Book Reviewing Tips

For some reason, many people who would not hesitate to leave a Yelp review for a restaurant or a physical product review on Amazon are more reluctant to write book reviews.  Perhaps it reminds us too much of the school assignments of our childhood.  Perhaps people think that book reviewers need some kind of qualifications.

Well, I am here to tell you that your perspective as a reader is valuable both to authors and to your fellow readers.  This is true regardless of your background or grades in English class.  And if you don't quite know where to start with your review of a recent read, here are a few tips to get you started.  You can discuss one of these points or all of them.  No matter how long or short your review, I guarantee that someone will appreciate it.

Some points you can highlight include you opinion of the story, the characters, the world-building, and the writing. You can discuss some or all of this issues as you please and in as much detail as you desire. This isn't school. You're doing this for fun and to help your fellow reader decide if they might enjoy the book. And you might help an author you like create a new fan. How cool is that?

Dialogue Tips for Writers

I've been told that I write dialogue well.  I don't know how true that is, but I certainly enjoy writing dialogue.  I like how it allows me to explore my characters, their personalities, and the images they try to portray of themselves when they communicate.  My favorite dialogue role model is Hilary Mantel.  Do yourself a favor and read Wolf Hall and A Place of Greater Safety.  The woman is a master.

Here are my tidbits of advice when it comes to writing conversation.

1) Your characters should talk like people actually sound.  Unless you have some real reason for your characters to speak strangely (different time period, aliens, second language, whatever), your characters should sound like they grew up on this planet conversing with other human beings.  Even when there is a reason for someone to speak strangely, it can be really off-putting and distracting if done in excess.

2) Readers should be able to tell who is speaking.  I don't mean every line needs a dialogue tag, but if you use so few that readers stop out of confusion, then you need to be more explicit about who is saying what.

3) Repetition is boring.  Don't write the same conversation multiple times.

4) Dialogue should accomplish characterization.  If a character's words and the way he speaks tell us nothing about him, then something is wrong with the writing.

5) Your imagination can help you create an effective voice.  If you don't have a clear sound and image in mind, try "fantasy casting."  Imagine which actor would play that character in the movie of your book.  How would she sound?

6) Conversation isn't just about the words spoken.  It includes body language, gestures, facial expressions, and what is left unsaid.  People don't communicate with only their words.  On the other hand, don't overdo the adverbs and descriptions.  A taste is enough for the reader to fill in the details.

What are some of your favorite tips for writing dialogue?  What are some of the greatest pitfalls?

The Lessons of Twilight or Avoidable Mistakes in Vampire Fiction

In the world of vampire fiction, there are several names that loom large.  There's Dracula.  There's Anne Rice.  There's Sookie Stackhouse.  And, of course, there's Twilight. 

In writing She Dies at the End, one of my goals was for it to be the anti-Twilight.  Now, don't get me wrong.  I read all the Twilight books.  They are page turners.  There's no denying that they're fun.  But there are some things about them that really bother me. 

First, I shall complain about the romance.  Edward emotionally abuses Bella.  He's incredibly controlling, and her worship of him is disturbing.  Her total nervous breakdown after he leaves her paints a terrible picture to young girls of what it means love someone and of how you process your feelings after it goes bad.  This is one reason that November goes through a failed romance in Book 1 of my series.  I wanted to show that a girl can be sad about a first love gone wrong but still stand up for herself and move on.  I also wanted to acknowledge the fundamental creep factor of an ancient vampire going after a teenage girl.  The power dynamics of that are really unacceptable, no matter how much you try to gloss it over by saying that he's a virgin or that she's his one true love.  

The vampire-human romantic situations in my book are portrayed as sketchy because they are, in fact, sketchy.

Another thing that irritates me about Twilight is the lack of diversity in the main cast.  You do have Native American werewolves, but otherwise, it's white people as far as the eye can see.  The only Black dude has a handful of pages and then dies.  Why are all the Cullens white?  There is no reason for that.  Representation matters.  When the default race for every character is white, that sends a strong, negative message to people of color, especially young people.  I deliberately create my characters to reflect the diversity of the world around me, here in the San Francisco Bay Area.  I think that makes my books more interesting and sends a positive message to all readers.

Finally, there's the total lack of any consequences for bad decisions.  In the Twilight series, Bella knows that if she becomes a vampire, she is likely to kill someone.  Her vampire friends tell her this over and over again.  Some of the Cullens even take bets on how high the body count will be.  And yet, Bella wants to become one anyway, so she can be with Edward forever and never get old.  And instead of having to face the consequences of what is fundamentally a selfish decision, she's conveniently such a special vampire snowflake that she can resist her urge for human blood with no mistakes.  I find that to be an unsatisfying cop-out, one I try to avoid in She Lights Up the Dark.  

My mixed feelings about Twilight have definitely informed my writing, and serve as an example of how helpful it can be to read within your genre.  It helps you to see the elements you love as well as those that are more problematic.  I will likely never have the level of success achieved by Stephanie Meyer, but I'm proud of the story I've created.  I think it is enjoyable, interesting, and socially conscious.  I hope you'll agree.

Read more about my vampires, fairies, and werewolves in She Dies at the End, She Lights Up the Dark, and She Marches Through Fire.

A New Excerpt from Unclean

Today, I bring you another excerpt, this one from Chapter 3 of Unclean. If you want to go in blind, avert your gaze!  It describes the predicaments facing Shiloh and Silas at the beginning of the book. Don't forget to pre-order your copy. :-)

Silas opened his eyes. They fell upon the bricked-up window in his new quarters in the Dark Tower. Morning sun snuck through the gaps in the mortar. If he’d been a praying man, he would have prayed that the dawn’s light fell upon a free Shiloh, but he dared not hope it. Esta would not have made her move against him without first being sure Shiloh was firmly in the Patriarch’s grasp.

Rather than locking him up in the official jail cells of the High Tower, Queen Esta had chosen to hold Silas in the very rooms her mother had occupied for five years after her father had discarded Mirin and chosen his second wife. Esta had shared her mother’s quarters for the final year of Mirin’s self-imposed exile of protest. Silas supposed the new queen’s revenge had a certain logic to it.

The furniture was different. Mirin had taken everything of value with her when she had departed for the Southlands. The mirror Silas had used to spy on her was gone, as was her makeshift throne. The room was furnished with a mish-mash of odds and ends. There was a bed, a small table, and two chairs, along with a washbasin with a towel and a large jug of water. The adjoining room, he remembered, held the privy. There was no fire in the grate, which given the winter weather, was rather unpleasant. But there were plenty of blankets, and Silas was grateful for them.

Carefully, he sat up and stretched his limbs. The guards hadn’t beaten him as badly as he’d feared they might when they had dragged him from his study the day before. After all, Silas had always treated them with consideration and respect when they had answered to him, and tipped them generously besides, so their queen’s ordered mistreatment of the former Chief Minister had been executed rather half-heartedly. Still, the bruises ached. At least I didn’t lose any teeth.

