I’m joining other fantasy and science fiction authors in the SFF Book Bonanza March 13-19, 2017. Over 100 eBooks will be free in this promotion and another 50 will be 99-cents. For me, The Last Grand Master is free and The Eye and the Arm is 99 cents. Click on the graphic below to see the lists.
In the Great War of ancient times, Neldin, the God of Death, sought to rule the world. He almost succeeded, but Kel, the Champion of the Six, destroyed Neldin’s bridge into the world and closed the Eight Gates of Neblor. Some thought forever.
But Neldin returned. His servant, Meglar, surprised his enemies and all the great wizards who opposed him. The Six chose a new Champion to save the world. Young and untested, Farrell struggles to unite those who oppose Neldin. With each confrontation, however, his task seems ever more impossible.
Book I – The Last Grand Master
Book III – Kings of Lore and Legend
Book IV – Child of Night and Day
Book V – When Heroes Fall (Coming 2018)
Food, Drink, Holiday’s and Culture:
Today kicks off what I hope will become a regular event on my site—giving readers the chance to get free eBooks from other fantasy authors using InstaFreebie. (If you’re not familiar with InstaFreebie, click the link to learn more.). Fourteen other authors are joining me this month to give away 12 novels and 2 partial novels. Click the banner below to see what books are available this month.
Each book cover on the giveaway page is linked to the author’s InstaFreebie page where you can find out more about their book. Just enter your name, email and preferred format and Instafreebie will send you your ebook. Sign up for as many different books as you like.
Look for another giveaway in May for a new group of authors.
If you have any questions or comments, please email me: [email protected].
Enjoy The Journey
-AQG
Thanks for hosting me today.
The line between hero and villain is not always as clear as one would think. As a writer I find it much more interesting to write villains who are convinced they’re doing the right thing. In their mind they are the hero fighting for a cause they believe in.
In Shadowboxing—book 1 of my WWII Echoes Rising series—there are several men and a woman who have various ways of justifying their actions. The title for this blog post comes from a recurring chess theme within the story, and the fact that several of the characters enjoy the game, both on the board, and in reality.
SS Standartenführer Karl Holm, the main antagonist in the story, is an interesting character to write. In his mind, his intentions are honourable, and he doesn’t see himself as a villain. Even when he’s interrogating his prisoners, he convinces himself that they brought their torture on themselves. After all, he gave them the opportunity to co-operate, right? He prefers to use good manners and intelligent conversation in order to get the information he requires, only stooping to distasteful violence when it is necessary. Having lost family in the last war, he has little time for traitors and is loyal to the Fatherland.
On the other hand, his subordinate, SS Obersturmführer Reiniger is a man who enjoys violence and hurting people. He is a bully, and unfortunately in a position of power, and will use that to get revenge on those who made him lose face. I’ve written a couple of scenes from his perspective and it was a very unpleasant experience. However, the scenes flowed really well—should I worry about that?
Margarete Huber is a different kind of foe, and although she may appear to be on a particular side, she plays her own game. She isn’t military but has family connections to the person in charge of the project that Holm and Reiniger are tasked to protect. This gives her power that she has no qualms in using for personal reasons, which makes her very dangerous. She is also very manipulative, and influences people and situations from a safe place behind the scenes. Margarete likes to think she can predict everyone’s moves so when someone does something she does not expect, or turns down her advances towards them, she wants to know why. Not only that, but she wants to ensure it does not happen again.
Which of the three would you think is the most dangerous?
Echoes Rising: Book One
Berlin, 1943. An encounter with an old friend leaves German physicist Dr. Kristopher Lehrer with doubts about his work. But when he confronts his superior, everything goes horribly wrong. Suddenly Kristopher and Michel, a member of the Resistance, are on the run, hunted for treason and a murder they did not commit. If they’re caught, Kristopher’s knowledge could be used to build a terrible weapon that could win the war.
For the team sent by the Allies—led by Captain Bryant, Sergeant Lowe, and Dr. Zhou—a simple mission escalates into a deadly game against the Gestapo, with Dr. Lehrer as the ultimate prize. But in enemy territory, surviving and completing their mission will test their strengths and loyalties and prove more complex than they ever imagined.
Michel froze when several gunshots pierced the quiet Berlin night. “Kristopher…,” he whispered. No. Please no.
Beside him, Matt’s head jerked up. He swore loudly. A few moments later, another lone shot followed the first couple.
Walker and Palmer skidded to a halt, doubling back from where they’d gone on ahead.
“Elise’s Kaffeehaus.” Walker panted, trying to speak and catch his breath simultaneously. He and Palmer appeared to be much younger than their companions; Michel wouldn’t be surprised if this was their first assignment in the field. “Gestapo….”
“Matt….” Ken’s previous harsh timbre was replaced by something much gentler, but Matt ignored him and shook his head.
