The Demon Storm

Elle stood on the edge of the cliff while the Demon Storm raged around her and as Hell Fire ripped the night sky to shreds, she knew her life was forfeit. Unasked and unwanted, the Councils words over took the screaming winds. She hadn’t meant to over hear the meeting but Bear’s voice, full of desperation, found her ears while she carried water to the fire.

“How could we ask our daughters to do such a thing?” He had pleaded. Never before has she heard her father so beyond hope, and it froze her.

“We may not have a choice. If the Gods demand, we must obey or risk the death of all.” Hawk sounded as hopeless as her father but his words rang with a determination to outshine the seeds need to push through the earth and seek the sun.

“Would you ask your daughter to leap to her death then?”

“If I may,” replied Su, her mother with a kind and firm music, “I don’t believe we should ask or choose ourselves. The choice must be untainted and pure. We should announce after the Joining next night and let those old enough make the choice for themselves.”

“And if Elle took the burden?”

“I’ll stand like the oak and owl, strong, proud and wise that my daughter would give herself to save the rest and I’d suggest you remember that self is nothing if not honored by all.”

As her mother’s words penetrated Elle’s mind a stiff gust pulled the flaps of the Elders hut open a fraction and Su’s gray eyes, full of fire, met Elle’s. That ember within loosened Elle’s feet and she fled.

Now, with arms spread wide she took those final steps to where earth met air. She closed her eyes as a flood of sadness washed over her and tears burned trails down her ash coated cheeks.

She would miss her mother, with her smoky eyes filled with laughter and her father’s playful smile. Her sisters and brothers, her aunts and uncles, her entire people, she would miss them all. Yet, she knew they would be proud of her. Their children’s children would tell her story around the night fire, as she had told the tales of others before her. She would live on forever in the memories of her people, though that wasn’t why she stood at the mouth of Hell.

Her people needed her. There might have been some other young girl who would have gladly taken Elle’s place, but she had the most to lose, and the most to offer up. Of those old enough to make the choice, she was the youngest. She had never been with a man; her Joining with Mear would have taken place in the morning. Her father was the Chief and she stood next in line. Hers would be the greatest sacrifice.

Demon’s Breath whipped around her, tearing her ebony hair from its braid and yanking her towards the flaming maw. For the first time since she made the choice, fear gripped her heart. She didn’t want to die. Not yet, not with her whole life ahead of her. Mear’s loving face played before her eyes. She loved him, as he loved her.

“Elle,” he had begged when she told him of her intentions. “Let another go. Salla’s just taken Mel from the breast, she’d make an acceptable offering.”

“No,” she replied though it broke her heart. “I must go. I have the most to offer up.”

Mear had seen the truth in her words and left her with a parting kiss. She’d told no one else, she couldn’t have an audience. Now, as her heart beat towards its end and her lungs took in their last air, she wished she’d told her mother. But if her mother stood with her on that cliff, Elle doubted she would have the strength to do what she must do.

She allowed herself to feel the loss of her mother’s last embrace and regret that she’d never know a man’s touch. Then she took her last breath, wept her last tear and gathered herself to leap into the darkness.

Su watched from just inside the tree line as Ella, her first-born, prepared to give herself to the Demon. She knew her daughter had over heard the council as they discussed their options for soothing the angry Gods. Never in her wildest dreams would she have thought her daughter capable of such a selfless act.

Her heart had swelled with pride the moment she knew her daughters intentions. Though she wished Ella had told her, instead the word had come from Mear. He’d hoped she could talk her daughter out of it, but she wouldn’t dare. Her daughter knew what she must do and Su wouldn’t stand in the way of the God’s will.

As her little Elle, only sixteen winters old, threw herself from the cliff, Su’s heart broke like brittle clay, crumbling to dust and bitter edged shards.

Try as she might, Su couldn’t bring her words to the Elders into reality. Unlike the tall oak and its wise owl heart, she felt weak and shamed and as lost as a fallen fledgling. Bitterness and anger filled her hollow chest and burned her soul.

