tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11664017852080735972024-02-18T19:46:47.208-08:00Angela Nicole ParkerUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger44125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166401785208073597.post-21142174958877815692012-07-18T21:14:00.000-07:002012-07-18T21:14:17.340-07:00I'm Baack!!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's been a long time, too long, but I'm finally back to blogging full time. Part of the reason that I have been off line for so long is because I have allowed my other life aka my "paying gig" to consume me to the point where my whole persona as a writer had sadly become nothing more than a heaping pile of ash waiting for the double threat of "if onlys" and "never will bes" to blow it away completely as if it never existed.<br />
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In other words, I have been feeling antsy and sad that none of my books have taken off the way that I had hoped and was starting to believe that I should just give up and accept I'm not really a writer. <br />
Any one who writes knows that is a low place to be, when you start to doubt that you are really any good it feels as if everything you ever wanted for yourself has just be another one of your fevered imaginings.<br />
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That's not to say that I haven't been writing, I have. In fact, I have three more manuscripts peculating, but that doesn't mean I was writing for the masses. I had become a coward and I was so afraid to show a friend of mine, who actually is a successful writer, my revamped "Under the Hill" manuscript because I feared that she would tell me what I had convinced myself was true --- that I didn't have "it." Imagine my surprised when she was ENTHUSIASTIC about the manuscript. It was like hope had been reborn inside me and I went home and started working on an experimental novel that I've been toying around with and the story opened up to me in a way it hadn't for a long time.<br />
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I started to feel my gift returning. I realized that I may never be an acclaimed writer adored by millions, but I'm a writer and I'm going to keep writing for as long as the the words pour out of me.<br />
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I'm back and its about time! </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166401785208073597.post-52497064126217500532011-10-05T13:24:00.000-07:002011-10-05T13:24:53.493-07:00The Art of Fan Fiction<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXJnlOKQicWwQwdzDcemb8CQU2NVI9RWw5CYRpDjfhTmBGrDZVPuESLrXisMRVoLHYQoIeCJUwrSa4-CDXgxjui-YztmcVXVLlX07wtIMQxQytNETJiYmQZDlDut15dQDMF44as4eTpC8/s1600/MH900444369.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXJnlOKQicWwQwdzDcemb8CQU2NVI9RWw5CYRpDjfhTmBGrDZVPuESLrXisMRVoLHYQoIeCJUwrSa4-CDXgxjui-YztmcVXVLlX07wtIMQxQytNETJiYmQZDlDut15dQDMF44as4eTpC8/s320/MH900444369.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Once in a while a debate will come up as to whether fan fiction is an infringement on the rights of authors. While some authors seem to understand that this comes with the territory when you create a popular work that people become passionate about, many bestselling authors resent fans writing and posting stories online based on their characters. In fact, Fan Fiction.net, one of the largest fan fiction sites on the web, has a list of author's who <em>refuse </em>to allow fan fiction based on their works to be showcased on the site or else....<br />
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I recently came upon this <a href="http://www.aspiringwriterworld.blogspot.com/">blog</a> and it got me thinking again about just what place fan fiction has in literary circles. I've seen some authors rail against fan fiction as plagiarism, an insult to the story that they came up with, and a poor use of any writers time --- because REAL writers should play with their own characters and worlds not somebody elses'. I, however, disagree. Personally, I'd be thrilled if something I wrote inflamed the imagination of someone else so much that they wrote endlessly about it, but I wonder how much of that has to do with my own biases for fan fiction. <br />
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I read fan friction a lot. I tend to obsess about books, shows and movies I love and fan fiction gives me MORE of what I love. As a sci-fi/ fantasy fan there is no shortage of AU fics out there about my favorite characters and I enjoy a lot of it. I think it's a valuable asset to any fandom. I'm actually a uber fan of <em>Merlin</em>, a BBC show based on the Arthurian Legend, because I found an amazing fan fiction story that made me search the show out and see what the hub bub was all about. To me, fan fiction keeps people invested in the characters and the world they are writing and reading about. <br />
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I also think that fan fiction is a great training ground for future writers who can use it as a springboard to improve their writing. I started writing fan fiction before it was called that. I was twelve and there was no Internet --- just a pen, paper, markers and a <em>Star Wars</em> meets <em>Indiana Jones</em> story I was dying to tell. Fan fiction kept me writing and helped me develop a writing style. I think you can argue its place, but not that it has one. Imagine what future literary geniuses are getting their start writing about their favorite fictional character right now! I think that as long as nobody is making any money off it, it OK. It's fannon, not cannon, and doesn't take away from the "real" story being by the writer, it just gives those who want to read a little twist something to enjoy.<br />
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What do you think? Is fan fiction wrong?<br />
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</div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166401785208073597.post-89891511771055163472011-08-22T21:42:00.000-07:002011-08-22T21:42:18.672-07:00Refund Anxiety<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" closure_uid_8fhgey="267" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg-7O4XTRu1_lBLERsrCz_jm3iYREQ7qtP4mEt-zQYY99_klbStW9ZOQOxgDLmlNv3OMc7ltXRUkjxVn8z608J8GAGTHtjRqB1ic_JP2IXEuzLdU-CxqXsrzf7AuVOxvdniPtVeR1Dg2g/s1600/refund.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg-7O4XTRu1_lBLERsrCz_jm3iYREQ7qtP4mEt-zQYY99_klbStW9ZOQOxgDLmlNv3OMc7ltXRUkjxVn8z608J8GAGTHtjRqB1ic_JP2IXEuzLdU-CxqXsrzf7AuVOxvdniPtVeR1Dg2g/s200/refund.jpg" width="195px" /></a></div><div closure_uid_8fhgey="209">I've been at this Indie Publishing thing for a few months and I'm addicted to checking how many units I sell everyday. I recently published my sci-fi space opera <em>Specter of War,</em> which is currently moving slower than I'd like, and <em>Under the Hill</em>, which is a compulation of a couple of my columns, and of the two <em>Under the Hill</em> really has me nervous because it's a satire and not everybody will get the joke. In fact, I got a very scathing review that shocked me a bit because both <em>Tethered</em> and <em>Under the Hill </em>seem to be well received. But <em>Under the Hill</em> is an experiment and I was prepared for it not to be as well liked, though it is selling pretty well and I'd like another review to see if the first one is a fluke or what, but anyway I was prepared for people to hate it.</div><div closure_uid_8fhgey="209"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_8fhgey="209">I say all this to say that I was not prepared to have my first unit on returned on Amazon and saw that it was for <em>Tethered</em>. </div><div closure_uid_8fhgey="209"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_8fhgey="209"><em>TETHERED???</em></div><div closure_uid_8fhgey="209"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_8fhgey="209">It sent me into a panic: <em closure_uid_8fhgey="268">What happened? Did they hate the book? Was it not funny? Did they hate Maddie? Did the grammar monster strike again and send them fleeing? Maybe they bought it by mistake, huh? WHYYYYY????? </em></div><div closure_uid_8fhgey="209"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_8fhgey="209">Since then, I've been living in fear of the returned unit. I am trapped in refund anxiety. I look at the refund section first dreading what I'll see. I know it's only one book returned in hundreds sold, but it played on my insecurity that maybe this book really isn't good... It's funny, I'm always telling people that as I writer I have a thick skin, but in actuality sometimes I can be as sensitive skinned as a new born baby.</div><div closure_uid_8fhgey="209"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_8fhgey="209">I don't know what the cure for this is, but I guess I'll just truck on and try harder. After all, if they take the time to trash it and/or are so repealed that they had to return it, at least you made them feel something right? </div><div closure_uid_8fhgey="209"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_8fhgey="209">Yeah, I know it still sucks! Lol and the writing continues...</div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166401785208073597.post-91831103994739544792011-07-06T19:45:00.000-07:002011-07-06T19:45:00.305-07:00The Great Trampoline Act<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgUOQx8MXXH1hMikG0XtZA_xuUIJv9i31HYdtiSZT0FFtJic_pmVrEDvDR4egsI1ItjrV1OYtQWjkouyuEeMSbTvPgf7_PbM5Rtoy4lD3izlb7cLkDuwV0fPYQtXvq47DBO3aavCkZIU0/s1600/MH900295647.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgUOQx8MXXH1hMikG0XtZA_xuUIJv9i31HYdtiSZT0FFtJic_pmVrEDvDR4egsI1ItjrV1OYtQWjkouyuEeMSbTvPgf7_PbM5Rtoy4lD3izlb7cLkDuwV0fPYQtXvq47DBO3aavCkZIU0/s320/MH900295647.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div>It occurred to me that being an indie writer is a lot like jumping on a trampoline. The highs are amazingly, but the lows are really low. Last week I was #71 in <em>Kindle's</em> Blog Section. It was a very random honor. My heroine Maddie is a part-time blogger, but the book isn't about blogging, but it was an honor none the less. I was on a high. I was going places. But as of today,<em> Tethered</em> and my great space opera masterpiece, <em>The Specter of War,</em> have not sold one copy in one in five whole days and the depression has begun to set in. I think I fell prey to the idea that I didn't need to do any real marketing, that the books would sell themselves, that they were such great reads that word of mouth would carry it all the way to the #1 spot on <em>Kindle's </em>best seller's list. <br />
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I love to watch <em>We's</em> <em>Cupcake Girls </em>because its about two women building their brand and their business and I realize that I have been doing neither. Yesterday, the girls did a "soft sale" on their new mancakes, a bacon cupcake that sounded like heaven to me, but the customers and staff didn't agree. One of the Cupcake Girls thought the problem was the "soft sale", that you had to go big or go home. I laughed because I realized that I was doing a no sale. You have to market to get your book to sale, it's just that simple, but my problem is that marketing isn't my favorite thing to do. No matter, it's a necessary evil and I'm going to do it. So, I decided to start with social media. My goal is raise the amount of friends that I have on <em>Facebook </em>and <em>Twitter</em> and to grow my email mailing list to start a buzz about my work and I want to start with everybody who visits my blogs. So, please....<br />
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Visit my Under the Hill Blog <a href="http://angelanparker.blogspot.com/">here</a><br />
Join my Facebookpage <a href="http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/pages/Angela-Nicole-Parker/146196588764189">here</a><br />
Join Under the Hill's Facebook <a href="http://www.facebook.com/?sk=pages&ap=1#!/pages/Under-the-Hill/127861823942079">here</a><br />
Join me on Twitter <a href="http://twitter.com/#!/AngelaNParker">here</a><br />
