Showing posts with label novella. Show all posts
Showing posts with label novella. Show all posts

Friday, August 2, 2013

Ghalien Cover Reveal and Teaser Chapter!

Hello Otherworld fans!
 
I hope you are all having a marvelous summer and that you are able to enjoy what's left of it.  I know many of you are impatiently awaiting the release of Ghalien, the second novella told from Cade's point of view, and believe me, I'm just as eager as you are to be done with it.  Well, I'm pleased to announce that the rough draft is complete and I'll be spending the next several days reading through it and making edits.  Once I have it where I want it, I'll be sending it off to my editor and beta readers.  I'm not promising any release dates yet because I'm not sure when it will be live.
 
What I can give you, however, is the cover.  A few months ago I posted two options here on my site and asked for you to tell me your favorite.  And the cover that received the most votes was the red one!  I don't have an exact count for you since so many of the votes were spread out over several weeks, but you seemed to like the red cover the most (and I must confess, I'm a bit partial to it myself ;)).



Also, I am including the first chapter of Ghalien for you to read.  Ghalien will be a little different than Ehriad in that it is composed of one longer short story and two extra scenes (I wanted to fit more scenes in, but it would have made the book far too long.  I'll have to set those aside for another novella in the future).  The first part, Ghalien, focuses on Cade's activities during the summer between Faelorehn and Dolmarehn.  The two scenes that follow are shorter but they are some of the scenes my readers requested.  The first one tells of the time Cade takes Meghan to the Otherworld to help her awaken her magic, and the second scene describes the events of the Beltane party at the end of Dolmarehn.  As of right now, the entire book comes in around 64,000 words, which is only 6,000 words less than Faelorehn.
 
Now, without further delay, I give you a sneak peek at Ghalien - A Novella of the Otherworld!
 
 -J.E. Johnson

Chapter One

Recollection



I was dreaming of Meghan when the harsh wave of dark magic tore me from my much-needed sleep.  The moment the shock of waking up to such a horror wore off, my anger grew hot and fierce.  My dreams were never reminiscent of pleasant memories from the past, for most memories I dared to recall were anything but pleasant.  But this one had been joyful and whatever unnatural faelah awaited me outside in the courtyard had ruined it.

Often when I slept I didn't dream at all, or the dreams would reflect the darkness I spent my time shying away from.  Simple, charcoal on paper landscapes that held no light or joy.  Lately, however, my dreams had stretched and contorted themselves into nightmares, horrific scenes of my mother's monsters tearing people to pieces.  No, not people, only one person: Meghan Elam.

Groaning, I scrubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands and tried to shake the horrors away.  How many days had passed since I last saw Meghan?  Oh right, just the one.  I had left her to heal from the wounds my mother had inflicted upon her.  I grimaced.  My mother . . .  Even thinking of the Morrigan in those terms turned my stomach.  She was no more a mother to me than an oak tree was to one of its acorns.  As soon as I was born, she cast me aside to fend for myself.  That is until she realized I could be of some use to her.  I had, after all, inherited my father's gift of battle fury, something that the Morrigan could use to her advantage.  So she had returned for me in the end.  And if it wasn't for my sister, I never would have succumbed to her wishes . . .

Enough Cade.  Those thoughts do you no good, I reminded myself as I rolled over, throwing my legs over the side of the bed in order to sit up.

"Fergus?" I called out, my throat dry enough to make me choke.  Once the coughing fit was over I remembered that Fergus wasn't with me.  He was in the mortal world guarding Meghan.

Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and drew on my magic.  It hadn't completely returned to me after undergoing my riastrad, but enough of it was there to accomplish my next task.

Fergus, I sent, the effort of reaching out to my spirit guide across the boundary between our worlds demanding my utmost attention.

Yes, he responded.  Meghan is well.  Her injuries are healing and she will rest a few days more before returning to school.  Only a small number of faelah linger on this side and I have been vigilant in my night hunts.  None shall harm her.

Thank you my friend, I sent back, breathing a sigh of relief and letting my magic return to where it resided next to my heart.