He ran his hands over his clothes, feeling to see if his hidden treasures remained on his person. The guards had taken his wand, of course, and the knife he kept in his boot. One of the them had stolen Silas’s wedding ring. He made a mental note to exact vengeance for that at his earliest opportunity.

He found, to his pleasure, that the search had not been sufficiently careful to remove what he needed most. I’d better wait to rip out the seams, he cautioned himself. I think I hear footsteps on the stairs.

A guard named Cane opened the door. “Breakfast,” the man gruffly announced, then dropped the tray onto the table.

“My heartfelt thanks,” Silas replied. “I don’t suppose I could have some books.”

Cane shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Would you mind inquiring on my behalf?” Silas asked, taking his seat at the table.

“I guess.” And with that, Cane lumbered out and clomped down the stairs.

The prisoner heaved a sigh and looked down at his plate. They hadn’t been stingy, but the fare was dull and bland: a large hunk of brown bread, a wedge of cheese, an apple, and some rapidly congealing porridge. The tea looked like dishwater, but at least it was warm. He could imagine Queen Esta dining on pastries and chocolate, with berries from the greenhouse.

He forced himself to eat every bite, knowing that she might well try to starve him at some point, remembering how thin poor Daved had gotten when his appetite had failed him in prison.

I wonder what Shiloh is eating this morning. Is she locked in the Citadel? Still on the road? Did she escape?

His hope for the latter dimmed when an agitated Daved, Lord Redwood, appeared at Silas’s door. One look at the poor boy’s face was all Silas needed to know what rumors were swirling in the palace.

“Is it true?” Daved demanded, his pubescent voice cracking. “They’ve taken her to the Citadel?”

“You would know better than I,” Silas replied heavily, “but very likely.”

“But how could anyone think Shiloh is a heretic? She loves the Gods. I’ve never met anyone who loves them more.”

“Her innocence isn’t relevant,” Silas replied. “And you must take care not to express your sympathy in public, lest you suffer a similar fate.”

Daved collapsed into the second chair, face bleak. “I know. But I can’t do nothing. She’s my dearest friend,” he protested. “She stood by me when no one else did.”

“I know that,” Silas replied. “And I am glad for it. The best thing you can do for her is to rise in the queen’s estimation and trust. Then you will be positioned to act for Shiloh when it will count for something. Come see me regularly, and I can advise you how best to do so. Let people think you’re coming here to gloat over my fall. The other noblemen will applaud such an impulse, I am sure.”

Daved swallowed heavily and nodded. “Very well.” He laughed a bitter laugh. “I suppose I could bring you some books.”

Silas smiled weakly, remembering how faithfully Shiloh had brought books to Daved when the boy had been imprisoned under Silas’s own orders. “I would very much appreciate that.”

Daved glanced down at the remnants of Silas’s meal. “You fed me better than that.”

“I fed Mirin better than this, too. I suppose no teenaged girl is immune from a touch of pettiness, our queen included,” Silas replied with a sigh.

“If Shiloh had married me instead of you, this wouldn’t be happening to her. Her Grace hates you,” Daved accused, flushing red with sudden temper.

Silas felt his chest constrict, but then shook his head. “If she’d married you, the queen would have to kill her,” he said softly, “instead of merely locking her up out of sight.”

“What? Why?” Daved demanded.

Is it time to let Daved in on the secret? Or do I only make things worse? Perhaps Silas was swayed by his sense of isolation when he admitted, “The Usurper was Shiloh’s mother. A marriage with you would have strengthened her claim to the throne.”

Daved leaned back in his chair and let out a forceful breath. “Holy Mother above . . . That explains a lot.”

“I imagine so.”

“You killed the Usurper,” Daved pointed out.

“Aye.”

“You made her marry her own mother’s killer,” Daved accused, eyes again ablaze.

“Aye. I am, indeed, rather a monster,” Silas confessed. “In my defense, that particular murder saved Shiloh’s life. Not that I, at the time, expected it to last very long.”

***

What do you suppose Silas has hidden in his bclothes? And how do you think they will manage to get themselves out of this mess? Check out the blurb and order your copy here.  Happy reading!

Sexism in Fantasy Novels

We all live in a sexist world, though less so than it once was.  In our fantasy novels, however, more explicit sexism is often alive and well.  This is partly due to the fact that in many fantasy novels, especially of the high or epic fantasy variety, the society portrayed is quasi-historical or what I call "medieval-ish."  There's usually an aristocracy run by men, and a religion run by men, and an expectation that a woman must marry and have children.  Even when women do seize power, they have to contend with the mysogyny of their societies.

Take Cersei from Game of Thrones for an example.  None of the men in that series, odious as they might be, would ever have to take a "walk of shame."  Or Danerys, who rose to power only after her husband's death.  Westeros is a man's world, at least until things really start to unravel.

Even conttemporary fantasy Harry Potter portrays its share of sexism.  There are only two female Death Eaters named, for example, not counting Narcissa Malfoy, who is more of a hanger-on.  In the pro-Voldemort worldview, a woman's first duty is to produce pure-blooded wizards.

Then you have the works of fantasy that, rather than portraying a sexist world as a way to criticize misogyny, instead promote a sexist message themselves.  I would put Twilight into that category, as it glorifies controling behavior by a male partner.

There are plenty of examples of sexism in my own work as well.  The world of Hexborn is not kind to its women.  My imaginary country of Bryn is a largely agrarian society dominated by a male-centered magical aristocracy.  As it was during certain times and places in our own history, women are treated as the property of their fathers or their husbands, and the only path to a relatively independent life as a scholar is by entering a religious order and forgoing marriage and motherhood. 

Especially among the nobility, many women are married off at young ages, sometimes to men old enough to be their fathers or even grandfathers, and no one seems to think much about it.  Many of the girls with magical ability, at least the marriageable ones, drop out of school early lest they become too powerful or educated, and thus too threatening, to prospective husbands.  The queen’s value lies in producing a son, and woe betide her if she fails. I think you get the picture.

The sexism in this society even extends to the titular affliction.  Our main character, Shiloh, was born with a medical condition caused by the overuse of dark magic during pregnancy.  The extreme stigma around this condition is caused partly by the misogyny of the culture, which does not even consider the possibility that the mother might not be entirely to blame for this situation.

Shiloh, in some ways, steps outside the gender order.  Being hexborn makes her infertile, and her facility with fighting magic makes her too useful as a weapon to confine her to domestic duties.  This leads some to treat her, essentially, as an honorary man, as if they can’t bear to admit that she is a powerful woman.  Thus, she has to walk a fine line in order to remain “acceptable” while retaining her value to those in power.

