark mages, he holds the secret to recreating the Ravensblood, a legendary
magical artifact of immense power.<o:p></o:p><br />
Cassandra Greensdowne is a Guardian. Magical law enforcement for the
elected council— and Raven’s former apprentice and lover. She is trying
to live down her past. And then her past comes to the door, asking for
her help.<o:p></o:p><br />
As a youth, Raven wanted to be a Guardian but was rejected because of his
ancestry. In his pride and his anger, he had turned to William, the darkest and
most powerful mage of their time. William wants a return to the old ways, where
the most powerful mage was ruler absolute. But William would not be a True King
from the fairy tales. He would reign in blood and terror and darkest magic.<o:p></o:p><br />
Raven discovers that he does have a conscience. It’s rather inconvenient.<o:p></o:p><br />
He becomes a spy for the council that William wants to overthrow, with
Cassandra as his contact.<o:p></o:p><br />
Cass and Raven have a plan to trap William outside his warded sanctuary. But
William is one step ahead of the game, with Raven’s life, his soul, and the
Ravensblood all in danger.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<b>Author bio:</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBObFfLTrQxI9C-tp4Ve0oQ-WV2-spqbpO0jX4JCWhxnWJPrSr26GDkNbDTw8dzSu3dXlGCE6qlYlNPQ0W0opueODWFg1wTcx0X46I03WOUT0dPjIIF9Z2tNjuULf12rPllixoIGYuTag/s1600/Shawnareppert.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBObFfLTrQxI9C-tp4Ve0oQ-WV2-spqbpO0jX4JCWhxnWJPrSr26GDkNbDTw8dzSu3dXlGCE6qlYlNPQ0W0opueODWFg1wTcx0X46I03WOUT0dPjIIF9Z2tNjuULf12rPllixoIGYuTag/s1600/Shawnareppert.JPG" height="200" width="168" /></a></div>
<b> </b>From earliest childhood, Shawna Reppert has had a passion for stories– for
reading them and for writing them. She obtained a BA in English with a Writing
Option from Penn State University and has participated in numerous writing
workshops and seminars given by the likes of Charles de Lint, David Farland and
Elizabeth Lyon. Two of her stories have won honorable mentions from Writers of
the Future. Previous short stories sold to 10 Flash Quarterly and to Everyday
Fiction. Several ‘indie’ short stories are available for sale at Amazon, and
her story ‘The Beast Within’ appears in the steampunk anthology Gears and
Levers 2 edited by Phyllis Irene Radford. Her first novel came out as a Carina
Press e-book in May 2013 and is also available in Audible format. It won a silver medal in the Global E Books
Awards and is currently a finalist for an Eppie.<br />
<br />
<o:p></o:p><br />
In college, Shawna volunteered at a raptor rehabilitation center, which
became valuable background for her short story The Sword and the Kestrel.
