Did You Know…About the Paranormal War?

Tags

Assetato, atlantean pantheon, atlantis, Boot Camp, Celampresians, must read, mythology, paranormal, Romulus, shifters, vampires

I have two distinct groups in my Broken World series, the Celampresians and the Assetato, who fight for rule over the paranormal world.

First, the Celampresians are named after the queen of the vampires, the first one in existence: Phea Celampresian. She’s vain, so she named her army after herself.

I chose that name after some research about Altantis and what type of surnames may have come from their culture. “Celam-” means the noble, and Phea was part of Atlantean nobility as her stepfather held a high-ranking government position. This also plays into her heritage: she was born of an Atlantean human woman impregnated by the primordial god, Chronos; therefore, making Phea the granddaughter of the Earth Goddess, Gaia. I infuse this mythology in her story, “Maiden of the Underworld.” In any case, I’m going off on a tangent, as I do. The second part of the name, “presian,” came from my tweaking two other names: Ampheresian, which means unsophisticated, hardy, and enduring, and Diaprepesian, which means ambitious, untrustworthy, and sly, all of which describe Phea’s personality not long after she becomes a vampire.

Essentially, the Celampresians are the bad guys, an evil coalition that aims to kill off most of the shifter races because Phea wants a dictatorship with all paranormal creatures under her control. This stems from her birth as the first paranormal creature, the mother of all vampires and the grandmother of all shifters.

Second, the Assetato have a bit simpler of a back-story. I knew that Rosalie, the head of the Assetato, was Italian royalty before she was stolen and changed by one of the Celampresians. Once she freed herself from their reign, she banded with important allies and founded the organization in order to undermine Phea’s hold on the paranormal world so that vampires, shifters, and humans can live together. Simply put, I named them the Italian translation for “The Thirsty,” as they work not to kill humans in order to survive.

The Assetato are supposed to be the good guys, but their means of fighting don’t always seem so pure. They combat Phea’s control over them and want to live more peacefully, although they also battle their natural impulses to consume human blood and flesh. They are mostly good-doers in the U.S. but are more aggressive in Europe, as I will explore in an upcoming spin-off novel THE SISTER WITH THE STOLEN POCKET WATCH about a mermaid-unicorn, but that’s a whole new tangent.

This is why they create safe houses, like seen in LOVING RED and “The Mark of the Phoenix.” To house their brethren away from the Celampresians, to protect humans, to let their soldiers heal, and to safeguard humans against their base natures.

The last note I want to make about the Assetato as an organization and all of the links between the two groups is this—Anthemos Romulus Celampresian. You may or may not recognize that name from book one and the short story “The Mark of the Phoenix,” where I give hints of his role in this world. Anthemos, or Mumu as his mother likes to call him, is the Atlantean god of beasts, the only god remaining from that pantheon, and the father of shifters.

To put it bluntly, he’s both Phea’s son and the real driving force behind the organization that combats her. Besides all of the Atlantean threads at play in Ria’s tale—my current perspective, Anthemos’s function is far more strictly tied than I’ve let on. He is, after all, his mother’s son, and their relationship affects a lot more than a few camps of creatures.

Looking forward to revealing more about this magickal place!

 

Want to know more about Altantis? About Phea? Check out Did You Know…About Phea and James, my interviewwith Phea, the vampire queen, and my free download of her creation story, “Maiden of the Underworld.”

 

Did You Know…An Ethology Lesson on Muses.

Tags

Ancient Greek, girl with the glowing hair, influence, inspiration, Lily Graves, Mnemosyne, Muse, mythology, Zeus

Much like Lily, muses are high up on my favorites list—just behind the chimera. This may be because I possess a living muse, my husband, whom influences so much of my writing without being acutely aware of it. And man, did he inspire the hell out of my Lily Graves series, more specifically, Evan Walker, my leading chimera.

In Lily’s world, they’re not so much gods or goddesses like in Greek mythology. Rather, they’re like the fey or elementals—immortal so long as nothing kills them—but their powers are limited to shaping others’ minds.

According to Lily:

Muses were by far my favorite to observe and read about. How they could gather a group of artists, share time with them, and inspire such variations of themselves and their stories. They were creatures that could be found within most characters in assorted story types. Others talked to everyone about anything, spreading seeds on the wind to hope for germination. 

