Trial by Fire

My new book Trial by Fire/Anne Ireland is due out in September from Eternal Press. At the moment Too Hot to Handle is at number two in the EP list at fictiowise and at number four at Eternal Press. I don't have a pic for it yet but I am giving you an excerpt

It was almost time. Isolde could smell the fear on her own flesh. That was one of the worst things they had done to her so far, refusing her water for washing and clean linen. She hated the smell of her own body now, the stench of dried excrement, sweat and fear.
She had spent the night in prayer, beseeching God to rescue her from this foul prison cell and the cruel men who tormented her in His name. At first she had been bold, certain of her place in the world, and the rightness of her cause. She had laughed at the charge levied against her. She had believed in the justice of both God and man. Now, after days of torture, abuse and unbearable pain, she no longer believed in anything. Yet still she had prayed to her god. That he was not the god of these men who called upon her to repent of her sins lest her soul be damned for all eternity, she knew beyond doubting. Her god was a gentle god, the god of nature and all things beautiful, of goodness and light, and love.
Perhaps her god was the devil as these men claimed? Mayhap she was a disciple of Satan: a witch who used her powers to destroy life. They had questioned her over and over again, starving her, beating her, never letting her rest so she no longer knew what was truth or what was false.
Isolde lifted her tear-stained face towards the tiny grill in the roof of her cell, the only source of light or air in the filthy dungeon. Why not offer her soul to the Lord of Darkness? She had never sought to do other than good, and for that she had been condemned to torture and the fire. Through a tiny crack in the ceiling above her, she could see a chink of light. It would soon be morning, and then they would come for her.
"If I am the vile creature they have named me, take my soul," she muttered fiercely. For all their cruelty, they had not yet broken her spirit. "If God has deserted me then let Satan come to my aid. Where are you, Beelzebub? Oh, horned creature, demon of darkness, whatever be Thy name. Guardian of Hell, I call on thee to save me!"
The sound of a heavy key in the lock of her cell made her start. She looked round as the man came into her cell, the sour, unclean smell of him turning her stomach sick. She knew him for her enemy. He had been determined to drag her down, bringing all his power and influence to work against her. A terrible fear gripped her, causing her to pass water. She felt the hot sting of urine against her inner thighs and was shamed.
The priest carried an incense burner. He made the sign of the cross before her, wafting the pungent fumes into her face as though warding off evil. His harsh features were devoid of feeling or pity.
"Are you ready to confess your sins, witch?"
Isolde gathered the last shreds of her dignity. It was difficult to stand because they had placed hot irons to the soles of her feet in an attempt to force a confession of guilt from her.
"I am innocent of all the crimes of which I am accused," she replied. She had been beautiful when they brought her to this place. Even now, with her hair shorn and her lovely white skin blistered and festering with sores, her face retained enough of its former beauty to infuriate her tormentor. "I have always loved God and sought to do good to others," she said quietly. "Of this alone am I guilty. I am here because the jealousy of others has caused my downfall."
"So, still you dwell in vain pride." The priest stared at her with his dull, cold eyes. "You have broken the laws of God and man, witch. You shall pay the price for your wickedness in the fire."
Isolde raised her head, gazing into his eyes with proud defiance. Gathering all her strength, she spat into his face.
"Curse you!" she cried. "You are the evil one, not I. I curse you, priest, and your seed for all eternity! May you feel the pain I feel as I die. May your soul wither and die in the pit of Hell! May your soul never find peace."
The priest recoiled in horror as her spittle touched his skin, then hastily made the sign of the cross over his breast. Isolde laughed to see real terror in his eyes. He actually believed in her curse!
In a moment the fear was replaced by hatred. He lifted his arm, summoning the others who had waited at the door, giving her a chance to make her confessions in private.
"The witch does not repent," he said in a voice filled with loathing. "Take her! Take her to the fire!"

What's in a name?

Written and first published in 2006, Svetkavista was my first novel-lengthed work. It was a book I never expected to write, about a people I never thought I'd explore, but there's a great deal of me in the book nevertheless.

Svetkavista is about a band of Rom, or gypsies, in Hungary in the 1800s, during a time when they were severely persecuted as a people, and horribly misunderstood.

