Literarily Speaking

Dream Cast is a new feature at Literarily Speaking! We ask authors to tells us a little bit about their characters and who they think would be perfect to play them if their book was turned into a movie. Today’s guest is Kraig Dafoe with his book, Search for the Lost Realm.

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The Book

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Dream Cast

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Varan: Varan is about six feet tall and 170 pounds. This man has lean muscle and amazing agility. His primary weapon is a sword and his occupation is that of a professional thief. The young charismatic man has a penchant for the ladies and the finer things in life. The actor most likely to play him would be Justin Timberlake if he were to step out of his comfort zone.

Maus: Maus is over six foot with brown skin and extreme muscle. The militia man is shy with the ladies but quick to speak up when someone crosses the law which he holds dear. Maus is a nice guy who would help anyone even if it inconvenienced him. The actor I see in this roll would be Shemar Moore

Rusard: Rusard is a Ryore. He has thick gray hide with two horns, one behind the other on his head. This soldier is tall and thick and subscribes to a righteous way of life, rule bound with no wiggle room. The man is driven by justice and personal social life is a very distant, almost non-existent part of his life. The actor most likely to play him would be Robbie Coltrane.

Rua-Tay: Rua-Tay is a novice mystic, young and beautiful as well as naïve. She is interested in becoming a powerful wizard and her focus is solely on that goal. The actress I see for her would be Devon Aoki.

Bayahko: This green skinned Charue was a slave, freed by Varan. This woman is a barbarian trying to learn the ways of the world and she shows strength, not only physical but emotional as she grows. A woman with muscle and heart, this young lady knows how to survive. The actress I see for her would be Lucy Lawless.

Titan: Titan is charismatic and flirtatious. He loves women and likes to live large. His desire sometimes gets him into trouble but when it is time to fight, he leads the charge. The actor I see for him is Ryan Gosling.

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The Author

Kraig Dafoe was born in Potsdam, New York and grew up in Canton. He played high school football and joined the United States Army Reserves at the age of seventeen.

Kraig married at the age of nineteen and moved to Virginia Beach, Virginia where he worked as a Private Security officer for The Christian Broadcasting Network and also attended the Tidewater Community College for business.

After five years as a security officer, he became a Deputy Sheriff for the city of Chesapeake Virginia.

Kraig left the Sheriff’s office after nine years of service and pursued a couple of different business opportunities before he went on to publishing his debut novel.

Kraig is the father of five children and he currently resides in Kansas, raising his youngest son.

His latest book is the fantasy/adventure, Search for the Lost Realm.

Visit his website at www.kraigdafoebooks.com

Connect with Kraig:

FACEBOOK

Writing and Publishing the Novel

By Michael Bigham

Inspiration for stories can spring from several sources: a character, a “what if” starting point or perhaps a compelling plot. My novel, Harkness: A High Desert Mystery, arose from the setting. I grew up on the Oregon high desert in a small timber and ranching town called Prineville, which sits almost exactly in the center of the state. I fought range fires for the Bureau of Land Management during my college summers and came to love the high desert; a stark, beautiful land ranging from the pine forests of the Ochoco Mountains to bleak sagebrush hills and sandy flatlands below. Mixed in are fertile valleys, volcanic outcroppings and tremendous vistas. I knew that my first novel had to be set there.

My career is in police work, so the mystery genre was a natural for me. Next came the main character, Matt Harkness. Harkness was backcountry sheriff, a veteran; a flawed man who strove to do the right thing despite his shortcomings. Much of his back-story came from my father: a poor Irish kid who ended up on his own at the age of 12, adrift, trying to find a safe harbor.

I envy writers that plot extensively before they write, creating detailed plot outlines and writing scenes on note cards so they can shuffle them around and find just the right arrangement. Alas, that just isn’t me. I had a character and a setting. Now what? I snagged the idea of a teen-age Romeo and Juliet couple and postulated that they would disappear. Harkness would have to find them. Of course, someone maybe more would end up murdered. When I started, I had a vague idea of the ending but that was it. I might have plotted out a couple scenes ahead in my mind before I put them to paper, but getting from beginning to end was an adventure.

When I finished with the novel, I tried the traditional route of pitching agents and editors, but the sad fact is that the traditional publishing model is falling apart. Publishing houses are hemorrhaging money and are unwilling to take risks. With the advent of e-readers and publishing on demand, (POD) the publishing paradigm has turned upside down.  Why should a writer give away 90% of their profits? At one time, the answer may have been the publicity that a publishing house could give a writer, but the sad fact is that today, a mid-list writer with a big house can’t expect any promotional help from them. They just don’t have the available funds to expend unless a book’s success is guaranteed.

Self-publishing is almost too easy. One of my gripes about self-published novels is the obvious lack of editing that many authors have done. If you’re going to put your name on a book, you need to make sure that the copy is spotless – not filled with typos, misspellings and grammar errors. When I finished my manuscript, I shipped it off to a professional editor. Although she said my copy was cleaner than most, she found tons of errors. Two proofreaders found many more. Pay for a professional editor. It’s worth it.

I also paid for a professional to produce my book cover and someone else to convert my manuscript into proper e-reader and POD formatting. There are programs around that will do that for you, but the results are haphazard. It’s your book, make sure it’s done right.

My big regret is that I didn’t plan out a publicity campaign before publishing my book. As an author you need to create a buzz about your book before its launch. Now I’m playing catch up, learning about press releases, public readings, book reviews and virtual blog tours. I’m getting there, but it would have been better if I’d done the promotion before publication.

I can’t complain about the total process, though. It’s been hard work, but the satisfaction of seeing my book on Amazon, of having people tell be how much they enjoyed my work has made it all worth while.

My thanks goes to Literarily Speaking for the opportunity to appear on their blog. It’s a great honor.  Harkness: A High Desert Mystery is available both in paperback and for e-readers at Amazon and Barnes & Noble. Also, check out my blog at www.michaelbigham.com.

Raised in the mill town of Prineville in Central Oregon beneath blue skies and rimrocks, Michael Bigham attended the University of Oregon and during his collegiate summers, fought range fires on the Oregon high desert for the Bureau of Land Management. He worked as a police officer with the Port of Portland and after leaving police work, obtained an MFA degree in Creative Writing from Vermont College. Michael lives in Portland, Oregon with his wife and daughter. Harkness is his first novel.

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ABOUT VAMPIRE VIC

5 Things You Should Know About Being a Man Who Writes with Another Man

1. Like the nutritionist at the next table just told her client, “Everything that’s good for you is bitter.” Arugula. Seeing your best work edited by your partner. Being unable to improve upon what your partner has just written. 95% dark chocolate. Humility. Having readers challenge your sexuality, as in, “They write too masculine to be gay.” (Or something to the opposite effect, depending on Literarily Speaking’s target audience.) Brussel sprouts. Societal constraints when you’d rather just slug it out instead of conducting a civil discussion to settle on the appropriate direction for the storyline. IPAs.

2. No one will ever think your stuff is quite as funny as the two of you. You are your perfect target audience. You can’t help but write to make the other guy laugh, or occasionally provoke that dreaded two a.m. realization that you’re going to die someday and probably sooner than you’d like. But every so often someone else responds to your writing just as strongly, and celebrating those moments together is something special.

3. Sky’s the limit when writing sex scenes, because you can always point at your partner when someone asks, “For God’s sake who wrote that armpit scene in the playhouse?”

4. Readers will expect more sex scenes than even two uninhibited men combined can produce. This goes double for a vampire novel. Authors should no longer be allowed to deny their lasciviousness with that worn-out excuse, “The sex was necessary as a plot device.” The converse should apply if there’s not enough. All you can do is take your lumps, look each other in the eye, and vow to get that sex in there next time, plot willing.

5. “I would not say that.” Each of you is secretly writing about yourself, and each of you knows it, secretly. And so you will receive your partner’s latest draft and cringe and shake your head and say “no no no” and lament the poor light cast upon your protagonist. You will strive to edit the hell out of what he has written, to more accurately portray your protagonist’s inner thoughts and motivations. If you’re lucky, before you return your marked-up copy to him, before you have diluted the conflict borne of your character’s flaws, you will drop your defenses in a moment of clarity and realize, “That’s exactly what I would say.”

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ABOUT HARRIS GRAY

Harris Gray finish their third pint and mull over their next writing project, simultaneously deciding on a vampire book. Because the women in their lives eat up every vampire story on the shelves. And for the gratuitous T&A. But hunky, smoldering vampires are beyond their grasp; and dammit, T&A should mean something. Deciding to write what they know, Harris Gray return to their wheelhouse: An aging, uncomfortable man, not so happy with his lot in life. A man bitten by a vampire, unsure what to do with his new…skillset. Vampire Vic – VV – is born. Perfect.

The latest book is Vampire Vic.

WEBSITE | FACEBOOK | TWITTER

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Pump Up Your Book and Harris Gray are teaming up to give you a chance to win a new Kindle Fire HD!

Here’s how it works:

Each person will enter this giveaway by liking, following, subscribing and tweeting about this giveaway through the Rafflecopter form placed on blogs throughout the tour. If your blog isn’t set up to accept the form, we offer another way for you to participate by having people comment on your blog then directing them to where they can fill out the form to gain more entries.

This promotion will run from May 6 – July 26. The winner will be chosen randomly by Rafflecopter, contacted by email and announced on July 27, 2013.

Each blogger who participates in the Vampire Vic virtual book tour is eligible to enter and win.

Visit each blog stop below to gain more entries as the Rafflecopter widget will be placed on each blog for the duration of the tour.

If you would like to participate, email Tracee at tgleichner(at)gmail.com.  What a great way to not only win this fabulous prize, but to gain followers and comments too! Good luck everyone!

