Welcome to 2016!

It's a new year, and that means a whole new set of "resolutions." I say it like that because I make writing goals every year, so it doesn't fit the standard model of what you might think of when someone says resolutions.

Because of my head injury last August, and the resulting recovery, I thought I'd go easy on myself for 2016. The first thing I did, with the help of my youngest daughter, was take my favorite story ideas--that I hadn't started writing yet, that was key--put them up on the dart board and whatever the dart hit was the story I'd write.

The idea stemmed from a Facebook meme, of all things, that referred to today, the first day of a new year, as the first page of your book. I thought it would be fun to write a page a day of one story, not including Sundays--because I don't write on Sundays. Including the leap day, that's 314 pages--which is a pretty respectable size book!

But one page a day is hardly any effort, and even with my head injury I figure I can do more than that. I wrote down a list of all the stories that I've started but haven't finished, figuring that by working on those stories I could feel I've accomplished something each day--except it's a sizable list. There are currently TEN books/stories I've started but haven't finished. That's a workload that doesn't exactly fall in line with the idea of going easy on myself--on my brain, which is really what I'm trying to do. Work but not overtax myself. Remind my brain that writing is something we do.

I've written in some cushions for these goals--ways to keep from overdoing it this year--because, let's face it, brain health is important. I have to strike a balance between working too hard and not working enough. I also have to give myself some leeway for bad days, days that writing even one page is too much for me.

This is that balance: While I have a lot of lofty writing goals, I have NO (zero, none) publishing goals for 2016. I mean it. If I do get around to publishing something this year it will be because the story is absolutely ready, and my only other option with it is to shelve it until 2017. Remember that at the end of 2014 and throughout 2015 I had rather lofty publishing goals--and I met every single one of them, in spite of my head injury. (of course, most of them were met before I got hurt...)

So, I plan to publish nothing in 2016. I'm going to write--which is the fun part of my job as an author--and work on the existing stories I have. Sure, I hope to have stories ready to publish in 2017, but I'm not putting a number on that. I'm not putting a deadline on it. Part of my reasoning is, as I've mentioned, to give my brain time to heal properly, but the rest of it is to help rediscover the fun of writing. This year I'm going to swashbuckle with some pirates, write a tragedy, solve a mystery in Paris, go back to Fayterra, go underground with a princess, explore the angst of a vampire with a penchant for citrus fruit, and shoot across the stars with a changeling who thinks high school on Earth will be a cinch.

Now, doesn't that sound like fun? :)

Why?

Detective Banks leaned forward to switch on the recording device and then sat back in his chair. Ainslee watched him, her hands gripped three facial tissues like a lifeline. She swiped at another tear and tried to calm the trembling of her body.

            “I just want you to take us through the events of this morning,” Banks said. He used a handkerchief to wipe the sweat off his bald head. Ainslee wondered why the little room didn’t better air conditioning, but then chided herself for thinking of something so trivial at a time like this.

           

            She hunched forward, closer to the microphone. “Mom had just left to take Ashlyn to soccer. It’s just at the park up the street from our house, so they walked.” Her throat caught on a sob and she swallowed before continuing. “I was supposed to go with them but I’d been up all night studying for my geometry final and Mom let me sleep in.”

           

            Banks nodded like he was encouraging her. “And then what did you do?”

           

            Ainslee looked down at the partially shredded tissues in her hands. She’d been tearing at them ever since they sat down. “I got in the shower. I always hook up my iPod to the waterproof speakers and I guess I had my music on pretty loud.”

           

            He moved as though to put a hand on her arm but reconsidered and leaned back. “What happened next?”

           

            You already know, she wanted to scream. Why are you making me tell you?

            “I heard a couple of bangs and a thud,” she said. “I figured Dad and Jayce were roughhousing. They always get a little wild so Mom doesn’t let them do it when she’s home.” She thought of her little brother, how he had taken the last bowl of her favorite cereal this morning and how she’d yelled at him for it.

            She wished she could take everything back.

            “What next?”

            Ainslee took a deep breath to keep the tears in check, but there was no way to keep her voice from wavering. “I felt something shake the walls. I thought maybe it was an earthquake, so I turned down the music and listened. Maybe my dad would call me to get into a doorway or something. But I couldn’t hear over the water so I turned that off too.”

