01 July 2013

Blog Tour - Dan O'Brien and The Path Of The Fallen

Over the next few weeks, I'll be posting information on author and publisher Dan O'Brien and many of his works. He is sharing interviews, reviews, and excerpts of some of his books and stories through a blog tour. As part of the tour, he is holding a contest for readers to win copies of his publications. He is even offering folks who follow his blog (http://thedanobrienproject.blogspot.com/) the chance to win a Kindle Fire.

It is my pleasure to host this fellow member of Wyoming Writers, Inc.

Let's begin with Dan O'Brien's book, The Path Of The Fallen.

Please enjoy. And please feel free to share with others.


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Welcome to the first day of The Path of the Fallen blog tour. It will run until July 8th and will feature excerpts, new author interviews each day, character interviews, and a casting call by the author. But first, here is the obligatory blurb about the novel to settle you into this sprawling fantasy world:

Set against the backdrop of the tundra and a world desperate for hope, the journey of a young man, E'Malkai, will come to define a realm that has been broken by an evil that does not sleep. A bitter betrayal, and the inception of a war that will consume the world, forces E'Malkai to confront the past and undertake a pilgrimage that is his birthright. Follow him on his journey and be transformed. 



A few questions for the author:


Where did the idea come from for the book?

I had a very strange dream in which I was navigating a post-apocalyptic world inhabited by these beasts born of some terrible darkness. The setting and landscape was so vivid that the idea stuck; I would reenter this dream night after night, eventually giving rise to an outline. 


What genre does your book fall under? 

It would be fair to call it science fiction and fantasy.


What is the one sentence synopsis of your book? 

A hero's journey that challenges ideas of good and evil submersed in a fantasy world.


How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

The first draft took 6 months and included an extra two hundred or so pages that eventually became another novel. I would come home from work and write until I feel asleep everyday until it was finished. 


Who or what inspired you to write this book? 

A love of fantasy and science fiction led me down the path to writing in the first place, and this novel was a natural story for me to follow given my love of reading and the genre in general.


What else about your book might pique the readers’ interest?

I will offer some reviews it has received to better emphasize what about the novel might interest a reader:

"Once again author Dan O'Brien brings together a riveting storyline and a multi-faceted, well-developed cast of characters. Get INSIDE their thinking! A stark foreboding landscape, the chilling reality, characters that take you outside your comfort zone and lead you down the dark path of dystopia is what you will find in 'The Path of The Fallen'. You'll also find in 'The Path of The Fallen' a WILD premise, compelling read - What happens to E'Malkai and his brothers in arms is an unforgettable journey! Dune, Alien, The Handmaiden's Tale??? Move over! You looking for a book that you WON'T put down? Then join the hundreds and hundreds of avid readers who wait for a new Dan O'Brien novel. Congratulations go out to Dan O'Brien for another intellectual, developed, well-constructed epic! Writing a novel of this magnitude takes the dedication of a driven Master, Bravo!"

"There are stories that resonate across the boundaries of the written word. Stories that come off of the page and become a part of the reader. The Path of the Fallen is the best part of such a story, the beginning. From the first sentence, O'Brien draws the reader into a universe of awe inspiring wonders, both technological and otherwise, that does not stop impressing until the end. An absolute must for any fan not just of science fiction, but of good storytelling."

"I loved this book it took me in immediately and has all the aspects that make a book great. My favorite character was Elcites, the loyal and lethal companion who stands by our main guy through thick and thin. A must read if you like action, adventure and books that take you away!"


What other books in your genre would you compare this to?

Strangely, I am not a fan of comparison as different readers get different things from a story. I would hate to say it was like one book or another and then have someone expect the plot to follow a particular course. The Path of the Fallen is certainly like other books in its genre, but it also stands apart.



Here be an excerpt for your enjoyment:


Fe’rein


There was a grand crystallized window along the port side of the vessel––the Harbinger. It afforded a view that overlooked Terra, as the blue planet had been called for the past thousand years. The sun cast a glare over its edges. Had one known what the world had looked like millennia previous, they would have seen the changes. The dark coloration of the seas, the murky, bruised clouds that covered a good portion of the land––save for the hundreds of square miles just beneath Culouth, the world above as it was called by those below.