Who are some of your favorite examples of women stepping outside of convention, either in fiction or history?  And how well do things work out for them?

What's an ARC Team and Why do I Care?

ARC stands for "Advance Review Copy."  An ARC Team is a group of people an author sends early copies of an upcoming book in the hope that those readers will read the book in advance and post reviews in the first few days following the book's release.  Typically, these folks are fans of the author's work.

What is the difference between an ARC reader and a beta reader?  Beta readers read the work at an earlier stage in its development and provide feedback about what major changes need to be made or problems need to addressed before the work is complete.  The ARC reader comes in after the book is finished but before it is released.  Of course, if an ARC reader finds an error, they should share it with the author.

Why would a writer want to forgo the income of selling books to these fans by giving them a book for free?  Those early reviews build credibility with browsers and help the book in the all important and myserious Amazon algorithms.

What do the readers get out of being on an ARC Team?  Well, you get first crack at a new work well in advance of release, and you get to build a relationship with a writer whose work you enjoy.  Your insights may even help influence future work by that author.  That sounds like fun, doesn't it?

Here are a few things for authors to remember about building and using an ARC Team:

• You cannot actually require a review in exchange for a free copy.  I mean, how would you even enforce that in the first place?  All you can do is ask for an honest review.  And speaking of honesty . . .
• Give people plenty of notice.   Don't expect folks to turn a review around in a week.
• Make sure to thank your team members.

ARC readers, here are some tips you should keep in mind:

• Your review should be honest.  You do not need to give the book five stars if you don't think it deserves it.  A varity of star ratings looks more credible anyway.  Your author will not hate you for being honest.  He or she cannot grow without constructive criticism.
• Don't stress about your review.  This isn't going in the New York Review of Books.  It's just an Amazon review.  A few sentences about what you enjoyed or about your favorite aspects of the book will do just fine.
• Don't sign up if you know that you can't read and review in a timely manner.  The author is anxious about his or her new release and is counting on you.
• Feel free to email the author to discuss your thoughts.  Believe me, any writer not thrilled to get a message from you about their book is probably popular enough not to need an ARC Team!

How do you start an ARC Team?  

• If you have social media accounts or an email newsletter for your writing, start there by asking for signups.   
• You can create a form in Google Forms or Mailchimp to gather information from your prospects and share the link to the form.  I ask for name and email address, obviously.  I also ask why they want to join the team and if they have ever reviewed any of my books before.
• Some people give a free copy of an older book to a prospective team member as soon as they sign up and allow them one month to post a review.  If they don't do so, they are cut from the team.  It's your team.  You can decide what your standards are for participation and what the consequences are for a lack of participation.

If you are interested in joining my own ARC Team, you can sign up here.

Sending a new book to your ARC Team is an exciting moment for both writer and reader.  So remember to enjoy it!  We write and read for pleasure, after all.  Happy reading and reviewing!

Unclean Sneak Preview

I'm finally ready to share more about my next novel, Unclean.  It's the sequel to Hexborn, and it finds Silas and Shiloh in a heap of trouble.  Here is a sneak peek at what is in store for them at the beginning of Unclean.  This excerpt is from the end of the first chapter.  Enjoy!

Notice of Annulment. Silas hoped his grinding teeth were not audible. “And they plan to tell me when?” he managed to ask. “Before or after they clap me in irons?”

“I don’t know,” Kiven admitted. “My visions of your forthcoming doom are not dated for our convenience.”

“I appreciate the warning,” Silas told the Academy’s Master of Farsight. His eyes burned hot. He stared at the paper, irritated that it did not catch flame with the heat of his displeasure. “I feared this was coming when the Patriarch brought back the Cleanliness Laws.” He closed his eyes and opened them again. “I had a month of happiness with her. I suppose that was more than I deserve.”

“It was foolish to fall in love with her, though I can hardly fault your taste. I would not consider this development a positive sign with respect to your long-term safety. Yours or hers,” Kiven pointed out, unnecessarily.

“I know that, Kiven. I’m not an idiot,” Silas snapped. “Esta probably has my shackles already picked out.”
“Well, then, do forgive me for trying to help you,” Kiven retorted, easily affronted as ever.

Silas sighed. “I’m sorry, Kiven. I appreciate your help, truly. Will Shiloh be permitted to return to school, at least?”

Kiven shook his head. “She’s ordered Headmaster Markas to declare her graduated. Her Grace is frightened that the girl’s power grows too great. The thousand acres Shiloh healed in the Frontier, her work containing the fever, her handling of the incident with the Gernish raiders—it’s all fueled the queen’s paranoia. The Patriarch is only too willing to encourage her fear.”

“The Gernish Raiders? She and her men killed a half dozen wandless thieves. It was hardly anything to be frightened of,” Silas protested, throwing his hands into the air. “It was barely even worth notice. And the fever? Was Shiloh supposed to let it spread? Thousands would have died.”

“I know, I know,” Kiven replied. “But the tales are growing in the telling. Shiloh is becoming known as a defender of the common folk. And that won’t do with a weak queen on the throne.”

“Then what is Shiloh to do? Take holy orders and stay on at the monastery at Northgate?” Silas asked. At least there he could see her and know she was reasonably safe. His lips pressed together until they almost disappeared.

Kiven shook his head. “Rumor has it that Patriarch Vinsen has sent some of his priests north to fetch her.”

Silas felt his stomach turn to ice. “To make her join the Elder’s Order? To force her to serve him?” he asked.

Kiven swallowed grimly and placed a hand on Silas’s shoulder. “I’m not certain what the Patriarch intends. But I fear that would be the best of the possible outcomes.”

How do you suppose Shiloh will get them out of their predicament?  I'm afraid you'll have to wait until February 19th to find out--unless, of course, you would like to join the ARC Team.

You can pre-order Unclean now on Amazon Kindle.  And if you haven't gotten around to reading Hexborn yet, it's currently available for only $0.99!

Welcome to the WATCH "#RWISA" WRITE Showcase Tour! #RRBC #RRBCWRW @NonnieJules

Today, I'm thrilled to welcome the fearless leader of RWISA and RRBC, Nonnie Jules!  Here is an excerpt from her forthcoming novel, the as yet untitled sequel to Daydream's Daughter/Nightmare's Friend.  Fair warning--it is pretty intense!

EXCERPT FROM THE SEQUEL TO DAYDREAM’S DAUGHTER

(I’ve decided not to preface this piece with any details.  I’d like for the readers to try and “figure” out the direction this piece is going in.  Have fun!)

***

LEEZA

“Are you gonna buy me a drink or, are you just gonna sit there and stare at me?” Leeza asked the stranger at the bar.

“Uh, sure. What are you drinking, pretty lady?” Swirling to and fro, the man gripped the ridges of the bar to keep from falling off the bar stool. “Hey, bartend, give this pretty lady what ‘er she wants and put it on my tab.”