“No.” His voice shook, his words partly echoing Michel’s thoughts. “Not Elise. Please, not her, not now.” Matt leaned heavily against a nearby lamppost, his eyes glazed over.
“We don’t know who fired the shots, sir.” Palmer took over the explanation. At least he could pass for German if he stayed quiet and kept his head down. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that, but there were no guarantees as to which way a particular mission might go. Michel had had that fact reinforced on more occasions than he cared to remember, but too many lives depended on them with this one. It had to succeed. “The Kaffeehaus is swarming with Gestapo, but there is no sign of anyone else.”
“We need to ascertain precisely what has happened before we move in. In order to do that, we will have to get closer.” Ken took charge—although Matt was the ranking officer, he appeared to be in no state to give orders. Whatever his relationship to Elise, this was not the time for him to be dwelling on what might be happening in the Kaffeehaus. Getting Kristopher and the plans to safety was still their priority.
“It’s damn obvious that someone’s been shot.” Matt visibly pulled himself together, although his voice hitched slightly before the word “shot.” “We need to get in there quickly in order to minimize damage. Gabriel, take Walker and Palmer and secure the back entrance. Lowe, Zhou, you’re with me. We’ll secure the front.”
“What if there’s another exit?” asked Liang, disengaging the safety on his handgun.
Matt shook his head, his matter-of-fact tone verifying prior knowledge of both the Kaffeehaus and its owner. “There isn’t. Not unless Elise has done some major renovations, which I doubt.”
“We’re probably more than outnumbered by Holm and his men.” Michel pointed out the inadequacies of the plan. “It would be more sensible to size up the situation first, as Lowe suggested, before we move in. The shot might be merely a warning. We don’t know for certain that someone is injured. If Dr. Lehrer and Elise have been captured, it would pay to wait until….” His voice trailed off, a grotesque image entering his mind—Kristopher lying on the floor of the Kaffeehaus, his fair hair stained red with the blood dripping from a single bullet hole to the temple. Michel quickly pushed it away. Holm needed Kristopher. He wouldn’t risk killing him. Elise could be used to ensure Kristopher’s cooperation. It made more sense that they were both still alive.
“I don’t care.” Matt’s previous calm was replaced by an edge of desperation that made him both unpredictable and dangerous. “I’m not just sitting here and waiting. To hell with procedure.”
Anne Barwell lives in Wellington, New Zealand. She shares her home with two cats who are convinced that the house is run to suit them; this is an ongoing “discussion,” and to date it appears as though the cats may be winning.
In 2008 she completed her conjoint BA in English Literature and Music/Bachelor of Teaching. She has worked as a music teacher, a primary school teacher, and now works in a library. She is a member of the Upper Hutt Science Fiction Club and plays violin for Hutt Valley Orchestra.
She is an avid reader across a wide range of genres and a watcher of far too many TV series and movies, although it can be argued that there is no such thing as “too many.” These, of course, are best enjoyed with a decent cup of tea and further the continuing argument that the concept of “spare time” is really just a myth.
Anne’s books have received honorable mentions four times and reached the finals three times in the Rainbow Awards. She has also been nominated twice in the Goodreads M/M Romance Reader’s Choice Awards—once for Best Fantasy and once for Best Historical.
Blog: http://anne-barwell.livejournal.com/
Website: http://annebarwell.wordpress.com/
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/anne.barwell.1
Google+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/115084832208481414034/posts
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4862410.Anne_Barwell
Dreamspinner Press Author Page:
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/AuthorArcade/anne-barwell
DSP Publications Author Page:
https://www.dsppublications.com/authors/anne-barwell-49
Today I’m truly please to have Kevin Caucher as a guest on the blog. I ‘met’ Kevin years ago on the Gay Author’s site and today I get to help host his debut novella from Wayward Ink Publishing. It’s really a good day when people you knew ‘when’ have made it. So please check out the information below and then hopefully go buy the book and support Kevin as he begins his career as an author.
Title: Lime and Tangerine
Author: Kevin Caucher
Genre: Gay Romance, Science Fiction
Length: Novella
Publisher: Wayward Ink Publishing
The post-apocalyptic world has changed. Colors have changed.
The skies are now red, and the seas fandango pink.
There are those who’ve acquired skills as “squinters”. By narrowing their eyes, they can see people in different colors—colors by which they can define their mood.
Senlin was born a squinter. A child of the foster system, the lack of love has left him with casual views on sex.
When Sicong recruits him into SQX, a squinter organization, Senlin wants nothing more than to jump his bones, but Sicong’s detachment makes Senlin believe his feelings aren’t reciprocated.
Senlin and Sicong’s relationship begins to grow as they undertake missions together.
That is, until an enemy of SQX turns his attention upon them.