ENTER TO WIN!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

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Vampire Vic Virtual Book Publicity Tour Schedule

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Monday, May 6 – Book featured at Margay Leah Justice

Thursday, May 9 – Book featured at Review From Here

Monday, May 13 – Interviewed at Digital Journal

Wednesday, May 15 – Interviewed at Pump Up Your Book

Friday, May 17 – 1st Chapter Reveal at Book Him Danno

Tuesday, May 21 – 1st Chapter Reveal at As the Pages Turn

Thursday, May 23 – Guest blogging at Literarily Speaking

Monday, May 27 – Up Close and Personal at Between the Covers

Wednesday, May 29 – Interviewed at Literal Exposure

Friday, May 31 – Book featured at Plug Your Book

Wednesday, June 5 – First Chapter review at Sapphyria’s Book Reviews

Friday, June 7 – Book Featured at Mary’s Cup of Tea

Monday, June 10 – 1st Chapter Reveal at Literary Winner

Wednesday, June 12 – Guest blogging at The Paperback Pursuer

Friday, June 14 – Interviewed at Review From Here

Wednesday, June 19 – Book Featured at Miki’s Hope

Friday, June 21 – Guest blogging at My Book Addiction and More

Tuesday, June 25 – Book Featured at Moonlight, Lace, and Mayhem

Thursday, June 27 – Guest blogging at You Gotta Read

Monday, July 1 – Book Featured at Authors and Readers Book Corner

Wednesday, July 3 – Interviewed at The Top Shelf

Thursday, July 4 – Guest blogging at A Little Bit of R & R

Monday, July 8 – Interviewed at Janna Shay

Tuesday, July 9 – Guest blogging at Review From Here

Thursday, July 11 – Book featured at

Friday, July 12 – Book reviewed at The Top Shelf

Monday, July 15 – 1st Chapter Reveal at CelticLady’s Reviews

Tuesday, July 16 – Book reviewed at My Cozie Corner

Wednesday, July 17 – Book reviewed at Inside BJ’s Head

Thursday, July 18 – Book featured at Cheryl’s Book Nook

Monday, July 22 – Book reviewed at I’m Shelf-ish

Tuesday, July 23 – Book reviewed at Gina’s Library

Wednesday, July 24 – Book reviewed at Mary’s Cup of Tea

Friday, July 26 – Book reviewed at

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Ann Gimpel is a clinical psychologist, with a Jungian bent.  Avocations include mountaineering, skiing, wilderness photography and, of course, writing.  A lifelong aficionado of the unusual, she began writing speculative fiction a few years ago. Since then her short fiction has appeared in a number of webzines and anthologies. Several paranormal romance novellas are available in e-format. Three novels, Psyche’s Prophecy, Psyche’s Search, and Psyche’s Promise are small press publications available in e-format and paperback. Look for two more urban fantasy novels coming this summer and fall: Fortune’s Scion and Earth’s Requiem.

A husband, grown children, grandchildren and three wolf hybrids round out her family.

Her latest books are Magic’s Daughter & Dancing in the Flame.

Q: Thank you so much for this interview, Ann!  Can you tell us where you are from?

Mammoth Lakes, California

Q: How did you come up with your title?

I come up with titles as I write my books. This book is about Sidhe, notably Daoine Sidhe who tend to be royalty. When they go into battle, they say they are dancing in the flames. Hence, the title.

Q: They say you can judge a book by its cover.  Can you tell us a little about your cover and who designed it?

This is a Valerie Tibbs cover. She does many of the Liquid Silver Books covers. She also designs covers for Musa, Loose ID, and a few other e-publishers. She has an online gallery if anyone is interested.

Q: Can you tell us something about your book that would make me run out and buy it?

Well, the purpose of a blurb is to encourage sales, so here’s the blurb:

Life in a Were bordello is all Keira has ever known. Because of her mixed blood, none of the magicians’ guilds wanted her, or protested when the Weres bound her as an indentured hooker. Mired in the hopelessness of her dreams, she longs for more.

Barrett, one of the Daoine Sidhe, runs a magician supply shop in what’s left of Seattle. No one is more surprised than he when the Sidhe leader commands him to extricate Keira from the Weres.

Magic and intrigue throw Keira and Barrett into one another’s arms. Convinced they have a job to do, they struggle against the heat of the passion between them. Until it gets way too hot to handle.

Q: Are there any messages in this book that you want the reader to know about?

There’s a balance in every life between love and duty. If this book inspires even one reader to find theirs, it will have served its purpose.

Q: What was your most favorite chapter to write and why?

Second to the last one. I can’t tell you why because I’ll give away the plot.

Q: Why did you feel you had to write this book?

I don’t know that I feel I “have” to write any of the books I do. I write fiction, so there’s lots of latitude. Stories come to me in pictures in my mind and in dreams. This one arrived the same way. I saw an image of Seattle in ruins after a war which wiped out most of the humans and a goodly percentage of magic wielders.

Q:  Now, some fun questions – What deep dark secret would you like to share with us?

I’m going trekking in Mongolia this summer. Last summer I hikes 190 miles across northern England. And I climb mountains.

Q: If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would it be and why?

Mongolia because of the history. I’m fascinated by Genghis Kahn. I’d also like to go to Antarctica to see the penguins and marine life. Tibet’s high on my list, too, again because of its rich history.

Q: Are you a morning person or a night person?

Morning

Q: Are there any members in your family who also like to write?

Nope. Good thing, too. I’m not sure a family could support more than one writer. LOL

Q: As a child, were you a dreamer?

Ha! I still am.

Q: Last but not least, the magic genie has granted you one wish.  What would that be?

It will sound hokey, but I’d want world peace and for everyone to have enough to eat and decent healthcare.

Q: Thank you so much for this interview! Do you have any final words?

Thanks so much for hosting me. It’s been a pleasure to be here. You asked some deucedly difficult questions.

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I am thrilled to have as my guest today, Robert Henry, author of the motivational book, Age Re-Defined.  He is on a virtual book tour that lasts until May 31 so do check out his stops and watch one of the many videos he has put together for his tour.  They were so much fun to watch!  So today Robert is talking about cardio workouts, rebooting his exercise regime and more.  Enjoy!

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The title of this post sums up the highlights of an impromptu video I shot a few weeks ago with Deborah Klein, MS, RD. Deb contributed to the nutrition content of my eBook, “AGE RE-DEFINED: Take Control of Your Health, How You Feel, And How You Look: Even In Your Forties & Fifties”. She is published by McGraw-Hill: “The 200 Super Foods That Will Save Your Life”, which is a great resource. (It has tons of recipes in addition to complete info on nutrients and health benefits of the foods presented.) Deb is also the Health Director of Organic Liaison in Los Angeles.

First, I talked about specific health benefits I received from re-booting my commitment to exercise and nutrition, beginning four years ago at the age of 52 and about the general philosophy of re-defining one’s age. Then, I talked about interval training (just scratching the surface), and made reference to one of my exercise mottos: “Incline It Baby”.  I like to do incline sprints, incline walking lunges, and, of course, incline treadmill.

In one of the takes - not the final cut – Deb asked how much incline on the treadmill, 5 or 6?  I responded that I’ve gotten up to 24% on the treadmill – for brief periods. (Incline is expressed as a percent slope or gradient; 1% = 1 foot vertical rise for every 100 feet of forward travel; 24% = 24 feet of vertical rise of 24 feet for every 100 feet of forward travel. That might not be exact, but you get the idea. As a pilot, for example, I knew that a 5000 foot runway with a 1% slope was going to have a 50 foot difference in elevation from one end of the runway to the other. Leave it to me to throw in a flying reference whenever possible.)

Last night was a gym cardio and abs night. For cardio, I did treadmill. My walking speed intervals (3.0 mph) reached 20% incline and my running speed intervals reached 9.2 mph at 3.0% incline. At walking speed, I don’t use arms for momentum/propulsion, regardless of incline. I’m 56 (57 next month). Challenge yourself! You’ll have to work up to this if you are a cardio novice or if you haven’t been challenging yourself.

I started the session with sideways and backwards walking at 5.0% incline: about 30 paces sideways right, 60 paces backwards, and 30 paces sideways left. I usually do this cycle twice, but tonight I did it once.

My total calorie burn during the workout - per the machine, which may or may not be accurate – was 427 calories in 31 minutes, an average of about 13.8 calories per minute, meaning that I was burning a lot more than that during the most challenging minutes of the intervals. (There is also post-workout calorie burn, especially with interval training. And arguably better cardio results, because of the higher intensity reached during the most challenging of the intervals. As a general rule, if you always work out at the same low intensity, that’s what your body will adapt to: the same low intensity.)

For abs, I did 67 reps (not all in one set) of “hanging abs”, using elbow slings and a chinning bar, and 120 reps of machine “side crunches” (60 left, 60 right).

I still have one more cardio workout and one more resistance training workout to get in this week (Friday and Saturday).

And here is a link to the video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S0rU10k8efk&list=PL29D6699D9393802A&index=34

Stay healthy, fit and well.

About the Author:

As a Personal Trainer, Fitness Nutrition Coach, and Wellness Coach, Robert Henry motivates individuals to transform into healthier, fit versions of themselves and to explore the mind-body connection.

As a writer, blogger,  speaker, and media commentator he informs and inspires his audience to commit to a healthy lifestyle by reminding them “you can get better instead of getting older”.

At 52, after years of enjoying good health, Robert was challenged when a visit to the doctor’s office revealed his health profile had changed and he was no longer the emblem of health he had been. That alarm, that wake-up call, that unprecedented need to lose body fat and the doctor’s statement “You’re not getting any younger” ignited something within him.

Robert was challenged for the first time with the need to lose weight and re-boot his commitment to fitness or be at risk for potentially serious health issues.

He refused to accept age alone as the determining factor of his health going forward.

Fitness became such a priority and passion that working out was no longer enough. He began studying and learning as much as his could about fitness, nutrition, and wellness. His appetite for learning led him to earn four certifications: Certified Strength and Conditioning Specialist from the National Strength and Conditioning Association, Certified Personal Trainer from the National Council on Strength and Fitness, Certified Specialist in Fitness Nutrition from the International Sports Sciences Association, and Certified Wellness Coach from Spencer Institute, an affiliate of the National Exercise and Sports Trainers Association. He has also recently taken additional course work in Sport and Exercise Psychology at California State University. To learn more about Robert’s certifications, click here.

