Showing posts with label book blog. Show all posts
Showing posts with label book blog. Show all posts

Tuesday, May 27, 2014

BLOG TOUR: Genesee by Juliet Waldron

Tour Hashtag: #JulietWaldronBlogTour 

Genesee

Publication Date: November 7, 2010
Books We Love, Ltd.
Formats: eBook, Paperback

The 2003 Eppie Award Winner in Historicals

Red and White–at war in the world, and in her blood.
Born to a runaway Dutch teen and an Iroquois brave, raised in her white uncle’s frontier home, Genesee visits her mother’s family in colonial Albany. Here she meets a young Englishman and falls in love. He’s as much of an outcast as his “half-breed” girl, for Alexander was born “on the wrong side of the blanket”, and his only fortune is a good mind. Forbidden to marry, Genesee is sent home again, but when the Revolution sets the New York frontier ablaze, she is carried into captivity. In a Cayuga longhouse, she dreams of him, but will Alexander still want her–and will he brave torture and death to bring her home again?

Praise for Genesee

“GENESEE is an extraordinary book about love, hardship and prejudice. It’s well written and full of wonderful characters… This story isn’t sugarcoated, which is really refreshing.” – Renee Burnette

“This is a great read… Very vivid scenes and richly woven. This author is great!” – Karol A. Clifton, Amazon reader

“Romance that puts history up front! This is a real slice of history, with a heroine and her hero in 3-D.” – LJ Walker

My Review

“Genesee” by Juliet Waldron turned out to be a great historical fiction read. You can’t help but like Genesee from the beginning of the novel. She comes across as sweet, innocent, and somewhat naïve, and you are rooting for someone to come along and protect her. Alexander is that perfect person for Genesee, and as a reader you are rooting for them as a couple, even though they go through so much just to be together. Alexander is your typical strong, silent type, which makes him the perfect romantic hero, and perfect for Genesee. The writing style in this novel is excellent, and the descriptions were great. The action is described so clearly that you feel like you’re right there with them when the action is going down. The book started out a little slowly, but after it started picking up it was hard to put down. I was on the edge of my seat, almost skipping sections of this book in order to find out what was going to happen next. I love books like that, books that keep you up at night because you can’t put them down!

Although the book was a little slow at the beginning, it did pick up and more than make up for that, so I would definitely recommend this book to historical fiction fans.

I give this novel a FOUR out of FIVE stars. 

About the Author

“Not all who wander are lost.” Juliet Waldron earned a B. A. in English, but has worked at jobs ranging from artist’s model to brokerage. Thirty years ago, after the boys left home, she dropped out of 9-5 and began to write, hoping to create a genuine time travel experience for herself–and for her readers. She loves her grand-girls and her kitties, likes to take long hikes, and reads historical/archeological non-fiction as well as reviewing for the Historical Novel Society. For summer adventure, she rides behind her husband of 50 years on his “bucket list” (black, and ridiculously fast) Hyabusa motorcycle.

You can find more information at www.julietwaldron.com or connect with Juliet on Facebook.

Virtual Book Tour Schedule

Monday, May 5
Interview at Layered Pages
Thursday, May 8
Review at Just One More Chapter (Mozart’s Wife)
Friday, May 9
Review at Closed the Cover (Genesee)
Monday, May 12
Spotlight at Tower of Babel
Monday, May 19
Interview at Closed the Cover
Wednesday, May 21
Interview at The Maiden’s Court
Monday, May 26
Review at Book Lovers Paradise (Mozart’s Wife)
Tuesday, May 27
Review at Historical Fiction Obsession (Genesee)
Guest Post at Book Lovers Paradise (w/Kathy Fischer-Brown and Louise Turner)
Monday, June 2
Review at A Chick Who Reads (Nightingale)
Tuesday, June 3
Review at Historical Fiction Obsession (Roan Rose)
Wednesday, June 4
Review at The True Book Addict (Mozart’s Wife)
Thursday, June 5
Review at Svetlana’s Reads and Views (Mozart’s Wife)
Monday, June 9
Review at So Many Books, So Little Time (Roan Rose)
Tuesday, June 10
Review at Svetlana’s Reads and Views (Nightingale)
Thursday, June 12
Guest Post at Closed the Cover
Monday, June 16
Review at Just One More Chapter (Roan Rose)
Tuesday, June 17
Review at A Chick Who Reads (Mozart’s Wife)
Monday, June 23
Review at Peeking Between the Pages (Mozart’s Wife)
Tuesday, June 24
Review at A Bookish Affair (Mozart’s Wife)
Wednesday, June 25
Review at Layered Pages (Nightingale)
Thursday, June 26
Review at A Chick Who Reads (Roan Rose)
Friday, June 27
Review at Broken Teepee (Mozart’s Wife)
Saturday, June 28
Review at WTF Are You Reading? (Mozart’s Wife)
Monday, June 30
Review at WTF Are You Reading? (Nightingale)

Buy the Book


Giveaway

To win a $20 Amazon Gift Card please complete the Rafflecopter giveaway form below. Giveaway is open to US residents only.

Giveaway ends at 11:59pm on June 30th. You must be 18 or older to enter.

 Winner will be chosen via Rafflecopter on July 1st and notified via email.

 Winner have 48 hours to claim prize or new winner is chosen.