Leeza looked him up and down. Although not bad on the eyes, he didn’t strike her as a man with deep enough pockets to have a “tab” anywhere, but, who was she to judge.

“Vodka on the rocks,” she said, waving her hand at the bartender. When her suitor heard her request, his eyebrows raised.

“Sure you can handle that strong of a drink, pretty lady?” he asked, still teetering.

“That’s not all I can handle.” Her suggestive wink was all the invitation the stranger needed to move a little closer, even though he could barely stand.

“So, what’s your name, pretty lady?” he slurred.

“Anything you want it to be, honey,” she replied.

“Really? Well, I want your name to be Available. So, are you?”

As he sat waiting for her response, he reminded her of a puppy, paws perched on a windowsill, who has just noticed his master’s return home from work.

“You gotta pay to play with me,” she nudged.

“Well, honey, you finish up that there drink of yours, and let’s head up to my room. I’m in town on business and I would love the company of a beautiful woman going by the name Available.”

In one fell swoop, she turned the shot glass up and the vodka was gone, causing the stranger’s eyes to bulge again. He’d never seen a woman down a drink as strong as that before.

Turning away from the bar and grabbing hold of his tie, Leeza lead the way to the elevator of the hotel…the stranger following close behind, like a leashed dog.

“What’s your curfew, pretty lady?”

With doors partially closed, she took her hand and grabbed his penis through his pants.

“I’m a big girl, single with no kids…does that sound like someone with a curfew?” she asked as the beep of the elevator signaled the arrival to their destination.

Stumbling ahead of her, the stranger swiped his key and pushed opened the door. Leeza walked past him, falling backwards onto the bed.

“C’mon over here and let’s finish the party we started downstairs,” she said, kicking off her heels and propping her legs up on the bed...spread-eagle.

Balancing as he walked, the stranger reached the bed with a huge grin plastered across his face.

“C’mere.” Leeza forcefully took him by the tie once again and pulled him on top of her.

“Whoa, filly…what’s your hurry? You said you didn’t have a curfew so why the rush? Don’t you even wanna know my name?” he asked.

“Well, I thought your name was Ready since that’s the way you came across downstairs at the bar.” Leeza was no longer smiling, feeling a bit toyed with, and being toyed with was the one thing she hated most.

“You’re a funny one, aren’t cha?” he chuckled. “Ok, well let’s ‘git to what we came here for! By the way, my real name’s Jim. Now tell me yours…”

“Nothing’s changed,” she whispered in his ear. “I’m still Available.”

Switching off the lamp, she proceeded to undress the both of them by the orange glow of moonlight trickling through the window. This was a typical night for Leeza. Raunchy sex with yet another man she didn’t know, nor cared to. After a while, she just lay there and let him have his way.

Then, just as quickly as it had begun, the party was over…for her, at least. The banging inside her head warned of the onslaught of another massive headache and there was no getting away from it.

She could no longer enjoy herself as the next one started to take over.



CHRISTY

Jim opened his eyes to a blonde pointing a gun in his face. Startled, his eyes scanned the room for the brunette he’d brought back with him the night before, but she was nowhere to be found.

“Give me your wallet!” the blonde demanded.

“Who are you? And, where is Available?” he asked, his eyes still searching.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t want to know what you’re talking about, capiche? My name is Christy and I’m not going to ask you again. Give me…your wallet.”

Jim pointed to his clothes that he’d been stripped of the night before, strewn across the floor. “You didn’t ask me the first time,” he said. “My wallet’s in there. Take whatever you want, just get outta my damn room.”

Christy stooped to pick up the pants, throwing them at him; the gun, nor her eyes, ever leaving their target.

“Hey, I don’t take orders from you. Remember that. Now give me everything in there that’s spendable.”

Jim took the cash from his wallet and threw it at her. “Here, this is all I have,” he muttered, anger lacing his tone.

“I saw plastic. I want those, too. And don’t make the mistake again of throwing anything at me,” she warned, raising the gun to remind him who was in charge.

Jim mumbled something, as he gently placed three credit cards on the bed. Christy snatched the cards up and backed slowly towards the door, but her hands had barely touched the doorknob when she heard Jim yell, “Get out, you bitch!”

Closing the door, she calmly walked back over to the bed. She could see the new fear which had quickly taken up residence in his eyes. Smiling, she put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

“Don’t you ever call me a bitch again. I told you my name was Christy!”

***


Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH "RWISA" WRITE Showcase Tour today! We ask that if you have enjoyed this member's writing, please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they've turned you into a fan.

We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs. Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you have enjoyed this showcase of our amazing tour of talent! Don't forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

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Top Five Current Fantasy Television Series

Fantasy readers are often fantasy watchers, and it's never been a better time for televised fantasy. From Marvel to ancient mythology, from Brooklyn to Westeros to the great hereafter, these are my top five current TV fantasies.

 

5. The Runaways (Hulu)

Photo courtesy of Hulu.

Season 1 is, admittedly, way too slow. (Run away, already!) But season 2 promises to start with a bang, and the characters are interesting enough to keep me coming back for more. Also, I can't resist James Marsters being back on my TV again. What can I say? I spent a large swath of my adolescence as ride-or-die for Spike. Unfortunately, one of the cast has just been accused of sexual assault, which throws rather a pall over the upcoming season. It remains to be seen what his future involvement will be in the project.

4. Daredevil (Netflix)

Photo courtesy of Netflix.

Though the second season is a little sub-par, the stellar first and third seasons make this obligatory viewing for anyone into enjoying a good fight between good and evil and the blurred lines that result. The perfect casting of Charlie Cox as Daredevil and Vincent D'Onofrio, along with exciting fight sequences, give the series it's powerful punch. The rest of the ensemble doesn’t disappoint, either. Binge the first season and meet the Devil of Hell's Kitchen.

3. American Gods (Starz)

Photo courtesy of Starz.

Okay, I know season 2 sounds doomed, but season 1 is still worth your attention. The visuals are stunning, the characters vivid. And who can resist Ian McShane pulling the strings and gnawing the scenery, Pablo Schreiber as a leprachaun, or Kristin Chenowith hosting an Easter party with fifty different versions of Jesus?

2. Game of Thrones (HBO)

Photo courtesy of HBO.

Rarely does a film adaptation improve upon the books, but this one is widely viewed as far more enjoyable than the over-stuffed death march of reading the novels. And as the TV series nears its conclusion, with the final novels nowhere in sight, you don't have to worry about being left hanging (unlike some of the characters).

1. The Good Place (NBC, streams on Hulu)

Photo courtesy of NBC.

This one puts the high in high concept. Join a delightful Ted Danson and Kristen Bell for an hilarious take on the afterlife in this fantasy comedy. The casting is sublime and the jokes laugh-out-loud funny. It really is a riot, and the twists are to die for. (See what I did there?)