Before I could take much comfort in Fergus's news, however, a wave of cold, evil glamour trickled over my skin.  I clenched my teeth as the intrusive feeling left, hissing as the circular tattoo just above my heart burned like a poisonous brand.  Almost involuntarily, my arm snaked out and I pressed my hand to my skin, trying to rub the ache away.  It was no use.  The tattoo had been placed with the Morrigan's magic.  All of those she had enslaved bore the same mark and it was her way of keeping track of us as well as keeping us under control.  If the tattoo started to hurt then she was getting impatient.  I squinted through the darkness of my room and peered out the far window.  Sunrise was probably an hour or two away, judging by the deep, inky blue of the sky.  Guess I wasn't sleeping in this morning.  Once I set my mind to answering the Morrigan's call, the pain abruptly vanished.  I was tempted lie back down just to see if her magic would do anything to me, but I didn't really feel like playing games with my mother, not this soon after my expending my battle fury.

It took me longer than usual to get dressed.  Perhaps it had to do with my weakened state, but I think it had mostly to do with the fact that despite my misgivings, a part of me was always willing to irritate the Morrigan.  Bracing myself, I took a deep breath and looked into the mirror hanging over my bathroom sink, the flicker of candle light banishing some of the early morning darkness.  The mirrors of the Otherworld were clearer, somehow more revealing than those in the mortal world, and this one was no exception.  It had been a gift from my sister, one of the few fine things I kept in this ruined castle I called home.  That little detail would be changing soon, however.  Someday I was going to bring Luathara back to its former glory, but right now I had the consequences of a broken geis to deal with.

Sighing, I glanced once again at the figure staring back at me and winced.  Oh yes, warping into one's battle fury sure did a number on one's appearance.  The first thing I noticed were my eyes, their normal changeable green now a dull, pond-scum hue underlined by dark circles.  My skin was pale and my face thin and drawn taught.  I looked centuries older than I truly was.  Not that age ever really showed on the Faelorehn, but then not all of us had the gift of transforming into a berserker warrior bent on using every last physical resource to do the most damage possible.  Turning away, I shook those thoughts from my mind.  I never considered myself a vain person, but there was a difference between vanity and being horrified at what a fierce fight could do to my appearance.

Grabbing my heavy cloak, I blew out the candles and strode across the room.  I didn't bother making my bed or closing the door behind me.  No one ever came here, except for me, and if I delayed the war goddess any longer she might drive that painful magic deeper than the surface of my skin.

The morning greeted me with thick fog, wisps of it shredding away from the treetops and raining down in streamers of damp gray.  I guess it had taken me longer than I thought to get ready, because I could tell from the dim light that the sun had begun to rise somewhere in the east.  Bracing myself, I descended the stone steps and headed toward the opposite end of the courtyard.  About halfway to my destination a low, demanding cackle split the air, forcing my heart up into my throat.  I spun around, my eyes darting around the crumbling courtyard walls.  I expected to find a large black raven watching me from somewhere, so when my eyes fell upon a huge white bird a slight prick of surprise stabbed at me.

The bird tilted its head and regarded me with one eye, the eye that hadn't been damaged in some battle long ago.  It gave another one of those blood-chilling caws and then ruffled its feathers and shook, waiting for my next move.

"Tell your mistress I'm on my way," I growled as my hands balled into fists.

The white raven gave another croak before flapping its wings and disappearing into the mist.  As it headed east, I could have sworn it was laughing at me.

Speirling was waiting for me in the field, his dark ears pricked forward as he sensed my approach.  Letting out a deep whinny, he tossed his head and dug at the damp earth.  My misgivings melted away as my mouth curved into a smile.  As my fingers found Speirling's velvet nose, I was further comforted by his positive thoughts.

"You're always looking on the bright side, aren't you?" I murmured, pressing my forehead to his.

I didn't bother saddling him, since I was running late already and since I didn't really need a saddle.  A swift pace and five dolmarehn crossings later, Speirling and I found ourselves at the foot of the eastern mountains and on the threshold of the Morrigan's underground fortress.  Taking a deep breath that coated my lungs with ice, I slid from Speirling's back and ordered him to take refuge where he could.  No horse should ever have to cross into the Morrigan's territory, let alone follow me down the haunted crevasse that waited several yards ahead.  Wrapping my wool-lined cloak tightly around me, I took the first step down a path that would surely lead to pain.  Every instinct I possessed, and believe me, I possessed more than the average Faelorehn, bit and clawed and chewed at me to turn around and flee.  I could have, in fact I would have been smart to turn and forget the Morrigan and her evil demands.  My geis was broken and she had decided not to kill me, not yet at least.  But if I disobeyed her now, the first thing she'd do wouldn't involve coming after me.  No, she'd aim straight for Meghan and kill her, or worse.

