tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-126062452024-03-12T21:13:38.640-04:00Looking AroundWriting About Writing, Law, Life, and Occasionally Politics
I post news and excerpts about my novels, plus miscellaneous thoughts, speculations and occasional rants about writing, publishing, current events, legal issues, philosophy, photography, and events in my life.Karen A Wylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02585306711800520723noreply@blogger.comBlogger492125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12606245.post-1491223579727516222024-01-26T19:07:00.005-05:002024-01-28T19:21:46.636-05:00Some Ways Not to Lose Story Ideas<span style="font-size: medium;">Whether an author is first coming up with a story concept, musing over how to approach that concept, planning a future draft, actually writing a draft, or revising a draft, the author never knows when an idea worth preserving will pop up. And many of us can't count on remembering that idea for very long, or even once we walk into the next room. (There's actually something called the "doorway effect" whereby short-term memory tends to evaporate once one passes through some sort of boundary.) So how can one avoid losing ideas about character traits, plot directions, new scenes, or "just right" endings? It's easy to say "write them down," but what if you're in bed, or the car, or in the shower?</span><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Well, you need to have a way to write notes to yourself in those places. Yes, even in the shower. There's actually a product out there that could have been tailor-made for authors: Aqua Notes. I plug it whenever this topic comes up (and no one ever pays me for doing it). It's a pad with suckers on the back for sticking to shower walls, with waterproof pages and a special pencil for writing on them. I also keep a notepad with attached light on my nightstand -- though my handwriting at 3 a.m. is not always decipherable when I get up in the morning.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">It's trickier to keep ideas from escaping if they show up while I'm driving. What I generally do is mutter to myself, repeating the idea, until I can pull over and get hold of my phone. Then I send myself a quick email. (One of these days, I'll figure out how to just talk at my phone, or at my newly leased full-of-bells-and-whistles car, and send myself an email while driving.)</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">What are your handy ways to keep ideas from getting away? Let me know in the comments!</span></div>Karen A Wylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02585306711800520723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12606245.post-76326349184993453242024-01-02T11:37:00.001-05:002024-01-02T12:11:48.639-05:00All My Science Fiction, for National Science Fiction Day<p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Happy New Year, all, and Happy National Science Fiction Day! </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">In honor of the latter, here's a list of all my science fiction novels to date. As you can see, they're a varied lot. I've included links to the Kindle editions, but they're all available in paperback from many (mostly but not entirely online) retailers.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">--The <i>Twin-Bred</i> series (<i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Twin-Bred-Karen-Wyle-ebook/dp/B005VDVHQ2/" target="_blank">Twin-Bred</a></i>, <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Reach-Twin-Bred-novel-Karen-Wyle-ebook/dp/B00CWH5SPG/" target="_blank">Reach</a></i>, and <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Leaders-Twin-Bred-novel-Karen-Wyle-ebook/dp/B01G24LBS2/" target="_blank">Leaders</a></i>): This series begins on a planet colonized by us Earthers about seventy years before. Communication with the indigenous intelligent species has been difficult, and bewildering conflicts keep arising, with the potential to escalate into war. Dr. Mara Cadell, a scientist with a very personal secret, has a novel proposal for how to bridge this gap between species. For more details, see the link to <i>Twin-Bred</i>, above. All I can say about the latter two books without spoilers is that they continue the story of the Twin-Bred. To quote one of my favorite plays, Robert Bolt's <i>A Man For All Seasons</i>: "I trust I make myself obscure."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Water-Karen-Wyle-ebook/dp/B07HM67TSW" target="_blank">Water to Water</a></i>: I think of this book as science fiction, but it could be read as fantasy. It takes place on a planet which has had no contact with humans, or vice-versa. It has sufficient intelligent species without them. It has certain aspects of a YA novel, including young protagonists, a quest, and coming-of-age themes. Here's a description: "Two young Vushla questioned what everyone knew about death. What should they do with the answer? When the time comes for Vushla to die, they go into the ocean and are dissolved away. Or so Terrill has always believed, and still believes after taking part in his father's final journey. But when he meets a young Vushlu who lives by the sea, Terrill must confront information that calls this fundamental belief into question. Will the two of them discover the truth? And what should they do with what they find?"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The remaining four SF novels are all set on this planet in the near future. All of them also have extensive courtroom scenes, informed by my other head's career, practicing law. I'll list them in the order of publication.</span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Division-Karen-Wyle-ebook/dp/B00G82BBQQ" target="_blank">Division</a></i>: This story's tag line sums up the central conflict nicely (if I say so myself): "New technology, new choices . . . but who gets to choose?" To be more specific:<br /> "Conjoined twins Gordon and Johnny have never let their condition keep them from living full and fulfilling lives. Gordon looks forward to many years of closeness and cooperation. Johnny, however, faces their future with increasing restlessness, even dread.<br /> "When the boys are in their teens, the new technologies of accelerated human cloning and brain transplants are combined into a single medical procedure. Someone whose body has suffered such extensive damage as to make normal life impossible may -- with court approval -- be cloned and then given a brain transplant into the clone body. With Gordon's unwitting assistance, Johnny realizes that this procedure provides the chance he had never dared to hope for -- the chance to live in a 'normal,' separate body.<br /> "But Gordon considers their conjoined life a blessing, rather than a curse. He has no intention of accepting separation -- not without a fight . . . ."</span></div><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Playback-Effect-Karen-Wyle-ebook/dp/B00OVJISTQ" target="_blank">Playback Effect</a></i>: This book gave me the weirdly invigorating opportunity to have breakfast with a sociopath. Here's the description: "In the near future, new technology records the highlights of emotional experience for others to share. Buy a helmet and you can feel the exhilaration of an Olympic ski jumper, or the heat of a lucid dreamer's erotic imaginings. Commit a crime, and you may be sentenced to endure the suffering you inflicted on others. But such recordings may carry more information than the public has realized. What will criminals learn about their victims? When a husband is wrongfully convicted of injuring his wife, how will their marriage change? And what uses will a sociopath find for recordings of the experience of death?"</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Who-Novel-Future-Karen-Wyle-ebook/dp/B01N9ETD3H" target="_blank">Who</a></i>: Here's another favorite timeline: "Have they changed their minds? Or have their minds been changed?" The context is digitally stored personality and memories, and the details: "Death is no longer the end. Those who prepare, and can afford it, may have their memories and personalities digitally preserved. The digitally stored population can interact with the world of the living, remaining part of their loved ones’ lives. They can even vote. Except - someone's in charge of the code. Someone who may have an agenda. After the young and vital Thea dies and is stored, her husband Max starts to wonder about changes in her preoccupations and politics. Are they simply the result of the new company she keeps? Or has she been altered without her knowledge and against her will? And if Thea is no longer herself, what can they do?"</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Lastly, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Donation-Karen-Wyle-ebook/dp/B0B2F7SCVW" style="font-style: italic;" target="_blank">Donation</a>: This book took the longest to write, if "write" includes writing, revising, running by beta readers, revising again, deciding not to publish it, leaving it to lie fallow for months, revising it again, and sending it out into the world. It is in some senses timely, not to mention possibly controversial and/or dystopian in parts. It concerns the possible consequences of (a) a ban on abortion, made politically feasible by (b) the development of artificial wombs, and the related technology for allowing women to "donate" embryos and fetuses, with (c) the entire setup controlled by centralized government. One of those consequences: mission creep. To know what I mean by that, you can click through to the description -- or read the book!</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Happy reading, all, and may science fiction continue to lead us into (with apologies to <i>Star Trek</i>) strange new worlds, and unexpected ways of viewing our own.</span></p>Karen A Wylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02585306711800520723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12606245.post-68888757033648027162023-10-10T17:06:00.004-04:002023-10-10T19:18:24.365-04:00Atrocity, Barbarism, and Israel's Response<p> This post will not concern books or publishing. It is a response to the attacks on Israel. Read at your own risk.</p><p>In the last hundred years, the United States has twice been attacked on its own soil with thousands of casualties. The first was Pearl Harbor; the second, 9-11. Both of those times, it responded by going to war. And war is not, by its nature, a calibrated proportional response to the attack that led to it.</p><p>As a percentage of population, the attacks that began Saturday in Israel have dwarfed, by far, both of those events. After so many years of affirming "Never again," Jews have seen their deadliest day since the Holocaust. And there are other fundamental differences. Pearl Harbor and 9-11, especially the latter, resulted in the deaths of civilians. However, neither of them included face-to-face slaughter of entire families. Or mass rape of women. Or rape followed by murder, or by the display of the naked, bloody bodies of the victims to ecstatic crowds. Or the wholesale murder of babies, in some cases by beheading. Or children surrounded by the same crowds to be taunted and beaten. Or the taking of well over a hundred civilian hostages.</p><p>These atrocities are not unprecedented. Many hundreds of years ago, this is what happened when cities were sacked. More recently, there have been civil wars and religious conflicts featuring the same horrific barbarism. Russian forces have been accused of similar acts in their war against Ukraine. But those who are excusing or even cheering the attacks perpetrated by Hamas, supported and possibly planned by Iran, should think carefully about whether they want this way of waging war to become, in a much-used phrase, the new normal.</p><p>On both December 7, 1941 and September 11, 2001, the entities that attacked us meant to wound us to the heart, and/or to change our foreign policy in dramatic ways. In neither case did they have the ambition to wipe the United States and its citizens out of existence. Hamas and Iran have made no secret of their intent to destroy Israel and its Jews. Israel, unlike the USA when embarking on those previous wars, is facing -- not for the first time -- an existential threat.</p><p>You may recall how the USA ended World War II, the war we only entered because of the attack on Pearl Harbor. You know the names Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Israel very likely has more, and much more powerful, nuclear weapons than the United States had at that time. Israel could easily drop such bombs on Gaza, and may well have the military capacity to hit Iran with them as well. Should we expect that earthshaking outcome?