I see my husband do this ALL THE TIME. It’s fascinating.

Lily even gets to experience this:

Starr’s far-off look made me wonder if she whispered to the squirrels outside. Her hand fell to the piece on her easel before her attention followed, like a muse directed her.

I searched the room as casually as I could muster, which I had to admit, wasn’t much. A boy with a blue and purple fade and a flop of curls in front of his left eye moved his lips silently, but the cadence had energy, the kind I felt more than heard. He smiled around his words and a wave hit me.

My pencil hit the paper, scribbling before my mind caught up.

A flower.

With tear-drop petals.

A waterlily.

Floating.

I nabbed a pack of pastel sticks.

Water emerged around the pad.

Green, one dimensional under the lily.

I highlighted it with the blues and greens. Lightly. As the energy swirled and died around me.

I sucked in a breath as I set down the pastels.

Starr laughed at me. “You are funny.”

The elegant coloring of the flower struck me. I wasn’t being humble when I said I didn’t have any talent. But this…was one of those moments you get blessed with every now and again—that one when you’re in the right place at the right time and stuff works out perfectly.

“How am I funny?”

I got a shake of the head for an answer.

It’s how I’ve often experienced getting hit with inspiration, so it only made sense to reflect that in my version of the muse.

In fact, they seem to combine the current culture’s depiction of muses with the Ancient Greek variety. The mythological muses are often seen as nine goddesses, the daughters or Zeus and Mnemosyne, who presided over the arts and sciences, becoming both their symbols and their protectors.  Essentially, they were inspirational goddesses and embodied poetry, history, music, tragedy, hymns, dance, comedy, and astronomy.

In any case, these are some interesting folks, and I can’t wait to discover more about them.

 

Stay tuned for more mini-ethology lessons from Lily Graves’s world and sign up for an ARC of the first in her series, GIRL WITH THE GLOWING HAIR.

Sarah Lyn Eaton, a Featured Spotlight

Tags

artistic process, dragons, editing tips, good reads, Magical Native, must read, mythology, passive voice, phoenix, submissions

If you haven’t heard of the On Fire anthology, this mini-interview and excerpt series will showcase the amazing authors I get to work with and their writing. Meet Sarah Lyn Eaton.

How long have you been writing?

I wrote my first story when I was nine. I illustrated it and everything. Doesn’t everyone say that? It’s true. But I’ve been seriously pursuing writing for the last four years. I set a list of goals for myself, to keep me on task. I’ve been sending out submissions regularly… I don’t know how regular, but I always have submissions out to publishers. It’s a way of making what was a hobby into a career. If I get too many rejections and there are only a few stories with people, I get itchy. If no one’s reading my work, I can’t get published, can I?

What did you edit out of “The Last Seven Tribes of the Ketchari”?

A lot of passive voice. Not that passive voice is a bad thing. It can be done well. But when it’s (mostly) not, it makes for an interesting but dull story. In real life, I am a fairly take-things-as-they-come person. But for a good story, you want your protagonist to have agency and curiosity that gets them into situations they then have to get out of. I’m working on leading with agency and not storytelling. I was taught description, description, description but most of the feedback I get says it’s too much for a short story and it’s getting in the way of the pace. We continually grow as writers, and I can finally see it in my drafts. I look forward to the day I catch most of it on my own.

What is the most difficult part of your artistic process?

The most difficult part of my artistic process is that all-or-nothing feeling. Either I have five stories in my mind fighting for dominance over my fingers or I can’t drum up one interesting character. Sometimes I know a passage is not ready yet, that it doesn’t quite say what I want it to say and I can spend hours on one sentence—the lynchpin sentence—just to make it what I want it to be. What it needs to be. It can look quite obsessive, I’m sure, when I am yelling at the thesaurus for failing me. But I follow my gut. It hasn’t failed me yet.

 

From “The Last Seven Tribes of the Ketchari” by Sarah Lyn Eaton:

The Old Ones stretched themselves in creaks and groans to protect Rochelle’s flight. She ran with long, practiced strides, gaining distance from the hunters.