Calling on my glamour to help fight my anxiety, I trudged on, kicking aside broken skulls and fighting the shivering chill that coursed through me.  Forever, it seemed, I walked, the walls growing steeper, the skeletons and mummified flesh of long dead animals becoming more frequent.  Fortunately the air was so cold it kept most of the stench at bay, but every so often a small breeze would stir up the scent of death and rot and I'd have to pause and swallow several times in order to keep from getting sick.

Finally, after what felt like hours, I reached the end of the narrow valley.  A great stone doorway complete with a skull-studded border, loomed before me.  On the branches of two dead, bleached oak trees perched three or four dozen ravens, all hunkered down against the cold, their stark blackness contrasting greatly against their bleak white and pale gray surroundings.  Not one of them uttered a sound or ruffled a feather.  Then, just as I reached up to touch the ogham letters adorning the stone doorway, one of the ravens let out a grumbling caw, setting all the others off.  I shot a glance upward, narrowing my gaze at the raven I hadn't seen before.  He was so pale that he'd blended in with the ashy rock behind him.

"Alahníl," I said, remembering the name of my mother's spirit guide.

Just then a deep rumbling sound rolled up from the earth and the door cracked open, exhaling a frozen breath of fear and death.  I got my panic and the overwhelming urge to shiver under control before I looked back up at the white raven.

"I take it you told the Morrigan of my arrival," I stated more than asked.

All I got in return was a self-satisfied grumble.  Forgetting the birds, I turned and faced the yawning darkness before me.  I had no idea how long the tunnel was, or if there was a tunnel at all.  Like many of the caves found in Eile, this one was a dolmarehn.  But instead of leading to another part of Eile or even to the mortal world or some other realm beyond our own, this one led directly into the Morrigan's cavern.  Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and stepped into the darkness, wondering if I was making the right choice and wondering what horrible, unconscionable thing my mother would have me do for her next.
* * * * *

Monday, May 14, 2012

Author Spotlight: Interview with William G. Jones

1.   Quickly, give us the title and genre of your book and a 30-word or less tagline:

Driving to BelAir / Mainstream Fiction / Is it the road trip from hell? Or one last chance to make things right again?

2.   How did you come up with the title of your book or series?

I'm a classic car fanatic. My dad has restored both a '56 and a '57 Chevrolet BelAir, and once I decided to use a '56 Chevy as the hero car, I wanted to tie the destination of the road trip in with the fact that the car is a BelAir.

3.   Who is your favorite character from your book and why?

That's tough. It's a toss-up between Arissa and Billy, and I think it's because deep down, they're both innocent in that they've somehow shielded themselves from the cynicism that comes with growing up. Even though Billy is a drug addict and causes so many problems throughout the story, he still comes across as sweet and somehow pure. I'm tempted to say Bandit is my favorite, though, just because I based him off my actual dog and I love that dog so much.

4.   How about your least favorite character?  What makes them less appealing to you?

The dad, without a doubt. He's such a volatile character who has to be present in every scene of the book, but he's really not really fleshed out in the book. That was a fine line to walk, because--in the sense of the story--he only exists in flashback, and at that, only filtered through Dale's point-of-view. Those early impressions have to stay with the reader until the end. I think the worst part was that the dad couldn't be a fleshed-out character interacting directly with the protagonist, so there was this constant sense of disconnect throughout the story.

5.   If you could change ONE thing about your novel, what would it be?  Why?

I'd change whatever is keeping people from clicking the "Buy-Now" button.

6.   Give us an interesting fun fact or a few about your book or series:

Driving to BelAir was originally written as a screenplay. The ending never really worked, though. I had a few people look at it and nobody could really put their finger on what needed to change. So, writing the novella was, in many ways, an attempt to work through the problems with the screenplay. In fact, most of the story goes through major changes from the mid-point on.

Also, Driving to BelAir is not autobigoraphical in any way. My dad is still working on old cars. Both the cars he restored are hardtops, not convertibles. But a lot of the quirks the car has are taken from events that really happen in those old cars--embellished, of course, but still very real.