What are your fave fantasy shows?

The Indie Author Christmas List

The frenzy of gift buying has begun.  For those of us in the indie author scene, our hearts begin yearning for some things to make our lives as artists and marketers easier and more enjoyable.  So if you need a gift for an author friend, or if you are an author working on your wish list, here are some items and siubscription services that you might consider letting Santa know about this holiday season.

1) Yeti USB Microphone

Whether you are interested in doing online readings of your work, narrating trailers, or starting a podcast, this is a great multi-purpose microphone that is fairly reasaonably priced (around $125) and easy to use.  With video becoming more and more important in book marketing, being able to have decent audio is very helpful.  And it is a beautiful piece of equipment.

2) Canva for Work

Canva is a free online graphic design tool, but the paid version has a lot of bang for the buck.  It allows you to organize your files and brand kit, gives access to a large photo library, allows for instant resizing for different social media formats, allows you to create videos and gifs of your graphics. and will soon offer Twitter and Facebook post scheduling.  You can get an annual subscription for one person for $119.40, which works out to $9.95 per month.

3) Tailwind

If authors want to build a following on Pinterest and Instagram, this is the scheduling service for them.  At $9.99 per month if you pay annually, it allows you to create, schedule, and analyze the performace of pins with ease.  The Chrome plugin means that wherever you are online, scheduling a pin takes only a few clicks. You also have access to "tribes" of pinners in realted areas to help you network and boost each other's content.  You can also do bulk uploads of images for both Pinterest and Instagram, and the Instagram mode suggests the most effective hastags to use and shares your favorite hashtags to save you time.

4) KDP Rocket

KDP Rocket is essentially a research tool for Amazon keywords and categories.  One of the few tools that isn't a subscription service, it costs $97.  It is frequently updated and can be very helpful in seeing what people are actually searching for on Amazon.

5) The Complete Guide to Facebook Advertising by Brian Meert

Unfortunately, we indie authors spend a lot more time marketing than most of us would like.  This book ($19.99 on Kindle) is an extremely helpful overview of both the technical aspects of learning to use Facebook's advertising interface and the design and psychology of Facebook advertising.  It also includes information about using Instagram ads and links to additional content.

6) Vellum

The ultimate book creator's dream software, Vellum is pricy ($249.99 if you want to do both ebook and paperback layouts) and only works on Mac.  But if you have the cash to burn and really want to impress that author you love, getting them Vellum and a MacBook is the way to do it in style.


I am sure there are things writers covet that I am forgetting.  Authors, what is on your ultimate wish list?

Hexborn Holiday Sale

With Thanksgiving upon us, Black Friday and Cyber Monday will soon follow. So, I thought it would be fun to put Hexborn on sale, what with all the Kindles and Kindle Fires that will surely be purchased this weekend.  Grab a copy for yourself or a loved one for only 99 cents!  Need convincing?  Read the blurb and excerpt below.  Happy reading!

Blurb

Hexborn. Abomination. Unclean. Young Shiloh knows exactly what she is. She just refuses to let that stop her. Her illness might make her an outcast, but her broken body hides great magical power. And she intends to make the most of it.

Silas, the king’s ruthless fixer, seeks to use that power to preserve the uneasy peace the kingdom has enjoyed since the end of the Siblings’ War. Silas hauls Shiloh from her mountain village to the wizard academy at the king’s court, where magic and political intrigue conspire to create danger around every corner.

Can this child of war save the peace? Or will old sins rise to threaten Shiloh, Silas, and the kingdom of Bryn?

Excerpt

The dust betrayed them.  At the end of a long, dry summer in the Teeth, the hooves of their horses stirred up a cloud that billowed like smoke as they traversed the pass.  Shiloh made out a flash of blue that she reckoned must be Lord Blackmine's crest.  The Lord of the Teeth's men flew a banner with a white horse on a blue field. 

Not that we see it much, given his lordship’s lack of interest in defending his lands and his folk. 

The spots of red up in front she supposed might be Silas Hatch's household livery: a golden hatchet on blood crimson.

At least the man embraces his infamy.

She’d been packed for weeks, waiting.  She could have run.  That is what Brother Edmun had urged her to do, from his deathbed . . . Edmun, who had put her in mortal peril long before he'd learned to love her like a daughter.  

He had let Shiloh read all his letters to the City, the ones in which he’d begged the Hatchet to find a place for her at the Royal Academy.  He had extolled Shiloh’s virtue and her gifts at length, hopeful that his favorite old pupil would have mercy on his beloved young one.  But at the last, Edmun’s fear for her safety had overcome his hopes for her future, and he'd urged the girl to fly away before Hatch’s men came stomping up their mountains.

She had considered it.  As she'd wept into Edmun’s blankets after he'd finally breathed his last, she'd considered it.  As she’d watched his wands crumble to dust as they died with him, she’d considered it.  As she’d prepared him for burial, as she’d put him in the ground, as she had waited for weeks . . .

And, yet, here she stood, waiting patiently for an infamous, ruthless stranger to spirit her away.

As she watched the cloud of dust move ever closer to her home, she considered her choice one last time.  Her options were limited.  No other village would ever accept a hexborn stranger, and a bastard foundling at that.  Her own had only tolerated her because they’d feared to cross Edmun and her father, and because her skills had made her useful.  She was surprised they hadn’t tried to drive her out of town since her men had died. 

If not a village, then where?  Living as a hermit in the woods lacked appeal, not least because her ill health turned every winter into mortal combat.  Besides, the Feralfolk were not exactly fond of her.  She would be easily caught if she ventured any further west, closer to the City.  She had not the money to go abroad, to Estany.

Thus, she waited, and she hoped that all of her work, and all Edmun’s plotting, had not been in vain.  She wondered how the soldiers would react if her village failed to produce her.  

Not well, she thought.

It would serve them right.

***

Before Hatch and his men entered the village of Smoke Valley, there they were: a half-dozen charred skulls on pikes at the edge of the road leading down from the pass, a warning to outlaws to steer clear of the settlement.  He squinted and held out a gloved hand as if feeling for heat.  A muscle in his face twitched.

“Looks like they’re holding their own against the Feralfolk,” Perce observed.  The men grunted with approval after they traced superstitious circles on their foreheads.

“She, not they.  Magic killed them all,” Hatch countered grimly, before prodding his horse to continue past the macabre display.  He heard retching behind him and turned to find Wilar, the young priest sent to replace Edmun, vomiting into the brush. 

Hatch shook his head.  These high country folk are going to walk all over him.  Let’s hope he doesn’t pass out the first time he sees one of them chop the head from a chicken.

“A little girl from the Teeth, all by her lonesome, killed six grown men?” Perce asked skeptically.  “A girl who hasn’t even been to the Academy yet?  Isn’t it more likely this Brother Edmun did them in?”