</p><p>I for one doubt it, and here's why. When we dropped the atomic bomb on Japan, we had a different goal. We wanted to induce Japan to surrender, and to do so before the USA suffered hundreds of thousands of fatalities and more than a million casualties. Israel, on the other hand, knows that neither the Hamas jihadists nor the Iranian mullahs are likely to surrender, no matter how many of their people are killed. What Israel needs to do is wipe out Hamas, both its soldiers and its leadership, and permanently change Iran's regime, which probably means killing everyone currently in it. A sufficient nuclear attack could achieve that goal, but the huge number of civilian casualties involved will probably discourage Israel from taking the nuclear path unless absolutely necessary.</p><p>So Israel and its enemies are facing either a very well aimed campaign of targeted strikes, whether from the air or from the ground, or else a long, bloody conventional war. It may well be impossible to avoid igniting yet another cycle of hatred and longing for revenge. Israel will most likely strive, still, to keep civilian casualties to a minimum -- while realizing that the possible "minimum" has unavoidably changed. But no one should count on, and no one can in good conscience insist upon, any overriding concern with this war's being "proportional."</p>Karen A Wylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02585306711800520723noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12606245.post-57476413522829678522023-09-15T08:00:00.000-04:002023-09-15T08:00:00.152-04:00Release Day!! for fantasy novel FAR FROM MORTAL REALMS<p> <span style="font-size: medium;">It's finally here! Or rather, they're finally here -- Release Day, and the book.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Xpu7U45cU6zuQHNSVeVSbsjDMxWkB4K5Ki6nkri0zNChZv73GmTp7nKv1LRrfL4NUd8bWINR562qEgsTL-w4iqQhKitlND29ridTZL0uGXsehaq-4eLZ3gJArxN1M2k8epr3sNWBnP8NswF80DzkSva_-qBdeaVzMnqrL4pL7WEE6GD01xOs/s600/PhotoFunia-gif%20of%20FFMR%20w%20sparklers.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Xpu7U45cU6zuQHNSVeVSbsjDMxWkB4K5Ki6nkri0zNChZv73GmTp7nKv1LRrfL4NUd8bWINR562qEgsTL-w4iqQhKitlND29ridTZL0uGXsehaq-4eLZ3gJArxN1M2k8epr3sNWBnP8NswF80DzkSva_-qBdeaVzMnqrL4pL7WEE6GD01xOs/w396-h396/PhotoFunia-gif%20of%20FFMR%20w%20sparklers.gif" width="396" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">(I made the .gif on Photofunia, which is a delightful time sink.)</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">If you're reading this post, you may have already read the multiple excerpts I posted over the last couple of weeks. If not, you still can! (If you got to this post via social media, just head to my blog, <a href="https://looking-around.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Looking Around</a>, and scroll down.) In either case, here's the book description.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">----------</span></div><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Negotiating with the Fair Folk is a tightrope walk over deadly perils. </b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>And even the most skilled can misstep.</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The many wondrous realms the Fair Folk inhabit offer tempting opportunities for mortals hoping to benefit from faerie magic. But making bargains with the Fair Folk is a dangerous business, for the fae have a habit of leaving loopholes to snare the unwary. Father-and-daughter lawyers Abe and Adira have made a career out of helping their fellow humans reach such agreements safely.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Abe and Adira know the rules for dealing with Fair Folk: don't reveal your true name, don't say thank you, don't accept gifts, don't eat fae food, don't tell even the slightest of lies . . . . Oh, and always, no matter the provocation, be unfailingly polite.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A moment of carelessness, a brief lapse, and a professional defender of mortal interests may be in dire need of rescue.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">----------</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This is where I've been putting the preorder link, but hurrah! It's now <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Far-Mortal-Realms-Novel-Humans-ebook/dp/B0BZT8DHK4/" target="_blank">an order link</a>, and I hope you'll hurry over and make use of it. You should have a choice of the Kindle edition or the paperback. (By the way, what used to be called the "Look Inside" feature, available by clicking on the cover, is now "Read sample," a separate link below the cover.) </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>As I mentioned in an earlier post, the paperback has been available for preorder on Barnes & Noble, Books A Million, and possibly elsewhere -- so it should now be available to actually purchase from those sites.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Once you read the book, I would be deeply grateful for ratings and reviews on Amazon, Goodreads, Barnes & Noble, blogs, or anywhere else that occurs to you. Thanks again for sharing this release ride with me!</span></span></div></div>Karen A Wylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02585306711800520723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12606245.post-75825824529068728372023-09-14T12:00:00.017-04:002023-09-14T12:00:00.150-04:00Very short excerpt: the ultimate teaser<p> <span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Far From Mortal Realms</i> comes out tomorrow! So as far as excerpts are concerned, I'll leave you with this very short and redacted cliffhanger. (I'm not bothering with ellipses where a few words have been deleted to avoid spoilers.)</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">------</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">"But you may not so blithely leave this realm behind. Here you will stay.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">------</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I hope I've sufficiently intrigued you that you'll want to go on from there! The preorder link -- which is already the order link for the paperback edition -- is <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Far-Mortal-Realms-Novel-Humans-ebook/dp/B0BZT8DHK4" target="_blank">here</a>. And here's one more look at the (IMHO) gorgeous cover -- in 3D this time.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrOnTCe9qvzTI8kn8JKwOcPYtD-nYGIHVVAX93DihYOcvNhs7VWY99vwKW6JeyRxxsFuXr4qREWh7PaGg4uoToUwZxecRAJUJDZoEHPaMJhzDww6OFErAIW7hVkzOYERGe8atN3V_RPRAPGCfgnRoqM18DIUXBDoaeQSp0b4Ww8O3HnCxXArFx/s1532/FFMR%203d%20paperback%20-%20file%20from%20final%20delivery.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1532" data-original-width="991" height="481" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrOnTCe9qvzTI8kn8JKwOcPYtD-nYGIHVVAX93DihYOcvNhs7VWY99vwKW6JeyRxxsFuXr4qREWh7PaGg4uoToUwZxecRAJUJDZoEHPaMJhzDww6OFErAIW7hVkzOYERGe8atN3V_RPRAPGCfgnRoqM18DIUXBDoaeQSp0b4Ww8O3HnCxXArFx/w311-h481/FFMR%203d%20paperback%20-%20file%20from%20final%20delivery.png" width="311" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium;">While you're waiting for tomorrow's release, I hope you'll consider sharing the preorder/order page or<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/123859324-far-from-mortal-realms" target="_blank"> the book's Goodreads page</a> on social media -- or mentioning it to someone you know. Every little bit helps!</span><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Thank you for accompanying me on this journey. I hope it's been entertaining or even exciting for you. For me, it never gets old.<br /></span><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p></div></div>Karen A Wylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02585306711800520723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12606245.post-8325991110269651292023-09-13T10:52:00.026-04:002023-09-13T10:52:00.140-04:00Next excerpt: the trial begins<p><span style="font-size: medium;">On with the excerpts! We've heard Tom's side of the story. Now it's time for the rulers of the Ice Realm to hear it.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">------</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Adira had almost had to drag Tom out of the cave, and his footsteps still dragged. Dad walked close behind them as if prepared to herd Tom along. The fae led them through a forest planted thick with what looked like birch trees, snow resting on their ice-encased branches. The earlier haze must have dissipated or otherwise vanished, for tonight, unlike the fateful night in question, there was a moon shining through the trees, and here and there Adira could see stars glimmering where leaves would have obscured them. Dad was mumbling to himself the way he sometimes did before meetings, when there were points he wanted to make sure to remember.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">And then they were suddenly out of the forest, and the lake stretched in front of them, frozen ripples along its nearest edge and flat frosted ice beyond. Tom stumbled and moaned. Adira hadn’t realized she could hear Dad breathing until his breaths stopped for several seconds, then resumed with a quiet gasp.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Off to the right, about ten yards away, stood three tall ice fae, wearing what must have been crowns, though they looked like branches broken off from the trees and fashioned into headdresses. On the upper points of the branches, diamond-like chunks of ice had been fastened, like those their escort wore, but larger and shining with their own light. Beyond and behind the three, a cluster of other beings had gathered, ice fae and a few other creatures: two foxes in winter pelts, one snow-white dove, three incongruous crows – and two white seal pups.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Surely seals were salt water creatures, not fresh? Dad tapped her shoulder to draw her attention and mouthed the words, Their Majesties. For whatever reason, the rulers of the ocean realm had come to observe.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The tallest of the crowned fae, standing between the other two, struck the ground with a tall white branch it held like a rod of office. “We begin,” it announced in a voice somewhere between a creak and a shriek. “We will first hear from the accused, and then from his advocates. Accused mortal, step forward.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">If they had had more time, and if they had known what was coming, she and Dad would have discussed the pros and cons of having Tom speak. Trial lawyers were often wary, for good reason, of having a defendant testify and possibly give the prosecution useful ammunition. Here, they had no choice – and it would probably work well enough. Tom’s youthful demeanor, his terror, and the details he would relate might well do more good than harm.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Tom told his tale again, in much the same words and even less coherently. When he had repeated half his sentences and finally stammered to a halt, the crowned figure to the tallest one’s left stepped forward and held up a scorched stick of wood. “Is this the torch you lit?”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Tom stared at the piece of wood, panting, his breath making little clouds. “It – it may be, but I wasn’t looking at it – I was trying to see where I was.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The branch vanished as the fae said in its eerie voice, “So you did light a torch.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">“I – I – I didn’t know – I’m so sorry, I’m so awfully sorry, I wish I’d never done it! I wish I’d frozen to death and gone to heaven, instead of ending up in the lake forever and never dying and never going home and never seeing anyone I love again and – ” He dropped to his knees, arms outstretched in desperation. “Oh, please, please don’t do it! I didn’t know!”</span></p><div><span style="font-size: medium;">------</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">What happens to Tom? And then what? Keep reading. . . . There's only one more excerpt to go, though, and that's a short one, so you may just want <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Far-Mortal-Realms-Novel-Humans-ebook/dp/B0BZT8DHK4" target="_blank">the preorder link</a>. (The paperback has become available ahead of schedule, so that's also an order link!) If you'd rather preorder from Barnes & Noble's online store, you can do it <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1144002731?ean=9781955696920" target="_blank">here</a>. And if you haven't yet clicked "Want to Read" on the book's <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/123859324-far-from-mortal-realms" target="_blank">Goodreads page</a>, it's still there waiting for you . . . .