Link to Rafflecopter: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/share-code/MzUyMmRmMzEyNWJhM2M1M2I1ZjgwZmVmZGZmMTBiOjExNA==/


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Wednesday, April 30, 2014

GUEST POST AND INTERVIEW: "Seeing Green" author Annabel Hertz

‘SEEING GREEN’ A HUMOROUS JAUNT INTO D.C. POLICITCS, ENVIRONMENTAL ACTIVISM
Review on Huffington Post calls Annabel Hertz’s new book: energetic, witty and timely

WASHINGTON, D.C. – Drawing on clever social commentary and her own experience in the political realm, author Annabel Hertz will get readers “Seeing Green” in no time.

Her new book “Seeing Green” (April 15, 2014) steps into the world of cutthroat politics and environmental policy as seen through the eyes of a young multicultural woman whose personal life seems to parallel her professional life as an activist on the frontlines of Washington D.C. in the ’90s. Never afraid to articulate her personal convictions, Hertz’s modern day heroine is strong and profound, yet humorous and relatable.

“Seeing Green” is Hertz’s first endeavor in historical fiction, reviewed on The Huffington Post as “timely, energetic and witty.”

Much like the protagonist she introduces in “Seeing Green,” Hertz has delved into the world of politics with organizations involved in international relations and sustainable development. More recently, she served as a policy consultant, adjunct professor at the Geneva School of Diplomacy and International Relations and Global Governance Fellow at the World Economic Forum.

“Seeing Green” is Hertz’s debut novel. She holds master’s degrees from Harvard’s John F. Kennedy School of Government and San Francisco State University, as well as a bachelor’s degree from the University of California where she studied politics. Hertz is currently pursuing a doctorate in international relations at American University in Washington D.C.

Guest Post by Annabel Hertz

A Year of Great Expectancy—Annabel Hertz

A prospective book agent once asked me if I would consider changing the historical setting of Seeing Green. She suggested the story could take place in the current day—or be rewritten as “timeless.”

It was awkward request, I thought, in regards to a novel about a young woman’s political coming of age in 1992—during a simultaneous coming of age phase in American and international politics: surely, a protagonist and her era could not be separated! (Not to mention the sense of dislocation this would cause the other characters…)

1992 was a time of great expectancy. The Cold War was finally over. One could practically hear the planet exhaling in relief. Still, it was not clear what was next in the world of international politics: the Gulf War hinted at a new era of coercive action, while the Earth Summit signaled quite a different agenda that sparked many an imagination for years to come. In the US, Bill Clinton’s presidential campaign re engaged Americans in electoral politics—both embodying and generating possibility, instead of apprehension. And we ended the year with an unprecedented six women serving in the Senate.

It was a heady period—and a heady moment for any 25 year-old protagonist to be leaving home in order to chase that aura of possibility. Many of the problems we have resigned to live with now still seemed solvable then, despite the limitations of twentieth century tools—such as fax machines and voicemail—for global organizing.

So it was not that I was inflexible, I told the agent. Rather, it just seemed clear that—even though some of the events that took place in Seeing Green would repeat themselves a decade later—the story could not have happened at any other time. A protagonist and her context are not so easily parted!




Q&A with Annabel Hertz

Arcani Kirsch, the heroine in “Seeing Green,” is a multicultural woman with a Native American and Jewish background. What role does her ethnicity play in the book?
Arcani’s mixed heritage plays several roles in the book. First, it’s a fundamental source of her identity predicament in that she is trying, throughout the book, to relate to both sides of her lineage and draw upon and unify these heritages for inspiration—and for connections to her own life.
At the same time, she sometimes feels a bit in limbo because of this mixture, and even experiences tension around it—not to mention the friction she encounters, as a minority, within society as a whole, which causes her to wrestle with her identity as an American.
Her multiculturalism is also symbolic of all the other ways that she is divided in the story—between striking out on her own and staying close to her aunt, sticking up for herself and not making waves, getting ahead without sacrificing values, being a Washington inside and an outsider….carefree versus committed, east coast-west coast. And the list goes on.
So, as a result, like many of us, Arcani spends a fair amount of time trying to both assert and reconcile competing tendencies in—or parts of— herself.
Finally, her mixed heritage is—I think and hope—a source of humor in book.

What do you think makes Arcani such a relatable character?
The aforementioned internal struggles makes her relatable, including to men, which indicates some level of universality in her character. She is imperfect—as are her immediate work environs and personal life, so most people have had some experience with that, and can empathize with her and things not going according to plan, see her vulnerabilities and forgive her self-righteousness, such that they welcome growth that occurs during her various mini crises, and want her to succeed.

Are you anything like Arcani?
On one hand, almost everything that happens to Arcani has never happened to me. She really took on a life of her own—which I am sure is a typical for many writers. On the other hand, I channeled some of my views through her, and reinterpreted some specific moments or emotions I have experienced in scenes with her, and added my heritage to hers halfway into writing the book specifically to personalize the story (as well as to complicate things). So, I am sure there are some similarities between us— though some folks who are not overly fond of her are still friends with me! But I also put pieces of myself—so to speak—in the other lead female characters, and even in the male and secondary characters. Each character is partly a composite of various people—and partly a product of imagination.

“Seeing Green” is a work of historical fiction. What parts of the book are based on real events?
            Presidential campaign events like the Democratic National Convention, the scene in Bryant Park, the Inaugural parade—those all occurred, as did of course the Rio Conference on Environment and Development, although the Earth Treaty is a gross over simplification of that conference’s outcomes.
The one-year follow up to Rio, the Ministerial conference in Paris, never existed. Some events are mixed—for example, the environmental inaugural ball occurred but its locale and the events in it were fictionalized, as was the politics on Capitol Hill and the hearing, though I drew from real hearings that were occurring at that time. References to international events—the aftermath of the Cold War, the Iraq war, Chernobyl, the Bosnian conflict—are all of course real. By establishing this broader context, I tried to capture the political zeitgeist of the early 90s. I also ended up showing how history—and particularly public and political debates—are cyclical. To me, the similarities and parallels were notable.