Birch dryads flung splintered arms at the men, bowling and pinning them to the ground. Roots snapped, tripping the hounds and their masters. In a wave, the grove stepped out of Rochelle’s path, setting themselves between predator and prey.

A scream pierced the air. Rochelle stumbled. Her heart froze.

Marta.

A thin whistle in the crisp cold night. A burning sting sliced her shoulder. She fell against a young sapling, her cheek pressed against the snow. The birch curled itself low to shield her from sight.

Frightened, they both held their breath.

The forest filled with hounds and human cries and crackling flames, a cacophonous chorus shearing the night.

The dryads. They’re dying. She ran a hand down it’s trunk. The wood trembled.

I can fix it.

“I’m sorry. Hawthberskielth. Gruttberski—”

A sharp steel blade tore through the root. She screamed as thick fingers grabbed her mouth.

“Now, now. You went to all the trouble to wake the wooden bastards.” A dark face replaced the axe.

The tree above her shivered.

The hunter twisted the arrow she’d caught, grinding it into her shoulder. Biting back a yelp, her teeth drew warm blood.

“A shame to put them back to sleep before they fully experience life.”

“They’re going to die,” she said.

“See what destruction your magic has wrought? Isn’t it beautiful?”

The axe chopped through the wood twice more, raining splinters against her skin.

They dragged her out by her hair.

The bottom of the arrow scraped a sharp root, and she lost a moment to a blinding light of pain. Her breath came in uneasy gulps.

“It was sweet of this tree to protect you, but the trail of blood gave you away.” He dropped her and swung hard, imbedding the axe deep in the birch’s trunk.

Rochelle gasped at the stitch in her own side.

“Check her.”

Twelve scarred hunters and two wolfhounds paced the forest. A bald man with pocked cheeks pushed her over and ripped her tunic, exposing her back. The men nodded at each other triumphantly.

“We got ourselves a winner, Nico.”

Rochelle’s skin crawled at the violation. The tattooed feathers on each shoulder blade were gifts after the grueling Ketchari rites of passages.

And strangers groped them.

Her nostrils flared.

Nico lifted her chin with a calloused hand. His ice-blue eyes assessed her like a trophy—another kill. He hacked off a handful of her hair.

Rochelle’s heart wavered as he held it out to the other men. The hazy sky heavy with smoke and the sounds of genocide.

“I think this one is the leader. Her feathers are more elaborate than the others.”

Rochelle ducked her head and winced at the pain.

Oh, right. There’s an arrow in my shoulder.

How many got away?

Did any of them escape?

Dark bitterness filled her mouth.

Nico set her ebony hair on fire.

It flared bright but did not turn to ash. The black color burned away, revealing a brilliant clutch of red hair, which shimmered like fine gems.

Nico’s demented smile chilled her deeply.

 

Sarah Lyn Eaton is a writer who has survived both flood and fire. She lives with her wife and cats where the Susquehanna and Chenango Rivers meet. Her published stories can be found in Pantheon Magazine, as well as the anthologies Dystopia Utopia, Fracture: Essays, Poems, and Stories on Fracking in America, The Northlore Series, Volume One: Folklore, What Follows, and Elf Love. When not writing she can be found taking photos of fungus, collecting rock specimens, and mediating an end to the cucumber and bean plant turf war in her garden.

ON FIRE is available now: Amazon, Nook, Kobo, and our press store.

Did You Know…About the Leprechaun?

Tags

ancient mounds, fairy folk, gold, ireland, irish, justice, leprechaun, mythology, norse mythology, shoemaker, St. Patty's Day

Traditionally, the leprechaun is depicted as the dwarf-like man, dressed in green with buckles on their shoes, an apron, and a high-crowned hat. They bury their gold and treasure and are quick, so if you catch one, you’d better keep him in your sight if you want him to hand over his riches. But careful, he’s a trickster and will do everything in his power to keep his gold for himself.

As the “national elf” of Ireland, he often represents Irish hospitality, telling stories over a roasting fire and sharing his poteen, but he is anything but innocent and nice. A dark and gloomy creature and not very good company at that, the woes of the world have soaked into him. Selfish little creatures, they’re not much for sharing and kindness. In fact, they’re rather spiteful. Because of this, Irish households left offerings of milk, cheese, and twists of tobacco on their doorsteps to keep them from wreaking havoc on their homes. An offering of whiskey often had the reverse effect, however.

