Archive for the ‘My Favorite Bit’ Category

My Favorite Bit: Clark T. Carlton talks about THE PROPHET OF THE GHOST ANTS

My Favorite BitClark T. Carlton is joining us today with his novel The Prophet of the Ghost Ants. Here’s the publishers description:

Both familiar and fantastic, Clark T. Carlton’s Prophets of the Ghost Ants explores a world in which food, weapons, clothing, art—even religious beliefs—are derived from Humankind’s profound intertwining with the insect world.

In a savage landscape where humans have evolved to the size of insects, they cannot hope to dominate. Ceaselessly, humans are stalked by night wasps, lair spiders, and marauder fleas. And just as sinister, men are still men. Corrupt elites ruthlessly enforce a rigid caste system. Duplicitous clergymen and power-mongering royalty wage pointless wars for their own glory. Fantasies of a better life and a better world serve only to torment those who dare to dream.

One so tormented is a half-breed slave named Anand, a dung-collector who has known nothing but squalor and abuse. Anand wants to lead his people against a genocidal army who fight atop fearsome, translucent Ghost Ants. But to his horror, Anand learns this merciless enemy is led by someone from his own family: a religious zealot bent on the conversion of all non-believers . . . or their extermination.

A mix of Adrian Tchaikovsky’s Shadow of the Apt,Katherine Addison’s The Goblin Emperor,and Phillip Pullman’s Golden Compass,this is a powerful new addition to the genre.

What’s Clark’s favorite bit?

The Prophet of the Ghost Ant cover image

CLARK THOMAS CARLTON

My favorite bit in my Antasy series is my Cockroach Tribe.

I may have lost a few of you already who think bugs are icky … and none are ickier than roaches.

I have no fondness for actual roaches. They were something I tried and failed to kill in the low rent apartments of my college days. I remember the nauseating stink of insecticides that failed to stop the cucarachas who only came out at night. While I was in bed I’d hear them as they crawled over the paper and plastics of the trash with that creepy rustling sound. When I flipped on the lights, they scrambled in a circular way to their home under the stove.

Ick.

Cockroaches need to be exterminated because they can transmit the kinds of bacteria that cause food poisoning and they can spread parasitic worms and other human pathogens. And as companions, well, they are not exactly cute and cuddly or likely to impress your dates. An embarrassing moment from the days-before-cell-phones was when I brought in my answering machine to be repaired and was told it was a “roach motel.” Its six-legged inhabitants were drawn to its heat and darkness and something within the machine was delicious and nourishing. And as for those actual Black Flag Roach Motels (roaches check in but they don’t check out), I remember an alcohol and pot-fueled party where one guest, an aspiring performance artist, created an impromptu piece when she gathered those boxes reeking of maple syrup. She carefully opened the Motels to reveal their victims stuck to ribbons of glue and then pinned these sheets to a wall facing the front door. Arriving guests encountered a kind of abstract art that was beautiful at first … until you got up closer.

Major ick.

So yes, death to the cockroaches, but in the world of my science-fantasy series, roaches have a beneficial relationship with at least one tribe of humans. In this distant future, men and women have shrunk to a tenth of an inch and they are the last of the Earth’s red blooded creatures. It’s an oxygen rich world where the insects have gotten as large as they were in the Carboniferous Period — some of the flying ones have wingspans of two feet or more. In order to survive, the tiny humans don’t battle bugs but infiltrate and live among them and their cultures are an outgrowth of the insect they adopt. The brown ant people hate the yellow ant people and they detest the beetle people. And everyone hates the cockroach people.

Yes, millions of years from now, roaches are still reviled, but for a different reason.

The ant peoples of this futurity confine their lives to the mounds where they cohabitate with their insects. In order to be accepted by ants (instead of torn apart and eaten by them) the humans have to disguise themselves. They wear antennae and clothing made from the eggshells of pupae or the moltings of larvae, but more importantly, they wear their ants’ colony scent. The ants of a colony recognize each other as kin not by appearance, but with sniffs of their antennae. If some brown ant people stumble into yellow territory, the yellow ants will destroy the browns because they wear the scent of an enemy ant. This makes for a world where tribal divides are absolute and the word “ambassador” does not exist. Men and women with different ants are not recognized as fellow humans but as lesser beings with inferior insects.

The exception in this world is the Britasyte roach people. They are the wanderers of these treacherous lands, something made possible by their roaches exuding a pheromone that repels other insects. The roach people are hated for their dark skin and the stink of their insects and they are resented for their wealth and the freedoms of the roaming life. Sometimes they are hired by the monarchs of the ant nations to pass critical messages, but mostly the Britasytes are show people as well as traders and craftsmen. Their elaborate spectacles feature the forbidden beauty of women dancing to a frenzied music. Before the show, seductive roach girls ply the audience with a drink laced with a hallucinogenic fungus. After the show, the roach men sell the drunken revelers their cloth, jewelry and exotic items from distant lands.

The Roach Tribe lives in constant danger — one of their four clans has been lost for years — but they cannot imagine a life more fulfilling than their own. They call the ant peoples ‘sedites’, a word that degrades them for their settled ways. The Britasytes are sure that no insect is better than the roach which provides them with protection as well as eggs both for eating and as leather for boots and shoes. The largest roaches are draped and bejeweled draft animals that haul sand sleds encrusted with thousands of gems.

My hero, Anand, like so many heroes, is a boy from a mixed marriage and he has a foot in two worlds.  Among the ant people, Anand is the lowest of the low — a halfbreed outcaste. Like his father, he was born to a life of salvaging and waste disposal. But his mother, Corra, is a Britasyte who married an outsider to give birth to a spanner: a high status male to serve as a link to a powerful ant nation. Anand will grow up to negotiate trade deals as well as the tribe’s safety — or so he hopes.

My favorite chapter in my first book is when Anand is brought to an annual gathering of the Roach Clans to celebrate something like his bar mitzvah. It is the most beautiful night of his life when his clan’s chieftain gives him his first suit of clothes: a cape that resembles the elytra, or forewings of a roach. Under the cape is a tight and colorful tunic that reveals the roach-greased muscles of his arms and legs. That night, Anand is allowed his first drink of the Holy Mildew, a potion that connects him to the tribe’s two-sexed deity, the Lord-Lady Roach of the Spirit World. And just when it can’t get more blissful, Anand sees Daveena, a large and intimidating beauty as she dances around a cage of lightning flies. The sight of her “wracks Anand with a painful yearning and a sickness that would forever infect him.”  When Daveena touches Anand’s hand, “he sees their future in an instant: their marriage, pregnancies and grandchildren. He saw her hair turn gray and her corpse fed to the roaches.”

The Britasyte Camp

Art by Mozchops

You may still not have warmed up to roaches, even these imagined ones, but I’ve learned recently that some of them, like mammals, care for their young and even provide them with something like milk. All that aside, the next time you see a cockroach in your own house, step on it.  And then call the exterminator.

LINKS:

The Prophet of the Ghost Ants Universal Book Link

Twitter

Website

BIO:

Clark T. Carlton is the son of a barefooted, Floridian cowboy and a beauty queen from the Land of Cotton who ventured North to raise their children in the long shadow of New York City. When he was a teenager, his family moved from a blue-collar melting pot to a segregated and conservative enclave of Southern California, an event which forever altered his world view. He studied English and Film at Boston University and UCLA and has worked as a screen and television writer, a journalist, and as a producer of reality television in addition to a thousand and one other professions. He has always had more blue than white in his collar.

Prophets of the Ghost Ants is his first original novel, a tale inspired during a trip to the Yucatan when he witnessed a battle for a Spanish peanut by two different kinds of ants. That night he dreamed of armies of tiny men on the backs of red and black ants. After doing years of research on insects and human social systems, the plot was revealed to him as a streaming, technicolor prophecy on the sixth night of Burning Man when the effigy goes up in flames.

Some of his favorite books are the classics of science fiction, all of which have an element of fantasy if they involve time travel or traveling faster than the speed of light (or through a wormhole) to another solar system. As a child, he had hopes of enlisting in Star Fleet Academy, but any physicist worth his neutrons will tell us that kind of space travel will never be possible. One of the greatest regrets of his life is that he cannot travel the galaxies to interact with alien societies- but it has opened him up to create his own imaginary world.

He lives with his family in Los Angeles where he enjoys tennis, volleyball, songwriting, and painting. A friend of his calls his paintings “Grandma Moses on acid”, which he takes as the highest compliment.

My Favorite Bit: Sean Grigsby talks about ASH KICKERS

My Favorite BitSean Grigsby is joining us today to talk about his novel Ash Kickers. Here’s the publisher’s description:

Dragons vs Firefighters vs the Phoenix. The scorching fantasy sequel to Smoke Eaters.

With ex-firefighter Cole Brannigan in command of the Smoke Eaters, the dragon menace is under control. Thanks to non-lethal Canadian tech, the beasts are tranquilized and locked up, rather than killed. But for Tamerica Williams, this job filled with action and danger, has become tediously routine.

When a new threat emerges, a legendary bird of fire – the Phoenix – it’s the perfect task for Williams. But killing the Phoenix just brings it back stronger, spreading fire like a plague and whipping dragons into a frenzy. Will it prove to be too much excitement, even for adrenalin-junkie Williams?

What’s Sean’s favorite bit?

Ash Kickers cover image

SEAN GRIGSBY

Sequels, am I right?

Fans of a story look forward to the next installment. Lauded creators do their best to make something new, that holds the spirit of the first, but not the same plot rewashed and hung out to dry. So many sequels end up sucking.