</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">That last excerpt appears tomorrow. Until then!</span></div>Karen A Wylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02585306711800520723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12606245.post-11045161059743873552023-09-10T12:00:00.013-04:002023-09-10T12:00:00.172-04:00The next excerpt: Adira's and the reader's introduction to the Ice Realm<p><span style="font-size: medium;">And we're back to excerpts from my upcoming fantasy novel <i>Far From Mortal Realms</i>, coming out September 15th!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">As you may have guessed, Abe and Adira have, despite their trepidations, decided to take on the case of the boy who lit a torch in the Ice Realm. Now it's time for them to enter the realm and meet the boy.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">------</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Adira hadn’t realized how grateful she had been for the return of spring, until she found herself once again plunged so deep into winter.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The portal brought them to a wilderness of bare trees stretching in every direction, their branches coated in ice to the very tips. Her father’s earlier description suggested that he had visited on a sunnier day; the ice did not glint or glimmer in what muted light came through. The air seemed dry, and yet the cold seeped into her as if borne by damp currents.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Two ice fae met them at the portal, their skin – if it was skin – resembling silvery bark. She could see nothing, amongst the lines of the bark, that looked like eyes, though the fae did have what appeared to be mouths. Not that they seemed to have anything to say to the visiting mortals. Was she imagining the hostility she felt radiating from them, some combination of disdain and aversion? She had no way to know, though she wasn’t given to pessimistic flights of fancy.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Where was their client? As soon as she asked herself that question, a boy appeared between the fae, trembling, eyes wide with panic. The fae seized and held his arms, tight enough that they must be hurting him. Still without speaking, they pivoted to the right, dragging the boy with them, and started walking, long strides covering the ground swiftly, the clusters of roots that served as their feet piercing the crust of snow. Adira and her father lurched into motion to catch up.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">------</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">And here's Tom telling Abe and Adira what happened to him.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">-------</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The two fae led them to a sort of cave, icicles hanging from its entrance and frost patterns covering its walls in an simpler semblance of tapestry, and wordlessly pointed to its interior. The three of them sat on cold stone benches at a small, roughly hewn stone table, Tom across from Abe and Adira and reaching out to clutch Adira’s hands. He could have been inspired by her undoubted attractiveness, his sweetheart notwithstanding, but from his pallor and Adira’s warm, gentle expression, it seemed more likely that he was viewing her as a sort of maternal surrogate, or at least an adopted aunt. And he was confiding in her, in a panicked babble. “I didn’t know! I was distracted, and I got lost, I couldn’t see anything I knew, there wasn’t any moon . . . and it kept getting colder, and my hands and feet were going numb . . . and then I saw a flicker of light and thought it was from someone’s window, or even my pa coming out to look for me . . . .” He choked back a sob.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">A light, on a moonless night in the realm of the ice fae. What might explain it? Some ceremony or revel of which Abe was ignorant?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Or a light kindled for Tom’s benefit, as a lure?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">“So I went toward it, and I thought everything would be all right, and then it just – disappeared. And I was left in the dark, still lost. And then I stumbled over a branch, and I remembered that I had matches with me, and I could maybe make a torch to see where I was. I figured the weight of ice must’ve brought it down, though there wasn’t any ice left on it.” He let out something between a sob and a laugh. “I thought I was lucky to find it, that fortune was being kind to me.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Neither fortune nor fate may have set it in his path.</span></p><div><span style="font-size: medium;">------</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">To preorder, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Far-Mortal-Realms-Novel-Humans-ebook/dp/B0BZT8DHK4" target="_blank">go here</a>. (That Amazon link now includes the paperback.☺) Whether or not you order the book before the release date, I'd be VERY grateful if you would share these blog posts, or tell friends about the book, or plan to post a review of it once you've read it . . . or all of the above. Help me keep writing!</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Next time: an excerpt from Tom's trial. </span></div><div><br /></div>Karen A Wylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02585306711800520723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12606245.post-13185493899697252892023-09-07T12:00:00.037-04:002023-09-07T13:22:39.771-04:00The plot proper begins: another excerpt from my upcoming novel<p><span style="font-size: medium;">As the title to this post heralds, I'm no longer setting the stage. This is where the trouble starts blowing toward the fan. The self-styled Viscount of Bloomingshire has appeared without an appointment, and is now explaining why.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">-----</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The viscount took the offered chair, throwing its long coattails behind it as it did so. It smirked at Adira and said, “Do pardon me, fair lady, and you, good sir, for my unheralded appearance, but I have become aware of an urgent situation in which your unequaled skills may be all that stand between a hapless mortal and a regrettable fate.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Adira fetched legal pads for Dad and for herself as Dad said, “We would of course like to hear about this situation. Please go on.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">From the recesses of its cape, the viscount conjured a heavily gilded box of snuff and took a pinch. “I am perhaps being precipitate. Have you ever involved yourself in what we may call criminal trials among my people?”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">A mere few minutes ago, Adira had been contemplating with pleasure and longing the idea of Dad’s leftover baked goods, and then a big bowl of hot soup at the nearest coffee shop. Now her stomach cramped with something more like cold. “No, we haven’t taken on any cases of that kind.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Dad cleared his throat. “Actually, not that long after I began this practice, I did handle such a matter. The details, of course, are confidential, and the memory is not one I often revisit.” Adira glanced over at him to see his expression uncharacteristically bleak.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The viscount nodded. “Ah, I see. That would be before you and I began our association, would it not? I should apologize for reviving such unhappy recollections. Perhaps I should say no more of the unfortunate boy of whom I planned to speak.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Adira had never entirely trusted the viscount, and she trusted it even less now. She opened her mouth to concur, just as Dad said, “No, please go on.” From his tone, he had similar reservations, but his professional conscience appeared more active, at the moment, than any sense of self-preservation.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The viscount sat back, with the air of one about to embark on an engrossing story. “Has either of you ever visited our realm of infinite ice?”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">“I have, for one case,” Dad replied. “It’s a truly marvelous sight, with mountains like daggers and a frozen lake stretching off to the horizon, and icicles hanging from every surface, and the trees unbowed by those icicles, and the sunlight – when there is any – glinting off it all.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">“Indeed, a lovely sight. It is equally lovely in moonlight – yes, day and night do follow each other there, much as in your environs. And there are also moonless nights, where only those with adequate vision may find their way unhindered. There is one other fact, unsurprising once one considers the matter, which you must understand. Fire of any kind is strictly – oh, most strictly – forbidden throughout this realm, with the sole and rare exception of certain ceremonial uses of which I must not speak. Can you, now, begin to guess what must have occurred to require your assistance?”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Adira looked intently at the viscount. “You mentioned a boy. He came there on some errand and then made a fire?”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The viscount examined its polished fingernails and sighed. “That is almost correct. This boy – sixteen years old, I believe – had no errand, and indeed, to hear him tell it, he had no idea he had crossed the boundary between a mortal and a faerie realm. He was wandering home from his sweetheart’s house, no doubt filled with fond thoughts of her charms, and blundered into the ice realm. Naturally, since he did not belong there, he had no idea how to get where he did belong, and could scarcely see where he was in fact going. So he found a fallen branch – ”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Surprising, that a branch had fallen from one of those unbowed trees.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">“ – and, using some supplies he had with him, contrived to turn it into a torch, the better to find his way. Naturally, he attracted attention, and has been detained pending the administrative proceeding that will see him consigned to the ice.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Dad scribbled a few notes, possibly to buy time, before he asked quietly, “Please explain just what that entails.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The viscount produced a tight-lipped smile. “My dear counselor, the phrase is both literal and descriptive. He will be immersed in the lake, pursuant to a spell that will prevent him from drowning or from requiring sustenance, with a patch above him enchanted to remain clear so that he may contemplate the world he will never be allowed to reenter. This clear area of ice will also allow passersby to see him, and whatever anguished expression he may have, and so be reminded of the price of such folly.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Adira had little occasion to regret her vivid visual imagination, but she did at this moment. In fact, she jumped to her feet, excused herself in brief and incoherent fashion, and rushed from the room, walking as fast as she could to the bathroom in case she had to vomit. Staring into the mirror only reminded her of that boy, who might soon be staring up at a sheet of impenetrable glass . . . .</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">------</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Will Abe and Adira take this case? That shouldn't be too hard to guess. Next time, you'll see where that takes them.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">And to read far further than my excerpts will take you, you can <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Far-Mortal-Realms-Karen-Wyle/dp/1955696926/" target="_blank">preorder the book</a>! If you prefer paperbacks, you can preorder the paperback edition from at least two online retailers, <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1144002731?ean=9781955696920" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> and <a href="https://www.booksamillion.com/p/Far-From-Mortal-Realms/Karen-A-Wyle/9781955696920" target="_blank">BooksAMillion</a>. You could also click "Want to Read" on the book's <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/123859324-far-from-mortal-realms" target="_blank">Goodreads page</a> -- and if I've got you interested enough, I'd greatly appreciate it.