I worked in a pub, Tingo; not that the pub knew about my business. I was a “part time drug dealer”, with part time meaning I helped drug dealers determine who in the pub was in need and from whom the dealers needed to stay away. I never did drugs myself, but I helped out when I was in need of cash. The job was easy. I’d squint my eyes and those in orange would be the ones to approach, instead of those rare yellow ones. It worked every time. From what I’ve heard, many of those yellow ones were undercover cops. The dealers often got caught when I didn’t help.
Away from the occasional “helping-out” in the pub, my real interest there was actually the cute guys. I got great satisfaction from looking at all the hot men, talking to them, and consequently taking them to bed. It wasn’t always easy, as one would know, but it was so much simpler with my “special ability”. My prey would also be orange when I squinted, but a less reddish shade, more like tangerine. When I spotted one I liked, I’d squint my eyes and whisper to myself, and almost to him, “You want to come home with me.” In no more than ten minutes, the man I wanted would magically come to buy me a drink, and we’d later end up at his place or mine, doing what I loved. That, again, worked every time.
Needless to say, many people saw me as cocky. I didn’t mind. I worked leisurely and almost always got what I wanted. What’s not to be cocky about?
WIP: http://www.waywardinkpublishing.com/product/lime-and-tangerine-by-kevin-caucher/
Amazon US: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01EB1AHI8/
Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01EB1AHI8/
Amazon AU: http://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B01EB1AHI8/
Amazon DE: http://www.amazon.de/dp/B01EB1AHI8/
ARe: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-limeandtangerine-2024618-145.html
Prizes: Two $2.99 WIP Gift Cards
Growing up in China, KEVIN CAUCHER never thought he’d grow up loving to write; never did he expect himself ending up in Australia either. He is now happily partnered in NSW Illawarra area and writing.
Kevin’s writing is mainly influenced by his growing up as a gay Chinese; he also sometimes pops out totally random stories that has nothing to do with his growing up.
Besides his passion for writing, Kevin has also opened a cafe in December 2015. “There, the cliché of authors writing in a cafe.”
KEVIN CAUCHER can be found at:
Website: kevincaucher.wordpress.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/kevincaucher1
There are some authors who you read and say, I wish I were that good. Anyta Sunday is one of those authors. Now I can admit to being a tad biased, I mean, we wrote a book together (two really) and she and her family have been to dinner at my house, but I read her books and sigh. So it I was thrilled to hear she wrote a NA fantasy series (cause we all know I love fantasy stories) and I’m even more thrilled to be able to share it with everyone.
Anyta answered a few questions, came with an excerpt and is having a giveaway. Check it out and then go buy the book.
-AQG
Soon a mother of two, I’m going to be juggling lots of babies. Both the real and the book kind! I love writing stories and trying out different genres, and I’ve been so lucky to meet so many amazing people in the writing world. Like Andrew Q. Gordon, who has been so wonderful over the years helping me develop as an author, and who is hosting me on his website today! Thanks!
The Telluric people live in the four hidden kingdoms: Summer, Winter, Spring and Autumn, tasked with keeping Earth’s seasons in balance. Forced into hiding during the crusades, their lore burned to ashes alongside many loved ones, the Tellurics work their magic unremembered by our world.
Locked starts in the present time, exploring the society of these kingdoms through the eyes of warriors, princes, and commoners. Times are tense in the kingdoms with rebels verging on uprising against the royals, and our main characters Rye, Cerdic, Drake, and Kaitlyn are right in the middle of it.
* Art by Maria Gandolfo (Renflowergrapx)
This story has four alternating point-of-view characters and we see events play out through all four of their eyes, however, the main character is Rye Cunnings, the lost prince of the summer kingdom. He’s a bit of a loner—has only one good friend who gets snatched by a dragon—and he believes he’s crazy. Why else does he have these strange markings on his skin. And dragons? Surely he must be seeing things . . .
Over the course of the first book, Rye learns about his true Telluric heritage, and is caught up in the lies, deceit and injustices of his new world.
Originally the idea come to me via a prompt from the lovely Mandy at the 2014 Bristol Meet. It was originally intended to be a short story, but over the years I got carried away with the world-building and it grew into a trilogy. Locked is book one.
Lots is happening that I couldn’t fit in the blurb! Lol. Unfortunately, most of it would be a spoiler to say here. However, I can say that amongst the fantasy there are two gay love stories running through the trilogy and one lesbian one. They are all very slow-burning relationships with friends-to-lovers and enemies-to-lovers developments.
I’m in planning stages. That means, I have an outline of what will happen in the next two books and I have set ideas for key scenes, but I’m still fine-tuning the plan before I start with writing it. The scope of the second book is large and I want to do it justice. I can say that there are more twists and turns to come, ohh, and book two moves from Gatreau (the gateway between the Earth and Telluric realm) into the four kingdoms. And readers can look forward to more dragon-warrior action!