Join my mailing list <br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166401785208073597.post-14247950922494731072011-06-06T21:35:00.000-07:002011-06-06T21:35:28.055-07:00Guardians of Destiny: The Specter of War<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Specter of War, the first book in my Guardians of Destiny young adult series, is now on sale. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm0SoyaW4BWNMOaWs-Br54Gyj2-2GVO5GSW4AJ638OAB53cLCbufJp_ayvAtW1_4CTuqrb2SzRgdjdhp73ZhtpM8vH3iCAXyZI1BvHUlrFgU4HpbuY2Fsqq7oGDM0fJhVAWs5DIAxgYCM/s1600/GuardiansofDestingCV.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm0SoyaW4BWNMOaWs-Br54Gyj2-2GVO5GSW4AJ638OAB53cLCbufJp_ayvAtW1_4CTuqrb2SzRgdjdhp73ZhtpM8vH3iCAXyZI1BvHUlrFgU4HpbuY2Fsqq7oGDM0fJhVAWs5DIAxgYCM/s320/GuardiansofDestingCV.jpg" width="222px" /></a></div><br />
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After two dikas of peace, the United Republic of Planets now finds itself on the brink of war. The newly crowned queen of the Maraudan Empire, Mursela Mornall, is determined to return her realm to its glory days by destroying The Republic she despises, but her desire for war is dividing her people. Senator Abrecus Judi and his daughter, Dena, find themselves on the forefront of the debate, and soon their family is heading towards a collision course with The Queen that will change their lives forever.<br />
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For the citizens of The Republic, this couldn’t have come at a worse time. Graduating cadets Akeen and Connor Star have enough problems living up to their legendary heritage, and balancing their complicated relationship with Kayla Dylan, without being thrust into a war they do not want. Meanwhile, Major Van Dylan finds himself an unlikely hero while on a peace mission in Maraudan space, and Parnell Star, the great hero of the last war, must find a way to stop history from repeating itself, as young and old, human and non-human alike, band together to beat back the specter of war. <br />
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For a LIMITED TIME, you can purchase the book for .99 cents. Check it out and enjoy the journey.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005110J2M">Amazon</a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Guardians-of-Destiny/Angela-Nicole-Parker/e/2940012500731">Barnes and Nobles </a></span></div><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166401785208073597.post-84361239874741925862011-05-25T23:14:00.000-07:002011-05-25T23:22:24.558-07:00Thin Line<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVeBzARj3ddSHx8wbve31RN7mP0qWGuRzdBQVRXYWxhZF0SEB7QxlGAhcqAlVYrIr-clvMzl82YDHiO8IWI8n0HSpH5bdwFEY4cL_LifFZsOK07u-eXoHIgDfeXl9loaarRF5YThIbzAM/s1600/Thinline.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVeBzARj3ddSHx8wbve31RN7mP0qWGuRzdBQVRXYWxhZF0SEB7QxlGAhcqAlVYrIr-clvMzl82YDHiO8IWI8n0HSpH5bdwFEY4cL_LifFZsOK07u-eXoHIgDfeXl9loaarRF5YThIbzAM/s320/Thinline.jpg" t8="true" width="213px" /></a></div><em>Tethered</em> was supposed to be my one and only foray into Chick Lit, but lately I've been finding myself swatting away characters, as I've been editing <em>The Yellow Pages, </em>that remind me of some of my favorite screwball romantic comedy archetypes. I'm a big believer in following my muse, so I've decided to follow it and write <em>Thin Line</em>.<br />
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Dueling relationship columnists Grayson Williams and Jillian Anderson have very different views on life and love. But when both their relationships take unexpected turns, they are not only forced to take a good look at themselves, but at how they view each other, and they just may find out how thin the line is between love and hate...<br />
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<em>Thin Line</em> coming soon.<br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166401785208073597.post-18814874135810884842011-05-24T21:44:00.000-07:002011-05-24T21:44:48.141-07:00Meet Christopher Hunter --- Part Three<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 5pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Q: New York streets and landmarks play a huge role in the novel. The city is almost like another character. Was that intentional and if so, why?</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">A: I believe New York is a main character in any book that uses it as a setting--more so than any other location on this planet. It's just a very compelling place. This city has been my home for nine years now, and I am proud to say so. I have traveled all around this town. I have met so many people, experienced so many things. It has been a wonderful fit for me, and I couldn't imagine living anywhere else (Unless someone wants to buy the movie rights to the series. Then, if I have to, I'll leave this joint for California so fast!). So, it's only natural that I write a book with New York as a setting, and incorporate some of what I know firsthand.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 5pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 7pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></i><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Q: What can anyone who follows this series expect?</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 5pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A: Expect the unexpected. This story consistently took me by surprise and I wrote the thing! I had bulletin points of where I wanted the plot to go, but the plot didn't behave at all. It really took on a life of its own. The books are not 100,000 words long, but there's plenty of content to each one. Every chapter is like a short story in its own right, and they all piece together to make one epic experience. </i></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Q: Can you tell us a little bit about some of your upcoming projects?</b><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A: Right now, I'm just trying get to the "End Game" of this trilogy. I have been working on "The Days and Months..." since December 2009, with very little pause in between. It's been a war, a long, protracted war. A fight against writers block, a fight against having minimal support, a fight against a diminishing social life, a fight against exhaustion from a grueling and physical day job. There is so much to creating a story, and turning it into something people would want to buy. You really have to do this to appreciate all the effort that goes into it. Beforehand, I had no idea. The reader just chooses a book they happen to like, but they are also paying for countless hours of work, sweat, and sheer will. Writing is not for the faint of heart. Eventually, I'll take up the task of writing more books, but only after a period of much needed recuperation.</i></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br />
Look for the conclusion of the trilogy --- <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Days and Months We Were First Born- The Journey</i> soon. For more information about Christopher Hunter, visit his official website at <a href="http://www.christopherhunterfiction.com/">http://www.christopherhunterfiction.com/</a>. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7h1J0GaEzqF-F2Glrk0zadNXfUaVRO1CzQfyxIUMVC5nRHBc4WrzA-Box0pbr-IqcdMshpALPxcEB29vGu_UWXlzkzNhBf7uRCUI9FVCQOUmnoUfFcBbA4hVaiguutlDVFLd1deu4Hjc/s1600/Lips.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7h1J0GaEzqF-F2Glrk0zadNXfUaVRO1CzQfyxIUMVC5nRHBc4WrzA-Box0pbr-IqcdMshpALPxcEB29vGu_UWXlzkzNhBf7uRCUI9FVCQOUmnoUfFcBbA4hVaiguutlDVFLd1deu4Hjc/s1600/Lips.jpg" t8="true" /></a></div><br />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> </span></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166401785208073597.post-78146225734626188852011-05-24T21:35:00.000-07:002011-05-24T21:35:06.971-07:00Meet Christopher Hunter --- Part Two<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc6TyapigQpKz2iTG-L9h6IiWlCAC5ovwqollsODf2qJLLGcw7It4es1mACPBsglz0Wi2SJUl9W5C_KNMMbXNNDKEvtACdE-LUDcJlq1L_ZjYQrJBM0uhhzqqnealrpIHQtHCX6CpVRWg/s1600/Days.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc6TyapigQpKz2iTG-L9h6IiWlCAC5ovwqollsODf2qJLLGcw7It4es1mACPBsglz0Wi2SJUl9W5C_KNMMbXNNDKEvtACdE-LUDcJlq1L_ZjYQrJBM0uhhzqqnealrpIHQtHCX6CpVRWg/s1600/Days.jpg" t8="true" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 5pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt;">Q: Apocalypse as the result of a worldwide disease or outbreak is a popular theme in science fiction and fantasy. Why is this a theme that you wanted to tackle?</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 5pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A: There's something very appealing about turning civilization on its head and hitting the reset button. I liked the idea of putting characters in that circumstance and seeing how they would deal with the challenge. I believe there's a deep seeded familiarity that we tap into with this genre. Our recorded history spans for about 5,000 to 10,000 year, but that's only a fraction of how long we've been around as a species. We are more adapted to who we were before than who we are now. Stripping away life as we know it is almost like going home after a long day of playing pretend. In a way, it's going back to the essence of who we are. It’s going back to the things that truly matter. Things like raw, day to day survival, as opposed to worrying about our 401ks. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also, it reflects a fear that we have about the amount of people we now have on this planet. Having billions and billions of humans running around is a relatively new phenomenon. In just a few short generations, we have multiplied something like seven fold. It's not natural. Somewhere inside, I believe we know this. Apocalyptic fiction plays to that awareness. Now, I'm not saying I want to see billions of people die in reality. If the events of my book, or any other book on the subject came true, that would really suck. But, at least in the universe of my fictional story, a correction has taken place. </i></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 5pt;"><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Q: The President of East America is Joseph McArthur and it’s hard not to think of another famous American, Douglas McArthur. Is there a political subtext to the book?</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 5pt;"><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A: There is a STRONG political subtext to this series! Government and its role, or rather, former role, plays a prominent part in Martin's narrative, which is only right from someone who was slated to be a history teacher. "The Days and Months" is as much a cautionary tale as it is anything else. There really are some surprises in store for anyone who appreciates social speculation. 2068 is very different from 2011, especially for what we now call the United States of America. And just to address the McArthur thing (plenty of people have brought this up), there is no relation between the fictional President of East America and Douglas McArthur. They both share a really cool surname, I'll admit that much. But the similarity is entirely coincidental. </i><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 5pt;"><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Q: In addition to the political thread, technology also seems to loom large as a threat, can you talk a little bit about technology’s place in your universe?</b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 5pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A: It wasn't my intent to make technology a key factor in this series. I didn't want to beat people over the head with the idea that this series is set in the future, but undeniably, some things had be different from what we are used to today to make this 2068 plausible. In the future of this series, mankind got a lot of things right. <span class="yshortcuts">Global warming</span> didn't devastate the planet, water shortage is not an issue, energy is no longer a pressing concern, and people are not starving. But as we all know, technology cuts both ways. It can do great things, but also, it can do serious harm. One group's nuclear plant is another group's nuclear bomb; one group's satellite can find a victim stranded in the mountains while another group's satellite can blow an enemy to smithereens with pin-point accuracy. It all depends. In the case of this series, someone took bio-technology and used it for a very sinister purpose. This is definitely fiction, fiction that's more parody than fact; but if someone had the right scientific know-how, the right luck, and the wrong intent, there's no telling what that person could be capable of. There's no telling what we could be vulnerable to. </i><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 5pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br />