Obviously, I didn’t want Ash Kickers to suck. Its predecessor, Smoke Eaters, was well-received, and anything I wrote to expand that world had big fire boots to fill. I had to crank it to eleven.

If you’re not familiar, the Smoke Eaters series can be described as firefighters versus dragons in the future. The scalies have returned from beneath the earth and have turned the world into an ashen wasteland, save for the clusters of civilization that run as city-states. Parthenon City, Ohio is where our dragon-slaying civil servants call home, and they don’t just have scalies to worry about. Ghosts, job-stealing robots, and nefarious politicians round out a gallery of villains in the first book. Ash Kickers adds a few more to the list.

Tamerica Williams is now taking the reins while Cole Brannigan is still around, leading the smoke eaters as chief. Dragons are no longer killed, but caught and used for their life-saving blood. But something new just showed up. It eats dragons, is made of insanely hot fire, and no matter how many times you slay it, it comes back stronger than ever. That’s right. I’m talking about a phoenix.

And that’s not all.

A spree of suicide arsons is terrorizing the city. The cops suspect a cult, and the fire department can’t determine what they’re using as an accelerant. It’s almost as if they’re spontaneously combusting.

But I’m here to talk about my favorite bit, and I thought I’d give you a peek at something else. A sequel provides an opportunity to write the scenes you wished you’d put in the previous book. For me, I really wanted a scene where the smoke eaters have to battle dragons attacking the city. I’m talking about crumbling buildings, scalies soaring past windows on the twentieth floor, and good old fashioned downtown mayhem.

It starts with something going very wrong:

Multiple angry roars came from behind the smoke and flames. A scaly foot broke through and landed just in front of me. I looked up to see a white, crystalline dragon head looking down at me from at least fifty feet up. Training and adrenaline kicked in as I fired a few rounds at the scaly, the lasers striking the translucent spikes protruding from its cheek bones. My efforts only chipped off a few pieces of the spikes and made the dragon flinch slightly, as if the lasers were houseflies buzzing around its face.

Then, with a snarl, the dragon opened its mouth and showed me a sparkling blue light at the back of its throat.

Well, you don’t see that every day.

Still flat on the ground, I hit my suit’s power jump. The thrusters threw me across the ground. I didn’t go far but it was enough to dodge the scaly’s attack which came out as a blinding cone of cold energy.

“It’s a fucking ice dragon!” Naveena shouted through my helmet. “Get out of there, T!”

From there, dozens of dragons stampede for Parthenon City and the fight calls for every last smoke eater in Ohio to respond. Tamerica and fellow captain Naveena Jendal have their work cut out for them.

The ice dragon breathed its fury down the street as smatterings of people screamed and ran. Sheets of frost formed on windows. A few unfortunate souls had gotten blasted by the dragon’s ice beam, turning into macabre snow people after the light passed over them.

When Naveena lowered her final finger and the ice dragon’s tail swooped over our heads to the left, she shouted, “Now!”

Both of us hit our jump buttons and sailed into the air. Our trajectory should have put us dead center on the back of the scaly’s neck. But its tail swung back as we flew through the air, slamming into me first, then Naveena. We soared together in a tangled girl ball of smoke eaters. I managed to grab onto her, wanting something to hang onto. The world spun out of my control as I tumbled into the unknown.

What follows is a high-rise battle that only gets tougher as more dragons, walking human infernos, and vengeful ghosts enter the mix. But you’ll have to grab a copy to find out what happens next.

LINKS:

Ash Kickers Universal Book Link

Website

Facebook 

Twitter

BIO:

SEAN GRIGSBY is a professional firefighter in central Arkansas, where he writes about lasers, aliens, and guitar battles with the Devil when he’s not fighting dragons. He grew up on Goosebumps books in Memphis, Tennessee, and hosts the Cosmic Dragon podcast.

My Favorite Bit: Olivia Waite talks about THE LADY’S GUIDE TO CELESTIAL MECHANICS

Favorite Bit iconOlivia Waite is joining us today to talk about her novel The Lady’s Guild to Celestial Mechanics. Here’s the publisher’s description:

As Lucy Muchelney watches her ex-lover’s sham of a wedding, she wishes herself anywhere else. It isn’t until she finds a letter from the Countess of Moth, looking for someone to translate a groundbreaking French astronomy text, that she knows where to go. Showing up at the Countess’ London home, she hoped to find a challenge, not a woman who takes her breath away.

Catherine St Day looks forward to a quiet widowhood once her late husband’s scientific legacy is fulfilled. She expected to hand off the translation and wash her hands of the project—instead, she is intrigued by the young woman who turns up at her door, begging to be allowed to do the work, and she agrees to let Lucy stay. But as Catherine finds herself longing for Lucy, everything she believes about herself and her life is tested.

While Lucy spends her days interpreting the complicated French text, she spends her nights falling in love with the alluring Catherine. But sabotage and old wounds threaten to sever the threads that bind them. Can Lucy and Catherine find the strength to stay together or are they doomed to be star-crossed lovers?

What’s Olivia’s favorite bit?

OLIVIA WAITE

In 1876 a woman in Iowa named Ellen Harding Baker finished a solar system quilt. Ellen was a teacher and an astronomer, and in her lectures she used her quilt as a visual aid: it’s made of wool and silk in mostly black and white, with details of red and gold and blue. The quilt-top shows the sun and a dazzling comet and the orbits of all eight planets (this was before there were nine, and long before we went back down to eight).

In 2018, I wanted to write a book about a lady astronomer who falls in love with a countess who’s an accomplished embroiderer. I thought this book was going to be about Art Versus Science, Beauty Versus Truth, ladies kissing—important historical ideas like that. The story’s set in 1816, in London, and in the course of doing research I found myself wandering online archives of old cross-stitch and embroidery samplers. It’s a much, much weirder world than you expect: alongside all the happy animals and Bible verses there are samplers mourning lost loved ones and describing children dying horribly, all carefully created by putting down one tiny length of thread at a time.

One sampler, dated 1811, was a model of the solar system.

Solar System Embroidery Sampler

Solar System Embroidery Sampler, 1811

I was gobsmacked: the pattern had been printed, which meant it had been produced for sale. That means there was enough of a market for astronomy-themed embroidery that someone had created a product to satisfy demand. This wasn’t a one-off. The sampler shows the sun and the first seven planets, including the one labeled Georgium Sidus (named for King George III, which would later be changed to Neptune so it wouldn’t feel out of place among the other mythologically named planets).

If there was a market, there might be other examples like this one. I started searching more broadly for astronomy-themed embroidery, and bam, there was Ellen Harding Baker’s quilt.

Solar System Quilt by Ellen Harding Baker

Ellen Harding Baker’s Solar System Quilt, 1876

It changed everything.

Let’s talk about how much time it takes to make a quilt: a lot. Cutting fabric, top stitching, seaming. Even if you have a Singer sewing machine to help with the piecework, you still end up doing all that fine embroidery by hand. You have to really love the subject you’re working on to spend seven years illustrating it.

You also have to believe your subject can be beautiful. You have to believe that loveliness is a kind of fact—and that showing the solar system’s aesthetic appeal is an important part of describing it accurately.

Ellen Harding Baker was doing Art and Science, Truth and Beauty. I realized my entire framework had been flawed—and not just about the book. As a feminist and that annoyingly precocious kid who loved school and learning and tests and all that, I always felt like I had failed on some level because I hadn’t ended up a scientist in a prestigious field in need of more women. I’d been quietly, thoughtlessly buying into notions of hard science versus soft humanities, logical manly knowledge versus flimsy feminine imagination. These categories were painfully, uselessly limiting, and I promptly spent the entire romance letting my fictional ladies knock them down bit by bit to see if we couldn’t create something better.

I put in something like the sampler—but I had to leave out Ellen Baker Harding and her quilt. She lived sixty years later and on a different continent; there was no way I could work it into the text.

But it’s still my favorite bit, because even though it’s not anywhere on the page, it shaped everything that I put into the book. It’s the heart of the entire 80,000-word idea.

Ellen Harding Baker died before she reached forty, so the seven years she spent making her quilt turned out to be nearly a quarter of her entire life. And unlike the unknown young lady who stitched the 1811 sampler, she signed it. Sewed her name and the date and the words Solar System right onto the wool, in all caps, so there would be no denying what it was, who made it, and when.

That we have her quilt and know her name is rare, especially since museum collections and historical narratives so often lean toward masculine-coded ideas of what objects and events are important: battles and discoveries and conquest, political power and violence. We keep swords and armor and royal portraits; we consign kitchenware and cast-off clothes to the trash bins of memory.

Writers often think of research as a kind of collection: you gather up facts and trivia and people until you can lay them all out for admiration like specimens in a curio cabinet. But with this book, I’ve realized there’s another method, which needs another metaphor. Imagine a writer’s mind as a space where story-bits accumulate, piling up in great formless heaps like fresh snowbanks. Inspiration is the thing that comes along and leaves an impression—the muse that tumbles full-length into the snow, waving arms and legs for a snow angel, imposing a shape on all that nebulous story-stuff. Inspiration moves on: you don’t need to keep it or trap it or put pins through its fragile wings.

What matters is the impression it left behind, that space in which we find meaning. So I thought of Ellen Harding Baker and wrote about the affinity between art and science, and how the truth could be beautiful. I wrote about artificial categories, and how to not let them keep you from pursuing better ideas.

All that, and ladies kissing, too. It’s the best and the truest writing I’ve ever done.