TITLE: Locked
SERIES: Telluric Realm #1
AUTHOR: Anyta Sunday
COVER ARTIST: Natasha Snow
LENGTH: 98,000 words
RELEASE DATE: April 26, 2016
BLURB: A curse threatens the Winter Kingdom.
A brother is turned to ice.
A rebel uprising is on the horizon.
Marble-maker Rye Cunnings is at the center of it all—and doesn’t know it.
He doesn’t know he’s the lost summer prince. Doesn’t know his blood can unlock Winter’s curse. Doesn’t know why the marbles he makes flutter with magic. All he thinks is that he’s crazy. That he sees things others don’t, like dragons and strange markings on his skin.
But when a dark dragon snatches away Rye’s only friend Milo, he is forced to face the crazy in his life and figure out a way to bring Milo back.
Help comes in the form of Cerdic Leit, a warrior who finds Rye to take him “home” to the Telluric Realm and their kind. All Rye has to do is follow him into Gatreau, the gateway to the four Telluric kingdoms, and all his questions will be answered.
In the hopes of saving Milo, Rye steps into this new and dangerous world. A world where he learns of the Tellurics and their Hansian foes. A world that is swept up in a bitter battle of justice and hate.
And a world that won’t let Rye leave again.
Rye Cunnings shivered and hoofed it down the cobblestone road, fixed on the slice of his marble store ahead. This was just another morning. Just another morning.
A drizzly dawn fingered through the low-hanging mist creeping along Bristol’s narrow streets. Lamppost lights flickered and blinked out, sucking their murky reflections from deep puddles. Rain hit Rye’s neck and face and the palm he pressed against his chest. The drops snaked down his sleeve and mixed with the blood at his wrist. It tingled, and Rye dabbed his cuff over the cut—a circle intersected with twelve loops.
A cut that he’d gouged out with his keys, following the shimmery pattern that had marked his skin for as long as he could remember.
Mist lurked over the Marvel Marbles store sign, thickening over the tattoo parlor and barber cushioning it on either side.
Inside was safe. He just needed to get inside.
He jogged over the road for the bright blue door beckoning him home. Each step jarred through his body to his aching head. He just needed to touch one of the marbles he made.
Key in his good hand, he sank it into the lock and twisted until the bar snapped back.
A figure prowled out from the shelter of the parlor entrance.
Rye choked back a gasp, then let out a relieved laugh. Milo. Just Milo.
“Stealthy as a cat, you are.”
“Purrrrrr.”
Milo smirked and slunk to his side, raindrops weaving through day-old stubble to the cleft in his chin. He studied Rye and lifted an eyebrow. “And where’ve you been?”
Doesn’t matter. Get inside!
Rye feigned nonchalance. “A walk.” A drug-induced, crazy person one. “Just a walk.”
He beckoned Milo inside, but he tilted his chin skyward and let the rain fall on his face. A small smile played at his lips. “And a mighty good morning for one. Fresh, today is. Invigorating. Where’d ya go?”
Where? Where he always regained consciousness: the local cemetery at the church ruin. Every week the same time, the same place, and always surrounded by a sea of daisies. “Just . . . about.”
Clouds rippled, growing darker. Rye sucked in sharply, grabbed Milo’s arm and steered him inside. He shut the door and sank back against the glass.
Milo strutted through the store, running fingers over jars of comets, cat’s eyes, peacocks and milky ways. Hundreds of jars filled the shelves on his walls. Sparklers, corkscrews, aces. Hundreds of colors glittered without light. Aquamarine, butterscotch yellow, magenta, and every shade in between.
Rye caught his breath and let the colors calm him. In a couple of hours the grandfather clock tucked between shelves would chime nine and kids would press their noses to the window and fog the glass as they took in the wonder of his store. The day would whip by with smiles and laughter. Then it’ll be sundown again, thank God.
Milo faced him, casting a look at his mud-crusted jeans. Rye tucked his bloodstained sleeve behind him. “You look like regurgitated hell, pudding.”
“And you wonder why I never let you into my bed.”
“You couldn’t handle me, love.”
Rye gripped the wooden “shut” sign as he peered through the rain-splotched glass to the sky. Milo came to his side, staring out the window with him.
“A bad sign, huh?”
Rye startled. “What?”
“The weather. Means less customers, right?”
“Customers. Right.” His head pounded, his teeth ached. A marble. He needed one now. He shifted away from the windows but Milo planted a forearm on his shoulder.
“You seem on edge, Rye. Lock up for the morning. We’ll go out.”
Out? He shook his head. “Not today.”
A dark shape darted behind the gaps in the clouds. A shiver scuttled down Rye’s spine and he stepped back. Milo moved with him, oblivious to the danger that lurked out there.
“I need to make marbles,” Rye croaked.
