#and this is only a small sample of ya fantasy books (by fantasy i man everything under its subgenre)

[syyskirjat]

Sueños de piedra (ch1)

Okay, I promised (to myself) to check out whatever media won the ultimate obscure blorbo tournament ( @who-do-i-know-this-man (I wasn't sure whether to tag you or not but in the end I figured I might as well, hope you don't mind I guess))

Turns out that it's a guy from a 2015 Spanish YA fantasy book

And turns out there's a free sample available! Which is lucky for me because I'm currently very broke

Sueños de piedra by Iria G. Parente and Selene M. Pascual

I don't speak Spanish so I'm gonna rely on the translator quite a lot lmao (well I understand some Spanish actually, but definitely not enough to read a whole book)

The title translates to something like "Dreams of Stone" I think?

Once upon a time in a kingdom far, far away, a prince rewarded a wizard for helping rescue a young girl in trouble. Charming. Too bad none of this is true. In reality, the prince dreams of glory and revenge; the magician, with her spells not always being a disaster and the young woman in trouble, with fleeing from a past that torments her... and from the memory of the man she has killed. Once upon a time...

(Yes this is just Google Translate, sorry)

Okay so, prince, magician and a damsel in distress? Prince wants revenge for something, who knows what, magician is having trouble doing the magic, and the damsel is in fact a killer? Ok ok

The dedication goes as follows:

To all those who embark on a direct journey towards their dreams every day. May you always reach your destination.

Okay so Marabilia is a place? That's apparently also the name of this book series. Is this like the kingdom then? So it consists of three islands, two small ones and one big? Or is it supposed to be a continent? It definitely seems too small to be a continent

I know the blorbo is called Arthmael de Silfos so I'm guessing he's from the Silfos area in the north of the big island then. I can see what's probably a city called Duan and a forest called "Merlon Forest". We also have different towers around the big island, one of which seems to be called the Tower of Black Magic. (I didn't even need to use the translator for those yay xD)

Okay the first chapter is called Arthmael so I guess we're meeting our blorbo already, which is nice

— Let me make it clear: are you going to give my crown to a bastard?

Okay..... the very first line and I already think Arthmael might be a bit of a spoiled brat (I assume he's in fact the prince)

Apparently Arthmael just found out that he has an illegitimate older brother but I guess this brother's mother is noble anyway so it's legit? I dunno yet. Arthmael thinks this guy is blackmailing his father somehow and is already considering poison as a solution

And anyway, what kind of a name is Jacques for a king?

lmao, so much shade to all the kings called Jacques

Okay so Jacques's family is very powerful and loved by the people of Silfos and the king fears a civil war if he disrespects his claim to the throne. Alright. Kinda weird since based on Arthmael's thoughts, this society has a similar attitude to bastards as in European history, but okay then. I wonder if Jacques is even actually the king's son or is this some kind of a ruse?

Arthmael is very cheeky and even references his dad's love life directly to his face, his dad is not very happy

The king tells him to just be a good boy and hopefully they'll find him some crown princess to marry so he'll get a kingdom that way

I guess these different areas on the map are kingdoms then, that makes sense. They look like very small kingdoms but this is a small place in general.

Arthmael doesn't seem to mind this idea except that there's only one possible princess like that in Marabilia and that's Ivy de Dione. Not sure what's wrong with her.

Well, who knows? Maybe, if I wait a few moons, some other bastard, in Verves or Idyll, will come out from under a rock and come offer me her hand.

Somebody's very snarky, that's cute

Arthmael is very haughty about how the people have always known him as the crown prince and accepted him as such, Jacques laughs and asks what has he even done for the people. He's like well he hasn't really done much yet because he was planning to do things once he became king, but he's been supporting the local business (taverns) and employing servants (lmao). Also apparently there are some girls he's seeing...

Apparently Jacques's family are big traders and business people (despite being noblemen) and create lots of jobs, and also big on charity, so everybody loves them

Arthmael is jealous of how proud his dad looks when Jacques says this, and how he's never looked at him like that

Well, I guess you're kind of a little shit so it makes sense, Arthmael

— If the smartest thing is to become the idol of a few starving people in order to be king, I can do it too.

Oh my god, this little brat

He declares that he's going to be a hero, to overshadow the charity of Jacques' family, because heroes are remembered by history while philanthropist aren't

So he plans to become a storybook Prince Charming, saving damsels in distress etc.

Jacques finds this understandably hilarious, the king is not amused

Once Jacques leaves, the king again offers to arrange a marriage to Arthmael, specifically with the princess of Dione

I'm almost tempted. I have never been to Dione, but they say that their ships are the lightest and fastest, and that sailors come to their shores from the other side of the sea, speaking strange languages that only they understand. Who come from lands where women wear short dresses, if they wear anything at all. Places where war is so normal that, as soon as a child is strong enough to pick up a sword, they push him to the front lines.

Alright then, I see what he fixates on

Was there anything wrong with the princess then or?

Barbarians. I remove the thought from my mind.

Oh okay. What a charming young man /s

Dione is like right next to Silfos according to the map btw, is this like one of those neighbourly feuds?

Okay he says it's because he doesn't want a foreign kingdom, he wants to keep his home, which is fair I guess

The king is like what do you want me to do, kill Jacques and his pregnant wife? And Arthmael is just like yeah great idea, because he's a dumbass. The king is like wtf

Apparently Jacques' family is from that Duan city that I noted earlier, and his mother died a few days ago and apparently "her loss is greatly felt"

The king regrets spoiling Arthmael too much, and talks about how Arthmael doesn't understand anything about suffering or anything and only cares about girls

Arthmael is already considering faking his death to make them all feel sorry, because of course he is, he's exactly that kind of guy

He says he doesn't want to go try to charm the princess, he'd rather just go off on his own (also there's a whole bit about how only a man can rule Dione or something and the king of Dione won't accept his daughter to become a ruler)

His dad tells him no, just stay here and be a good boy, don't make everybody gossip about drama in the royal family

Arthmael is like hey you managed to hide your bastard son for years, you can hide my disappearance

They fight a bit more but then Arthmael just storms out, grabs a few things from his room and leaves

a change of clothes, a bag of coins, my sword, and my favourite cloak. I do not need anything else.

Okay then, good luck I guess

To be a hero you only need a brave heart. Or so they say.

I feel like you also need to not be a selfish prick but maybe that's optional

Okay end of first chapter!

Our blorbo seems like a real brat!

But I guess the point is probably that he needs to learn some lessons along the way, or something like that, idk. I'm sure there's a reason for why whoever entered him into the tournament likes him so much

I'm guessing the damsel in distress is not the princess? Probably? She wasn't called a princess anyway. TBH she's the character I'm currently the most curious about. The next chapter is from the point of view of someone called Lynne and I hope that's her. Could be the magician too though I guess? No wait, I think the magician is a guy. Altho idk maybe Lynne could be a guy's name, I don't fucking know.

I'm guessing that Arthmael will try to rescue the damsel so he can be a hero, because that's what heroes are supposed to do, but then it'll go wrong somehow? And then the magician will get involved somehow, I have no clue.

That's all my predictions I suppose. Altho I'm guessing that Jacques might turn out to be a villain somehow, I didn't get the vibe that he was particularly great either, just not as much of a brat as Arthmael, and it would then be something for Arthmael to do when he gets back home. Then again maybe the book will surprise me, who knows. To be honest, it would feel a bit like a cop out if it turns out that the guy he hates actually is evil, but it could be handled well, and it's not like I like Jacques either so far. He seems extremely sus too

No guesses as to what the title refers to yet, it could be anything

Idk, like I said, the damsel's storyline is the one that interests me the most rn, it might actually get me to read further (good job, blurb, you got me)

I still have a surprisingly good amount of the free sample left, there's actually nine chapters here, so idk, maybe I'll keep going? We'll see

I'm pretty happy with how much I was able to follow the text even on my own, altho I definitely had to rely on the translator. I would not have had the patience to try to translate all of this myself. But I definitely understood multiple full sentences! Yaaay xD

Apologies to fans of this book series, I hope I didn't seem too rude

[displayheartcode]

YA, like any other market, is dynamic. So, here are some gems that people have missed out on because people would rather complain about books that were published over a decade ago than read a new one.

The Undead Truth of Us by Britney S. Lewis: After her mother's death, Zharie is convinced that zombies are everywhere. Navigating grief and her mother's secrets, this heart-wrenching debut is about the monster inside all of us.

The Ghosts of Rose Hill by RM Romero: Sent to live with her aunt in Prague for the summer, Ilana tends to a hidden graveyard surrounded by roses. While there, she experiences ghosts and wonders and magic.

Bad Witch Burning by Jessica Lewis: Known for communicating with the dead, Katrell is forced at a crossroad after her mom kicks her out. Suddenly, the dead are louder and her magic has gained unexpected consequences.

From Dust, a Flame by Rebecca Podos: Hannah wakes up with a curse brought on by her family's legacy. Tracing her mother's footsteps, she explores the generational trauma and the monsters that her family won't let go.

The Astonishing Color of After by Emily XR Pan: Leigh knows her mother has turned into a bird. She goes to Taiwan to visit her grandparents and to understand why, but the past has way of showing deeper truths.

Elatsoe by Darcie Little Badger: Drawn by her cousin's ghost, Ellie is compelled to solve his murder. But the town is full of secrets that even her faithful ghost dog can't sniff out.

Tess of the Road by Rachel Hartman: Following a series of events at her sister's wedding, Tess runs away, joins an old friend, and goes on the road in search of a mythical serpent that sleeps under the earth.

Monsters Born and Made by Tanvi Berwah: Born in a cruel caste system, Koral takes matters into her own hands by cheating to join a dangerous tournament. Full of monsters on sea and land, survival has never been more important.

[slasherfilth]

You Are What You Eat - Chapter One (Thomas Hewitt x Reader)

You hum along to the chorus of the song blasting from your radio as you drive along the seemingly endless dirt road. Your eyes were squinting now and again to try and see through all the dust your car was kicking up as you made your way down to your Fathers old property. It had been at least a decade since you had seen it; since you'd experienced dirt roads and the sticky feeling of sweat dripping from your forehead in the sweltering Texas sun. You'd moved out of the home a long time ago, eager to leave the backwash town of Fuller and onto something greater as you had once told your father. He'd been supportive in the decision but always said you would come back to the quiet life. Like your privacy too much to be livin' in those tiny places with too many people. You had rolled your eyes naturally, adamant that you would never miss this place once you made it out. But here you were. You were driving along the same dirt road from your childhood, surprisingly eager to be away from the hustle and bustle of city life. He had been right. A small smirk curled on your lips as you thought that. He'd have a field day if you'd ever managed to tell him that. However, a small pang of sadness hit you just as quickly as the thought came. That's the main reason your back. You couldn't tell him. The only reason you could afford to move back out was because of the inheritance and a house already paid into your name. A small sigh left your lips as you tried to focus on the music once more, at this point too exhausted to cry about it anymore.

It wasn't long until you finally pulled into the old house. A smile bloomed on your face as you took in the sight of the place you once called home. Memories of you running up the steps to the patio in a hurry from school, ready to blurt out your day to your parents. A simple rope and plank swing still hanging from the big sturdy tree that sat outside the front of the house. Remembering how you would read books from dawn till dusk under the cool shade of the tree as you grew older. With a huff of effort, you jumped out of the car, eager to stretch your legs after hours of driving. And with that you began to walk towards the all too familiar house, ready to start your new life. You could only hope you enjoyed it more than your last one.

Making your way inside you couldn't help but appreciate how cute your home really was. A housewife's dream really. Sky blue the outside, and a mix of light colours painting the interior. Big white windows over the walls, letting in natural light that bounced off the wooden furniture beautifully. You'd been fortunate. Dad had left everything to you. Which you'd appreciated since all you had yourself was a small couch, TV and a washing machine. This would be a much different experience. Humming, you made your way around the house, opening windows to let light and air in. Hoping to remove the musty smell that had built up over time. Once you finished your task, you sat down on the dining room table, taking it all in. You felt lighter already. The sadness of why you now have all of this was still there, but you pushed it away to think of the better opportunities. You could do so much more here—no one to tell you what to do or what to make. A broad grin enveloped your lips as you thought of that. And with that lovely thought, you made your way back to the car. You were initially going to wait before heading to the old business, give yourself time to adjust before setting to work. But the hardworking mentality of a country upbringing wouldn't let you. There was so much to be done, and you were more than a little excited.