</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 5pt;"><br />
</div></div></div></span></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166401785208073597.post-23602660004559020312011-05-24T21:23:00.000-07:002011-05-24T21:23:29.951-07:00Meet Christopher Hunter --- Part One<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicCZQtq-UMpSUNPgEWVHcvvSNywvVWT_mpW4oGgtGp-wCBmIqflNoK0cQrKhNMZa1bJ7rUw_BWSIIbKkI__NZe_uiVq-ZtIIQUJJF3iFnzsZ9lSqAmpVuNWzxLysLoWBFwFEogyqownEA/s1600/Hunter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicCZQtq-UMpSUNPgEWVHcvvSNywvVWT_mpW4oGgtGp-wCBmIqflNoK0cQrKhNMZa1bJ7rUw_BWSIIbKkI__NZe_uiVq-ZtIIQUJJF3iFnzsZ9lSqAmpVuNWzxLysLoWBFwFEogyqownEA/s1600/Hunter.jpg" t8="true" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 5pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt;">One of the things that I wanted to do when I became an Indie Writing Chick was connect with others who have decided to take this journey. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Recently, I was dealing with the hard stuff --- editing, formatting, self doubt, the usual, when a fellow Indie Writer, Christopher Hunter, reached out to me, and told me that he had purchased <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Tethered</i> and he liked it. I can’t explain to you what it means to have a perfect stranger give you a rave review for no other reason than they thought your work merited it. I became curious about his writing and purchased his book. When I saw it was speculative fiction I knew I had found a kindred spirit because science fiction/fantasy is my first literary love. He’s currently working on Book Three of his <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Days and Months We Were First Born Trilogy</i> that includes <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Unraveling</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Family by Fate</i>. I recently interviewed Chris about his books and what his Indie Writing Journey has been like. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 5pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 5pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt;">Q: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What was your inspiration for "<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Days and Months We Were <span class="yshortcuts">First Born: </span>The Unraveling”?</i></span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt;"></span></div><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 5pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Believe it or not, the name of a fictional village. “The Days and Months We Were <span class="yshortcuts">First Born” </span>wasn't the original story I set out to write. My first book was supposed to take place a hundred years from now, in a world well beyond the time of the epidemic. It was supposed to have an ensemble of young characters on a quest across our continent. It was a coming of age type of book. But I had writers block (and) I realized that I needed a background story. So the place of the first setting, Martinville, became my focal point. I soon found myself asking, “Who the hell is this Martin guy? And what makes him so special that he has a place named after him?” Well, eventually, this brainstorming led me to his girlfriend's bedroom, right before the news of the outbreak, in <span class="yshortcuts">New York City</span>, in the year 2068. And it was like a big bang. A new story was born and it took off running, leaving my first plan behind. I may still write that original story one day, but for now, it's all about Martin and his friends.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 5pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br />
</i><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
Q: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can you talk a bit about the storyline for the novel?</b></div><strong></strong><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 5pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A: Sure. For the most part, this series is the first person account of Martin Jacob after the outbreak of the Gotheal's virus. Before “Awareness Day” (<span class="yshortcuts">July 28th 2068</span>), Martin is just a regular guy living a regular life. There is nothing special about him at all. He is virtually shacked up with his artist girlfriend in Harlem; he is a recent graduate from NYU; and he is on the brink of beginning his career as a hi<span class="yshortcuts">story teacher</span>. He is enjoying the summer and a comfortable lifestyle. But when he wakes up that fateful day everything begins to go wrong. I'll put it this way, if Martin's life was a person, it would be someone playing in shallow waters near a beach who is suddenly carried out to the ocean by a rip current. Things get away from him. In a sense, things unravel. <br />
<br />
Martin tells a very personable narrative. He recalls the chain of events that transpired after all hell broke loose. He introduces a steady stream of interesting characters. He also paints a vivid picture of a world that's left in ruins. There is a mix bag of comedy, tragedy, social commentary, and <span class="yshortcuts">speculative fiction</span>. It's been a joy to work on this project. At times, I'm surprised I actually created such a tale. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 5pt;"><br />
</div><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"></i> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><strong>Q: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our hero, Martin Jacob, seems to have an existential world view. Is that a correct take on him?</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><strong><br />
</strong></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><em>A: First of all, it's awful generous of you to consider Martin a hero. I'm sure if he was a real person he wouldn't consider himself that at all. In fact, if he was a real person, he'd probably want to kick my ass for screwing up his life so thoroughly. Anyways, my take on Martin's philosophy is this: He's just a normal guy put in a horrible situation. He didn't have time to ease into this different life. There was no transition. Change just smacked him in the face and he is carrying on the best way he can. He takes things as they come. If he actually took the time to think of how bad things were, of how much he has lost, he'd probably just want to crawl in hole somewhere and die. But Martin is not like that. He has a very strong will to survive. He is a big picture type of guy. Also, his story is a reflection of how so many things interconnect --- the virus, the world that was destroyed, his life, which was destroyed, and the people around him --- Martin ties it all together, sort of like, well, sort of like a history teacher. </em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><em><br />
</em></span></span> </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166401785208073597.post-75722305782426333292011-05-03T17:01:00.000-07:002011-05-03T17:01:13.246-07:00Tethered and Me Spotlighted on RAWSISTAZ<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUx01mcsoseRJP0Og41GdcruRBihpKDfcBbdAdnPRfPPjE6pXUC-Mzho2IGQU8wVzIyzC6pzeFqSIKAfZcDFNzfTmwH_cdqKzwd-zUfGkueTRCIhPDpj3YX0zZLmpgzgfM4VQBQSWJluA/s1600/ETetheredCover.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUx01mcsoseRJP0Og41GdcruRBihpKDfcBbdAdnPRfPPjE6pXUC-Mzho2IGQU8wVzIyzC6pzeFqSIKAfZcDFNzfTmwH_cdqKzwd-zUfGkueTRCIhPDpj3YX0zZLmpgzgfM4VQBQSWJluA/s320/ETetheredCover.gif" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">RAWSISTAZ, one of the most popular African American book websites has spotlighted me and <em>Tethered</em>. Please check it out at <a href="http://www.rawsistaz.com/spotlights/author-showcase-spotlights/angela-nicole-parker/">http://www.rawsistaz.com/spotlights/author-showcase-spotlights/angela-nicole-parker/</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Don't forget that <em>Tethered</em> is still on sell for the low cost of .99 cents and enjoy! Purchase it at:</span></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><strong><a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/51109">Smash Words</a></strong></span></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><strong><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004V0V9RI">Amazon Kindle </a></strong></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><strong></strong></span> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><strong><a href="http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Tethered/Angela-Nicole-Parker/e/2940012422576">Pub It</a> </strong></span></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166401785208073597.post-92129956206641261032011-04-29T20:25:00.000-07:002011-04-29T20:26:25.915-07:00Happy Ever After<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5TQhWfn3-ye8H6axEducJ85oioa9Meuj5r58s2b_bn6_S2q2s0E7-HMTAOqaOJiTiYZCakBUJFMEzxWjdzQwhhHbqukcDFjnpfjMMPMRuNHIZLxWGHJRuaWImcWJgrNR4yksWJUxay18/s1600/balcony-kiss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5TQhWfn3-ye8H6axEducJ85oioa9Meuj5r58s2b_bn6_S2q2s0E7-HMTAOqaOJiTiYZCakBUJFMEzxWjdzQwhhHbqukcDFjnpfjMMPMRuNHIZLxWGHJRuaWImcWJgrNR4yksWJUxay18/s320/balcony-kiss.jpg" width="320px" /></a></div>I've often considered the drama surrounding the modern British Royal family to be the original reality show, so I'm not surprised that over a billion people tuned in this morning for their latest monumental episode. As a romantic who is a sucker for a happy ending, I loved everything about it, especially the balcony kiss, and the happily ever after ride into the sunset in that amazing convertible vintage blue<span style="color: black;"> Aston Martin.</span><br />
<br />
Watching that wedding just made me <em>feel </em>good.<br />
<br />
As a writer, though, I couldn't help but think I was watching something out of a chick lit writer's imagination-- a spunky commoner meets the heir to the throne in college and against all odds finds love and manages to become his Princess Bride. Nobody could have written a more romantic, modern fairytale. But let's face it, if someone had written it they might have gotten tons of negative reviews about how "predictable" and "unrealistic the story was." That's why I think so many of us are so enamoured with this wedding. Looking at Kate and William reminds us that good things really can happen in real life, and amazing twists and turns aren't solely left to the realm of our imagination. It reminds us that our Real Life is still the most fascinating journey we'll ever become immersed in. <br />
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So, cheers to one day when we all believe in love, beauty and happy ever afters.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166401785208073597.post-10582709851666887042011-04-27T22:25:00.000-07:002011-04-27T22:25:23.433-07:00Rave Reviews<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj3fXGeorz4Ma7-i-mi0eoQ7mu0to1y11RDC7uJgEXgHZGjaHpIIwLcXeEIO3OSa8-sPxIIzi9EEJ2o0Vn_lLSrvbcF1xsxqAUybqAZGvZaMizKO1Mpb9qwWxmpzKvLqaBOLMD8G_Ne00/s1600/normal_Good_Job_cake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="273px" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj3fXGeorz4Ma7-i-mi0eoQ7mu0to1y11RDC7uJgEXgHZGjaHpIIwLcXeEIO3OSa8-sPxIIzi9EEJ2o0Vn_lLSrvbcF1xsxqAUybqAZGvZaMizKO1Mpb9qwWxmpzKvLqaBOLMD8G_Ne00/s320/normal_Good_Job_cake.jpg" width="320px" /></a></div>I got my first review on Amazon for <em>Tethered</em> and it a doozy! Like all writers I write in hopes that someone will love my stories and characters as much as I do so I couldn't believe when I saw this ---<br />