A figure stood abreast the window; the one-piece jumpsuit was dark black, matching his short-cropped hair. The tight spikes were flushed forward. Hands clasped behind his back, he wore the expression of a military man.

His furrowed brows formed a sinister line over his cold brown eyes; the solitude that encompassed him reflected in his frozen glare. The corridor around him was bathed in shadow. The only light came from the glow of the planet below and faded illuminators that lined far off into the distance.

He was called Marion. Once he had been a respected member of the House of Te’huen, a warrior sect of Culouth that had waged wars against man and rim worlds alike.

He broke from Culouth, a clear distinction being made be-tween those who chose to align themselves with Intelligence: fiber optic enhancements and regenerative replacements and those who opposed these technological interventions.

The clicking of footfalls resonated in the dismal chambers.

Marion did not bother to turn.

His dark eyes watched the slow rotation of Terra. His cheek muscles flexed. “So Kyien would not come himself I see,” Marion spoke with an air of confidence.

Deeper down the hall the lights flickered.

The running lights dimmed and then exploded in a shower of clear sparks. Black boots walked over the carpet of glass as each one shattered in turn. The face was shadowed over; only the stark white pants and the dark boots emerged from the darkness that seemed to surround the being.

“To see you?” responded the shadow man.

Marion lowered his head.

Eyes closed, his hands were still firmly placed behind his back. “A peace must be reached. Even your master must understand this….”

The man snorted indignantly.

He still hid in the shadows. His eyes were now illuminated crimson. Billowing energy flowed freely from his face. “There can be no peace. There will be no peace.”

“Why then did you bother to come here?”

The shadow man paced outside of viewing range, ignoring the question and posing another. “How many refugees are here with you?”

Marion’s surprise showed visibly in the cock of his head, looking back toward the shadowed figure. The twin clouds of energy shone like two animal eyes in the night. “What?”

“How many of your tainted kind walk this hollow home?”

“What is the meaning of this?”

The man emerged from the darkness, his features apparent for the first time. His bald head was tan. A jagged scar ran diagonally across his face, carving a ridge over his eye, nose, and ending just below his lip. A light brown beard covered his chin.

His brown eyes were tainted.

Crimson clouded where white should have been.

He wore a gray suit, fitted around his waist and flared out loosely over his thighs and legs. Marion inhaled sharply upon seeing the man move into the light.

His features darkened, outlining the set of his strong jaw. “He who kills his own kind,” whispered Marion. His words were like a hiss, a curse at the man who stood before him.

“I have no kind.”

“You have tainted the power of Terra, used its energy for the Intelligence. You were once a man, a human not unlike us,” reasoned Marion, his voice wavering.

“How many are here with you?” pressed the warrior with a level, unrelenting glare. A sweep of his hand dismissed Marion’s words.

“I am alone,” responded Marion.

The shadow warrior turned his head and looked toward the corridor wall. His face curled into a cruel grin. Turning back to Marion, the shadow warrior clucked his tongue against his cheek. “You lie,” he spoke with a hint of sarcasm and wagged his finger as if he were doing so to a sullen child.

“No,” called Marion, but it was too late.

The shadowed warrior raised his arm to the wall, flattening his hands against it. They shimmered with the same energy that consumed his eyes. The wall began to swell from the heat radiating out from his hands, the center brighter than the rings that flowed around it. Marion moved forward to intervene, but in the eyes of the shadow warrior he might as well have been standing completely still.

He had lowered his shoulder to bull rush into the dark warrior.

The denizen of shadow proved too quick, his foot flew out with true aim. He caught Marion along his kneecap, disintegrating the bone with inhuman efficiency and power.

“Damn you,” Marion snarled as he fell to the floor.

He grasped at the empty pocket of flesh riddled with shards of bone. His cold glance fell on the shadow warrior. His eyes welled with tears from pain and shock.

The shadow warrior did not even acknowledge the man’s pain.

“Why do you slaughter your own kind like cattle?”

The being looked down, but did not respond.

The wall melted away like a viscous liquid and pooled on the ground, solidifying into a gnarled mass of steel beneath the makeshift entrance. The shadowed man stepped through, his stride broad and the scowl carved across his features sunk in seriousness.