 _____________________________________________________________

 By the time you got to town it was already in the evening, but you were too eager to take a look at the old bakery and see how much work is needed to start up again. You promised yourself you wouldn't stay long, that you could come back tomorrow and begin the real work. Still, for now, you just wanted to bask in the idea of finally being able to live your dream of having your own bakery. You hoped it would all work out. Hoped the locals remembered how good the bakery once was and feel the need to come to inspect again when word got out it was open once more. It wouldn't take long. Word travelled like wildfire through these parts. And with that, you wondered how long it would take for people to realise there was a new face in town. Not too long, you hoped. You were not always the most social person, but you would still like to make friends and have tea sometimes. Maybe you would even find that once special guy out there. You almost laughed at the thought. How many times your mother had asked about boys in your life. When were you gonna get yourself a man? You ain't gonna be bringing back one of those city boys are ya? You'll need a country boy, someone who can work and take care of you. At one time, it had made you laugh. How were you going to find a country boy in the city? But she had been right in the long run. Them boys had never tickled your fancy much. Always focused on their looks, carrying around combs and swaggering around all the ladies, acting smooth. You saw right through it all.

None of them would be able to handle a good day's work. Too weak to do some heavy lifting, no matter how much they bragged and too vain to get a bit dirty to accomplish something. You wrinkled your nose. You'd be lying to yourself if you said you hadn't fantasied about a tall, muscled up, hardworking family man taking you for a spin when you were planning your new life out here. Someone that would come along and just sweep you off your feet with one hand and help you around the house and bakery with the other. Another laugh left you; good luck, girlie. How about you make it through setting up and living here before you start fantasying about all that jazz.

As you were lost in your own thoughts, you checked around the small joint, happy to find big working ovens, a register, walk-in cooler and massive pantry. It had definitely been revamped since the last time you were here which made you happy. A lot less work than what you were expecting. A simple clean down and electricity organising and it would all be good to go. You would be open by the end of the week with any luck. A hum of appreciation left you as you walked back out to your car. Thinking of some recipes, you thought the locals would like. Maybe you should try to catch up with that old meat business. See if you could strike up a deal for some meat pies. And with that you drove home, giddy about what the next few days would bring.

 _______________________________________________________________

You were in the back, kneading some dough for a new apple pie recipe you had been dying to try. After finding an apple tree at the end of your yard growing some beautiful juice fruits, you'd spent some time trying to perfect a recipe. Today you were eager to make it and offer some free samples to see if the locals would like it as well, maybe it could be a signature dish in your cosy little bakery. You'd been here for a few weeks by now, settling in nicely to your new house and property. And even happier with the bakery opening the week prior. You had been quite busy that day, everyone seemed to have noticed the work you'd been doing there. Maybe the few brief conversations you'd had when visiting stores had managed to get the word around enough for people to be interested. You smiled as you went to grab the rolling pin however paused as you heard the faint jingle of bells, alerting you to someone's presences. Putting on a big smile, you dusted the flour off of your hands onto the lavender apron you donned making your way to the front. You found an older lady waiting in a lovely floral dress, thick glasses perched on her nose. She immediately gave you a loving grandmother vibe that you adored instantly.

"Good morning, Ma'am. What can I get 'cha?" You placed your hands on your hips and turned to the lady.

"Morning, Darlin'. I just wanted to come check out this old place. Haven't seen it so busy since ol' Danny passed, rest his soul." You smiled gently, feeling an odd tug at your heart. No one had mentioned your father at all since this place had opened. You were relieved but also sad in away. You would have hoped people remembered him a bit more.

"Well thank you, Ma'am. I'm trying my best to continue in his likeness. I'm (Y/N), Danny's daughter. I recently moved out into his old place." You extended a hand, feeling your cheeks heat up as her eyes widened briefly, giving you a once over from head to toe before taking your hand in a soft but firm handshake.

"Well, I'll be darned. Who knew someone like him could raise such a good-looking young lady? I'm Luda Mae. I'm on the property next to yours with the Hewitt family. Got Charlie, Monty and my boy, Thomas out there." A smile flashed on your face. You had seen the old white house briefly before and wondered if anyone was even there anymore. The idea of having neighbours was a delightful one.

"Pleasure to meet you, Luda Mae. It's nice to know I'm not the only one all the way out there. How about I get you some coffee and cakes, I'd love to hear a little about the town and yourself." You decided to be a bit more forward than usual. This woman just made you feel comfortable, and you were interested in who exactly was staying near you. A wide smile adorned the older woman face.

"Well, I'd love that darlin'. White with two sugars, please. And I'll like to try that lemon tart you've got in there. Haven't had a good one in a long time since this place shut down." Joy filled you as you nodded and set to work, making double for yourself as you went to sit down with her.

"I hope it's just as good as you remember." The two of you seemed to get along great, the conversation flowed smoothly as you explained why you came back out and your ideas for the business in the future. How you had gone to culinary school in order to start your own little bakery and how excited you were to share it with people here. The two of you exchanged recipes, and Luda let you in on what local flavours and harvests were available at different times of the year. She also told you about her family, the town's history since you left and odd bits and pieces that came to mind. In between the conversation, you would have to get up to serve some people, but she seemed to enjoy the talk and food which made you happy. No one had been incredibly rude or anything here, but this was the first time someone had shown you that good old country friendliness you remembered so fondly from your childhood.

"Yeah, is a shame the old slaughterhouse shut down, would have been great to have some meat pies around this place." That piqued your interest.

"Oh? I hadn't realised it shut down. I was thinking about trying to get some meat just for that. Well darn, I'll have to think of something else now. Will be too expensive to import for now." A small frown tugged at the edge of your lips. Luda Mae clicked her tongue but smiled.

"No worries dear, I'm sure you will figure something out. If you're ever in desperate need for something you just us know. Us Hewitts aren't the richest folk around, but we're the most generous if you can look past all that ridiculous talk." You kept a smile on your face as you took in Luda's small rant, slightly worried about what she could mean. Where they not well-liked amongst the community? Luda Mae looked like a typical town grandmother though. It was very strange to you. But you didn't wish to comment as you could already tell it was a sore spot. Instead, you nodded and thanked her profusely for her offer, offering a hug as she stood tidying up the plates and cups.

"Oh, don't worry about that I'll handle it. It was lovely to meet you, Ms Hewitt, you can come around anytime for a good chat. Feel free to bring the family too." She smiled wide at that and nodded at you while you gathered up the dishes quickly.

"Will do dear, you take care now. I'll be back." You move to the back with a warm feeling, dropping the dishes next to the sink. Turning you look back at the pie you were initially making before you had gotten interrupted—thoughts of Luda Mae's rant filling your mind. From what you gathered, they weren't the most well off and were considered outcasts even in this small town. You frown. You wondered why. But shaking your head, you turn back to work. You decided you would make up for the town's ridicule and begin making small goodies for the family. You're sure she would be appreciative. She also said she had a son, you wondered how old he was. Maybe a teenager? Perhaps he would like sweets as well.

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So I’ve kind of been lurking around my favourite slashers for awhile and I love everyones stories so much. And now I feel confident adding my own little peices. I’m sure you can guess where the story is going from the clues and I hope you can see which amazingly gruesome muscial this is derived from. Tell me what you think and if you guys like it, I’ll be sure to bring that next chapter with lots of our amazing beefy boi. 

[sif-the-tsunami]

Hello friends,

This is a small sample of the fantasy series I’ve been working on for a few years. I would love to get some kind of feedback. Positive, negative. Lay it on me. I want to know what you think.

This is a rough draft, barely edited. 

Summary: A young warrior starts the path to her destiny. 

Rated: PG-13, this will probably read like YA but there wont be any sexy times. Just talks about violence and death (this doesn’t mean that people under 18 can start interacting with my blog. I mostly post smut.)

The attack on Dawnforge came without warning. Raiders, dozens of them, descended upon the small community surrounding a rural temple. The invaders poured violently out of the woods. In the cool shade of the temple’s grove, Ellisif Thrace’s mossy green eyes shot open from her late afternoon nap when she heard the Keepers sound the alarm. The war horns had only been blown ceremonially for as long as she could remember. The second blast echoed off the stone walls and summoned her to action. The young woman sat strait up, and listened for another moment to see if she could find out what direction the alarm was coming from.  She thought she could hear the Keepers shouting towards the east although she couldn’t make out what they were saying just yet. Always eager to be of assistance, Ellisif picked up her belongings and started running towards the commotion. Ellie, as she preferred to be addressed, had been learning defense and fighting techniques since she was strong enough to pick up a sword. Her father had been a knight errant and thought it was important that his children should know how to keep themselves safe.

Another blast of the horn let her know she was running in the right direction. Soon she heard the sound of weapons being thrown and bashed into the thick wooden gate. The Keepers were directing the villagers to leave the area, a man that Ellisif thought was named Erik told her to go home. He couldn’t have been much older than she was, his skin was sun kissed, with a little pink on his temples and cheekbones. Erik looked scared, brushing his reddish blond hair out of his face.

“I’m here to help, give me a sword!” She shouted.

“Little Sister, you need to go somewhere safe.” Erik ordered. As he was saying this, the Commander put his hand on her shoulder.

“Erik, Ellie is to join the Order at the Feast of Lyria. Let her pick up a shield, if they make it through our defenses, she knows how to handle herself.” The older man told Erik. He handed their recruit a wooden shield with metal studs, “Ellisif, make your father proud.”

Erik rolled his eyes as the Commander went to go hand out more tools. “They are going to break through in a matter of minutes. Take an ax. If they make it past us, cut the fuckers down. And don’t you dare get killed.”

Ellie pulled the cord she had on her wrist to tie her hair back. Her thick dark chocolate brown curls were pulled back out of her face and she said a small prayer to her favorite Goddess. I don’t want to have to kill anyone, but if I do, please let me do it quickly. Her heart pounded in her throat, her trepidation rose with every new crack emerging from the gate. The wood finally gave way, and she watched the horde of mismatched heathens break into her town. The Keepers had set up as much of a barricade as they could. Carts where pushed on their sides trying to create a funnel and direct the invaders to the villages best fighters and war priests. The Archers were doing what they could to thin out the herd. Ellisif inched closer to the battle, she tightened her grip on the handle of her ax just in time for a raider to jump over the stack of crates that had been near where she was standing. She raised her shield to the long sword he was swinging at her and it became stuck in the hard wood. Then it was as if her brain shut off and her body took over.

The warrior would never truly be able to recall everything that happened that afternoon. The surviving Keepers would tell her that she was brave, surgical with her actions and moved like she had been doing this all her life. In her state of shock, she would just say she had really good teachers. They would congratulate her for surviving her first battle. They thanked her for saving lives that day. Not a single invader made it past where she stood her ground.

Ellie looked up at the white stone buildings that were beginning to glow pink with the setting of the sun. What would they do with the bodies, she wondered vaguely. She leaned against the warm stone wall and slid down. What should I be doing? She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to make the sickness in her stomach go away.

“Where is she? Where is my sister, where is my Ellie?” a familiar voice was shouting. A couple of the Keepers pointed towards where she sat with her knees tucked to against her chest, her head resting on the wall behind her. Sarah thought she look more pale than normal.

“I’m right here.” Ellie croaked. Her throat was so dry. The healers had looked at her briefly, said she would be fine but to be prepared that she would probably have some pretty bad bruising on her forearms.

“Oh my Gods, why are you covered in blood? We’ve been so worried! Mama is going to skin you alive. Are you hurt? What were you thinking?” The thin woman stammered together as she fretted over her younger sister.

“I’m fine, the blood’s not mine. At least I don’t think so.” Ellie said, “What was I thinking? I was thinking that this is what I’m supposed to do. I’m supposed to run toward the fight. Do you have your water on you? I need a drink...”

The Commander strutted over like the fine peacock he was and pressed a bottle of ale into Ellie’s open hand and said something about how proud he was. She didn’t care. Ellie just wanted to be able to swallow without her throat feeling like sandpaper. The strawberry ale was sweet and warm, it made swallowing a little easier but after the third mouthful it became clear that the ale was doing nothing for her nausea. There might have been something said to her about how he was looking forward to seeing her take her oath, he chuckled and walked off. Sarah started trying to clean the viscera from her sister’s face but before she got too much grime off of her face, Ellisif turned her head and wretched.  She groaned, “Let’s go home.”

