Thursday, February 27, 2014

Cold feet

Spring is sprung! The grass is riz! what is bloomin? The flowers is!

Well, not quite yet. And I just threw away a pair of socks (holey socks!) so my feet are cold. Hence the title.

At the moment I'm feeling a little lazy. My cat is demanding my attention but I'm sitting here staring out the window.

And of course, there are stories running through my head. I worked on Fairy Ring yesterday and it turned in a surprising direction. Two of the other books in the series are out, but I need to work on a new cover for the first before making it perma-free. The cover for the third book is in transition.

So at the moment I am actively writing Fairy Ring and Let It Go, re-vamping DemonBorn, editing Guardian and Heart of the Castle and trying to figure out the marketing thing. I have Axon, Seshallass and Glory Road that I'm thinking about when there's nothing else running through my head and a dozen others that try to squeeze in at odd moments, screaming to get my attention and demanding I work on them next.

An author's life, I guess.

Excerpt from BayStorm, a novella set in the Demons Bay world. This is the same world as the DemonBorn series, Heart of the Castle, and Guardian. Heart of the Castle should be the next book out.

She should have been terrified. Instead she stared up into the dark pit of the vortex, wondering what it would be like to die.

With a growling surge the thunder wrapped around her. Mutters and screams in the thunder were certainly only her imagination. If she died she would no longer be a threat. The curse would die with her.

She raised her hands, stared into the black maw surrounded by rainbow lightning, and begged it to take her.

For a moment the winds died. The air tightened around her, making her breath come short. The air around her heated, and darkened until she seemed to be staring up a narrow tunnel toward a black sun.

Abruptly the funnel reversed itself, darting down toward the ground faster than she could follow. Darkness followed the lightning, dragging it back toward the funnel, and the wind returned to yank her off her feet.

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