<br />
<em>I guess it was just fate how I ended up buying this book. I'm not the type of person to read chick lit at all--never even thought to. But one night, I was just browsing through some forum or another, and I came across a post from this author. The post had a link to her page, and the page had a link to her book. Maybe it was the low price, maybe it was the high word count for the low price, maybe it was just the nice pair of legs on the cover, but for whatever reason, I decided: well, let me go ahead and check this out. And let me tell you, it was one of the best decisions I have ever made as a reader! <br />
<br />
"Tethered" chronicles a year in the life of Madison Cherie Baldwin, the first-born daughter of a publication mogul. And at first, it just seemed like one of those typical cookie cutter love stories, the type of book where you can see the ending from page two. But the more I read the more it became clear, this book is anything but cookie cutter. <br />
<br />
This book is rich with twists and turns in the plot. The characters are vivid and interesting. The dialogue is very engaging. The comedic timing is right on. And it's all held together by the best part: the narration of the protagonist, Madison. <br />
<br />
I'm not an expert of the genre, but I would imagine that it's hard to find a voice that could carry interest for over 120,000 words. It just seems that that would be a monumental challenge. But Madison Baldwin charmed, fought, swooned, joked, and prosed her way through with ease. She is not perfect, but she is enthralling. She's definitely the type of character a reader would love to revisit in a later book. <br />
<br />
So if you are contemplating buying this novel, let me tell you, you can't go wrong. I almost feel guilty paying the low price I paid for this. You should snatch this up before Ms. Parker comes to her senses and realizes what she has here. And even if she does raise the price (which I highly recommend), you'll be hard pressed to find an Indie publication with as much appeal and quality storytelling as this. <br />
<br />
Christopher Hunter <br />
Author of the "The Days and Months We Were First Born" Trilogy </em><br />
<br />
I understand that this is just one person's opinion and some bad reviews are sure to come, but for now, I'm going to enjoy the fact that somedody liked what I wrote!</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166401785208073597.post-15286361798687620802011-04-11T19:12:00.000-07:002011-04-11T19:13:48.487-07:00Yahoo!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbPx6e0brZqree3bsDqdbnXgwxrxu5ThYeS9FOYCfxaLxyGsAkU8rLMfxTaTleBJ9yor16sFxbRaNslTEKM2kjFH5PddHoe7kNRiWe124gRFbeeadHTZUpO_DAq20wFC0tOyJ_A5YZpBQ/s1600/underhill3%2528w%2529.gif" imageanchor="1" style="height: 118px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 194px;"><img border="0" height="200" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbPx6e0brZqree3bsDqdbnXgwxrxu5ThYeS9FOYCfxaLxyGsAkU8rLMfxTaTleBJ9yor16sFxbRaNslTEKM2kjFH5PddHoe7kNRiWe124gRFbeeadHTZUpO_DAq20wFC0tOyJ_A5YZpBQ/s200/underhill3%2528w%2529.gif" width="184" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em><strong>Petty Things</strong></em> was published on <strong>Yahoo!</strong> today. Check it out <a href="http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/7937605/leaving_behind_petty_things.html?cat=7">here.</a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Also, visit my <em><strong>Under the Hill</strong></em> Blog where you will find my monthly column.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://angelanparker.blogspot.com/">http://angelanparker.blogspot.com/</a></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166401785208073597.post-27497863716458176922011-04-09T09:44:00.000-07:002011-04-09T09:44:18.253-07:00The Promise Land<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" height="274" src="http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2011/03/25/arts/hocking/hocking-articleInline.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="190" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h6 class="credit">Robb Long/Associated Press</h6></td></tr>
</tbody></table> I'm sure that most of you have heard by now the story of Amanda Hocking, self-publishing wunderkind who made 2 million dollars off her indie fantasy books. <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">It's every indie publisher's dream come true, finding fame and fortune on your own terms. But as exciting as Amanda's story is, we all need to calm down. Amanda is like one of those oil barons who stuck her drill in the ground and found black gold while others just managed to pick up dirt. In other words, she is the exception, not the norm. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">When I first read the story my jaw dropped. I have always fantasized about walking into a book store and seeing my books on the shelves and have fought self-publishing, trying to no avail to go the mainstream route fueled by the thought that, "if your stuff was really any good a publishing house would buy it! " I was slow to warm up to self-publishing and it's benefits but there is no denying that with the slow death of book stores, ebook are the future. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> What I really think is important to take from Amanda's story is that writers write and find a way to share their stories. There are no more excuses for why you can't get your stuff out there. Sure, not every book is going to be a success, hell some won't even be as good as others, but what is important is that if you have that <em>thing</em> inside you, that fire that compels you to sit at the computer and tell the story that plays out in your head that you need to tell it and share it with others. If you keep writing some story will connect with people. You just have to keep at it. But it won't be easy. The fact that Amanda sold her new book series to <em>St. Martin Press </em>shows that even the most successful of e-book publishers feel overwhelmed by it. But she did it and changed her life and helped change the publishing industry as a whole. Now it's our turn.</div> <span style="clear: left; color: #004276; cssfloat: left; float: left; font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></span><br />
<div class="articleInline runaroundLeft"><div class="inlineImage module"><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166401785208073597.post-56937164295742749332011-04-04T18:28:00.000-07:002011-04-04T18:28:56.129-07:00Tethered Now Available as an Ebook<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUx01mcsoseRJP0Og41GdcruRBihpKDfcBbdAdnPRfPPjE6pXUC-Mzho2IGQU8wVzIyzC6pzeFqSIKAfZcDFNzfTmwH_cdqKzwd-zUfGkueTRCIhPDpj3YX0zZLmpgzgfM4VQBQSWJluA/s1600/ETetheredCover.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUx01mcsoseRJP0Og41GdcruRBihpKDfcBbdAdnPRfPPjE6pXUC-Mzho2IGQU8wVzIyzC6pzeFqSIKAfZcDFNzfTmwH_cdqKzwd-zUfGkueTRCIhPDpj3YX0zZLmpgzgfM4VQBQSWJluA/s320/ETetheredCover.gif" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><em>Tethered</em> is now available as an ebook. Check it out for the low cost of .99 cents and enjoy! Purchase it at:</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><strong><a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/51109">Smash Words</a></strong></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><strong><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004V0V9RI">Amazon Kindle </a></strong></span></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166401785208073597.post-81481826899799428772011-03-25T17:22:00.000-07:002011-03-25T17:31:43.767-07:00The Specter of War Book Cover<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">One of the great things about being a Indie Writing Chick is the freedom. Ever since I decided to step into the brave new world of e-books and indie publishing I have been writing a lot more, I kind of expected that. What I didn't expect was that creating my own book covers, something that I was actually dreading, would be so much fun. I'm actually addicted to it. Enjoy a sneak peak at my book cover for <em>The Specter of War</em>-- Book One in <em>My Guardians of Destiny</em> series coming out in May.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-4FCqX0Y1TLkOHD1q7T_G2uWP_2YLk4O7BwMpTkjXRoJaa2eXFWcp3rpShcAJbCX4Ihaj372Ftg4k3SlmM3ucpu_rfXfDt4FqL63TuA_NA7ewvWaZ7vTk8QLzUGa8JDHHXXpJSou6kWI/s1600/GuardiansofDestingCV.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-4FCqX0Y1TLkOHD1q7T_G2uWP_2YLk4O7BwMpTkjXRoJaa2eXFWcp3rpShcAJbCX4Ihaj372Ftg4k3SlmM3ucpu_rfXfDt4FqL63TuA_NA7ewvWaZ7vTk8QLzUGa8JDHHXXpJSou6kWI/s320/GuardiansofDestingCV.jpg" width="221" /></a></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166401785208073597.post-43807930348015674152011-03-24T19:53:00.000-07:002011-03-24T19:53:56.964-07:00The Girl with the Violet Eyes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheaRO5bTuSokKXTbcQ-AC5Tx_87H7URPHHaOP_VsizV0mZ8a5RzQAeo9_V8Oxd9bmDecFUR1BVMVuzEZbGVvf_DSd3gQiie9l9rJj-LC56R5HPjuCjWkLjvieq85YguW5_CEq60OySpoA/s1600/Liz.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="302" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheaRO5bTuSokKXTbcQ-AC5Tx_87H7URPHHaOP_VsizV0mZ8a5RzQAeo9_V8Oxd9bmDecFUR1BVMVuzEZbGVvf_DSd3gQiie9l9rJj-LC56R5HPjuCjWkLjvieq85YguW5_CEq60OySpoA/s320/Liz.bmp" width="320" /></a></div>I have a confession to make --- I have always had a minor obsession with Elizabeth Taylor. There are very few movie stars who fascinate me, Katharine Hepburn, Lauren Bacall, Betty Davis and to some extant Angelina Jolie, have been movie stars whose real lives I care to learn more about. I think that's because these women play the gutsy, independent women we all secretly want to be and through them, we could have it all on our own terms. La Liz in a lot of ways symbolized that for me --- a woman who did it her way. <br />
<br />
She was born gorgeous, some even said that she was most beautiful woman in the world, something that has never been said about me, and the fantasy of being that alluring, a violet-eyed goddess, is easy to get lost in. Her life actually seems like a chick lit novel --- a child star grows into the most famous woman in the world with an appetite for fame, fortune and men. Ah the men! Eight marriages in all that included a hotel heir that turned out to be a brute, a larger than life producer who died too soon, her friend's husband, and of course an English Bard that she liked so much she married him twice. As a writer I'd have a field day with a heroine like Elizabeth who spent a lifetime battling illness, depression, insecurity and herself. <br />
<br />
When the men fell away and the beauty was no longer famed, Elizabeth didn't go gently into that good night. She refused to bow and let the curtain come down, instead she got a new act and Elizabeth the actress was reborn as Elizabeth the advocate and the work she did raised millions for those with HIV/AIDS, not a popular or sexy subject. Sometimes life is stranger and more brilliant than fiction and Elizabeth Taylor proved that life isn't about being perfect, it's about getting your hands dirty, giving love, and being the best at what you do. <br />
<br />