Hatch fixed his sharp eyes upon his companion.  “That is possible, but as poor as his health has been these last years, I find it unlikely.  The rumors all say the girl killed them.  As to the child’s education, Brother Edmun was the finest sorcerer at the Royal Academy for decades before the war started.  He was the youngest headmaster ever appointed.  She’ll know more walking through the door than many of our most gifted noblemen know when they finish their studies.  You underestimate her at your peril.”

Perce held up his hands in surrender.  “Yes, Uncle.  It’s just . . . it’s a lot to believe.  A hexborn kid that he found in the woods grows up and kills grown Feralfolk without even having a wand to use?”

“She might have used one of his.  Stranger things have happened,” Hatch replied.  “And my source in South Lake has proved reliable in the past.  Evidently, the Feralfolk had just killed her father when the . . . incident . . . occurred.  That is certainly plausible motivation. 

“You’re not old enough to have been in the war.  I saw grieving wizards slaughter entire companies of men after losing a beloved companion on the battlefield; some of them were barely older than this foundling.  Power comes in unlikely packages, and rage can unlock any box you try to hide it in.”

“Where do you suppose she even came from?” Perce asked.

“There are a number of possibilities.  She was born in the last days of the war.  Many of the monks and nuns drafted into the fighting broke their vows in those days.  Of those who bore children from such illicit unions, some abandoned or killed them in the hopes of hiding their guilt.  Some ran off and became Feralfolk along with their offspring,” Silas explained patiently. 

“It is fortunate that the girl was found by someone interested in proving his loyalty.  Had she been raised a Feral, or spirited out of the country by the king’s enemies, she could have become a significant problem for the realm.  A weapon like that, in hostile hands,” Silas concluded, “could be devastating.”

“Do you think she’ll come quietly, Uncle Silas?”

“I think the chances are good.  Edmun claims that she is as devout and patriotic a lass as could be found anywhere.  Even if that is an exaggeration, if she were not clever, Edmun would not have bothered with her.  He never was an easy man to impress.  I doubt he gentled with age,” Silas opined.

“And if she seems like a threat, once we have her in hand?” his nephew asked.

Silas turned his intimidating gaze upon Perce once again.  “Then we shall fulfill our duty to kingdom and crown.  Why do you suppose King Rischar sent me to handle this myself?”

***

Grab your copy before the price goes back up!  If you'd like to get first crack at the sequel, sign up for my email list.  And welcome to the world of Hexborn! 

Five Killer Passages from She Dies at the End

Here are five excerpts from my first novel, the award-winning paranormal epic She Dies at the End. All of them deal with issues of life and death, a recurring motif in many vampire novels, including my own.

This first one is about the vision November, my main character, has seen over and over again.

She watched them bury her again.

Four people stand in a garden. The short redhead, an impatient fireplug, has a dusty shovel in his large hands. His wide shoulders stretch his clothes. A tiny teenager with caramel skin stands beside him and places a hand on his arm, her tunic marred by drops of blood. A tall waif stands apart, distraught, shaking; blue tears fall from her eyes, eyes the same shade of electric blue as her hair. Closest to the grave is the bloody businessman: his dark suit stained darker still with blood, his white shirt ruined, his shoes dusty, his designer tie twisted, now turned more noose than accessory.

His face is stone. His eyes scream. His fangs catch the light. A girl is dead because she tried to help him. His girl is dead, just like the ones before.

Her corpse waits patiently, cradled in the gnarled roots of an old tree. Blood has soaked through her blue silk dress. It stains her mouth, covering the blue tinge of death. The businessman bends down and kisses her forehead. He lifts her up, leaps gracefully into the grave, and places her carefully into her resting place. Her dark blue eyes are still open, but she doesn’t look frightened. She looks relieved. He closes them gently, touches her cheek. A drop of blood wells in his eye, rolls down his cheek, falls silently onto her dark hair, evidence of his grief: her killer's grief.

She watched them bury her again.


Excerpt number 2 serves as November's real introduction to the justice of vampires.


“So, just how awful is this going to be?”

“You mean the execution?” Ilyn asked.

“Yes, the execution,” she said, almost laughing. “Not the incredibly awkward conversation in which we are currently engaged.”

“Well, that depends on the method of execution she chooses,” Ilyn explained as they began walking down the hallway, surrounded by a phalanx of bodyguards.

“She gets to pick?”

“That is our tradition if the jury deadlocks. They couldn’t decide between burning at the stake and dismemberment followed by decapitation.”

“Classy.”

The third excerpt shows the aftermath of November's first taste of battle.

You killed someone, she told herself. Then I brained another man with a mace. You killed a man. A boy. I killed a boy.

She began to shake but did her best not to make any noise. Her fairy companion, however, noticed the change in her breathing. “Hey, it’s alright. You did fine. You did better than fine. We all got out alive,” said Willow in an unusually soft tone for her. November nodded but said nothing. “Is it the shock coming out, or are you starting to feel the injuries?” she asked.

“Both. I think, um—I think it’s also just realizing that, ah, I seem to have killed someone,” November admitted in a whisper as the tears began to silently fall. Willow’s unexpected kindness had undone her.

Willow peeked at her. “You know you were totally justified, right? It was self-defense, after all.”

“I know,” November replied, drying her tears on the back of her hand. “I know it wasn’t a crime or immoral or anything. But still . . . it just feels . . . I don’t know how to explain it.”

“The first time is hard, even for us,” Willow confided. “It gets easier. But you don’t want to let it get too easy.”

Danger is always around the corner, as shown in passage number 4.

Her head spun and her arm burned as Ilyn carried her to her bed. “Was the knife poisoned or something? What is going on?” she asked frantically. What scared her most was the wild, desperate look in the king’s eyes.

He knelt beside her and pulled out the knife. It was shining and razor sharp, with a wooden inlay down the center of the blade, rendering it both a stake and a dagger. The panic left him, replaced by the calm born of surviving many crises in his long life. Perhaps he knew that she needed him to be calm.

“It’s not so much poisoned as . . . evil. It has to do with how it’s made, the magic they use, how they make the alloy with silver, how they temper the blade . . .” He hesitated, not going into the gory details of its manufacture or its effect. “A fairy forged knife creates a wound that will only heal if a powerful fairy chooses to heal it. Otherwise, it will inevitably kill its human victim. The wooden inlay is for striking vampires in the heart, of course.”

“So, we have someone heal it in the morning,” November replied, uncomprehending.

He looked so very sad before he hid his feelings behind his customary stoicism.

“You might not last that long. And even if you do,” he continued after a pause, “you might wish you hadn’t . . ."

Finally, a battle to the death begins between two ruthless vampires. Which one will prevail?