Shawna has always had an affinity for wolves, and used to keep a wolf-dog
hybrid as a pet, giving her first-hand experience to put the wolf in her
werewolves. Her current four-footed children are a Lipizzan stallion and an
orange-and-black cat named Samhain. She enjoys Irish social dancing and is an
ardent supporter of live Irish music. Shawna also likes to play with the
Society for Creative Anachronism and can sometimes be found in medieval garb on
a caparisoned horse, throwing javelins into innocent hay bales that never did
anything to her.<o:p></o:p><br />
A Pennsylvania native, she currently lives in the beautiful wine county of
Oregon.<o:p></o:p><br />
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Where can readers find out more about you?<o:p></o:p></div>
<em>Contact email:</em><br />
<a href="mailto:mail@shawnareppert.com" target="_blank">mail@shawnareppert.com</a><o:p></o:p><br />
<em>Facebook:</em><br />
<a href="http://www.shawna-reppert.com/contact/www.facebook.com/shawna.reppert" target="_blank">www.facebook.com/shawna.reppert</a><o:p></o:p><br />
<em>Tumblr:</em><o:p></o:p><br />
<a href="http://www.tumblr.com/blog/shawnareppert" target="_blank">http://www.tumblr.com/blog/shawnareppert</a><o:p></o:p><br />
<em>Pinterst:</em><o:p></o:p><br />
<a href="http://pinterest.com/shawnareppert/" target="_blank">http://pinterest.com/shawnareppert/</a><o:p></o:p><br />
<em>Amazon author page</em><o:p></o:p><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Shawna-Reppert/e/B00957U8KG/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0" target="_blank">http://www.amazon.com/Shawna-Reppert/e/B00957U8KG/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0</a><o:p></o:p><br />
<em>Twitter:</em><o:p></o:p><br />
<a href="https://twitter.com/shawnareppert" target="_blank">https://twitter.com/shawnareppert</a><o:p></o:p><br />
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<b> </b><i>Website:</i></div>
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<o:p> </o:p><a href="http://www.shawna-reppert.com/" id="yui_3_7_2_1_1389991451132_1957" rel="nofollow" style="background-color: white; color: #2797da; font-family: Arial; font-size: small; outline: 0px;" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1389991447_0">http://www.shawna-reppert.com/</span></a></div>
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Shawna Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12476399575493212858noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4183027497948212755.post-62494129411161159972014-01-17T04:30:00.000-08:002014-01-17T04:30:05.072-08:00Experience Today I was looking through some quotes for a blog I was writing and I came across three I thought worth sharing. I think they're interesting because they come from three very diverse people. They all come from Brainyquote.com<br />
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<span class="bqQuoteLink" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 26px;"><a href="http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/a/alberteins148778.html" style="color: rgb(0, 51, 153) !important; text-decoration: none;" title="view quote">The only source of knowledge is experience.</a></span><br style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span class="bodybold" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px;"><a href="http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/a/albert_einstein.html" style="color: rgb(0, 51, 153) !important; text-decoration: none;" title="view author">Albert Einstein</a></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"> </span><br style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><br />
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<span class="bqQuoteLink" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 26px;"><a href="http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/c/cslewis103466.html" style="color: rgb(0, 51, 153) !important; text-decoration: none;" title="view quote">Experience: that most brutal of teachers. But you learn, my God do you learn.</a></span><br style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span class="bodybold" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px;"><a href="http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/c/c_s_lewis.html" style="color: rgb(0, 51, 153) !important; text-decoration: none;" title="view author">C. S. Lewis</a></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"> </span><br style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><br />
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<span class="bqQuoteLink" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 20px; line-height: 26px;"><a href="http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/o/oscarwilde105029.html" style="color: rgb(0, 51, 153) !important; text-decoration: none;" title="view quote">Experience is simply the name we give our mistakes.</a></span><br style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span class="bodybold" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px;"><a href="http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/o/oscar_wilde.html" style="color: rgb(0, 51, 153) !important; text-decoration: none;" title="view author">Oscar Wilde</a></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"> </span><br style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Read more at <a href="http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/topics/topic_experience.html#PJ6CKvrfVjVsmucw.99" style="color: #003399; text-decoration: none;">http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/topics/topic_experience.html#PJ6CKvrfVjVsmucw.99</a></span><br />