May she rest in peace.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166401785208073597.post-80279360826310423102011-03-07T20:31:00.000-08:002011-03-07T20:31:29.576-08:00Indie Girl Ink!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Writers write not for our own enjoyment, although we love it, but so that other people can fall in love with our characters and our worlds. The Internet has given writers a brave new world to publish in so I'm jumping in and publishing some of my own stuff under my own brand. Happy Reading! <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9GY0HewnRXcnrUzefmuFvlhhaGLSUjLtuU45iw-6ZoQZaLkJrGBlu0Q8C7urwHVGUxhu1QZXR26NcpE6lovdX9RXQbJXrawqoVPtq4Kpk1kPDBpei6gMdfAcbkUmgkC8DI7n-StKVB5g/s1600/indiebanner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="130" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9GY0HewnRXcnrUzefmuFvlhhaGLSUjLtuU45iw-6ZoQZaLkJrGBlu0Q8C7urwHVGUxhu1QZXR26NcpE6lovdX9RXQbJXrawqoVPtq4Kpk1kPDBpei6gMdfAcbkUmgkC8DI7n-StKVB5g/s320/indiebanner.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://indiegirlink.blogspot.com/">http://indiegirlink.blogspot.com/</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166401785208073597.post-50129049114122281042011-03-02T21:37:00.000-08:002011-03-02T21:37:38.822-08:00Specter of War --- Chapter Three<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div align="center" class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><em>Three</em></span></b></div><div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><em>Simulation Room 3, United Republic Airforce Academy</em></span></b></div><div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Capital City, Novia Prime</span></i></b></div><div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">United Republic of Planets</span></i></b></div><div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Cadet Connor Star looked out of his window shield and saw no sign of the enemy vessel. He peered out of again and noticed that the hypersled that was once flanking his side was nowhere in sight. He lowered his speed to try to locate the missing vessel and realized he was near Falor Nimbus. He could see the blue planet’s large silver rings and felt his heart in his throat. It was truly an awesome sight. To most people one planet was as good as another and stars were something that just blurred by as you went through the Stargate or made the jump into hyperspace in your Starship. He was snapped back to attention when he felt a large bump on the side of the ship. He peered out of his window and saw a very unwelcome sight.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Asteroids,” he muttered. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Another asteroid hit the side of his hypersled and it rattled ferociously as he braced himself against the control panel. He let out a small sigh, reminded himself that none of this was real and leaned back. He had been in hundreds of simulators since he started his cadet training, but he could never relax in them like his friends. The shaking finally stopped as he looked outside of his port window. He was still alone.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Where was she?” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">He smiled. Knowing Kayla Dylan as well as he did, he was sure that she had taken the most reckless path in order to beat him to the finish line. This was Kayla’s favorite race simulation, that is, when she wasn’t playing him. She had outraced everybody, even her brother Van, who was known as the best young pilot in the fleet. She hated that she couldn’t beat him. She had challenged him to a race six times in the last few weeks and he finally relented. After all, he was graduating and he wanted one last victory for the road. The thought of his impending graduation turned his mood. This time next yarn he would be an officer in the Galactic Republic Airforce. While part of him was excited about his upcoming commission, another part of him really didn’t want things to change. But this was his duty. Star men had been officers in the military since before the Republic was founded. He was going to miss everybody, especially Xayda. She still had another yarn at the academy. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">What would happen to them?</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">He shook his head at his selfishness. If he had learned one thing from his father, it was that duty came before anything, even love. He was literally rattled out of his thoughts as his sled started shaking.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">He had been bunked.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“You better keep your nose up Connor,” said the giddy female voice through his com. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Connor smiled. Kayla’s voice was one of the most familiar things to him in the galaxy. “Look who finally decided to join the party.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Ha. Ha. At least I wasn’t getting my butt kicked by a bunch of rocks.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Those asteroids came out of no where,” he laughed. “You couldn’t have done any better.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“No? Watch me.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Connor opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say anything, he saw her sleek, gray ship head back towards the asteroid field. There were some people in the academy, usually of the male persuasion, that found Kayla’s recklessness attractive. However, they weren’t always caught up in one of her ill thought out schemes. He wanted nothing more than to curb that streak, if for no other reason than to protect her from herself. He saw her weaving and bobbing so gracefully through the same asteroids that had nearly torn his sled apart. His mouth fell open. She had managed to get half way through the field without one hit.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">When did she become such a great pilot?</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">She was almost out and making her way back to him. He didn’t have to see her face to know that a big, smug smile was plastered across it. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Looks like I’m becoming a better pilot then you,” she replied triumphantly.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Only in your own mind, Kid,” he replied.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Don’t blame me because you’re getting soft in your old age,” she laughed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Kayla was at the end of the field and Connor thought she was slowing down to make her exit. Instead, she maneuvered her way between two asteroids. Connor’s heart stopped. If she stayed at that position for a minute longer, she would be crushed. The asteroids moved closer together. Kayla didn’t move. Maybe something was wrong with the ship. He moved his hand over his weapon console to fire his laser torpedoes. He was a pretty good shot. If he angled his shots just right, he could destroy one of the asteroids from here. He was about to shoot when her sled did a backwards flip at a speed that made Connor very uncomfortable. The ship just missed being squashed by the rocks as the two asteroids collided and crumbled apart. Kayla let out a big whoop. Connor has seen that move before.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“You’ve been flying with Rayne Alcazar,” he said. That idea made Connor very uncomfortable.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Rayne has been giving me some pointers.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“I’ll bet. You do realize that a move like that is against Academy regulations?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“When the rule book doesn’t work, sometimes you have to throw it out and make your own.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">She was now right beside him.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Really?” he asked, hitting her as she slid away. Kayla knew how he felt about Alcazar and all of his anti-Republic nonsense. Not to mention the fact that his selfishness and arrogance had gotten them in more deadly situations then he cared to remember. Why would he teach Kayla a trick like that? She could have been killed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“No bunking,” she said, as she managed to steady her sled.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Rayne Alcazar’s rules remember.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">He heard Kayla sigh. “Would you relax, Connor? It’s just a simulation.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">He was too angry to reply.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“He’s not all that bad you know.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">The warmth in her voice made him even angrier.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Why are you always defending him?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Maybe it’s because I see his good side.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“What good side?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Kayla didn’t answer; instead she did a 180-degree turn and disappeared through the purple stargate in front of them. Connor followed. The Felar system was now a memory and they were in the Berun Cluster. Connor, however, was not done with their talk.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Now you sound like Akeen,” he said, checking his sledomotor for possible damage.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Well, Akeen thinks a lot of Rayne and anybody that Akeen likes can’t be that bad.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Is that your head or your heart talking?” Connor asked. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">He heard her muffled reply and smiled. He, Kayla and Akeen had been inseparable since they were children. The children of the great heroes of the last war, they were the only ones who understood the privilege and the pressure that went along with being who they were. Growing up, they were simply known as the trio and that’s the way he liked it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were the only two people he ever thought he could truly trust. He always resisted letting somebody into their inner circle. When Xayda, the Dominion Princess, first came to the academy it was his father who forced her into his sphere for political reasons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had taken him, Kayla and Akeen awhile to trust her as one of their own; once they did they were the “trio of four.” Well, most of the time when he and Xayda weren’t sneaking off to be alone. And now it seemed that Akeen and Kayla were following their lead and getting together. He couldn’t blame Akeen. Kayla had grown into a very beautiful young woman. Her beautiful, big brown eyes, wide lips and black, long wavy hair were all the cadets in her class could talk about. In fact, he nearly knocked Tavis Coltor into the next galaxy when his conversation veered from Kayla’s smile to her slender figure and long, toned legs. He laughed uncomfortably at the thought. He didn’t think he’d ever get use to guys finding Kayla attractive. It did something to him. He just couldn’t put his finger on why. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Drop it Star.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Aha,” </span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">he thought, her words bringing him back to the present.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> He had hit a nerve.</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“You don’t see me asking you about Xayda.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“That’s because she tells you everything.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Kayla giggled.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Maybe, I’m wrong about you and Akeen. Maybe you’re still hung up on Jack?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">He could feel her rolling her eyes. Jack Ordell was a lower prince from the Laurel Dominion. As the princess of Laurel, Xayda was legally obligated to marry him at 13, until a set of comical errors, and a dose of Connor and Kayla meddling, put a stop to it. There was some in the Dominion still fuming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“That was just an infatuation and you know it,” she said defensively.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“So, it is my little cousin.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Can we just not talk about me and Akeen?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“So, there is a you and Akeen to talk about?” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Connor…”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Connor opened his mouth to speak when he saw the finish line right in front of him. He moved his ship toward his goal and could see that Kayla was right behind him. She was soon right next to him and he bunked her sending her to the tail again. His speed increased. He was almost there…almost there… he made it through just a millisecond ahead of Kayla and turned around just in time to see her hypersled rattle and die. He could hear her yell “dungbeat” through his com. He laughed. Beating Kayla was always a thrill. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Better luck next time, Kid,” he bellowed out triumphantly.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“I thought you said no bunking.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“I lied.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Kayla was right beside him now. So close he could see her smile. He loved that smile. The simulated hypersleds started making there decent and the space around them disappeared.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“I thought Stars were genetically incapable of lying,” she said as they climbed out; taking off their helmets and looking around the now bare surrounding. “Well, beating me in a stimulator is a lot easier then beating me in a real race, as you already know,” she said smugly.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Beating you period is easy and you didn’t beat me on Cirius 6. I let you win.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“You did not.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“One things for sure,” Connor said, tickling his friend and pulling her close to him. “You’ve been good training for the Airforce.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Her laughter stop and the mood suddenly darkened. “Where do you think they’ll assign you?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“I have no idea.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">He hoped his voice didn’t betray his anxiety. “Fledglings are usually assigned to patrol units near The Edge. You know that.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Yeah, but you’re not just any first yarn. Maybe you could get your dad...”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Halt right there Kayla,” Connor said firmly, his gray eyes going a shade darker. “You know how I feel about getting special treatment because of who my dad is.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“I know.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">They looked at each other for a while. Then Kayla hit him on the arm.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“I’m going to miss you, Connor.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“I’m going to miss you, too.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“I’m starved, beating you always gives me a big appetite,” Connor said, pulling her to him again as they headed out the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Let’s head off to the Mess Hall and get some of that Tiranian Stew you love so much,” she said, pulling his ear. “It’s one of your last times to have it as a cadet.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Mess Hall food, now there is something I’m not going to miss.”</span></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166401785208073597.post-6475857902699571932011-02-26T10:37:00.000-08:002011-02-26T10:37:08.355-08:00Specter of War --- Chapter Two<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Two</span></b></div><div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Councilor’s Chamber, The Great Hall</span></b></div><div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Capital City, Novia Prime</span></b></div><div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">United Republic of Planets</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">First Viceroy Parnell Star ran his hand through his graying black hair and took a deep breath as images of what was left of the Harcadia Colony flickered and died on the large vidscreen in the center of the Great Hall. A heavy silence fell upon the room and Parnell looked at the thousands of humans and Albeings that made up the Republic Council. He saw in them a mixture of fear and anger that mirrored his own. He knew that they would all be looking to him now, expecting him to provide answers that he did not have. He leaned back in his chair and for a brief moment he was reminded of the way the Great Hall looked when he was a boy. The triangular shaped building, with its large seats that seemed to climb to the sky, somehow seemed vaster and more intimidating in those days. Perhaps it was. There were more species and more planets then that were willing to do whatever it took to keep the Republic together and at peace. That was before the Great War. Now it seemed that every system, even those in the Interior, were only out for themselves. It didn’t anger Parnell; it only made him sad. Republic citizens no longer trusted their government to look out for their best interest. The Great War had left scars and every planet now held onto a deep fear that the Maraudan Empire was this great big, shadow monster that could strike again at any time. The raid on the Harcadian Colony meant the monster had returned. His thoughts were interrupted by yet another fight that had broken out between the Spigot and Camarala Counselors. He watched as the Spigot’s white skin turned crimson; while the Camarala’s yellowish skin was turning white. He didn’t need to hear their words to know what they were arguing about. No doubt they were regurgitating every minor incident that occurred during their races thousand yarnz blood feud. He would never understand how two species that started off as the same race could have such a deep hatred for each other, current physical differences aside. The two still had many genes in common, or so Parnell was told although the Spigots stayed pale, short and relatively slender, while the Camarala, to adapt to the giant forests they now called home, were dark, tall and stocky. The concept was a little hard for Parnell to grasp. Humans, unless they were mixed with some type of Albeing, were pretty much the same: brown skin, brown eyes, wavy or course hair. There just weren’t that many radical differences in his species. He thought about the dark gray eyes that were a Star family trait and how their enemies had unsuccessfully used their unique eye color for yarnz as “proof” that the Republic’s first family had Albeing blood. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Would the galaxy ever be free of these ridiculous prejudices? </i>Parnell grimaced as the Spigot Councilor, Fernan, started twitching hysterically. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“These horrors are a punishment from Yah,” said Fernan, his high-pitched voice taking on its customary prissy tone, “a warning of what happens when you turn your back on the gods. For yarnz we have moved away from the religion that once united our ancestors. And now look what has happened. Rava has risen up from the ashes to start his reign of terror once again.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Warma, the Camarala let out a very loud, disgusted sigh. “Not this cripe again, tell me Spigot do you think that throwing ourselves at the mercy of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">your</i> god will give us the power to beat back the Maraudans, yet again? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Fernan leaned in closer. “Yah commands all power in the universe.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Really?” smirked Warma. “Well, all the power in the universe didn’t help when the Maraudans took over your planet Spigot. In fact, if I recall correctly it wasn’t a divine hand, but the cold hand of technological, the weapons of science that saved your race from extinction.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“That is exactly the kind of blasphemy that I expect from a Camarala,” said Fernan, practically foaming at the mouth and shaking even harder. “You are an abomination to our shared Sacred Ancestors.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“And you…,” countered Warma, pointing his stocky finger at Fernan, “have spent too much time in Maraudan Space. Perhaps you and your ilk should return there where you belong. After all, they fight their wars in the name of your gods. Oh,” he continued, his wide mouth twisting into a cruel smile, “you can’t can you?” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Warma’s menacing smile sent a chill up Parnell’s spine. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Everybody knows that the Queen is a notorious humanphile,” Warma continued. “She sees all Albeings as beneath her.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Fernan shot Warma a pointed look. “In some cases they are.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Enough,” said Parnell sternly. He needed to bring this tedious fight to an end. This petty bickering was tearing the Republic apart. It was a bigger enemy to them than the Maraudans could ever be. Before he could speak again, he felt a calming hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Second Viceroy Shalimar Manoor staring back at him. His thin, yellow antennas were drooped down to the side of his yellow face and his green eyes were cloudier than usual. Shalimar spoke in his usual, regal tone and the two Counselors stopped fighting at once.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“We are here to discuss where we go from here, not to dredge up old clan rivalries,” Shalimar said. “Now if you two Councilors can enlighten us on why the Maraudans would attack their own people at the Harcadia colony the Council would love to hear it.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">The two Albeings shook their heads humbly, Warma mumbling what Parnell knew to be a Camarala curse.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Perhaps they attacked them because they were their people, retribution for leaving the Empire.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Parnell looked for the source of the outburst and was not at all surprised to see the confident face of young Major Van Dylan staring back at him, his brown eyes coolly fixated on him. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Or maybe she did it as a test,” the boy continued as a bead of sweat fell from his cropped, black hair, “a chance for her to see the type of hold she still has on the populace and when things didn’t go as planned she destroyed it.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Young Dylan’s statement created a quiet buzz in the hall that only quieted when Chief Medical Officer Veera Dylan moved to the center of the room. She and Parnell’s eyes locked briefly as she gave her report on the Harcadia massacre.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Do you think there could be any survivors?” Parnell asked. He had directed his question to Veera, but it was her son that responded.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Humans maybe,” said Van matter of factly, “but I doubt any of the Bargel made it out alive.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Except as potential slaves,” Veera interjected grimly. Her face remained impassive as she made the remark, but he didn’t need to see her disheveled appearance to know the suffering at Harcadia deeply troubled her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a medic in the last war, and now the head of Republic Medical, Parnell knew she understood the fate of those caught in the crossfire of war. He also knew she never got use to it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“The truth is Harcadia has kept a very low profile since the war ended,” she continued. “We don’t have any statistics about the human colony let alone the Bargel tribe that lived there.”