She was Romani, a gypsy, like her mother, and her mother’s mother before her. Her family wandered the land, living outside of society, on the fringe. Some called them vagabonds and vagrants, others called them thieves and heathens, but they were none of these things. They simply…were. Their way of life was misunderstood, their values misconstrued. The nomadic people were viewed with distrust and distain all across Eastern Europe, and lately the movement to convert or enslave them had increased in popularity.

As I began to research for the book, I decided I did not want to portray the Rom in the same stereotypical way most romance novels do; I wanted an honest and realistic depiction of the culture, which was not an easy feat given the secretive nature of the Romany people. Their notions of clean and unclean, or marhime, are a major focus in the book, as the characters face punishments based upon the maintenance of a strict moral code, and the stigma of deep-rooted superstitions.

Much to her family’s dismay, Karina was čhaj, unmarried, despite her age. Her younger sisters had married at twelve and thirteen, and her brother took a wife at fifteen. She was now twenty-three, and still under her parents’ care. None of the young Argintari men of her tribe had ever expressed an interest in her hand, and her father had not, to her knowledge, done much in the way of finding her a husband either. Her family blamed her misfortune on prikàza, a form of karmic backlash. Cosmic bad luck.

Women were inherently marhime, unclean by their very make-up. A man could be declared marhime for a variety of reasons, and once branded as such, no other men were permitted to speak with him. Sex was never ever discussed. To yawn in public was a dirty and offensive act, because it implicated one was thinking about being in bed, where sex occurred.

What would a young woman living in this insular culture feel? How far would she go to explore her innermost desires? As such the book is deeply erotic in nature, a blending of cultural mores and basic human nature. Karina has never quite fit in with her tribe, and it isn't until her best friend teaches her about love that she realizes why.

The hero of the novel, Brishen, is a violinist. I myself am a trained classical violinist, so writing his character was a real treat for me. I was able to weave my knowledge of music and the violin in particular with his character development.

It was a traditional gypsy dirge that he played, one normally accompanied by a female voice, but no one dared sing. Not when Brishen was playing. The melody began slow, the horse-tail bow drawing across the G and D strings in a leisurely glissando that transitioned into a grating, dissonant chord. He held the notes, drawing them out, tormenting his audience with the unsavory sound before sliding his ring finger up a half-step, reconciling the note with harmony once more. Karina swore she saw him smirk, but his eyes never opened; his expression never changed.

Without warning, the mournful tone disappeared as Brishen’s tempo increased. He played faster with each passing bar until all traces of the mulengi djilia had disappeared, transforming into a fast-paced cante jondo. His fingers danced across the strings, his right arm a blur as he moved the bow in frenzied, staccato strokes. Several members of the informal audience began to clap in time. A few were inspired to stand and dance.

The question I get most frequently about the book, of course, is: What the hell does the title mean? "Svetkavista" is a Romany (gypsy) word meaning "ring" or "circle." The book centers around a love triangle, and by the end many things come full circle. In that regard, the title was perfect. Though there are Romany words interspersed throughout the novel, it is most assuredly written in English.

Svetkavista is available now in both ebook and print.

(All excerpts are from Svetkavista, (c) 2006 Kayleigh M. Jamison)

Family Traditions

FAMILY TRADITIONS AND WRITING

When I wrote THE VIOLIN, I flavored the pages with some of traditions that have passed down my family for generations. The story is loosely based on a real member of my family, my Uncle John, who died while fly fishing with his friends in May 1927.

In the book I have my characters gather at meal time to discuss the day's events and family affairs. I remember growing up spending meal time as family communication time. Sometimes it was debate time as well. Why couldn't I go out on a date in a car? Couldn't I do the dishes next week instead of this week? All in all, meals were great times to remember.

I also remember my dad's passion for wild birds. My sister and I carry on that passion. Both of our houses are surrounded by bird feeders and birdhouses.

My mother made everything she cooked from scratch. As crazy as it may be, my sister and I still make everything for family gatherings from scratch. It's probably just stupid pride because it's definitely hard work sometimes. Our clothes were all made by hand by our mother who was an expert seamstress. Although we don't sew everything we wear now, we do still sew a mean seam from time to time.

I incorporated these family traditions in THE VIOLIN because it is an almost true story about my family so I felt it was important to make it real.

For those of you who are writers, do you bring many of your family's traditions to your stories? What about you readers, do you feel more involved in a story when you read traditions woven into the story that are most likely taken from the author's own family?