Philemon’s attack came quickly. He could no longer check his rage. He allowed his master only a few sips of blood before falling upon him, stake in one hand and silver blade in the other. His angelic features twisted with hatred, and his eyes called a shark to mind. Luka’s instincts alerted him in the nick of time. He pulled away from November, her blood dripping from his mouth, and he managed just barely to evade Philemon’s weapons as he drew his own vicious dagger.

They became a savage blur: Philemon frantic with rage and grief, Luka fighting for his life. November could barely make out which killer was which as they flew across the roof in a manic dance. She rather hoped they both might perish.

For more killer drama, read the whole book on the platform of your choice.  Happy reading!

Welcoming Vashti Q

Today I'm so pleased to be hosting the final stop on Vashti Q's new release tour for Son of the Serpent!  Take it away, Vashti!

Hello and welcome to the last stop on my Virtual Book Tour! Thank you so much for following along. I truly appreciate the support. And a big hug and kiss to the wonderful hosts who welcomed me so graciously to their wonderful blogs. I am very grateful.


Son of the Serpent is a High Fantasy|Paranormal book sprinkled with Horror and Romance. It is aimed at an 18+ audience. The book is written in 1st person POV. There are chapters written in Dracul's voice interspersed by chronicles written in Lilith's (the villain) voice. Today I'm going to share an excerpt from one of the Chronicles of Lilith.

Excerpt: Chronicles of Lilith

As I prepared to leave Shuruppak, rumors about a man named Noah, who claimed to be God’s prophet, came to my attention. According to my human servants, this man said God speaks to him and has told him there shall be a catastrophic event. Every living thing on this planet shall perish, except those beings selected by God Himself.

The servants laughed and took pleasure in ridiculing this man. They called him insane. I, however, have learned throughout the years that there is always some truth to the ramblings of the insane. I would like to see this man, Noah, and listen to his preaching, thus my departure would have to wait.

In the middle of the night I awoke to booming thunder, the likes of which I had not heard since the days I wandered in the wilderness with Gadreel when we first arrived on this planet. I leaped out of my bed and ran to a nearby window. The sky was ominous, with large bitumen-black clouds gathering to form gigantic ones. My superior vision allowed me to see things in the darkness that no other being could. A flash of lightning lit the world white for a moment. Rain began to fall, first tapping on the window and then becoming a rapid succession of beats.

I threw on a garment and ran outside to get a better look. There were still people outdoors, servants slow to finish their tasks for the day and others who came out to see what was happening. They ran for cover as storm clouds spat their loads of water. Sharp droplets of icy-cold water needled my shoulders and back. I shivered under the prickly feeling. The rain came in torrents now. Puddles formed, and the puddles became streams. They grew into rivers. I ran to a nearby tree to take shelter under it.

I hid from the people running and screaming in fear and shifted to my serpent form. The torrent became more intense, and the night grew darker with the bruise of thick, angry clouds. A wall of rain moved over the tree I stood under, and the drops drummed against the canopy. So much water fell from the skies that the sound blurred into one long, whirring tumult.

Many of the people of Shuruppak left their flooded homes and wandered the streets like lost souls. They had never seen a storm of this magnitude. Some had only been familiar with the morning dew. I had seen enough. I spread my wings and took to the sky. Flying had never been more difficult. The rain pelted my wings, while bolts of lightning threaten to spear me as they sliced the air to my left and right.

The earth shook and sent shockwaves rippling through the ground like water, destroying houses in an instant. Fires exploded everywhere, and the smell of smoke twisting through the air between raindrops was acrid on the hot breeze. Regular clatters rang out as structures crumbled apart and fell to the ground. I needed to escape, find shelter, but where could I hide from such devastation? The skies were becoming more and more dangerous. I flew toward the coast, but my wings grew too heavy and sodden to keep me airborne. I fell to the beach.

I looked toward the coastline, wincing and moaning, feeling the pain of my fall. I had been to this beach before, but it looked strangely unfamiliar now, abnormally vast. I thought maybe the darkness of the night was playing tricks on my vision, but then I realized why the beach looked so strange. The surf had drawn back hundreds of miles; the abandoned sand twinkled in the moonlight despite the rain.

I gasped at a black line on the horizon and watched as a colossal wave swept toward me at hundreds of miles per hour—rushing, roaring, angry froth foaming from between its lips. I stared, eyes fixed, as the wave surged in. I knew it was impossible to escape it. Heat had never left my body as fast as it did in this brief moment of realization. The torrent came after me, granting me a few seconds to enjoy breathing the ocean air before it wrapped me in frigid foamy fingers and dragged me to the ocean floor.

I struggled as sand and briny water filled my lungs, causing them to expand and burn. As the wave moved, it pulled me along with it, like it wanted me to witness the devastation it would cause. My death would not be simple or fast, for the powers granted to me by the fruit from the Tree of Life would sustain me. Powers I once cherished now seemed a curse.

As the wave pushed me along, I crashed into debris in the water. Every stab, rip, and fracture my body suffered brought me immense pain. Men, women, and children drowned, their dead bodies floating around me, yet I remained alive.

The giant wave hit Shuruppak. It was nothing like the waves which lap the shore every minute of every day. This was a gigantic wall of water, cold and powerful. It came over land with the power of a volcanic blast. It moved over the city with more ease than a wave over the sand, reducing houses and structures to rubble and killing every living thing.

My broken body filled with water, sand, and debris until the weight of it fixed me to the ocean floor. People, livestock, uprooted trees, and all manner of structures floated past me. The rain continued to pour.

The sky was now hinting at sunrise. Nothing escaped my eyes and ears, but I was immobile. Every inch of my body throbbed with pain, and the cold of the water chilled my bones. As I lay motionless, I watched a large wooden vessel approach. It was the greatest ship I had ever seen. It glided over the water’s surface, throwing its shadow to the sea floor as it sailed past me, turning day to night. I overheard people singing and the roar, moo, bleat, and bray of animals coming from the vessel. Not everyone had perished. Some shall go on, while I remain imprisoned in this watery grave. The weight of the water pressed down on me, crushing me, as the rain increased its depth.

The feeling of drowning never left me. The feeling of panic, unable to take breath, to inflate my lungs. The slow filling of my larynx––gagging, coughing, briny water forcing its way through my nostrils and into my lungs like acid. I would drown and die, and after a moment of peace, the process began again.

A familiar recollection filled the void in my head, spinning memories of Beelzebub lying at the bottom of the Euphrates River bound in chains, disfigured by suffering and hate. Is that also to be my fate? Shall I become a grotesque monster wallowing in fear, self-loathing, and pain? A sharp, loud wail pierced my psyche, and I realized it was I who did the screaming.








Both books in the Fantasy Angels Series on sale for only 99¢/99p! Download your eBook today!

