WIP Blog Tour – Bound, Incarnate, Teasers and More

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Hello lovely readers 🙂

So, straight to it. My lovely friend and utmost writing hero J.S Collyer has proceeded to nominate me for the WIP blog tour. I am honoured she has done such a thing as I am a relative unknown in the literary World still. J.S herself has had her debut novel Zero published just this last year and she is already working on the sequel Haven which has a release date of October 2015.

Now I’m getting ahead of myself, let me back track. J.S’s debut novel Zero is a wonderful slice of literary sci fi goodness wrapped in sparkly lasers. Hugo is the reluctant Captain of the Zero after a space manoeuvre during a battle went wrong. He doesn’t expect much from this motley crew but he never expected the type of loyalty, trust and sense of family that he finds. How can he carry on with his orders now? For my full review of this fabulous novel please click hereHaven will be just as epic as the first book so please make sure to check her work out.

Now back to the blog hop. The rules (yes there are rules) basically are:

  1. Link back to the post of the person who nominated you.
  2. Write a little about and give the first sentence of the first three chapters of your current work-in-progress.
  3. Nominate some other writers to do the same.

And follow with interest as I break a good few of the rules 🙂

My First Novel – Incarnate

BlackWingedAngel


Incarnate is the first novel in my Angel of Death series. It is currently with the editor getting shined and be-sparkled ready for my searching for a publisher (I’m a little nervous about that but we’ll see how it goes.) You always have the hope that your work will be good enough for a publisher to be interested in but I also believe that I write for myself and I can be proud of what I do.

Alyssia Morgan has dreams of terror and darkness, falling and endless agony. She discovers all she knew was tainted by her mortal stance and everything around her is a lie. She is the last reincarnation of the Angel of Death and her lover… well… who knew he was magical royalty? She finds herself realm hopping, Angel avoiding and battling for her life while the Second Coming begins. Can she find the strength she needs to fight against fate? What will she do now that she knows she may lose this battle? And what stalks her in her dreams?

Incarnate Extracts

Chapter One:

Darkness surrounded her. Cold slivers of wintry hot fire were caressing along her back, making her gasp. Lovingly aggressive hands held her in place, only holding her arms, but she felt shackled by a million chains in a million places. She heard a laugh, close to her ear, from miles away.

Chapter Two:

The darkness surrounded her once more. She was dressed once again in the shining silver armour, her large ebony wings resplendent in the darkness. Aly turned and turned but couldn’t see where to go. She was lost and she would never be found.

Chapter Three:

She stood in the archway of the overtly extravagant Roman home. She was from Gaul and never quite cared for the luxuries these Romans indulged in, however, it made her enforced Roman husband happy; and when he was happy, she was not beaten.

Hopefully that will intrigue enough people to want to read more 🙂

My WIP – Bound

3908f175914bfe9145d3510ae6db8a56 My WIP is the second novel to the above, entitled Bound and continues the trials that Alyssia Morgan and Alethea, the Angel of Death, face.

No longer does Alyssia house the soul of the Angel of Death but the roles are quite reversed. Alethea is now in control and although sworn to stay out of the business of celestial beings she finds that she’s drawn once again into their pathetic power plays. Hell has quite literally frozen over. The once burning halls of Pandemonium are frosty with the cold and Lucifer is bound by impenetrable crystal. Alethea has to deal with Angels demanding her presence (again, sigh), demons, paranormal beings and her own nagging doubt that she shouldn’t be the one in control given her dark nature. Oh, and lets not forget the mortal housed in her head (a disconcerting feeling to be sure), what more did she need? She’s sworn that she will never be held again but doesn’t her duty govern how she acts? Will she ever gain the peace she so desperately longs for?

Bound Extracts

Chapter One:

She stood with her eyes closed, unwilling to open them. She could smell burning all around her and refused to look at the source. She knew what she would see should she open her eyes anyway; a burned battleground, bodies fallen where they had stood and blood seeping into the Earth. This wasn’t a mortal battle, this was of the divine and utterly… completely… fucking pointless.

Chapter Two:

She was on the battleground once again, the eyes of the fallen staring up at her accusingly. She had failed them but it wasn’t her, not really. She watched as a copy of herself split off and readied her weapons. The armour was strange yet somehow comforting and familiar. Her copy was ready and Thea gasped at the blonde foe the other her faced. He was the absolute double of her boyfriend Lucas but how could that be? The armour and weaponry were alien but somehow, disturbingly, the evil glint in his eye was exactly the same.