7.   Do you have any unique talents or hobbies?

I'm a writer, a graphic designer, a video editor, a photographer, and I use to be known as the Mr. Goodwrench of computers at my old workplace, because I could strip down a tower and have it back together again within minutes, usually (but not always) fixing whatever was wrong to begin with.

8.   How can we contact you or find out more about your books?

My website is http://www.williamgjones.com but I'm horribly inconsistent about posting there. I'm all over Twitter at http://www.twitter.com/WilliamGJones and on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/WilliamGWrites and at Google Plus http://gplus.to/WilliamGJones

9.   What can we expect from you in the future?

Who knows? I'm currently working on a rewrite of a thriller I started on in 1999. I also want to put out a short story collection and I've got another novella I started on I'd like to finish. We'll have to see, though. I'm not a speedy writer by any means, Driving to BelAir took me 6 months even with a finished screenplay to work from.

10.   Do you have any tips for readers or advice for other writers trying to get published?

My biggest piece of advice is to not shortcut this. I've seen so many people rush to self-publish and their work isn't anywhere close to what it could be or even should be. Great writers, too, who just can't seem to be bothered with rewriting or proper editing--they just throw a spell-checked first draft out there and beg people to buy it while they crank out part two. Editing and rewriting are just as essential as character and plot. There's nothing I hate more than a book that feels inconsistent from chapter to chapter or even paragraph to paragraph. As a writer, I just feel like if you can't take the time to get things right, I shouldn't waste my time reading it.

11.   Is there anything else you’d like to say?

Thank you for this opportunity! I guess I should also say that Driving to BelAir is available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Smashwords and, for the moment, only in eBook form.




12.   And now, before you go, how about a snippet from your book that is meant to intrigue and tantalize us:

Here's the beginning of the scene where Dale returns home for his father's funeral.

I parked and got out, went straight to the back of the rental and started unloading luggage. A cool breeze whipped the tops of the weeds in those overgrown fields. It sounded like some far off ocean. In the distance, a diesel tractor labored against the earth.


Monica opened the passenger door and the poodle came alive, jumping down and running past my feet. It hiked a leg and peed, all the while sniffing the air and jerking its head from side to side. Then Monica stepped out of the vehicle, those bug-eye sunglasses affixed once more to her face and aimed in my general direction.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“He was your father.”

I huffed a laugh and wagged my head.

Just then, the farmhouse’s screen door flew opened so hard it popped back against the wood siding like a small-caliber gunshot. My brother, Chad, came storming across the porch, sweat soaked through his plaid flannel shirt, the leather soles of his work boots slamming the wood porch steps in rapid fire. His hairline had receded in the years since I last saw him, the cut still short and dark, like dad’s.

“What are you doing here?” he screamed as he reached the dirt path in front of the house, spit flying from his mouth. “You don’t have any right to be here!”

Next thing I knew, he was right in my face, broad nostrils flared, squaring off like a prizefighter.

“Hello to you too, brother,” I said.

Thank you William for taking part in my Author Spotlight interview! I hope your writing continues to flourish and we hope to see more of you in the future.
*****
If you or an author/illustrator you know is interested in being interviewed, feel free to send me an email at
jejoescienne@yahoo.com

Monday, November 14, 2011

Author Spotlight: Interview with Sean A. Lusher

1. Quickly, give us the title and genre of your book in a 30-word or less tagline.

Liberation Road is a horror novella in which a routine stop at an isolated gas station quickly morphs into a grim tale of survival.

2. How did you come up with the title for your book?

In all honesty, I came up with it randomly at work one day.

3. Who is your favorite character from your book and why?

I'd have to say the main character, Jared. Probably because he was easy to write. Everything about him felt natural and flowed accordingly.

4. How about your least favorite character? What makes them less appealing to you?

Johnny. Probably because he's the most underdeveloped character and he didn't have too much to do 'on screen', but I felt he was necessary for the story.

5. If you could change ONE thing about your novella, what would it be? Why?

The length. I always end up wanting my works to be longer, and Liberation Road did turn out longer than I thought it would, but not by much. I'm still at a stage in writing where I want longer material, but am having difficult finding the delicate balance between lengthening the story appropriately and padding the prose. Ultimately, I felt that Liberation Road needed to be a novella, but in my ideal world, everything I write would be an epic length novel.