“What you need is a day off, friend.”
“Haven’t made a marble in two days.”
“We could go to the carnival, hop on the Ferris wheel. Might even see above these clouds today.”
“How about some green tea?”
Milo pulled away, and Rye scampered across the store to his special marbles behind the counter.
“All right,” Milo said. “I’m going to be a bloody wanker and just say it: you don’t have a social life, mate. You never party. No one visits.”
“I’ve plenty of—”
“Customers don’t count.” Milo skulked closer. “Far as I can see, I’m the only friend you have. And that makes you one hell of a poor bastard.”
A sharp pang shot up Rye’s temple and he hissed, and scanned the middle shelf. He withdrew the largest jar, uncorked it, and dunked his fingers into the mass of silver swirls. Relief fingered up his arms, soothing the pain in his head and the ache from Milo’s advice.
He pocketed a marble.
Over the counter, Milo pointed at Rye’s bloodstained sleeve. “What happened, then?”
Rye resisted the urge to stare at his wrist. The cut never stayed long, would be nothing but faintly-scarred lines by now. Opening the door to his kitchen and marble-making workshop, he threw a hurried lie over his shoulder.
“It’s nothing. Had a raspberry smoothie.”
In the kitchen nook before his workshop, Rye picked up a half-filled pot of tea. Behind him came the clacking of boots, then a hand clamped over his shoulder, urging him around. Cold tea spilled out of the nozzle to the floor between them.
“What are you—?”
Milo pushed up Rye’s sleeve and revealed the circular scar, traced with dry blood. “How exactly did you have that raspberry smoothie?”
“Y-you wouldn’t understand.”
“Don’t underestimate me, I have vast, comprehendy abilities.”
Rye’s throat was tight. “I’m crazy, Milo. Certifiable.” He lifted the pot. “Green tea?”
Milo gently drew his black-painted nails around and over the mark. “You and green bloody tea.” He pulled Rye’s sleeve down. “I’ll have a cuppa.”
With a shaky hand, Rye poured them both a cup. Milo pinched his nose, downed his tea, and set the cup in the sink. “Ugh.”
Rye sipped his, then put it down. It didn’t settle his churning stomach.
“Now make me a marble, friend,” Milo said with a wink, and took out the pendant hanging under his shirt. “One with a bit of me in it.” He snapped off a thin corner and handed Rye the tiny wedge.
Rye stared at the piece on his palm. So small, so horribly scratched, and yet it warmed his entire hand. He clamped his fingers over it.
“Got any cash?”
“Put it on my tab.”
“I love it when I do work and no one pays me.” He moved into his workshop and Milo followed behind. “Reminds me of my last foster home.”
“Said so dryly. That’s exactly why I like you.” Milo flung himself on the stained brown couch at the flank of the room and slipped his hands behind his head. “I’ll lie here and share my woeful problems while you warm your glory hole. God, I love marbling.”
Rye tossed a fiber blanket at him. “I work with a torch.”
“Go on then, light up. Make magic.”
Swallowing, Rye glanced at Milo, who stared at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes. Make magic. He’d thought the same thing himself a thousand times. The way his marbles soothed his anxiety, or seemed to open locked doors, or throbbed warmly in his grip like they held secrets of who he was—what he was.
“I don’t make magic,” Rye said carefully.
Milo turned his head, waggling his brows. “Marvel me, then. Make me a nicer set of balls than I already have. Or better yet, make a marble that solves all my problems.”
“Such as cockiness?”
“Don’t go messing with anything starting with cock. All else is fair play.”
“Your assery it is then.”
Milo snorted.
“Entertain me with these oh-so woeful problems.” Make me forget mine.
“I’m too smart for my own good,” Milo said with a smirk. “And it’s going to cost me.”
“So dramatic.”
Milo looked pointedly toward Rye’s wrist.
“Point taken,” Rye said.
Milo’s phone rang and he swung off the couch. “You get to making that marble,” he said, ducking through the door. “I’ll be back.”
Rye took a sparkly gold glass rod from the jars on the shelf, bumping the small velvet pouch of marble monstrosities at the end. They’d been Milo’s attempts at marbling, pockmarked and pitiful. Yet he’d not brought himself to throw them away. They called to him with a magic of their own, the magic of a hundred shared laughs between them. Laughs that had been few-and-far-between before Milo had come into his life a year ago.
Rye set the melting glass next to the wedge of pendant. What style did Milo want? Did he wish his marble to glitter? To glow? To be dotted with silver?
He listened for Milo and was met with nothing but the creaking of his store door. Where had Milo gone to take his call? Rye shuffled to the kitchen. Empty. He checked the store.
“Milo?”
A breeze swept through the room. The front door was partially open and rain was pooling at the floor. Had Milo taken his call outside? Or had he left, like sometimes he did, without so much as a goodbye?