Chapter Three:

Alethea groaned as she opened her eyes, her body aching and her wings felt knotted. How long had she been laying here in that Him forsaken spell? Gingerly she moved one leg over the side of the ice laden alter, not quite liking the sacrificial implications. After she found this a success she moved the other and mentally berated herself for going slowly.  Rise and shine sleeping beauty, came her voice from the back of her mind. You are not funny mortal, she replied already casting her senses out to see if danger were near. They appeared to be in an ice cave of some sort but why would Lucifer store her here away from his slimy grasp? I would look closer were I you, came the voice again.

Next on the WIP Blog-Hop I Nominate…

… some of the most brilliant authors I have had the honour to be in contact with. Check out their work now, you won’t be disappointed 🙂

Philippe under carpark

Philippe Blenkiron is a British poet and the author of ‘The Pustoy’, a dystopian novella in verse. He holds a Master’s degree in Creative Writing from Keele University and enjoys writing poetry of varying styles, some of which can be found online at
Ink, Sweat and Tears: (http://www.inksweatandtears.co.uk/pages/?s=philippe+blenkiron)
Dagda Publishing: (http://dagdapublishing.co.uk/2014/08/22/faces-curtains/)
and The Screech Owl: (http://www.thescreechowl.com/page-2.html)
as well as in many other print publications.
Philippe’s current projects include adapting ‘The Pustoy’ for the stage/screen, fronting alt-metal band ‘Skybald’, and work of a more theological nature. He also has some ideas brewing for a second novella, but is keeping his cards close to his chest for the moment…

Order ‘The Pustoy’ at: http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Pustoy-Philippe-Blenkiron/dp/1499238665 

ericEric Robert Nolan graduated from Mary Washington College in 1994 with a Bachelor of Science in Psychology.  He spent several years as a news reporter and editorial writer for the Culpeper Star Exponent in Culpeper, Virginia. Eric’s debut novel is the postapocalyptic science fiction story, “The Dogs Don’t Bark In Brooklyn Any More.”  It was published by Dagda Publishing on November 19th, 2013, and is available at Amazon.com both in paperback and for Kindle. Eric’s poetry and short stories have been featured by Dagda Publishing, Every Day Poets, Every Day Fiction, Illumen, Under The Bed, Dead Beats Literary Blog, Microfiction Monday Magazine, Dead Snakes, The Bright Light Cafe, Aphelion, Tales of the Zombie War, The International War Veterans’ Poetry Archive, and elsewhere.

Order ‘The Dogs Don’t Bark in Brooklyn Any More’ at Amazon UK here.

Find Eric’s fabulous work along side some of my own in Threads and All Hail the New Flesh.

dennis

“Dennis Villelmi was born in Norfolk, VA in December of 1976.  An only child, Dennis very early on developed an imagination that ran the gamut.  But it wasn’t until the age of thirteen, with the discovery of Clive Barker’s ” The Great and Secret Show,” that Dennis realized that he wanted to be a writer, and moreover, like Barker and H.P. Lovecraft before him, a traveler through realms surreal, macabre, and, to a measure, blasphemous.  But it wasn’t until Halloween of 2014 that Dennis Villelmi finally etched his name onto the roster of explorers, both well known and obscure, of those tenebrous avenues that many would choose to ignore with the publication of his book, “Fretensis.”  Dennis Villelmi continues to live and work in Virginia.

Order Fretensis at Amazon UK here.

Thank you 🙂

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Memoirs of a Dilettante Volume Two by Helena Hann-Basquiat

Evening lovely readers 🙂
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Today is super exciting. In this short post I get to reveal to you Helena Hann-Basquiat’s, one of my favourite writers, forthcoming novel Memoirs of a Dilettante volume Two. As many will know, Helena is a wonderfully imaginative writer with a widely ranging handle on many different genres. I myself have been privilaged enough to read several of her thrilling horrors that leave you desperate for more. However here’s what she has to say on her new book:
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MEMOIRS OF A DILETTANTE VOLUME TWO – COVER REVEAL!
COMING SPRING 2015 — official date TBA

Memoirs of a Dilettante Volume Two is the second collection of reminiscences, following Helena Hann-Basquiat, a self-proclaimed dilettante who will try anything just to say that she has, and her twenty-something niece, who she has dubbed the Countess Penelope of Arcadia.

Speaking of Arcadia, this volume delves into Helena’s childhood, as she revisits what she calls the Arcadia of the mind — that place that keeps us trapped and holds us back from our potential. Some of her most personal stories are included here, interspersed with hilarious stories of misadventure. It’s not a novel, really, and it’s not a memoir, by the strictest definition. But most of what follows, as they say, is true. Sort of. Almost. From a certain point of view.