Startled screams erupted throughout the room.

Azure energy waves swirled with amber and complete darkness. He reached out with his left hand and traced it vertically. A spherical energy field formed around him. The energy blasts rebounded over the sphere, scorching the walls with burn trails as the crimson energy flowed outward from within the warrior, consuming him like a surreal flame.

He walked, searing the floor beneath him.

His eyes lacked the human quality they had previously.

The splatters of energy slammed into the sphere, melting like snow on a hot engine. The warrior grimaced outwardly as he sliced his hand through the air, energy ripping like a disc running horizontally across the room. Horrendous screams echoed against the darkened, blood-soaked walls.

“Why do you oppose what is meant to be?”

“Because they have chosen to be free,” muttered Marion as he struggled across the hole that the shadowed figure had created. A sigh escaped his lips as his arms struggled to carry his heavy, useless body. “You are a….”

The shadowed man’s eyes settled on Marion’s fallen figure.

His dark eyes seared into the man.

Sweat beaded at Marion’s forehead. The sheer heat from his energy choked Marion, forcing him to gasp as the oxygen thinned around the fallen Resistance warrior.

“I am what, lower being?” mocked the dark eyes.

Marion gasped for words.

Clawing at his throat and then his chest, he rolled over onto his back––his mouth opening and closing like a beached fish struggling for its last breaths. The shadow being spun and with him went the current of dead air. A sputter of air emerged from Marion’s open mouth and then his lungs took in a fresh taste.

A blade collapsed against the sphere.

Energy trickled like flakes.

The shadow figure lashed his arm out.

The blade collided with his outstretched forearm, shattering the reinforced steel. The face of the assailant came into view as the shadow warrior’s gloved hand wrapped around her throat.

Her blond hair fell over her shoulders. The tousled curls hung back from her face as he lifted her into the air. The veins in her throat bulged as she struggled to swallow. “Bastard,” she spoke, her words labored as she tried to breathe.

“You are only a child,” croaked the shadowed warrior, looking at the woman’s features with a snarl. Her blond hair was draped over smooth, tan features.

Intense blue eyes stared at him.

He shook his head, mental pictures flashing across his vision.

He saw images of a young woman.

Her short hair faded to white.

Dark eyes stared back at him.

He pulled back, releasing his grip upon the woman.

She fell from his grasp.

“Run, child,” groaned Marion, a defeated look in his eyes.

She remained crouched, staring up at the shadowed creature.

As she backed away using her hands to propel her retreat, the being’s energy dissipated. He lowered himself to the ground, the sphere fading, receding back into his body.

“We have to get out of here,” spoke Marion, desperately trying to move from the rubble. His hands clawed at the surface of the metal.

The girl backed away from the shadowed man. Her hands supported her as she backpedaled and then slipping, she tried to regain her balance.

She fell flat on her back.

Grimacing, she brought her hands to her face.

A dark liquid covered them.

She wiped them against each other and turned her hands into the half-light from the adjoining room. A thought ricocheted hollowly in her mind: blood.

She looked around in a panic.

There were bodies scattered all over the floor, blood smeared across the metallic walls. A wail started deep in her throat, a thin whining sound that was trapped in her chest.

“So much blood,” she cried, crawling up the walls.

She slipped with each step, the screeching sound escaping her lips. Placing her hands on her face, she let loose a primal scream. Its volume opened the shadowed man’s eyes––irises still consumed in fire. The sphere reopened once more, a devilish fire accompanying it. The heated gale knocked Marion back into the corridor and the girl against the wall, holding her there by an in-visible force.

“You are not her,” he spoke.

His eyes were black now, like polished obsidian stones.

“What?” she queried through tight lips.

“You look like her, but it cannot be,” he continued, his presence unfolding around her.

Marion watched the exchange with a bewildered look. The dark warrior spoke casually, as if he were in tavern and not on a battlefield. “There is still time to end this madness, you don’t have to slaughter us like animals,” spoke Marion.

The shadowed figure looked at the man.

Disdain was plastered across his features.

Her overhead strike caught him across the skull.

She struck again, the steel bar gripped tightly in her hands, a cold snarl carved across her beautiful features. The shadow whirled on her, his face hidden in the crimson aura that consumed him.