Further back, leprechauns were thought to be descendants of fallen angels, and they maintain their Irish origins from words such as: luch (mouse), lúth (agility), and lurga (ankle), thus creating the myth that they were tiny and fast, like the mouse, with rather large feet.

More interestingly, lore depicts several types of leprechauns, like the grogochs, pechts, tallas, cluricauns, Sheela-na-gigs, or dwarves in Norse mythology. The grogochs were opposite what many think of leprechauns today, slow, dim-witted, and dirty with no desire for riches. Instead, they sought gratitude for their labors and had good hearts, but more on them in a different post.

Most often invisible, leprechauns were noted by clouds of smoke or dust, creating the tradition of throwing one’s shoe into it. This would force the leprechaun to drop what he held, like a load of gold or a human—most often unbaptized babies—being carried off to the faerie world.

This relates to their profession—the cobbler or shoemaker. They were known to create new shoes for faerie balls or were merely those who repaired and restored old shoes worn from frivolous dancing. This stems from a time when shoes and boots were expensive and seen as highly-prized pieces of clothing. Thus, the leprechaun was seen as an artisan, a central and much-beloved figure in the faerie world, for they loved to dance.

However, shoemaking was not the only occupation the leprechaun took, like builders and stonemasons—sometimes credited for building the ancient Irish mounds—metalworkers or smiths, distillers or musicians, and bankers.

Leprechauns adapt well to their surroundings, finding places to hide and live, like old churches, ruined castles, and ancient fortresses, or they might dwell in human artefacts, abandoned beehives, the eaves of barns, old boxes, or discarded kettles.  Essentially, they seek shelter from the elements in already constructed places rather than forming their own.

Often seen as solitary creatures, they actually formed clans—the four best known represented the four provinces of Ireland, Ulster, Munster, Leinster, and Connaught—each with their own special skills and talents. Other than some sweeping generalizations about the groupings, not much is known about the way they classified themselves, but what we do know is that the leprechaun courts often held judgements against humans, especially those who slighted a faerie, and there were no appeals to sentences, such as absolute bankruptcy, twisted limbs or spine, illness, and occasionally, a long and painful death.

It might surprise some, but there is a wealth of knowledge about leprechauns, their origins, and their society beyond the gimmick we see on St. Patty’s Day. If you want to know more, let me know in the comments below.

Until then, look forward to further peeks into my shelf of mythological books…okay three shelves. Shh, don’t judge me.

 

Want to know more about my take on the leprechaun? Sign-up to be get your ARC copy of “The Shoemaker’s Apprentice,” my short story about Boden’s journey home.

Long ago, the death of his little sister broke his family apart.

After a close call left him blind in one eye, Boden must return to the home he fled as a young leprechaun.

For hundreds of years, he has feared facing his family and punishment for his sister’s death.

Boden needs to make up for his mistakes before he can fight a war for the woman he loves.

Find out what secrets are unleashed in THE SHOEMAKER’S APPRENTICE.

 

 

Source:

Curran, Bob. “The Truth About the Leprechaun.” Wolfhound Press, 2000.

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Did You Know… About the Phoenix?

Tags

bennu, chinese virtues, endurance, mythical bird, mythology, phoenix, ra, renewal, spiritual totem, yin and yang

The phoenix is a well-known symbol for rebirth, renewal, and resurrection and is often depicted as a long-lived bird that experiences a cycle of fiery end and birth from the ashes. Traditionally, only one is allowed to exist at a time.

In Egypt, the Bennu was the sacred bird of Heliopolis and was associated with the sun or as the soul of the sun god, Ra. His cry marked the beginning of time at the world’s creation. Also, the manifestation of Osiris, the god of transition, resurrection, and regeneration, Bennu appears with the atef crown.

In Greece, the red-gold phoenix (or phoinix) emitted rays of pure sunlight, lived for five hundred years, and feasted upon Arabian balsam and frankincense. Upon its death, a new and fully-grown phoenix emerged, having been encased in a myrrh egg of the parent.