They walked home, arms wrapped around each other. It wouldn’t be until they reached their little home that Ellisif would start talking. The words slipped out of the young woman, still dazed. She looked down at the ax she was still holding onto with white knuckles and whispered “The one who gave this to me, Erik… I don’t know. He was killed. I killed someone today, Sarah. I killed several someones…”

Sarah, as gently as she could, wiped the tears off of her sister’s face, “You did what Daddy taught us to do. You helped keep our family safe, you kept or town safe. Lyria would be proud. She would be thrilled to know you will be defending her temple. Daddy would be so proud too.”

The older sister took her partner in crime into their house, and tucked the battle wary woman into her bed. The ax fell to the ground with a sickening thunk, and Ellie rolled over and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Sarah went to the kitchen and put a kettle on to brew some tea. Their mother, Kyra, had gone to the temple to help bandage up wounds of the Keepers and anyone else who took up arms. She eventually grabbing the heel of the loaf of bread from the pantry and slather it in homemade butter, pulling out her book of herbs. If Ellisif was more athletically inclined, her sister was definitely more well read. Sarah propped the book up and began plaiting her silky hair as she read the well loved tome. The front door opened quietly, the family’s matriarch came back after a long night of bandaging up injured young people and comforting the loved ones of those they lost.

“The Pale Mother now has a few more attendants now,” Kyra sighed, she and Sarah’s looks were similar, though she had more silver in her hair now. They both had dark brown eyes, almost black.  “Those poor souls. The Council and the High Priestess has asked that we all gather tomorrow at the Temple. They found their leader and they are interrogating him. He seemed to not understand that the forge our town was named after has been closed for generations, thought he could arm his merry band of miscreants. I heard Ellisif did her duty. How’s our girl doing?”

“She might have gone into emotional shock. I put her in bed, she’s going to need something strong in the morning. I was just reading up on something that will sooth her nerves, she was covered, and I mean covered, in blood. Evidently none of it was hers, which is good. Daddy taught her well. The Keepers were saying she showed a lot of potential.”

“Your father was the best knight I have ever seen wield a sword, I can only imagine what he taught her. The Temple will have never been safer if she is half as good as he was.” Kyra grabbed another hunk of bread and helped herself to some cheese. “I wish you could have seen him. I’ve never seen anyone burn with righteous fury like he could. When he would swing his sword in the tourneys he fought in, I swear that it looked like it was on fire. It was beautiful and absolutely terrifying. Ells has that same spark. When she was little, I saw it in her too.”

“I told her daddy would be proud.”

“He would be. He would also be profoundly sad for her. Sweetheart, you should go get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be very long.”

Ellisif slept until nightfall the next day. Siggy and Kyra left her to her mild unconsciousness to attend the meeting at noon. The temple slowly filled with the mourning villagers. More than a dozen Keepers had died that afternoon, it had been a decade since there had been any attacks on Dawnforge like this. It would be weeks before the damage the raiders did to the town could be repaired. The surviving raiders were told they could bury their dead on the other side of the ravine outside of the walls and then to assist the town in its repairs to try to make amends. The Thrace women where given the instruction on how they could help by the High Priestess. As soon as they where able to, Sarah and her sister would be going to the schoolhouse. They thought that having a couple extra adults around the kids would help make them feel safer.

Most of the school age kids knew Ellie. Two years ago she had won the combat tournament on the Feast of Seraphina, the Scarlet Mother. Usually the winners give the bouquet of fire Lilies to their significant other, she instead pulled out individual flowers and gave one to every little one who was around the ring that day. Her father had done the same thing the last time he had won the tournament. She enjoyed being their hero that afternoon, Sarah remembered as she and their mom walked home with their orders. The night of the feast, Ellie was asked attend the dance that was be held in the town square. Sarah had never seen her sister so happy as when she came home giggling, barefoot and a little in love.

When they made it to their home again, they saw evidence that Ellie had been up and moving but she was no where to be seen. Kyra suggested that they leave her be for the time being, they were kind in letting the young woman try to recover at her own pace. After a few days of her sleeping more heavily than she ever had, Ellisif needed to be in the forest behind the temple. She wanted to feel the presence of the Green Mother and ask her for guidance. There was a small clearing there, where a large stone acts as an alter for Lyria. It was a large piece of granite that always seemed to be covered with moss in all the directions, not just north. On the morning of Lyria’s feast day, the sun would align itself with this slab perfectly, and that is where she would be taking her vows to join the ranks of the Keepers. They were originally called the Temple Keepers, as the community grew, the area they kept safe grew with it. Once Ellie joined, she would be binding herself to the fate of the town. She could get married and have a family if she chose, but traveling would be almost impossible. If the Empire of Oril ever declared war on any of the other kingdoms, they were almost always the ones that were conscripted.  

While Ellie had wanted to become a Keeper for as long as she could remember, as of this morning, the idea of joining gave her a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her mother had always talked about how even masters of their craft could have their confidence shaken if the seeds of doubt had taken root in their minds. Was this a seed a doubt she had been warned about?

“Lyria, divine mother, I come here to beg you for forgiveness. I never wanted take someone’s life. I thought they would yield if they got hurt. How could I have been so stupid...” and for the first time since the attack, Ellisif’s strength gave out. There she spent the rest of the day sobbing and trying to figure out what she needed to do. Her body shook violently as the waves of emotions crashed over her. In the back of her mind, a small notion crawled its way forward, seeping into her thoughts likes a strong tea in hot water. Devoting herself to the temple may not be the right choice. Ellie cleaned her face of the mess that the sobbing caused. The moon had risen, her family would be worried.

She made it into her home moments before they would begin searching for their missing member. There were hugs and more tears. They remained silent as Ellie made her way to her bed, she prepared herself for the night.

[thestorytellerofkpop]

Title: Elysian

Word Count: 2.7k+

Rating: M

Genre: Realistic fantasy, eventual smut

Warnings: None in this chapter~

Pairings: BTS OT7 x Reader

Summary: In life, it is rare when another person touches your heart, when their soul brushes with yours just like shooting stars that fall to the Earth. But them? Such a constellation was me to them, and them to me.

1, 2, 3 (coming soon)

You woke with a gasp, your eyes scuttling around your room only to release it was just you and Pan in your bed, no handsome mysterious stranger in sight. You sighed, falling back against your bed as your eyes roamed the ceiling. Your throat was parched and although you knew it was just a dream, waves of disappointment settled deep in your stomach when you knew you really were just alone. 

With a heavy sigh you heaved yourself out of bed, shuffling towards the bathroom as a shiver passed through your body. You really needed to get that thermostat fixed. You turned the faucet on your sink, bending down to splash the warm water over your skin as you washed your face. You smiled at the thought of the dream you had while you patted your face dry, remembering the way the man looked with his tousled hair, his rich, dark eyes and those lips.

You screamed.

You whipped your head around, then turned to stare back into the mirror. The face you had seen in the glass was not yours, but the man from your dreams. But, in the brief glace you had got, he seemed to have gotten softer features and even fuller lips. You were just imagining things. You groaned, rubbing your eyes as you continued on with your day, dressing and eating before calling Pan over with a sharp whistle. He came trotting over happily, tongue lolling out the corner of his mouth as you clipped his leash onto his collar. 

You exited through the back door, admiring your garden and how the violets were blooming nicely as you guided Pan out the back gate. You savored the feeling of the morning sun on your cheeks, allowing Pan to stop and sniff at the foliage so he could find an appropriate spot to do his business. You walked up the block, then the next, following the usual route back home when Pan suddenly stopped.

“Pan?” you leaned down to pet his head, eyes shining with concern. “What’s wrong buddy?”

Then, with a strength you didn’t know your dog had, he yanked himself out of your grasp and ran up the street, disappearing from your sight.

“Pan!” you yelled, chasing after your dog, whistling to try and get him to come back to you. You had ran all the way back to your house, huffing when you saw Pan sitting at your back gate, but he wasn’t alone.

“Pan!” you were out of breath, and your yell resembled more of a wheeze and came out more comical than intimidating. Clearly Pan thought the same since he continued to sniff the other dog standing at your back gate.

“Is this your dog?” the man holding onto his own dog’s leash asked. You nodded, unable to speak as you caught your breath. He chuckled along with the man next to him.

“He just came running up to us as we were passing by,” the second man smiled. “He got away from ya huh?”

“Yes,” you gasped, mustering a smile for the two incredibly attractive men. “Thank you for watching him as I caught up.”

“It’s no problem at all, it was our pleasure.” the second man purred, taking a tentative step towards you. You raised your eyebrow at his change of voice, suddenly noticing the same buzzing feeling from yesterday deep in the pit of your stomach.

“Just be careful, you wouldn’t want to lose this precious creature again.” the first man smirked, and you suddenly felt the urge to hide.

“Well, thank you, but I really need to get going…” you opened the back gate, ushering Pan inside the backyard when you felt a warmth engulf your hand. You gasped and looked down at the hand resting over yours on the gate. That warmth. That same warmth from yesterday. The first man gave you a dazzling smile, gently removing his hand from yours. 

“Have a wonderful day.” the first said.

“And be careful today, you never know what may happen.” the second smirked.

You nodded, scuttling in through your back gate, making sure to release Pan from his leash before you ran inside your house. You tried to catch your breath, placing your hand over your heart to try and stop its frantic beating, as if that would do anything. Pan jumped in the house through his doggy door, gently nudging your leg so he could squeeze past you and into the kitchen. You shook your head. You locked your back door, switching your sneakers for heels while grabbing the car keys by the main door and ran to your car, looking out the widows to make sure the man was well gone before backing out of the driveway and making your way into the city for work.

The morning was uneventful, filled with the same old meetings, the same old paperwork, the same routine as always. You and your heart were forever grateful to fall back into that routine, allowing your mind to drift from the odd events from your morning. With your routine, you followed one of your female co-workers to a coffee shop across the street during your lunch break. Sure, she was annoying, and a little boring, but it was better than eating somewhere alone. 

“Ma’am?”

You smiled apologetically in the direction of the cashier, moving up your place in line.

“Sorry, I guess my head was caught in the cl-”

There was a new guy at the register. Gone was the normal forty-something year-old man who would ramble about his wife and kids and then throw in a free cookie afterwards for allowing him to talk to someone, anyone, during his shift. In instead was a beautiful man, with hair as dark as night and eyes that seemed even darker than that. It was a stark contrast to his paler skin; he almost looked ghostly. His uniform was crisp and underwhelming compared to the other employees whos aprons were decorated in colors, doodles and pins. His was black instead of the tan normality of the shop’s uniform, with the logo pressed neatly into the fabric in delicate white stitching. 

“It’s quite alright, ma’am. Would you like to try our new Mystic Drink?” he rested his elbows on the counter, his eyes trained on your facial expressions.

“What’s in it?” you asked as he slid a small sample cup towards you with his pointer finger. The corners of his lips rose as you raised it up near your lips to inspect it.

Drink it…

You paused your sniffing of the drink to look up at the new guy, your eyebrow arching up in surprise.

“Did you say something?” you asked. The man shook his head.

“So, the drink? What’s in it?” you repeated as you stared curiously into the ruby red liquid.

“The base is coconut milk, with strawberry, mango, pomegranate-”

You pushed the drink back forcefully, almost spilling it onto the counter in your haste to get it away from you. The new guy didn’t seem fazed by you reaction, rather, his smirk just grew wider as your heart pounded in your chest.

“Sorry. But no thank you. Pomegranate and I have not had a good relationship. I’ll just take a caramel macchiato.”

The man nodded, his smirk ever present as he took your payment. You grabbed your coffee, ignoring his pointed stare as you joined your co-worker at a small table by the window.

You couldn’t care less about whatever nonsense your co-worker was spewing about, opting instead to glance around the coffee shop to try and stop your beating heart. You found the figure of a man, no older than yourself, sipping on something hot as his other hand held a book. You couldn’t make out the title, but saw the faint outlines of thought bubbles on the cover, was he reading something about the mind or was it just one of those obscure fiction novels? He suddenly looked up and caught your eyes.

Behind is golden wired glasses, you found caramel orbs staring back at you, partially shrouded by blonde clouds of hair. Then he was moving, dropping his book and oh no, making his way over to you. Your co-workers voice stopped as the attractive man took your hand, leading you out of the coffee shop and away from the crowds of lunch rushers. You should have protested, but something was drawing you to him. His hand held that same warmth you’ve been feeling all day, settling deep into your stomach as he guided you down the street and into a plaza, sitting you down on the nearest bench he could find. 

“You’re so beautiful, so stunning and captivating, I couldn’t help but have you all to myself for just a moment. I want you, I desire you, I need-”

“Y/N!”

You looked up at your co-worker who was eyeing you worriedly.

“Get your head out of the clouds. You’re gonna fall if you keep that up.” she said, gesturing her hand to all of you.