He stared down at her, and then rose into the air menacingly.

“You are a brave girl, but that is not enough.”

He grasped the free end of the pipe and lifted it, taking with it the girl’s diminutive figure. She kicked her legs out in a useless gesture, striking him across the chest.

“You wish to make this a game?’ he mocked, cocking his head.

Reaching out with an unreal quickness, he grabbed her throat with his free hand and then threw her into the adjoining corridor. Her body collided with the opaque window that overlooked the world below.

A whimper escaped her lips as she rolled onto her back.

“By all means, run.”

“Don’t do this,” whispered Marion.

His voice wavered.

Glassy eyes watched the hungry, predatory look in the shadow’s eyes. The warrior turned, looking down at Marion and lifted his foot. He did not pause as he smashed down on the base of Marion’s overturned neck.

A crack echoed in the dismal chambers.

His eyes glazed over; death had claimed him.

“This must be done,” replied the shadow to the corpse.

Looking down into the dead gaze of Marion, he sighed.

Not one of regret, but of annoyance.

The girl had a good lead on him.

Her boots clicked as she charged through the corridor.

Her breath came out in practiced lengths.

The muscles of her legs pulsed with adrenaline as she glanced back, seeing only that the darkness of the corridor chased her. She breathed out as she slowed, her arms flailing at her sides as she ran.

The shadow warrior stood before her, his dark red eyes the only visible feature. As she backpedaled, he followed her. She looked down, seeing that each step he took seared the metallic walkway.

Burn marks stretched far off into the distance.

“Why?” Her words had a pleading tone. “This can’t be the power of the Believer.”

The shadow angered visibly.

The curl of his tight-lipped grin lessened and disappeared.

His face was like charcoal, the deep inset regions of the sun marred in extreme heat. “What could you know of the power of the Believer, the burden that it carries?”

“I know that you were not meant to have it, your dark heart.”

The shadow was upon her, a flash accompanying his sudden forward motion. He lifted her by the throat, holding her against the glass, high above his own body.

Tears streamed down her face.

Eyes held strong, but her lips quivered beneath his gaze.

“I will show you a dark heart,” he sneered.

He pulled her body back easily, as if she weighed nothing at all, and then flung her forward. His unnatural strength, coupled with her body mass, was sufficient to shatter the opaque window. A powerful sucking sound permeated the corridor as both of them were pulled out into space.

She shuddered in the cold abyss.

Her mouth gasped for only a moment; the lifeless scream trapped in her throat faded. The blood drained from her face as he let her free––her body floating weightlessly in the expanse of space.

The fire engulfed him completely, though it lacked the licking branches it had in an oxygenated environment. His eyes were buried beneath the dark power that claimed him.

He watched the girl drift away.

“Ryan.”

A voice whispered in space.

It was a woman’s voice, powerful and clear.

He shook his head defiantly, beating his fists against the side of his head. His human features appeared as the fire died away, leaving his listless eyes to stare off into space.

“I am no longer that man,” he screamed, his arms tucked close as he spoke the words. As he extended his arms over his head in a powerful motion, a wave of energy resonated from his body. The force of the power surged across the stars and disintegrated the space station.

He pulled his arms close to his body again.

The energy reached the limits of its power. And then as quickly as it had come, it returned to the shadowed warrior who had once been known as Ryan, son of Evan, but now as Fe’rein, the half-man assassin of Culouth.




Bio: A psychologist, author, editor, philosopher, martial artist, and skeptic, he has published several novels and currently has many in print, including: The End of the World Playlist, Bitten, The Journey, The Ocean and the Hourglass, The Path of the Fallen, The Portent, and Cerulean Dreams. Follow him on Twitter (@AuthorDanOBrien) or visit his blog http://thedanobrienproject.blogspot.com. He recently started a consultation business. You can find more information about it here: http://www.amalgamconsulting.com/.





Would you like to win a copy of The Path of the Fallen?

All you have to do is comment on a post during the tour. Two randomly drawn commenters will be awarded either a physical or digital copy of The Path of the Fallen.

Visit http://thedanobrienproject.blogspot.com/ and follow the blog for a chance to win a Kindle Fire!