            “Did you hear anything?”

            She shook her head, but then realized the microphone couldn’t pick that up. “No. It was so quiet. I got out and put on my robe and called for my dad. He . . . he didn’t answer. I yelled for him again, even though I could tell there wasn’t an earthquake.”

            Banks nodded again. “And then what?”

            “I heard footsteps,” she said, her voice hoarse. She didn’t bother to wipe the tears streaming down her cheeks. “Then the bathroom doorknob rattled. I thought that was weird since Dad would have said something so I thought it was Jayce being a dork—“

            “Do you always lock your door when you shower?”

            Ainslee shot him a look. With a prankster brother and his perv friends what do you think? “Yes.”

            “Did the person say anything?”

            “No.” Ainslee choked back a sob. “I thought it was Jayce, so I yelled at him to leave me alone. Then the rattling stopped.”

            “Did you exit the bathroom at that time?”

            “No,” she said. “First I put on my moisturizer and then got dressed. See, I thought everything was normal.”

            “When did you discover the bodies?”

            The question sent a shiver right through her soul. Ainslee’s tears poured down her face. “I went to the living room to watch TV,” she sputtered between sobs. “And there they were. Jayce was behind the couch but Dad was right in the middle of the floor!”

            “We have the recording of your 9-1-1 call, so I won’t need you to repeat that,” Banks told her. “Do you remember anything? Did you see anything? Hear anything?”

            “I only heard screaming,” she whispered. It had been her screaming and she knew it, but couldn’t remember opening her mouth. “I just don’t understand. Who would do this? Why?”

            “We don’t have any answers yet, but I promise you we will.”

            Then the question spilled out. “Why didn’t he kill me? He knew I was there. Why didn’t he kill me too?”

            Detective Banks reached over and shut off the recorder. “Miss Dawson, I just don’t know.”

My Promise to Me

If you remember, back in December I received the personal revelation to "quit your job and write."

I quit my job. Now, about that second part....

You and I both know things have been crazy. Death in the family. Appliances going bonkers. Computer crashing. Kids breaking bones. Illness. The list goes on. But, really, what happens without change? Nothing. I don't move forward. My family stagnates. Not fun.

So I've taken some advice from the irrepressible Jenni James deeply to heart. And I wrote out my own plan for the next year.

Starting with February. It's The Lost Princess month! This book will be finished and to the editor by February 25th.

Then in March I have a little ghost writing project to complete, finishing it up in April when I will then tackle the next 200 pages of City of Light.

Basically, it's like this: While the kids are in school, I'm writing. If I'm not writing, I'm editing. I have plenty of time to get my social networking in, or relaxing, or reading, after the kids go to bed. While the kids are home, I belong to them. In the summer I'm going to edit more because it's easier for me to do it in chunks.

And by February 2014 I will have published 4 more novels and 3 more short stories.

Whew. That's big. That's like, a year. Epic. But I'm going to do it.

Here's the publishing rundown:

The Lost Princess will be out May 27, 2013.
City of Light will be out August 26, 2013.
Verity (title pending) will be out September 11, 2013.
Price of Love will be out October 5, 2013.
Beauty of Others (working title) will be out November 30, 2013.
By Degrees will be out January 4, 2014.
Tea for Two will be out February 1, 2014.

So, if you don't see me online much you'll know why. I'm making my dreams happen. I can do it, too, with a LOT of help from God and a little help from my friends. :)

Maybe it's Just Me

As writers, I think we all have faced that unsolicited story advice. You know the kind--someone asks about your current work in progress and then proceeds to inject their own thoughts and ideas into the masterpiece you are creating.

Do people do that with painters? --meaning artists who paint, not house painters. :)

I'm not complaining, really, because bouncing ideas off my husband is a great way to get a story rolling. He's got a creative mind, and he has different perspectives than I do, so it works.

However, there's a time and a place for everything--as I'm about to explain. I want to share with you a moment so surreal it took almost a week for me to realize how odd it was.