You looked down and flushed. You were leaning in your chair to the point the chair was leaning with you, its hind legs sticking up in the air. You placed your chair down with a loud clang, making your co-worker flinch. You saw the guy across the shop look at you, before turning away to giggle behind his book. You felt the rising shame and embarrassment hanging over your shoulders at the intense daydream you had, and about a complete stranger nonetheless. 

“I think I’m going to head back early,” you told your co-worker, ignoring her words and leaving the coffee shop as quick as you could, your heels clicking rapidly down the street.

Just keep chasing those pavements, angel…

“Oh no, not again,” you mumbled to yourself. Those whispers were back again, light and airy and oh so delectable as the words traveled down the back of your neck and spine, leaving warmth in their wake like the breath of a fleeting kiss. You felt much too hot, and you quickened your pace to get back to your office building.

This ain’t lust, we know this is love…

You almost sobbed in relief when you saw a busker sitting outside your office building, singing softly and strumming on a guitar. You weren’t hearing things, obviously, you were perfectly fine and sane. You were about to pass him by, to enter your work and just forget about all the oddities that had happened when something stopped you, your hand outstretched towards the door. 

His guitar seemed to call out to you, gently weeping and crying out for you just to stay for a little while, that the world could wait just five minutes so you could listen to what he had to say. The air around him was buzzing so beautifully, capturing you in such a trance that you didn’t even remember walking back towards him, or sitting on the ground in front of him just to get closer, ever so closer to him and his voice. 

His fingers moved delicately over the strings, his dark hair covering his eyes as he moved to the rhythm, his bare foot thumping along to the beat of the song. He didn’t seem to pay you any mind, focusing his entire being into his singing and his music. Oh but were you focusing so intently on him, on the wing earrings he wore, and how his white jeans hugged his thighs so beautifully, a stark contrast to the flowing golden shirt he wore on top. And how you couldn’t help but lean in closer, closer, closer, to his music, to his voice, to him.

“And as I fly around in circles, and as my back begins to tingle, I think, could this be it?”

Suddenly his eyes met yours, and you were drowning in the brightest, most stunning blue you had seen in your entire life. He smirked, his front teeth poking out to nibble on the corner of his cherry red lips as he strummed the last few notes from his guitar, seemingly content with himself. Even when his fingers stopped moving, his eyes didn’t waver from yours, much to your surprise he leaned in towards you. A cute smile laced his lips and you suddenly had the urge to just sit down in his lap, to kiss those lips, and-

“Best not act on those thoughts angel,” he whispered, sending you a flying wink. “Although, do you really think this could be it?”

The lyrics he said, the lyrics that he just sung moments ago, seemed to break you out of your trance. He giggled as you scrambled to your feet, smoothing out your skirt and looking to see if anyone was watching your outlandish behaviors. You spared him one last glance, mumbling something about how he was a wonderful performer and were about to leave him once again when…

“Miss?” he called.

You looked back at him. His bare foot was tapping against his empty guitar case, his blazing blue eyes pleading with you to help him out. You sighed, fishing out whatever loose bills you had to place them into his guitar case. As you leaned down to drop them, the busker grabbed your hand suddenly.

You drew in a sharp breath, feeling that same damn warmth crawling up your arm again. He licked his lips, gently taking the bills from your hand. He hummed, low and deep in the back of his throat before releasing you. The warmth dissipated, and you had to repress a whine and hold your hand back from reaching out to him again. He mumbled a thank you before picking up his guitar again, his hair covering up those blue eyes as you ran into the office, trying to gain as much distance from the beautiful boy as you could. 

She was so warm, so soft, oh what an angel she is

If I have to tell you to repress yourselves one more time…

Oh but how can we? When we’ve finally found our-

“Shut up!” you yelled, making a couple workers in the main lobby glance at you in concern. The voices had stopped. You apologized sheepishly before running to the elevator, hastily entering and pressing the button to your floor. 

As you rose into the sky, you could feel the vibrations you’ve been feeling all day intensify, and when you stepped out onto your floor, you were bombarded with sensations as the vibrations came to a crescendo. You were sweltering, perspiration beading at your forehead, your knees began to shake in an effort to hold you up, and your breathing came out in soft pants as you tried to regain the breath you had lost.

“Ah! Miss L/S, glad you’re back from lunch early!”

“Boss,” you whispered, leaning back up to full height to look him in the eye. When had you bent down?

“You don’t look so good, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you mustered a smile. “You needed me?”

“Oh! No, not I. However, there are some men here that are interested in your work.”

This had to be the best news you had gotten all day. You pushed the weakness of your body to the back of your mind at the thought of finally leaving this boring job.

“That’s wonderful! But, wouldn’t it be a loss for the company in losing me?”

“Oh yes Miss L/S, you are one of our most valued workers,” your boss gave you a kind smile, placing a hand on your shoulder as he guided you to his office. You ignored how the vibrations, somehow, became even stronger.

“However, I will not be upset if you decide to turn in your resignation letter and work for these gentlemen.”

He opened the door to office, allowing you to enter first. Seven pairs of eyes turned to face you, and the minimal breath you had whooshed out of your lungs.

“No, this is…”

Your mind went in to overdrive and before you had finished your thought, darkness overtook your mind as you fainted onto the cheap carpet beneath your feet. As your boss started to freak, the seven other men in the room just stood in shock, for you were more beautiful in the flesh, and like your own, their minds short circuited at the thought of you finally being there with them, for the rest of their lives. 

[thearticulatesk]

Pop Culture Conventions are still pretty new to me. In my 4 years as a published author I’ve been to exactly 4 of them, though technically you could say that I’ve been to the same one four times because I’ve only ever tried representing myself at the Sugar City Con right here in Mackay.

My first convention was all about having fun and learning 🙂

Obviously I’d love to go to an actual writing convention because I’d be more likely to find my target audience, but the SCC is still a very new thing here in Mackay and I am still very much an ingenue when it comes to the publishing world, so this is definitely one of those “Think globally, act locally,” events for me.

I’m glad to say that I’ve been with the SCC since their inception back in 2014, and I am very thrilled to say that I’ve learned a lot in those four years- perhaps even enough to warrant me passing my advice along becuase I myself have been frustrated when it comes to researching how best to navigate these events, especially as an author.

My first ever Convention set-up. Not very attention grabbing, is it? It looks like the booth of a beauty sales consultant.

The start of my convention evolution was a little bit embarrassing. I’d only been self-published for just over a year and all I had to offer potential readers was links to e-books and some brochures, which I tried hawking over a plastic-coated foldable table. I managed to raffle off a Kindle E-Reader that first year which at least gave some people a reason to come hang near my booth and jot down their e-mail addresses for me, but I’m not very good with being the pushy sales chick and I never actually used those e-mail addresses for anything so in the end, the most I got out of that event was a teeny tiny bit of promotion.

  Second year’s booth- hit the ground running 🙂

  My second year was a little bit better. By then I had one book in paperback and I ordered in a lot of copies, in addition to getting business cards and better brochures, and I went to a lot more trouble with my booth. I made fancy decorations out of old books, had posters printed up to blow up my various book covers so that they could be pinned to my backing panel behind me, and actually took along my computer so I’d have something to do other than sit and stare at the people passing me by. That was a much better year, but the entire event was a lot bigger and better in general so it was pretty hard to steal attention away from the other vendors. I sold a lot of copies of my novels, but I chose my solitary YA title to print (because it was the smallest) and that definitely limited my reach because I am first and foremost an adult paranormal fantasy writer. I also printed out lots of samples of my other books and had a demo of a second novel ready  to place orders for, which did generate a lot of sales. I was learning but I was learning too slowly and I knew that I needed to plan well in advance the following year if I was going to have a hope of getting my name and my work truly out there.

I’m still very proud of these home made decorations

This was how I packaged the ordered copies when they came in. Sah cute, yeah?

Next came 2016, which was definitely my best year. The convention had grown into its larger venue and the crowd was twice the size of the year before thanks to the fact that we had some fantastically talented people front up for the SCC, including a well-known actor and an incredibly talented young writer, Will Kostakis. I was asked to appear on a panel that year, along with Will Kostakis and another local author, Sharon Johnston to talk about how we got into writing- Will being the award-winner, Sharon the one that had official representation and me- the poor man’s Indie. That was  lot of fun and a great experience, and although I don’t know if that got a lot more people heading my way, it certainly attracted the attention of one or two. I was much better prepared that year- I’d just produced my first original play so I spliced footage from that with my book trailers and played it on repeat on my computer so I had better visual aids, and by then I had 4 different paperbacks to sell and I happily almost sold out. I’d upgraded my brochures yet again, added in some book marks and printed out 18 posters while running a free promotion for several of my other novels on Kindle at the same time, so if there was anything that anyone wanted to read, they had the option of buying it then and there in paperback, or downloading it free.

Me with star guest Tony Amendola 2017

Me on the writer’s panel with Sharon Johsnton and Will Kostakis

My 2017 booth- simple with lots of titles for sale!

Yes 2016 was definitly a successful year but like I said, the SCC was growing so by then there were 6 other writers present, so it was a good thing that I’d gone in prepared because it was much harder to stand out in that sea of faces.

I’ve just done my 4th SCC and although it probably should have been my best year yet, I found that it was pretty hard to top 2016. Not only because an economic downturn led to the event being down-sized in general, but because I didn’t actually make the decision to attend until 2 weeks before so I was grossly underprepared. I ended up having to order books at the last minute in bulk from Create Space which means the postage for each book cost as much as the titles themselves (and literally arrived the afternoon beforehand!), and I didn’t think of anything new to do with my booth so it was a lot simpler than it had been before. In fact, the highlight of this event for me was the fact that I finally got into the Cosplay spirit!

  There were no other authors this year, but I didn’t rate that as being an advantage because it meant that the people that came were mostly drawn in by all of the sci-fi and cosplay stuff. I sold quite a lot of books still and managed to generate some great publicity for my upcoming shows and a collection of local ghost stories that I’m writing, but I definitely wish that I’d been better prepared and had had something new to offer people. That’s definitely the issue with being a small-town writer; if you don’t keep evolving, you go stale.

So here are my personal tips and tricks for representing yourself as an author at a convention- especially if you’re not attending an author-only convention and are competing with the special guest artists and cosplayers that the atendees are lining up for:

Go to some effort with your booth. You’ll likely be supplied with one table, one chair and a backing panel just like everyone else, so be prepared to make it all it can be. Table covers, covers for backing panels, posters, props- make the space look eye-catching. Please try to theme it or keep the colours simple though, because people do judge books- and authors- by their covers.

Find out if you have power and use it accordingly. I definitely wish I’d upgraded my PC display this year because I’ve found that it gives potential customers the chance to drift your way without being forced to have to look or speak to you if they don’t want to. All of the vendors are selling something and selling hard, and most atendees will do their best to maintain a safe distance between themselves and the desperate sales person eyeballing them until they’re as interested as you’d like them to be. A lot of people would advise you to call out to each one or do the ‘hard sell’ but I wouldn’t recommend it. When it comes to books someone is either a reader or they’re not, and readers know what they like to read. If your cover doesn’t hook them, then trying to talk them into it will scare them off more quickly. In fact whenever anyone drifts my way and starts eyeing my book covers I always test the waters first by saying: ‘Are you a reader?’ If the answer is no, then I know to tread carefully and offer them a pretty book mark. If the answer is yes, I ask them what genre they like. If it’s not something I write, I’ll talk to them about what they’re interested in instead and let them decide if they want to know more about me. Once again, I’m not going to waste my time or anyone else’s trying to convince a hard-core fantasy reader to buy a book about zombies.

Keep yourself occupied without actually going too far and making yourself look unapproachable. I take notebooks to doodle in because I can get a lot done without shutting myself off or getting overly distracted by technology.

Have things to sell or give away- I cannot stress this enough. Running a bunch of free books on Kindle might seem like a great idea, but a lot of people won’t go to the trouble of looking you up once they get home if left to their own devices. And be prepared to sell too: have a lot of copies on hand, change, bags, bookmarks and I would highly reccommend that you have one of those personal eftpos machines or at least have your internet banking details, a means to connect to the internet and an invoice book on hand. This year the thing that handicapped me the most was the money thing: the venue had one ATM that died in the first hour, leaving people with only the cash they had and their ATM cards. I’d learned from 2015 to get a portable card reader so I had that as back up but unfortunately, the signal on my phone was too weak to hook the thing up with the app and so I lost a lot of sales that way, as did all of the vendors. Next year when I go back I’ll take a portable wi-fi device to be safe.