Do you have to know a lot about politics or environmental policy to enjoy “Seeing Green?”
            Not at all. In fact, one of my goals was to personalize the politics and policy to the point that it was intrinsic to the stories about the characters and their motivations, personalities, and growth trajectories. I wanted to make politics more accessible. Some of what’s currently popular on television about Washington already does this, but I think Seeing Green takes accessibility to a new level because of the depth and multidimensionality of the protagonist and her struggles (which doesn’t normally exist in political fiction), and because of its focus on underlings and underdogs who may have linkages to power but are relatively powerless, and have their own dynamics.

How did you get interested in politics and international relations?
            When I was 14, I saw a documentary at school called ‘The Last Epidemic’ about nuclear war and based on a conference held by Physicians for Social Responsibility. That was a life changing moment, much the way the cold war influenced the character Ginger in the 2012 film “Ginger and Rosa,” only in my case there was a delayed reaction—it wasn’t until college that I became active in the anti nuclear testing movement and interested in international disarmament. That was a formative and exciting time. I was inspired by Helen Caldicott, the Australian anti-nuclear activist, the Western Shoshone People, who were leading the charge in the US, and by Gorbachev and the momentum of Perestroika in Russia. Soon after, the Berlin wall was dismantled.

How did your experience in politics and policy shape your book?
            My experiences provided a very healthy reservoir to draw upon when coming up with the narrative and sub plots. Although the book really arose from the sheer desire to create and entertain, the content seemed value added and an appropriate fit—and the perspective seemed unique to what’s already out there.

“Seeing Green” is humorous and entertaining, yet it serves as a commentary on some serious issues. What do you want readers to take away from your book?

            First and foremost, I want them to have fun and be entertained—but ideally in a way that also feels nourishing and is perhaps thought provoking and maybe even moving. Some of my favorite films and novels combine these elements, and I worked hard to make the book read lightly, while still containing grit and ballast. In terms of take aways, the idea of being true to oneself both emanates and resonates. I thought that idea might inspire young women in particular—since Arcani is 25—but it’s a classic message that’s always had broader appeal. Also there is the green message—a de-emphasis on materialism—but this is conveyed through the plot and protagonist’s values, and is not intended to be preachy or overbearing, and I don’t think it comes across as such.

Author Links:
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Annabel-Hertz-Author/480798182020608
LinkedIn
Twitter
Goodreads
Virtual Tour Page

Purchase "Seeing Green":
Amazon
Barnes and Noble


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Tuesday, February 18, 2014

BOOK BLAST: The Chalice by Nancy Bilyeau

The Chalice
by Nancy Bilyeau
Paperback Publication Date: February 13, 2014
Orion Publishing
Paperback; 432p
ISBN-13: 978-1409135807
Series: Joanna Stafford, Book Two
Genre: Historical Mystery

A curse to kill a king, a fight to save a nation. Follow young 
Joanna Stafford right into the dark heart of King Henry VIII’s court in this stunning Tudor thriller.
England, 1538. The nation is reeling after the ruthless dissolution of the monasteries by King Henry VIII.
Cast out of Dartford Priory, Joanna Stafford – feisty,
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courageous, but scarred by her recent encounter with rebellion at court – is trying to live a quiet life with her five-year-old charge, Arthur. But family connections draw her dangerously close to a treasonous plot and, repelled by violence and the whispered conspiracies around her, Joanna seeks a life with a man who loves her. But, no matter how hard she tries, she cannot escape the spreading darkness of her destiny. She must make a choice between those she cares for most, and taking her part in a mysterious prophecy foretold by three compelling seers.
Joanna embarks upon a testing journey, and, as she deciphers the meaning at the core of the prophecy, she learns that the fate of a king and the freedom of a nation rest in her hands.

Praise for The Chalice

“Expect treason, treachery, martyrs and more.” — Choice magazine

“A time in which no one at all can be trusted and everyday life is laced with horror. Bilyeau paints this picture very, very well.” — Reviewing the Evidence

“Bilyeau creates the atmosphere of 1530s London superbly.” — Catholic Herald

“Bilyeau continues from her first novel the subtle, complex development of Joanna Stafford’s character and combines that with a fast-paced, unexpected plot to hold the reader’s interest on every page. — Historical Novel Society

“Joanna Stafford is a young novice caught up in power struggles familiar to readers of Hilary Mantel and C.J. Sansom, but with elements of magic that echo the historical thrillers of Kate Mosse.” — S.J. Parris, author of ‘Heresy,’ ‘Prophecy’ and ‘Sacrilege’

“Second in this compelling and highly readable Tudor thriller series following the 16th century adventures of (now cast out) nun Joanna Stafford. Treason, conspiracies and a dangerous prophecy draw Joanna back from the quiet life she had made for herself after being cast out of Dartford Priory – but she isn’t prepared for the gravity of the situation she finds herself in or the responsibility she now holds. Nancy Bilyeau has followed up her impressive debut with an accomplished historical thriller perfect for fans of C. J. Sansom, Philippa Gregory and S. J. Parris.” — Lovereading UK