Last week, I had an appt with an OB/GYN. This was the kind of appointment where the hubby takes time off work so he can be your moral support. The kind of appt where you stress and worry and try not to imagine every horrible possibility. The kind where you're seeing this dr because your regular dr needed the opinion of a specialist. (results are back--I'm fine, so no need to worry)

Let me set the scene for you. I'm essentially bare except for the silly gown they give women to cover up in for these types of exams. My feet are up in stirrups and I'm in "that" position as the doctor uses a piece of equipment that likely costs more than all the houses I've ever owned COMBINED to "get a closer look." My loving husband is sitting up by my head.

I say to him, "Talk to me about something. I need to be distracted."

So he asks me about the map I've asked him to draw for my new dystopian project. He needs some story details in order to flesh out the map in his mind. After exchanging a few sentences, who pipes up but the doctor.

Yes. The doctor who is currently examining the inside of me. Starts talking about what twists and concepts I should present in this post-apocalyptic world I have designed.

The assisting nurse quips, "You should co-write the book with the doc here."

Chuckle. Laugh. Be polite. DON'T kick him in the face.

I changed the subject. Got things back on task, so to speak. Left them some bookmarks and let them look up my books if they chose. And I've reconsidered talking books during doctor visits.

(just a disclaimer--I liked the dr overall. He's very competent and thorough, which is appreciated. Just--the moment was wrong. That's all. Strange and wrong. IMO)

Oh, hi.

I haven't meant to not be here lately. In addition to my wildly exciting desire and drive to write, I've been hit with a couple of fastballs. First my back decided to freak out and stop working properly, and then, before my back got better, my immune system crashed--and let bronchitis and a sinus infection in. Rude.

I'm still working on getting better, and I haven't let it derail my writing plans so soon after committing to them, but it did slow me down. Hey, I'm as human as the next girl.

I'm really just checking in--to let you know I'm still here and going strong for 2012. But the kids are going to be home any minute so I gotta fly. :)

What do You Think?

Pulling up to the house always felt like entering some exclusive club. Sure, nearly every other house in the cul-de-sac had desert landscaping and a three car garage, but this house stood out. Maybe it was the cascading waterfall in the front yard, surrounded by just enough rock-lined grass to frame it. Maybe it was the double solid oak doors you could see from the street. Maybe it was just because it was home.

Have you ever read a book where each chapter begins with a short letter or journal entry? What do you think of such a device? In Consequences, I'm struggling with the right balance between two points of view. There isn't enough story to give the second character her own chapters or segments, but there are aspects of her experience and feelings that the reader would benefit from knowing.

I actually kind of like the glimpses into a character's "diary" so to speak. I once read a book where the chapters took place in real time, but each one was prefaced with a short letter from the past--of either the children to their mother, or the mother to her children. I may be in the minority, here, but I enjoyed it.

Which is precisely when I'm asking. What do you think of such a storytelling tool?

From the Other Side of the Move

I'm getting all my posts in early this week, in case I end up with no internet. Kinda hard to blog post with no internet. :)

What's new in my writing world? Well, the publisher rejected Lizzie Lilac and the Left Socks, as their children's book quota has been realized this year. I'm going to shop it around for next year. Hopefully I'll find someone who will want it.

Nothing new to report on The Tyrant King. I'm not writing/editing much, but I am learning quite a bit about how to improve my writing and look forward to making it a real knockout book once the kids are back in school. Yes, my kids haven't started yet. It's a casualty of the move, but they start today. Hooray! Tomorrow, I plan to be home all morning and afternoon with nothing but my thoughts. I almost can't believe I'm looking forward to that.

Still adjusting to small town living. That will take some time. But, I think I will enjoy the quiet. Less hustle and bustle. More writing time. More time with my kids. More bloggy time. :) More writing time. Wait, did I say that already? lol

In the move, I found something truly exciting--a fresh, new story idea that I'd written down forever ago and just can't wait to develop. In my next post, I'll give you the basics so you can tell me if you've seen or heard it before. One of my biggest fears finding something like this is that it's not my idea at all, but one I summarized from another source. I'd hate to be repetitive. If feels like mine, but seems so brilliant I can't quite bring myself to claim it. Make sense?

It just Keeps Coming

We are moving in 6 days. Good thing I've got these great pain killers to keep me from freaking out too much. :) I guess something good can come from having your wisdom teeth yanked the week before a cross country move. And, if something in this post doesn't make sense--you now know why.