Have something to give away to keep you in people’s minds, but if you can’t afford to go big, don’t. Giving away a Kindle loaded with my books was a great idea, but that only really appealed to e-book readers and in a town like mine, that cuts out 70% of your potential customers. Giving away an iPad is expensive and not likely to pay off for you because everyone will enter into that, so you could waste your time trying to hook the attention of people that want the iPad so they can use Instagram, not so they can read off it. If money is no option then by all mens, raffle off an elephant if you’re so inclined, but I’ve discovered that personalised bookmarks are the best way to go. They’re cheap, they’re relevant to the sutomers you want to make a connection with and a lot less likely to be thrown out than a glossy brochure will be.

Link your social media to your event- run competitions using your pen name as a hashtag and get yourself some authentic likes. This year I did a few things- I used my booth to take ticket bookings for my next play, offered a special discount off my next book for people that pre-ordered it before midnight, and tied my appearance at the Con to a cover reveal for my next book online. Just be careful to walk that fine line between self-promotion and spamming, whatever you do.

And last but not least,  get into the spirit of things! Pop culture conventions are all about the cosplay, so find something to wear that’ll make it clear that you’re there not only as a vendor but as a fan of the experience in general. I’ve heard some authors say that they rate dressing up as a character from their own books, but mine aren’t really distinctive enough for that yet, so I decided to dress as Ariel, given that I have three books out about mermaids. It meant that I had to get up a lot earlier and was a lot less comfortable than I had been the prior years, but it was a lot of fun!

So here I am, hoping that 2018 is gonna be the year that I get it right, so if you have any tips for me, please share away!

To convention or not to convention? That is the question. Pop Culture Conventions are still pretty new to me. In my 4 years as a published author I've been to exactly 4 of them, though technically you could say that I've been to the same one four times because I've only ever tried representing myself at the Sugar City Con right here in Mackay.

[sonxfdoom]

T H E  R I T U A L  I S  H E R E .

“ Oh great lord above, please heed our whispered calls on this night into he darkest of times. The chimes of the toiling bell and the sight of spilled blood from the spawn of the enemy you have looked for, for so long. The moon shining through the clouds and the darkness which surrounds us on this cloudy night. 

Khaos, I beg of you. 

Please accept our offering, and our holy grace to bring about the Age of Enlightenment ever so faster. ”

Obviously we can’t celebrate Gohan’s rebirth without mentioning his death. What kind of people are you. How rood. 

This is for the amazing 5/8, the day Gohan died to Buu! Isn’t that grand?  Of course it is! What better way to celebrate then death tho, right? Of course not! Death is the best answer. 

Please enjoy this lovely contribution!  I hope you all have a wonderful day! Do make sure to keep what’s below in mind too.

Fate is as fickle as a dream. Sometimes fantasy mixes in with reality to a frighteningly close line. A line that soon gets destroyed. Make a decision, but think about if that decision really matters, or if it is even really happening at all.

Trigger warnings for: Child abuse, Talks of religious faith (made up), Religious mentions (made up), Assault, Death, Gore, Descriptions of Assault and Violence, Tasers, Electrocution, Bludgeoning to death, Head trauma, Fire

The books within the Holy Man’s hands were soon set onto the ground behind his person, beckoning his hand forward- bringing forth two children. “We offer to you a sample of what is to come. Please graciously accept it.” The two children set down handfuls of hair, and a ring finger from the hybrid handcuffed to the pole. The bloodstained hands were grasped by the Holy Man, who then spoke a prayer under his breath, and released the children to go back to the group. 

One child stood alone, having their hands grasped by the others in the group with a luck of pride on their face, while the other returned to his parents who gave him a supportive hug and kisses on his grime stained forehead. Truly an achievement of the highest caliber. The small pile was soon lit with the flames that one of the Holy Man’s assistants held in their grasp, releasing a disgusting stench in the air of burning hair, grease and sugar left in a pot for too long. Most of the people did not mind- most of them lived in filth and the grueling disgust of the streets. Many of said people having to live in the rubble of destroyed buildings, or consuming the people on the streets that had been killed by uncontrollable forces and had yet to be cleaned up yet.  The people were desperate. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

The boy tied to the pole cried and gagged at the stench. There was barely any air left for him to breathe. A constant downpour of blood left his mouth, and his wheezing was only amplified by his broken ribs and his nearly bit off tongue. What had he done? He could make amends- he really could do it! Why did they have to resort to this?

“We sacrifice the child in the name of Khaos and their holy deciples. The boy’s flesh being consumed by the flames, as well as devour the spirit of Dasos and his forest he resides within. The death of a god shall bring forth the urgency needed in these times and the Age of Enlightenment will soon be upon us.”

“Wait. Child?” A lone man had stumbled forward, question leaving his mouth as dulled green eyes looked at the Holy Man’s face. The hat on his head was askew, and he seemed jittery. Nervous. Scared.

The Holy Man held no compassion for the follower however, a scoff escaping his frame as he looked at the man in his way. “What nonsense comes out of your mouth Ishnail? Of course he is a child. What else could he be? Unless he is a retard there is no possible reason as to why he would do nothing but scamper around and bring his father back- a doe away from his disgusting tyrant of a father and brain-dead harlot of a mother.”

Ishnail seemed taken aback, as well as quite a few others in the crowd. “B-But he’s a child? I thought- but he’s-” The overweight man fell to his knees, retching while sweat started to form and drip off his face. “But- I thought- he is- I was.... I was thinking- I was going to- Oh Khaos  was going to-” Vomit poured out from his mouth before he could finish that train of thought, a quarter of the group running away from the scene to scrub away the filth and shame they felt on themselves- they had beaten a child! They were going to kill a child! The Holy Man looked off in disgust. 

“What daft folks. Are you all blind? Does age matter when it comes to terrible acts? What a stupid question to ask.” A fist struck down on the larger man’s head, sending him face-first into his own vomit.

A wave of nausea ran through Ishnail, but he slowly raised his head up to gaze at the religious leader. “You’re really going to kill a kid? A man that’s so determined to save the majority, and cares so much about the younger ones that he has under his care? The supposed ‘branches of the future’?”

“A freak is still a freak nonetheless. What is one life compared to millions?” A foot planted itself on the back of the man’s head, once again setting the soul into his own upchucked meal. “What fool would want a world to suffer for their own individual wants? The same who are selfish and greedy, and spend their time in solitude for their own self gain. What thoughts and actions would you have done if he was not a child? Simply disgusting.”

“Kill him!” “Relinquish his sins to the fires!”

“It seems your hate has been chosen for you, disgusting retch. The life shall leave you and your corpse shall be set ablaze to be enlightened in truth.” The Holy Man spoke no more in favor of slamming the man into the dirt and ceasing to relent when the soul beneath was struggling for air. A person took care to stand on the back of Ishnail’s hands and back, the boy still tied up looking upon in horror as the panicked movements of the man seemed to slow down, and then stop entirely.

“What a shame. The sins of a man only able to be cleansed through holy sacrifice.”

The boy sat in silence, tears streaming down his face while sitting in his own pity, blood, tears and regret. He couldn’t even speak anymore; it hurt too much.All he could do was cry and cry and cry.

“Simply deplorable.” “What a disgusting man.” “I’m glad he’s gone.” “Devious pig.”

A single clap sent a wave of silence over the crowd, and the Holy Man regained everyone’s attention near instantly with the lighting of a second torch. “I believe now we have gotten rid of the liars and cowards. Now is the time for the sins to be lit with the flames of-”

“You wanna shut yourself up right then and there?”  A single miss spoke up, mask over her mouth and pink bandanna to her neck. The jacket on her arms nearly catching on the twigs of the tree she had jumped out of- landing on the now deceased man with a sickening crack of his spine. “You’re not killing the kid.”

“I’m not letting you do it either.” Another miss, this one with pink hair and a jacket that covered nothing below her midriff landed on the ground nearby, looking back at the boy with a smile and a thumbs up. “I’ll get you outta here. Promise.”

"You realize what you have done, correct?”

The shorter of the two, the one that so graciously broke the spine of a dead man, stepped forward and grabbed the Holy Man by his collar. “I don’t give a single shit what I did. I’m leaving with the kid.”

“I don’t believe you will.” A taser was pulled from the pocket of the Holy Man’s robes, and shoved it forcefully into the girl’s stomach. There was a screech in pain, although her hands slowly shifted up to strangle the man in her grasp. “Fuck you.” Edgliette chocked out, eyes shifting into a hard glare at the sleazy bastard in her face.

A follower meanwhile, having come prepared for an upcoming intrusion, had reared a baseball bat behind the other girl, who was trying to figure out what injuries the boy had so she wouldn’t kill him upon release. “You’re gunna be alright. Don’t look so panicked- are you in a lot of pain? You’re gunna be okay.  You’re gunna be oka-”

A single crack echoed into the air, and the bloodstained bodies watched as the girl fell to the ground with a caved in skull to the grass at the boys feet. A cough and gurgles escaping the boy from the sight that he had just had to bare witness to, and Edgliette stopped her onslaught to turn towards the sound.  “You fucking didn’t. You fucking didn’t.”

The Holy Man took the opportunity to stab the taser into the opposing girl’s neck, sending spasms down her spine and sending the girl to the ground without much trouble. “My my, it seems our dear ladies have fallen in the most ungraceful ways. Do not fret. The fires will bring enlightenment to your souls.”

“S-Suck a dick. J-Jus’ fuckin kill m-m-me if yer gunna le’ me suffer.”

“It’s a wonder you can still talk. Are you perhaps, more than you seem? It’s a shame we’ll never find out.” A snap of the fingers and the batter was poised to strike the other girl that dare interrupt such a holy event.

“You knew we were comin’, didn’ ya.” A statement, she had nothing else to say after that.

The man chuckled, signalling the hand to strike her down, and so the batter did graciously. Blood and brains spilled out from her skull, bat bending to the force and releasing a harsh ‘dammit!’ from the batter. 

“Yes. Yes we did. You did excellent Marsh. Very wonderful. Khaos would be proud.”

The batter bowed thankfully, running back into the crowd and with another snap of the fingers one of the many had lit another torch for the Holy Man. “No more interruptions?”

“Certainly no more. Now, son of Doom, what are your last words before your body is given to the gods in the name of sacrifice and prayer?” The boy looked over at the crowd, and then the fire, and then the bell above him. He had run out of tears to cry. He had barely any life left in him to speak.

“‘M sorry.”

“And your sorrow is what shall lead for you to be forgiven when you’re body is burned and your soul is released. Your acceptance is welcomed with open arms in Khaos’s light.”

The torch is tossed to the grass around the child’s legs, lighting it instantly and soon creating a ring of fire around the sacrifice. “Shall I cut the cord?”

“Most certainly.”

A single follower snaked his way around the fire, to the back where a single knot sit tied to the pole. A swing of the cleaver soon relinquished the role and sent the bell from above crashing into the child’s skull and sending a loud chime to ring through the trees.  A scream escaped the hybrid for just a few seconds, soon replaced by gurgling, and the sight of brain matter leaking from the bottom of the metal as the body remained ever so limp and dead.

“On the count of three, light the torches and toss them as far into the wild as you can! Leave no spot untouched!”

The torches were soon lit within the hands of the followers, and then chucked into the endless greenery of the forest that they rested in. Smoke flooded the area, embers of reds and oranges flooding the views of them all as they run back towards the city they reside in.

The bodies did not move, and they could not move in the slightest.  The fires licked at the corpses, and the forest they resided in.

Bright lights lit the night sky, and the townspeople had cheered and gasped in awe at the sight. Perhaps Khaos was coming sooner than they thought!

A single eye escaped into the stars above. The plan had failed.