<br />
So what do you think? Does one strike you more forcefully than the others?Shawna Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12476399575493212858noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4183027497948212755.post-41451820888094286132014-01-15T03:30:00.000-08:002014-01-15T03:30:00.723-08:00Series Review<br />
Let me tell you about the <a href="http://www.raecarson.com/books/">Fire and Thorns trilog</a>y from Rae Carson. In one sentence, I wish there were more.<br />
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I would have done a book review, but once I started reading, I couldn't put this series down. That's one of the benefits/draw backs of starting a series after it's already done.<br />
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Don't worry. No spoilers, just praise.<br />
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I love the world, the characters, the plot and now I hate that it's over! I'm not ready to say goodbye! From a writer's perspective I appreciate how finely crafted this book is. The hints of Latin and Hebrew are brilliant. The world building is second to none! There are way too many exclamation marks in the post!!! ; ) I could feel the history just under the story, waiting to be discovered. Rae Carson dug up just enough to make her present day world deep without burying us in layers.<br />
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A friend of mine suggested this series when I told her I was in the market for a really good fantasy series and now I'm suggesting it to you.<br />
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Just go read it. You won't be disappointed.... but I'd love to discuss it with you once you're done.Shawna Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12476399575493212858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4183027497948212755.post-68803837683180265632014-01-13T03:30:00.000-08:002014-01-13T03:30:01.231-08:00Guest blogging Today I'm over at <a href="http://www.eleristone.blogspot.com/">Eleri Stone's blog </a>where I'm musing about genre, and other things. Come by and check it out.<br />
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And don't forget, there are still 16 days left to <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Shawna-Thomas/203067763106604?id=203067763106604&sk=app_228910107186452">enter</a> for a chance to win Ealois, Ewen's pendant.Shawna Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12476399575493212858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4183027497948212755.post-80539872858699806362014-01-10T13:48:00.003-08:002014-01-10T13:48:52.342-08:00Giveaway <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Shawna-Thomas/203067763106604?id=203067763106604&sk=app_228910107186452">T</a>here is still 19 days left in the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Shawna-Thomas/203067763106604?id=203067763106604&sk=app_228910107186452">giveaway</a> for Ealois, the pendant of Wisdom. <br />
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Don't miss out! : ) </div>
Shawna Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12476399575493212858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4183027497948212755.post-90194463064701847242014-01-08T03:30:00.000-08:002014-01-08T03:30:01.553-08:00Win-A-Book Wednesdays My group blog, Here Be Magic, gives away a book every Wednesday. Yes, EVERY Wednesday. It's called <a href="http://herebemagic.blogspot.com/2014/01/shawna-thomas-since-she-could-remember.html">Win-A-Book Wednesday. </a>What do you have to do? Go and find out! LOL. It's really very simple, like, join, and then read.<br />
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Today, we are giving away Journey of Awakening, the book that started it all for me.Shawna Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12476399575493212858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4183027497948212755.post-39669614686059613492014-01-07T03:00:00.000-08:002014-01-07T03:00:03.003-08:00USA Today
Sometimes when I get good news, it takes a moment or two to really sink in. Like when my book is mentioned in a USA Today article. I read it, and read it again, and then brought my husband in the room to read it, and then grinned ear to ear. Yes, this is definitely a very good excuse for hot fudge and ice cream. Or dancing in my pjs. Or both. Why not? <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ67m_L6MQQJr8AYc5wudlAevyC74Ly4T-XF3p_p3JeOLzLJdFGfe_HFoRqYDdc-0xMTH3sBbke3TkNtvG55Hk4HDGQny9mKJJG7QVV5kea4X6ClaAWQxcMCHv9flOIw12PfPs1h1qw0c/s1600/dancing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ67m_L6MQQJr8AYc5wudlAevyC74Ly4T-XF3p_p3JeOLzLJdFGfe_HFoRqYDdc-0xMTH3sBbke3TkNtvG55Hk4HDGQny9mKJJG7QVV5kea4X6ClaAWQxcMCHv9flOIw12PfPs1h1qw0c/s320/dancing.jpg" /></a></div>
Thank you Louann Carroll of <a href="http://www.usatoday.com/story/happyeverafter/2014/01/05/paranormal-romance-new-releases/4333657/">USA Today</a> for mentioning Journey of Wisdom as one of the five SCI-FI/FANTASY/TIME TRAVEL new releases. Shawna Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12476399575493212858noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4183027497948212755.post-68914328809060554652014-01-06T20:05:00.001-08:002014-01-06T20:05:28.282-08:00Guest Blogging
It's not often that I meet another Shawna. The name isn't all that common. I think in my lifetime, I've met two and heard of one other. However, recently another Shawna joined the gifted ranks of Carina Press authors. Shawna Reppert is very talented writer who agreed to swap blogs with me. She will be a guest here on January 20th and graciously hosts me today!