08 June 2013

Wyoming Writers, Inc., Conference - Laramie, Wyo - 2013

Wyoming Writers, Inc. is holding its 39th annual conference in Laramie this year, and here I am, in the "Gem City of the Plains," in attendance.

I just returned from the awards luncheon where I was pleased to be presented with a third place award in the fiction category for my story "Shoshoni For A Shake." I was honoured. The judge gave some kind remarks, and fellow members were gracious with their congratulations. The roast beef sandwich was awesome, too.

Later this afternoon I have a pitch session with Katharine Sands from the Sarah Jane Freymann Literary Agency. I hope that goes well. I attended her seminar this morning. Quite a knowledgeable, helpful agent. Tonight is the book signing and conference banquet. This really is shaping up to be a memorable, meaningful, productive conference. I am sure I'll have further reflections when it's all over, but I thought I might share the news about my award. My congratulations to all the other award recipients and honourable mentions, as well as to Wyoming Writers, Inc., and everyone who entered the contests and helped make them such a success this year.

I'll be giving out bookmarks this evening. I hope to meet many more writers and readers and to spread the word about my novella "Day Dreamer" and even some of my other work. As I look out my hotel window to see the majestic War Memorial Stadium on the campus of the University of Wyoming and the far grey clouds rolling over the north, I am struck by the thought of just how strange and wonderful it is to think of the words I write and the stories I tell to be journeying so far from where the dark, quiet corner in which they first began. Stranger and more wonderful as I hit "enter" and these words may be read anywhere around the world.

10 May 2013

Book Review


Today I am reviewing The Last Timekeepers and the Arch of Atlantis by Sharon Ledwith. She is a fellow Musa Publishing author and is commemorating the anniversary of the release of her first book with a month-long celebration. 
Stop by her blog for a chance to win all sorts of great prizes and for the opportunity to check out her book!

The Last Timekeepers YA Time Travel Series



The Last Timekeepers and the Arch of Atlantis 
by Sharon Ledwith


            The theme of children leaving their boring old world and travelling into a faraway realm filled with mystery and adventure is a common one in literature, whether it’s out the window, into the wardrobe, or through the looking glass. Yet Sharon Ledwith has managed to add some interesting elements to the premise in her book The Last Timekeepers and the Arch of Atlantis. First, her children are a few years older than is usual. Plus, they are actually accompanied by a couple of adults. Also, the children have the opportunity to affect human history, past and future.
            Ledwith’s book begins with a food fight in the middle-school cafeteria. The five students who get in trouble for it might not have been the ones who started it, but they are the ones who got caught. Choosing a few days of hard labour over suspension, the five come together despite their differences to start serving their sentence. They begin cleaning up the dilapidated backyard of one of their teachers--a woman who is rumoured around school to practice witchcraft. When the young landscapers discover an old forgotten stone arch, their world begins to turn inside out.
            The main point-of-view character is Amanda Sault, a young girl with the heart of a poet, who comes from a somewhat troubled home life. She is the key which enables the Arch to open. And when it does, Amanda, her four schoolmates, their teacher, and the uncle of one of the kids, a recently disgraced archaeologist, journey into, through, and beyond the arch, arriving in what is described as the remnants of Atlantis. There they meet Lilith, the keeper of the arch, who tells them that they have been chosen to be the last timekeepers, guardians of history.
            With Amanda serving as Scribe, the one to record the group’s missions, the seven are transported to thirteenth century England where--or rather, when--they must protect a young Robin Hood and his “band of merry teens.” Robin and his friends, along with the legend that will inspire so many generations afterward, are under threat from the machinations of the conniving Professor Crowley, servant of Belial, the evil entity who is using another Atlantean arch to send human history into chaos.
            The group must work together to solve riddles, to escape traps, and to rescue the past and its future in order to set the path of history right. A spiraling adventure which deftly combines compelling visions of various points of the past with a fresh point of view from the present.