[2sevenkristens]

The thoughts of a highly famous gal or chap - writing deeply of the raw longing for what we call a normal life- withdrawn from the spot light- not just a couple lines stitched together but a bleeding cry- a 69 flip of the slippery (unstable curiously). An Alcoholic mudhole<that kind> the writing of the stuck(or maybe not)- just show me the wiggling wonder of an unknown existence. What is it like to run on the only thing you know neatly? The Keen Kernaled Firecap. The flame in those lilacs descend as a stranger in my chair - In my pile of change on the floor in my Samaritan stainshed. At random we gallop- in our grape soda "Ballerina Sometimes". Our Lulu respirators. Yanked and slanted- All the Hank scorpions of a Razoring Reprinting- remalping spun chimes into our razzling neighbors boomstamps. The exchange of pudding and soupsounds-their recipe books- balking-in the house of our breakthrough we chant. Champion sonnets for our vigorous debate. We race in fort Brag (shut your damn cloudgrip) *oh grant me A Serenity* And We stick forks in the graves of the animal house- (Stack your monkey for the local farmers) Stack your monkey. Stamp your cunt with stickers of Disney characters- (don't tell me what to do) But treat me as I am. Bury yourself alive in Bettys Humble Cave. The sketch is vital. The sketch. Figure out your mean Mister . - Water this mold -shiver in your panicroom- for I love it there- invade the bug there. Slave to the snare. "I went through a Bad break up - and became a belly dancer for six weeks"- -Something Devin said on the R5 train- we were sitting on the side the sun met directly -me at the window-head against the glass. Casted and sailing and listening to Some Silly Crusher- her old adorable band in the garage- puffer lodge. Sparkled duck in the disco scrab. She wore a hat with animal ears- cute Caligula on exit mode. Songs about sex- acid rocked teenager playing fanboy line1. Ha! Fuzz. Here were two little girls in matching Japanese pancakes bopping at what we did -what we said - how we were pranksters- pins-pins- Alone. I smile when I think of our cared marshmallow horizon. Clicking our red shoes to the rhythm of the Louie Roses. More fuzz. -and some things make me laugh, Mrs Stiff and Squalid lashes. Got it? Its these small pickles of time condensed and skewed by our barnacle language. I dig MY OWN fingers into it- stroke the letters and BAKE them into my o- Into my own- Skulled cards. Read them Mrs. Muzzle. Flip your stupid grilled cheese sandwiches and look at the world's fat pink backhand- Put on this jacket of smacked lessons- so that your grasslands will grow and grow and graze over everything that is complete and sacked with carcass garbage. I got off the stuff. Needles in the trash. LISTEN UP. I did it okay and can laugh laugh laugh all I want to!☆ Take a plunge my Lady Locked. Look at me unchain myself. Look- see that it's real. Run into your own shiver. Shake the jukebox like your riding the best cock of your life. Like your riding the best. Hard knock. Knox Ride Woman. Crack those knuckles. -Women. Hopellessly devoted to the tightening up- to the unbuckling. Udon - seringe- violet snake. I am Needless- only for his rushing - rushing medical attention. Lumbered. Mastered. Mouth. Mumbled. Sedated. Sucked. Sore. Sorry. Im a Silly little brat. Still wining. Still looking at Your Hunt - Still looking at Your Ghost And the I heart huckabees cornucopia collie- Unstable in the bakery. Unstable in this bakery. Back with you at my high school job. My skirt is falling down as the phone ring rings - ringing past 3. Swung to all four of This Rooms Corners. My hands have dough dusted along the crev. Life lines filled up with the white. Oh Man. Youre pulling it down. Boss is gone. Doomed (in the corner i am) Spread like Marie's fine drapes- Then drug out by your invader. Caked. Situated in a drowning for your Pynchon diagram. The Last laugh- the last cry- so what ones going to be better? Both tennis balls being slacked by your racket- spanked by your partners. Shooting saliva -smock samples all over the floor. Beat by the sun- stomped by those gum souls. Chest breaking. We are Dead in the middle- Ha ha- you mangled- silly mango. Such a meaty texture. Suching. Seven sighs. ×Parking lots in the evening× "I am sorry to hear that you are unhappy with the work you are not doing" -again- I am laughing- Carter skips jokes in the air like rocks on the water. Slump. Yeah I complain about more than- [sink lower]- more things than just the W E A T H E R

Extreme in its soaked bag of a cloak-father. The Immediate dose- of hot thick suds in the veins. Spap me up. Soap your fingers up inside of me. We are drowning.  Defend yourself. Make yourself think u can control me- can you? Send me off with your spoons. Gonna hit up my friend now- Jump in the van Time for sad piano. And we all drive in this rain And all the emerald leaves  make out like French girls  (palms around the cone- tounge gliding the cream) She is cut out to be teaching Him too- and probably me- let's all spin ourselves so fast around on the playground together. Let's make ourselves sick and forget our big big uncharitable dreams. Because we lust so bad for living- so let me brush up against these things I want so badly- almost lose them- throw them in the backseat of the car- clean up- vacume the car- find the things- thumb tack them to my boards- my chest- drag the tacks down. Carve out. I will show you me doing that.  Again- can you? *watch*- can ya watch now- Sweaty doll- ripple me soft. Rip the rug from under me. I sware to God- M83 Godzilla- You will meet her absolutely. Haron Ontario Michigan Eerie Superior. Swung from the branches of all their rock hard-packed veins stemming to the ether- always racing out there away from our sunny land -magazine. Oh Ethan Tramadol - put us to sleep in the Lakes Lundragon. Snap our necks on the sandstone pie crust around it's ex- Next lover. Pierce our genitals. Pound our vox to the Yeasayer. Hit so hard it's black now but hey Hit so hard i am back now But hey Five seconds of the look on your face when I charge a fireballed- eye core. When I say goodbye and you fall out. When you go down my (Fuq- you know what you do) Some people listen - touch themselves over that five seconds - Five seconds stretched - looped and pulled- tugged- bulldogged delerious. It was those five long seconds of how she responded- how she didn't know yet- the way it made her grind against the wheel. Wilming around all hot and boilng - a bug in the pot. Unfixed under the hot wax of your cranked rhyme. Interupt this. Make yourself available- then dont- again back and forth we turn this glock. Licking limbs for a converged - silver death. Bubbling Moth. Mulp. SLing cuff. (It's discing) Straight through me shooting paper airplanes through the tinsel tolls- quiver in the stables. A Sorting spudged light driphouse- clipping in a couples pop. Jamming butterscotch oxygen - Smudgeing these suffering thighs on torched - testy freight trains. This skull(rather). Skum ray. The Scallion rape in stages game . Batter on the field sinner stays pillow tape- It's here- drooling. Pink bows on the stains. okay My Leading Knightfall- you jet velvet connotation-I know you see my PALLETS.  Look the other way- fill up your boots with gauges. Cage yourself. Bail your hurt for Melody to write about- masterbate then write about you're misbehavings on Rye. B side companions This Company car Like when Benny got off the stuff and betty got a job as a waitress - ( Bukowski knows it like I do)- scissors resting over our friends over ourselves. There is no Benny - bettys Mandy- Mandys your sister and everyone's your hiding place. We Write your faggy clasping fantasy all over your calves - i drain your statutory release so you don't murder 45 people even though you need to. I need to too. Take care of it in the slits of our creations- my creature. My slame. And Mom and dad were fighting again. Mom shoved dad into the book case - every single book fell off the shelf except for a book about - ((inhales)) ((Shakes head- shakes the weight off)) ((exhales)) ((nods head))- The one with all pictures- all those places that dad went. A book of slides. He showed us all of them on the wall. Every color cut it's life into the plaster.  Plugged into his traveling tremendous. I was barely aged. I was Unaware of this life but was injected with the purity of it and it's journey towards the same thing that sat between my ribs and my fingertips at 6 six years old- 5 years -4-3-2-1- - -  there. Slap me up into it Lover- take me to the wall- to the pixels- Mix it up with your cum on the bed sheet- Punish me in the night so I can cry for the places I miss and yearn for. You want the same. I don't give a shit what it looks like- tell me what you need to get there. How bad do you want to go there. Show me how you need me to be. Shove me- Bend me to your whistled fireplace. Time is shit here. Keep undressing me. Look deep into my pools. They've been raped - rung out by a uncontrollable spasm. That cool? It was The first book that made me realize I was broken. Dangling in the midst of a message threading itself back into my bones where it came from- birthed by the lips of my sick- lumpy fate. Dad met me here. The washroom of Our Home

[elenajohansenauthor]

Down the TBR Hole is a (very) bookish meme, originally created by Lia @ Lost In A Story. She has since combed through all of her TBR (very impressive) and diminished it by quite a bit, but the meme is still open to others! How to participate:

Go to your Goodreads to-read shelf

Order by Ascending Date Added

Take the first 5 (or 10 if you’re feeling adventurous) books. Of course if you do this weekly, you start where you left off the last time.

Read the synopses of the books

Decide: keep it or let it go?

I left off with Second Position, which despite being at the end of my second go-round of this meme, is now #6 on the overall TBR. Woohoo, I’m reading books I wanted to read!

I pick back up with a real doozy.

#1 – 1Q84, by Haruki Murakami

The year is 1984 and the city is Tokyo.

A young woman named Aomame follows a taxi driver’s enigmatic suggestion and begins to notice puzzling discrepancies in the world around her. She has entered, she realizes, a parallel existence, which she calls 1Q84 —“Q is for ‘question mark.’ A world that bears a question.” Meanwhile, an aspiring writer named Tengo takes on a suspect ghostwriting project. He becomes so wrapped up with the work and its unusual author that, soon, his previously placid life begins to come unraveled.

As Aomame’s and Tengo’s narratives converge over the course of this single year, we learn of the profound and tangled connections that bind them ever closer: a beautiful, dyslexic teenage girl with a unique vision; a mysterious religious cult that instigated a shoot-out with the metropolitan police; a reclusive, wealthy dowager who runs a shelter for abused women; a hideously ugly private investigator; a mild-mannered yet ruthlessly efficient bodyguard; and a peculiarly insistent television-fee collector.

A love story, a mystery, a fantasy, a novel of self-discovery, a dystopia to rival George Orwell’s — 1Q84 is Haruki Murakami’s most ambitious undertaking yet: an instant best seller in his native Japan, and a tremendous feat of imagination from one of our most revered contemporary writers.

I’m pretty sure this made it on the TBR because it sounded interesting and I’ve read a lot of praise of Murakami’s works in general. Digging into the reviews of 1Q84 specifically, though, it seems like a bad place to start. First, it strikes me as a love-it-or-loathe-it book: very few middling reviews, tons of 1- or 5-stars.

Second, even people who like it themselves are repeatedly saying not to start here if you’re new to Murakami.

Third, it’s nearly a thousand pages, so if this might not be a keeper, it’s probably not worth investing the time or money in.

This one goes, with the caveat that I’ll look into his other works and pick one to try that’s better suited as an entry point.

#2 – The Penryn & the End of Days trilogy, by Susan Ee

It’s been six weeks since angels of the apocalypse descended to demolish the modern world. Street gangs rule the day while fear and superstition rule the night. When warrior angels fly away with a helpless little girl, her seventeen-year-old sister Penryn will do anything to get her back.

Anything, including making a deal with an enemy angel.

Raffe is a warrior who lies broken and wingless on the street. After eons of fighting his own battles, he finds himself being rescued from a desperate situation by a half-starved teenage girl.

Traveling through a dark and twisted Northern California, they have only each other to rely on for survival. Together, they journey toward the angels’ stronghold in San Francisco where she’ll risk everything to rescue her sister and he’ll put himself at the mercy of his greatest enemies for the chance to be made whole again. (Angelfall)

Booklr loved these books when I showed up there as a brand-new independent author, and Susan Ee was an indie who made good. I’m a sucker for post-apoc fiction (duh!) and these sound right up my alley, simple as that.

They stay, though if I don’t end up liking the first one, I’ll quit there and ditch the other two.

#3 – In Another Life, by Julie Christine Johnson

Historian Lia Carrer has finally returned to southern France, determined to rebuild her life after the death of her husband. But instead of finding solace in the region’s quiet hills and medieval ruins, she falls in love with Raoul, a man whose very existence challenges everything she knows about life–and about her husband’s death. As Raoul reveals the story of his past to Lia, she becomes entangled in the echoes of an ancient murder, resulting in a haunting and suspenseful journey that reminds Lia that the dead may not be as far from us as we think.

Steeped in the rich history and romantic landscape of rural France, In Another Life is a story of love that conquers time and the lost loves that haunt us all.

I think this one came to me via a recommendation list on BookRiot…I think. Or possibly I spotted the giveaway on Goodreads when the book was published in 2016–the timeline is right for that.

Now that I’m reading the blurb again, I can see why it intrigued me (romance) but I’m less excited by murder and suspenseful. And the reviews mention time travel, which is not a thing I’ve been impressed with often enough to seek it out.

This one goes.

#4 – A Man of Character, by Margaret Locke

What would you do if you discovered the men you were dating were fictional characters you’d created long ago?

Thirty-five-year-old Catherine Schreiber has shelved love for good. Keeping her ailing bookstore afloat takes all her time, and she’s perfectly fine with that. So when several men ask her out in short order, she’s not sure what to do…especially since something about them seems eerily familiar.

Caught between fantasy and reality, Cat must decide which—or whom—she wants more.