Come check out the <a href="http://www.shawna-reppert.com/2014/01/07/shawna-reppert-interviews-shawna-thomas-an-interview-with-a-fellow-carina-press-author/">interview.</a> And don't forget to enter the Giveaway for this gorgeous Ealois replica pendant <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm7LyiRpbKuEL__QrzIDdT5y2vDnTyovE6LycXVeKfcQsd-YeEvaf9FG9u-OTmzskGs6MmoggeBbrXgOVuVBAFGh8scv-_Sb7WE9_5HnzHmbjFTsDrHr68UrWI-e-RJj-ISnulL7F-0V0/s1600/Ealois.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm7LyiRpbKuEL__QrzIDdT5y2vDnTyovE6LycXVeKfcQsd-YeEvaf9FG9u-OTmzskGs6MmoggeBbrXgOVuVBAFGh8scv-_Sb7WE9_5HnzHmbjFTsDrHr68UrWI-e-RJj-ISnulL7F-0V0/s320/Ealois.jpg" /></a></div>
Giveaway information is in a tab at the top of the page. Shawna Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12476399575493212858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4183027497948212755.post-76215183064707020992014-01-01T04:30:00.000-08:002014-01-01T04:30:00.409-08:00HAPPY NEW YEAR New Years is almost synonymous with resolutions.<br />
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And it seems now is the time of year many of us make these. I suppose it makes sense. New Year, new beginning, fresh start.<br />
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<i><b>res·o·lu·tion (rz-lshn)</b></i><br />
<i><b>n.</b></i><br />
<i><b>1. The state or quality of being resolute; firm determination.</b></i><br />
<i><b>2. A resolving to do something.</b></i><br />
<i><b>3. A course of action determined or decided on.</b></i><br />
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I've always leaned toward not making resolutions, especially this time of year, mainly because of the pressure to do so. I figure if you're going to do something, why wait? Just do it. But this year, I'm kinda leaning toward reaffirming some old resolutions that have softened somewhat.<br />
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For instance, I had started an exercise regime last summer. I lost twenty pounds and two sizes, but although I've only gained five pounds due to holiday indulgence, I haven't exercised in over a month. Maybe two. With all Christmas activities and illnesses I haven't found the resolve to get back on track. I resolve to start exercising every day.<br />
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With the exceptions of Facebook, I haven't blogged or been online. But I'm looking at 2 books coming out in the space of 2 months and I'm thinking this is something I need to make time to do at least once a week.<br />
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So I resolve to play a bit on Twitter. <br />
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There are a dozen other things I'd like to resolve to do: Eat right, keep the house clean, spend more time writing, spend more time with my kids, spend more time on me, but then I'd fall into the pit of piling on so many resolutions that I can't hope to keep them all. There is only so much time you can spend until you move into the red.<br />
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So for me. That's it. Exercise, and twitter. Perhaps an odd combination.<br />
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How about you? Which side of the coin do you fall on? Do you have any resolutions this year?Shawna Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12476399575493212858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4183027497948212755.post-27366812831505092602013-12-30T03:30:00.000-08:002013-12-31T22:48:27.098-08:00Release Day.I don't care if you've written two or two hundred books, release day is special.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2a6qCz8v7RH2BWkG4FNPfZ-nIy2vHbwJQZIoEKKGuLQF00B-sFNkomyaVcsbr-Q1c4Yw-vL7xCFQ2EcPan7Ss3yn0ThxOxww-e0KTewnf_mzOOZVpJ4veRPF5OW7W8fYPrDoyJgfUFxQ/s1600/CARINA_1213_9781426897696_JourneyOfWisdom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2a6qCz8v7RH2BWkG4FNPfZ-nIy2vHbwJQZIoEKKGuLQF00B-sFNkomyaVcsbr-Q1c4Yw-vL7xCFQ2EcPan7Ss3yn0ThxOxww-e0KTewnf_mzOOZVpJ4veRPF5OW7W8fYPrDoyJgfUFxQ/s1600/CARINA_1213_9781426897696_JourneyOfWisdom.jpg" height="400" width="252" /></a>Today, Carina Press releases Journey of Wisdom, the third book in the Triune Stones series.<br />
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This book is special to me for many reasons. It's the first one of the series that I had to write from scratch. With the first two, I had bits and pieces done. With this one... nothing. It reaffirmed to me that I can write, not just rewrite and at the time that was really important. This book also contains some of my favorite characters. Ever.<br />
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And the cover... I think this is the most beautiful of all my covers. I really do. Carina did an awesome job.<br />
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So if you've been along with me on the Journey, this book will not disappoint. Not only does Ilythra come into her own, so do several other characters... and those elusive Siobani? Well, lets just say they come into play.<br />
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And if this is your first venture into the world of Anatar? I honestly don't think you will be disappointed either.<br />
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Starting today until January 30th, I'm hosting a giveaway for Ealois, the stone of Wisdom. Follow this link for details.