His law school education (Juris Doctor, Southern Methodist University) and his experience as an attorney distinguish him with analytical skills, which he now applies to his study and work in health, fitness and wellness. While still in his teens, Robert progressed from Student Pilot to Certified Flight Instructor. Later, he became a professional jet pilot. In the fitness realm, he has been a training client and is now a trainer with multiple fitness certifications. All of this gives him unique perspective as both teacher and student, and as both trainer and client. To Robert, learning is a lifelong process.

Robert’s latest book is the health/fitness how to book, Age Re-Defined.

Visit his website at www.RobertHenryFitness.com.

ABOUT COMING THROUGH THE FOG

ABOUT TAMI GOLDSTEIN

This journey begins with a mother’s love for her daughter. After learning her daughter was on the Autism Spectrum Tami began to tirelessly educate herself in the sciences of: Behavioral Health, Child Psychology, Human Anatomy, Occupational Health, Pharmacology and Therapeutic Massage and Bodywork and has been a parent advocate for her daughter since 1997.

In 2002, as her knowledge and passion grew, Tami began reaching out to other families in need of help. In 2005, Tami founded the Rock County Autism Support Group and she is the community resource liaison for the SPD (Sensory Processing Disorders) Parent Connections Support Group of Rock County and the surrounding areas. Since 2005, Tami has been State and National Certified in Therapeutic Massage and Bodywork and in 2013 she certified in CranioSacral Therapy with the Upledger Institute in Florida.

Tami currently has two offices where she facilitates CranioSacral Therapy. Approximately 38% of her clientele are children, teenagers and young adults on the Autism Spectrum or with other neuro-developmental delays. When asked to lecture, Tami uses her personal experience, extensive knowledge, and dedication to help others learn about and understand the medical and educational aspects of Autism, Autism Spectrum Disorders and SPD.

You can view his website at http://www.comingthroughthefog.com.

His latest book is the autism awareness book, Coming Through the Fog.

Connect with Tami:

FACEBOOK

Title of Book: THE HEART STONE
Genre: Christian fiction
Author: Sherry Kyle
Website: www.SherryKyle.com
Publisher: Abingdon Books

PURCHASE THE HEART STONE AT AMAZON

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When the biological father of Jessica MacAllister’s son decides to break their custody agreement, Jessica and her son visit her Uncle George for advice and refuge…

Following a year of grief, Evelyn Sweeney is finally ready to move on. Pondering her new path in life, her mind drifts to her first love, George MacAllister…

When the lives of these two women cross, they discover that one heart-shaped ring binds their stories together. But will the results be a rekindled faith and new hope, or will it lead them both back into the darkness they’ve fought for so long?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Sherry Kyle is a graduate of Biola University with a degree in Communications, and a minor in Bible. Sherry is also a graduate of the Institute of Children’s Literature. She currently has three books in print, her award-winning book for tween girls titled The Christian Girl’s Guide to Style all about beauty, fashion, and character, Delivered with Love, her debut contemporary novel, as well as The Heart Stone by Abingdon Press. Sherry and her husband have four children, three biological and one by adoption. She lives along the coast in central California.

You can find her on the web at: www.sherrykyle.com.

Connect with Sherry:

TWITTER | FACEBOOK

Alana Terry is a homeschooling mother of three. “The Beloved Daughter” is her debut Christian novel and won second place in the Women of Faith writing contest. Alana is also the author of “A Boy Named Silas,” the story of her son’s complicated medical history and “What, No Sushi?” a children’s chapter book about the Japanese-American internment.

Visit her website at www.alanaterry.com or connect with her on Twitter at www.twitter.com/aboynamedsilas.

Q: Thank you so much for this interview, Alana!  Can you tell us where you are from?

I was born in California, in the Bay Area. I went to college on the East Coast and moved back to California when my husband and I got married.

Q: How did you come up with your title?

The Beloved Daughter is written from a mother to her daughter, and during the novel she often addresses her child. The Beloved Daughter refers to my protagonist’s little girl that she’s writing to, but I suppose you could also take it further and say the protagonist herself is the “beloved daughter” of both her own dad and of God.

Q: They say you can judge a book by its cover.  Can you tell us a little about your cover and who designed it?

I designed the cover myself, which was a lot of fun. I really enjoyed doing two-page spreads when I edited my college newspaper. To make the cover for The Beloved Daughter, I was able to use some of these skills that I hadn’t practiced in about ten years!

Q: Can you tell us something about your book that would make me run out and buy it?

Well, it was a winner in the Women of Faith writing contest, so I know I’m not the only one who thought it was well-written! I’d also recommend it to anyone who is confused or worried about everything they’re hearing about North Korea in the news these days.

Q: Are there any messages in this book that you want the reader to know about?

That suffering is real. That horrible penal colonies are not by-gone artifacts of the 20^th Century. And that sometimes hope can triumph even in such horrific conditions. (But don’t expect a fairy-tale ending, either.)

Q: What was your most favorite chapter to write and why?

I can’t tell you about my all-time favorite chapters because it’d be a total spoiler. So I’ll just say that one chapter I like early on in the book is when my protagonist’s father is brought before an interrogator and displays tremendous courage.

Q: Why did you feel you had to write this book?

I think too many people live their comfortable lives without being stretched at all. They don’t think about what kind of oppression people living today suffer. I wrote The Beloved Daughter to make people uncomfortable, to show them that there’s more to life than the American dream.

Q:  Now, some fun questions – What deep dark secret would you like to share with us?

Hmm… You can’t tell just from my author headshot, but I’m terribly short. I call myself four feet, eleven and a half inches, but I think that’s something of a stretch.

Q: If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would it be and why?

I haven’t seen my grandparents in several years. If I could go anywhere, it would be to visit them and let them spend some time with their great-grandkids.

Q: Are you a morning person or a night person?

Mostly a morning person, but if I’ve got the writing bug you’ll find me at my computer at all kinds of strange hours, day or night.

Q: Are there any members in your family who also like to write?

Yes! My two oldest boys love writing. My seven year-old wants to be a newspaper reporter and always goes around with his notebook interviewing people. My five year-old doesn’t have great penmanship, but he’s an awesome speller and he types super-hero stories on the iPad.

Q: As a child, were you a dreamer?

I was really, really shy as a kid. Painfully shy. I was probably too serious to be a dreamer. I did, however, always want to be an author.

Q: Last but not least, the magic genie has granted you one wish.  What would that be?

The ability to forgo sleep with no ill side effects whatsoever. That way, I could write hours and hours a day without jeopardizing any family time at all!

Q: Thank you so much for this interview! Do you have any final words?

I guess I should warn you that The Beloved Daughter isn’t what you might call light reading. One of my proof-readers had to take several extra days to go over the manuscript, because the story had her crying too hard to check for typos. It’s published as a Christian novel because the protagonist goes to prison because of her father’s faith, but I tried to write it in a way that would appeal to religious and non-religious readers alike.

Oh, and one more thing. If you want to order a copy of The Beloved Daughter AND you want your purchase to help support victims of religious persecution, please consider ordering directly from alanaterry.com. There’s details there about where the proceeds go.

The concept of inspiration is a strange old thing.  Strange because it is indefinable.  Old because people have been wrestling with it since, I suspect, humans became human.  Look at the cave art in Lascaux. Study the work of Aristotle. Reread To Kill a Mockingbird. All human.  All searching for truth.  All inspired.

I’ve been asked by many people what the inspiration was behind the writing of the Bella and Britt series of books for kids.  Here’s the inspiration behind the inspiration:

My husband and I bought a condo on the water in Clearwater Beach, Florida, six years ago.  Although I didn’t know it would, that decision had a profound effect on me.  I watched the marine life on our daily walks and quickly grew to love it all, particularly the brown pelicans.  Those walks opened up a whole new world for me. But they also alerted me to a problem—beach trash.  Beginning to see more and more of it, I found it disturbing.  It was personal.

I met Bella in a sand heart that the tide was just beginning to take away.  Written inside was only the word Bella.  A nugget of a story about a little girl who wanted so badly to save her beach from trash stirred in me. And, of course, it was Bella.  Britt came about two weeks later in the form of a lovely child splashing in the gulf with her parents.

A world event changed the series and brought it into sharp focus:  The Deepwater Horizon oil spill.  I had already written the first book, Bella Saves the Beach. It had been accepted by Guardian Angel Publishing and was scheduled to be published when the spill happened. That changed everything. I spoke with my publisher, Lynda Burch, about the spill.  We both agreed a book about the disaster had to be written, and Bella and Britt were the ones to tell the story. One Pelican at a Time did that. As the old crooked beak pelican that the girls had known all their lives was in the previous book, Bella Saves the Beach, it was a natural fit.

Sea Turtle Summer Sea Turtle Summer came to me, not on a glorious beach with glimmering white sand, but in a stark utilitarian hospital room.  My husband was recovering from back surgery (happily, he’s fine now).  I sat in his hospital room, net book on lap and waited for inspiration to come calling.  And it did, demanding another Bella and Britt book.  About sea turtles.  So I began the book on a frigid February morning in St. Louis and was instantly transported to Clearwater Beach, where the weather was balmy and the beach was getting busy.  A female Loggerhead sea turtle was heading back to the sea, but her nest was in trouble.  Enter Bella and Britt, and the girls and I were off and running.

And there’s that strange thing, inspiration, at work again.  Sea Turtle Summer, I know, was a combination of my many early walks on Clearwater Beach, all the conversations about the plight of sea turtles and time on my hands that morning.

Bella and Britt have tales to tell, cautionary tales.  We hope their stories stay fresh and are varied enough to be heartwarming and—here’s that word again—inspirational. We are all grateful that so many people are paying attention. The girls lead by example.