Sarah McNeal

www.sarahmcneal.com

Hi everyone

I am back after some time away, a bit late but better late than never. I just wanted to tell you that A Kind of Loving has been to number two at Red rose Publishing list fictionwise and is now at number four. Too Hot to Handle is at number four at Eternal Press list fictionwise and A Shamefull Secret has gone up to number ten. It was at number one back in Jan- March then disappeared but has now revivied.

My second book in the Upstairs Downstairs series (Love & War) has been taken for audio - the first book was taken in Feb. So everything is all systems go!

I'll try to get in next week on time! LOL Linda

Unity - Dark Tarot

I have just handed in my line edits for Unity and I'm feeling just fine!

It's getting close now, due out in e-book later this month, with Tease Publishing's imprint, Tease Tarot.



:D

And here's a synopsis for anyone who's missed it previously posted:

Obstinate Darcy and artistic Celeste lives cross, starting them both on a path into the world of Faerie, which draws them in and comes alive for them. Their lives become those of true ladies, of balls and gorgeous men in dark cathedrals, as the world of abusive stepfathers and fits of depression are left behind them. As they change for their experiences, they realise that they a balance must be found between their Faerie travels, which they visit in their dreams, and the Real Life of their waking world.

I'll be back soon with excerpts!


Nikki Watson.
http://nikkiwatson.blogspot.com/

MIDDLES

MIDDLES:

Okay, I've been avoiding the subject of middles, mostly because they are harder for me to write than beginnings and endings. This, I am sure, isn't as tough for other writers, but it is definitely my personal challenge.

I start off a project full of moxy, excitement and enthusiasm. I'm in love with my characters and I know exactly how I'm going to torture them and finally reward them at the end. Then I get to page 150 or so and stare at the blinking icon on the too white screen of the computer and wonder what the heck I'm gonna do now.

I've often gotten the stakes so high that I'm not even sure myself how the heck I'm gonna get my people out of the mess they're in. It's like a raging storm that won't let me see beyond that spot into the resolution.

Worse, there are times when I just run out of steam and loose the energy of the story. My muse runs off to a dark corner and simply will not come out. Times like these I have to start a new project for a while until I get my momenum back. Yep. It's just hell sometimes.

I once thought a crit partner or group would help in the sagging middles but, for me, it just ain't so. They get me off track and send my thoughts out in too many different directions. I do better with crit groups when the work is finished--not in progress.

Right now I have two WIPs, Harmonica Joe's Reluctant Bride (a time travel western) and The Light of Valmora (a dark fantasy). It suites me to have a wide gulf between the two concepts of my WIPs because--well, I'm not sure why except that the extreme differences in the subject matter helps rejuvenate my mopping muse.

Am I the only one who has this problem? Are there other authors out there who cringe at the thought of getting through the middle? Or do most of you sail through the middle dulldroms of your unchartered novels maintaining your quest for the fire of your story unphased by the middle ground?

Sarah McNeal

www.sarahmcneal.com

Reader/Writers

I still would like to maintain, that after the last three years that I've been finding ePublishers around the place who want to publish my writing, the best part about the ePub industry are the people you come to meet and get to know. It's hardly a controversial statement to make that ePubs open and close, will give you grief and tears of happiness, but the friends you make, people who you can trust to read your work and give you an honest opinion, and the people who's work you can read in return, are the most valuable part of the ePublishing industry, and indeed, the most valuable part of any writer's art.

Having just finished a previous project (a project set after Unity, titled Awakening) which took me the better part of half a year to write to its completion, I have recently started on a new project, the next in that series. I like to think that the series I am creating has something of a Charles De Lint slant. I've spoken about him before. Just check the tags for previous posts I've made about the fantasy author. All of the stories I am writing right now are a part of the same universe, but the characters who are main shift and change and accommodate include new characters that bring new life and interest to a series that I think would be much less if it depended on previous novels.

But these are my novels. Of course I think they are something special.

After coming out the other end of a horrible stint of writer's block, with the help of one of my reader/writer friends, I only want to thank all of the people who are patient with me, who love to read my writing, who love that I read theirs. I think that all of you know who you are. I dearly appreciate you.

Thank you.


Nikki Watson.
http://nikkiwatson.blogspot.com/