</span></p>Karen A Wylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02585306711800520723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12606245.post-8258213796611754962023-09-04T12:00:00.006-04:002023-09-04T12:00:00.147-04:00Excerpt from FAR FROM MORTAL REALMS: a subplot concerning a changeling<p> </p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I've been taking my time reaching the beginning of the plot proper because not too long after that point, it will become difficult to post excerpts without including spoilers. But tomorrow's excerpt gets there! In the meantime, here's another look at the dark side of human/faerie contact, and at a subplot that will be woven into the primary plot.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">-----</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The curtains of the pleasant little house were drawn tight, as if to hide whatever was happening inside. The man who opened the door had a glass in his hand. From either the glass or the man came the rich caramel smell of whiskey. He stepped aside from the doorway, beckoned them in, and toasted to them as they entered. “Welcome! ‘M in charge here, I s’poze. The missus went upstairs to lay down.” He pointed a wavering arm toward the back of the house. “Been crying a lot, pour soul. Says it doesn’t much matter what I do, the whatever-it-is can take care of itself.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">They walked through a short entryway and came to what appeared to be a family room. Abe could see no trace of a baby – no playpen, no toys, no small blankets or spit-up rags. Following Abe’s gaze with the exaggerated concentration of the inebriated, the man pointed to a doorway off to one side of the room. “His bedroom’s in there. Well, the baby’s bedroom, and that’s where we’ve been keeping the, whatdyacallit, the changeling. You’ll be wanting to take a look at it, so go on ahead. I’ll just have a seat here and wait.” Without waiting for any response, he half sat, half fell onto a well-stuffed sofa and took another sip of his drink.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">In the bedroom they found everything missing from the earlier room, perfectly in order, like a showroom in a baby store or a magazine photograph. A white-painted wood crib stood against one wall, a blue and yellow checked quilt folded over one end, a blue and white Calder-style mobile hung above it and turning lazily in invisible air currents. A matching dresser with its knobs painted yellow faced it across the room. Half curtains in pale blue, with any cords tucked well out of reach, graced the matching windows on the wall between. A rocking chair, also in white wood, upholstered in white and yellow patterned fabric, sat opposite the crib next to the dresser, occupied at present by only a blue, oversized stuffed rabbit.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">“Hidin’ again.” The slurred voice of the father, from the doorway behind her, made Abe start and Adira jump. “Dunno how it does that. M’ wife noticed first. I didn’t believe her ‘til I saw it. Should’ve believed her, what with the other things.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">From the crib came a ringing laugh, and then a baby appeared, standing and bouncing on its toes, as delighted as any baby playing peek-a-boo. It had silvery-white straight hair, more than any baby its age Abe could remember seeing. Its eyes were an unrelieved black, pupils and irises indistinguishable. And there was something else odd about it . . . . When the baby laughed again, he had it.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Teeth. The baby had a full set of perfect white teeth.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Abe tapped Adira on the shoulder and pointed. She moved closer to look and then turned back toward him. “It could be a mutation of some kind. And . . . we could have missed seeing the baby at first, from some trick of the light.” Then she did a double-take and spun to face the crib again.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">So quietly Abe could barely hear it, and then louder, its voice high and ringing like the sound a wet finger could coax from the rim of a wineglass, the baby was singing, singing words Abe could almost, but not quite, understand, a liquid language that drew him to step nearer and nearer to the crib.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">And then from behind him, discordant and halting, came the sound of the father trying to sing along, first imitating the alien words and then adding his own. “Bay - bee - strange - little - bay - bee - are - you - my - bay - bee . . . .”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Abe turned away from Adira to hide the tears in his eyes.</span></p><div><span style="font-size: medium;">------</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Here's the obligatory <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Far-Mortal-Realms-Novel-Humans-ebook/dp/B0BZT8DHK4" target="_blank">link to the preorder page</a>, which now shows a tantalizing hint about the paperback edition. Until next time!</span></div>Karen A Wylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02585306711800520723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12606245.post-64027469307177438422023-09-01T12:00:00.005-04:002023-09-01T12:00:00.267-04:00Next excerpt from FAR FROM MORTAL REALMS: what spurred Abe to open this kind of law practice<p> </p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Welcome back to my excerpts from upcoming fantasy novel <i>Far From Mortal Realms</i>! In this one, </span><span>Adira is defending their unusual law practice to an official from the county bar association. (For an explanation of bar associations, </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bar_association" target="_blank">see here</a><span>. "Bar" is often used to mean some legal organization or function: for example, the journals law schools publish with articles about various legal topics are called bar reviews. And I'm now yielding to the impulse to mention that when I was in law school, we had a bar-crawling club called the Somerville Bar Review.) The official asks how her father, who started the practice before Adira joined it, had come to pick this peculiar specialty, and Adira explains.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">-------</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">“He became aware of several unfortunate incidents. For example, there was the owner of a new dry cleaning business – quite a nice fellow, apparently – who somehow met a fae from the Winter Court. They’re the most likely to be malicious, which the owner hadn’t heard. He didn’t want to waste the opportunity, and asked for an enchantment to clean the most delicate fabrics without damaging them. When he asked what they would take in exchange, he should have known better than to accept the answer that it would be their pleasure, and that they had a use for the stains. Given what those fae take pleasure in, it was true, as it had to be . . . From that moment, every stain he removed, with the enchantment or without it, stained his skin and that of his customers, and nothing would remove those stains.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Fells seemed less than impressed. Now that she’d gone this far, she’d tell him the grimmer complete version of what had spurred Dad into action, and see how he liked the taste of it. “Then two horrendous encounters came to my father’s attention. First, a man who taught creative writing wanted to write a best-selling novel and become famous. The fae arranged for him to get arrested for some gruesome crime that got lots of publicity, and a great many people bought his book out of morbid curiosity.” Fells’ eyes widened, and he gulped. Well, he’d asked for it. “And then someone went for that old favorite, wanting to live forever. He ended up permanently asleep, and from what family observers could tell, having frequent awful nightmares.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Maybe it had been a mistake to dwell on these details. She’d had a few of her own nightmares when she first joined the practice, and she’d been happy to see them fade with time. Too late now. “After more than a month of this, the man’s wife got desperate and tried killing him – a mercy killing. But it didn’t work. The man woke up just long enough to realize what was happening, and then fell asleep again, healing as he slept. The wife could only guess what new nightmare he had afterward.” She’d ended up killing herself instead, but Fell had clearly heard enough. He looked somewhere between pale and green.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">-------</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">As always, you can <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Far-Mortal-Realms-Novel-Humans-ebook/dp/B0BZT8DHK4/" target="_blank">follow this link</a> to read the book's teaser, see the cover, and/or preorder. There's something new this time: the description now has a tag line. Tell me what you think of it!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Stay tuned for more excerpts!</span></p>Karen A Wylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02585306711800520723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12606245.post-61187127711564467392023-08-30T09:07:00.003-04:002023-08-30T09:07:51.848-04:00A personal aside: on memory, generations, and unanswered questions<p> <span style="font-size: medium;">During these last few years, during which and since I lost my parents, I've often thought about the questions I did and didn't ask them. Some, that have to do with my father's childhood and Army days, I've been able to ask my uncle Bert. For the latter days of my mother's childhood and beyond, I could ask my uncle Arian. But when it comes to my own childhood, there's no one left. My brother, who would have been the best if not necessarily an objective witness, died in 2005.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">It occurred to me this morning that along with many details of my earliest past, I'm forgetting my far more recent past. When I try to remember my children's childhoods, whether to answer a question or not, I often can't. Either I can't remember to which child a detail pertains, or I can't retrieve it at all. So even if I could still ask my parents my various questions, they might not be able to answer me. I'm not sure whether that's a comfort, exactly, but it at least softens some regrets.</span></p>Karen A Wylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02585306711800520723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12606245.post-17034572290289639352023-08-29T12:00:00.001-04:002023-08-29T12:00:00.147-04:00Excerpt from FAR FROM MORTAL REALMS: magical settings<p><span style="font-size: medium;">Welcome back to my series of excerpts from my upcoming fantasy novel <i>Far From Mortal Realms</i>! Today I'm combining two excerpts (or three, if snipping some language in the middle of the first turns it into two). These excerpts convey something of the magic, in both the literal and figurative sense, of the Fair Folk realms Abe and Adira are allowed to visit in the course of their law practice.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The first begins a few hours after the excerpt I posted previously. Abe is telling Adira where they're due to go next.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">-----</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">How would you like to talk to some trees?”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">“You mean dryads? Doesn’t that rather depend on the particular dryads?”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Dad’s grin made a welcome contrast to the fae version they’d both been enduring from the viscount that morning. “I don’t, in fact, mean dryads. This particular grove of trees has no interest in mimicking either human form or the more common faerie configurations. They typically communicate via the shifting patterns of their leaves in sunlight – year-round leaves in, for the most part, year-round sunlight. Not even other fae can understand it. They would like to welcome some sort of flowering plants, such as are common in our own fields and forests – rather than any fae equivalents that would have their own possibly incompatible personalities. They wish us to advise them on the best choice and assist in obtaining the necessary starter crop.