Blending humor with unusual twists, including a magical manuscript, a computer scientist in shining armor, and even a Regency ball, A Man of Character tells a story not only of love, but also of the lengths we’ll go for friendship, self-discovery, and second chances.

I honestly don’t remember where I stumbled across this mostly-unknown title (just over 100 reviews on GR) but I’m glad I did, because it sounds adorable. And the ratings are good, especially for such a relatively small sample size.

Maybe it’s self-indulgent to want to read about a writer who gets to date her own creations, but I don’t care. This one stays.

  From an impressive sisterhood of YA writers comes an edge-of-your-seat anthology of historical fiction and fantasy featuring a diverse array of daring heroines.

Criss-cross America — on dogsleds and ships, stagecoaches and trains — from pirate ships off the coast of the Carolinas to the peace, love, and protests of 1960s Chicago. Join fifteen of today’s most talented writers of young adult literature on a thrill ride through history with American girls charting their own course. They are monsters and mediums, bodyguards and barkeeps, screenwriters and schoolteachers, heiresses and hobos. They’re making their own way in often-hostile lands, using every weapon in their arsenals, facing down murderers and marriage proposals. And they all have a story to tell.

I undoubtedly saw this on Booklr when it was new, but honestly, I haven’t seen much of its presence since. I’m less inclined to collections of short stories than I might once have been, having had some bad luck and impatience with them in the past few years, and looking over the author list, there are only a few I’ve read before and liked, and one I actively want to avoid due to strongly problematic elements in her other works.

As much as I’d normally want to support such something with such clearly feminist goals, this one goes.

Have you read any of these and have an opinion you want to share? Let me know in the comments if you think I’ve made a mistake!

Down the TBR Hole #3 Down the TBR Hole is a (very) bookish meme, originally created by Lia @ Lost In A Story…

[mrmedia]

92 George Gray, announcer, "The Price is Right," host, "What With That House?"

Today's Guest: George Gray, host, "What's With That House," announcer, "The Price is Right" with Drew Carey

"The Price Is Right" announcer George Gray and host Drew Carey

George Gray is having way too much fun on his HGTV show, “What’s With That House?” The show, now in its second season, is kind of a goof on the proliferation of shelter TV shows, where viewers are taken into fabulous homes and mansions and led around by announcers in hushed, respectful tones. There’s no respect in Gray’s tone -- and rightfully so. If you haven’t seen the show, I absolutely insist you pause this interview and set your DVR, Tivo, or VCR to record the show. It’s on HGTV every Wednesday at 11:30 PM Eastern or Pacific. You won’t be sorry. (You could also sample it by watching a clip...) Back now? Okay. If Gray seems familiar, it means you probably saw him in ESPN’s sports fantasy reality series “I’d Do Anything” or the syndicated version of “The Weakest Link.” George Gray Facebook • Twitter • Wikipedia • IMDB • "The Price is Right" on CBS

BOB ANDELMAN/Mr. MEDIA: George, welcome to Mr. Media. GEORGE GRAY: I am so excited to be here. Actually, you were talking fitness. I’ve been doing Kegels the whole time I’ve been listening to you. ANDELMAN: Well, I hope whoever you’re with next appreciates that I gave you the opportunity to do that. GRAY: And you used the word proliferation. You gotta slowly ramp up to a word like proliferation, which is nice. ANDELMAN: Well, I thought this was kind of a nuclear moment. GRAY: Makes me sound way heavier than I really am. So glad to be here. ANDELMAN: Well, that is quite a head you’ve got on your shoulders, if you’re gonna make that reference. GRAY: It’s just the ego. ANDELMAN: What color is that hair? GRAY: Actually, it’s funny because my hair…you achieve that kind of blond by sticking your head in a bucket of Clorox about every five days. And so it’s very natural. But, actually, now that the show is on hiatus right now, my hair sort of looks like I got whacked with a carrot. I seem to go to extremes. ANDELMAN: What is the natural color of your hair?

  GRAY: Oh, when I was doing “The Weakest Link,” that was pretty close, although the lights were so dark in the room, it looked darker than it was. Kind of a dark blond, I think. Dirty, dirty blond, something like that. I don’t even know. Who knows? I started growing the soul patch. I did a show called “Junkyard Wars” before “Weakest Link,” and I grew the soul patch that I have now worn for years as a joke. Not a lot of guys were wearing them at the time, not that I was the first to ever do it, but they really weren’t in vogue. And I really did it as a joke, and I thought it looked so silly and stupid that I just decided to wear it for a couple of weeks. Then I booked “Junkyard Wars” and just left it. And so that’s been on my face. So I sort of do things, I don’t know, just out of sheer stupidity. ANDELMAN: This is way off topic, but as a guy who’s worn a beard for way too long, how do you trim that soul patch thing so it always looks the same? Do you ever slip with the razor or the electric? GRAY: No, I’m a Braun man. I don’t really pay that much attention to it. My mother hates it. She wishes that I would slip with the razor by accident. A beard would drive me nuts. I couldn’t do that. I don’t know how you do it. You got a really long one, do ya? ANDELMAN: No, no. It’s not too long, but my wife refuses to let me cut it. She says I look about 10 years old without it, which, as I’m pushing my way up to 50, I guess maybe that might be a good thing. I don’t know. GRAY: Maybe she’s got a Santa Claus fetish. “C’mon, go gray baby, go gray.” ANDELMAN: I’ll try that little red hat on tonight. So what’s this, you got a TV show? I don’t remember what we’re here for. GRAY: TV, shmevee. Very nice words, by the way. Thank you for telling everybody that they should tune in to watch. “What’s With That House?” is a guilty pleasure show. It really is slamming on your brakes – a “What the hell is that?” kind of show. ANDELMAN: It’s funny. It was brought to my attention and, for Mr. Media, I really focus on things that I like, and I want to share with other people. And this was something that was brought to my attention. I was surprised I hadn’t heard of it before, and I watched it, and it was just…it’s really funny. We watch so many reality-type shows or home shows or cooking shows, and this was just so left-of-center. It’s a fun show. People really should give it a try. GRAY: Leftist? Are you saying it’s a Democratic show? ANDELMAN: I don’t know if it’s a blue state/red state show. GRAY: I try to run a strict Libertarian ship there on the show. ANDELMAN: One of the moments in watching the show that made me literally laugh out loud, and now I’m gonna repeat it, and maybe it won’t be that funny. Maybe if you put it in context, but you told a couple -- and looked at the camera -- you said, “Thank you for showing me your toilet.” GRAY: That sounds like something classy that I’d say. ANDELMAN: Do you remember that in particular? GRAY: No, I don’t. If you could get to see me in the voice-over booth which, for anybody that doesn’t know, you shoot a show, the editors cut the show, the network approves of the show, then they write a script of the show -- which is kind of a backwards way to do it -- and then you go into a booth and you say words that they lay in on top of the show to kind of fill in all the thoughts. And when I go to do voice-over stuff, I don’t have a script for “What’s With That House?” so I just say whatever I want. I just say whatever comes to my mind. And they only use a portion of it, and a lot of the stuff I say isn’t for air. I just say it to amuse myself or the editors or the homeowners or whoever, so everything’s from risqué to whatever just pops out of my mouth. And sometimes I’ll say something, and I would swear it’s somebody else that said it, and it’ll make me laugh. I’m like, “Wow, that was funny.” ANDELMAN: I wondered how much might be scripted before or after, and how much is not. GRAY: Zero. ANDELMAN: Do you spend any time with the homeowner before taping begins, or is that mostly a production issue?

  GRAY: The only thing that I do is I show up and say, “Hello,” and introduce myself. I usually walk into the house and yell, “Hi honey, I’m home!” But I have time to relax, and it’s fun that I have no script, that there are no rules. A lot of people aren’t very savvy with TV. They get that whole deer-in-the-headlights-Richard-Nixon-during-the-Kennedy-debate look on their face, and it’s not pleasant. It’s really beads of sweat and the big eyes. And I just say, “Everything’s gonna be fine.” Everybody gets comfortable, and then we just roll, and that’s it. It’s very, very natural and just whatever comes out of it. I, personally, hate fake reality TV, and there’s so much of it these days. It’s just one of those things. You watch those shows where you just know that they’re reading from a script. It’s an MTV show: “Hi, my name’s Dan, and I’m here to rock it because I’m from Detroit.” It’s like, “Oh, wow, they just told you to say that.” ANDELMAN: You see the writers listed at the end of some of the reality shows if you check the credits, and you think, “That explains a lot.” GRAY: Exactly. I just think reality TV should be reality, which is just let it go, and we’ll see what happens. With “What’s With That House?” the premise behind it is it’s all those houses all across the country where you slam on the brakes and wonder what the homeowner was smoking. And we’ve all seen those houses. Every single person in every single state, city, and small town has one of those houses near them, and they know which one it is. And it’s probably nicknamed like “The Mushroom House” or “The Witch’s Hat House” because of what it looks like. And so many people just love to tour those houses, and we finally get to, so that’s why the show’s a lot of fun. ANDELMAN: We have one that went up about a block from us that they refer to it as “The Italian Prison.” It’s a neighborhood of nice houses, and then this house goes up that eats up the entire piece of property, and it is two stories tall. It is one big rectangle, flat walls, every window is the exact same tiny size. So when I saw this show, I immediately thought of that, and I could equate to it completely. In one of the episodes I saw, you were in Oakland Park, Florida. And every neighborhood, it seems like, has one of these most bizarre, curious houses. GRAY: And it’s great that you’ve nicknamed it “The Italian Prison.” I guarantee there’ll be like five or six names out there that people have for it, each one funnier than the last one. And it really polarizes everybody in these neighborhoods. I guarantee, if I went through the neighborhood, which we do, and we say “Hey, excuse me, Bob, you live on this street, what do you think of that place and what do you call it?” You’d say, “I call it ‘The Italian Prison. I think it’s ugly.” We’ll talk to another neighbor who will say, “I think it is a beautiful, post-modernism statement about architecture.” And they’ll love it. And it’s hysterical that you get some people that just absolutely think that whatever this house is is the greatest thing since sliced bread, and some people think it’s just moldy. ANDELMAN: Do you have any great moments with neighbors that you really loved what they said, but you couldn’t possible use? GRAY: Well, HGTV is definitely a more family values, conservative type of network, and so it’s a little on the squeakier, cleaner side, but I’m very impressed with them. They did air something one time that was very, very, very, very funny. We went to this house and saw all the neighbors. The problem is, when neighbors live close by, they’re probably friends with the people so we don’t want to say anything bad about the house. And so I was asking neighbors, “What do you think of this house?” “Oh, it’s fine. It’s fine.” “It’s fine” is the only thing. “It’s fine. It’s fine.” Well, c’mon, is it good, is it bad, what do you think? “Oh, it’s fine. It’s fine.” And, finally, I asked some guy who happened to live about six blocks away, and he didn’t know the people. I said, “Can I ask you on camera what you think about the house?” And he said sure. So I said so tell me, what do you think of the house? I didn’t even finish the sentence, and he said, “It looks like crap.” And I started laughing because it was so funny the way he said it. And he wasn’t being angry. He was just being very honest. And I said “No, really, just what do…” And he just again cut me off and repeated it, and it just made me laugh so hard. It was so funny to just see that kind of honesty. And they actually aired it. So it was great. ANDELMAN: You say that HGTV is kind of conservative. Of course, they do air the show 11:30 at night. And the humor on the show would fit in primetime on any network, but yeah, I can see that it might be a little offbeat for them. GRAY: Let’s just say, yeah, we caused a bit of a scare when we first joined ranks with them, but they knew who I was, and they were happy to have me aboard. They said they wanted to try something a little crazier, a little more fun, not so much khaki. HGTV has been really, really great to me. There’s a woman named Beth Burke… At every network, there’s always kind of some network suit goon that oversees the show, and she’s the network goon. And she’s just been our biggest savior. She likes for us to get away with all sorts of stuff. We’ll try to slip in these jokes in editing, and she will roll her eyes and then go try to talk to the powers-that-be. But, yes, they like to run me a little more late-night cause I think they see me as like the Dave Chappelle of HGTV. And Senator, I know Dave Chappelle, and you’re no Dave Chappelle. ANDELMAN: You’re just gonna head that one off right now right by yourself, huh? GRAY: Exactly. It’s very flattering that they think that but not even close. ANDELMAN: Have you gotten any feedback from any of the other HGTV hosts? Do any of them have a problem with this being there? GRAY: With HGTV? No. As a matter of fact, when I get to see the other hosts, they always say, “Man, you get away with murder. They don’t even let me…” It’s always a fun complaint. I guess I’m the naughty child that they just sort of let be bad. ANDELMAN: How does a house get on the show? GRAY: I think mostly bribery or threats. But barring that, there’s a crack production team out in Los Angeles, and they scour the country. It’s everything from looking in news stories and clippings for crazy houses that’ve been covered in the local newspaper to people -- once we got on the air and got popular -- sending in emails to HGTV saying, “Hey, I got a weird house in my neighborhood!” I don’t get to go to every house that we show. I go to most of them. I go to about 80 percent of the homes. But sometimes, we’re shooting two at the same time. I just can’t be at two places at one time. And a really super-nice guy…it was a modern type of home in a very kind of traditional home area. And he sent in his stuff, huge fan of the show, huge fan of HGTV. They said. “Great, we’re gonna do your house.” They set it up, and they said, “Look, we’re not sure if George could come to your house,” and that was a deal-breaker. I was very, very flattered. He said, “I won’t do the show unless George can make it to my house.”