Saturday night I had this fantastic story idea just hit me out of the blue. I'm not ready to share it yet (mean, I know--sorry!) because I'm still working out the kinks, but I just love it when inspiration strikes like that. It's such a great feeling to have a wealth of ideas to choose from when I sit down to write, although I know it's going to be a little while before I get to actually write it. But it's a twist on a missing person story, actually a couple of twists on your basic missing person plot. The inspiration, I can see now, came from a combination of a movie I watched (and thought it could have been better), a book I read a few weeks back, and my own brain.

What's really cool is when the main character just starts telling her story, right out of the blue. I admit that I hear stories in first person, though I often adapt them to 3rd person. This one I may not, because I like the 1st person "voice." She's capable, yet vulnerable, with a healthy dose of suspicion. And I like the way she describes the people she meets and interacts with. She's a little irreverent. :)

I promise, I will share more when I can. Stay tuned for a first scene, or even a brief synopsis in the coming weeks.

Stranger than Fiction

Have you ever experienced something in your life that is so bizarre the people you share it with have a hard time believing it actually happened? This is what I consider to be "stranger than fiction." Why? Because fiction has to make sense.

We're odd, aren't we?

Imagine you're reading a charming, coming-of-age novel about a young girl who is struggling to find herself after her parents' divorce and father's death. When the main character is 15, she and her friends--one of whom is old enough to drive and has a car--decide they're going to have a wild night of fun. They go to a rock concert, then tell all their parents they are staying at one girl's house. But that girl's parents are out of town, and the girls have no intention of going back to her house that night. They are going to stay out all night and have fun, meet people, etc.

They go to a pool hall/bar and play a few games, attracting the attention of several young and older men. One of the younger ones seems so interested, he literally writes his name and number on the MC's arm as her friends are dragging her out. Later, they meet up with these two guys that one of the girls kind of knows, and end up crashing at a stranger's apartment until the wee hours of the morning, when they discover their plan has been found out--and their parents are all worried and waiting for them to come home.

The MC rides back with her friends to the girl's house where they were supposed to be, and during the ride they come up with the story they're going to tell their parents. If it's a simple enough story, and they all tell the same one, they reason the truth won't be found out. I mean, whose parents WOULDN'T kill them for staying the night with some guys, even if nothing really happened?

The MC gets a ride with one of her friends and her parents, who are fuming. All the way to her house, the MC has to sit and listen to the lecture from the parents to both girls about how worried her mom was and how irresponsible and stupid their behavior had been. And how much trouble she was in when she got home.

When she does get home and they drive away, her mom gives her a hug, makes her a sandwich, and lets her take a nap before they go to church that afternoon.

Now imagine the conversation those girls have at the lunch table at school the following Monday. One has been grounded for a month. Another got grounded for two weeks. The driver had her car taken away for two weeks, and was grounded for another two weeks. And our MC? She tells her friends her mom made her a sandwich and let her take a nap.

Stranger than fiction? Would you throw the book across the room and swear that couldn't possibly happen? No parent, acting as both mother and father to their child, would just let them get away with such behavior! That's ridiculous, and SO unrealistic.

Except it really happened. And I'll probably never use it in a book because readers expect more from a novel than we can get away with in real life. :)

What's your "stranger than fiction" story?

History, continued

Before I delve into the past, here's a reminder about my ongoing contest. My blog needs a name! Click HERE for more details. Just a couple weeks left to have your say!

I mentioned, at the end of my last post, how writing saved my life. At the risk of sounding dramatic, this is too true. Things at home hit their lowest point while I was in high school. I was the kid who thought all the other kids my age who worried about regular things--dates, prom, grades--were stupid and trivial because I was fighting for my life every day.

I tried to escape. Truly. All I wanted was $100 from the social security check that came in my name to my mother so I could give it to my friend's mom for rent. Without that, though, I was stuck.

And I didn't get it.

At my lowest point, I wrote a suicide note. I still have it. (Note**Some authors are crazy and keep EVERYTHING) But, because I had spent a solid year sharing everything I wrote with my friends, when my friend walked into the room I handed her my note. I didn't even mean to. It was automatic. And we talked. And cried. And I lived another day.