<br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg93puxOa1J60hw-8brkZ-dkyHiwpbhhmozK19j9sebtQUMlpjT1jEA0bmpPQa1EQ8hCBPwca8K1CFNUD7-SU3reqd3CF3AP9AssDyNICGBEJJakiz851R4EIINyqTZ_eAASsP9mzTKc_g/s1600/Ealois.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: center; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg93puxOa1J60hw-8brkZ-dkyHiwpbhhmozK19j9sebtQUMlpjT1jEA0bmpPQa1EQ8hCBPwca8K1CFNUD7-SU3reqd3CF3AP9AssDyNICGBEJJakiz851R4EIINyqTZ_eAASsP9mzTKc_g/s320/Ealois.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a class="rafl" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/7e1cc10/" id="rc-7e1cc10" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
<script src="//d12vno17mo87cx.cloudfront.net/embed/rafl/cptr.js"></script>
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Journey of Wisdom is available for order at:<br />
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<a href="http://ebooks.carinapress.com/39A9694D-D175-4471-907A-A4B1E35B54F9/10/134/en/ContentDetails.htm?ID=8D41EFC5-E8F3-4A96-BE49-CB09BBFCF743">Carina Press</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Journey-Wisdom-The-Triune-Stones-ebook/dp/B00F942TTM/ref=pd_sim_kstore_2">Amazon</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/journey-of-wisdom-shawna-thomas/1116912925?ean=9781426897696">Barnes and Noble</a><br />
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<a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/journey-of-wisdom/id728976547?mt=11">iTunes</a><br />
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Or any other ebook retailer!<br />
<br />Shawna Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12476399575493212858noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4183027497948212755.post-27809809990696140812013-12-20T05:30:00.000-08:002013-12-20T05:30:00.211-08:00It's almost time!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Journey of Wisdom releases December 30th! That's only 10 days away! It is now available for <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Journey-Wisdom-Triune-Stones-Shawna-ebook/dp/B00F942TTM/ref=sr_1_2?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1386391428&sr=1-2">preorder! </a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoPBPcdEl4ltkHth2iFWKsTjtILa_SKyn6X7RlNMWM2Du6xrh96vYyDbuy8_pVoJDDPUUlXOmGXnQyyDFj3LJGEcq6ZrUea-0L7B2H8NttYXzHRP3AsiQnsJ1eNqTQz5ELJcHHXpS3tTw/s1600/CARINA_1213_9781426897696_JourneyOfWisdom+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoPBPcdEl4ltkHth2iFWKsTjtILa_SKyn6X7RlNMWM2Du6xrh96vYyDbuy8_pVoJDDPUUlXOmGXnQyyDFj3LJGEcq6ZrUea-0L7B2H8NttYXzHRP3AsiQnsJ1eNqTQz5ELJcHHXpS3tTw/s320/CARINA_1213_9781426897696_JourneyOfWisdom+(1).jpg" width="202" /></a></div>
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One of my favorite characters of all time, Mohan, makes an appearance in this book. Here's a short excerpt:</div>
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"Can you climb?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I am a man of many talents. Most of which are sadly going
unused.” He raised an eyebrow. “After you, my lady.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Flipping on her stomach, Ilythra lowered herself down the
rock wall. She found a toehold and, trusting her sense of touch, slowly made
her way down until she could jump onto solid ground.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Mohan casually leaned against the wall on the road below, watching her.