“Sharply observed, cleverly paced and sympathetically written, this book more than fulfils the promise of THE CROWN, itself named as last year’s most impressive debut novel by the CWA Ellis Peters judges. If Joanna Stafford is to return to see out the final years of Henry’s tempestuous reign and the accession of his Catholic daughter Mary, I am sure I will not be alone in waiting eagerly for her.” — crimereview.co.uk

“A stunning debut. One of the best historical novels I have ever read — ALISON WEIR

THE CHALICE offers a fresh, dynamic look into Tudor England’s most powerful, volatile personalities: Henry VIII, the Duke of Norfolk, Stephen Gardiner and Bloody Mary Tudor. Heroine and former nun Joanna Stafford is beautiful, bold and in lethal danger. Bilyeau writes compellingly of people and places that demand your attention and don’t let you go even after the last exciting page” — KAREN HARPER, bestselling author of MISTRESS OF MOURNING

“Rarely have the terrors of Henry VIII’s reformation been so exciting. Court intrigue, bloody executions, and haunting emotional entanglements create a heady brew of mystery and adventure that sweeps us from the devastation of the ransacked cloisters to the dangerous spy centers of London and the Low Countries, as ex-novice Joanna Stafford fights to save her way of life and fulfill an ancient prophecy, before everything she loves is destroyed.” — C.W. GORTNER, author of THE QUEEN’S VOW

“Bilyeau paints a moving portrait of Catholicism during the Reformation and of reclusive, spiritual people adjusting to the world outside the cloister. This intriguing and suspenseful historical novel pairs well with C. J. Sansom’s Dissolution (2003) and has the insightful feminine perspective of Brenda Rickman Vantrease’s The Heretic’s Wife (2010).” — BOOKLIST

“As in The Crown, Bilyeau’s writing style means that the story reads almost flawlessly. The narrative really makes the reader throw themselves into the story, and makes it so the book is really difficult to put down. I was really very impressed with Bilyeau’s writing (As I was in The Crown), and honestly can’t recommend this book highly enough.” — LOYALTY BINDS ME

“THE CHALICE is a compelling and pacey time machine to the 16th Century. And when you’re returned to the present, you’ll have enjoyed an adventure and gained a new perspective on a past you’d wrongly thought to be a done deal.” — Andrew Pyper, author of THE DEMONOLOGIST

“The Chalice is a gripping, tightly-plotted mystery, with a beguiling heroine at its heart, that vividly conjures up the complex dangers of Reformation England. Bilyeau’s deftness of touch and complete control over her complex material make for a truly exciting and compelling read.”— ELIZABETH FREMANTLE author of QUEEN’S GAMBIT

“THE CHALICE is brimming with sinister portents, twisted allegiances, religious superstition and political intrigue. It’s a darkly fascinating Tudor brew that leaves you thirsting for more.” — PATRICIA BRACEWELL, author of SHADOW ON THE CROWN

Watch the Book Trailer:

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8oh3KzykQR0&feature=player_embedded 

Buy the Book

About the Author

Nancy Bilyeau has worked on the staffs of InStyle, Rolling Stone, Entertainment Weekly, and Ladies Home Journal. She is currently the executive editor of DuJour magazine. Her screenplays have placed in several prominent industry competitions. Two scripts reached the semi-finalist round of the Nicholl Fellowships of the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences. Her screenplay “Zenobia” placed with the American Zoetrope competition, and “Loving Marys” reached the finalist stage of Scriptapalooza. A native of the Midwest, she earned a bachelor’s degree from the University of Michigan. THE CROWN, her first novel, was published in 2012; the sequel, THE CHALICE, followed in 2013.
Some earlier milestones: In 1661, Nancy’s ancestor, Pierre Billiou, emigrated from France to what was then New Amsterdam when he and his family sailed on the St. Jean de Baptiste to escape persecution for their Protestant beliefs. Pierre built the first stone house on Staten Island and is considered the borough’s founder. His little white house is on the national register of historic homes and is still standing to this day.
Nancy lives in New York City with her husband and two children.

Author Links


Sign up for Nancy Bilyeau’s Newsletter.

Book Blast Schedule




Thursday, February 20

Friday, February 21
HF Book Muse-News
On the Tudor Trail
Flashlight Commentary
Ageless Pages Reviews
Muse in the Fog Book Reviews
Confessions of an Avid Reader

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Friday, January 24, 2014

Book Promotion: Corcitura by Melika Lux



Corcitura Backstory Article

Be honest. You’re wondering what on earth a Corcitura is, right? Well, I’d be more than happy to slake your curiosity! ;) Corcitura is the Romanian word for hybrid. It has no vampiric connotations whatsoever, but before I tell you why I chose this
as the name for my new creature, how about a little backstory?

A year before I even got the idea for the Corcitura, I had seen a painting that sent my mind reeling with all the possible implications behind it. The painting was “Oh, what’s that in the hollow?” by Edward Robert Hughes.

I took one look at that painting and screamed “VAMPIRE!” There’s something so morbidly entrancing and enigmatic about that painting. Is he dead? The sheen of his nearly translucent eyes certainly seems to suggest it. But what if he’s just resting until the moon rises? I only recently found out that he is dead! But back then, I was still in the dark, and so I did what all good storytellers do: I totally ignored the inconvenient facts behind the painting and ran roughshod with my inspiration. Those translucent eyes were never far from my mind and inspired me so much that they found life in the book’s eponymous creature.