LINKS:

A Lady’s Guide to Celestial Mechanics Universal Book Link

Twitter

Facebook

Instagram

BIO:

Olivia Waite writes historical romance, fantasy, and science fiction. She is also the monthly romance columnist for the Seattle Review of Books, where she writes reviews of romances old and new and thoughtful essays on the genre’s history and future.

My Favorite Bit: Reed King talks about FKA USA

Favorite Bit iconReed King is joining us today to talk about his book FKA USA. Here’s the publisher’s description:

In Reed King’s wildly imaginative and possibly prescient debut, the United States has dissolved in the wake of environmental disasters and the catastrophic policies of its final president.

It is 2085, and Truckee Wallace, a factory worker in Crunchtown 407 (formerly Little Rock, Arkansas, before the secessions), has no grand ambitions besides maybe, possibly, losing his virginity someday.

But when Truckee is thrust unexpectedly into the spotlight he is tapped by the President for a sensitive political mission: to deliver a talking goat across the continent. The fate of the world depends upon it.

The problem is―Truckee’s not sure it’s worth it.

Joined on the road by an android who wants to be human and a former convict lobotomized in Texas, Truckee will navigate an environmentally depleted and lawless continent with devastating―and hilarious―parallels to our own, dodging body pickers and Elvis-worshippers and logo girls, body subbers, and VR addicts.

Elvis-willing, he may even lose his virginity.

What’s Reed’s favorite bit?

FKA USA cover image

REED KING

It’s a little bit funny to wax poetic about one’s own writing—it gives the similarly squirmy feeling of discomfort of being discovered for some disgustingly indulgent personal habit, like revealing a private pleasure in the smell of one’s own dirty socks—but I will take inspiration from Barnaby, Gentleman, Scholar, and Talking Goat, who would no doubt have no trouble finding one thousand words (or one hundred thousand) of praise for the short section in which he takes the narrative reins and gives us his backstory.

FKA USA has always felt to me like a completely foreign interpolation in my brain—unlike anything else I had written, and full of characters who truly seemed to headbutt their way into existence without my permission—and at the same time, like an integration (some would say, collision?) of basically all of my interests, influences, and extremely diverse passions. Biotechnology and political science, cultism and VR, classic literature of all stripes, from Frank L. Baum to Douglas Adams to Trollope—yes, that Trollope.

I’ve always loved to escape into worlds. I’ve always loved hefty books with big page counts and too much detail. This is reflected in my work (and in many Goodreads reviews—but that’s another story). The story-within-a story subsections that grant first-person narration to some of the secondary characters was an idea born out of (I’m semi-ashamed to admit) lazy recollections of 19th– and 20th– century works, notably Tom Jones and The Turn of the Screw, which in my (indolent) memory (may have) made use of nesting structures and also the kind of passing of the narrative baton.

Also, there was no way Barnaby was going to let me get through 450 + pages without once steering the book.

It’s always kind of cringeworthy when writers talk about their characters as if they are real, other-beings, with independent existences and characteristics and demands. It’s somewhat like when people refer to themselves in the third person: like proof of pretention so big it has to have its own domain. But actually, writing does seem to work both in- and out-side of the self, much like any good romantic relationship. In other words: books seem to have their own independent stories, their own needs and will; but they also seem to be connected to your story, to what you wanted to say, to what you were looking to answer. And they must be willing to work with you.

I did not know that I would find a goat in this book. I certainly did not know that he would be a talking goat. I did not even know what book I was writing, by the time Billy Lou Ropes ended up on a crosswalk with his arms roped around a live animal–a living, breathing creature, made not by man but some riot of chance and evolution and quantum physics and timespace, or by what many people call God—in context, and in Truckee’s world, a fatal thing. I was just following Truckee’s voice, and it led me to the crosswalk, and to the warmth of the goat that pinned Truckee beneath his weight.

Barnaby the goat by Rhys Davies

Barnaby by Rhys Davies

I like writing for the same reason I like reading, and it gives me much of the same sense of discovery. So it was much to my surprise when—without question, without doubt—I turned the mental page in my mind and heard that goat actually speak. He had to speak, because I heard him speak, in my head, but I knew it was him speaking, and not me.

And then, of course, I had to explain how it was possible a goat could speak.

And Barnaby would again be very happy and gratified to know that the entire book swung into rough shape on the hinge of his very first utterance. The scientific arms race toward infinity; the Wizard of Oz journeying toward a foreign city in an attempt to return to home or its idea; the narrative motivations and emotional arcs for our major characters…all would not have been possible were it not for Barnaby fisting Truckee, and me, simultaneously in the chest and, for the first (and last) time in the book, saying only two words.

The section in which he narrates his history at and escape from Lagunda-Honda is probably my favorite because, to be honest, it was really easy. (See aforementioned mental laziness as a factor.) You know how everyone has that one aunt or neighbor or classmate whose voice is so stridently audible it serves as a kind of warning signal to steer clear? Barnaby is like that. Once you hear him, you cannot unhear him. He will certainly make sure of it.

I was as delighted as anyone else to learn about Barnaby’s earliest memories and his fondness for Latex gloves. I literally did not experience any word of any portion of that section as “writing.” It felt just like transcribing—then, and every time Barnaby hoofed his way onto central-page.

One of my favorite aphorisms about writing is that the only criticism you can level meaningfully against a book is if it fails to live. Barnaby’s entrance—warm, profane, alive, and, you know, goat-y—into the clinical manipulations of Crunchtown 407 provoked a seism both on the page and in my imagination: suddenly, the words I was cranking down the line, one after another, blew apart. Suddenly, someone else was speaking.

More precisely—a goat.

And at the same time, the whole book came to life.

LINKS:

FKA USA Universal Book Link

BIO:

Reed King is the pseudonym for a New York Times bestselling author and TV writer.

 

My Favorite Bit: Agnes Gomillion talks about THE RECORD KEEPER

Favorite Bit iconAgnes Gomillion is joining us today to talk about her novel The Record Keeper. Here’s the publisher’s description:

The Record Keeper is a visceral and thrilling near-future dystopia examining past and present race relations.

After World War III, Earth is in ruins, and the final armies have come to a reluctant truce. Everyone must obey the law–in every way–or risk shattering the fragile peace and endangering the entire human race.

Arika Cobane is on the threshold of taking her place of privilege as a member of the Kongo elite after ten grueling years of training. But everything changes when a new student arrives speaking dangerous words of treason: What does peace matter if innocent lives are lost to maintain it? As Arika is exposed to new beliefs, she realizes that the laws she has dedicated herself to uphold are the root of her people’s misery. If Arika is to liberate her people, she must unearth her fierce heart and discover the true meaning of freedom: finding the courage to live–or die–without fear.

What’s Agnes’s favorite bit?

The Record Keeper cover image

AGNES GOMILLION

My favorite bit of The Record Keeper is my heroine, Arika’s, weapon of choice, the Double Helix. The Helix is a thin metal tube scientifically coded with its owner’s DNA. It has the ladder-like shape of the two-stranded Double Helix etched into its side. And, like DNA, the Helix stores magnificent amounts of genetic information about its owner’s past and potential. Consequently, the Helix knows its owner intimately – often better than the owner knows herself.

In the wrong hands, the Helix will remain a tube. But, when grasped by the person that matches its coding, the Helix instantly transforms into a weapon of war. A rapier, nunchucks, a boomerang or billy club – the Helix can form innumerable combat tools, with one limitation: it’s only as powerful as its owner’s will.

Modern American scientists are aware of the power of an individual’s will – although will is notoriously difficult to define. In the sports world, coaches often talk about will in terms of “intangibles”. In entertainment, they call it “the X factor”. Colloquially, it’s simply called IT. And we all know IT when we see IT.

Whatever the term, it’s clear that possessing this element in large quantity renders an individual magnetic, compelling and unbeatable – superhuman in an indescribable way.

The scientists in Arika’s future America have found a way to measure all types of energy – spiritual, mental and emotional – including the energy of IT.  More, they’ve imbued the Double Helix with the ability to translate IT energy into kinetic force.

So, with the Helix in hand, an individual’s strength of character becomes physical strength, just as forceful as height, weight and muscle density. Which means that a modestly built person – with unique passion and drive – can confidently confront a person twice her size and hope to win the battle.

At first, Arika is shocked to receive such a valuable weapon. When the shock wears off, she eagerly begins training, only to discover that her Helix refuses to transform for her. Day after day, she struggles to wield it. But, despite being coded with her genetics, it remains an innocuous weight in her hand.

Her mentor, Hosea Khan, is little help; although he does tell Arika that she must be blocked. A block, he says, can be spiritual, mental, or emotional. More, it can prevent her from connecting with her Helix – since the Helix knows her true heart and can’t be fooled by the tough façade she shows the world.

Arika’s no fool. She knows exactly where she’s blocked. For years her heart’s been buried in fear and shame. If she can resurrect it and reclaim the woman she was born to be, she can save herself and her people. But, the day of battle is hours away, and she’s running out of time.

LINKS:

The Record Keeper Universal Book Link 

Agnes Gomillion Twitter

Titan Books Twitter 

BIO:

AGNES GOMILLION is an #Ownvoices writer and speaker based in Atlanta, Georgia, where she lives with her husband and son. Homegrown in the Sunshine State, Agnes holds a degree in English literature with a focus on African-American literature from the University of Florida and a Juris Doctorate and Legal Master degree from the University of Florida’s Levin College of Law. She is a voracious reader of the African-American literary canon and a dedicated advocate for marginalised people everywhere.  Her debut novel, The Record Keeper, is a literary addition to the afro-futuristic science-fiction genre.