“What kind of God’s would demand an innocent child’s life?” she asked the oak. “What kind of mother would allow her child to die to appease the Demon?” she asked the owl. She got no answer.

As Su froze out her Gods she turned her back on the cliff and her people. The Demon Storm raged on, unsatisfied with her daughter’s great sacrifice.

Tis the Season

Nothing brings out the kid in me like Halloween. The thrill of spooks and sweets, the rich earthy scent of decay, the savory hints of spice and onion, all these remind me of childhood. We get to dress up and pretend to be something else for a night while letting our jokester side out.

 

This is the season where the morbid becomes acceptable and even expected. Creativity runs wild as neighbor goes against neighbor to out creep each other. Petty pranks leave houses thoroughly forked and draped in long sheets of white. Pumpkins become the faces of fear and welcome the hosts to visit while driving away the “baddies.” Fantasy becomes reality and the energy of those who have passed is catching.

 

Yes, Halloween is by far the best time of year.

A Question to my readers

Should I do a set of themed posts around The 13 Types of Paranormal over the next few weeks? Cast your vote at my Facebook page or reply in the comments! Thank you.

The Hunt

October is well underway, which makes me all sorts of warm and tingly. The Hunt is gearing up, the veil is coming down and the world is even more crowded than ever before. I love the way the air thrums around me, sending my blood roaring in response. Oh and the whispers, those sweet whispers. I get more written the closer to the Dead Time we get. Why? Because of those whispers, the hushed conversations with the spirits who cross the veil, or the breath-taking beauty when I make the trip.

 

Maybe I should explain. You see, I’m a witch and I see dead people. Not just people but the Watchers, the Whisperers, the beings who vacation briefly on this side, the echoes of the past, the promises of tomorrows. It’s both a horrible cruse and the greatest gift, but most of the time it’s annoying.

 

Have you ever driven down a deserted back country road and turned a corner just to see a young girl standing in the middle of the lane and you don’t have time to hit the brakes?

Your body locks up, your heart stops, you clamp your eyes shut and jam the breaks to the floor then wait for the sickening sound of metal slamming into flesh and bone. Vomit jumps to the back of your throat when the car jerks to a stop. All you hear is the pound of a faltering heart, the weak whoosh of chilled blood, and the single gasped sob.

 

It seems like forever before you can pry your fingers from the wheel, coax your eyes open and draw that finial breath. Braced for the worst you peek out the rear view mirror, just a micro-second’s glance but the road is empty save for the tire tracks still steaming. One more painful shutter in your chest as you look to your right. And there, smiling with a child’s joy and jokester’s eyes, sits the little girl. Maybe she winks, maybe she giggles or blows a kiss, but your heart has stopped, the breath frozen in your lungs. She gives a little shrug as if to say, “Hey, how was I supposed to know you could see me?” then drifts back into woods or field.

 

Despite these little jokes, I wouldn’t change a thing; I wouldn’t turn my back on this gift even for just a few moments of alone time.

Just what is the Paranormal?

 I’ve asked myself that question so many times and I still don’t have a definitive answer. Are the Paranormal those things that can’t be explained away, like hauntings and apparitions? Are the Paranormal those things with evidence to back them up but little to no social acceptance like Big Foot and Vampires? Are the Paranormal those things of myth and legend passed down to the present day with no evidence of them actually existing, like fairies and werewolves? Is the Paranormal simply the minds way to explain the unexplainable, to allow the mind to accept certain happenings and bring the believer a sense of a greater power, a better way of living, the path to foreverness?

 

And why, I must ask, do we have an obsession with the Paranormal? Do we crave a way to justify imaginations? Do we desire the possibility of more than what we have? Do we need a way to explain those things science and God cannot? Or are we simply in love with the idea of beings on earth more than human and the wish we could be one of them?