So, why vampires, after all? Out of all the monsters of myth, vampires had always been my favorites. I had always been fascinated by how they could be suave and alluring on the outside (or when the sun wasn’t up), but with the flick of a barbed tongue, turn into slavering, fang-toothed, bloodsucking beasts! The juxtaposition fascinated me, since in original folklore almost all vampires are essentially plagues. Some just know how to mask their true nature better than others.

I knew if I was going to write about vampires, they’d better be different and intriguing, and since I have always been crazy for folklore from different parts of the world, this idea gave me an excuse to explore vampire mythology. It’s fascinating reading, freaky, but fascinating. Up until this point, I had the makings of a novel, but my vampire wasn’t being cooperative at all and just stayed hidden in the background, kicking through my mind until he finally got his act together and distinguished himself enough to set the story in motion. Until then, I had nicknamed him “Our Combo,” since he was going to be a hybrid—created after being bitten by two vampires of differing species. I knew I couldn’t continue calling him by such a McDonald’s Value Meal sounding name forever, so I took the next step in finding out what the word “hybrid” in Romanian was (since Stefan’s family has a long and torturous history deep in the soil of that country). I have Romanian ancestors, so digging into the country’s myths and legends was an added bonus. When I discovered that corcitura meant hybrid, I thought about it, and since I didn’t like any of the names I’d made up in the interim, it eventually stuck. 

One huge thing that was clear in my mind from the outset was to make certain my novel took place before Dracula was even published. Dracula was such a tremendous milestone in vampire literature…and I didn’t want my characters to know about it at all. I wanted to create new myths, new ways of dispatching the creatures of the night, new fears and horrors—all things which would have been greatly hindered by a post-1897 setting. Where would the suspense be if my characters could fall back on what they’d read in Stoker’s novel? When they came up against pointy-toothed demons, I wanted no little lights going off in my characters’ heads, and definitely no saying, “Ah ha! This is exactly like what happened in Dracula! Quick, get some garlic!” I wanted my characters to have absolutely no frame of reference for dealing with the horrible situations they found themselves in, which is why all the action in the novel takes place from 1888 (there is also a very ripping reason for choosing that year, but you’ll have to read the book to find out why ;) through 1895.

That settled, I turned my attention to sunlight. Yes, sunlight. That was the real impetus behind the idea of having the victim be a hybrid, and was how the whole “combo” concept was born—finding a way to make sure my vampire would be able to frolic around during daylight hours without being charred to ashes by the sun’s rays. For three months, I went back and forth on how a vampire could achieve this, during which time I whittled down my choices for favorite vampire candidates. Once I started seeing how different the strengths and weaknesses were, and understanding how much more indestructible the combined blood of two vampires would be (plus the human blood of the original victim), I knew I was on the right path, and settled on the Vrykolakas (from Greece) and the Upyr (from Russia) for the creators of my new vampiric species.

The Vrykolakas (referred to as the Vryk from this point forward) was a jackpot find for me, mainly because he’s a virtual unknown in literature, but mostly because it is unclear if the Vryk is a vampire or a werewolf. You see where this is going, right? Just before I hit the halfway point of the novel, I realized I would have to be crazy not to exploit that gray area to the hilt. It only made sense to embrace this ambiguity, which led to a whole new story arc being created for my two female Vryk protagonists later on in the novel. I am so happy I did this because it launched the second and third halves of the novel onto a completely different plane, with the book beginning to essentially write itself from that point on. To quote Colonel Hannibal Smith, “I love it when a plan comes together!” ;)

The Upyr and the Vryk are two sides of the same coin. Where the Vryk was plague-ravaged, nasty, and didn’t do anything to hide his true nature, the Upyr moved heaven and earth not to show his hand. My Vryk was rabid and couldn’t do much to control it. But the Upyr…he was a bird of an entirely different breed. Debonair on the outside, but blacker than the foulest dungeon, he was ten times more deadly than the Vryk and no one would ever be able to tell. He was my linchpin and turned out to come on scene much quicker than expected, which goes to show you that when the character wants out, you’d better listen, because from the moment he waltzed into the story, everything was transformed.

I began this process thinking I would just write a vampire novel with a new twist, but what started as a story about hybrid vampires quickly morphed into something beyond what I had been planning to write.  Probably more than anything else, Corcitura became the story of the corruption of a soul and how this has a domino effect on all those who encounter him—life is overturned for everyone; everything they have ever known is distorted past recognition; nothing can ever go back to the way it used to be, for now they live in danger, fear, and some that loved him most meet their ends at his hands.

After everything was said and done, and the book marinated and went through countless edits, I realized that Corcitura is, in fact, a horror novel, but not in the normal sense. It’s horror on many levels. The first part deals with the visceral, blatant horror of the vampires and the terror of having no way of stopping these creatures from corrupting you, body and soul; the second with the horror of deception, lying, treachery, betrayal, with thinking you know someone but discovering they have lied to you about practically everything; the third with the horror of abandonment; and lastly with the horror of the unknown—the uncertainty of things to come. But Corcitura is also a historical novel, a thriller, a book with that unnerving Gothic feeling that permeated the stories I grew up with—novels you could lose yourself in for days at a time, tales filled with characters you’d miss when the final page was turned. That’s what I set out to write, even more than a straight up vampire novel, because it’s really not about vampires in the end. It’s about the people whose lives they destroy, the people who choose to fight against them, who team up with vampires who have decided that it doesn’t matter what the legends have taught them, they will do everything in their power to stop the undead from claiming even more souls.