6. Give us an interesting fun fact or a few about your book.

Well, the main character is how I could see myself being if I had never met my wife.
I wrote the novella after seeing two teasers: the description for Stephen King's short story, Mile 81 and some gameplay footage of a game called Amnesia: The Dark Descent.
I wrote the story in one go over the course of two weeks.


7. Do you have any unique talents or hobbies?

Nothing springs to mind. Although almost everyone I come in contact with seems to think that being married at the age of 23 is a unique talent.

8. How can we contact you or find out more about your books?

My blog, In Deepest Darkness
My Author Page on Facebook: Sean A. Lusher
My e-mail, for the moment, is obsidianproductions@hotmail.com.  Although, in the near future, it will be at seanalusher@gmail.com.
Where to purchase my book: amazon.com 

9. What can we expect from you in the future?

Everything.

Alright, that might be embellishing a little. But while I may be primarily a horror/mystery author at the moment, I plan on expanding my work to encompass many different genres, from fantasy to comedy to science fiction to romance and, someday, when I'm brave enough, erotica.

But as for the immediate future? I'm working on several horror projects to be release in the next few months.

10. Do you have any tips for readers or advice for other writers trying to get published?

Readers: Take a chance on new authors. I know times are tough and money is tight, but with the advent of indie publishing and the Kindle, content is cheap. And legitimately skilled authors, previously ignored by the industry, are finally finding a way to have their voices heard. The more readers support writers, the better this whole thing will be for everyone involved.

Writers: Unless the Big Six, or any publishing house, are offering you big bucks, don't bother. Sure, at first it might be great, but it'll come back to bite you, hard, when you realize you could be making 70% instead of 17.5% on royalties and reach a wider audience by controlling your own content and pricing. Several previously published authors, big names, are going the indie route or signing on with Amazon, who seems to know exactly what they're doing. Also, write often and befriend editors, marketers and cover artists if you can.

11. Is there anything you'd like to say?

Well, definitely, thanks for having me, Jenna. These questions were fun to answer. Other than that, check out my blog for some free content.

12. And now, before you go, how about a snippet from your book that is meant to intrigue and tantalize us.

I'd love to.

From Liberation Road

Some bizarre cocktail of throaty noises escaped Jared's mouth as he regained consciousness. It happened all at once, very abruptly. Not like waking, some part of his mind observed with a detached apathy. No, not like waking at all. When coming out of regular sleep, Jared found himself doing it in stages--provided there was no alarm clock.

Being unconscious was a completely different thing. His eyes snapped open as terror surged through his veins. He had a sideways view of a dim, dusty floor. Something was incredibly wrong, of that he was certain, but he couldn't tell what.

At least, not at first. Jared sat bolt upright, nearly hitting his head on the counter. He blinked, desperately wanting to make some kind of movement, for some reason certain that he must get up and run. But some semblance of logic held him at bay as he attempted to reconstruct his memories.

He could remember the road. He knew he'd been driving down it for some time. And the gas station. Stopping there, nobody was home...Jared felt a gasp escape his throat as everything tumbled back into place.

He snapped his head around, hunting for someone, his attacker. He was alone in desolate gloom. That thought seemed to register something, but Jared couldn't figure out what. All he knew was that he had to get out alive. As he began to pull himself up, a glint caught his eye. Something stashed behind and beneath the counter: a pistol. Almost without thinking, he grabbed it. Fear was a physical thing, screaming through his head, drowning out his sanity and reason. It put him on edge, sent tremors through his muscles.

He stood and quickly inspected the lobby of the gas station, six shooter firmly in hand. He'd never fired a gun before, but found himself ridiculously open to the concept of shooting someone. If it meant staying alive, then so be it. All those endless debates, spoken over at length in the daylight with friends, about how far you'd go to stay alive...all the philosophical what-ifing...all the moral ambiguity and legal ramifications...

Jared quickly discovered it was all a very moot point as he hurried for the door. He would kill to stay alive. There was now no question in his head. Shivering, he stepped outside and then froze, rooted to his position in absolute horror.

*****
Thank you Sean for taking part in my Author Spotlight interview!  I hope your writing continues to flourish and we hope to see more of you in the future. 
***** 
If you or an author/illustrator you know is interested in being interviewed, feel free to send me an email at jejoescienne@yahoo.com