At the store window, Rye looked outside. The cloud had thickened. It hung low over shop roofs and gutters, only a few feet above the three umbrella-toting pedestrians huddled at the bus stop. Milo was strutting down the middle of the street toward the store, ash blond and soaked.
Rye waved.
The cloud burst, plumes pelting toward the ground, and a large winged body swooped down the street toward them.
Dragon.
Rye’s heart seized in his chest; he jerked his bloodied arm across his face and peered at the beast again, at its long snout, horns, and black scales, the arrowhead tail snaking behind it, whipping up gusts. The dragon dipped and umbrellas jerked, inverting into black poppies. Their owners laughed.
Rye ached to be one of those men, ignorant of the terror flying over them, of the dragon stretching its forelegs, clawed talons aimed at—
Milo!
Rye tried to shout but his voice was lost in the tight clutch of his throat.
The dragon whipped past the window. Wind surged and the door banged against the wall shelves, smashing a jar, glass shards and red marbles raining to the floor.
Rye shrank back into the shadows, shaking as the dragon snatched his friend and lifted into the clouds. Words echoed in his head, soft, placating…
Shhh. He won’t get you.
A born and raised New Zealander from Wellington, I’ve been exploring the literary world since I started reading Roald Dahl as a kid. Stories have been piling up in my head ever since. Fast forward to my mid-twenties and jump a few countries (Germany, America, and back again), I started to put them to paper.
My genre of choice is romance, both adult and YA, gay and straight. You can take a closer look at my books, available as e-books for download in many formats!
When I’m not pushing my characters deeper into adventure, I chase my son around the house and fight my two comical cats for the desk chair.
Since 2014, I’m also part of CritShop Literary Services, specializing in writing workshops and editorial services for LGBT fiction.
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Winner’s Prize: E-copy of Locked
May 3: MM Good Book Reviews
May 4: Author J Scott Coatsworth
May 5: The Land of Make Believe
May 6: Bayou Book Junkie
May 9: Loving Without Limits
May 10: Cia’s Stories
May 11: Louise Lyons
May 12: The Purple Rose Tea House
May 13: Unquietly Me
May 16: Alpha Book Club
May 17: The Novel Approach :: Hearts on Fire
May 18: Molly Lolly: Reader, Reviewer, Lover of Words :: Drops of Ink
May 19: Love Bytes Reviews
May 20: MM Book Escape
Today, my friend Anyta Sunday has release her latest book. If you’ve never read one of her books, you should, she’s amazing. Locked is the first book in her new Young Adult, Epic Fantasy series, Telluric Realm. That this is book one in a series is enough to make Tuesday almost cool. 🙂
TITLE: Locked
SERIES: Telluric Realm #1
AUTHOR: Anyta Sunday
COVER ARTIST: Natasha Snow
LENGTH: 98,000 words
RELEASE DATE: April 26, 2016
BLURB: A curse threatens the Winter Kingdom.
A brother is turned to ice.
A rebel uprising is on the horizon.
Marble-maker Rye Cunnings is at the center of it all—and doesn’t know it.
He doesn’t know he’s the lost summer prince. Doesn’t know his blood can unlock Winter’s curse. Doesn’t know why the marbles he makes flutter with magic. All he thinks is that he’s crazy. That he sees things others don’t, like dragons and strange markings on his skin.
But when a dark dragon snatches away Rye’s only friend Milo, he is forced to face the crazy in his life and figure out a way to bring Milo back.
Help comes in the form of Cerdic Leit, a warrior who finds Rye to take him “home” to the Telluric Realm and their kind. All Rye has to do is follow him into Gatreau, the gateway to the four Telluric kingdoms, and all his questions will be answered.
In the hopes of saving Milo, Rye steps into this new and dangerous world. A world where he learns of the Tellurics and their Hansian foes. A world that is swept up in a bitter battle of justice and hate.
And a world that won’t let Rye leave again.
Rye Cunnings shivered and hoofed it down the cobblestone road, fixed on the slice of his marble store ahead. This was just another morning. Just another morning.
A drizzly dawn fingered through the low-hanging mist creeping along Bristol’s narrow streets. Lamppost lights flickered and blinked out, sucking their murky reflections from deep puddles. Rain hit Rye’s neck and face and the palm he pressed against his chest. The drops snaked down his sleeve and mixed with the blood at his wrist. It tingled, and Rye dabbed his cuff over the cut—a circle intersected with twelve loops.
A cut that he’d gouged out with his keys, following the shimmery pattern that had marked his skin for as long as he could remember.
Mist lurked over the Marvel Marbles store sign, thickening over the tattoo parlor and barber cushioning it on either side.
Inside was safe. He just needed to get inside.
He jogged over the road for the bright blue door beckoning him home. Each step jarred through his body to his aching head. He just needed to touch one of the marbles he made.