And another. And another. A few months later I admitted I could not fix me without help, and we sought outside counseling. With therapy, and medication, I was able to live a much more normal life.

Until...well, we'll talk about that next week.

Don't have a Heart Attack...but I'm Back!

If ANYONE has been paying attention, it's been over a month since I sent out a new blog post here. I think about all my blogs and my followers every day, and wonder who is out there hanging on my every post and waiting, hoping, praying, for more bits of wisdom.

Then I wake up lol. :)

But, seriously, I haven't felt the inspiration needed to post for so long. It's frustrating, but I don't want to post just for the sake of doing so--I want to actually have something to say.

So, here it is: I have never read The Hunger Games series. There, I said it. And now, I will explain why.

I'm unearthly, unreasonably, unseasonably stubborn.

I'm going to take you back in time. It's 1987, and the movie The Princess Bride is in theaters. My friend calls me up to tell me she just saw the movie, and I HAVE to go see it. It's my kind of movie--sword fighting, princesses, etc. And so FUNNY! And we hang up.

My first thought--why? Why should I go see a movie just because someone tells me to? Sure, it's pretty popular and she just loved it, but so what? I hate doing things just because other people do them. So I didn't. I wasn't mean or anything about it. I just never went to see the movie.

Then one day I saw it on video. Yeah, that was before DVD. And, of course, I loved it.

But that didn't really teach me anything. A few years ago, a friend brought me Twilight. I think the third book had just come out, and I was barely reading the first. Why? Because every one else was. Same with Harry Potter, but I did jump on that band wagon way sooner than with any others, simply because my little (at least she was at the time) stepdaughter was loving them.

And now, it's Hunger Games. I still wouldn't be reading them except my new book club has chosen Mockingjay for their book next month, and I hate reading a series out of order.

Someday I'll figure out what this stubborn-refusal-to-follow-the-crowd makes me. Aside from the obvious. Am I a maverick? I like the sound of that. Trailblazer? Well, maybe not so much. Original? Definitely. Frustrating? I'm sure, to some. :) Fortunately, they love me anyway.

Y is for...

YA, or Young Adult.

Why have I chosen to write for the YA genre?

You might say it chose me. In today's world, it seems that there is very little interest in a novel for grown ups (notice I don't say adult books lol) that doesn't have swearing, sex and violence. The problem is, I'm not the only one to have noticed this.

Years ago, when I WAS a young adult, or a teen, YA books were pretty much limited to a handful of classics and Sweet Valley Twins books. There was so little to read most of us just jumped up to grown up books.

Now, the YA market is inundated with books. I mean, there's really tons of them. Most authors I meet these days write YA. Granted, many of them are still unpublished--but they're all working toward publication. I don't see this as a bad thing. After all, how many of us ever read only one author? There's nothing wrong with a little market diversity.

But I don't consider myself a YA author. Perhaps 4 or 5 of my titles are YA. Recently, the projects that have hit me really hard have been middle grade fiction. For the time being, since we live in the now, my current projects are YA fantasy so I am a YA author.

I bristle at this. It feels like pigeon-holing and I've never been a fan of being categorized--good or bad--by any title. Maybe that's why my other age group projects have so much appeal. I even have a couple of grown up projects in the works--okay, the idea stages. One of the problems of having a prolific brain is I always have ideas, but not always the time to see them through. Gah. Some days I get up and already feel like I've fallen behind.

I'm glad the YA novel market has come so far. And I'm also glad that many people find comfort in reading books marketed to youths--even well into middle age and beyond. We shouldn't be limited to what is considered appropriate for our age level. I've already told the newest reader in our home, my 6 yr old, that she can read anything in my library.

But then, I don't go for those ADULT types of books. :)

X is for...

XENOPHILIA/XENOPHOBIA.

I honestly don't know why blogger and word both believe xenophilia is spelled wrong. That's the spelling straight from my dictionary. Stupid programs. Ah, well. Moving on.

Xenophilia is defined as an attraction to or admiration of strangers or foreigners.

Xenophobia, conversely, is defined as a fear or hatred of strangers or foreigners or anything foreign or strange.

Off the top of your head, can you name any xenophiles you know? How about xenophobes?
I bet you can.