            Young adult or middle-grade are not genres I explore very often. Of course, my usual fare of contemporary and classic adult literature is not something I have had much chance to read very often lately either, at least not since I began pursuing a degree in Elementary Education. It seems all I’ve read in the past three years has been children’s books (a trend that has only doubled since my wife and I had twins just over a year ago--twins who, thankfully, love being read to). Anyhow, the characters seemed a bit stereotypical at points. And while that may or may not be true, it is true that the many kids from middle-school tend to make themselves stereotypical in their attempts just to fit in. The same might also be said, in the case of this book, of many kids from the middle-ages. So, perhaps the author has hit on an important point of authenticity. Also, the students do begin as a chance collection of disparate characters, yet, they seem determined not to let go of their adolescent animosity. The group of people chosen to protect history did make some connections by the end, but one might figure sharing such a revelation of destiny, as well as delving as a team into harrowing adventures, would have brought them closer together before then. Still, perhaps the author has captured common teen-age stubbornness. Or perhaps she is simply saving some material for later, as there does appear to exist a plethora of unresolved issues which promise to be explored in future volumes.
            The author does a great job of capturing the voices of her characters, keeping them authentic to their ages. It might be one of her greatest strengths as a writer, and it’s an important one. That said, some of the constant insults tossed between teenagers wore a bit thin. Reference to a certain feminine hygiene apparatus turns up way too often. Also, I personally had trouble accepting the contrivance of a pre-pubescent genius having the ability to read ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. Really, though, these are minor quips which do not detract from the adventure or the story as a whole.
            I like the glimpse of Atlantis and the juxtaposition of so many periods in history. Also, the plot-points of how the troupe gets glances into the origins of what shall eventually become legend along with all the inadvertent influences the group has in helping those legends take root are skillfully written. A reader is compelled to wonder just how much of history is really accurate and how much is totally misunderstood, the wrong ideas being sent perpetually forward. 
            The author has said that the idea for this story came to her in a dream some fifteen years ago and that she had been working on it ever since; so, some of the dated feeling is understandable. The world has changed quite a bit since she began, and the author cleverly incorporates some of those changes without drastically altering the story even while using them to her advantage. For instance, the absence of cell phones, which--it’s easy to forget--were far from ubiquitous a decade ago, is explained. Yet the very same device is used as an important tool in one of the climactic scenes. Such editing maneuvers are difficult when one has been writing and rewriting a story for so long. I admire Ledwith immensely for her dexterity in that regard.
            Some of my favourite parts include of the descriptions of the shadows that lie within the essence of Belial, Thirteenth Magus of the Arcane Tradition and keeper of the fifth arch of Atlantis. They are stirring: “A dark mind that lives in the past to feed off the evil energy continuing to stagnate there.” and  “He is the shadow side of humanity — the voice of knowledge, of suffering, of lies —” I hope Ledwith captures even more of that kind of language in volumes to come. 
            Furthermore, some of the most intriguing components of this tale may be what the author fleetingly mentions yet leaves completely open for future stories. In fact, the author does extraordinarily well to establish a world full of potential for other missions and other books. The possibilities going forth--or back, as it were--are endless.

29 April 2013

What Dreams Become

A co-worker and friend of mine administers a facebook page that explores dreams. He started it originally because he was having horrible nightmares. After conducting some research on his own, he thought it might be a good idea to discuss his dreams with others and perhaps even help folks who were suffering from bad dreams like he was.

He takes questions and posts anecdotes and bits of information on all sorts of topics involving dreams and sleep. He and a couple co-administrators also post plenty of artwork: mystical figures, hypnotic visions, and aethereal dreamscapes.

He has worked hard on the site and has built quite a following. I urge everyone to check it out.

Here is the link: https://www.facebook.com/pages/What-Dreams-Become/125694930919453

11 March 2013

Blog Hop Winner

Thanks to everyone who visited during the "Spectrum of Speculative Fiction" blog hop.

The winner of a free download of "Day Dreamer" is:
Jane Dougherty

Congratulations! 
I hope you enjoy the story.

Again, my thanks to Jane and to everyone who participated in the blog hop--writers and readers.

07 March 2013

Speculations


  
Hello, and welcome to the "Spectrum of Speculative Fiction" blog hop, contest, and giveaway.
 
I am participating this weekend with over a dozen other authors whose works run the gamut of speculative fiction: fantasy, science fiction, horror, steampunk, supernatural, as well as realms which blend aspects across all boundaries between such genres. The links to authors and their blogs can be found below. Just click on a name and you can "hop" from one blog to another, as the same list appears on every blog. All authors are offering giveaways--simply follow each author's instructions, and you'll have multiple chances of winning free books and other prizes!