 

It’s this writer’s personal belief that the Paranormal exists outside of media, outside of the mind. I believe that we must believe in the Paranormal in order to keep living in the mundane hardships of life. Without even a slim hope that fairies, ghosts, vampires and succubus exist, we would be plagued with utter despair and the suicide rate would increase exponentially. Why? Because the Paranormal allow us to believe there is more out there then this pain filled horror on earth. The Paranormal opens doors to immortality, beauty, power, magic and a perpetual childhood.

The best writing advice I’ll ever give you

I won’t be posting a fun exciting post myself today because I have back to back doctors appointments, so I’ll share this fun exciting post by Cristian Mihai instead. Enjoy

13 Types of Paranormal Creatures

My newest WIP deals intimately with all things paranormal, from the lively sport of Rugging (think skateboarding up in the air on doormats) to living stone gargoyles that pepper the sky and always have some history to tell. And of course the paranormal people who populate the town of Para – a hidden culture deep underground in the sprawling network of caves. I’ve had a blast developing this paranormal world, its people, its government, recreation and supernatural powers. Every time I pick up a pencil, new information flows out and the giddy feeling numbs my mind. And I’d like to share with you the 13 types of Paranormal people who call Para home.

1)      Skinwalkers: Their physical form shifts from person to person, not to be confused with the ware-creature.

2)      Muse: The embodiment of creativity and emotion.

3)      Sirens: Beautiful people who inspire lust and love.

4)      Angels: Winged beings that bring faith and hope.

5)      Demons: Winged beings that bring fear and pain.

6)      Reapers: Bringers of death.

7)      Witches: Hold all things magic.

8)      Elementals: Control the elements earth, air, fire, and water.

9)      Fairies: Pranksters with a knack for play and jokes.

10)  Were-creatures: Their physical form shifts from human to animal on a given trigger.

11)  Ghosts: Bodiless spirits.

12)  Succubus: Controls dreams and fears.

13)  Vampires: Blood sucking beasts that do not glitter.

Each type controls some aspect of humanity and without these magnificent beings, humans would die out, go crazy, or worse.

Have I mentioned how much I love world building and writing?

The Business Of Publishing- A Writers Take

Writing a killer novel is just a tiny facet of the whole shinny deal, the rest is work, and the hardest part happens before you even land that book deal.

 

How do I know? I’ve spent hours researching the industry.

 

Why? Because ever since I first considered being published I wanted to know just what I was getting myself into. Mainly because I’m lazy and don’t like to be surprised by work I’m not prepared for.

 

Now I want to share the business part of writing, as I understand it. If you know something I’ve missed please add it to the comments. If I’m dead wrong, laugh at me until you cry then please correct my delusions.

 

Step One: Think up the best damn story the world has ever seen and butcher the crap out if it. This is the fun part!

 

Step Two: Shove it in a dark dusty spider infested drawer and ignore if for at least 1 month. This is a great time to think up an even better mind-blowing story to mutilate.

 

Step Three: Dig the treasure back out and read over the story. Decide it’s utter crap and in a fit of disgust, shove it away again for another month.

 

Step Four: Pull the mess out once more and, with the determination of a mailman hating dog trying to escape the confines of the backyard, rewrite the dirty bastard until he’s as smooth as aged whiskey.

 

Step Five: Pawn the cranky old man off on your closest, dearest friends and watch them squirm as they try to say something nice about it. Take everything they say and do the opposite.

 

Step Six: Now that you have a fairly decent turd, send it out to complete strangers and listen to their take on it. Then use this invaluable information to polish your turd to a mirror shine!

 

Step Seven: Lock it away in the highest room of the tallest tower in a dragon guarded castle. This will prevent you from attempting to make it better or correcting those typos, that’s not your job.

 

Step Eight: While your precious waits to be rescued by a cantankerous ogre, toot your horn across every writer’s network site. This is vital, without them knowing how uber awesome you are they may decide to swoop in on your six book deal, you must dissuade them.