Nine years, thousands of revisions, and 700 pages later, Corcitura is finally here. Welcome to a world where an ancient Upyr plots your destruction and a half-wolf, half-vampire haunts your doorstep, its barbed tongue poised to rip into your throat the second you answer its call.

Button up your collar.

Keep the flame burning.

And come along for the ride.

Blurb

Corcitura.  Some call it hybrid, others half-blood, mongrel, beast.  They are all names for the same thing:  vampire—the created progeny of the half-wolf, half-vampire, barb-tongued Grecian Vrykolakas, and the suave but equally vicious Russian
Upyr.  Corcitura:  this is what happens when a man is attacked by two vampires of differing species.  He becomes an entirely new breed—ruthless, deadly, unstoppable…almost.
London, 1888:  Eric Bradburry and Stefan Ratliff, best friends since childhood, have finally succeeded in convincing their parents to send them on a Grand Tour of the Continent.  It will be the adventure of a lifetime for the two eighteen-year-old Englishmen, but almost from the moment they set foot on French soil, Eric senses a change in Stefan, a change that is intensified when they cross paths with the enigmatic Vladec Salei and his traveling companions:  Leonora Bianchetti, a woman who fascinates Eric for reasons he does not understand, and the bewitching Augustin and Sorina Boroi—siblings, opera impresarios, and wielders of an alarming power that nearly drives Eric mad.
Unable to resist the pull of their new friends, Eric and Stefan walk into a trap that has been waiting to be sprung for more than five hundred years—and Stefan is the catalyst.  Terrified by the transformation his friend is undergoing, Eric knows he must get Stefan away from Vladec Salei and Constantinos, the rabid, blood-crazed Vrykolakas, before Stefan is changed beyond recognition.  But after witnessing a horrific scene in a shadowed courtyard in Eastern Europe, Eric’s worst fears are confirmed.
Six years removed from the terror he experienced at the hands of Salei and Constantinos, Eric finally believes he has escaped his past.  But once marked, forever marked, as he painfully begins to understand.  He has kept company with vampires, and now they have returned to claim him for their own.
Book trailer

http://youtu.be/xStibsfjBvo        

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Author Bio

I have been an author since the age of fourteen and write Young/New Adult historical romance, suspense,supernatural/paranormal thrillers, fantasy, sci-fi, short stories, novellas—you name it, I write it! I am also a classically trained soprano/violinist/pianist and have been performing since the age of three. Additionally, I hold a BA in Management and an MBA in Marketing.
If I had not decided to become a writer, I would have become a marine biologist, but after countless years spent watching Shark Week, I realized I am very attached to my arms and legs and would rather write sharks into my stories than get up close and personal with those toothy wonders.


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I’m very active on social media, so please feel free to connect with me on any or all of the following sites:

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Corcitura Excerpt: The Dwelling of Night

