I left the library and approached the front door, glancing through the window in the hallway to get a better glimpse of the person outside. All I could see was the figure of a girl. The angels followed, and when they saw the figure too, they backed off.
I walked into the turret, grabbed the knob, and opened the door.
The girl standing on the other side smiled at me and said, “Hi, I’m Naomi.”
I gazed at her. She was about my age, with light brown skin, dark brown eyes, and curly black hair escaping from a bun at the back of her head. There were freckles all over her cheeks, and her smile was infectious.
“Hi,” I greeted, smiling too. “Who are you?”
“Oh, right. Sorry.” She drew her attention away from my injuries. “I’m your neighbor. I live over there.” She pointed to the left. “Martha told my parents you were home, so my mom baked some muffins for you.” She extended the basket she was holding toward me.
I took it from her. “Wow, thank you. How did you manage to get through the gate?”
“Martha gave my parents a keypad code for emergencies.”
I smiled. “Well, I don’t have any baked goods in the house, so this must be an emergency.”
She laughed. “To my mom, it most definitely is.”
“Well, tell her I said thank you.”
“I will.” She hesitated. “You’re Jordan, right? Jordan Conway?”
I nodded. “Yeah, how did you know?”
She shrugged. “My parents were friends with your parents.”
Where Angels Can’t Follow: The Playlist
I listen to music when I write novels; I need it to tune out the rest of the world. I began Where Angels Can’t Follow a few years ago, but didn’t complete it and get through the editing until this year. So, this playlist is a bit more scattered than usual, but here are the songs that remind me of the world I wrote and the characters in it.
“Mercy” by Muse. (I absolutely could not have finished this book without this song. My local coffee shop had a gaggle of women in it one day, and they were deafening when I’d planned to knock out a chapter. I bought this song, and it became my tune-people-out song for the novel.)
“Little Monster” by Royal Blood.
“I’ll Follow You” by Shinedown.
“Saint Cecilia” by Foo Fighters.
“Unsteady” by X Ambassadors.
“Hurricane” by The Band of Heathens. (This song felt so New Orleans to me.)
“God’s Gonna Cut You Down” by Johnny Cash.
“Viva la Vida” by Coldplay.
“Save Me” by Remy Zero.
“Praying” by Kesha. (This one reminded me of Medusa. That’s all I’m saying.)
“Only Happy When It Rains” by Garbage.
“Trip Switch” by Nothing But Thieves.
“Hallowed Ground” by Bishop Briggs.
“Way Down We Go” by Kaleo.
“My Church” by Maren Morris. (I could hear Kiah singing this to annoy Grace.)
“Anthem of the Angels” by Breaking Benjamin.
9/14/2020
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Interview
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9/18/2020
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Review
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9/18/2020
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Soul Jumper
Shalana Battles
Publication date: October 6th 2020
Genres: Paranormal, Romance, Young Adult
I wasn’t supposed to find Selexah in this life.
Timing is one of the weirdest things in the world. Some people are like magnets. Their chemistry is undeniable. The ones who look at each other in a way every person on the planet prays someone will look at them. There are two people, who clearly have a connection, but for a reason secret to everyone except the universe, they can’t be together. Maybe it’s because one of them is interested when the other is not. Maybe in the instant that the person who was interested first gives up, the other decides to start holding on. Maybe it’s a physical distance between two locations. Maybe it’s not being single at the same time. I doubt, however, that anyone has ever thought, before today, that maybe, it’s because one of them is dead.
And, I am dead.
Author Bio:
Shalana Battles is a YA/Adult writer who tells stories about love...sometimes with witches and ghosts. Her debut novel, SOUL JUMPER is coming out October, 6, 2020. Be the first to hear about upcoming projects and book updates by signing up for her newsletter below!
8/31/2020
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9/11/2020
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9/11/2020
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The Crow King
M. H. Woodscourt
(Wintervale, #1)
Publication date: September 1st 2020
Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult
Magic is against the law. He must use it anyway.
The Crow King has outlawed magic. Despite the kingdom’s edict, Gwyn plunges into the ancient and deadly True Wood to find a magical cure for his dying brother. Within the shadowed realm, he must fend off more than violent and fallen fae-like Ilidreth when he learns the king is out to stop him at whatever cost.
On his desperate quest, he is joined by a unicorn, a quirky girl, and the maddest of the fallen fae. Together they must outrun enchanted crows and enemy armies, and face the ghosts of a shattered age, all while racing to save Gwyn’s brother. Meanwhile, war brews between countries, and a secret order of mages hunts Gwyn down.