Nancy is the bestselling and award winning author of the four Bella and Britt Series books for children:  One Pelican at a Time (eighteen weeks on Amazon Bestselling List), Sea Turtle Summer, (which won the Children’s Literary Classic Gold Award), Bella Saves the  Beach (which won the Gold)  and Mystery at Manatee Key.  The authorized biography, Katrina and Winter:  Partners in Courage, is the story of Katrina Simpkins and Winter, the dolphin. One Pelican at a Time and Nancy were featured in the PBS Tampa special, GulfWatch.   All are published by Guardian Angel Publishing.

Nancy is a frequent speaker and presenter at writer’s conferences throughout the United States.  She conducts workshops and seminars and speaks to school children on writing and helping save their planet.  A blogger with a worldwide audience, she writes of all things pertaining to children’s literature.

Nancy’s travels take her extensively throughout the world, most particularly Africa. She is US chair of a charity in Lamu, Kenya, that places girls in intermediate schools to allow them to further their education.   She and her husband live in Tampa and St. Louis.

WEBSITE – BLOG – FACEBOOK – TWITTER

Is There More To Tickling Daphne H. Than Meets The Eye?

By Veronica Frances

At first blush, some people might come to the conclusion that Tickling Daphne H. is a lighthearted, fun romance. The cover perhaps gives that impression. But isn’t it true what they say, that you can’t judge a book by its cover? Is there more to Tickling Daphne H.than meets the eye?

Tickling Daphne H.is indeed a love story and it does have some very fun and romantic moments. However, lighthearted would not be the word I would use to describe it.

One reader recently commented that she expected Tickling Daphne H. to be primarily a light, chick lit kind of a novel, based on the fact that the book’s subject matter is tickling. Instead of finding a lighthearted ticklish tale, she found characters behaving in ways that didn’t seem typical, definitely not fitting your every day romance novel.

Tickling has many faces and comes in many flavors. It can be romantic and fun.But it can also be incredibly hot, naughty, and fraught with BDSM, as is the case with Tickling Daphne H.

I am not one to write light, fluffy stories. I am all about creating heated situations, intense challenging characters and breaking the mold. What is socially acceptable in real life does not matter in fiction, at least not to me. It is all about unusual people, living on the edge of their fervent, steamy lives.

Daphne is an intense and feisty character. Is it any wonder why it is so much fun to tickle her? Some people have asked me why I made her so bratty and difficult and I tell them this;if she were a bland, agreeable character, there would be no story. I feel that in fiction, the more challenges the characters face, the more there is to write about. I feel that to be especially true if the challenges that the characters face are on an emotional level.

Daphne and Dave are two very complex characters. There is much more to discover about them as time goes onand as they both get closer and closer to each other, and the truth about their tickling obsessions.

People want to know what to expect as they enter the mysterious realms of Daphne’s ticklish life. As the author of Tickling Daphne H., I can honestly say that the characters continuously surprised me.  Even I did not always know from moment to moment what directions the characters and plot would take.

I can tell you this much. Expect to be taken into a world where laughter and erotica are intertwined and where the characters are caught between their tickling desires and common sense. Daphne’s life is but a feather, yet it is not a light journey. It is an intense journey, where boundaries are few and desires are plentiful.

You may be wondering what kind of emotions this thick, intense tickling novel might evoke in you. You might wonder, is tickling really the gateway to sex? Is it really the vehicle to a kind of pleasure that some people only dream about?

The answer to those questions lie beneath the lighthearted cover of Tickling Daphne H.

————————–

Veronica Frances is the pseudonym for a creative writer, residing in New York City. She has had a love of tickling for her entire life. She enjoys singing and writing songs. She also writes non-fiction and poetry.

Her latest book is Tickling Daphne H.

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The Story Behind the Book

Part 1: The Inspiration (Lindsey Pogue)

It all began with two women, a longish car ride, and a lot of passion and inspiration…

For most of our lives, we’ve both been conjuring up fantastical worlds, heroes, and leading ladies, but neither of us had the confidence to do much with our passion for writing–that is until October of 2011, when we were on a several hour car ride back from an exhaustingly awesome NCIBA (Northern California Independent Booksellers Association) conference on behalf of Copperfield Books in Napa. LF, being the science fiction and fantasy connoisseur that she is, got to talking about an idea for a blog–a correspondence between two friends as they experience the end of the world. We started brainstorming, developing our characters, a name for the project, and so on. Apparently all we needed was a seed of mutual enthusiasm, a sprig of inspiration from all the authors we met at the conference, and a spark of intrigue as we browsed the endless tables of lavish book covers to get our creative juices flowing, and…dun dun dunnn…Team Lindsey was born. With that car ride, we embarked on the After The Ending journey that would inevitably change our lives.

As a result of our enthusiasm and collaboration over the last couple years, After The Ending has gone through so many different stages that it’s become a completely different project from the one we initially set out to create. While the concept and storyline has essentially remained the same, the format of our work has gone through multiple revisions, transforming from the original online blog version into the nearly 500-page book that was finally published.

Because our initial idea was to start a blog where our two characters documented their apocalyptic survival experiences solely conveyed through emails, we started off writing in first person…and only in the format of emails between Zoe and Dani. It didn’t take us too long to realize that we were severely limiting the story that Zoe and Dani had to tell. Halfway through the storyline, we realized we were unable to convey the depth, dynamics, and true nature of our characters because we only allowed the reader to see them through their silly, realistic, and sometimes melodramatic emails. We wanted more! We wanted to share our characters in a way the emails wouldn’t allow, so we did a complete overhaul of everything we’d written, twice–first combining the emails with third person narration only then to rewrite the narration in first person. Happily, this not only enabled us to learn more about our characters, but it allows our readers to see beyond their quirky emails–to see our leading ladies as they truly are, including their fears, passions, and even their secrets.

Since we made the change, we haven’t looked back. Even though we decided to write the entire series in first person POV, we’ve come to realize that we don’t have to limit ourselves to Zoe and Dani’s perspectives. There’s still a lot of story left to tell, and the two young women are only part of the world of The Ending.

Part 2: Getting Published (Lindsey Fairleigh)

First off, I want to say that we published independently, meaning an outside party didn’t coordinate the actual publication process for After The Ending. We had our sticky little fingers in everything from the writing (one would hope) to the creation of the cover and the formatting of manuscripts. Unsurprisingly, the question many people ask us is, “Don’t you want a real publisher?”

We’ll be the first to admit that we’ve thought about it…a lot. We sat down one afternoon shortly after the first draft was completed and spent hours drafting a query letter to send to traditional publishers, and we later spent more hours revising said letter. But, we never sent it. As we wrote and worked with editors and created covers, we talked about sending it…and talked about it…and talked about it, but there was a point where the book was so close to being publishable that we thought, why not try doing it alone? We loved the book, loved the characters and how they handled everything that we threw at them, and simply loved the world we’d created together. It seemed a bit of a shame to hand our literary baby over to someone else’s care.

I’m not going to go into the tedious details of publishing independently–and believe me, there are many details and most are tedious–but I have to say that a few services like createspace, Kindle Direct Publishing, and Lightning Source are amazing for the new-to-publishing indie authors like us. Of course, there are countless, tireless blogger-authors who devote hours every day to helping their fellow authors achieve their publishing dreams–people like Joanna Penn, J.A. Konrath, and the trio of fellas behind the Self Publishing Podcast–without whom we’d probably still be bumbling along through the brambles of the publishing world.

It’s definitely been a lot scarier–though I don’t really have anything to compare indie publishing to…this is my first book, so I’ve never worked with a traditional publisher–than I’d imagine the traditional publishing route to be, but also a lot faster. It’s also been a lot of work, far beyond the writing of the manuscript…which was a lot of work in and of itself. But in the end, it was worth it.

With blood, sweat, tears, and tired fingers and eyes, we managed to navigate the choppy publishing waters…independently, and we’ve never experienced anything more rewarding. I’m putting words in LP’s mouth, but I spend enough time with her to be certain she’d agree. After The Ending was the first book either of us published or had published, and thinking about readers’ responses sometimes brings me to tears…happy tears. Book two, Into The Fire, is well on its way, and other than smoothing out some of the bumps in the road, we have no problems staying on the independent route.

Purchase After the Ending at Amazon!

Lindsey Fairleigh lives her life with one foot in a book—as long as that book transports her to a magical world or bends the rules of science. Her novels, from post-apocalyptic to time travel and historical fantasy, always offer up a hearty dose of unreality, along with plenty of adventure and romance. When she’s not working on her next novel, Lindsey spends her time reading and trying out new recipes in the kitchen. She lives in the Napa Valley with her loving husband and confused cats. You can visit Lindsey’s blog at lindseyfairleigh.blogspot.com.

Lindsey Pogue has always been a little creative. As a child she established a bug hospital on her elementary school soccer field, compiled books of collages as a teenager, and as an adult, expresses herself through writing. Her novels are inspired by her observations of the world around her—whether she’s traveling, people watching, or hiking. When not plotting her next storyline or dreaming up new, brooding characters, Lindsey’s wrapped in blankets watching her favorite action flicks or going on road trips with her own leading man. You can visit Lindsey’s blog at lindseypogue.wordpress.com.

WEBSITE | TWITTER| FACEBOOK |

We have the most interesting guest today.  Dilruba Z. Ara is here to talk about her new book, A List of Offences, why she felt she needed to write it and why she would love to open an orphanage in Bangladesh.  Enjoy!

Q: Thank you so much for this interview, Dilruba. Can you tell us where you are from?

I was born in East Pakistan, which is now Bangladesh. I have lived in Sweden all my adult life.

Q: How did you come up with your title?

At my parents’ home we had an errand boy, who had written a similar list under a similar title that I had found. It was his cousin, another servant at our home, who used to punish him. This title seemed very apt for my book, as it showed me how even a little power can turn a person into a bully, and how easily one can take advantage of another person’s weakness.

Q: They say you can judge a book by its cover. Can you tell us a little about your cover and who designed it?