His lithe body relaxed as though he were standing surrounded by his troupe.<o:p></o:p></div>
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How had he beaten her down? “What are you doing?” Ilythra
brushed the dust off her leggings.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I was enjoying the view.” He winked.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Check out the first two novels. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Journey-Awakening-The-Triune-Stones-ebook/dp/B00APEYBEC/ref=pd_sim_sbs_kstore_3">Journey of Awakening</a> and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Journey-Dominion-The-Triune-Stones-ebook/dp/B00BED26X6/ref=pd_sim_kstore_1">Journey of Dominion</a> available now on Amazon and at <a href="http://ebooks.carinapress.com/743EE2F0-3108-40D2-8E0D-A1C588C3380E/10/134/en/SearchResults.htm?SearchID=10912883">Carina Press</a>. </div>
Shawna Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12476399575493212858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4183027497948212755.post-78155081234154993812013-12-16T20:37:00.000-08:002013-12-16T20:37:00.139-08:00Funny sayings to brighten your MondayI don't feel old. I don't feel anything until noon. Then it's time for my nap. - Bob Hope<br /> <br /><br />I never drink water because of the disgusting things that fish do in it.. - W. C. Fields<br /><br /><br />We could certainly slow the aging process down if it had to work its way through Congress. - Will Rogers<br /><br /><br />Don't worry about avoiding temptation. As you grow older, it will avoid you. - Winston Churchill<br /><br /><br />Maybe it's true that life begins at fifty.. But everything else starts to wear out, fall out, or spread out.. - Phyllis Diller<br /><br />By the time a man is wise enough to watch his step, he's too old to go anywhere. - Billy Crystal<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"> And the cardiologist's diet: - If it tastes good spit it out. </span><ul><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"></span></ul>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"></span>Shawna Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12476399575493212858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4183027497948212755.post-87456226909116497762013-12-16T18:41:00.001-08:002013-12-16T18:41:23.256-08:00Three toys that should not exist.I am not a Scrooge. I love the Holidays. I love buying games kids will love, but I think the toy makers have gone too far. Yes, I know I sound like an old fuddy duddy, but withhold judgement just a minute, would you?<br />
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You see, my youngest now watches cartoons and being the good mom, I watch along with her. Because of this, I've been exposed to more commercials of late. And because of the season, tons of toy commercials. I don't doubt that kids might want to play these games--in particular 6 to 12 year old boys--but what would possess a parent to actually buy them?<br />
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<a href="http://www.toysrus.com/product/index.jsp?productId=11796515&camp=ppc:432729281&affcode=2729281&searchdef=2194806&k_clickid=2e7350b2-0402-1b29-2baf-00003126c293&002=2194806&006=35948522686&007=Search&008=&009=b&012=_cat:toysrus.com&021=27445565539">Doggie Doo Game </a><br />
Yes, a game about a defecating dog. Oh fun! But wait! It farts too!<br />
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<a href="http://www.gooeylouiegame.com/">Gooey Louie </a> When I see one of my children with a finger up his/her nose, it's an occasion for reprimand... I can't imagine a toy that encourages it.<br />
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<a href="http://www.toysrus.com/buy/active/pop-the-pig-game-30546-3636766">Pop the Pig</a> Yes, feed the pig until it explodes... There is so much wrong with that I don't know where to start.<br />
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So what do you think? Would you buy any of these for a child in your life?<br />
<br />Shawna Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12476399575493212858noreply@blogger.com0