Discover Helena’s tales for the first time or all over again, with new notes and annotations for the culturally impaired — or for those who just need to know what the hell was going through her mind at the time!

Cover art by Hastywords.

Helena is going to be running a crowdfunding/pre-order campaign at Pubslush, a community focused solely on indie writers, and has set up a profile there to launch Memoirs of a Dilettante Volume Two.

For more information, and to follow the progress, Become a Fan at http://HelenaHB.pubslush.com

If you just can’t wait and you want a taste of Helena’s writing, follow her blog: http://helenahannbasquiat.wordpress.com/

If you just can’t get enough Helena, or you want updates on further goings on, release dates and miscellaneous mayhem, follow Helena on Twitter @hhbasquiat

I know right? Helena is an inspiring woman in that she always strives for excellence in everything that she does. She has developed and set up her own publishing house, Dilettante Publishing, and yet still works on her writing whenever she can. She has been a great friend to me and personally I will always strive to be more like her in the literary World.

She has set up a crowdfunding page on Pubslush where if you support the book you may just get some exciting goodies in return. Imagine helping to support a wonderful writer in her life long dream. You get ooey gooey happy feelings as well as exclusivity in the literary World.

Now, enjoy Helena’s writer bio and burn for the release of the book, coming soon but not soon enough 🙂 Toodles 🙂

BIO:

The enigmatic Helena Hann-Basquiat dabbles in whatever she can get her hands into just to say that she has.
She’s written cookbooks, ten volumes of horrible poetry that she then bound herself in leather she tanned poorly from cows she raised herself and then slaughtered because she was bored with farming.

She has an entire portfolio of macaroni art that she’s never shown anyone, because she doesn’t think that the general populous or, “the great unwashed masses” as she calls them, would understand the statement she was trying to make with them.
Some people attribute the invention of the Ampersand to her, but she has never made that claim herself.

In 2014, she published Memoirs of a Dilettante Volume One, several e-books which now make up Volume Two, as well as a multimedia collaborative piece of meta-fictional horror entitled JESSICA.

Memoirs of a Dilettante Volume One is available HERE in e-book for Kindle or HERE in paperback.

Helena writes strange, dark fiction under the name Jessica B. Bell.
Find more of her writing at http://www.helenahb.com or http://whoisjessica.com or connect with her via Twitter @HHBasquiat.

Fear in a Handful of Dust

Evening lovely readers 🙂

Here is a guest post by yours truly exploring the concept of fear and phobias. Admittedly I have a few so I could pull from life but everyone should have a go at writing out of their comfort zone. I hope you enjoy and I hope you follow Helena for some great fiction with ooey gooey literary goodness 🙂

Thank you 🙂

For One Of My Best Friends

Evening lovely readers 🙂

inspire

Have you ever noticed that sometimes inspiration can pop up and smack you round the chops without your realising? A wonderful instance happened to me that has urged me to write something outside my comfy-almost-like-pyjama’s fantasy genre. I received a message off one of my best friends and the lovely lovely lady had meant to type the word probably. However due to her phone mishap I got the name Rob Ably instead 🙂 This was my *Ping* moment Ladies and Gentleman and this children’s story is what came from it. This is for you Cheryl Denise Westby, I hope you like my silly jaunt 🙂

The Tale of Rob Ably and The Missing Gerri-Faff

Little Princess Narky Nappy was not a happy girl. She screamed the palace down and down from pillar up to pearl. The King and Queen were really sad not knowing what to do. What could have set their darling off? Was it something new?

baby-crying

 

They rushed into her nursery affright with all the noise. They searched and looked and gave her tons of all her sparkly toys. But nothing would ever do and would not make her laugh. They finally saw the problem too she’d lost her Gerri-Faff.

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They searched and searched but could not find the little animal. They’d pull someone up from the town ’twas always nice and full. They rushed on over to the phone sat nicely on the table. They need a man with hearty will who’s good and nice and able.

telephone-cartoon

 

Twas Rob Ably that turned up, a good and happy fellow. He took it with a pinch of salt and kept it nice and mellow. He promised he would search the World to find her this lost toy. And with a sigh he started off on the long and lonely ploy.

feet

 

He decided he would search up high upon the mountain range. He couldn’t find it anywhere nor birds flight which is strange. There were no trees, no rocks nor bush for life to live and hide. There were no nooks and cranny’s for a Gerri-Faff to reside.

mountain-cartoon-style-ice-snow-mountains-snowy-cliff-mountian_f

 

Next he settled on the beach in hopes of search and sun. There were no people here in fact enjoying all the fun. The golden sand did burn his feet and caused a rosy hue. But missing from this perfect scene was a little Gerri-Faff too.