The cover shows a girl in a boat, with white hair that falls down and becomes one with the river. Her face is jaded, representing numerous women in the subcontinent. Water symbolizes the girl on the boat, whose name is Daria (river). She was born with white hair, and her mother had conceived her after taking ritual bath with river water… The river is a metaphor for the trajectory of Daria’s life. From the moment of her birth, Daria has to navigate and overcome the chaotic waves of personal crises as she tries to find her true purpose. I painted it after writing the book

Q: Can you tell us something about your book that would make me run out and buy it?

It will introduce you to an unfamiliar country, customs, and culture, and it will remind you of the fact that many girls and women are dominated by family oppression. But it remains, I hope, a beautiful story you will find worth reading.

Q: Are there any messages in this book that you want the reader to know about?

I want them to be aware of the fact that even in our time women are being repressed within their own families. We need to take responsibility and do whatever we can to help girls in such situations. There are many girls who are disowned because their families follow rules set by the communities they live in.

Q: What was your most favorite chapter to write and why?

Humm. Difficult question. But I think it has to be the last chapter, because here Daria stands up and makes her own decision.

Q: Why did you feel you had to write this book?

Crimes of honor have been a timeless issue in many parts of the world, and you will find similar stories in the media almost every day. But I wanted to give readers a good in-depth story to go with the facts, so that they are able to put themselves in the place of the victims.

Q:  Now, some fun questions – What deep dark secret would you like to share with us?

I can dream away for hours, and then I punish myself by going to gym.

Q: If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would it be and why?

I think I would like to travel to South America ‒ Ecuador University Faculty of Law. Because they are advertising A List of Offences on their homepage. I would like to speak with the students and the webmaster, and find out why and how a literary novel like this can find a place there.

Q: Are you a morning person or a night person?

Night person.

Q: Are there any members in your family who also like to write?

Yes. Both my parents are writers. My father was well-known.

Q: As a child, were you a dreamer?

Yes. I used to live inside the stories I read or heard.

Q: Last but not least, the magic genie has granted you one wish.  What would that be?

I would like to open an orphanage for girls in Bangladesh.

Q: Thank you so much for this interview! Do you have any final words?

As for final words, it’s about taking responsibility and do whatever we can to make a difference. Thank you.

———— ABOUT DILRUBA Z. ARA ————-

Dilruba Z. Ara was born in Bangladesh. Nurtured on Greek mythology by her father, and hearing Indian fairy  tales as bedtime stories from her mother, Dilruba had her first story published when she was eight years old. While in university at the age of twenty, she met  and married her husband, a Swedish Air Force officer, and moved to Sweden, where she obtained degrees in English, Swedish, Classical Arabic and linguistics. She now teaches Swedish and English in Sweden. An accomplished, exhibited artist, her paintings have been used as the covers for the Bangladeshi, Greek, and U.S. editions of A LIST OF OFFENCES.

Visit her website at www.dilrubazara.com.

———— ABOUT A LIST OF OFFENCES ————-

Daria, the heroine of the book is born under unusual circumstances that cause the people of her small village to gossip; yet as she grows she becomes an intelligent, sensitive and spiritual beauty that one feels is destined for a perfect life. After a flood, a boy is found on the bank of her river. Daria’s parents adopt the boy, and Daria befriends him. As they grow Daria begins to inhabit Mizan’s dreams and thoughts, but a sudden meeting with anglophile Ali Baba brings everything crashing down around Daria. She forgets her upbringing and falls madly in love with him and after her hasty wedding, she moves to Baba Lodge and is brought into the suffocating life of Ali Baba and his family.

Here she lives a life unloved and psychologically abused until she gets pregnant. Now she begins to hope that finally her potential for love, luck and happiness will be realised through her new-born child. Yet relations between Daria and her in-laws deteriorate further. Daria finds herself torn between the religious mandate of Islam to stay with and obey her husband and the call of her intellect and instincts to flee and forge a different life for her daughter.

Purchase your copy at Amazon.

Jim Kraus is a longtime writer and editor who has authored or co-authored more than 20 books, both fiction and nonfiction. His best-selling humor book, Bloopers, Blunders, Jokes, Quips, and Quotes, was published by Tyndale House Publishers, sold more than 40,000 copies and inspired several spin-off books. Jim, and his wife, novelist Terri Kraus, and one son, live in the Chicago area.

Also residing with them is a sweet and gentle miniature schnauzer named Rufus. Coincidently, Rufus is also the name of the dog in Jim’s recent book, The Dog That Talked to God. “What a coincidence,” Jim said. “What are the odds of that happening?” They also share space with an ill-tempered Siberian cat named Petey. Coincidently, Petey is the name of the cat in Jim’s most current book, The Cat That God Sent, by Abingdon Press.

Jim recently was awarded a Master of Writing Arts degree from DePaul University. “Now, I am able to write more better,” Jim said. (Yes, that is supposed to be humorous.)

Passionate about writing, Jim loves to create true-to-life characters. “I tend to be the one at the party that is on the edge of things–observing how folks act and react. Plus, I’m not that crazy about people in general–so it works out fine.” (Again, it’s supposed to be funny.)

Visit his website at www.jimkraus.com.

—————————————

Q: Thank you so much for this interview, Jim!  Can you tell us where you are from?

I was born and grew up in Western Pennsylvania—first in Butler, then Jeannette.  I’ve lived in the Chicago area for 35 years.

Q: How did you come up with your title?

We also have a cat, Petey, a Siberian, who has deemed us as suitable hosts. Once he saw that dog book, there was no way to keep him appeased.

I wrote a book called The Dog that Talked to God published by Abingdon Press. Much to my surprise, it did pretty well and hit the Christian Booksellers Association’s bestseller list.  It is also a finalist for the Evangelical Christian Publishers Book of the Year Award/Fiction. Rufus, the dog in the story, a miniature schnauzer, was modeled after our dog, also a miniature schnauzer, also called Rufus. (I mean—what are the odds of that happening?)

So The Cat that God Sent was born out of that. It seemed logical to follow a dog book with a cat book.

Q: They say you can judge a book by its cover.  Can you tell us a little about your cover and who designed it?

I’m not sure of the designer—but the folks at Abingdon did a wonderful job with it. The cat that they found for the cover was a perfect fit, and seemed to possess all the characteristics that the cat in the book possessed. They both have an innate sense of grace, of awareness, and inscrutability.

Q: Can you tell us something about your book that would make me run out and buy it?

The story features a cat that thinks it is smarter than everyone else in the story . . . oh, wait . . . all cats think that. At least ours does.

Perhaps one compelling feature is the believability of the characters—and the winsomeness of the cat that interrupts their lives.

One of the big questions in the book is: Does God, or would he, use cats to reach people?

I think he could.

Q: Are there any messages in this book that you want the reader to know about?

I would want a reader to be open to a bigger universe of possibilities—not in the science fiction sort of way—but to be aware of the amazing intricacies of our world—the world that God created.

Q: What was your most favorite chapter to write and why?

Chapter? My book has chapters?

Actually, as I write, I never use chapter breaks. They come after the book is written—and most often my wife, Terri, also an accomplished author, inserts them.

I’ll make this question easy on myself and say Chapter One. Not only do I get to introduce two of the main characters, I get to set the pace and tone. It took a few tries to get Petey’s voice right.

Q: Why did you feel you had to write this book?

Uhhh . . . because I had signed a contract?

No, seriously, I truly love telling stories. My father was a great storyteller. I would listen, spellbound, to his tales of growing up in Homestead, PA, and his time in the “old country” (Romania).

His stories always had truth and wisdom and humor in them—and that is a large part of my motivation as well:  make the story “true,” and make it memorable and illuminating. And have a few laughs along the way.

Q:  Now, some fun questions – What deep dark secret would you like to share with us?

I have never really learned how to type. I’ve written a bunch of books and still can only manage to type with five fingers . . . sometimes six.

If I had a time machine, the one thing I would absolutely change is to go back to 11^th grade and sign up for Mr. Singer’s Typing class. (New IBM Selectric typewriters!).

But then again . . . maybe I can type only as fast as I think.

Q: If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would it be and why?

Can I give you two places?

One would be New Zealand. My wife and I were fortunate to travel there a few years back, and fell in love with the place. It is truly magical. I’m waiting until the tectonic plates shift and it comes closer to America. No one should have to spend 20 hours on a plane to get to anywhere.

And two:

This would be a small town, with sidewalks and a small downtown area with three good restaurants on a small lake and I would be living in a small two-story Victorian cottage (with decent plumbing) on the lake and I would be able to walk to a coffee shop in the morning, get the newspaper, and read until mid-morning. I’m still looking for that place.

Q: Are you a morning person or a night person?

Morning.

The alarm is set for 5:05 and has not actually rung in years. I am up by 5:04 to shut it off before the buzzer.

I like the quiet. I like the dark. And the noble dog Rufus has to go for an early walk.

Q: Are there any members in your family who also like to write?

I mentioned my father.  After he retired from his career of running a small retail bakery, he sat down and wrote out, in pencil, a 200-page autobiography. I have the original copy—a treasured item.

And of course my wife Terri, as mentioned before. (Check out her website:  www.terrikraus.com.  Can I cross promote here?)

Q: As a child, were you a dreamer?

I don’t think so. Maybe I was. I was the last of five. Maybe that last position has bearing on who I became. I recall, early in my life, being facile with words and being able to describe things in a different way than others did. I am also on the shy side, so I spend a lot of time observing—standing at the edge of things. Observing human nature carefully helps in crafting real-life characters on paper.

Q: Last but not least, the magic genie has granted you one wish.  What would that be?

Can I ask for three more wishes?

No, too clichéd, I know.

World peace?

Seriously . . .

I would love to find that place described above—the little town on the lake (with a house I could afford) so Terri and I could spend the rest of our lives “discussing” which early bird special to take advantage of, and whether tonight’s sunset was more beautiful than last night’s sunset.

And I would have two schnauzers.

And a Ferrari.

Q: Thank you so much for this interview! Do you have any final words?