Contest:
I shall be giving away a copy of my novella, "Day Dreamer." It's the tale of a man who dreams every night about the next day, yet instead of being liberated by his sleeping visions of the future he is haunted by every moment he is awake.

To enter for a chance to win simply leave a comment on this blog entry, perhaps describing a dream that came true for you, thoughts on the "Speculations" below, or whatever else you wish to share, along with your contact information in case you win. 
Join to follow this blog and you'll be entered twice. 
Like my facebook page at www.facebook.com/DevinHodginsOfficial and you'll be entered thrice.
(Please let me know how you've chosen to enter when you leave your comment here on this blog.)
I will draw and announce the winner here on Monday.
Good Luck!



Of course, anyone can get a copy of "Day Dreamer" without entering the contest. 
It's only 99 cents and can be purchased through Musa Publishing at this link:
Day Dreamer - Urania Speculative Fiction
It's also available for download at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, Goodreads, more!


Speculations...
Speculation is what fiction is all about. I prefer speculative fiction--specifically fantasy--if only to examine the questions of "What if...?" or maybe even "What the...?" I read it in order to discover what questions and answers others have devised about the world and worlds around them, and I write it in order to explore the speculations I have about the world and worlds around me--within and beyond. 

"What if" a person dreamt every night about the next day? When that thought came to me I had been keeping a dream journal as preparation and research for another story I wanted to right about dreamers and their dreams. For a year and a night, I recorded every dream I dreamt. In the beginning, I had trouble remembering my dreams. Still, I wrote down what I could, even spelling out that the dream had slipped away, forgotten. But as I kept on dreaming and kept on recording, I found that I could remember my dreams better and better. And every once in a while I would stumble upon a moment during my waking day that I seemed to remember dreaming. Just a fleeting sense that I had dreamt of the moment before. Always, as quickly as the feeling fell upon me it would fade away. Yet, I knew I had an idea worth exploring. 

"Day Dreamer" began as a surreal dance of futures and pasts, of sleeping and awakening, of lucidity and insomnia. Works by Borges and Matheos remained lofty models and deep influences. Early on, though, it turned into more of a love story--a development I never really planned but one I am glad I did not disdain as I wrote for it made the story, its situations and characterizations, much more believable and accessible and--dare I say--possible.

Most of my other stories and poems are darker, far more aethereal. Still, all venture into the boundless realms of fantasy, so distant, so close. And whether examining what one day a person might choose to relive, the windows through which infinity allows us to gaze, or why the horizon can never, ever be reached--just as with the medley of authors participating in this blog hop--it is all speculation.


27 February 2013

Between Assignments

Studying to become an elementary teacher has affected my writing in many ways.

First of all, I haven't been able to do a whole lot of writing--save for school. For the past two and a half years, my studies have devoured every available moment to the point where I feel lucky just to snag the chance to jot down an idea or a couple sentences in a story or a mere line or two of verse in a typical day. To compensate, I try to insinuate my interests and style into every assignment I possibly can. I've even composed a couple of essays involving themes that I like to explore in my fiction and poetry that I'm rather proud of, in fact. I also find that the ideas I've been coming up with lately are geared more and more toward readers of elementary age. It'll be interesting to see where many of those ideas will lead me--when I have a spare moment to develop them, that is.

I am also becoming aware of whole new ways to relate to readers. I've taken courses such as Educational Psychology and Children's Literature and Cultural Diversity which have presented quite interesting perspectives of young readers and learners and how to engage them. I'm taking a fascinating course this semester called Teaching Reading In The Content Areas. Halfway through the semester and I can appreciate how "reading" and "teaching reading" are truly their very own beasts. I have a couple more teaching-methods classes involving reading and writing coming up this Summer which should be just as enlightening.

Of course, having had twins just over a year ago has proven to be even more powerful than school at pulling me from my writing--and at supplying me with story ideas at the very same instant. But that is a whole other post.

Anyhow, that's just a couple of quick thoughts between assignments: that it's one thing to study writing--it's another thing to study reading. A writer must view the words from both sides of the page. It is absolutely fascinating to begin to realise that there just might be more than two sides to every page.