</span></div><div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">He nodded at her words and understood the unspoken truth behind them. Harcadia wasn’t the only colony near The Edge that was vulnerable to attack. The Empire had the ability to strike out at a number of their outer colonies and they wouldn’t even know the extinct of the damage until it was too late. The implications were not lost on the Councilors as they began voicing their fears and anger all out at once. The Yalman Councilor finally spoke. The rapid clicks of the brown, hairless Albeing were hard to understand, even for the translators, but there was no mistaken her meaning and the truth behind her words. Once word got out about the colony attack it would throw the Republic into a panic they could not contain. It was not something Parnell wanted to see happen. They were having a hard time holding themselves together as it was.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“But we can not simply ignore this,” said Warma, daring to speak again.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“The Queen is young,” offered Fernan. “She might be testing us. The Maraudan Empire has been shrinking for yarnz, they are mired in rebellions, and she may just be playing some type of mind game with us to prove The Empire is still capable of such acts.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Then we need to send one back,” said Van suddenly, the tone of his voice demanding attention. “We all know what this latest attack by the Maraudans mean. Their new queen has been tightening her grip on her empire for yarnz and now she has set her sights on trying to steal ours. We must strike fast and hard. We must let them know that this time when they come after us things will be different.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">A loud burst of applauds and whoops echoed throughout the hall. Van looked very pleased with himself. Parnell turned his attentions back to Veera, her mouth fixed in an amused smile. Parnell was reminded once again how much like his father Van was. That hot temperament was a Dylan family trait and it seemed to him that at times Veera was amused to see that reckless spark in her son and daughter override their judgment. It was a feeling he didn’t share. When the cheers died down Parnell took the floor again. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Would you like to continue the session Major Dylan? Or would this be a good time for me to interject my thoughts?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Sorry Viceroy,” said the young man sinking a little lower in his chair.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Parnell was pleased to see that he felt the sting of his words. “Despite what our young major may believe, we can not afford to make any rash moves,” continued Parnell. “This attack is obviously something we can not ignore, but we have to come up with the right response to this or we could make matters worse.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">A soft voiced responded. “I think we should wait and do nothing.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">The entire room went silent and turned its attention to the Danor Councilor. She seemed unphased by the attention, sitting calmly in her seat, her long, graying hair in a bun, her brown eyes calm and unclouded. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Parnell was the first to speak. “With all due respect Roma that is the one thing we can not afford to do.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“You’re wrong First Viceroy,” Roma responded as calm as ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It is the only thing we can afford to do. What is the alternative? War. I doubt that any human or any of the Albeings here want that.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">A low, angry rumbling was now making its way across the hall. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Roma would not be silent. “There is not a Councilor here who did not either experience the war first hand or suffer as a result of it. Most of us now have children of our own, children who now face the same horrors that we once did. Who will condemn them to that, you?” Roma said, pointing to Van. “What about you Parnell?” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Parnell shook his head violently in an attempt to deny her reasoning. “Are you talking about appeasement?” The word choked in his throat. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Roma’s expression hardened. “Yes, if it comes to that.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">The muffled sounds were quickly transforming into a low roar. Parnell bit his tongue to literally stop the angry words from coming out of his mouth. He understood that humans who had isolated themselves on Roma’s world were pacifist. Tartrus, he even admired her ability to stick to her beliefs after the horror she witnessed in the war. But there were times when her strong beliefs just seemed to hinder him from doing what needed to be done.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Spoken like a true Danor,” said Warma, his voice spitting out the last word like a curse. “This is why our planet nearly perished in the last war... cowards like you.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Roma didn’t blink as Warma continued his tirade.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Tell me Councilor, how many lives were lost in the war because of your neutrality?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“We are healers,” she answered calmly. “We save lives.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Warma snorted, “As long as there is no risk to your own people.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“And how many more lives will be lost in a new war?” Roma countered, her eyes betraying her deep convictions.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">The room erupted. Once again it was Shalimar who finally silenced the Councilors.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“I think Councilor Kamus is right,” Shalimar said. “We all know what will happen if we find ourselves in a full-scale war again. We must try to avoid that any way we can.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Many councilors started applauding, while others started screaming angrily. Parnell heard the large, green Bolo Councilor yell “that this was madness, that the Maraudans could not be reasoned with,” as the tiny, orange Sourvo Councilor shrieked “that the Republic was now too weak to protect them.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Parnell tried to center himself. This was too important a decision to make on the spur of the moment. Everything inside of him screamed that even thinking about appeasement was wrong, but the other alternative would be war. And war was the last thing he wanted for his son.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" /></span></i></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166401785208073597.post-81678884672110787452011-02-21T14:28:00.000-08:002011-02-21T14:29:24.735-08:00Guardians of Destiny ---- Specter of War<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Most writers have a specialty, but I as I write I find that I really am attracted to a story, not a particular genre. My first novel was a chick lit comedy, but I really thought I'd try something different for my next book.<br />
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I have always loved Science Fiction and Fantasy and it has always been my dream to create a universe that people love immersing themselves in. Space Operas have always been my first love and <em>Guardians of Destiny</em> sort of pays homage to everything I love about the genre. I'm exciting about kicking of my own series with <em>Specter of War</em> --- Book One of the series. The book will be available next month, but I thought, I'd post a few chapters to get you familiar with the world, so enjoy and I hope you love my universe and the people who populate it as much as I do. And please feel free to comment. I'd love to know what you think.<br />
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">One</span></span></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“Worlds are birthed in coldness, but die in blood and fire.”</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">-Old Maraudan Proverb.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Harcadia Colony, The Edge</span></i></b></div><div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">United Republic of Planets<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></i></b><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">The wind was carrying the ash from the burning Bargel colony from one corner of the dying planet to the next. Tara covered her mouth to try to keep the toxins out, but she couldn’t breathe and was having a hard time staying awake. She closed her eyes and tried not to think about the horrific sights of the past few days, of the deaths. Two days ago they came, unleashing themselves on their lands like an unstoppable plague. There was no time to try to figure out why it was happening, there was barely even time to understand just exactly what was happening, all they knew was that they were under attack by a force more powerful than they could ever imagine and that they were all going to die. She tried to </span><span style="line-height: 200%;">tune out the loud shrieks of the human and Bargel colonists who were falling under their attackers’ relentless assault. She tried to raise her body off the ground, but her head was pounding, and her legs no longer seemed to work. Tiny red rocks were grinding into her brown legs as she slowly crawled forward, and for the first time, the deep red sand that sprawled across the Bargel’s half of the planet held no beauty for her. Her braids were sticking to her forehead, but she didn’t seem to have the energy to push them back. She noticed large blotches of blood on her legs and fought back a surge of panic. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Was she hurt? Was the wound fatal?</i></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></i><span style="line-height: 200%;">She traced the path of the blood. Yes, her legs were scared, but the wounds did not seem deep enough to create this type of bleeding. She looked at the blood on her fingers.</span><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span style="line-height: 200%;">Why was it blue? </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></i><span style="line-height: 200%;">Human blood was not blue. She rolled over and nearly screamed at the sight of the dead Bargel lying beside her. Its rough, hairless gray skin was soaked in its blood and its legs were clearly broken. A tear escaped her eyes as she realized what was happening. Unlike her and the other humans in the colony, the Bargel were being slaughtered without mercy. She knew though, that the colony had not fallen without a fight. The Bargel were known for their toughness and had been one of the last races of Albys to fall in the Unification War. The heat was starting to get to Tara as she continued to crawl. The orange sky seemed redder then it ever had, even as the usual afternoon rain shower began to fall. Tara knew at once that it was a sign that Yah was crying for her world. </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></i><span style="line-height: 200%;">She let out a disgusted laugh. When the attacks began, her people fled to this side of the planet in hopes that the savages they often mocked and isolated would be able to protect them, but Tara now knew that this part of the planet held no salvation for anyone. She was so tired, but she forced herself forward. She had to find a place to hide and some how wait out the attacks. She had only moved a few metrics when she heard a faint cry.</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></i><span style="line-height: 200%;">It was an old, human woman. Her thick braids, more gray then black, were matted across her brown forehead. Tara crawled over to the woman. The old woman was bruised and battered, her clothes were torn and her face was full of terror. Tara wished she could do something, anything to ease the old woman’s suffering, but she knew all she could do was be there.