Bio

Vashti Quiroz-Vega is a writer of Fantasy, Horror, and Thriller. Since she was a kid she's always had a passion for writing and telling stories. It has always been easier for her to express her thoughts on paper.

She enjoys reading almost as much as she loves to write. Some of her favorite authors are Stephen King, Michael Crichton, Anne Rice, J.R.R. Tolkien, J.K. Rowling and George R. R. Martin.

She enjoys making people feel an array of emotions with her writing. She likes her audience to laugh one moment, cry the next and clench their jaws after that.

When she isn't building extraordinary worlds and fleshing out fascinating characters, she enjoys spending time with her husband JC and her Pomeranian Scribbles who is also her writing buddy.

Purchase Link & Social Media:

Twitter (VashtiQV): http://twitter.com/VashtiQV

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/vashti-quiroz-vega

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Vashti-Q-Author-Page-396515670465852/

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Vashti-Quiroz-Vega/e/B00GTXG5W4/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1540242966&sr=8-1

Son of the Serpent: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07HS4C3B7/

Thanks for supporting Author, Vashti Q. Vega on the release of her latest read, "SON OF THE SERPENT." To follow along with her tour, please visit the CURRENT EVENTS page of the 4WillsPub site. To book your own virtual 4WillsPub blog tour, please visit us HERE!

***

5 Ways My Vampire Books are Better than Twilight

All of us who've written vampire novels live in the shadow of Twilight.  I cannot deny that those books are page-turners of the first order.  So, what makes She Dies at the End and its sequels better than the Bella and Edward behemoth?  Here are five ways the November Show Series is superior to the Twilight Saga.

1) November doesn't take any nonsense.

My main character doens't put up with any patronizing, controlling nonsense from the vampires she meets. You don't want to love her for who she is, let her make her own decisions, and give her the respect she deserves?  Then she is done with your trifling, immortal self.  And when break-ups happen, she doesn't wallow in self-pity as though her life no longer has any meaning.

2) The stakes are higher.

Instead of spending three books obsessing over when she gets to have sex with a vampire she inexplicably worships, and one book defending her family, November spends her time trying to save the entire world from supernatural, authoritarian tyranny.  And occasionally making out with vampires.

3) The world is more diverse.

There are black people in my books.  There are latino people, Asian people, mixed-race people.  Gay people.  Even, gasp, the occasional bisexual.  Some fairies for good measuere.  Twilight is one heterosexual white person after another, at least on the vampire side of things.  How boring is that?  At least the werewolves liven things up.  Heaven forbid popular culture should look a little more like the real world.

4) Nobody sparkles, and there are no at-home vampire C-sections.

Self-explanatory.

5) The writing is better, and written for adults.

If you don't believe me, here is a sample:

November heard a scuffle begin outside the door. Before she could react, she herself had been flung against the wall, a hand around her throat. As she struggled to breathe, her assailant gloated. 

“Waited on the roof. Came through the window,” crowed a large fairy with bright yellow hair and eyes. “Now we wait for my partners to finish with your guards, and then we’re going to take a little trip. If you scream, I will make you regret it. Understand?”

November nodded, and he released his hold on her neck. She could hear Willow and Pine outside and caught a mental glimpse of their violent struggle. There would be no rescue from that quarter. She was on her own.

“I wish it was daylight,” the fairy whispered right into her ear. “So I could have a taste. Ah, well—there’s always tomorrow.”

November’s thoughts began to race. Her mind flashed back to a lesson from her mother. Once puberty hit, Julia had taught her daughter some basic defensive strategies. It was perhaps the only useful mothering she had ever done. “Make them underestimate you, think you’re not a threat. Then go for the eyes and the groin. Fingernails are good. Car keys are better.” November’s fear crystallized into an icy clarity.

November looked up at the unknown fairy and allowed her mouth to tremble. “Please don’t hurt me,” she whispered, tears beginning to flow.

A moment later, she slumped down to the floor in an apparent faint. As the fairy swore and bent down to check on her, her hand came up with the crucifix of her rosary between her fingers, and she planted it firmly in his left eye as she brought her knee up between his legs.

He began to scream, tearing at his face. November tried to run past him to the door, but he grabbed her ankle and gave it a yank, knocking her to the floor and climbing on top of her. He began to hit her even as her rosary was still sticking out of his eye, landing blows on her ribs and her face as she tried to protect herself with her arms.

“I should kill you, you little whore,” he screamed, but then seemed suddenly to weaken. “What have you done?” he whispered as light suddenly began to pour from his wound. She closed her eyes reflexively as the light grew brighter and brighter; her eyelids glowed red. There was one more scream, and when she opened her eyes, her assailant was gone. Her rosary sat in the middle of an empty floor.

The adrenaline was such that she felt none of her injuries as yet. Her shock held her still for a moment as she sat on the floor, staring at the place her attacker should have been, not comprehending what her eyes were telling her. The sound of screaming out in the parking lot reanimated her; she grabbed her rosary and stood up, having absolutely no idea what she was going to do. Her clarity of mind returned, and she used her ability to peer at what was happening on the other side of the door. Willow seemed to be holding her own, but Pine was in desperate straits, on the ground, his attacker above him.

November finally remembered the case of gear the two knights had loaded into the trunk. Praying that Pine had left the car unlocked, she took a deep breath and ran as fast as she could to the car. Relieved to find the car open, she popped the trunk, pulled out the shovels, and opened the case.

Carefully cradled in foam sat a variety of silver weapons with leather-wrapped handles along with a couple of firearms. Having no idea how to aim and shoot, she grabbed a silver-tipped mace and placed a coil of silver chain over her shoulder. She began to move toward Pine. His attacker had his back to November, and she hoped he was too engrossed in enjoying his imminent victory to notice a weak little human. He turned to look at her just as she got close enough to strike, and she hit him full in the face with all her weight behind the blow.

The painful shock to her arm and shoulders caused her to drop the heavy mace, but she was still able to throw the chain over her enemy while he was on the ground, clutching his head and recovering from her assault. The injured fairy’s cry distracted his remaining partner-in-crime just enough for Willow to get the upper hand. She sliced into her opponent’s neck, and at the instant his head was separated from his body, he turned to a flash of light. Willow placed her hands on her thighs, bent over with exertion, and assessed the scene with a few efficient glances before she began issuing orders.

“November, move everything currently in the trunk to the floor in the rear. Then help Pine get in the back seat. Start the car and sit in the front passenger side. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” November replied, moving quickly to do her part. As she did, Willow secured the surviving assailant and tossed him in the trunk.

The fairy then turned her attention to the crowd of witnesses who were watching from the entrance to the store. She enthralled them into forgetting it all and tampered with the surveillance system, moving quickly enough to be practically invisible. They sped away and were already halfway up the on-ramp by the time they heard sirens approaching the gas station.

I challenge you to read She Dies at the End and decide for yourself.  Is it better than Twilight?