My Favorite Bit: Megan E. O’Keefe talks about VELOCITY WEAPON

My Favorite BitMegan E. O’Keefe is joining us today to talk about her novel Velocity Weapon. Here’s the publisher’s description:

Dazzling space battles, intergalactic politics, and rogue AI collide in Velocity Weapon, the first book in this epic space opera by award-winning author Megan O’Keefe.
Sanda and Biran Greeve were siblings destined for greatness. A high-flying sergeant, Sanda has the skills to take down any enemy combatant. Biran is a savvy politician who aims to use his new political position to prevent conflict from escalating to total destruction.
However, on a routine maneuver, Sanda loses consciousness when her gunship is blown out of the sky. Instead of finding herself in friendly hands, she awakens 230 years later on a deserted enemy warship controlled by an AI who calls himself Bero. The war is lost. The star system is dead. Ada Prime and its rival Icarion have wiped each other from the universe.
Now, separated by time and space, Sanda and Biran must fight to put things right.

What’s Megan’s favorite bit?

Velocity Weapon cover image
MEGAN E. O’KEEFE

Picking the favorite bit of any story is usually tough but, in the instance of Velocity Weapon, I confess the answer came to me right away: Grippy the robot.

When Sanda finds herself marooned on a state-of-the-art, AI piloted ship thousands of light years from rescue, she also finds the smartship’s maintenance bot, who she quickly renames Grippy due to his sturdy, grasping “hands.” He’s about the size of a large dog, if a dog had tank treads for paws and cameras for eyes. I imagined him as a hybrid of Boston Dynamic’s Big Dog and Number 5 from Short Circuit, with a few more grasping hands thrown in for maintenance purposes.

Grippy quickly makes himself useful by helping Sanda get around. She has recently had part of her leg traumatically amputated, and while the medical facilities on the ship saved her life, there’re no doctors around to help her get accustomed to her new mobility – just Grippy and her own sense of determination to figure things out.

She’s no engineer, though, and when her attempts at fashioning prosthetics don’t always work, Grippy is ready to lend a metallic hand. He even plays a small role at the end. When everything’s gone sideways and Sanda is overwhelmed, he helps her see what she needs to do. Because his job, his programming, is to fix things. To help.

He also helps me, the writer, out a little as he shows us just how quickly Sanda can anthropomorphize, and serves as an interesting thematic parallel to Sanda’s relationship with the smartship, Bero.

Grippy isn’t the AI spaceship that drives the narrative, he’s not even really a central character. He’s got a tiny little brain when compared to the other intelligences in the universe and is pretty limited in what he can understand and do. But while things are steadily advancing toward chaos (hello, narrative entropy) Grippy is always there to help. Also, he’s just plain adorable.

LINKS:

Velocity Weapon Buy Link

Website

Twitter

BIO:

Megan E. O’Keefe was raised amongst journalists, and as soon as she was able joined them by crafting a newsletter which chronicled the daily adventures of the local cat population. She has worked in both arts management and graphic design, and has won Writers of the Future and the Gemmell Morningstar Award. Megan lives in the Bay Area of California.

My Favorite Bit: Ferrett Steinmetz talks about THE SOL MAJESTIC

Favorite Bit iconFerrett Steinmetz is joining us today to talk about his novel The Sol Majestic. Here’s the publisher’s description:

The Sol Majestic is a big-hearted and delightful intergalactic adventure for fans of Becky Chambers and The Good Place

Kenna, an aspirational teen guru, wanders destitute across the stars as he tries to achieve his parents’ ambition to advise the celestial elite.

Everything changes when Kenna wins a free dinner at The Sol Majestic, the galaxy’s most renowned restaurant, giving him access to the cosmos’s one-percent. His dream is jeopardized, however, when he learns his highly-publicized “free meal” risks putting The Sol Majestic into financial ruin. Kenna and a motley gang of newfound friends—including a teleporting celebrity chef, a trust-fund adrenaline junkie, an inept apprentice, and a brilliant mistress of disguise—must concoct an extravagant scheme to save everything they cherish. In doing so, Kenna may sacrifice his ideals—or learn even greater lessons about wisdom, friendship, and love.

Utterly charming and out of this world, Ferrett Steinmetz’s The Sol Majestic will satisfy the appetites of sci-fi aficionados and newcomers alike.

What’s Ferrett’s favorite bit?

Sol Majestic cover image

FERRETT STEINMETZ
When I was seventeen, my Uncle Tommy was my only relative who was brave enough to take me into New York City.  Which was strange, given that his doctors advised him not to leave the house.

My Uncle Tommy was a hemophiliac, you see.  If you’re not familiar with the disease, it means your blood takes much longer to clot than baseline people  – so my Uncle Tommy could bleed to death from injuries that other people might have fixed with a few stitches.  His skin was continually bruised, because he never fully healed, and the blood leaked into his joints and eroded his cartilage.  By the time he was in his mid-thirties, he walked unsteadily with a cane.

But my Uncle Tommy was unstoppable.

He had decided that yes, he was mortal, and maybe he only had eight months to live – the doctors had expected that he’d perish within a year since the day he’d been born – but he would live his life as fully as possible.

And if that involved driving into New York so his metalhead nephew could spend the day with his girlfriend from Canada, then by God he’d drive me in.  Because he loved the city, and he loved adventures, and he loved me.

He loved me even though I was trying far too hard for a teenager, and everybody knew it but me.  See, I had latched on to the identity of “metalhead” despite the fact that I didn’t quite understand the concept. So I had big poofy hair and wore a jean jacket emblazoned with an album cover featuring a demon hurling a chain-wrapped priest into a lake, and wore pleather stompy boots because I could not afford leather.  My girlfriend was also a gum-chewin’ metal girl in a cut-off T-shirt and ripped jeans.

We looked like extras in a movie about heavy metal that hadn’t quite bothered to get the details right.

But it was time for dinner, and though New York City was filled with restaurants, we had three picky eaters.  Tommy refused to eat at crappy restaurants when he was in a nice place like New York.  I did not eat vegetables.  And my girlfriend loathed seafood.

So we ambled down the streets of New York for two straight hours, stopping and perusing, one of us vetoing every menu.  Which was not, I should add, an inconsequential expenditure of effort for Tommy – with his bad hip and his eroded knees, walking must have been like treading on knives.  So when Tommy finally exploded with, “All right!  This! Is! It! I don’t care what the next restaurant is, we are eating there! If they serve fried cockroaches, we are chowing down on insects! Got it?”

We got it.  So when we saw the next restaurant, we pushed past the menu posted by the door to walk in without looking.

Which is why we were all taken aback by the maitre’d in a spotless tuxedo, standing behind a podium.

The restaurant was all gold and white – gold chandeliers, snow-white tableclothes, set off by the blurs of busboys in crisp gold-and-red uniforms.  We could peer around the maitre’d to see New York’s finest ordering bottles of champage – fatcat bankers supping $200 bottles of wine, beautiful socialites in gowns perusing menus, old men in tailor-made suits cozily eating richly marbled steaks.

And there I was.

In my jean jacket.

With a demon throwing a priest into a lake of fire.

The heads turned to stare at us – my girlfriend chewing her gum, my Uncle in his worn jeans and button-down plaid workshirt.   I’d already taken a step back towards the door when the maitre’d took a peremptory glance down into his reservation book before fixing Tommy with his cold eyes and asked, “…does sir have a reservation?”

And Tommy – God bless Tommy – cracked his neck, retreating for no man, and said three words that transformed my life:

“No.  Whatcha got?”

They had, unbelievably, a table for three.  A table far at the back where nobody could see us, a table right by the kitchen door, but a legitimate table.  And as we settled in, I began to panic: how much money would this place cost?  We weren’t that rich.  And we were out of place, we were poor trash, we didn’t even dress up for this, how could we –

My Uncle Tommy gripped my shoulder:

“Hey,” he said.  “I said we’d do the next restaurant no matter what, and I don’t lie.  And yeah, it woulda been nice if we’d dressed up, but a place like this is about the food; if you appreciate, truly appreciate, what they give you, you’ll be all right.  So settle in.  And enjoy.”

Enjoy we did.

I do not remember what we ate at that meal. But I remember how it felt; I remember how kind the waiters were, how they never once judged us once they realized how excited we were to eat here. I remember how thrilling it was when they came by to sweep the crumbs off between courses with little brass sticks. I remember being delighted when they brought us tiny dishes of sherbert between courses – “To cleanse your palates,” the waiter said.

I remember feeling like there was a higher society, and that I was part of it, and that Tommy was the most wonderful man alive.

And in the end, my uncle demanded that we try the sweetness of amaretto coffee. They served it to all three of us, possibly because they assumed if we were bold enough to set foot here then we must have been of drinking age – or possibly because the waiters saw how our faces lit up at every course and decided to bend the rules just this once.

“Every fine meal,” Tommy told me, tipping the cup towards me, “Ends with a good coffee.”

The meal was, I later found out, the cost of a month’s rent. Tommy tossed his credit card on the table with nonchalance.

A nice story, you say.  But how does this story relate to my book?

Well, the answer is that The Sol Majestic is about a beautiful restaurant in space.  It’s light-years from nowhere, a hidden jewel where only those with the love of cuisine make the journey to it.  It has miraculous meals made possible by science-fictional technologies, and a kindness to strangers, and it is a haven to anyone who truly learns to love food.

It is that restaurant, as best I can remember it.  And it might well be where that restaurant’s moved to, for all we know; despite hunting through New York for years afterwards, we never found that restaurant again.   But in my book, I moved it into a space station, preserving all the best bits.

And the owner of the Sol Majestic, Paulius, is my Uncle Tommy.