Here’s a few:

Ring the bells that still can ring,

Forget your perfect offering.

There is a crack in everything.

That’s how the light gets in.

(Leonard Cohen)

Title of Book: A LIST OF OFFENCES
Genre: Women’s Fiction
Author: Dilruba Z. Ara
Website: www.dilrubazara.com
Publisher: CreateSpace

PURCHASE A LIST OF OFFENCES HERE

SUMMARY:

Daria, the heroine of the book is born under unusual circumstances that cause the people of her small village to gossip; yet as she grows she becomes an intelligent, sensitive and spiritual beauty that one feels is destined for a perfect life. After a flood, a boy is found on the bank of her river. Daria’s parents adopt the boy, and Daria befriends him. As they grow Daria begins to inhabit Mizan’s dreams and thoughts, but a sudden meeting with anglophile Ali Baba brings everything crashing down around Daria. She forgets her upbringing and falls madly in love with him and after her hasty wedding, she moves to Baba Lodge and is brought into the suffocating life of Ali Baba and his family.

Here she lives a life unloved and psychologically abused until she gets pregnant. Now she begins to hope that finally her potential for love, luck and happiness will be realised through her new-born child. Yet relations between Daria and her in-laws deteriorate further. Daria finds herself torn between the religious mandate of Islam to stay with and obey her husband and the call of her intellect and instincts to flee and forge a different life for her daughter.

FIRST CHAPTER

A Bottle of River Water

A whisper went round the little village of Gulab Ganga during the days around Daria’s birth. It said, “Jharna Begum, Daria’s Ammu, defied God when she refused to give up the thought of having a daughter.” She had her four sons, three miscarriages and one stillborn daughter. But yet she couldn’t accept the idea of not having a daughter in her lap. When the most trusted doctor in the neighbourhood advised her against trying to get pregnant, she, like many in her dilemma, decided to get help from supernatural sources. The road there would be reached by means of a man, who claimed to be a Pir, a spiritual person. He lived on the outskirts of Gulab Ganga. A good many people went to him to catch cattle thieves and poachers, a good many went to get better crops, a good many wished to be cured of some incurable diseases, and a good many wished for a male heir to carry on the family name. And on rare occasions, someone would actually call on him to get a female child; to light up a family with only male offspring. And this was partly true in the case of Jharna Begum, Daria’s Ammu, but mainly it was because she felt half a woman without a daughter.

It was exactly one year before Daria’s birth that Jharna Begum woke up on one occasion at a time that was neither morning nor night; night’s blackness was slowly oozing away at the touch of first light. A soft and transparent time, that could be called morning-night. She washed herself, took a bath, said her morning prayers, read some verses in the holy Quran. Then on an empty stomach, wrapped a shawl round her shoulders, opened the safe and took out a bundle of notes. Some fresh and crisp. Some dirty and limp. She put the money in her bag and sidled out of the room. Azad Chaudhury, her husband, was away on business and that suited her very well, because he wouldn’t have approved of her going to meet a Pir, whose credibility was dubious. The rest of the family was asleep. She took a deep breath, crossed the front veranda and stepped down onto the ground along the left gable of the house. She continued to the stable that was further off in the same direction. There she met the servant boy Gafur and the housemaid Gulabi. She told Gafur to keep guard on the house for an hour. After a moment, she was seated in the coach with Gulabi and the coachman, Abdullah, on her way to the Pir, the saint, who was to serve as a link between her and the supernatural powers.

It was a humid morning. The ground was covered with dew. On the horizon white haze rolled softly, blurring the contours and colours of everything. Beyond that the river sparkled in the first glow of the morning sun and some fishermen cast their nets in it; fishnets shimmered in the air like dewy cobwebs before falling into the water, but the haze blocked the view. The wagon picked its way in between the chequered boards of rice-fields. Sometimes it rattled; sometimes it thudded on the bumpy earthen road. Jharna Begum sat erect, her lips moving. Most probably reciting holy verses. Alongside the road some peasants were already at work. Some bent over the water-covered field to set rice plants, and some ploughed; peasant feet submerged up to the ankles in the muddy water; peasant hands disappearing under the water to transplant rice seedlings.

The Pir (said to be) lived in a small hut on the outskirts of the village. It was made of mud and bamboo canes with a sloping hay roof and stood in the middle of beaten ground surrounded by sprawling bamboo clusters that were partially veiled by the grey mist. From behind the hut an old mango tree spread its branches over the low roof. Haze lingered among the foliage of this tree as well, but just above the roof Jharna Begum could discern some baby mangoes. Grey-green, round and wet, silently growing out of hardness. A skinny hen walked on the patch of ground in front of the hut pecking at whatever it could find; a few dragonflies sat lazily on a tuft of withered grass-straws. A breeze blew, carrying a scent of water and river. The mango leaves hummed. The bamboo leaves whispered. Gulabi remained standing on the spot. Jharna Begum took a deep breath and approached the hut.

The room was murky in spite of the hurricane lamp that hung from the ceiling. Soft shadows danced on the walls as the tongue of the flame flickered inside the soot smeared glass. Major parts of the walls were plastered with various pictures from the holy city of Mecca. High stepping camels and Bedouins, dusty date trees around oases, scalp-shorn-men — pilgrims-in-white, women — pilgrims-in-black, the black holy stone and the white gathering around it. The only window was covered with a drape. In one corner out of a small brass bowl rose a fine stream of smoke; scents of sandalwood, camphor, incense and rose essence. An earthy dampness hung in the room.

The Pir was seated on the floor on a mat. He received Jharna Begum with due respect and asked her to settle down opposite him. She was hesitant; nevertheless she obeyed him as though in a trance. Perspiration gleamed above her lips, studded the tip of her nose, and her forehead. It grew in her armpits and between the fold of her breasts. A sweaty fear crawled down her back and she swallowed a lump of saliva. Words pounded in her head, while her stomach was hard like a tight fist. But she wouldn’t give in to her nervousness. So, gathering up her courage, she began to talk. Her voice trembled, tongue dried out. Words came out of her tense mouth; first staccato and then woven together into meaningful sentences. The man murmured and nodded.

After half an hour when Jharna Begum took the coach home, the sun had risen to a higher level in the sky. It was white. The haze had resolved into a fluttering piece of transparent cloth. She put her chin on the windowsill and looked out. Windblown ringlets danced on her temples. Her eyes saw the pale green rice plants, the mud coloured peasants with their mud coloured feet and hands under the muddy water, the tilting wicker-hats on their heads, the pelvic zone of a cow that lifted its tail to drop some dung, gleaming sun on the tails of diving kingfishers, and the shimmering river beyond; but with her heart she saw a baby girl. A baby girl in her arms. In her hands she held a green bottle. A bottle filled with enchanted water. Water, which would help her to mother a baby girl. Now she just had to ensure that one of her servants collected natural water for her by pressing the brim of an earthen pot against the stream of the river. Seven Thursdays she would bathe in that water eked out with the enchanted water she now had in that tiny green bottle in her hands. Imagine getting a baby girl! To get a baby at such an age! Forty years! God, Allah, the almighty. At such an age one should only wait for death to come. At such an age it was entirely legitimate to die, it was a well-acknowledged die-able age. But instead she was preparing to give life to a new human baby. A baby girl. Jharna Begum felt a mysterious wave of contentment sweeping over her. While the morning breeze, now crisp from the warming sun, fondled her face, she smiled. Like a child who had found the very bottle with the genie. She held the precious bottle tenderly. Azad Chaudhury was, of course, a little bit worried about his wife’s sudden obsession with the matutinal baths on Thursday mornings. But he decided to humour her. And therefore, he even went to bed with her as per her wish after her ritual baths with that magical water. They built and furnished a small room in the furthest end of the dwelling. The rest of the family members were told that Jharna Begum’s physical condition demanded total seclusion from daily life. Initially Azad Chaudhury had thought it would be unnecessary to build a new room only for seven Thursday mornings. But, soon, very soon, he changed his mind. For it didn’t really take him too long to realize that he enjoyed every second, every infinitesimal fraction of each second he spent there together with his wife. In secret they called this room ‘the love nest’ (even though the phrase sounded banal in their experienced ears). Within the four walls of that nest after twenty years of marriage they once again experienced the ecstasy of newly found love.

On those warm, fairy tale like mornings Azad Chaudhury, propped against the pillow, would look at his wife’s slender body and think that he had never seen her like that before. He licked her feet, her soles, her insteps, kissed her on her kneecaps, tickled her belly, felt the perfect curves of her round shoulders against the cups of his large palms, oiled her with coconut oil, and rubbed her gently. Her eyes would darken, the world beyond the dark blue curtain on the window would slowly brighten but inside they would be lost. She touched his hairy stomach, tugged at his nipples, let her nails run up and down across his body hair and create parallel lines like a farmer furrowing a land and leaving plough marks. Both would have gooseflesh on their skin, his Adam’s apple would move restlessly and she would swallow saliva. They would fondle each other, taste each other’s secret smells and drown in each other’s eyes. His warm palms against hers, his fingers intertwining hers, the soles of her feet rubbing gently on the back of his feet they would reach the climax. Later during the course of the day they would recognise each other’s private smells in their nostrils, and they would exchange furtive glances.

Considering all this passionate lovemaking, it was probably not a miracle that Jharna Begum soon got pregnant. But with the realisation both she and Azad Chaudhury reacted as though a miracle really had happened. As though the genie really had escaped from the green bottle to fulfil their dreams. They started to cry and laugh. They cried for a moment, laughed a moment, hugged each other, cried again, licked each other’s tears and lay down. They slept a while, woke for a while, embraced each other, whispered soft words and fell asleep again. When the pregnancy advanced, Azad Chaudhury saw to it that Jharna Begum was not in want of anything. He heaped over her gifts and tenderness and fulfilled all her strange whims, such as those which only suit a

pregnant woman.