Taken from Corcitura, Chapter 8, A Tavern in Venice

       For what must have been the thousandth time that night, I second-guessed my course of action. I vaguely sensed that he was taking me somewhere dangerous, yet I couldn’t let him loose in a strange city when he was obviously struggling to control something he had not yet learned how to master. The sane thing to do would have been to run as far away from him as I could while I had the chance, but the situation was not as desperate as that…yet. There was nothing for it but to join him.
       Stefan was already getting into the gondola by the time I arrived at the pier. I expected the gondolier to be garrulous or start singing as soon as I took my seat, but the man seemed bent and cowed and had a strange abstracted look in his eyes, as if he were an automaton carrying out a duty he had no interest in.
       The gondola drifted slowly down the canal as I took in my surroundings. The night was brilliant, with millions of stars dotting the sky. A full, blue-tinted moon peeked out from behind a few stray clouds and illuminated the water, which glowed faintly green in the moonlight.
       I tried to think up something to say to Stefan, but was unsuccessful in my attempts. He, in turn, showed no inclination to talk during our journey, but instead draped his arm over the side of the gondola and let his fingers trail along the water’s surface, his eyes remaining transfixed on the moon. The one thing I had to stop myself from asking him was how he had enjoyed his hour with Vladec Salei. By the time I thought up a banal comment on the beauty of the night, something that could not possibly be construed as intrusive, we had arrived at our destination.
       “Here we are!” Stefan boomed, coming suddenly to life and nearly upsetting the gondola. “A splendid taverna, don’t you think?”
       I had to laugh in spite of myself because the so-called “taverna” looked more like a palazzo. Dozens of flaming chandeliers were affixed to the building’s exterior. Everywhere you looked, from the balcony on the fourth floor to the pier at the entrance, people were milling about with goblets grasped in their hands. “Rather a misnomer, don’t you think?” I said.
       “This is no laughing matter, my good son,” Stefan said. For that one instant, it was as if the old Stefan had returned, so jovial and natural was his tone. But when he looked back at the taverna, all his joviality vanished and a vacant look entered his eyes.
       “La Dimora di Notte,” he said, almost reverentially. He closed his eyes and stood there as though he had been transported by some unknown bliss. I was already wary of this nocturnal escapade, but upon hearing the name of the place, a chill went through my body. I involuntarily looked over my shoulder, certain my eyes would light upon a face I was not prepared to see.
       “The Dwelling of Night?” I asked uneasily.
       Stefan’s eyes flickered open, and he seemed to regain his composure. His moods were so erratic that it was almost impossible to determine how he would react in any given situation. A mere word, question, or glance, however harmless it might have seemed, could have sent him into a rage or the deepest melancholy. He was becoming as changeable as Vladec Salei.
       “Roughly translated, yes,” he said, shaking his head as if to clear his mind. “Catchy, isn’t it?”
       “A rather strange name for a tavern, don’t you think?”
       “Not at all!” he said, smiling. His better nature was at the forefront. How long this would last, I could not say. “It is night, people dwell here. It’s all very fitting. The top floor is where we are headed. Come, step lively. We’ve already tarried long enough.”
       Stefan punched me in the arm and we headed down the pier toward the brass double doors, which swung open ceremoniously before we reached them. I thought they had opened of their own volition and was momentarily startled until I saw that a porter was standing on the inside. Stefan said something to the man in an undertone I couldn’t catch and jerked his thumb back at me. The man laughed suddenly and Stefan joined in his mirth, sharing in the private joke that had no doubt been made at my expense.
       I smiled despite my annoyance and followed Stefan up the first flight of stairs. At the first landing, I noticed that there was a passageway that led off to a private room. The door was closed to public eyes, but the sounds that pierced through the brass told of some great revelry taking place within. I could hear glasses clanking and voices raised in jubilation. Someone let out a screech that sent chills down my neck, but I was apparently being oversensitive because a great burst of laughter followed what I had thought was a cry of pain.
       The stairwell did not match the undoubted opulence of this secret room, however. The walls were whitewashed and peeling in several places. There was no light at this stage. Had it not been for the brilliant golden beam that was visible underneath the doorway of the private room, this entire landing would have been cloaked in almost total darkness.
       “Isn’t it divine?” Stefan gushed, obviously feeling right at home.
       “That wasn’t exactly the word I was thinking of,” I answered.
       “Oh, stop being a prude, Bradburry.”
       My head snapped up at the sudden use of my surname. He had never called me Bradburry before, even in jest, and the fact that this had occurred in such a disreputable place as I was discovering this “taverna” to be, filled me with a sense of foreboding I could not repress. Only one other person had ever called me that—Vladec Salei.
       We walked up to the second landing in silence and were making our way to the third, when I was nearly knocked off my feet. The man sagged against me and didn’t seem to be conscious, until I collared him and he came to life with a vengeance. He rushed me like a thing possessed, his arms flailing about, his fists punching madly at the air, but I countered with a blow to the jaw that sent the man reeling. He staggered back against the wall, clutching his face and moaning pitifully, and I was astonished to see that the man who had attacked me was our gondolier.
       “Well, look who we have here!” said Stefan in that same perfect Venetian he had used before, shocking me by going over to my assailant and placing his arm around the man’s shoulder as if they were the best of friends.
       I’d heard of being kind to one’s enemies and turning the other cheek, but this was ridiculous.
       “What an unfortunate incident,” he said soothingly. I half expected him to pat the man’s hand as if he were merely a child who had fallen and scraped his knee. “Now, do the sensible thing and get upstairs and refresh yourself, my good man. Off with you, now!”
       The man looked as bewildered as I was, but upon hearing that he was not going to be detained, relief registered on his face and he scurried up the stairs.
       “You must be kind to these poor wretches,” Stefan said magnanimously, straightening his jacket, although this action wasn’t necessary, since he had taken no part in the scrum. “He is in obvious need of stimulants. Besides, he is our ride home.”
       “I think stimulants are the last things he needs. The man is obviously drunk beyond reason. Who knows how many more of his friends are waiting to ambush us upstairs. And how did he even get upstairs before us, for that matter? And if you think for one moment that I am going to get into the same gondola as that raving madman, well, you don’t know me at all. I think it’s time we left.”
        “Absolutely not!”
       His voice reverberated through the vacant stairwell like a clap of thunder. His face clouded over so dramatically and his eyes grew so dark that only the huge black pupils were left visible. I stared in horror at what I could have sworn was no longer Stefan, but a demon released from the bowels of hell.
       Just as quickly as the fury had come, it vanished, and Stefan was once again himself, or as near to himself as the other side of his nature would allow him to be.
       “We’ve come this far already,” he said in a soothing tone I had never heard him use before. “Are you, the ‘Man of the Hour,’ going to let one drunken reveler spoil the entire evening?”