Yet none of this can prepare Gwyn for the harrowing truth behind the fall of the Ilidreth long, long ago, and what it means for his life and his homeland.
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—
EXCERPT:
Mist curled over the quiet hills of Vinwen. Somewhere a bird trilled, prophesying the coming dawn, and the sun answered with a ring of gold spilling over the horizon as it peeked at the slumbering world. Lazy clouds drifted by, grey, dappled with faint pinks and yellows.
Sitting on the wooden fence, Gwynter ren Terare squinted against the hovering gloom in the valley below, eyes fixed on the road. He strained for any sound beyond the faint chirrup of crickets, the song of birds, the gush of the nearby stream. A crow cawed as it landed on the fence.
There. Just there. A faint neigh. The rattle of a wheel against a stray stone. A cracking whip. Gwyn shoved against the rough wood post, leapt to his feet atop the fence, and wobbled once before he caught his balance. Perched, he soon made out the distant shape of the coming carriage, a single lantern bobbing to pierce the predawn shadows.
Gwyn grinned and jumped from the fence. The crow screamed and flew off. Gwyn loped along the streambank up toward the manor house. His shoulder-length hair flounced in his eyes, but he ignored it as he cut through a protesting gaggle of geese and threw himself against the kitchen door to stumble inside.
“Mercy, child!” cried Mavell, spoon in hand. “You look a sight. What awful trouble could there be so early as this?”
Gwyn shook his head as he gasped for air, leaning forward, hands on his legs. He gulped a few times before he could utter a word. “Lawen’s coming. Almost here. Down the road a bit.” He straightened and headed for a bucket of water on the table, took up a ladle, and helped himself to a long, cool drink.
The cook grabbed the ladle, poured water into a cup, and handed that to Gwyn. “Master Lawen, already? Surely not. He’s not to come until tomorrow, so his letter said.”
Gwyn drained the cup. He held it out to let Mavell ladle him another. “But he’s always early. I had a feeling to watch for him, and here he comes.”
“And how do you know it’s Master Lawen?”
Gwyn smiled. “I always know.”
She pursed her lips but didn’t argue. There seemed no point, they both knew that.
“Well,” the slender woman said, rubbing her hands against her apron. “If it is Master Lawen, oughtn’t you go off and clean yourself up for his arrival? Your mother will have a fit if you greet him looking like a shepherd’s boy.” She swatted Gwyn’s backside with the ladle. “Off with you, go on.”
Gwyn chuckled and trotted out of the kitchen and into a long gallery. His feet echoed against the flagstones. He cast a glance out the windows to find that full dawn had banished grey in favor of a thousand shades of green and brilliant gold. He could hear the geese and chickens griping and dogs barking as the carriage rolled along the private drive leading to the house. Gwyn thought he heard the crunch of gravel and his heart leapt.
Lawen! Home, at last. How long had it been? A year or longer. Mount Vinwen had felt hollow in his absence, though none of the others appeared to notice.
Gwyn reached his room, brushed off his trousers to dislodge any dirt or wood splinters, and changed his coarse shirt for fine woven linen. He slipped on stockings, yanked on a pair of polished boots, then caught his hair in a ponytail. A last inspection in his mirror. Gwyn awarded himself a curt, militaristic nod. He tugged one last time on his long shirt front, wrapped his belt atop it, clicked his heels, and headed downstairs.
In the main vestibule he found the rest of the ren Terares assembled, even Mother, though her lips pressed tight and her eyebrows arched above eyes sharp as needles. She turned toward Gwyn as he reached the bottom of the sweeping staircase and her gaze softened.
“Gwyn, dearheart. Thank you for not looking like a peasant this morning.”
He kissed her cheeks. “Good morning, Mother. I thought this occasion warranted the change.”
She sighed. “Yes, I suppose the master is home today.”
Gwyn brushed off her tone, not willing to let it seep in. He could understand her resentment in a way. Last year Tynveer ren Terare, Gwyn and Lawen’s blood father, had been killed in a skirmish against the savage Ilidreth. Now Lawen was the master of Mount Vinwen, and Mother, Tynveer’s second wife after Lawen’s mother had passed, now suspected her stepson would soon send her and her three children to live at another of his estates, but Gwyn knew better. There was no kinder soul in all Simaerin than his elder half-brother.
The sound of crunching gravel outside the front doors ceased as the carriage bounced to a stop. Gwyn’s younger sisters laughed and tumbled forward as the servants pulled the manor doors aside to admit the Master of Vinwen.