The phoenix has reign over all other birds in China and is a symbol of feminine grace, the sun, and the south. Sighting a phoenix indicates a wise leader has ascended and begun a new era. As the representation of Chinese virtues, such as goodness, duty, propriety, kindness, and reliability, they believed that this mystical bird was sent to assist mankind’s development.

Because of the connections with death and revival, Christianity adopted it as an early symbol and analogy for Christ’s death and resurrection three days later. The phoenix was often used on early Christian tombstones.

 

As a spiritual totem, the phoenix is the keeper of the fire of all creation. Ultimately, they are symbols of strength and renewal and regarded as the representation of the seasons, coherence, longevity, imagination, and protection.

Typically, the phoenix is seen as the coming together of two, one male and female, or as the yin and yang and signifies the inherent need for balance in the world. The female phoenix totem—or the yin—denotes an energy characterized as passive, psychic, deep-thinking, the moon, darkness, and winter. The male phoenix totem—or the yang—deals with assertion, bold action, warmth, light, and summer. Because of this connection, a pair of phoenixes was often given as a wedding gift.

Presently, the phoenix embodies a renewal of energy to keep us fighting the good fight as we all struggle with tough times and negativity, as Aderyn does in my story, “The Mark of the Phoenix,” where he fights to do good and keep people safe after being sentenced to die.

The phoenix reminds us that we can endure.

 

Want to know more?

Check out my guest post on Transmundane’s blog, “The Cycle of the Phoenix.”

 

Sources & Other Information:

Wikipedia, Ancient Origins, Mythical Realm, Greek Mythology, Labyrinthina, Theoi, Whats-Your-Sign, Sun Signs.

Will Waller, a Featured Spotlight

Tags

devil, editing, fairy tale, hellfire, hope, irish, Marketing, must read, mythology, on fire, writing

If you haven’t heard of my new project, the On Fire anthology over at Transmundane Press, this mini-interview and excerpt series will showcase the amazing authors I get to work with and their writing. Meet Will Waller.

 

What do you find to be the easiest thing about writing? What is the hardest?

By far the easiest thing for me to do is come up with premises for stories to write. The hardest… I don’t know if difficult is really the operative concern, but my biggest fault as a writer is being too easily satisfied. Since I have so many premises, when I finish drafting and editing one, I want to be done. So, sometimes I’m too easily satisfied. Unfortunately, good writing rarely works like that.

What did you edit out of this story?

The mean-spirited parts.

What are you doing to market yourself?

I’m not, really. The audience I have I have because I’m mouthy and opinionated, and because I’ve been part of a few different publications, including The Fantasist Magazine, which I founded and still run with my fiancé. I’ve always been strange, I think, in that I don’t really enjoy talking about my own writing. Working in publishing gives me something else to talk about at the bar at a con, or any other context, really. If that helps me market myself, and I’m not sure it does, it’s really only because people remember me as the odd young person not trying to tell everyone who will listen about his novel.

 

From “Torch” by Will Waller

This is the story of Stingy Jack:

You’re a blacksmith in a small Irish town. You’re a gigantic fucking asshole, so naturally people try to kill you, but this is a fairy tale, so even with an axe in your back, you get to bargain with the Devil while you both get a pint. You say, “I have a great idea,” and nothing good ever happens after that. There’s a thing with a coin and a plan to steal some souls, then a cross, and it all ends with you getting another year of life. You spend that year having an affair in a small town with a woman who doesn’t tell you she’s already pregnant. After she leaves, the Devil corners you under an apple tree, but you’re still not ready to let it go. Again with the crosses, but this time, you’re stupid. While he’s stuck in that tree, you make him swear to never take your soul. When you try to catch up with the woman, she tells you about her new baby girl. You’re supposed to act like the summer never happened. The pearly gates are closed. She doesn’t want you near her good china. So, you hit bottom and head to Hell to set up shop, but when you get there, the Devil laughs at you. He won’t let you in. You made him swear he wouldn’t, but he remembers your college days, and he has a sense of humor. He sticks some Hellfire in a turnip, so the burning smell can light your way while you wander. He says it’s to help, but the fire carries the memory of the summer, and the memory, with the smell, clings to every new relationship. You fall into old habits and become a shadow of yourself, but the only thing that people see is a hopeful, little light bobbing in a stinky mist. Other people mistake your light for guidance and lose themselves in a swamp they don’t see following your little light. Knowing you’re lost anyway, you wander west, chasing an old college friend, hoping he can set you right.