       I looked at him warily, knowing it was just another trick, this cajoling of his, to get me to go on. I had no desire to spend another minute in this wretched place and was on the verge of making my feelings known, when I suddenly felt the urge to discover what it was that Stefan and the other patrons found so enticing about this mysterious fourth floor. Against all my better judgment, I gave in. The pull of this place, coupled with my inordinate curiosity, was becoming too strong to resist.
       “Very well,” I agreed.
       “Splendid! Come, the hour is growing late.”
       I watched him dart up a few more steps before I began to trudge along behind.
       As we passed the third landing, I noticed for the first time that Stefan was carrying a cane of some sort. Why he hadn’t used this to stop my attacker was beyond me, and the thought that he had had a weapon handy and had done nothing with it made anger well up inside me all over again.
       I hurried after him, trying to catch a better glimpse, since the light was growing a trifle brighter at this stage. But when I finally saw it, I wished I hadn’t. My heart somersaulted in my chest. The top of the cane was made of gold and had been carved into the shape of a beast’s head.
       A wyvern’s—exactly the same as the pendants the vampiresses had worn.
       The only difference was that the gems that were set into the eye sockets were emeralds instead of rubies, yet they still sparkled with an unearthly intensity. I had never seen him with that cane before, but the sinking feeling in my stomach told me it had been a gift from his newest and dearest friend, for it had been personalized just for Stefan. The eyes were green like his, not red like Salei’s had been when he had revealed himself to me, if only for an instant. This wyvern was fiercer and more striking than the others. I wondered if it had been designed to symbolize Stefan’s transformation into a monster more powerful than even Vladec Salei.
       “So it has begun…” I said, but the words faded away.
       We had finally reached the fourth floor.
       I thought I was standing on the threshold of a seraglio. Silk hangings of red and gold, crimson and brilliant ochre, met my eyes everywhere I looked. The room was nearly full to capacity, with people lounging about on overstuffed cushions or sitting at one of the few tables scattered around the chamber. As I looked up, I saw several gold chandeliers dangling from the frescoed ceiling. Each chandelier contained a single candle that guttered in a red Venetian blown-glass holder. The effect was striking yet eerie, since the lights cast a reddish pall over the room, making everyone appear to be bathed in blood.
       I looked over at Stefan to see if he shared my concern, but he was smiling so broadly I thought his face would split.
       “What did I tell you?” he said, taking my arm and guiding me over to an empty table at the farthest end of the room. “A birthday to remember!”
       Stefan signaled to a waiter and ordered the man to bring us two glasses of the taverna’s finest wine. The man gave me a sidelong glance that made me feel decidedly unwelcome, then bustled off to the elaborate, mirrored bar at the other end of the room. There must have been over a hundred bottles of wine encased in the intricately wrought Venetian glass holders resting on the bars’ shelves. I had no desire to join Stefan in fraternizing with our neighbors at the next table—whom he seemed to be getting along famously with—so I decided to make a count of the bottles to keep my mind occupied until the drinks arrived.
       I had counted twenty bottles before I noticed the gondolier sitting at the bar, glowering at me over the rim of his wine glass. My mood did not improve when I saw that he was advancing to our table, our drinks set atop a golden platter he was carrying.
       He placed Stefan’s glass down first. After Stefan gave him a pointed look, he set the other glass before me.
       “Grazie,” said Stefan, but the gondolier was already walking back to his post at the bar.
       “I’m not drinking that,” I said, pushing the glass into the center of the table. “Why in the world would he be giving us our drinks?”
       “A member of the brethren.”
       “Beg pardon?”
       “It’s a guild they have here,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “I remember reading about it before we arrived. Quite powerful, I’ve heard. Its members are not limited to a single profession.”
       He was mocking me. I could see his mouth beginning to lift in a maddening smirk, a smile that was half sardonic and half secretive, as if the fate of the world depended on the answer to a riddle only he knew and would never share.
       I looked away from him in disgust, my eyes lighting upon the goblet I had refused. In all the tumult, I had not paid attention to the contents of the glass. Now that I studied it, I realized that it was the most viscous looking drink I had ever seen in my life. It did not look anything like wine, but rather resembled a thick, red-black custard. I felt sick just staring at it. Stefan shouldn’t drink that. Who knew where it came from and what it even was. I reached for the glass, but stopped myself before my fingers could close around the stem. Something distracted me, something I hadn’t noticed until that moment.
       Everyone else in the taverna was downing the same drink.
       “At last,” Stefan said, eying the glass hungrily. “It has to be drunk in one fell swoop, so the locals say. Well, when in Rome, eh, old friend?” And before I could answer, he set the glass against his lips, tilted back his head, and the liquid was gone. After a minute, he let out a satisfied sigh and opened his eyes. “Not bad,” he said. “Not bad at all.”
       Stefan signaled to the gondolier again. “Another two glasses of Sangue di Vita for me and my friend here,” he said in Venetian. By the time the gondolier turned away, Stefan had claimed my glass and drunk the wine in that goblet, too.
       “Tell me, Eric,” he said, licking a droplet from the corner of his mouth. “Have you ever tasted blood?”
       My mouth was so dry I could barely find the voice to answer him. “What an odd question…”
       “But a valid one. Well, have you?”
       “I’ve cut my lip before, so yes, I suppose I have tasted blood, but…”
       “Not your own, you foolish boy.” He let out a short, derisive laugh and leaned in so that he was only a few inches from my face. “I mean the blood of another.”
       “Good God, Stefan, of course not!”
       “Pity…”
       I jerked away from him in horror. There was such genuine disappointment in his voice when he said this that I believed he had finally gone insane.
       “Stefan, this is madness,” I said, my voice cracking in spite of my resolve to remain calm, “listen to yourself. What are you saying?”
       “I’m saying that there are things in this world you cannot understand. Things you don’t even want to imagine.”
       “And why should I be concerned about any of this?”
       The gondolier returned with two more glasses of the wine. Stefan inclined his head in thanks, took the goblet between his fingers, and looked me dead in the eyes. “Because, my dear Eric, I have tasted the secret knowledge. I know how much to say and when to pull back. I know what to see and not see. And now that I have become whole again, I can never go back. All these things he has given me. Better than my supposed mother and father ever could. For that, I owe him my life and allegiance.”
       “Stefan, this is nonsense!” I cried. My voice echoed off the walls of the suddenly silent room. Apparently, my outburst had made our table the center of attention. Dozens of bloodshot eyes were now leering at us. And all of those eyes looked…unnatural. It was something about them, the way they were illumined in the darkness, as if they possessed a light all their own. Of course, it could have been the sheen that occurs when one has had too much to drink, but I doubted that was the reason.
       I had seen the same glassy look in the eyes of the gondolier when he had attacked me.

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