Author Bio:
Writer of fantasy, magic weaver, dragon rider! Having spent the past 20 years devotedly writing fantasy, it's safe to say M. H. Woodscourt is now more fae than human.
Her published titles include The Crow King, book one of her YA/High Fantasy Wintervale series, A Liar in Paradise and Key of Paradise of her YA/Portal Fantasy Paradise series, as well as October Cove, an Urban Fantasy novella.
All of her fantasy worlds connect with each other in a broad Universe, forged with love, sadism, and no small measure of blood, sweat, and tears. When she's not writing, she's napping or reading a book with a mug of hot cocoa close at hand.
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Broken Arrow
Azaria M.J. Durant
(Darkened Destiny Saga #1)
Publication date: July 29th 2018
Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult
An ancient power long kept dormant stirs in the shadows once more as one boy embarks on a quest to earn his freedom and the freedom of his world!
Magic has turned to myth, the Vaelhyreans of old to legend, and the power wielded by the ancients has long been forgotten. However, with Ealdred, a mere half-breed slave boy, myth becomes real, the forgotten remembered, and the power of legend is reborn within him.
Ealdred is merged into a world of mystery, brimming with deceit, where the remaining Vaelhyreans are in a desperate fight for their very survival. When Ealdred is kidnapped by the power-mongering dark lord Zeldek himself, he must make a choice; to commit his newfound magic to Zeldek’s service or die. But when he meets Bellator, clever yet treacherous servant of Zeldek, an alternative is presented to him: to escape from Zeldek’s stronghold and embark on a quest to find a cursed arrow and free the Vaelhyreans from the spell that keeps their powers at bay.
Yet how can he survive in a world where magic is illegal, half-breeds are hated, and the four countries are on the brink of war?
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble
I really love and will read anything they write. Jennifer A. Neilson, Suzanne Collins, and JK Rowling are
good examples of that. When I was younger, I usually read more of the classics, so I also really love the
works of JRR Tolkien, Jane Austen, and Sir Walter Scott, among others.
which makes sense when I look back at my writing when I was a beginning writer. I used to dive into long
descriptions of the scenery, the history, the people groups, the cultures, the lore, etc. of my story’s world,
which brought the word count up (as a result, the word count of the first draft of Broken Arrow was over
120,000), but left little room for actual story. I’ve been working on narrowing that down a lot, and
focusing more on the character development aspects of the story as well as fleshing out the world.
For Broken Arrow, I actually ended up sending it to two separate editors because I wasn’t satisfied with it
after the first editor had gone through it and I had self-edited it some more.
on it to completion or I can’t focus on anything else. I may deviate writing the first or second drafts of the
sequels, but I return to edit the other within a month or two, and I never leave the world of the story to
work on another.
or good characterization or even good plot. If it isn’t written well, very few people will pay to read it. It
has to be well edited by a professional editor, and yes, the author will have to pay for that. Doing
everything with passion and excellence is the best way to succeed.
a DNF book {did not finish}.
through it, I would be rewriting it to the end of time if I had my way.
read or see it.
including the title, and that is how we will judge the content.
sketched two or three different designs before I came up with the right one. I then spent time searching for artists on Fiver who I thought could convey the idea of what I wanted. I picked out the colours, and paid an artist to make it for me. Once he had produced the final product, I searched free font websites for the cover font (which I also used on the interior). My sister dabbles in photoshop, and put the rest together for me.
on paint, readers will immediately make an assumption about the writing of that book. Like it or not, most people do judge books by their covers. I think that a well made cover helps the book to sell that much more because the reader can already tell that the author cared enough to promise quality to the interior as well.
conference in Kansas two years in a row now. I find the conferences very helpful and encouraging, but
I’m not a fan of writing around other people. I need to be in my quiet space to be able to focus.
feel depressed for a day, but then shrug and say better luck next time. There’s not much else I can do.
I can’t afford to allow anything to discourage me. I am confident in my writing, and in myself.
Author Bio:
Azaria M. J. Durant is a young, passionate writer of fantasy with plans to branch out into sci-fi and dystopian. She enjoys writing stories with action, adventure, unexpected plot twists, and fleshed out characters that challenge gender roles and expectations.
Azaria lives in Atlantic Canada with her family, cats, and dogs, and her big dreams to travel the world. In the moments when she isn’t writing, she is sketching concept art for her stories, participating in community theatre, or curled up with a good book and a bag of mint chocolates.
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