 

Will Waller is an author of speculative fiction, scholarship, and experimental writing originally from the Finger Lakes Wine Region of New York. After two years in San Francisco spent working as an editor for Eleven Eleven Journal, he relocated to St. Louis to found The Fantasist Magazine. His writing focuses on memory, music, and the weather, and has been featured by Bay Area Generations, Heavy Feather Review, Rivet Magazine, and the On Fire anthology of Transmundane Press.

Follow our Amazon page for On Fire’s release this December 1st!

ON FIRE Cover Reveal

Tags

cover reveal, creatures, elemental, fantasy, giveaway, good read, must read, mythology, on fire, phoenix

I have been thinking about Ria’s parents for a long time. What their stories are, how they came together to make Ria—the spontaneous meeting that changed the world.

And no, I’m not being dramatic. Although Ria is not the one, she’s the catalyst for the one.

Cue the fake stadium roar that kind of sounds like a ghost instead.

Aderyn proved to be more of a mystery than Tatiana did, but his growth into mortality has made him such an interesting person for me as does his connection with the children in this story.

I rather enjoyed the surprises he’s brought me. So, let me introduce him to you:

 

New York City was heavy with fog and exhaust as Aderyn Tanguy returned to Tisch Hospital to check on his person of interest. Little Avery’s long limbs reanimated with uncanny energy, but the pale sheen to her dark skin drove suspicion into his gut.

The night before she’d been so close to death that he pulled out every trick he had to keep her heart beating, but he left her weak and steady when her mother arrived for visiting hours. This, however, was miraculous and not his handiwork.

Her wide nostrils flared as he stepped into her new room, closing the door behind him. “Morning, precious. How long have you been awake?”

She blinked at him, long lashes and wild eyes. Her nostrils flared again.

Cachu hwch, he’d given her everything she could handle, but she’d died anyways.

Freshly awake. Must have been. Avery sat with her hands bunched in the white sheets around her lap. Disinfectant and bile lingered in the room. No hints at fresh blood. She hadn’t bitten anyone yet.

Thick canines pressed against her plump mouth as he breached the end of her bed.

“Where’s your mother? Hmm? Had any other visitors?”

Uninhabited hunger dilated her pupils, but she posed him little danger. Vampires rarely attacked healers. Most creatures didn’t. Perks of being a phoenix. The phoenix.

“It hurts.” Her words slurred, saliva sputtering from her thick lips.

“I know it does, precious. I know.”

Her fingers loosened from the sheets, but Aderyn grabbed her face and immobilized her with his gaze. Delving into her mind produced a blur of muted colors and bright red blood. Cold. Sharp. Prickling. Pain. The soft edges of a face passed through her vision before nothingness.

She didn’t remember anything. Just as well.

Aderyn snapped her neck, cringing at the blow that rebounded within him as he laid her back against the white pillows. “Sorry, precious. You didn’t want that life, no way.”

Layers of lemongrass lingered on her pillow, but no other traces were distinct enough to lend to a trail. Pushing back the curtain for the yellowed window. Entrance after he’d left was possible, but no clues. The place was clean, as it should be.

Eyes closed on the way out the door, he’d take the memory of her with him—the one’s full of hope instead of death.

Fog danced with his boots on the streets of lower Manhattan. Four blocks north, he used a payphone to check in, popping a quarter and dialing his handler.

“What?” Fury seethed in the breath on the other end of the line.

Why was the big guy answering the phone? “Sir, no go on the mini-human.”

“Leads?”

“Minimal.” Aderyn leaned over the payphone box and cleared the smell death from his sinuses with a shift in the air. Lemongrass weaved through wind.

“Stick around.”

The phone clanked dead, and he replaced the receiver.

Not an investigator, Aderyn scouted the street. Beyond the wet gravel and litter, the ghost of other paranormals laced through the human scents.