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Adira couldn’t stop her eyes from going wide. “And in order to do this . . . .”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Dad actually rubbed his hands together. “In order that we may communicate with them conveniently, they will temporarily grant us the ability to understand their language of light and shadow.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">How long would this job last? Oh, how tempting to drag her feet so it would last longer . . . . </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">[snip]</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Several hours later, back at the office, Adira drifted somewhere between exhilaration and exhaustion. Even with the trees’ grant of comprehension, keeping track of the sometimes minute changes in light patterns required constant attention. But how lovely were the patterns, and how subtly different the silent voices of the various trees!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">After discussing in what ways the trees had become dissatisfied with their ageless copses and glens, and confirming that actual flowers were preferred to moss, they had settled on bluebells. Someone would need to plant the initial bulbs, and it remained to be decided whether these workers would be mortal or fae – which meant Adira and her father would not yet have to relinquish their knowledge of the language. As for the patience needed to let the bluebells spread, trees had patience aplenty, and it pleased them that the flowers would be connected by a system of roots.</span></p><div><span style="font-size: medium;">------</span></div><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Later that afternoon, Abe and Adira move on to their next appointment. This excerpt begins by describing the portal the lawyers use to travel from their office to Fair Folk realms.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">------</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">It was always visible to them – and to Mom, maybe because she was a member of the family. Anyone else, or at least any other mortal, would see nothing there, and would walk through unaffected unless she or Dad intended them to do otherwise. What met Adira’s eyes, as usual, was an oval ring hovering an inch or so above the ground, just big enough for her to step through without ducking. It sparkled in ever-shifting colors in her peripheral vision, more like mist when she looked at it head-on, and showed a changing series of vistas. Only when they came within a yard of it would that view change to their destination. But what greeted her this afternoon was not so much a sight as the sensation of wind, and fine sprays of water on the wind, and the smell of salt.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">She stopped in her tracks, only to find Dad grabbing her hand and pulling her forward.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">They were standing on what might be called a cliff, about hill-height. And they were facing the sea, that salty wind in their hair, with small waves rolling in and breaking on a beach of silvery sand and scattered shells.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Adira turned to her father. “Dad, who are we waiting for? Are they coming by boat?”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">He laughed, not mocking her but as if delight had filled him to overflowing and come out as laughter. “Wait just a minute, sweetheart, and you’ll see!”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">She looked out at the horizon, breathing deep of the sea-scented air, and saw something emerging, or growing, or approaching. She couldn’t make out any details – and then she could, because she saw the backlit, translucent jade of waves, waves rushing toward them, waves growing taller and taller, until she was sure she and Dad would be drenched or even swept off the cliff – </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">And then the waves stopped, suddenly, just behind their far smaller counterparts breaking on the beach. Two enormous standing waves faced them, topped with high white crests ruffling in the wind and shedding spray all around.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Her jaw dropped, confronted with grandeur; and then snapped shut again, as she imagined surfing those waves, and shut the thought down in case these formidable fae, for so these two waves must be, could somehow sense that desire.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Dad, beside her, spoke into the hiss of the small waves that mounted the shingle and drew back again. “Hello again, Your Majesties. As we discussed, I have brought my daughter, who is my equal partner in all that we do. Let me make her known to you as Valentina, which in one of our tongues means ‘strong and powerful.’”</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">A rumble, not quite a roar, carried across the gulf between waves and cliff. “Welcome, counselors. . . ."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">-------</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The ocean rulers in the preceding scene were inspired by this extraordinary photograph by Darragh Gorman of Lighthouse Industries. If you're on Instagram, I recommend <a href="https://www.instagram.com/lighthouse.industries/" target="_blank">looking him up there</a>.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMu_NfYpuJ9Crlw9Jrnh0T98lhzDui5QiFIz4bnxY2DVF-XfoJJz_MaPAoJX1tNQPEsnz0og0_bmd0eWA0-azo2tlsYBHdb_xx1T21csaqs8k18t0YXc9F5VQVLgndI_qrCyWJLL0qKAzlcWAqi8Mo6cIZXJzTPHQHs0W5NyU93-68OzWqnHX6/s2048/wave%20rearing%20up%20high%20and%20translucent%20during%20storm%20in%20the%20Atlantic,%20by%20Darragh%20Seangor.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1366" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMu_NfYpuJ9Crlw9Jrnh0T98lhzDui5QiFIz4bnxY2DVF-XfoJJz_MaPAoJX1tNQPEsnz0og0_bmd0eWA0-azo2tlsYBHdb_xx1T21csaqs8k18t0YXc9F5VQVLgndI_qrCyWJLL0qKAzlcWAqi8Mo6cIZXJzTPHQHs0W5NyU93-68OzWqnHX6/w640-h426/wave%20rearing%20up%20high%20and%20translucent%20during%20storm%20in%20the%20Atlantic,%20by%20Darragh%20Seangor.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Of course, setting is only the beginning of story, and traumatic events can take place in marvelous places. </span><span>The next excerpt will be the beginning. . . .</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>To see where the story takes these characters, you can </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Far-Mortal-Realms-Novel-Humans-ebook/dp/B0BZT8DHK4/" target="_blank">order the book here</a><span> and start reading on September 15th. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span></span></p>Karen A Wylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02585306711800520723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12606245.post-65781045351832570322023-08-27T11:58:00.001-04:002023-08-27T17:36:43.028-04:00Musings on Omar Khayyam and George Eliot<p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Happy Sunday! I'm taking a break from the series of excerpts I've been posting from my upcoming novel, in order to share this morning's minor literary epiphany.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Douglas Murray has a Sunday column called "Things Worth Remembering," available (among other places) <a href="https://www.thefp.com/p/omar-khayyam-edward-fitzgerald-douglas-murray" target="_blank">on The Free Press</a>. This morning, the column discussed Persian poet Omar Khayyam and his famous work <i>The</i> <i>Rubaiyat</i>, brilliantly translated by English poet <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edward_FitzGerald_(poet)" target="_blank">Edward FitzGerald</a>. While Murray emphasizes the extent to which this collection of quatrains follows a "seize the day" theme, he also quoted one with quite a different message.</span></p><p><i><span style="font-size: medium;">LXXI</span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-size: medium;">The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,</span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit</span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-size: medium;"> Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,</span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.</span></i></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I've read this poem more than once over the years, but only this morning did it strike me how similar its point is to that sometimes conveyed by another famous author.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I've long been an admirer of British author <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Eliot" target="_blank">George Eliot</a>. One of her rarer qualities is the willingness and ability to impress on the reader a particular uncomfortable reality: some choices, some actions or failures to act, are irrevocable. Good will, good intentions, good reputation, good self-image can do nothing to undo certain decisions. The novel in which she most directly focuses on this fact is, I believe, <i>Adam Bede</i>. (For a description that includes spoilers, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adam_Bede" target="_blank">see Wikipedia</a>. I was surprised to note, in that write-up, that this was Eliot's first published novel.)</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Are there other authors you know about who also confront readers with this fact? Let me know in the comments! </span></p><p><br /></p>Karen A Wylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02585306711800520723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12606245.post-36005144309877848962023-08-26T16:00:00.003-04:002023-08-27T17:37:22.456-04:00First more traditional excerpt from my upcoming fantasy novel<p><span style="font-size: medium;"> I'm glad I thought of starting this series of excerpts from <i>Far From Mortal Realms</i> with the book's Dedication. Now, however, it's time for excerpts more than a few words long.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The first such excerpt comes from Chapter 1. Abe and his daughter Adira, partners in a law practice that helps humans make contracts with the Fair Folk more safely, are discussing the morning's agenda. This passage introduces not only Abe and Adira but an important faerie character. It also gives a few examples of the kind of loopholes the lawyers habitually identify and close.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">---------</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">“Let’s move on. What’s our schedule for the day?”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Abe looked over at the clock again. “In a little more than half an hour, we have a dedicated gardener on a quest to capture the blue ribbon for his not-yet-prizewinning tomatoes. He’s heard about a previous winner getting an assist from the Fair Folk and wants us to negotiate something similar.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Adira shook her head, setting her black hair bouncing. “What, didn’t he hear about what happened afterward?”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Abe grimaced and replied, “As I recall, after that fellow’s garden reached his roof in a giant tangle and lifted it free of the walls, he had the plants torn out – twice – and then paid even more for the fae to make them disappear. But perhaps our client is less up to date than we are on fae-related news. At least he has the good sense to hire us to get him reasonable terms. Any thoughts?”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Adira swallowed the final bite of her brownie and said, “We can see whether he grows anything that any of the Fair Folk – hold on, with whom are we negotiating, given how many different parties could provide this service?”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Abe smirked. “Your favorite middleman, or middle-fae I should say, has agreed to shop our client’s offer around.” He ducked as Adira grabbed a muffin and pretended to throw it at him. Adira had little patience for the preferred glamour and habits of the being who styled itself the Viscount of Bloomingshire, though both professional courtesy and simple self-preservation required her to show it the most exquisite politeness.