Coroana cu trandafiri 747

 

At last he came upon the sea all beautiful and clear. He trembled as he looked upon in such a dreaded fear. He had not found the Gerri-Faff, not hide, not hair, not stuffing. When it dropped into his hands, dropped by a passing puffin.

sea

 

Rob wanted to jump for joy, to bound, to scream and leap. At least he knew now once at home his small life he would keep. He placed the Faff deep in his bag and shut it nice and tight. He needed to get it home right now with no dark extra fright.

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And so Rob jauntily sauntered off with high hopes for the Faff. He returned it to the throne to make the Princess good and laugh. Rob was honoured for his deed, given titles, lands and lease. And finally the small kingdom returned to its natural peace.

 

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THE END

This was just a silly rough attempt at a children’s story, pay it no mind 🙂 Thank you 🙂

 

 

Passion of My Life

Hello lovely readers 🙂

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A few days ago when thanking all you lovely people who have followed my blog I promised I would dust off my very questionable poetry skills and write something about my passion. I really love to write and use my imagination for strange and wonderful things, as you’ve probably guessed from previous posts lol 🙂 Forgive the calibre of the poem, it’s been a long time and it only took me thirty minutes to write lol 🙂

 

Passion of My Life

Like many in this life who think
To do what they do love
I pick up my large frosted drink
And thank the powers above.

 

I use my brain to think up stuff
With such a happy fashion,
With a sigh and heave and huff
I carry on my passion.

 

Believe me when I come to say
There’s something just so good and bright
When I spend the entire day
With the beautiful, deadly chance to write.
 
And there you go. I told you I was very rusty 🙂 I hope you enjoyed it. Now I must dash as my eight month old is screaming the house down. I guess it’ll have to be a #FlashSaturday again. Sorry 😦

Thank you 🙂

 

 

Passivity, Get Thee to the Bowels of HELL!!!!!!!!

Hello lovely readers 🙂

Today I’m going to talk about something that plagues my writing; the passive voice. This little devil keeps slowly and lazily rearing its ugly head; I mean its passive, its not going anywhere fast.

Essentially, passive voice is when the focus of the sentence is on the action. Those who perform the action are not important. On average, there is usually some version of the verb be which is coupled with a past tense. For example,
                                                                                          ‘She felt her soul had shattered.’

Now this is the complete opposite of using the more active voice where the subject causes the action of the verb, for example – “I sing a song of the soul”. It’s great because in one sentence you get cause and effect, a solid moving forward of the narrative. I, like every other writer in the known World, always try to write my best and if I’m honest using the passive voice is not done intentionally; it’s just really bloody annoying when it pops up regardless lol.

Lets not forget the fact that by making the object of an action into the subject of a sentence can effectively change how we view the World. What?? I hear you shout. How the Hell does grammar affect our view of the World?? Well consider this, how can we understand the World to begin with when the tool we use to define it can be moulded into such a lacklustre, slow, almost drippy language? For example, Richard Mitchell in Elements of Style, stated it best when he wrote – “You may want to object that a whole view of the world and its meanings can hardly be importantly altered by a silly grammatical form. If so, you’re just not thinking. Grammatical forms are exactly the things that make us understand the world the way we understand it. To understand the world, we make propositions about it, and those propositions are both formed and limited by the grammar of the language in which we propose.” Richard Mitchell. 

From now on I will have to make sure I really do rewire my brain to write in the active voice permanently, which I do do in my writing now but passivity attacks on the rare occasion with a vengeance. Does anyone have any tips? I’m not too proud to say I accept any and all advice 🙂 I’m proud of anything and everything I write 🙂 Tomorrow will be a post on my study on the active voice and how I will apply it to my writing.