At his back squatted a small storefront with a sparkling window. Inside, a mane of blonde curls shook and shimmied under the command of two equally pale hands. Her hair shifted to reveal startling blue eyes, lined with extravagant lashes, and guarded by a spattering of freckles. They looked right through him.

Into him.

Her smile rivaled the sun.

And it disappeared before the ching of storefront bells revealed her again.

“Bad news?”

“That obvious?”

An elegant one-shoulder shrug lifted the sage in her hands. “Well, when you have to answer a question with a question, you’re in deeper than you want to be.”

Disposable lighter flicked under her thumb, the sparks refused to light, and he took it from her before he thought not to. Aderyn ignited the fumes spitting from the top.

“Well, you’re handy to have around.” She leaned in, dropping the end of her bundle into the flame and blowing it out to plumes of smoke. Stepping around him, her fingers trailed over his shoulder, and she waved her smudge stick in the corners of the entrance.

Holding the door open, she peeked out. “Pure enough to follow me inside?”

He did.

“Lock the door. My foot traffic doesn’t start until the afternoon.” Smoke circled in on itself as she looped the store and stubbed the stick out gently. “Back here, bad news.”

She disappeared behind a waterfall of beads, fingers catching the cascade like a mating dance. The back was warm and dark, illuminated by Christmas lights. As the heat closed in around them, Aderyn caught the hints of nutmeg and clove.

“Did you want to talk about your trouble?” The space maneuvered him beside her, but she didn’t seem to mind. Her touch danced up his arm, filling his senses like a drug. “Or forget about it?”

The way her thumb brushed his mouth drowned him in hope. This type of thing didn’t happen. Not to him.

 

Join us for our two giveaways below!

And don’t forget that my friend Ali Abbas’s novelette, Like Clockwork, is on sale for 99 cents.

Giveaway One:

$25 Amazon gift card giveaway

Giveaway Two:

Win one of five copies of Octavia Butler’s Bloodchild and Other Stories by following Transmundane Press on Amazon. Only available for US participants.

 

Did You Know…About the Ningyo. How to Become an Immortal, Part One

Tags

bad luck, catstrophe, fiction, flesh, immortal, mermaid, mythology, ningyo, water

The ningyo are Japanese mermaids, but they’re different from the pretty, western versions many of us are used to. They’re often described as monkey-mouthed, half-human-half-fish creatures. And these poor things are famous for being eaten.

For good reason, their flesh is both tasty and leads to astonishingly long life.

Now, Japan has some pretty weird shit in their waters, and the ningyo are no different. Catching them are believed to bring on storms and bad luck, so they’re often thrown back. And washing up on shore warns of oncoming war or disaster.

But of course, if one’s lucky enough to sample mermaid meat and get a taste of the ningyo, they’ll be rewarded with immortality. Seems like a storm or catastrophe is a small price to pay.

Several fictional stories utilize this myth in their story-lines, like Rumiko Takahashi’s Mermaid Forest or the Mermaid Saga, an anime/manga series that centers on Yuta who ate mermaid meat and lived for more than five-hundred years and searched for a cure to the more common side effects of this treat: death or becoming a damned creature known as a Lost Soul.

And its origins come from Yao Bikuni, a myth that depicts a young woman eating some after getting drunk at a party, and she stayed sixteen for over eight-hundred years before she became a nun and died in a cave.

Want to read more? Check out this link.

I’m back with Cheap Reads!

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alisha costanzo, beta readers, blood phoenix, blood phoenix: imprinted, book boyfriend, Broken World, Celampresians, cheap reads, did you know, editing, fantasy, folklore, giveaway, humor, insta-love, Loving Red, myth, mythology, novel, paranormal, paranormal romance guild, readers, review, romance, Sale, Shapeshifter, Transmundane Press, urban fantasy, vampires, weres, werewolves, writing, YA novel

Hey, lovely readers!

I’ve been slacking. I know it, but this month has been CRAZY! Personal stuff, business stuff, writing stuff, teaching stuff. You don’t need the details, just know that I’m back, and I have new blog posts about the editing process, about BLOOD PHOENIX: IMPRINTED and beta reader opportunities, new giveaways, a new YA novel, and some new Did You Know posts. I’m also working on another newsletter and short stories.