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">As he expected, Adira put aside her show of temper and focused on the problem at hand. “So. We can see whether any of . . . the viscount’s contacts would like some of the client’s seeds or seedlings, whether of tomatoes or some other crop. Aren’t tomatoes related to some poisonous plant? That might appeal. Or he could offer to grow some fae plants and provide opportunities for his neighbors to see them. That lets everyone involved show off. Of course, he’d have to make sure not to eat any, nor to let anyone else do so.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Abe chewed his lip. “We’d have to include a clause saying that whatever plants they provided wouldn’t shape themselves into a faerie ring and transport our gardener or his guests anywhere. And we’ll set reasonable growth limits, and exclude any dangerous or unsightly mutations. Anything else we’ll have to watch out for?”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Adira tossed her head and said, “We’ll give the final language a good going-over, of course, but I think our usual boilerplate will take care of the other hazards. Though I fully expect our dear middle-fae to suggest some of it is unnecessary – say, the clauses that protect us as well as our client.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">“Do you, really, after the dozens of times he’s dealt with us? Would you care to make a small wager?”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Adira waved away the offer, took a sniff of her muffin – carrot and ginger, worth the smelling, if he did say so – and said, “What’s next?”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">---------</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I'll include the preorder link with all excerpts, in case that excerpt is the one that intrigues someone enough to follow the link. <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Far-Mortal-Realms-Novel-Humans-ebook/dp/B0BZT8DHK4/" target="_blank">Here it is.</a></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">See you all next excerpt! </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p>Karen A Wylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02585306711800520723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12606245.post-54248704734423380782023-08-23T16:43:00.003-04:002023-08-28T13:36:16.167-04:00How I chose my upcoming novel's Dedication photo<p> <span style="font-size: medium;">My fantasy novel <i>Far From Mortal Realms</i> comes out on September 15th. The Kindle edition should be available that day, and with a little luck, the paperback will be as well. (As for other ebook formats, I haven't yet decided whether to put the book in Kindle Unlimited, which would at least temporarily prevent me from offering them.) Over the three weeks between now and that release date, I'll be posting some excerpts from the book. In a way, this is one of them.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrK0Hds2gGEoSBQsxrB6KbXzzbrzmkm-R-DzvsCoptrDw8-q_EMz7UsbxJSE7gtdhUxVodog_kUXjNro9dTh8hFIN0mLeLUf_1-hY-mLo6azed5Efooqf3Z-ekmVfiuxze3bjKbJ20BSvyolMWPlclDyMOGoijvzipBP2vwy_cUMsIKNOeifha/s541/CW%20serioius%20Army%20portrait,%20cropped.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="541" data-original-width="474" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrK0Hds2gGEoSBQsxrB6KbXzzbrzmkm-R-DzvsCoptrDw8-q_EMz7UsbxJSE7gtdhUxVodog_kUXjNro9dTh8hFIN0mLeLUf_1-hY-mLo6azed5Efooqf3Z-ekmVfiuxze3bjKbJ20BSvyolMWPlclDyMOGoijvzipBP2vwy_cUMsIKNOeifha/w235-h268/CW%20serioius%20Army%20portrait,%20cropped.png" width="235" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The photo I've chosen for the book's Dedication is a cropped version of my father's official Army portrait. I'm not sure I ever, in the sixty-one years I knew him, saw him looking this stern. Nevertheless, his expression doesn't really surprise me. Dad and his immediate family had escaped Nazi Germany shortly before Kristallnacht (the Night of Broken Glass), which marked the transition between "few German Jews can find a way to escape the Nazis" and "escape is essentially impossible." He was fifteen at that time. Years later, after a year or so in Palestine (as it was then known) and another three or so in New York, he and one of his brothers went back to Europe with the U.S. Army. From what he and others have told me, he saw himself as a sort of avenging angel. This portrait shows as much.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The text of the Dedication doesn't refer directly to this time in Dad's life, but to his later life as a father. It reads:</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">"To my father, who always strove to protect and rescue his children."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Abe, one of the two protagonists of <i>Far From Mortal Realms</i>, is much older when the book starts than my father was in this portrait. But the strength and determination in the photo strike me as appropriate to illustrate the qualities of a father resolved to do whatever he must, whatever the dangers to be incurred and the obstacles to be overcome, to rescue his daughter.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">To learn more about the book, see the incredible cover (designed by Rebecacovers), and if you care to, preorder the Kindle edition, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Far-Mortal-Realms-Novel-Humans-ebook/dp/B0BZT8DHK4/" target="_blank">follow the link</a>. </span></p><p><br /></p>Karen A Wylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02585306711800520723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12606245.post-35605009354985871402023-07-13T10:14:00.001-04:002023-08-27T17:38:30.441-04:00A list I made of recommended science fiction -- in a particular category<p> </p><p>It's always pleasant to have some person/website/entity contact me because I'm an author. The latest was a <a href="https://shepherd.com/" target="_blank">website called Shepherd</a> (with a nice little illustration of a shepherd as its logo). Its mission is to help readers discover good books via recommendations from a wide range of authors. Could I, would I come up with a list of five books to recommend, in any category I dreamt up?</p><p>Responding to this request led me to muse on what draws me to a story as a reader. Apparently, among other things, I often end up reading stories (SFF or other genres) whose protagonists are struggling with past traumas. The result: a <a href="https://shepherd.com/best-books/sff-with-emotionally-scarred-character" target="_blank">list </a>of five SFF (science fiction and fantasy) novels with emotionally scarred characters. </p><p>I mentioned in the writeup of the list that my first novel (aside from juvenilia), <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Twin-Bred-Karen-Wyle-ebook/dp/B005VDVHQ2/" target="_blank">Twin-Bred</a></i>, featured such a character. The format provided to me didn't leave room for me to add that several of my other novels, including most books in <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08BR1WXH5" target="_blank">the Cowbird Creek series</a>, do as well. Is it time for me to build a novel around a completely unscarred innocent? . . . </p>Karen A Wylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02585306711800520723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12606245.post-65446226858944412672023-07-03T08:37:00.001-04:002023-08-27T17:38:57.568-04:00Why I wrote my upcoming fantasy, FAR FROM MORTAL REALMS<p> Now and then, I read (or at least skim) some article about how to write, publish, or promote either a novel or a picture book (I write both). The other day, I was looking through a launch plan and workbook from <a href="http://marketingforchildrensauthors.com">marketingforchildrensauthors.com</a>. It provides some "social tips," including the advice to talk about why I wrote this particular book. What motivated and inspired me? I wasn't sure how I'd answer that question for my upcoming fantasy -- and then I remembered.</p><p>For many years, I've played with and poked at the idea of some being or other -- genie or faerie or visiting alien -- offering to grant me one or more wishes. I long since took to heart the lesson of W.W. Jacobs' short story <a href="https://americanliterature.com/author/w-w-jacobs/short-story/the-monkeys-paw" target="_blank">"The Monkey's Paw"</a>: be careful, very careful, what you wish for. Its underlying prediction: wishing, if somehow made effective, will end badly.</p><p>I take that as a challenge. I've often tried to formulate a wish that no malign entity could twist into a weapon against me -- a wish with absolutely no loopholes such an entity could exploit. I've never been altogether satisfied with the results, but I'd probably try again if the opportunity arose to have a wish granted. I'm a lawyer, and this task has always struck me as particularly appropriate for a lawyer to undertake.</p><p>At some point prior to last year's <a href="https://nanowrimo.org/about-nano">NaNoWriMo</a> (National Novel Writing Month), it struck me that if the world of the Fair Folk ever revealed itself, and if some of its inhabitants sought to entice mortals into making bargains, those mortals would be better off hiring a lawyer. And a lawyer fascinated with folklore might be more than ready to open such a practice. From that notion came Abe and Adira, father and daughter lawyers, and their practice in a region in Vermont where the Fair Folk have appeared.</p><p>Of course, being a lawyer isn't always enough to keep you safe.</p><p>Here's the book description (in its present form).</p><p>------</p><p>The many wondrous realms the Fair Folk inhabit offer tempting opportunities for mortals hoping to benefit from faerie magic. But making bargains with the Fair Folk is a dangerous business, for the fae have a habit of leaving loopholes to snare the unwary. Father-and-daughter lawyers Abe and Adira have made a career out of helping their fellow humans reach such agreements safely.</p><p>Abe and Adira know the rules for dealing with Fair Folk: don't reveal your true name, don't say thank you, don't accept gifts, don't eat fae food, don't tell even the slightest of lies . . . . Oh, and always, no matter the provocation, be unfailingly polite.</p><p>A moment of carelessness, a brief lapse, and a professional defender of mortal interests may be in dire need of rescue.</p><p>------</p><p>The Kindle edition is now <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Far-Mortal-Realms-Novel-Humans-ebook/dp/B0BZT8DHK4/">available for preorder</a>. And since I love showing the cover, here it is again!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQSGA_h77qmObu2BdpEnGAjTokOWpFszc6mHP-vEzVEtLYv1CV-dngfS8GB02DPLxWiZ-DT6Ld3F5ghyc-OQ3ie5tlSbNOa96CRp0627FCJnccHH_4B8UYEs0y6Th6-dsihBP7cIJZiW7LqofEunztFSPVi1a3A9lKILs5L_yJhR94tOWANfyp/s1524/FFMR%20front%20cover%20-%20smaller%20for%20posting%20etc.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1524" data-original-width="1000" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQSGA_h77qmObu2BdpEnGAjTokOWpFszc6mHP-vEzVEtLYv1CV-dngfS8GB02DPLxWiZ-DT6Ld3F5ghyc-OQ3ie5tlSbNOa96CRp0627FCJnccHH_4B8UYEs0y6Th6-dsihBP7cIJZiW7LqofEunztFSPVi1a3A9lKILs5L_yJhR94tOWANfyp/w235-h358/FFMR%20front%20cover%20-%20smaller%20for%20posting%20etc.jpg" width="235" /></a></div><p> </p>Karen A Wylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02585306711800520723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12606245.post-67825699417217108172023-05-17T13:02:00.003-04:002023-08-27T17:40:11.693-04:00A confession and cautionary tale about last-minute draft changes<p> I have a grievous literary error to confess.</p><p>As I was working on my fourth historical romance, <i>What Wakes the Heart</i>, I struggled with the name of the male protagonist. He was a Polish immigrant living in Cowbird Creek, Nebraska, and I wanted him to use an Anglicized first name. I puzzled over when to use that form of his name and when to use his true name, as well as what both those names should be. Until shortly before publication, my answer to the latter question was John and Jan (the latter pronounced "yahn"). I even had a scene in which he told Susannah (the female protagonist) about the immigration workers' reaction to his name, their initial confusion quickly yielding to a series of jests.</p><p>The problem was: "Jan" reads as a female name in English, and I didn't want my readers constantly stumbling and doing double-takes. ("Wait, who's Jan, and when did she walk in?") So at pretty much the last minute, I replaced John and Jan with Carl and Karol. The "k" in Karol would, I hoped, keep readers from confusing it with the girl's name Carol. To implement this change, I used "find and replace," though I checked each use of either name to make sure I'd picked the correct name, Anglicized or original.