As a writer, I have a natural interest in anything foreign or strange, since I write fantasy and the unusual plays a heavy part in designing a fantasy world. But in my life, I have tended to shy away from strange or foreign things. Is it possible to be both a xenophile and a xenophobe? Interesting thought.

Aren't we all full of contradiction?

I've grown quite a bit, most noticeably since I have taken my dream to be a writer to the next level--that level being to stop dreaming about it and actually work to make it happen. It's a long, slogging, uphill battle where I often feel as though I'm sliding backward more than inching forward.

But then, what's that great quote again? "The harder I work, the luckier I am."

So, what's your dream? And what are you doing to work toward making it a reality?

V is for...

Voltimande. This pic is Arnold Schwarzenegger and Wilt Chamberlain from Conan the Destroyer. Sure, the setting of my book is different and, because of that, Voltimande would be wearing more clothes, but this is the best the internet could do for me.

Not many people would dedicate an entire blog post to a minor character. Or a secondary character. No one can call someone as large as Voltimande a minor character. In The Peasant Queen, Krystal first meets Voltimande accidentally. He is a guard in Gregory's castle. But, as it turns out, there is more to Voltimande than there seems to be.

This is Michael Clarke Duncan (left) from The Scorpion King. He's another Voltimande contender.

Voltie (sorry, couldn't resist) is the only son of the palace healer, Gerta. She's a wise woman, and probably the only woman Gregory actually respects--because her skill and experience cannot be replaced. I describe Voltimande as the largest, darkest man Krystal has ever seen. Truth is he towers over everyone, but as a background character. He does come to Krystal's rescue at a certain, crucial moment--but then she turns around and rescues him right back. There's that spunk again.

I adore Voltimande. He plays pretty heavily in the third book, mainly because I just think he's the coolest character I've created--primary characters not included, of course. He's brave, courageous, noble--and is happy in his place. He has no ambition to be the king of the universe (for once). And he becomes a vital member of the castle's family.

My favorite scene is in The Tyrant King, when Krystal finally makes good her threat and throws up all over Voltimande's boots. :)

O is for...

ONOMATOPOEIA--the use of words whose sounds reinforce their meaning. Yeah, here's a word we don't use very often but--when reminded--we go, OH YEAH! lol

This isn't a word post, but as an aside, how many of us wonder how on God's green earth some of these words originated? Sheesh. Like, why is the word DYSLEXIC so dang hard to spell? Especially for a dyslexic person. That's just cruel.

I am not a poet--at least, I don't consider myself one. But I appreciate a good rhythm and really do love onomatopoeia when used properly.

Another O word I thought would be good for a mention is OVERWHELMED. Yes, I know I'm the only person to ever feel like they've bitten off more than they can chew--or that the issue or issues they face are more than they can ever manage. Like my 5 children. Or, on any given day, one of them. My writing projects. Maintaining a healthy, productive relationship with my spouse. And sometimes, just getting up in the morning.

But, with God, all things are possible. Surely He has borne our griefs.--that's from Handel's Messiah.

I'm so glad we don't have to walk our individual paths alone.

M is for...

Monkeys!

Ok, not really. I just think he's cute. :)

As an author of fantasy, I love reading about myths and mythology. Not a personal fan of Zeus, mind you (philanderer), but I do appreciate the stories.

Then there's the mystical stories--legends, fairies, unicorns, etc. All of it has been looped into the same magic heading these days, but in reality it's not the same thing.

What I find interesting is how the perceived facts about legends are manipulated throughout history to suit an ideal. Vampires come strongly to mind here. The sun kills them. No, not really--it just makes them glimmer. They can't stand crosses. No, actually, the cross does nothing. They stay away from garlic. Actually, they love Italian food. And so on. Werewolves. That's all I'll say about that lol.

Unicorns, for instance, are seen as the symbol of purity. In some circles they are likened to Christ, though generally in those comparisons the unicorn is a solitary creature--and not seen as a participating member of a herd.

I have always loved unicorn myths. Growing up, I had a picture in my room my 3rd grade teacher had found in a magazine. Someone had tied a horn to a white horse and taken pictures to prove the unicorn was real. I don't have the article, but I still have the pictures. They were pretty good, considering it was the 80's. I've got books--stories, legends, etc--because I love drawing comparisons. Everyone seems to have a slightly different variation. No two stories are the same.