Tommy’s dead now; ironically, he survived the hemophilia, survived getting HIV from a bad blood transfusion, survived getting hepatitis from another bad blood transfusion, but pancreatic cancer took him from me over a decade ago.

But he’s in this book – an old man with a cane, a wounded man who creates a paradise for you to come on wild adventures, a man of indeterminate temper but loving nonetheless.  And I recreated an imaginary place to bring you all to, and put the best of my Uncle in there to show you.

The Sol Majestic is about food.  But it’s also about love.  And it’s about my Uncle Tommy, and how understanding that food helps you know when you’re home.

That’s my favorite bit.  That I exhumed a little part of my Uncle Tommy’s glorious magic to share with you.

And I hope my novel nourishes you half as much as he nourished me.

LINKS:

The Sol Majestic Universal Book Link

Website

Twitter

BIO:

Ferrett Steinmetz is a graduate of both the Clarion Writers’ Workshop and Viable Paradise. He was nominated for the Nebula Award in 2012 for his novelette Sauerkraut Station, and for the Compton Crook Award in 2015. He is the author of The Sol Majestic for Tor Books, as well as the ‘Mancer trilogy and The Uploaded. He has written for Asimov’s Science Fiction, Uncanny Magazine, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Apex, and Shimmer, among many others. Ferrett lives in Cleveland with his very clever wife, a small black dog of indeterminate origin, and a friendly ghost.

My Favorite Bit: Elizabeth Crowens talks about THE TIME TRAVELER PROFESSOR, BOOK ONE: SILENT MERIDIAN

My Favorite BitElizabeth Crowens is joining us today to talk about her novel The Time Traveler Professor, Book One: Silent Meridian. Here’s the publisher’s description:

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is obsessed with a legendary red book. Its peculiar stories have come to life, and rumors claim that it has rewritten its own endings. Convinced that possessing this book will help him write his ever-popular Sherlock Holmes stories, he takes on an unlikely partner, John Patrick Scott, known to most as a concert pianist, but a paranormal investigator and a time traveler professor to a select few.

Like Holmes and Watson trying to solve a mystery, together they explore lost worlds and their friendship is tested to the limits when they go back in time to find it. Both discover that karmic ties and unconscionable crimes have followed them like ghosts from the past, wreaking havoc on the present and possibly the future.

The Time Traveler Professor, Book One: SILENT MERIDIAN reveals the alternate histories of Conan Doyle, H.G. Wells, Houdini, Jung and other luminaries in the secret diaries of John Patrick Scott, in an X Files for the 19th century.

What’s Elizabeth’s favorite bit?

The Time Traveler Professor Book One: Silent Meridian cover image

ELIZABETH CROWENS

Hands down, my favorite bit about creating The Time Traveler Professor, Book One: Silent Meridian was the research which entailed several trips overseas from my home base in New York to Edinburgh, Scotland, London, Vienna, Prague and six cities in Germany. When it comes to writing, despite the ease of having so much information available on the internet, I tend to be more like a method actor in the way that I have to be physically somewhere to glean the full, immersive experience of it.

Case in point, in Book One I visualized the University of Edinburgh Library completely wrong and was lucky that the original library from the nineteenth century still existed as an event hall, and I was allowed to go up there and take a look. Most photos on the internet pictured the current library which, by its architectural design, appears to have been built during the 1960s.

Another “happy accident” I stumbled upon also happened in Edinburgh. I knew it was unlikely that I’d find a Victorian Scottish slang or dialect dictionary in the U.S. or on Amazon and something that niche would probably turn up somewhere in Scotland. Since I’m an antiquarian book collector, it’s impossible for me to resist going into used and collectibles bookstores, and one day while I was in an antique store I discovered they had books in the basement. Most were junk, but I managed to find what I was looking for from 1878 costing only £30.00. At first when I noticed the penciled in cost, I thought I had misinterpreted it and it was really £300.00. The shopkeeper said they were fairly hard to find, but the price was correct and it was my lucky day.

Once again being in the right place at the right time, I had another occurrence where I stumbled upon a tiny blue door that had a plaque for a Scottish Genealogical Society. Although they were only open to the public two or three days a week, I happened to pick one of the days they were open and walked in. I introduced myself and told them I was trying to find more information on some of the real people my characters were based upon. Somehow the conversation steered in the direction that my protagonist’s real person inspiration had served in British intelligence during WWI, but I couldn’t seem to find any war records. Then one of the volunteers told me about a British intelligence museum in England that also had a library. With all the research I had done online, I had never come across this and wouldn’t have if I hadn’t discovered this other place in Edinburgh. Overall, everyone was very helpful and enjoyed assisting a writer, not caring whether it was for fiction or non-fiction.

LINKS:

The Time Traveler Professor, Book One: Silent Meridian Universal Book Link

Website

Twitter

Instagram

Facebook

BIO:

Elizabeth Crowens has worked in the film and television for over twenty years and as a journalist and a photographer. She’s a regular contributor of author interviews to an award-winning online speculative fiction magazine, Black Gate. Short stories of hers have been published in the Bram Stoker Awards nominated anthology, A New York State of Fright and Hell’s Heart. She’s a member of Mystery Writers of America, The Horror Writers Association, Romance Writers of America, the Authors Guild, Broad Universe, Sisters in Crime and a member of several Sherlockian societies. She is also writing a Hollywood suspense series.

 

My Favorite Bit: Kendra Merritt talks about SKIN DEEP

Favorite Bit iconKendra Merritt is joining us today to talk about her novel Skin Deep. Here’s the publisher’s description:

The only one who can free him is the girl he’s hurt the most.

Cursed for a youthful accident which maimed a young woman, Léon Beauregard roams his mountain as a bear, clinging to the scraps of his humanity. Too bad it’s not working. Every day he loses a little more of himself to the bear and his stupid fuzzy tail. But when Léon comes across Anwen, an enchanter scarred from an accident she doesn’t remember, she promises to free him, because she believes no one deserves this sort of punishment, no matter their crime.

As the graceful enchanter tries to free him, Léon begins to realize Anwen is much more than just a passing enchanter. She’s the one he’s falling in love with. And she is the one whose life he ruined. He knows he must hide his part in Anwen’s past if he wants to keep her, but when bodies show up mauled by a large animal, even she begins to doubt his ability to be redeemed. With his heart, soul, and humanity in the balance, Léon has more to hide and everything to lose if Anwen ever learns the truth about the monster inside him.

NOTE: The Mark of the Least is a series of related stories designed to be read in any order.

What’s Kendra’s favorite bit?

Skin Deep cover image

KENDRA MERRITT

I consider it a good sign when I finish writing a book and it’s still one I’ll enjoy reading again. Especially when it has those moments that make me laugh or get my heart going even though I know what’s going to happen. Luckily, Skin Deep is full of those moments.

So, I had a hard time deciding what my favorite bit actually is. Surely it had to be that really awful poem I—I mean Léon—wrote for Fanny. Or maybe it was the snarky snow leopard with a penchant for poking the bear.

Normally, I write fairytales featuring main characters with disabilities; Maid Marion kicks butt from a wheelchair, Cinderella has Polio, Little Red Riding Hood lives with Lupus.

And in Skin Deep, Beauty is scarred.

I really wanted to talk about writing a Beauty who isn’t in fact beautiful. But while I was agonizing over how to do that, I realized the part that I go back to over-and-over again, the part that I still love to read as if I didn’t write the whole dang thing, is the worst part of the book.

We all know it. There’s one in every story. It’s that moment where everything falls apart.

Skin Deep starts with a secret, a lie between two people that changes everything.

Léon is cursed for his involvement in an accident that leaves Anwen disfigured and disabled. But when she shows up on his doorstep offering to free him, he realizes she doesn’t recognize him. And in that moment of realization he makes a choice not to tell her.

Of course, you know this is going to come back to bite him.

Because by the time he wants to tell her, the truth will destroy them. And meanwhile all the awkward flirting and cutesy romantic gestures are all built atop that festering untruth, waiting for the moment it blows up in Léon’s face.

That’s the moment I love. Because you know it’s coming. You know it’s going to be horrible. But there’s no way forward without it.

As I tell my three-year-old, who keeps ruining movie night with the refrain, “I don’t like this part,” you have to get through the bad in order for the good to mean anything. (At least it’s better than saying “conflict is part of life, deal with it.”)

The secret is out. The consequences are inescapable. I love this moment because Léon chooses his redemption and destruction in one go, balancing his original mistake with the glorious ruination of truth. And it was Anwen’s grace and mercy all wrapped up in scars and pain that got him to that decision.

I choose my characters’ disabilities very carefully based on their backstory and personality but also based on the fairytale they’re living out. What could possibly make the story mean something deeper? For Maid Marion I really wanted to see an active heroine not only navigate but dominate the adventure in a wheelchair. Cinderella has a hard time walking and as a result has very interesting shoes.

So, I chose my Beauty to be scarred. She’s disfigured. She walks with a limp. And in no way can she be called a conventional beauty.

She’s exactly the way I imagined her from the beginning. I wanted to tell a story about a girl who is gracious and patient and strong on the inside and is perfect for someone who struggles with only seeing the outside. Léon, who is a little obsessed with physical beauty, takes a while to see Anwen for everything she is instead of everything she’s not. But therein lies his redemption.

And that’s my favorite bit. The moment he loses it all in order to gain what he doesn’t deserve. Cause I’m a glutton for punishment.

LINKS:

Universal Link

All Books by Kendra Merritt

Facebook

Instagram

Twitter

Website

BIO:

Books have been Kendra Merritt’s escape for as long as she can remember.  She used to hide fantasy novels behind her government textbook in high school, and she wrote most of her first novel during a semester of college algebra.