Key in his good hand, he sank it into the lock and twisted until the bar snapped back.
A figure prowled out from the shelter of the parlor entrance.
Rye choked back a gasp, then let out a relieved laugh. Milo. Just Milo.
“Stealthy as a cat, you are.”
“Purrrrrr.”
Milo smirked and slunk to his side, raindrops weaving through day-old stubble to the cleft in his chin. He studied Rye and lifted an eyebrow. “And where’ve you been?”
Doesn’t matter. Get inside!
Rye feigned nonchalance. “A walk.” A drug-induced, crazy person one. “Just a walk.”
He beckoned Milo inside, but he tilted his chin skyward and let the rain fall on his face. A small smile played at his lips. “And a mighty good morning for one. Fresh, today is. Invigorating. Where’d ya go?”
Where? Where he always regained consciousness: the local cemetery at the church ruin. Every week the same time, the same place, and always surrounded by a sea of daisies. “Just . . . about.”
Clouds rippled, growing darker. Rye sucked in sharply, grabbed Milo’s arm and steered him inside. He shut the door and sank back against the glass.
Milo strutted through the store, running fingers over jars of comets, cat’s eyes, peacocks and milky ways. Hundreds of jars filled the shelves on his walls. Sparklers, corkscrews, aces. Hundreds of colors glittered without light. Aquamarine, butterscotch yellow, magenta, and every shade in between.
Rye caught his breath and let the colors calm him. In a couple of hours the grandfather clock tucked between shelves would chime nine and kids would press their noses to the window and fog the glass as they took in the wonder of his store. The day would whip by with smiles and laughter. Then it’ll be sundown again, thank God.
Milo faced him, casting a look at his mud-crusted jeans. Rye tucked his bloodstained sleeve behind him. “You look like regurgitated hell, pudding.”
“And you wonder why I never let you into my bed.”
“You couldn’t handle me, love.”
Rye gripped the wooden “shut” sign as he peered through the rain-splotched glass to the sky. Milo came to his side, staring out the window with him.
“A bad sign, huh?”
Rye startled. “What?”
“The weather. Means less customers, right?”
“Customers. Right.” His head pounded, his teeth ached. A marble. He needed one now. He shifted away from the windows but Milo planted a forearm on his shoulder.
“You seem on edge, Rye. Lock up for the morning. We’ll go out.”
Out? He shook his head. “Not today.”
A dark shape darted behind the gaps in the clouds. A shiver scuttled down Rye’s spine and he stepped back. Milo moved with him, oblivious to the danger that lurked out there.
“I need to make marbles,” Rye croaked.
“What you need is a day off, friend.”
“Haven’t made a marble in two days.”
“We could go to the carnival, hop on the Ferris wheel. Might even see above these clouds today.”
“How about some green tea?”
Milo pulled away, and Rye scampered across the store to his special marbles behind the counter.
“All right,” Milo said. “I’m going to be a bloody wanker and just say it: you don’t have a social life, mate. You never party. No one visits.”
“I’ve plenty of—”
“Customers don’t count.” Milo skulked closer. “Far as I can see, I’m the only friend you have. And that makes you one hell of a poor bastard.”
A sharp pang shot up Rye’s temple and he hissed, and scanned the middle shelf. He withdrew the largest jar, uncorked it, and dunked his fingers into the mass of silver swirls. Relief fingered up his arms, soothing the pain in his head and the ache from Milo’s advice.
He pocketed a marble.
Over the counter, Milo pointed at Rye’s bloodstained sleeve. “What happened, then?”
Rye resisted the urge to stare at his wrist. The cut never stayed long, would be nothing but faintly-scarred lines by now. Opening the door to his kitchen and marble-making workshop, he threw a hurried lie over his shoulder.
“It’s nothing. Had a raspberry smoothie.”
In the kitchen nook before his workshop, Rye picked up a half-filled pot of tea. Behind him came the clacking of boots, then a hand clamped over his shoulder, urging him around. Cold tea spilled out of the nozzle to the floor between them.
“What are you—?”
Milo pushed up Rye’s sleeve and revealed the circular scar, traced with dry blood. “How exactly did you have that raspberry smoothie?”
“Y-you wouldn’t understand.”
“Don’t underestimate me, I have vast, comprehendy abilities.”
Rye’s throat was tight. “I’m crazy, Milo. Certifiable.” He lifted the pot. “Green tea?”
Milo gently drew his black-painted nails around and over the mark. “You and green bloody tea.” He pulled Rye’s sleeve down. “I’ll have a cuppa.”
With a shaky hand, Rye poured them both a cup. Milo pinched his nose, downed his tea, and set the cup in the sink. “Ugh.”
Rye sipped his, then put it down. It didn’t settle his churning stomach.