</span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Help me,” the old woman whispered, her terrified gaze intensifying with every word. Tara grabbed her hand, desperate to offer what little comfort she could. The old woman pleaded for help again, but this time the plea was not to her. Tara looked behind her, frozen in fear, as one of her planet's conquerors advanced towards her. She could see the soldiers now. Their gold chest plates were glistening in the sun and the bare legs that hung out of their navy blue pleated skirts were a dark brown and their hair…Tara let out a loud gasp. They were bald! They were humans. Maraudans. Her own people were trying to destroy her. The revelation shocked Tara. For some reason she expected these monsters to be Albys.</span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Help me,” pleaded the woman again. </span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I will,” promised Tara, squeezing her hand. “I’ll get help.” </span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But before she could move, a dark figure approached. Tara could tell by her strides that she was a woman. The dark figure was wearing the same type of military gear that the soldiers wore, but you could see her long braids coming out of her gold, fitted helmet. She walked like she owned the air, the ground, and the universe. She was the most beautiful thing that Tara had ever seen. </span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It looks like we have another wounded animal,” said the Dark One.</span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Help me please,” begged the old woman, her voice cracking with every sentence. “My daughter… I need to get to my daughter.” </span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I don’t think you’ll have much luck finding your daughter in all this,” the Dark One sneered. </span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The old woman began to shake. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Please, Your Highness. Please have mercy on me. I have been loyal to my Maraudan heritage and to you. I fought with your father during the Great War. Please command this mighty army…tell them…they can find my daughter...help me.”</span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The Dark One’s brown eyes hardened. “Alright I’ll help. I always want to help a loyal citizen of the Empire.”</span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Dark One moved to her side and produced a blast pistol. Tara couldn’t breathe.</span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’ll help put you out of your misery,” she laughed, firing a ray from her blast pistol into the old woman’s chest. </span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tara did not have to look down at her to know that she was dead.</span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I just hate to see animals suffer don’t you?” she asked, turning to Tara. “A loyal citizen of the Empire would be in Maraudan space.”</span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“She was just a poor injured woman,” said Tara, in a courageous tone she didn’t feel. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“She couldn’t have done anything to you.”</span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I didn’t say she could.” </span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Dark One’s smile chilled Tara’s very soul.</span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I suppose you are going to kill me, too.”</span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Maybe.”</span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tara fought back her fear. She used all the strength inside of her to pull herself up. She was Tara from the House of Yaronn. If she was going to die she was going to meet her fate with dignity. </span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why are you doing this?”</span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t a plea, just a simple question.</span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Dark One leaned over Tara and she could feel her breathe in her ear. “I did this to send a message Little One.”</span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What message is that?” </span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Dark One’s words were slow and deliberate. “That we are back.”</span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 2pt 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Tara opened her mouth to protest but she felt a burning sensation in her chest. She felt herself drop to her knees and looked up as the Dark One, her queen, walked away from her. She didn’t see the look of small regret that flickered on the young queen’s face, nor did she hear the cries of the wailing baby whose mother had been shot just two metrics away from her. By then, Tara was already gone.</span></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166401785208073597.post-28144474400472301032011-02-14T09:50:00.000-08:002011-02-14T09:50:42.529-08:00Happy Valentine's Day!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"></div><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/ajuITcvjyPE" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br />
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One of my favorite romantic scenes of all times. Here's to love in every form you feel and receive it!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166401785208073597.post-75818004000551766002011-01-30T20:47:00.000-08:002011-01-30T20:47:39.716-08:0021 Days, 21 Dribble Drabble<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Day Six --- The Jinn Chronicles </span></strong><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cora tried to hold back, but she couldn’t stop the laughter from bursting out of her. After everything that she had been through to get here, the idea that she would be insulted with such a ridiculous story was beyond belief. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m sorry, but did you just say that I am a genie?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ugh,” said Mater clearly disgusted. “How I hate that word. But yes, you are what you know as a genie?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Like Jeanie from I dream of Jeanie? I mean, if I blink my eyes can I make stuff appear?” She folded her eyes and tried just that. “Nothing.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You need to start taking this seriously.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You just told me that I’m a genie. How the hell am I going to be able to take that seriously?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well you better because your life and the life of everyone and everything you hold dear depends on it.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cora couldn’t help but smirk. “You sound so ridiculous right now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166401785208073597.post-36425684677443096342011-01-29T21:54:00.000-08:002011-01-29T21:54:03.995-08:0021 Days, 21 Dribble Drabble<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Day 6 ---Arthur King and The Knights of the Roundtable</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><div align="center" class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">A Kiss before Dying</span></div><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Light.</span><br />
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His life had seemed so steep in darkness lately that he had begun to believe that it was all that was left for him. He tried to hold on to it; tried to hold on to the images of his mother smiling at him as they ran through their lush backyard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was so loving, so warm, and so proud of her Little<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>King.</span></div><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>King. </span><span style="color: black;">His legacy. </span><span style="color: black;">His life. </span></div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He never asked to be born a King. It was a legacy full of pain as well as promise. When his father died he promised himself that he would keep the King Family legacy alive. That he would be a man that his parents would be proud of. He knew now that they had always known the truth about him, that they carried the terrible secret of who he really was and that they were raising him for a purpose that even now he did not understand.</span></div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Red. The color of love. Even now she was by his side, giving him strength and comfort when he needed it most. </span></div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wanted to cry, but he was Arthur King, and Kings didn’t cry. Kings fought and more than anything he wanted to hold on to all the things that had come to matter to him in the past few weeks, but he felt them slipping away from him. The pain was slowly making its way from his chest throughout his entire body and he had to bite down on his lip to keep from screaming out. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He thought about the last time he was in the forest, the laughter and the hope, that surrounded him. It made him feel like his life was somehow just beginning, now lying beneath these large redwood trees he feared his life was at its end. He looked down at his side. Blood was gushing through his white T-shirt. He put his hand on his side.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yeah, he laughed. That’ll help. </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He tried to get up, but his legs wouldn’t move, but his ears seemed to be working alright. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somebody was calling his name, shrieking it actually, her fear was making it hard for him to contain his own. He tried to reach for her, tried to tell her not that it was all right, that he was all right. She above all others had to know that it was always going to end like this. This was his destiny and he gladly accepted it if it meant his friends would live, that she would live.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">He looked at her and tried to smile. Her beautiful face was shrieked with tears. “You’re not going to die Arthur,” she said, putting her hand on his face. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">But he knew he was. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His blue eyes met her large green ones as he smiled through the pain.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“See you in the next life,” he said.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then it all went black</span></div></span> </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1166401785208073597.post-77410002890970190562011-01-29T12:14:00.000-08:002011-01-29T12:14:52.643-08:00The Dribble Drabble Challenge Wants YOU!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT7AHxR2_eDT6n8MZj8_SCShViBqOdQT8hb78mVeim7Vr7iO2wPUWFz7ciyfktYw6_06LSWqRmCkJzQvTxI7mg769LIydxcBYU_2TIRSLstX3Ow1K0nThFfP5sr5kHDcu9Lj6PS-o8rhA/s1600/uncle-sam-wants-you.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT7AHxR2_eDT6n8MZj8_SCShViBqOdQT8hb78mVeim7Vr7iO2wPUWFz7ciyfktYw6_06LSWqRmCkJzQvTxI7mg769LIydxcBYU_2TIRSLstX3Ow1K0nThFfP5sr5kHDcu9Lj6PS-o8rhA/s320/uncle-sam-wants-you.jpg" width="290" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Hi Everybody.</span></div><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">As you all know I am in Day 6 of my <i>21 Day Dribble Drabble </i>and I just wanted to say that I'd love for you to post suggestions on topics that you'd like me to write about. Also, let me know if there are any stories you'd like me to expand on. I was also thinking about a Dribble Drabble contest so if you are a fellow writer and want to host a challenge with me or add your drabbles to this page, just let me know. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Happy Reading!</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0