Thank you, vent over. My head hurts and I feel like my passive polar bear at the top. Hope I haven’t hurt your head too much 🙂

Reslogging the write … er… Rewriting the slog and a New #FlashForFriday

Good Evening lovely readers 🙂

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I’m writing, I promise I’m writing. I just have a teething baby, several different musical mobiles going at once and a 6 foot 2 extremely sexy distraction to contend with but I AM writing lol 🙂 I have only two chapters left of my novel to rewrite and then I will just spend the rest of the time going over it and then going over it and then going over it again 🙂 Roll on the end of May and sending this baby off to my editor. I’m so excited so back to the novel I go but I leave you with a new flash fiction piece set in the Worlds of my novel. Please enjoy 🙂 (other flash fiction pieces can be read here)

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The Price of Freedom

Lucian placed one foot on the cold hard marble of the temple floor. He knew she would never forgive him for leaving her chamber during the night but if he were to escape his father’s grasp it had to be tonight. His father was off planning his next attack on the Life bearers and thankfully he would not be near enough to sense the power surge of his spell. He could never understand why the War rooms were situated outside of the palace; for the Lady’s sake, they weren’t even situated within the city. It seemed a foolish and weak manouver to him, essentially leaving the palace unprotected despite the few guards milling around. He shook his head.

He moved to leave the bed itself and felt a strange pull on his cursed emotions. Occasionally he wished he were heartless as his father was. He looked back at the prone form shrouded in black lace and silver trim. He did not truly love Illaria; she was a crass shrew of a woman with too much insight and belief in her own power. She may be the high priestess of the Seers but she had not a shade of his mothers power.

Thinking of his mother always brought a black sadness to his heart. She had died far before her time and despite his fathers official declaration of her Death at the hands of assassins, he knew the truth. He knew his father had murdered her because of her attempts to protect Lucian. She did not want him to become like his father and she had paid the ultimate price. Well he would fulfil her wishes tonight, of that he was certain.

He caressed Illaria’s cheek once more. They had shared many years of passion and in a way he would miss her but he would not let that stop him; in truth it would not plague him for long. He placed his other foot on the floor, stood and quickly dressed in his armour. He reached for his silver sword and gun, the gun given to him by his wonderful grandfather, and took one last look around the room. He felt a sense of homesickness already but he knew what had to be done. He could not let his loneliness stop him this time. As he was leaving he came across the portrait of him and his mother. He had to smile at that. She always had worn such a happy temperament in life even though she balked at her destiny. He caressed the name plate underneath and ran his finger along the letters; Queen Aria and Prince Lucian. A tear slid down his cheek,

“Goodbye Mother.”

Lucian left the temple in the cloak of darkness. It was only a short walk to the palace and Lucian raced to perform one last feat for his people before he left. The streets were empty apart from the Nightstalkers and the guard at each intersection. He walked with confidence and grace as was expected of someone of his station. He was the Crown Prince for all intents and purposes and no one had any reason to suspect his plans just yet. Each guard nodded at him, each Nightstalker saluted and even the rare Lady smiled his way. He loathed all of them. He hurried on to the gates of the palace hiding his disgust from view.

His passage to the throne room was simple; the Crown Prince was merely going to check the state of affairs within the kingdom. He projected the air of authority even if he did not feel it. He had one thing to do before he left forever; one thing to ensure that his father’s state of power was broken. He pushed through the great doors and approached the throne quickly. He knew his father was miles away but part of him still feared him knowing. Hanging from one arm of the throne was the royal pendant. He could not understand why his father left it here but he would not moan on such fortune. He grabbed it quickly and placed it around his own neck. Not only would it enhance his own power but he felt that he HAD to take it, he would need it he was sure. Not only that but his father was near invincible with his own power, the power of the throne, the power of the crown AND the power of the pendant. At least this way he would be weakened.

Lucian turned quickly to ensure that no one had noticed him. He took one last longing look around the room; he had grown up here, this was all he knew. He smiled sadly and took the idonbark from his pocket. He would use this as the catalyst for his spell, it did not work as well as tearcrystal but he was in a rush.

“Spirits of the realms above,

on waning wind and searing flame.”

Lucian was stopped mid spell. A heat had started to gather on his chest where the crystal of the pendant fell. A bright black light began to shine and he merely thought of the portal he needed. He was a little taken aback; he hadn’t expected the pendant to work so well so soon. As he had begun to chant he had waved the idonbark much as the conductors of mortal orchestras do. He had felt silly so he was extremely glad his power had taken over. A doorway of black flame swiftly opened in front of him. He took one last look at the throne room, took a deep breath and stepped through the portal. His surroundings went from silver tinged marble to murky towering constructs of metal. He seemed to be in some sort of alley with smoke and puddles adorning most surfaces. There were loud waling noises and bright lights and Death everywhere. He truly was in the mortal realm now. He turned to the portal and moved to wipe it from existence before his father found hm. He would never see his home again…

 

It’s a bit rushed and not very full of action but I hope you enjoyed. It sets the scene for one of the characters from my novel and the hardships he has already gone through. I will be improving this post as time goes on (and when I’m not so tired to own the truth.) Thank you 🙂

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