  ANDELMAN: Yes, I want to be insulted in person. I don’t want to be insulted long-range. GRAY: He was just the nicest guy. And it really made me feel good ‘cause you get out there, and you work. You don’t get in touch with a lot of people that are watching your show, and it was neat to have him say, “No, no, I really love the show and wanted you to be here.” And we had a great time. As the show’s become a lot more known and been on for a while, people, when I show up to the house, it’s like seeing an old friend. So that’s really nice. ANDELMAN: Have you had any problems with any homeowners who didn’t quite get you, and maybe you couldn’t even use the tape? GRAY: There’ve been a couple of times when I’m probably more liquored-up than I should be, a little touchy-feely, but…No, no. Actually, I think before we’d ever aired, which would’ve been maybe a year and a half ago, we were shooting the beginning of the series, but people didn’t have anything to relate to it. And I really took the time, I think, to tell people what it is. Kind of what I would always say to homeowners, and now people watch it. They know I’m coming to their house. They always TiVo it even if they’ve never seen the series and watch it for five minutes to get the general vibe of it. I would always say that the show is fun and funny, but it’s not insulting. It’s never about making fun of you or your house. That’s not the point of the show, and it never will be. So it’s about having fun, not making fun. And I really want to always stress that. I think, once you say that to somebody, then you’re okay cause even when I did “Weakest Link, I always thought that when Anne Robinson did “Weakest Link” that she would just go for people’s jugular and like shoot out their kneecaps for no reason. Whereas I sort of saw it as these are all my children, and I love my children, but when your children get out of line, you thunk them on the head. You don’t really ultimately want to hurt your children, but sometimes you gotta smack them on the ass pretty hard. I think you look at it that way. When your friend slips on a banana peel, you’re gonna laugh and point, but you don’t want your friend to be hurt. And you will dust them off and help them up. And so that’s the way I approached “Weakest Link,” and I think with “What’s With That House?” I decided I want to have fun but not make fun. And, c’mon, if you live in a house that’s covered with shag carpeting, including the exterior of it, you can’t be taking yourself too seriously. ANDELMAN: Now, I wanted you to finish that, but there was an episode, if we can call it an episode, where you’re talking to a guy who has signs all over his house, and he’s showing you a stop sign that he stole from a busy intersection. And then he was bragging about the quality of his compost. And while he’s doing that, you turn to the camera, rolled your index finger by the side of your head, which, of course, is the international symbol for “Cuckoo! Cuckoo!” So let’s not be too benign about this. GRAY: Well, you know what, though? In that kind of instance, if I thought the person was really crazy, I would’ve never done that. So if I know he’s just kind of a goofy guy that I’m having a good time with… You know the deal. If you’re next to one of your friends who’s being a goofball, you would absolutely do that. ANDELMAN: Right. GRAY: If you’re next to somebody who you think has a mental disorder, I think you would find that pretty insulting. ANDELMAN: That would be true. GRAY: So you always gauge your audience. And, definitely, some homeowners are a little more serious than the others, but everybody really enjoys living in their homes and has fun with them. And they understand what the show is about. It’s about enjoying the diversity of weird homes. ANDELMAN: There was another one I liked. I think the family had a castle, and the parents were just so proud. And then you asked the teenage boy about it, if he was really proud about it, and he was like, “No, no. I’m not happy to be living here at all.” GRAY: It’s so funny that you would think that a 13 or 14-year-old kid would hate to live in a normal house but be thrilled to live in a castle. But the true axiom of the world is 14-year-olds hate everything. ANDELMAN: True. GRAY: That’s just the way it works. So you get to see that if you’re talking to a 14-year-old, they’re not happy. Best thing is put out some food, some water, and a video game and leave them alone until they’re about 19. ANDELMAN: Now, Mr. Gray, I understand that there’s a call for you. Department of Children and Families is calling in a little concerned about some of your child-rearing techniques. GRAY: Well, you notice anytime I’m called Mr. Gray, I’m generally in court. ANDELMAN: Now, I’ve told you a couple of the episodes that I’ve really liked. Do you have some favorites of your own from either the homes or the homeowners? GRAY: Oh, gosh, there’re so many. I’ve probably been to almost a couple hundred houses, and each one, there’s something great about it. There really has never been a house where I haven’t found some little gem. One of my favorites is a woman in Austin who -- her first name escapes me right now -- just the sweetest, sweetest woman, a fairly well-known and very respected local artist. And Austin is a very funky place to live. If anybody’s from Austin right now or ever been there, it’s definitely eclectic. And she had a normal house. It was probably a home built in the late ‘20s maybe early ‘30s. She put art on every single square inch of her house, every single square inch. And she was very good at it. She did a lot of Day of the Dead kind of stuff, a lot of heavy, heavy thick oils and paints. But she would paint something and then drape something on top of that and drape something on top of that. And when you went through her whole house, she actually…you opened her oven, and her oven was like a diorama. It had art in the oven. Every single square inch of her home was art, including her toilet seat. Everything. And she was just the neatest, craziest person I’ve ever met, and I had such a great time with her. And then there’s a house that I went to that was made by a guy in the sixties as a UFO. And it actually had a dropping drawbridge that you walked up into. The home itself was pretty much, if a UFO’s gonna land, this is what it would look like. The home was, I guess what, 12 feet off the ground on three stilts that stuck out like the 1950’s kind of saucer. And you walked up into it, and it was a freakin’ flying saucer -- except it was a flying saucer built in like 1969, 1970. It had shag carpeting. They were pimpin’ space aliens. It was great. So those are just fun. There was one in Arizona near Bisbee -- I have a house in Bisbee. I love Bisbee. Great, great town. They had actually blasted with mining caps a 3,000-square-foot home completely into the mountainside. Like when you looked at the face of the home, it looked like a tiny little shack. Well, that was actually the front porch. It was about a 10-foot front porch, and you think, oh, wow, it’s a tiny little shack sitting here. Three-thousand square feet, which is huge, straight into the mountain. I mean really gorgeous, absolutely a gorgeous, gorgeous home. So neat, so weird. ANDELMAN: Wow. You really are exposed to so many things. You think maybe you’ve seen it all, especially I’m in Florida. I was pretty sure I’d seen it all until I’ve seen some of the houses that you’ve been to on the show. GRAY: Right.

George Gray, announcer, The Price Is Right, CBS

ANDELMAN: You mentioned when we started talking about doing the voice-overs, going to the studio after the episode’s been taped and doing the voice-overs. The other thing that’s really interesting about the show is the use of the pop-ups, very similar to…I was trying to remember what it’s called. VH1 used to have this show that started doing this “Pop-up Video, I think it was. GRAY: Yeah, “Pop-up Video.” Sure. ANDELMAN: And when you read them, I can actually hear George Gray in my head, although I was wondering, do you contribute to those, or are those done by the production staff? GRAY: Those actually are not me. And a lot of times I think they’re generated through the editors. There’s a woman named Karen, a guy named Aaron, basically anybody that has a rhyming name gets a job there automatically. And they’ll come up with funny little bits. They’re great. I think some of it might stem from something I’ve said that they can’t use. Some of it’s just something that they think is really goofy. Everybody that works on the show and around the show has a great, great sense of humor. I love some of those. They’re not really pop-ups so much as like an arrow will come flying in or something. ANDELMAN: Right. Right. GRAY: Yeah, they make me laugh because I’ve never seen them. And I think it’s really funny what they’re able to do with them. It just adds an extra little tidbit of information or something. ANDELMAN: I guess a family had made, I don’t know if it was the wall or if it was a piece of art that had the bottoms of wine bottles. And the wife was saying that her husband actually had to drink all the wine, poor guy, to get to the point where they could cut off the bottoms. And then the pop-up was pointing out what each brand of bottle was. It’s that extra little detail. It’s like the old Spy magazine, the stuff in the margins. GRAY: I love that stuff. It’s fun! ANDELMAN: It shows somebody’s putting a little extra effort in. GRAY: I’ve been having a great time with the show. It’s really a hoot. It really is. And we’ve got a Christmas special that’s gonna be just tons and tons of fun to get to see all the homes, including some in Florida, where people just, if you put up one strand of lights, that must be great so then ten-thousand strands of lights must be better. ANDELMAN: I think I know the house you’re talking about, actually. There’s one in my mother-in-law’s old neighborhood that drew thousands and thousands and thousands and thousands of people. I think that they moved some of their lights to Disney, but then they started all over again. GRAY: Wow. ANDELMAN: George, if we were invited into your home, what would we see, and what would embarrass you? GRAY: I have the Matthew McConaughey “Clothes are for suckers” kind of rule. So that is a little awkward to begin with. You know what? My house, actually, was featured on “What’s With That House?” We did a really funny tongue-in-cheek bit where I’m up in the Hollywood Hills: “Look at all these funky cars around this house,” and somebody’s working on the car. Nobody works on their cars in the Hollywood Hills. And I walk up, and the guy from under the hood pops up, and it’s me. And we did an old, like they did in “Bewitched,” the old split-screen. ANDELMAN: Right. GRAY: We had somebody double me. A friend of mine doubled me from the back. And then, when we were face-to-face, it’s all split-screen. And it actually came out really, really, really, really good and funny. And so I interview myself, and the host on HGTV, he’s a little too dorky, a little too eager puppy, and a little too obnoxious. And then the celebrity George Gray from “Junkyard Wars,” “Weakest Link,” et al. is a B-lister sliding to the F-scale who thinks he’s way more important than he really is and just kind of an egotistical idiot. I played those two different characters and walked through the house. I have a bar called “Stinky’s Bar and Cigar Lounge” so we actually got to do some funny bits in Stinky’s, which is kind of everything’s 1930s, 1940s, 50s, vintage pinball machines and slot machines and Coke machines and old Rat Pack pictures and just tons of fun. We had a blast doing that one. So if you walk into my house, you get an eyeful. ANDELMAN: And what did your neighbors say? GRAY: Actually, it’s great because I interviewed my neighbors as if I was asking about, “What’s it like to live next to that George Gray.” And it was great. They played along fabulously. My one neighbor, Joy, I said, “What’s it like living next to a big television star like George Gray?” She said, “He has a job? I just thought he sat around all day. I didn’t know he did anything.” So she was very funny and making fun of me. And then my next-door neighbor, John, also made fun of me so it was great. It was a lot of fun. I enjoyed it thoroughly. ANDELMAN: Now, people can go to the HGTV website and look up “What’s With That House?” and it lists the episodes by the nicknames of the house. So how would we find your house on the list? GRAY: Ooh, that’s a good question. Does it list every episode? ANDELMAN: Yeah, it does. GRAY: Wow. ANDELMAN: Gotta go to your website, George, c’mon. GRAY: That’s amazing. Well, you can go to georgegray.com, and you can see what Stinky’s looks like, but we don’t have the episode in it. ANDELMAN: Okay. GRAY: That’s just my personal website. So you can catch a view of Stinky’s, but yeah, to see that bit, it might say Stinky’s Bar and Cigar Lounge. It might say George Gray’s house. It’s probably one or the other. ANDELMAN: Okay. So you didn’t have…it wasn’t a particular nickname? Okay. GRAY: I would say Stinky’s. I would go with that because the bar is named after my 17-pound cat. ANDELMAN: I got in a plug for the website there, too, so there we go. GRAY: That’s bad. ANDELMAN: George, thank you so much for joining us today on Mr. Media. It’s been a lot of fun. GRAY: I’ve had a blast, Bob. I really have, and you got yourself a great show. And keep spreading the word.

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