But for now, my latest novel, LOVING RED, is on half off (on sale for $1.99) until June 6th.

Here’s the latest review:

“When I first started reading this story, I was afraid it was going to be one of those insta-love stories. However, although the book only spans about a week’s time, it doesn’t feel like insta-love.

Severins is a wolf shifter on leave from the army. His impeccable sense of smell picks up Kaia’s scent during a bus ride, and he knows he has to have her but not just for a one-night stand. He goes to her job and pretends to be a client to con her into going on a date with him. He is unaware that Kaia, a human, knows of his world, and that she is in danger.

It isn’t specifically stated, but I feel like Sev immediately thought she was destined to be his. He instantly has a drive to protect her and to claim her as his but, like the romantic he is, he wants her to be the one to decide about their relationship. Swoon.

The two have an immediate attraction, but Kaia is leery because of a past relationship with a shifter. As the danger gets closer and closer to Kaia, the two must go on the run from the Celampresians who follow them.

Sev is 100% book boyfriend material. I loved his character. He is so caring and protects Kaia and Shawna with every part of his being.

I’m not completely sure how I feel about Kaia. I originally thought she would be portrayed as a weak human who needed saving, but the only time she comes across as weak is when she is, for lack of a better word, possessed. Many times she shows mental and emotional strength, but she never becomes an active participant in physical fights.

This was a great read that I would recommend to my closest friends. I really enjoyed the story and most of all Severins!”

Review by Tina, Member of the Paranormal Romance Guild Review Team

Excerpt from UNDERWATER: “Beached” by M. Howard

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anthology, cpr, dolphins, dune, excerpt, gills, killer whales, m. howard, mermaids, myth, mythology, naked, nakedness, nipples, paranormal, plump, raven, Ruben, slavic, terrifying, Underwater

The dune circled a brackish pond where fresh water stream met the tide’s ebb and flow, and just breaking the rim, Sal saw hands.

He broke into a dead run, and as he reached the crest, hands became wrists, and wrists lengthened to arms. Incredibly broad shoulders curved into a graceful neck all but obscured by streaming black tresses. She lay face down, crusted with drying patches of sand. Her skin was black—a dull, flat black that shared more with killer whales and dolphins than any African or Negrito he’d ever encountered.

Ruben fluttered overhead, landed on the far side of the pool, and croaked, “Hello!”

Sal ignored his feathered buddy, and gingerly placed a hand between the girl’s shoulders. Her skin was cool and curiously firm to the touch.

“Well, Ruben, let’s have a look at her.” God, but she was heavy. He grasped her right elbow with both hands and applied all his weight to roll her over. He saw with a shock that if her back and arms were black, her front, from her upper lip to her chin and down her throat to her sandy tits, was ivory white. Indistinct nipples bulls eyed ivory aureoles without the slightest of color variation. His eyes involuntarily traced her nakedness down to an ivory “outee” of a navel. He stared dumbly at what should have been Venus Mons, but was instead a smooth plumpness which tapered down in curves unbroken by knees or feet, to curve out again into a largish ovoid paddle of a tail.

Ruben croaked “Ouch!” and fluttered his feathers.

“Ouch my ass, Ruben. It’s a…she’s a…” Sal was nothing if not a pragmatist. He straddled her waist and pressed an ear to her right breast. Nothing. He interlaced the fingers of his left hand into those of his right and tried to remember his emergency first aid training. He looked over at Ruben. “What’s the count? Was it five?”

Ruben bobbed his beak. “Perfect.”

“One, two, three, four, five.” Sal unlocked his fingers and moved in to position for the next step.   He wasn’t sure what he might be liable to catch, but he was sure it wouldn’t be any of the terrifying viruses plaguing the single set nowadays. After all, how could a mermaid catch mono? Or any other human-transmitted disease? He examined her face. The black coloration painted her high forehead, broad and vaguely Slavic cheek bones, and fleshy button of a nose, which squeezed off tiny nostrils. Sal called over to Ruben. “Let’s see. Clear the airway; wait, what if she has gills?”

Rubin jerked his beak up and down. “God damn it!”