“Now make me a marble, friend,” Milo said with a wink, and took out the pendant hanging under his shirt. “One with a bit of me in it.” He snapped off a thin corner and handed Rye the tiny wedge.
Rye stared at the piece on his palm. So small, so horribly scratched, and yet it warmed his entire hand. He clamped his fingers over it.
“Got any cash?”
“Put it on my tab.”
“I love it when I do work and no one pays me.” He moved into his workshop and Milo followed behind. “Reminds me of my last foster home.”
“Said so dryly. That’s exactly why I like you.” Milo flung himself on the stained brown couch at the flank of the room and slipped his hands behind his head. “I’ll lie here and share my woeful problems while you warm your glory hole. God, I love marbling.”
Rye tossed a fiber blanket at him. “I work with a torch.”
“Go on then, light up. Make magic.”
Swallowing, Rye glanced at Milo, who stared at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes. Make magic. He’d thought the same thing himself a thousand times. The way his marbles soothed his anxiety, or seemed to open locked doors, or throbbed warmly in his grip like they held secrets of who he was—what he was.
“I don’t make magic,” Rye said carefully.
Milo turned his head, waggling his brows. “Marvel me, then. Make me a nicer set of balls than I already have. Or better yet, make a marble that solves all my problems.”
“Such as cockiness?”
“Don’t go messing with anything starting with cock. All else is fair play.”
“Your assery it is then.”
Milo snorted.
“Entertain me with these oh-so woeful problems.” Make me forget mine.
“I’m too smart for my own good,” Milo said with a smirk. “And it’s going to cost me.”
“So dramatic.”
Milo looked pointedly toward Rye’s wrist.
“Point taken,” Rye said.
Milo’s phone rang and he swung off the couch. “You get to making that marble,” he said, ducking through the door. “I’ll be back.”
Rye took a sparkly gold glass rod from the jars on the shelf, bumping the small velvet pouch of marble monstrosities at the end. They’d been Milo’s attempts at marbling, pockmarked and pitiful. Yet he’d not brought himself to throw them away. They called to him with a magic of their own, the magic of a hundred shared laughs between them. Laughs that had been few-and-far-between before Milo had come into his life a year ago.
Rye set the melting glass next to the wedge of pendant. What style did Milo want? Did he wish his marble to glitter? To glow? To be dotted with silver?
He listened for Milo and was met with nothing but the creaking of his store door. Where had Milo gone to take his call? Rye shuffled to the kitchen. Empty. He checked the store.
“Milo?”
A breeze swept through the room. The front door was partially open and rain was pooling at the floor. Had Milo taken his call outside? Or had he left, like sometimes he did, without so much as a goodbye?
At the store window, Rye looked outside. The cloud had thickened. It hung low over shop roofs and gutters, only a few feet above the three umbrella-toting pedestrians huddled at the bus stop. Milo was strutting down the middle of the street toward the store, ash blond and soaked.
Rye waved.
The cloud burst, plumes pelting toward the ground, and a large winged body swooped down the street toward them.
Dragon.
Rye’s heart seized in his chest; he jerked his bloodied arm across his face and peered at the beast again, at its long snout, horns, and black scales, the arrowhead tail snaking behind it, whipping up gusts. The dragon dipped and umbrellas jerked, inverting into black poppies. Their owners laughed.
Rye ached to be one of those men, ignorant of the terror flying over them, of the dragon stretching its forelegs, clawed talons aimed at—
Milo!
Rye tried to shout but his voice was lost in the tight clutch of his throat.
The dragon whipped past the window. Wind surged and the door banged against the wall shelves, smashing a jar, glass shards and red marbles raining to the floor.
Rye shrank back into the shadows, shaking as the dragon snatched his friend and lifted into the clouds. Words echoed in his head, soft, placating…
Shhh. He won’t get you.
A born and raised New Zealander from Wellington, I’ve been exploring the literary world since I started reading Roald Dahl as a kid. Stories have been piling up in my head ever since. Fast forward to my mid-twenties and jump a few countries (Germany, America, and back again), I started to put them to paper.
My genre of choice is romance, both adult and YA, gay and straight. You can take a closer look at my books, available as e-books for download in many formats!
When I’m not pushing my characters deeper into adventure, I chase my son around the house and fight my two comical cats for the desk chair.
Since 2014, I’m also part of CritShop Literary Services, specializing in writing workshops and editorial services for LGBT fiction.
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Winner’s Prize: E-copy of Locked
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Cover Artist: August Li
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John Fletcher, a former musician, is stuck in limbo after losing his long-term partner two years ago. He’s shut himself off from everything that reminds him of what he’s lost. When his neighbour persuades him to join the local community choir, John rediscovers his love of music and finds a reason to start living again.
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Continue reading Imperfect Harmony; by Jay Northcote—Book Blast and Excerpt