</p><p>All very well -- but only this morning, more than seven months after I published the book, did I realize to my horror that I'd failed to search for the possessive "John's." And once I did that search, I found an abundance of them. Anyone reading the book would have realized how sloppy I'd been. Most series readers find the <i>Cowbird Creek</i> series via Kindle Unlimited, and I have little doubt that many of them gave up the book partway through in irritation and perhaps disgust. I may have lost series readers permanently. And I've contributed to the poor opinion many readers still have of self-published books.</p><p>Mea culpa -- mea maxima culpa.</p><p>Once I discovered my error, I made haste to correct the Kindle and paperback editions of the book. As of this writing (May 17th, 1 p.m. EDT), the corrected Kindle edition is already live, and the paperback should follow soon. So here is my plea: if you started <i>What Wakes the Heart</i> and set it aside because of the sudden intrusions of unexplained "John's," please consider giving it another try. I am hardly objective, but I consider it a pretty good book, both as historical fiction and as romance. And I promise not to make the same mistake again. (As for other mistakes . . . no promises, but I'll try to be more generally careful.)</p><p>Here's the cover, which I hope may please or intrigue a few of you.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrDOq6UQ1zKIXB9pW-VgV1OrJliyGswMMBds9sxH7IVDoNI1aMqCd87LXLK0pCBPFlbjTZMuaDIwk2yqdEiCoGMAjNfapiamCUcAeUkmarQG3UegL4qYtJafNmfgpV9Ns-hI2r4ZOpNTl-cI7H6_36u2eQPH7BQE6fIW2wr_0oMVAS0GSfHA/s2560/What%20Wakes%20the%20Heart_Kindle.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1600" height="385" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrDOq6UQ1zKIXB9pW-VgV1OrJliyGswMMBds9sxH7IVDoNI1aMqCd87LXLK0pCBPFlbjTZMuaDIwk2yqdEiCoGMAjNfapiamCUcAeUkmarQG3UegL4qYtJafNmfgpV9Ns-hI2r4ZOpNTl-cI7H6_36u2eQPH7BQE6fIW2wr_0oMVAS0GSfHA/w241-h385/What%20Wakes%20the%20Heart_Kindle.jpg" width="241" /></a></div><br /> And here's <a href="https://www.amazon.com/What-Wakes-Heart-Cowbird-Creek-ebook/dp/B0BGFYJTSC/">the Amazon link</a>. The paperback is also available at Barnes & Noble and other retailers, though the corrected version won't appear there for more than a week. <p></p>Karen A Wylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02585306711800520723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12606245.post-78195519897861070692023-03-28T15:41:00.000-04:002023-03-28T15:41:20.186-04:00Next novel's cover, title, and description -- with a Kindle preorder link!<p> Hello again! I'm finally ready to announce my next novel's title, show off the cover, and air my draft book description. Here, to start with, is the cover -- which will also tell you the title.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTAeswdB0_YoMVuWFMFqsslLnG7Hhs_PNA4MzNXS43ZOWe7h56-0UVjgr9ImG7AFdtKrIfFHESE0LEG2DAmEAuT11c2vAOXCMuvikAXSHM-c1N38kOC4BLiyulA0ED9GV2F8ZdB0Xd3SaQzb8PjULIHCbG0aLknomKalYgTh_jY7-npEnB_Q/s4800/FFMR%20front%20cover%20-%20final%20delivery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4800" data-original-width="3150" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTAeswdB0_YoMVuWFMFqsslLnG7Hhs_PNA4MzNXS43ZOWe7h56-0UVjgr9ImG7AFdtKrIfFHESE0LEG2DAmEAuT11c2vAOXCMuvikAXSHM-c1N38kOC4BLiyulA0ED9GV2F8ZdB0Xd3SaQzb8PjULIHCbG0aLknomKalYgTh_jY7-npEnB_Q/w263-h400/FFMR%20front%20cover%20-%20final%20delivery.jpg" width="263" /></a></div><br /><p>I love it! Rebeca of Rebecacovers (on Fiverr) did the cover and patiently endured my multiple requests for tweaks and my delay in providing a title.</p><p>The subtitle, "A Novel of Humans and Fae," gives a bit of an idea as to where I'm going this time, but here's a more complete explanation. Please weigh in as to whether this description intrigues you, and let me know about any words or phrases that annoy you!</p><p>--------</p><p>The many wondrous realms the Fair Folk inhabit offer tempting opportunities for mortals hoping to benefit from faerie magic. But making bargains with the Fair Folk is a dangerous business, for the fae have a habit of leaving loopholes to ensnare the unwary. Father-and-daughter lawyers Abe and Adira have made a career out of helping their fellow humans reach such agreements safely.</p><p>Abe and Adira know the rules for dealing with Fair Folk: don't reveal your true name, don't say thank you, don't accept gifts, don't eat fae food, don't tell even the slightest of lies . . . . Oh, and always, no matter the provocation, be unfailingly polite.</p><p>A moment of carelessness, a brief lapse, and a professional defender of mortal interests may be in dire need of rescue.</p><p>--------</p><p>Yup, Fair Folk and lawyers! I hope the description convinces any doubters that this combination makes more sense than they may have initially thought.</p><p>I haven't had the cover in hand all that long, but I've held off on this announcement for a few days in order to include a preorder link (for the Kindle edition). <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BZT8DHK4" target="_blank">Here's that link</a>!</p><p>I'll be seeking beta readers, and then reviewers, well before the September 15th release date. If you'd be interested in either role, please let me know in the comments.</p>Karen A Wylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02585306711800520723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12606245.post-43376410945442871752022-10-15T15:16:00.001-04:002022-10-15T15:16:28.660-04:00A crowdfunding project to print a terrific comic, with one week left<p>Surprise! This isn't another post about my new release. In fact, it's more urgent.</p><p>I don't know whether anyone reading this post had the good fortune to read Livali Wyle's terrific webcomic <i>Goth Western</i> when it appeared several years ago (or since then). The comic combines beautiful artwork with a compelling story, plus queer romance and a touch of necromancy (raising the dead -- with, this time, a thoroughly admirable purpose for doing so). Oh, and it's set in the old West, my own stomping grounds when I write historical romance.</p><p>There was talk of a Kickstarter when the series was complete, but this and that -- including a certain pandemic -- intervened, and only now is Hiveworks, the comic's current host, doing a crowdfunding project to print the comic in book form, with a bonus story to boot. The project must reach its target by midnight, October 23rd (and I'm not sure whether that means the beginning or end of October 23rd), or the book won't happen, and we'll all be deprived of that extra story. There's no tier for "family member who's a huge fan dumping gobs of money to make it happen," nor would that really be in the spirit of crowdfunding as I understand it. So all I can do, past a certain point, is tell as many people as I can about the comic and ask them to go take a look.</p><p>From <a href="https://www.gothwestern.com/goth-western-complete-print-edition-crowdfunding-now" target="_blank">this same link</a>, you can read as much of the comic as you need in order to decide whether to support the crowdfunding, or you can just jump ahead to supporting it. I very much hope you'll go to the link and see what you think. And if you think this is a book that should exist, then whether or not you can afford to contribute (and just $5.00 gets you the story by itself, while $20.00 gets the book with story, and higher tiers get certain fun extras), I hope you'll share the link. Thanks for whatever you can do!</p>Karen A Wylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02585306711800520723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12606245.post-78724211578535529982022-10-15T08:00:00.005-04:002022-10-15T08:00:00.214-04:00Release Day! for What Wakes the Heart, latest Cowbird Creek novel, which can be read as a stand-alone<p> And here we are and here it is! <i>What Wakes the Heart</i>, an American historical romance set in 1884-1885 Nebraska, is now available <a href="https://www.amazon.com/What-Wakes-Heart-Cowbird-Creek-ebook/dp/B0BGFYJTSC/" target="_blank">on Amazon</a> in Kindle and paperback editions, and in paperback via various retailers. The novel is Book 4 in the Cowbird Creek series, but can easily be read as a stand-alone. (If, however, you've read one or more of the previous books, you'll recognize Dr. Joshua Gibbs, Clara Gibbs (nee Brook), Freida Kennedy (nee Blum), and Jedidiah Kennedy.)</p><p>So what's the book about? Well, let's start with the book description.</p><p>"Susannah looks forward to a rewarding career as a teacher in St. Louis, until a traumatic encounter with the president of her teacher's college drives her to seek a job elsewhere. Karol, a Polish Catholic immigrant living in Cowbird Creek, fears that the town's first school may not respect his bright, eager sister's intelligence due to her limited English. Susannah and Karol meet under propitious circumstances when she first arrives in town -- but once the school opens, Karol's fears for Bronka seem to be realized, with Susannah arguably to blame.</p><p>"Can they move past this daunting conflict? And if they do, can they overcome the religious and social obstacles between them?"</p><p>Digging a bit deeper, it's about . . . dealing with past trauma, finding one's way in a new place, taking on new roles and their challenges, seeing beyond cultural differences, grappling with major decisions, and finding love amidst it all. I hope you'll find it absorbing, entertaining, and moving. And as with any good historical fiction, which I at least strive to write, you'll pick up some intriguing historical details.</p><p>Happy reading, everyone!</p><p><br /></p>Karen A Wylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02585306711800520723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12606245.post-72986332599434189282022-10-13T09:01:00.004-04:002022-10-13T09:01:00.238-04:00Final excerpt from about-to-appear Book 4 in Cowbird Creek historical romance series<p> There's time for one more excerpt from <i>What Wakes the Heart</i> (Cowbird Creek 4). Well, there's actually time for more than one, but I don't wish to bombard you with post after post.</p><p>Here, from the Author's Note, is a list -- and not a complete list, though it's close -- of topics I researched in the course of writing this book.</p><p>-------</p><p>I usually list in my Acknowledgments section the websites, articles, newspaper archives, et cetera that I used in my research. But this time around, I consulted so many that listing them all would make this book even longer than it is, and at least a little more expensive. I am therefore listing only the topics I researched, and only where that research made it into the book or otherwise had a significant impact (e.g., by dissuading me from including some detail or taking the plot in some direction). Here, in no particular order, and broken up for readability, are those topics: </p><p>-- the fabric used in men’s shirts of the time; the earliest translations of Shakespeare into Polish; Polish and other endearments; Polish curse words; Polish family customs; Polish Christmas eve (Wigilia) customs, Polish wedding customs; Polish culture; Polish contributions to the sciences; the transition to Christianity in Poland; Polish and Irish surnames; Polish girl’s and boy’s names; Polish literature; Polish historians and historical works; children’s literature; novels of the period; one room schoolhouse calendars; rounds people sang; craft supplies available and used; games ladies played; games played on streets; history of rock-paper-scissors; popular amusements; </p><p>-- roofing materials; availability of public benches; the history of paste and other adhesives; types of pens used; dates when immigrants came to the U.S. from various countries; the nature of Jesuit education; celebration of Boxing Day; the histories of various bookstores and book catalogs; early American use of fireworks; which carols were sung when and by whom; styles of railroad depots; St. Louis history and culture; St. Louis neighborhoods, parks, and architecture; the degree to which different religious communities in St. Louis mingled; times the Mississippi River froze; jobs on steam locomotives; sounds of steam locomotives; train speeds; the history of separate bedrooms for family members; uses of door locks; the operation of mills; curricula in one room schoolhouses and in elementary schools; </p><p>-- establishment of schools in various towns in Nebraska; acceptance of girls in common schools; architecture of one room schoolhouses; blackboards and chalkboards; desks in one room schoolhouses; operation and routines of one room schoolhouses; school boards and the equivalent; history of teaching certificates; higher education in Prussia; Biblical battles; origin of the Oxford (aka serial) comma; common surnames of the time; geographical knowledge and exploration; world’s hottest countries; afternoon tea menus in America; hunger in the Revolutionary War; farm chores by season; availability of glass in windows; signs of a blizzard; spring blizzards; school prayer; Christmas traditions; how to hang candles on a Christmas tree; Lent and Easter observances; Hebrew blessings; </p><p>-- availability of coconuts; availability of olive oil; details of Catholic mass; midnight mass; extent of prohibition of married female teachers; birth control; contents of the Nebraska Constitution; Catholic settlement in Nebraska; railroad lines in Nebraska; flowers growing in Poland and in Nebraska and comparable climates; soil types in southeastern Nebraska; the typical size of farms in Nebraska; shrubs common in eastern Nebraska; which meal was eaten at midday; which meal was eaten at midday; the history of beef jerky; history of closets; observance of the Sabbath; Catholic versus secular law; Catholic beliefs and practices, including similarities and differences between Protestant and Catholic beliefs; Catholic teaching concerning marriage; where bonnets were worn and when removed; who wore lorgnettes; handshake customs; child employment; letter writing etiquette; teacher training; “normal schools” (teacher’s colleges) in various cities; newspapers in various cities; 19th century obituaries in newspapers; spelling of “theatre” versus “theater”; availability of indoor plumbing; and the 19th century precursor to electrolyte drinks (haymaker’s punch).