Older and wiser now (but just as nerdy) Kendra writes retellings of fairytales with main characters who have disabilities. If she isn’t writing, she’s reading, and if she isn’t reading, she’s playing video games. Her first book, By Wingéd Chair, is a retelling of Robin Hood where Maid Marion kicks butt from a wheelchair.

Kendra lives in Denver with her very tall husband, their book loving progeny, and a lazy black monster masquerading as a service dog.

My Favorite Bit: Tracy Townsend talks about THE FALL

My Favorite BitTracy Townsend is joining us today to talk about her novel The Fall, sequel to The Nine. Here’s the publisher’s description:

An apothecary clerk and her ex-mercenary allies travel across the world to discover a computing engine that leads to secrets she wasn’t meant to know–secrets that could destroy humanity.

Eight months ago, Rowena Downshire was a half-starved black market courier darting through the shadows of Corma’s underside. Today, she’s a (mostly) respectable clerk in the Alchemist’s infamous apothecary shop, the Stone Scales, and certainly the last girl one would think qualified to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders a second time. Looks can be deceiving.

When Anselm Meteron and the Alchemist receive an invitation to an old acquaintance’s ball–the Greatduke who financed their final, disastrous mercenary mission fourteen years earlier–they’re expecting blackmail, graft, or veiled threats related to the plot to steal the secrets of the Creator’s Grand Experiment. They aren’t expecting a job offer they can’t refuse or a trip halfway across the world to rendezvous with the scholar whose research threw their lives into tumult: the Reverend Doctor Phillip Chalmers.

Escorting Chalmers to the Grand Library of Nippon with her mismatched mercenary family is just a grand adventure to Rowena until she discovers a powerful algebraic engine called the Aggregator. The Aggregator leads Rowena to questions about the Grand Experiment she was never meant to ask and answers she cannot be allowed to possess. With her reunited friends, Rowena must find a way to use the truths hidden in the Grand Library to disarm those who would hunt down the nine subjects of the Creator’s Grand Experiment, threatening to close the book on this world.

What’s Tracy’s favorite bit?

The Fall cover image

TRACY TOWNSEND

When I was small, my parents went on vacation to Mexico. They brought back a hand-crafted wooden top as one of my many souvenirs. It came in three pieces: the top itself, some kind of handle-thing I don’t know the name of into which it slotted, and a length of string. Once you spindled the top’s mast through the handle-thing, you’d thread the string through a hole in the mast, wrap it tight, grab the free end, and hold the whole contraption just barely touching the floor.

And then, you’d pull. It looked a lot like this:

image of pull string top  

There was a lot that could go wrong before you’d ever get the top whirling away in a blur of color. You could pull the cord too fast or too slow. You could drop it from too great a height and send it caroming off uselessly. And inevitably, no matter how perfectly you set it up, it would always, eventually, fall.

In the language of physics, a top at the end of its journey doesn’t fall. It precesses. Precession is what happens when, unable to fall straight down (gravity has already forced its tip into contact with the ground vertically), the top falls sideways, collapsing in a way unique to how the object itself once moved.

Tops precess. So do stories.

Every story is acted upon by the forces its author puts in motion. Those forces are designed to reach this point of precession, the narrative torque collapsing the characters and their actions toward some calamity they have to face.

Stories are about what happens when things fall down.

That’s my favorite bit about The Fall: being the sequel to my debut novel, it has the benefit of building on narrative forces already in play, compounding its momentum. My trio of character — Rowena, the Alchemist, and Anselm — are off making trouble again, though in different places, and finding themselves more out of their depth than they’d ever imagined. On the other side of the world, another trio of forces, human, lanyani (sentient, murderous tree-beings), and aigamuxa (ogres with eyes in their feet), vie for control of a dying city and the power it represents. And all at once, the right things are discovered at the wrong time — or the wrong things at the right time — and you can see the story tilt toward its inevitable precession.

Authors are architects, true, but at least half the time, we are architects of destruction. We have to build things up knowing they will be broken, torn, imploded. Defeated, at least for a time. And as much as I love my characters (you have to love these people to spend so much time with them), my favorite work is the subtle physics of making a system hurtle along, all its forces acting together just so, knowing that I’ve already applied the torque that will make it inevitably fall. It’s like a magic trick. Now-you-see-it, now-it’s-gone.

I recall writing The Fall’s climax, angling characters’ choices toward the calamities that would consume the rest of their story. It was very much like staring at that little wooden top my parents gave me, watching the blur of colors slow and slip into separate bands, feeling the certainty of collapse edging ever closer.

Dreading it. Loving it. Knowing that, once it happened, it was up to me to pick up the three pieces I had started with and wind them together again.

LINKS:

The Fall Universal Book Link

Website

Twitter

BIO:

Tracy Townsend is the author of The Nine and The Fall (books 1 and 2 in the Thieves of Fate series), a monthly columnist for the feminist sf magazine Luna Station Quarterly, and an essayist for Uncanny Magazine. She holds a master’s degree in writing and rhetoric from DePaul University and a bachelor’s degree in creative writing from DePauw University, a source of regular consternation when proofreading her credentials. She is the former chair of the English department at the Illinois Mathematics and Science Academy, an elite public boarding school, where she teaches creative writing and science fiction and fantasy literature. She has been a martial arts instructor, a stage combat and accent coach, and a short-order cook for houses full of tired gamers. Now she lives in Bolingbrook, Illinois with two bumptious hounds, two remarkable children, and one very patient husband. You can find her at Twitter @TracyATownsend, and online at www.tracytownsend.net.

 

My Favorite Bit: Fran Wilde talks about THE FIRE OPAL MECHANISM

My Favorite BitFran Wilde is joining us today to talk about her novella The Fire Opal Mechanism. Here’s the publisher’s description:

The Fire Opal Mechanism is the fast-paced and lively sequel to Fran Wilde’s The Jewel and Her Lapidary

Jewels and their lapidaries and have all but passed into myth.

Jorit, broke and branded a thief, just wants to escape the Far Reaches for something better. Ania, a rumpled librarian, is trying to protect her books from the Pressmen, who value knowledge but none of the humanity that generates it.

When they stumble upon a mysterious clock powered by an ancient jewel, they may discover secrets in the past that will change the future forever.

What’s Fran’s favorite bit?

The Fire Opal Mechanism cover image

FRAN WILDE

On Permanence and Evolution in Text 

“Books are measures of time. They are made to grow old. To grow, occasionally, wrong.”
– Ania Dem, Librarian,
The Fire Opal Mechanism

Books have always been my refuge. I disappear into them when reading. I built fortresses of them as a child. And what room full of books isn’t, when you think about it, basically a shelter constructed of words?

So when I set out to write Ania, my librarian, and Xachar, a handler of the very particular printing press in The Fire Opal Mechanism, I gave a lot of thought to the books within the story, those characters who loved them, and those characters who thought that certain kinds of books were a way of hoarding knowledge, and were out of date.

And so, many of my favorite bits of The Fire Opal Mechansim are when Ania, the time-traveling librarian, is thinking about her relationship to books. Her wish to save them all. Her fear that if books are lost, then debate will also be forfeit. And her understanding that books are snapshots in time.

Books feel permanent. The act of committing word to page, especially in print, feels eternal in some ways (especially if one finds a typo — don’t get me started). But they pass in and out of the world in so many ways: they become old, moth eaten, out of date. They are superseded by later knowledge. They are read in the bathtub until they are twice their size and have lost their back cover — ok, that’s probably too much information.

Meantime, digital texts can be overwritten without anyone the wiser. Wikipedia changes constantly; our inboxes seem to have a mind of their own. And while many more pieces of information are at our fingertips, this information feels gossamer-made, fleeting, and sometimes completely insubstantial.

Ania loves books, like I do. She likes their spines, their sturdiness and uniqueness, and all the stories they contain.

She’d loved books since she was a child… loved how each volume felt different in the hand… loved that they had to be handled carefully, like people. But, that they were constant, finished — unlike people.

And one more thing. Ania loves the independence of books. That they span time as individual objects, and objects in conversation. That they can contain and refer to one another. Perhaps most of all, she values that that they do not have a central source. I think Ania imagines, as I do, that in the darkness of a sleeping library, books mutter and argue together like old scholars.

Books aren’t perfect, any more than anything else is. But collected together, they allow us to do a magic thing: we can travel through time to see snapshots of ourselves and how we (or the portion of us that has lasted) once thought, in comparison to all other ways of thinking.

As Ania says to her inquisitors at one point: “All Librarians travel in time, Commissioner. Some more thoroughly than others.”

LINKS:

The Fire Opal Mechanism Universal Book Link

Website

Instagram

Facebook

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BIO:

Fran Wilde’s latest Gem Universe novella, The Fire Opal Mechanism (coming June 4, 2019 from Tor.com Publishing), features time-traveling librarians and thieves. Her novels and short stories have been finalists for four Nebula Awards, a World Fantasy Award, and two Hugo Awards, and include her Nebula- and Compton-Crook-winning debut novel Updraft, its sequels Cloudbound, and Horizon, her 2019 debut Middle Grade novel Riverland, and the Nebula-, Hugo-, and Locus-nominated novelette The Jewel and Her Lapidary. Her short stories appear in Asimov’s, Tor.com, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Shimmer, Nature, and the 2017 Year’s Best Dark Fantasy and Horror. (Full Bibliography is available at franwilde.net.) She writes for publications including The Washington Post, Tor.com, Clarkesworld, iO9.com, and GeekMom.com. You can find her on Twitter, Facebook, and at franwilde.net. Fran will become Director of Genre Writing at Western Colorado University’s Graduate School of Creative Writing this summer.

