I keep hearing people talking about strong female characters, which I am ALL for. I have plenty of them myself. But lately, the focus has been on their flaws. Well, here’s something I don’t quite understand…why doesn’t EVERY character have flaws? They should. I mean seriously, who wants to read about a perfect person being perfect? Boring.
I’d rather have my powerful girl be a loud mouth, righteous, know-it-all with serious insecurities than have her simply kicking ass all the time. I mean she still kicks ass all the time, but she’s never sure if she’s going to survive. What fun would it be if we KNEW she would survive? Even if we’re pretty sure of it, the battle better fuck her the hell up. And she’d better change from it. Because my god, who wants to see people make the same mistakes for the same reasons and have the same conversations again and again in a story.
I’ve seen it. Two books, same exact conversation repeated ten times. TEN. What the fuck, people. WTF.
All right, reeling in the rant.
Reeling it in.
So, want a fucked up, neurotic, half-cocked heroine to follow as she pinballs around an oppressive paranormal world? Then buy your ass some Blood Phoenix novels, because Ria trudges through a shit storm of death, blood, and trials that causes her to lose her hair. Literally.
Boom, the cover! I hope you like it because I sure the fuck do.
I have a bit of story for you. Let me give you some context. Ria and her battle buddy, Tahe, just completed their first mission scouting out some wolves in a Syracuse BBQ joint. Tahe stole a car for Ria to drive…for her first time, resulting in a nasty crash and a bit of PTSD from Ria’s renegade fight.
Enter Chapter Eleven:
Tahe whimpered beside me as I came awake with the hot fumes of barbequed meat and blood clogging my sense of smell. Her breath fast and shallow, her nails dipped into my forearm. “You awake, red.”
“Yeah.” A mallet pounded on my temples in a steady staccato, and I rubbed them as the cracked windshield came into view.
“Good.” Her breath caught. “Need some help.”
Terror strangled me when I turned to her. A piece of metal pinned her to the seat through her abdomen. I jumped back, hitting the door handle with my shoulder blades.
Harris blinked at me from the passenger seat, dagger handle jutting out of his chest and blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. “You bitch.”
I jerked back to reality and the blood spreading through her top. I peered around quick, looking for the phantoms of Harris. Nothing but woods.
“Ain’t nothing to go off the deep end about. At least it ain’t wood.” Tahe took another shaky breath. “How far out the back is it?”
The metal came out clean on the other side. “A few inches.”
“Doable.” Wetness garbled her words.
“Okay. You need to stop talking unless it’s necessary. Let me see if I can pull it out the front.” A single hole of a few inches in diameter punctured the windshield on her side, and the metal looked like one of the posts off the guardrail. The end still had a flat wire where it connected to rail and left Tahe enough room to grab hold of it with one hand. I hoped there were no jagged pieces inside that would tear her further when I pulled it out, but if it did, I’d need something to stop the bleeding.
My door was crushed shut. “I’m going to see if there’s anything in the trunk to tend the wound once you’re free, but I have to break my window. Turn away so I don’t spray you.”
Pulling my sleeve taut against my elbow, I hit the glass three times before it shattered. A small chunk fell inside, but the rest remained intact with spider-line fractures that I pushed out.
The trunk didn’t have a whole lot of useful junk: just fluids, a jack, and a spare tire. Crap. I needed to call for help. My phone proved useless with its smashed screen. Double crap.
My giant savior it was then.
Also check out the Transmundane Press Blog for an excerpt from Chapter Ten.
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