</p><p>---------</p><p>One More Time: here's<a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0BGFYJTSC" target="_blank"> the preorder link for the Kindle edition</a>. Both editions should be available this Saturday!</p>Karen A Wylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02585306711800520723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12606245.post-39439741661475528512022-10-10T12:22:00.000-04:002022-10-10T12:22:00.251-04:00Excerpt from the Author's Note for WHAT WAKES THE HEART (Cowbird Creek 4)<p> In this excerpt from the beginning of the Author's Note for <i>What Wakes the Heart</i>, I explain my family connection to this book. (For excerpts from the book proper, just scroll down.)</p><p>--------</p><p>My mother Bronislawa Zarkowerovna, called Bronia (one of several common diminutives for her name) by family and friends, emigrated from Poland to Canada at the age of fifteen. A brilliant young woman, she had dreamed of being the next Marie Curie. She lived in a village called Maxymuvka, but took the train to the city of Tarnopol to attend high school and then got an apartment there with her younger sister. The mud at the train station was knee deep or more, but my grandfather carried her to keep her from having to wade through it herself.</p><p>He was a grain merchant, but was able to get out of Poland, months ahead of the Nazis, by promising to farm land in western Canada. Their destination proved to be Sundance, Alberta. Sundance had a one-room schoolhouse, with a teacher little older than Bronia. My mother spoke more English than most of the family, but that wasn’t saying much. Nonplussed by the challenge of this new pupil, the teacher handed her a book of fairy tales and told her to read from it. Unimpressed with the result, she had my mother begin with the work of the first graders and go on from there. It took a year, and the humiliation of that year sank deep, but my mother’s English improved substantially. She eventually finished high school elsewhere, but for a range of reasons, she did not attend college until her daughter Karen was thirteen years old.</p><p>By the way, her last name is an example of how Polish last names are inflected. Her father Lonyo’s last name was Zarkower; my mother’s reflected her status as his daughter. I chose not to deal with that complexity in this book, aside from mentioning it here.</p><p>The brief mention of classmate Louisa’s innocence, and its apparent effect as some sort of protection, is based on my mother’s sister Erika, who was very pretty and somehow sold magazines to sailors fresh off sea voyages without being harassed.</p><div>--------</div><div><br /></div><div>I hope you're resigned to my including the preorder link for the Kindle edition for all these preview posts. <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BGFYJTSC" target="_blank">Here it is.</a></div>Karen A Wylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02585306711800520723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12606245.post-69741185404991782952022-10-07T12:46:00.006-04:002022-10-07T12:46:00.224-04:00Another excerpt from upcoming historical romance WHAT WAKES THE HEART -- the last?<p> Will this be the last excerpt I post before <i>What Wakes the Heart</i> comes out? I rather like leaving my potential readers in suspense about how my protagonists get from this unpromising point to a path which could lead to a HEA. (That's "Happy Ever After," for those unfamiliar with the acronym.) I may, instead, post bits from my Author's Note, which provides some background information about the book and about my process when I write historical fiction.</p><p>If you've missed any or all of the previously posted excerpts, just scroll down. And if those excerpts, or this one, or the previous books in the series, or any of my other books inspire you to preorder this one -- <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BGFYJTSC" target="_blank">here's the link</a>.</p><p>--------</p><p>Susannah was getting dressed before breakfast when someone knocked on her door. She opened it partway to find Miss Wheeler looking ill at ease. “You have a caller, Miss Shepard. I’ve put him in the sitting room. It’s rather early for anyone to call, but I imagine he hoped to find you before you left for the school.”</p><p>Susannah hurried to fasten her last buttons. “Can you tell me who it is?”</p><p>“A young man, wearing working clothes. He seems rather . . . impatient.”</p><p>In her short time in Cowbird Creek, Susannah had been introduced to only one man who would wear work clothes. And she had, without dwelling on the fact, looked forward to seeing him again at some point. But not after yesterday. “I’ll be right down.”</p><p><br /></p><p>Carl Marek was pacing back and forth in the sitting room, almost bumping into furniture on each pass. He whirled around as she entered, glaring at her and brandishing a book. She stepped backward despite herself as she recognized the McGuffey reader.</p><p>“This, you give my sister? This is what she gets on her first day of school, after dreaming of school her entire life? This!”</p><p>Susannah sank into the nearby easy chair, hoping it might influence him to sit also. “Mr. Marek, I did try —”</p><p>His big hand clutched the book so tightly she feared he would damage the cover. “The dog! The dog ran! For a girl fifteen years old! Do you know what Bronka brought with her to this country, instead of linens for when she gets married or clothes to look pretty in? She brought Shakespeare!”</p><p>Susannah gaped at him. “But — she couldn’t even read <i>Little Women</i> when I asked her.”</p><p>Mr. Marek rolled his eyes. “In Polish, she reads Shakespeare! She has been reading in it every night before she goes to sleep! But now, of course, she will need to practice how to read ‘dog’ and ‘cat.’ And in front of the others, you gave her this!” He threw the book down on the chair in which she had hoped he would sit.</p><p>Another trip back and forth across the room, and then he stopped and said, his voice hard and bitter, “You will have to give her back this book yourself. I have to get to the mill. My sister must not go without her book about Cat and Dog. What a shame that would be! She might have to read Shakespeare instead!”</p><p>And with that, he stomped out the door and slammed it behind him.</p><p>Susannah sat in the easy chair, shaking all over. She greatly wished to cry, but she was due at the table for breakfast, if there was still time, and then needed to appear at school, composed and ready. The first step was to stand up. She did so, first gripping and then releasing the arm of the chair, and gave herself one minute to achieve some degree of composure.</p><p>So when Miss Wheeler opened the door, concern on her face, Susannah burst into tears.</p><p>Miss Wheeler hurried over and put her arms around her. Susannah struggled not to cry harder at this reminder of home and mothering. The older woman tsked and hushed and muttered “there, there,” while Susannah got herself under control. Miss Wheeler let go and pulled a handkerchief out of her skirt pocket, dried Susannah’s cheeks, inspected her, and finally declared, “You’ll do. Hurry to breakfast, child.”</p><p>After crying in front of her hostess, Susannah could hardly protest the name of child, even to herself. She followed close behind as Miss Wheeler led her to the dining room. Just before they entered, Miss Wheeler said under her breath, “I’m sorry to have allowed an unreliable young man to disturb you on these premises. You may be sure I won’t be admitting him again.”</p><p>Susannah, taking her seat, reflected dismally that it was unlikely Miss Wheeler would be called upon to take the trouble of refusing Carl Marek admittance.</p><div>----------</div><div><br /></div><div>That's all for today!</div>Karen A Wylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02585306711800520723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12606245.post-39013836753584690432022-10-03T08:39:00.001-04:002022-10-03T08:39:50.213-04:00A short fourth excerpt from WHAT WAKES THE HEART (Cowbird Creek 4)<p> Yes, I'm still at it! At least, Blogger is -- I'm spending much of the day lying on the couch with my leg elevated, since I had a hip replacement on September 29th.</p><p>Scroll down for the first three excerpts. In this fourth excerpt, it's the first day of Cowbird Creek's first school.</p><p>---------</p><p>Bronka’s chatter from the kitchen roused Karol well before dawn — though he might have been able to keep sleeping if he’d been less uneasy. He ignored it as long as he could before he gave up and got out of bed.</p><p>He had asked Bronka whether she would rather have him escort her to the school — though he would have to leave her there before it opened and head to the mill — or have their mother go with her instead. She laughed at him. “Of course I’ll go with you, silly! You won’t tell me not to talk so much, or complain that I should be staying home instead and learning to cook everything Mama’s mama did. You understand.”</p><p>He understood how much she wanted to learn, and how happy she was to be going to school at last. But he also understood what she might be facing, one of the oldest pupils and yet knowing so little of what the others already knew, and most likely not a one of them speaking anything but English. Or if they did, it would probably be German. And her teacher had no idea how to help such a student, unless she had learned since he spoke to her.</p><p>He had always taken care of Bronka as much as he could, ever since she was born alive and healthy – Mama’s miracle, after the two babies she lost. Coming to America, struggling to help support the family, shouldn’t have changed that. He should have practiced English with Bronka more often. He should have found her English books to read, and coaxed her to read with him. But it was too late for wishing.</p><p>They reached the school, and Karol led Bronka to the stone bench he himself had set in the grassy yard where the younger children could run about and play at dinnertime. It was chilly for September, but Mama had loaned Bronka her thick winter coat, much warmer than Bronka needed. He wished he could stay until more pupils arrived. Or until the teacher did. She was such a little thing, maybe shorter than Bronka, and finer-boned. She might need help with something.</p><p>But he could hardly risk losing his work at the mill. He chucked Bronka under the chin. “You’ll be fine. I’ll be counting on you to tell me all about it when I get home.”</p><p>Bronka beamed at him. “Of course I’ll be fine. You said the teacher seemed nice, didn’t you?”</p><p>Karol just nodded. He had said that, and bit his tongue not to say what else he thought. “I’ll see you tonight.”</p><p>He waited until he reached the corner before he looked back. Bronka was sitting very straight, looking at the steps to the school as one might look toward the gates of Heaven.</p><p>-------</p><p>And here's <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BGFYJTSC" target="_blank">the Kindle edition's preorder link</a>. </p><p>Until next time!</p>Karen A Wylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02585306711800520723noreply@blogger.com0