My Favorite Bit: Anna Kashina talks about SHADOWBLADE

My Favorite BitAnna Kashina is joining us today to talk about her novel Shadowblade. Here’s the publisher’s description:

A young sword prodigy must impersonate a lost princess and throw her life into a deadly political game, in this kinetic epic fantasy novel by the author of the award-winning Majat Code series

Naia dreams of becoming a Jaihar Blademaster, but after assaulting a teacher, her future seems ruined. The timely intervention of a powerful stranger suddenly elevates her into elite Upper Grounds training. She has no idea that the stranger is Dal Gassan, head of the Daljeer Circle. Seventeen years ago he witnessed the massacre of Challimar’s court and rescued its sole survivor, a baby girl. Gassan plans to thrust a blade into the machinations of imperial succession: Naia. Disguised as the legendary Princess Xarimet of Challimar, Naia must challenge the imperial family, and win. Naia is no princess, but with her desert-kissed eyes and sword skills she might be close enough…

What’s Anna’s favorite bit?

Cover Image of Shadowblade

ANNA KASHINA

My favorite fantasy always comes with romantic elements and fancy blade fights. Highly competent warriors, whose sword skill is so breathtaking one can only gape when seeing them in action, make irresistible characters. Such warriors have been central to several of my recent books, and have definitely been my favorite bit in writing Shadowblade.

In Shadowblade, a lot of the story centers around the elite Jaihar Order that trains the best blademasters in the empire. The top-ranked Jaihar warriors are Shadowblades, deadly fighters whose ranking regalia – shadow-gray cloaks and black blades — help them blend into the background and make them even more dangerous. Unmatched in battle, they move like no other, graceful, fluid and fast, are highly technical with their weapons, and are also very controlled. In other words, they’re the whole package, aren’t they?

Before Shadowblade, I’ve tended to focus on the weapon skill itself, rather than delving deeply into the kind of training it takes to develop this kind of a warrior. What sort of talents and traits are needed to achieve the top Jaihar rank, or even to convince your superiors to set you on a path that can lead you to this possibility? What happens at every step of the training? How are the decisions driven to discount a trainee as a failure, or to allow them to go all the way to the top? And, importantly for my main character, Naia – how can a young girl, hard-working and talented, but too headstrong for her own good, go about achieving it?

Naia starts off as an outcast among the Jaihar. Despite her exceptional promise with weapons, she is about to be expelled for a carefully hushed-up case of insubordination. A timely interference of a powerful stranger, an outsider to the Jaihar but a highly influential official in the empire, plunges her into a series of tests of increasing difficulty that would enable her superiors to decide on her true potential. She doesn’t learn until much later that her mysterious benefactor, who’s very likely prevented her from being expelled, has done this because of a serious ulterior motive.

Developing a story centered around Naia’s training has been a fully immersive experience, where I had to submerge pretty deeply into the behind-the-scene world of elite blademaster training. It was so much fun to work out the blade and staff techniques, approaches to a variety of street weapons, and complex combination fights which I had to work through firsthand. A lot of this background work has been about technique, but applying this knowledge to my character enabled me to also understand the depth of the character development that must go into raising a warrior. The self-control, discipline, and balance that comes with the top Jaihar ranking isn’t easy to achieve. This aspect of the training tends to take far more work than weapon technique. Throughout the book, peeking into the mysteries of the Jaihar elite training has been my favorite bit.

Since Shadowblade pre-publication copies went out for reviews, I’ve seen a lot of comments out there that made me feel so good about choosing to write the book this way. One reviewer (clearly a kindred spirit) mentioned that they would have liked to have seen more of this behind-the-scene training, that glimpsing the challenges Naia has gone through made them want to see a whole book devoted entirely to that. This comment hit the spot for me. Writing about Naia’s Jaihar training, and then sending her into action to apply everything she’s learned, not only felt like the right balance for Shadowblade, but it also made me realize that I have so much more to tell. I’ve learned a lot while writing this novel. Stemming from my own experience and all the background research, the Jaihar have become a new class of warriors that combine the best of many cultures and many techniques into a truly enjoyable and wholesome blend.

LINKS:

Shadowblade Universal Book Link

Excerpt

Website

Bookbub

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BIO:

Anna Kashina writes historical adventure fantasy, featuring exotic settings, martial arts, assassins, and elements of romance. Her “Majat Code” series, published by Angry Robot Books, UK, received two Prism Awards in 2015. She is a Russian by origin, and a scientist in her day job, and she freely draws on these backgrounds in her writing. Her newest novel, Shadowblade, is upcoming from Angry Robot Books on May 7, 2019.

You can learn more about Anna at her blog: https://annakashinablog.wordpress.com/

My Favorite Bit: T.D. Walker talks about SMALL WAITING OBJECTS

My Favorite BitT.D. Walker is joining us today to talk about Small Waiting Objects, her collection of science fiction poems. Here’s the publisher’s description:

In the near future, kitchen appliances question, console, and bewilder their owners. Extraterrestrials leave behind sub-dermal implants and complicated daughters. A second moon settles into orbit around Earth, a moon which challenges those beneath it to see it, to name it, to explore it. And crew members aboard starships turn to fine and pulp art as consolation. The lyric poems in Small Waiting Objects reach back to feminist utopias and onward toward possible futures in which we find ourselves resisting the technologies—and their human implications—that we most desire.

What is T.D.’s favorite bit?

Small Writing Objects

T.D. WALKER

Catherine Helen Spence’s A Week in the Future (1889) spans both a week and a century: for Emily Bethel, a middle-aged, active, inquisitive woman who never married, who is struck ill, it’s a waking week.  Her doctor tells her that she must live quietly from now on or else her heart will become too weak to sustain her.  But she refuses to live as such:

“I know what that means,” said I, bitterly. “I must give up all the things that make life worth living, all the outside interests that are the very bread of life to a solitary spinster, all the larger objects which the best and noblest of my brothers and sisters are striving to accomplish and absorb myself in the one idea of self-preservation.”

Refusing the entreaties of her doctor and of her beloved niece Florrie, she puts forth her own proposition:

“I would give the year or two of life you promise me for ONE WEEK IN THE FUTURE. A solid week I mean. Not a glance like a momentary vision, but one week — seven days and nights to live with the generations who are to come, to see all their doings, and to breathe in their atmosphere, so as to imbibe their real spirit.”

Her doctor obliges, and he gives her a drink that will allow her to sleep for a hundred years so that she can live for a single week in 1988.

Emily Bethel wakes in London, still clutching her valise, and her relatives’ descendants show her the fruits that the social reformers in her own time had sown a century before.  She is pleased with what she has seen, and she passes away on that final day of the week happy to have traded the years of forced tranquility for a week of excitement and knowledge of the future.

As a reader almost 130 years in the future, I allowed myself to believe the utopia Spence imagined for the duration of the book, but given what I know about how events unfolded in the now past–achievements, yes, but also atrocities–I wondered what might happen if Emily Bethel could see into multiple instances of 1988?

I explored such questions through the poems in Small Waiting Objects (CW Books 2019). Several of the poems expand on questions raised by various feminist utopias, including those from Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s Herland and With Her in Ourland.  My favorite of these is a response to Spence’s A Week in the Future: “In Which Miss Emily Bethel Wakes a Hundred Years Later in Every Possible Future,” a poem which was originally published in The Cascadia Subduction Zone.

A girl in suburban Houston and her sister witness the arrival of Emily Bethel, the great-great-aunt of their grandmother, a painter, into their present.  As I imagine her, Emily Bethel has become circumspect but still deeply curious after her visits to thousands of futures from her point in 1888.  She chooses to embrace joy, embrace what she can from each visit:

She’d dropped her coat on the floor and asked

whether my grandmother had a sprinkler and a swimsuit

she could borrow. Aunt Emily ran outside with us

 

girls, gripping the paper snowcone cups that leaked blue

raspberry syrup onto the sidewalk in front of our grandparents’

suburban home. Too far back again, she’d said, but we

didn’t ask what she meant, only pulled the dog and sprinkler

 

farther into the lawn. Later we’d see her pull

a small cracked mirror from the valise. She half

closed her eyes and slightly opened her blued mouth

and looked at herself. We’d spent the afternoon

 

running, she’d run harder than either of us girls,

and all of us, hair still damp and fingers sticky

sat on the porch swing watching the August sun

setting or resisting setting.

Emily leaves the valise and the journals in which she’d kept notes about each future with the girls’ grandmother.  The grandmother later passes the valise to the girls, who, much older now, read the final entry in the journal:

She’d stopped writing down the future

 

after a year had passed, after she realized that she’d never

escape these possible futures.  The houses, after all, were houses,

full of people or not.  The schools taught what they taught.

Couples married, had children, grew apart.  Some died

 

from diseases cured long ago in alternate worlds.  The last

page of the diary recorded us:

Week 5,738: Suburban Houston.

This time, it’s Elizabeth again, or this instance of her, and her landscapes,

that little square of gray longing.  Where is this home

she repeats?  Her granddaughters staying with her for the summer.

 

I’ll leave the valise again.  When I meet Elizabeth again,

a dozen or two dozen weeks from this one, I’ll tell her,

the her I find there, that the light is never true:

rising over the village, reflecting in those vast pools, catching

 

itself in the spray of fountains whose sources we

lose in the process of desire.