If she wished for hot peanuts with salt and pepper, she was served that; if she longed for roasted green mangoes blended with crushed red chillies she was given that too. If she craved for ripened tamarinds those were also procured. One midnight she woke up and declared that she must have grilled Ilsha fish, alias silver fish. Now this fish is famous for its silvery scales, and when it comes to taste, it’s absolutely delicious.

But, unfortunately, it was not the season for this fish. Still, early the following morning Azad Chaudhury himself paid a visit to the nearby fishing community. He held out a leather pouch filled with coins (silvery and golden) and said that the one who was able to catch a couple of Ilsha fish before the next dawn, would be rewarded with the bag and its entire contents. The fish was caught, grilled and served on a silver platter at dinner. The dish so suited Jharna Begum’s taste buds that soon it became a permanent part of the family’s meals during the rest of Jharna Begum’s pregnancy. She was contented, and into the bargain a handful of fishermen got slightly richer than they had bargained for.

The Neighbourhood Talked.

On winter evenings snuggling in homemade quilts the villagers huddled around outdoor fires under the gaze of stars. They smoked hookahs, ate grilled sweet potatoes and whispered tales. Witchy tales. Wintry tales. Tales spiced with the chill of winter evening. Painted with the vibrant colours of the fire and cinders in the middle of them. They fed the fire with reeds and kindling that cracked and died in the flames, and they fedtheir ravenous minds with fabulous tales about Jharna Begum and the baby that was thriving in her belly. Before long it was heard that Jharna Begum was obsessed with the fish dish because the man who had given her the green bottle with the magical water, had proclaimed that she would give birth to a girl with hair the colour of ‘silver fish’. Some said she was carrying a mermaid, half-fish, half-human. Pregnant women avoided the sight of her in fear that the very sight of her might hamper the growth of the babies in their wombs. It was strange how one strange rumour gave birth to another, stranger one. Some even claimed that Jharna Begum really possessed the bottle with a genie. It was, however, poor Gulabi who had to face all these torpedoes of vicious remarks about Jharna Begum’s pregnancy. Whenever she showed herself outside the house boundary she was attacked by the neighbouring women. They relentlessly pestered her with ridiculous questions and soon she started to complain about these gossips. Jharna Begum listened patiently to her. But dismissed her anxiety with hearty laughter. Without appearing to be condescending or angry she completely disregarded the complaints and left Gulabi speechless, and as usual continued to send the servant boy, Gafur, to the fishermen to
get the fish every morning. The fish was prepared and cooked under her supervision. When she ate it, she ate it with such relish that soon Gulabi and others realised that it was no use trying to change her craving.

The four boys — Hadi, Jami, Sami and Sadi — who were between eight and twelve years old, had not yet the slightest idea why their father no longer took his usual trips to the other parts of the country. He was always at home. Only they continued as usual. They went to school, read the holy Quran every Thursday, did their home-work, played with one another, fought with one another, and when angry, railed on one another. Gulabi saw to it that their nails were clean, hair oiled, hands washed; that they had milk warm from the cow for breakfast, and that
they turned in on time.

Daria was born on a bright day. It was towards the end of May, just before the onset of the rainy season. The time was precisely twelve o’clock. The sun was hot and cruel. The sky was absolutely white and so was the baby girl’s hair. It was white. Silvery white. Alarmingly white. Very white. At the sight of the hair colour, a scream died in the bewildered midwife’s chest and at the same time her bladder gave way, making her thighs wet. The midwife’s face was glistening with tears, but she was struck like a statue, as though fixed by the mesmeric eye of calamity. Kneeling down between Jharna Begum’s legs, she held Daria’s tiny body in her hands, her head bent over it, her hot urine collecting under it, the navel cord still hanging loosely down the vagina of Jharna Begum. The whole thing was something akin to a scene at an altar.

And Gulabi, who had been witnessing the scene with a hurricane lamp poised in mid-air, took a while before she could even begin to grasp the nature of the incident; the stench from the urine smelled old, contaminating, of grief and troubles. Gulabi shuddered and gasped as the true scandal of the incident swam into her consciousness. She stood dumb-founded for fully two minutes before returning to her senses. But, once out of her perplexity, she hastily placed the lamp on a bedside table, bent down, cut the umbilical cord, and snatched Daria out of the midwife’s baffled, rigid hands. It was then Daria gave her first cry, relieving all others, and also shocking the midwife back to reality. Gulabi cleaned Daria thoroughly, even her nostrils, before swaddling
her in a soft piece of cloth to put her to her mother’s nipple, where milk had already started to flow. And the midwife, soiled by her own urine and the refuse from Jharna Begum’s uterus, withdrew to a corner.

Even in those days the dwelling house was two storeyed. The walls were made of bricks and the flat roof of corrugated tin. The rooms stood in a row one after another. Two deep verandas ran along the front and rear side of both stories, and a wooden flight of stairs connected the back veranda to the first floor. A small patch of land separated the main house from the kitchen while on the front was a rather big patch of land. There grew fruit and flowers, papayas, mangoes and jackfruits, bananas and coconuts, tuberoses and jasmines, marigolds and land lotuses. Today the flowers glimmered in the sunshine and it was impossible to avoid the numbing sick-sweet aroma emitted by the sweating jasmine flowers. The mango trees were filled with mango blossoms. The boughs on the jackfruit trees bent under the weight of the fruits. The sugar bananas, very yellow, waited expectantly to be harvested. Hot green leaves sheltered the buzzing bees. Blue bottles
hummed. Crows and jackdaws feasted to fulfilment. It was a hot, humid and fruity atmosphere as in a green house.

The climate in the birth-chamber was somewhat cooler in comparison to that of the outside world. The grey cemented floor and the bare white walls were cool; the room was clinically clean just as a birth-chamber should be. The doors and windows were closed making the room half-shadowy. And to add to its clinical element it smelled of camphor, incense and rose water. Daria’s Nanu (maternal grandmother) Salma Begum and Fufu (paternal aunt) Fatima sat in one corner. They too had temporarily lost their speech at the sight of the baby. But the child’s scream readily brought them back to the present. And both of them began to recite Quranic verses with such gravity that an outsider would easily have mistaken the room to have been designed for mourning. Surely you mourn for the deceased in a hospital room, and you rejoice for the newborns. Today of all days Jharna Begum would have liked to rejoice at her daughter’s arrival, she would have liked to sing the praises of God, she would have liked to extol him boisterously, she would have liked to thank him. But these two women turned the room into a mourning chamber, they made the atmosphere heavy, gloomy. Unnecessarily sad. Was it because of the poor midwife’s mishap? Was that the reason, Jharna Begum wondered?

But it was only an accident. Or, was it because the child’s hair had such a rare colour? Jharna Begum sighed. Strangely enough, she didn’t feel any irritation but a feeling of familiar indifference. She knew that it was no use trying to make others understand her feelings. In the soft light of a hurricane lamp she looked tenderly at her daughter’s swollen cheeks, the closed eyelids, the red mouth and two tiny nostrils. Jharna Begum repeated with a contented voice: water-baby, water-baby. Then she sighed
again.

Having performed the Jummah prayers in the mosque, Azad Chaudhury had just returned home together with the quartet, Hadi, Jami, Sami and Sadi. It was Gulabi who was waiting anxiously for him on the veranda. She told him about the newborn, took the prayer rug from his hands, and ushered away the boys to a different room. Azad Chaudhury looked very pleased and with a smile on his face he pushed opened the wooden door, and stepped inside. He halted for a few seconds in the semi-darkened room. As his eyes got used to the darkness he greeted his mother-in-law and then turning towards Gulabi said, “Open the window shutters!”

His mother in-law, Salma Begum, stopped murmuring. And so did his sister Fatima. There was a sudden silence. It took a while before Salma Begum shrieked in her frail, shrill voice, “You can’t let midday wind flow freely into a delivery room.”

Azad Chaudhury looked for a while at the old lady. His brown eyes were soft and polite. Without attempting to dispute the old one, he explained.

“Excuse me, Amma. But, I would like to see my daughter’s face in the daylight.” Salma Begum shook her head.

“Enough harm has already been done to the baby.”

“Like what?” Azad Chaudhury was surprised.

“The midwife…” Her words failed, she couldn’t bring herself to tell her son-in-law about the mishap. It embarrassed her. Her fingers clutched at the tasbhi in her hand.

Azad Chaudhury looked at the face of his mother-in-law, who looked beyond him. He then turned to Gulabi.
“What happened? What has the midwife done, Gulabi?”

“Abbaji…” Gulabi hesitated and then said, “nothing to worry about.

I’ve taken care of it. I’ve washed the baby. I’ve even cleaned her nostrils.”

“Nostrils!” Azad Chaudhury was even more puzzled.

“Yes, so that she shouldn’t remember the stench.”

“Stench of what?”

Gulabi was by now already regretting having said too much. She fell quiet. Not knowing how to answer she looked helplessly at Salma Begum.

The old lady shook her head and then said, “You had better ask your wife in private. As for the window, you may open it for a while. But it’s no good for a newborn. Midday wind carries evil spirits.”

Azad Chaudhury nodded thoughtfully, all but satisfied with the riddling answers. But he gave in, and once again asked Gulabi to open the shutters. The two shutters were opened. A sparkling parallelogram of sunlight fell on the floor. White walls became whiter. The cool floor became warmer. Azad Chaudhury took two steps towards the bed. He bent over it. There was suddenly that awkward silence again. Very silent.

Very tense. While the taut silence bounced against the four empty walls, Azad Chaudhury’s pupils widened, his spine hardened.

The child had violet eyes rimmed with black lashes, and she already had a pair of eyebrows shaped like the wings of a soaring gull. Her cheeks were chubby, smooth and fresh like any newborn. Her lips red as ruby. But her hair was silvery white. Ever so white. White like the tops of the Himalayas. Azad Chaudhury could think of nothing to say but murmur prayers. On his shoulders he felt his mother-in-law’s deep breaths, his sister’s attentive eyes. Unfamiliar thoughts were growing like weeds in his brain. He shook his head. Something must have gone wrong. Must have. A child can’t have silver hair. It’s not normal. Why?