Which, of course, is true of life and writing. Even when I do my edits on existing stories, I never do the exact same thing twice. There's always a slight variation.

It's like magic. :)

L is for...

Love. or Lucien. Oooh, you'd like Lucien. :) (kinda looks like James Caviezel)

Lucien became King of Demarde at a young age--so young most of his decisions were controlled by the Council. At 18, when he officially claims the throne, he works to protect his borders and his people--often neglected by his father. Then he decides to treaty with the kingdom of Norvallen for a controlling share in the Salve of the Enchanted Wood. And his world changes forever.

Lucien, you see, is Gregory's father.

That's right. The evil king Gregory had to come from somewhere, right? In my book, The Wild Queen, which hopefully will be released after The Peasant Queen, my readers will meet Gregory's parents and his younger sister, Falina (Jareth's mother). Through this brief glimpse into their lives, you'll learn what it takes to turn Gregory down his path of destruction.

L is also for LOVE. The love of one character for another. The love of one person for another. The love of a parent and child. The love of the author for her characters.

Our worlds are full of love. We're surrounded by it. Inundated with it. And we can either embrace it or reject it.

Which would you rather do?

K is for...

Krystal!

Bear with me; this is going to be somewhat of a soul-baring post. Krystal has come a long way, as have I. When I initially wrote the story, Krystal was me. So, I envisioned myself when I thought of her--only prettier.

Years later, I got that in my girls. Last year my youngest even wanted to be Krystal for Halloween--how special is that?

But if they decide to make a movie about my book, they wouldn't use either of my girls. So I had a few other suggestions. Like Sara Bolger from The Spiderwick Chronicles.

Or Abigail Breslin. When she's a little older.

Krystal is more than the sum of her beauty, though. She's spirited, sassy, resourceful and pretty good with a sword. She grew up on a farm with her family. When Krystal was 7, her father died and left her oldest brother--Andrew--as the head of the family. He was 15. Their mother let her grief consume her. She lost her husband and her eyesight inside of a year. This left Krystal to become the woman of the house--and with four older brothers that's a lot of responsibility.

When she ends up in Fayterra as a captive of King Gregory, Krystal uses her skills to do what anyone would do--get away. No matter how hard he tries to make her his queen.

J is for...

Jareth. Prince Jareth. Or, in this case, Oliver Coleman. But he looks like Jareth to me.

In The Peasant Queen, Jareth is Krystal's love interest--but I didn't want to wait until my L post to post love interest, you know? Good thing I didn't name him Zerin or something, right?

Krystal's nearly halfway through her adventure before she meets Jareth under unusual circumstances, but she's immediately drawn to him. He's got appeal--tall, handsome, blonde, blue-eyed, and MAGIC. But that doesn't make him perfect. Which is okay. I mean, who wants Mr Perfect? Ugh.

Jareth hasn't had it easy. With Gregory for an uncle--an uncle who hates him, mind you--challenging is rather a minor word for it. What if your guardian wanted you dead?

In addition to wielding magic, Jareth has his own unique set of skills. For one, a wicked sword arm, though he is a bit rusty when Krystal first meets him. Good thing he's got a camp of rebels to help him warm up. After all, Prince Jareth has a kingdom to save.

H is for...

lots of things.

I turned to the dictionary, one of my favorite books. At a loss for my H post, I thought I'd play around a little.

A haboob, for instance, is a violent sandstorm. (No, I am not making this up)

A hake is a hook from the shape of the jaw.

A hallux is the first toe on either of the hind legs of a terrestrial vertebrate.

I adore the dictionary. I am a lover or words. But it comes with risks. For instance, I can't eat marshmallows anymore. Look it up, if you dare.

In addition to my many dictionaries, various sizes and colors, I also have several Thesauri. Which I suppose is the plural of Thesaurus. Seriously, I love words. Lots.

Heave-ho is actually in the dictionary. Huh.

As are head start, headpiece, heavy breathing and hectare.

So, now you know one of my dirty little secrets. Dictionaries. Thesauri. Sigh. Words. Books. As you may have guessed, I'm a reader as well as a writer. :)