Poems, for me, are a way of breaking situations open to find deeper and more complex questions about them.  Would Emily Bethel, driven as she is to know what happens next, ever tire of moving through possible worlds?  I don’t know.  But I do think she’d find a way to situate herself in each so that she could learn as much as she could before passing to the next.  Sometimes that learning involves interviews and tours.  And sometimes it involves writing poems.  But I think it also involves sometimes leaving room to experience the world through joy.  At least the kid I was in suburban Houston in 1988 certainly hopes that’s the case.

LINKS:

Small Waiting Objects Book Link

Website

Twitter

BIO:

T.D. Walker is the author of Small Waiting Objects (CW Books, 2019). Her poems and stories have appeared in Strange Horizons, Web Conjunctions, The Cascadia Subduction Zone, Luna Station Quarterly, and elsewhere. She draws on both her grounding in literary studies and her experience as a computer programmer in writing her poetry and fiction.

My Favorite Bit: Maurice Broaddus talks about PIMP MY AIRSHIP

Favorite Bit iconMaurice Broaddus is joining us today to talk about his novel Pimp My Airship. Here’s the publisher’s description:

Warning: Don’t Believe the Hype!

All the poet called Sleepy wants to do is spit his verses, smoke chiba, and stay off the COP’s radar—all of which becomes impossible once he encounters a professional protestor known as (120 Degrees of) Knowledge Allah. They soon find themselves on the wrong side of local authorities and have to elude the powers that be.

When young heiress Sophine Jefferson’s father is murdered, the careful life she’d been constructing for herself tumbles around her. She’s quickly drawn into a web of intrigue, politics and airships, joining with Sleepy and Knowledge Allah in a fight for their freedom. Chased from one end of a retro-fitted Indianapolis to the other, they encounter outlaws, the occasional circus, possibly a medium, and more outlaws. They find themselves in a battle much larger than they imagined: a battle for control of the country and the soul of their people.

The revolution will not be televised!

What’s Maurice’s favorite bit?

Pimp My Airship cover image

MAURICE BROADDUS

Narrowing down my favorite bit of Pimp My Airship was more of a struggle than I thought it would be. Even the project coming to life was fun. I was on Writing Excuses talking about the Hero’s Journey of one of the main characters in the story, forgetting that I write for me and this book wasn’t out. Or due to be published. Or even submitted anywhere. Well, WRX fans started reaching out to me about it. Since the book only existed as a draft, I wanted a second opinion on it. So I sent it to Jason Sizemore of Apex Books since he bought the original “Pimp My Airship” short story and was a huge fan. As a friend and a fellow writer, I asked for him to take a look at a sample of the manuscript. He got through the first three chapters and wrote back, “I’ll take it.” I told him that I wasn’t submitting it, I just wanted to know if I had something. He said “you do and I’ll take it.” Thus, how Pimp My Airship came to be.

“Pimp My Airship” is the reason I have a steamfunk (think “steampunk” except through a black cultural lens) universe. It’s the world of Buffalo Soldier, “Steppin’ Razor,” and nearly a dozen short stories. It’s a world where America lost the Revolutionary War, Albion still rules the world, and details the impact of all of this on the lives of black people in this society. Most importantly, Pimp My Airship is an assemblage of my favorite collection of characters.

So, back to the Hero’s Journey. One way to look at a character’s story arc is to give them a goal and then throw as many obstacles in front of them to keep them from attaining it. With that in mind…

Meet Sleepy. He’s a poet. He’s had a long, hard day at work scrubbing steam pipes. At the end of his shift, he sheds his work clothes for his evening wear as he hits his favorite club to spit a few verses. After his set, all he wants to do is smoke a little “chiba” and get high.

That’s it. My dude just wants to get high. #heroicgoals

Meet (120 Degrees of) Knowledge Allah. Now astute readers of my work may remember him as a “throwaway” character from my debut novel, Kingmaker. He was in the book for one page but chewed the scenery so thoroughly he moved through space and time to this alternate reality. He’s a former member of the sect the Lost Nation. He sees something in Sleepy. A voice. A kindred spirit. A partner. He wants Sleepy to join him in The Cause. Knowledge Allah is what we’ll call the “prime obstacle.”

Subsequent obstacles include: the COPs, the criminal underworld, a(n accidental) riot, more COPs, and … you get the idea. The lengths I go through to keep Sleepy from attaining his goal is my penultimate favorite bit which builds to my ultimate favorite bit, the moment he … reaches his goal. The scene is a tribute to a classic issue of Grant Morrison’s run on the comic book, Animal Man, called “The Coyote Gospel.” Sure, only comic books geeks will get it, but I start smiling every time I think about it. #beepbeep.

The thing about the Hero’s Journey is that many times, once the hero reaches the goal they think they wanted, it opens up new goals and purpose for them. It reveals desires they never thought they wanted. That’s the rest of the story for Pimp My Airship. A romp through a retrofuture version of Indianapolis, a place that I love, with characters that I love. I’m just glad readers pushed me to release it into the world. I’d call my readers my true favorite bit … but that would just sound weird.

LINKS:

Pimp My Airship Buy Link

Website

Twitter

Facebook

BIO:

Maurice Broaddus is a community organizer and teacher. His work has appeared in magazines like Lightspeed Magazine, Weird Tales, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Asimov’s, Cemetery Dance, Uncanny Magazine, with some of his stories having been collected in The Voices of Martyrs. His books include the urban fantasy trilogy, The Knights of Breton Court, the steampunk novella, Buffalo Soldier, the steampunk novel, Pimp My Airship, and the middle grade detective novel, The Usual Suspects. As an editor, he’s worked on Dark Faith, Dark Faith: Invocations, Streets of ShadowsPeople of Colo(u)r Destroy Horror, and Apex Magazine. Learn more at MauriceBroaddus.com.

My Favorite Bit: Danielle L. Jensen talks about DARK SHORES

My Favorite BitDanielle L. Jensen is joining us today to talk about her new novel Dark Shores. Here’s the publisher’s description:

High seas adventure, blackmail, and meddling gods meet in Dark Shores, a thrilling first novel in a fast-paced new YA fantasy series by USA Today bestselling author Danielle L. Jensen.

In a world divided by meddlesome gods and treacherous oceans, only the Maarin possess the knowledge to cross the Endless Seas. But they have one mandate: East must never meet West.

A PIRATE WITH A WILL OF IRON
Teriana is the second mate of the Quincense and heir to the Maarin Triumvirate. Her people are born of the seas and the keepers of its secrets, but when her closest friend is forced into an unwanted betrothal, Teriana breaks her people’s mandate so her friend might escape―a choice with devastating consequences.

A SOLDIER WITH A SECRET
Marcus is the commander of the Thirty-Seventh, the notorious legion that has led the Celendor Empire to conquer the entire East. The legion is his family, but even they don’t know the truth he’s been hiding since childhood. It’s a secret he’ll do anything to protect, no matter how much it costs him – and the world.

A DANGEROUS QUEST
When an Empire senator discovers the existence of the Dark Shores, he captures Teriana’s crew and threatens to reveal Marcus’s secret unless they sail in pursuit of conquest, forcing the two into an unlikely―and unwilling―alliance. They unite for the sake of their families, but both must decide how far they are willing to go, and how much they are willing to sacrifice.

What’s Danielle’s favorite bit?

Dark Shores cover image

DANIELLE L. JENSEN

There are fewer worldbuilding tropes more common to YA fantasy than kingdoms with evil kings or queens, their position and power granted to them by birthright. It’s a trope I’ve used more than once, and will definitely use again, but when it comes to evil rulers, Dark Shores is a significant departure from my other work. The novel begins in an Empire inspired by Ancient Rome, complete with soaring columns, senate houses, deadly legions, and democracy, albeit a flawed version of it. The antagonist is not a villainous king, but rather Lucius Cassius, a power-hungry senator running for the position of consul – the most influential elected position in the Celendor Empire.

The hero of Dark Shores is Marcus, a young legion commander who is being blackmailed into supporting Cassius by having his entire legion vote for him in the elections. There is a rather dramatic scene where Marcus, in full regalia, marches into the Forum at the head of the most feared legion in the Empire in the final hours of the election, knowing that he’s about to turn the vote in Cassius’s favor. Marcus is the first of them to vote and there are a couple paragraphs where he stands alone in the voting pavilion, still not quite committed to what he intends to do, that I absolutely love.

Marcus understands better than anyone that Cassius is a villain. That the Empire won’t thrive under Cassius’s leadership. But Marcus also understands that Cassius’s victory is better for him and for his legion. There are thousands of young men, plus most of the Senate, standing outside in the Forum waiting for him to exit the pavilion, but Marcus hesitates, token gripped in his sweating hand and his stomach in ropes, before casting his vote. For readers, it might seem like a small moment, but it’s actually the crossroads point where the plot of the novel either begins or is stopped in its tracks.

I love moments where characters must make choices, but I love this one in particular not just because the consequences are so catastrophic, but because it’s a moment readers can see themselves experiencing. None of us are likely to ascend a throne, but nearly all of us will have the opportunity to vote for a political leader, knowing that we have a hand in who comes out victorious. We understand the feeling of grappling with the choice we must make, weighing and measuring the options. A vote is a powerful thing, and like Marcus, we are all culpable for the actions of those we cast our vote for.

LINKS:

Dark Shores Universal Book Link

Website

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Facebook

BIO:

Danielle L. Jensen is the USA Today bestselling author of The Malediction Novels: Stolen Songbird, Hidden Huntress,  Warrior Witch, and The Broken Ones, as well as The Bridge Kingdom (Audible Originals). Her latest novel, Dark Shores, was released by Tor Teen on May 7. She lives with her family in Calgary, Alberta.