 

Step Nine: Once you over shadow every other writer on the web set up a facebook author page, LinkedIn profile, twitter account, mindless blog about the greatness of your life, website, MySpace page and any other social media site you can think of.

 

Step Ten: Hound your friends and family to like, tag, share, retweet, pin, blog and otherwise forward your greatness along the World Wide Web.

 

Step Eleven: Now that the world knows how great you are, submit a self-serving query to the first agent you stumble upon. Send all 350,000 words, just to save them the trouble of requesting it. A sample book contract will also be a big help.

 

Step Twelve: Open a bottle of wine, light up that stogie and wait for the six figure advance check to come in the mail.

 

Step Thirteen: Realize you suck, wallow in despair and pledge never to pick up a pen again.

 

Step Fourteen: Start at step one again, only this time do your homework instead of taking the advice of a layman blog writer.

When Dreams Grow Wings

It’s Friday and I have no idea what words to spread across the pages. So, I’ll re-post something that I really enjoy. Simply because I can.

Dreams keep the spark alive in all that we do.  They put a little smile on our faces when things appear too hard and keep the words flowing.  We all have dreams, those little ‘what if’s’ and ‘that could happen to me.’  You know what I’m talking about.

My dreams span the world.  From the Phone Call, to the “You must have read the decimal point wrong”, and the simple 100 blog views.  These dreams keep me writing.  I know they could happen.  It’s happened before to others.  And as fun as it is to dream, I’m also realistic.  Could my dreams come true?  Yes.  But I know I must work for it.

I’d jump and scream and cry if my dreams came true, I’d also jump and scream and cry just to hear that I’m getting published at all.  I dream of becoming the next Dean Koontz, Stephen King, or J. D. Robb.  But I know they didn’t start as they are now.  It take’s work, dedication, tears and laughter.  It means that I must write and submit and write and submit and write some more.  I have to be rejected by a hundred agents and then rejected by a dozen publishers.  I have to watch my hard work put under a microscope and torn apart.  And that’s a ride I’m looking forward to.

So far in my life I’ve had dreams come true and after much thought, I’ve found out why.  I broke each dream down into steps or stages and worked my fingers bloody to meet each one.  Each step builds a ladder to my dreams until I reach the top.

An example of this:  The dream to be published.  Can you get published by dreaming of it?  No.  You must write something to be published.  Then you have to make it sparkle like star-dust.  Once there, you have to convince others that your star-dust out shines all the others and watch it go through the blender.  But once those steps are met, the dream can come true.

However, there is still the chance that your dream could grow wings.

So Dream on writers.  Dream and dream and dream.  And write and write and write. And then dream some more.

7 Reasons I’m Jealous of a 3 Year Old

Not a day goes by when I’m not insanely proud of my daughter. Yes, that includes all the times when she ignores me, disobeys me, irritates me, frustrates me and makes me want to run away to a dark corner to cry. But I tell myself she’s only 3, just a kid, but damn is she smart! And that not only makes me extremely proud, but down right jealous at times. Why would this writer mom be jealous of a smart 3-year-old you ask? I’ll tell you. I have decided to share some of the things my daughter has said, word for word, and let you decided.

 

1)      This is the last time I’ll go with Sasha, who lives in Highbida where no one lives alone. We have to take the school bus far, far away really fast to get to his workshop where he sings as he makes cookies with sprinkles that crunch like leaves without water.

2)      I don’t want to be a big girl. It’s too much work and not very fun.

3)      Tree’s walk around in the forest to mess with people who don’t believe in them. I can’t blame them, I would hate to be stuck in place and have birds poop on my too.

4)      When I grow up, I’m going to be on American Idol, only I’m going to finish first.

5)      I don’t want a night-light; the dark isn’t scary at all. It’s the monster’s that try to take advantage of the shadows that I have issues with.

6)      One day I want to fly like the birds so I can taste the clouds and sky.

7)      I like it when the clouds cry, it makes everything grow and I get to splash in sky tears.

Need I really go on?