Why? A curious sadness settled in his heart for the little creature in his wife’s arms, his little daughter, his little princess, born out of oneiric mornings. His eyes grew moist as he took up the girl and held her close to his heart. His eyes met his wife’s. The sun reflected in her eyes. She smiled.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Very well. Thank you!”

“Are you happy?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?”

He smiled, braving the pressure of the weeds that grew in his brain.

Hairy weeds, itchy weeds, poisonous weeds. All with long tentacles. Frightening. She stretched out her arm. He took it, and squeezed it hard.

Later the same afternoon he sent for Dr Nandi. Dr Nandi was as puzzled as others were at the sight of the child’s hair colour. But having checked the girl thoroughly he declared that it was a child, one hundred percent normal. Meanwhile, Gulabi was ordered to take care of the umbilical cord and the placenta. As instructed she dug everything down in the garden, and set a jasmine plant on the top. Having performed the task quickly, she returned to the room with some mustard oil in a brass bowl, tidied up the bed, spread a large towel in between Jharna Begum and the oilcloth under her, and then climbed up herself on the bed. There, kneeling down beside Jharna Begum, she oiled her palms and got hold of Jharna Begum’s belly. She held it tightly and at the same time with a rhythmical movement began to press out the air that had invaded the cavity from the afterbirth. Air came out of all possible holes in Jharna Begum’s body, while she complained about Gulabi’s hard grip.

Lots of Aaas and Uhuus! But, Gulabi proceeded in the same manner for an hour everyday during a period of exactly forty days. That was the time span taken by Jharna Begum to regain her flat and tight stomach so that no one could any longer believe that this belly had in its time accommodated a number of children.

This hot afternoon, when Dr Nandi had calmed Azad Chaudhury with his diagnosis, Azad Chaudhury sat down for a while and took a few deep breaths. With each breath he uprooted some of the twisting weeds in his brain and finally decided that it was time he demonstrated his gratefulness for being gifted with a daughter. He sent one of the men- servants to buy some rashgullahas, cheese balls drowned in syrup, from the village sweet-stall. When the man returned he ordered him to take the two finest cockerels from the pen and fill an earthen pot with some of the rashgullahas. He collected two sets of clothing and sent all these to the Pir Sahib, who had provided Jharna Begum with the green bottle with enchanted water.

Jharna Begum emerged from the delivery room — it was already evening — with the child in her arms, defying the rest of the women in the family, who advised her to remain there for forty days. They said she shouldn’t leave that room till her bleeding ceased and her uterus shrunk to its original size, the size of a goose egg. But Jharna Begum paid no heed to her concerned relatives. In the kitchen the old cook had already started to prepare chicken soup, an unspiced dish with horned fish and plantains and other so-called delicacies that normally are used to tempt an ill woman in childbed in this part of the world. Inside the room, by the window, Gulabi had prepared an armchair with a soft round pillow with a hole in the middle. It looked like the English letter O. It was supposed to ease Jharna Begum’s sore bottom when she sat there to enjoy her garden. But, as mentioned earlier, the woman didn’t feel at all ‘under the weather’. On the contrary, she felt incredibly fit and well.

Out she would come from that dreary room. Out she would be in the open air. And so she did, amidst protests and knitted eyebrows. Only when she needed to break wind or breast-feed the baby, did she seek out a private corner.

Hadi, Jami, Sami and Sadi, the four brothers who had missed their mother terribly during the previous nine months, and before that, those seven weeks with the seven special Thursdays, encircled her as soon as she came out of the room. They did not show much interest in the strange creature in their mother’s arms. One of them had a bunch of flowers, one had a ring made of hay straw, the third one had written down a verse from the Quran in black elegant calligraphy, and the fourth one had painted a picture of the setting sun on the river that flowed behind their house. These they presented to their mother.

Hadi, the oldest son, whose voice was breaking, murmured embarrassedly, “Ammu!” and gave her the bunch of flowers.

“Here, you’ve a ring, made by myself,” said the second one.

“It’s boring to sleep without having recited the suras (Quranic verses) with you,” declared the third and stretched out his gift.

“I’ve painted a picture for you,” announced the little one.

Jharna Begum dried a trembling drop of a tear with the back of her hand. Then she gave Daria to Gulabi, and took all her four sons in her arms; she embraced them, fondled them, showered kisses on them, ruffled their hair, crumpled their ironed shirts and murmured tender words.

That evening they all sat on low-legged stools around the low dining table to celebrate this family reunion. Daria was fast asleep in a wicker cradle that hung from the ceiling. The room was lit up with the yellowish light of a hurricane lamp that stood in the centre of the table. An imposing number of insects buzzed around the lamp like a live halo. Around this halo were porcelain bowls, set in a wider circle. They were filled with delicacies like hens in almond sauce, spicy wild duck, ruhufish chops and lobster in coconut milk. There were also various accompaniments like tamarind pickles, coriander chutney and green mangoes. The unusual dishes, which the cook had got used to preparing to gratify Jharna Begum’s pregnant palate, were no longer there. Neither
was the silverfish dish. Truly, none was missed by anyone. A cat circled and purred under the table — its black back arching, its tongue licking its own mouth. Perhaps it missed the familiar fish-smell. Who knows?

Every now and then its furry tail brushed several pairs of knees. The walls were embraced by the shadows here and there and a blend of aromas crowded inside a few pairs of expectant nostrils. Laughter and jovial voices were heard for a long time in that room.

But the following day the mood of the family was subdued. From early in the morning neighbours lined up to congratulate Jharna Begum and also to take a look at the newborn. Even though grandmother Salma Begum and Gulabi made a real effort to conceal the child’s hair by putting a hat on her head, one could yet catch sight of one or two glittering curls that rebelliously crawled out from beneath the edge of the hat, which in its turn brought out plenty of improbable comments from the hearts of the baffled visitors. “By, Allah. It can’t be a human child,” said someone.

“No, an angel,” someone answered, “I wonder if she has wings under the clothes!”

“Did you hear that the midwife wet herself while delivering the poor child?” exclaimed someone else. “Tauba” (a slap on the right cheek; an act that normally accompanies the word to ward off the evil eye).

“Tauba!” (A slap on the left cheek.) “Did you see her hair? It was all silver!”

“Oh, Allah, we knew it.”

“Her mother had conceived her by using paranormal methods.”

“She shouldn’t have defied God’s wish.”

“Didn’t we say it?”

“Poor, poor child!” Much as one avoided explaining the import of these pitiful words, it was all very simple. Such a vile incident at the onset of one’s life could only mean a pitiable life.

A bad sign!

An unlucky child!

Still Jharna Begum held her head high. It seemed she didn’t care what the people were saying. She went on talking, greeting and smiling her radiant smiles. Later, perhaps, she would think about these, but now her face betrayed none of her feelings. One of the maids picked her way through the crowd with a silver tray with a plate of dates and jar of cold lemon sherbet in her hands. The visitors helped themselves, casting furtive glances at the neonate. If they could’ve x-rayed with their eyes they would certainly have penetrated the hat to see the whole head. But this was not the case. They were to see only one or two silvery curls.

Nothing more. During the course of the day they came and went at will.

Like cats.

Azad Chaudhury worried about Jharna Begum’s apparent sedateness and the outcome of it. He admired her patience, but at the same time he again became aware of the growing weeds in his brain; hairy weed, itchy weed, poisonous weed. All his thoughts and feelings were muddled. He looked at his wife, the way she walked, held her head, the baby with silver curls in her arms — everything made him uneasy. He watched people come and go, he watched his daughter, two soft silver curls crawling out from under the pink hat, and suddenly made up his mind to forbid curious neighbours on the premises for a while. Salma Begum prayed silent prayers and Gulabi put a round kajal mark, as big as a pea on the forehead of the child to ward off the evil eye.
During the following few days the rumour spread like vapour; permeating every leak, every crack, making way, touring, detouring to every household of the little village of Gulab Ganga. It said that Jharna Begum had given birth to a silver-haired fairy child. But, unfortunately the midwife had befouled the baby. As the rumour travelled from
mouth to mouth several other embellishments were added to it.

Many incredible qualities were ascribed to Jharna Begum. While some continued avoiding the sight of her as if she were a witch, others began to treat her as a saint and claimed that she could solve their problems, cure their ailments, enrich their harvest etc. Queues were established in front of the gate, children climbed up the high wall and the high trees around it to get a glimpse of the saintly mother and her divine child.

It was a sheer circus; the beggars gathered to get an extra coin, the vendors crowded in the hope of good business, children frisked about,
and the old ones recited verses from the Holy Scripture.

Meanwhile, inside the big walls the little girl grew and transformed into a very ordinary child. Her hair had been shaved off and buried under the jasmine bush together with the umbilical cord. But the stubs of her new hair shifted colour. It grew dark and darker. Black with a luminous shade of purple-blue. Like a raven’s wing in the sun. And the violet of her eyes became coffee brown, dark brown, not quite black.

And by the seventh day, when there was to be a religious ceremony to give her a name, she had turned into a perfectly normal baby girl with perfectly normal features.

It was a Thursday. The Imam was the first to arrive there. With him he had a miniature copy of the holy Quran wrapped in a velvet cover, and a large knife. Polished and sharpened. Two fattened goats had been waiting to be slaughtered by this knife on this day. The Imam performed the task in the name of God in the yard in betweenthe kitchen and dwelling house. The goats were flayed and the good meat was divided into three mounds, the same amount in each. Three meat-mounds: one for the poor ones, one for the relatives and one for the day’s feast. The last mound was prepared on open fire with a fine mixture of spices. Rice was boiled in young green bamboo reeds. Parathas were fried, ducks were grilled, rashgullahas and steamed curd
were purchased.

Two colourful party-tents were set up in the garden; one for the males and one for the females and children. Gas lanterns were hung in the four corners of each tent. One special platform was raised for the Imam to lead the religious part of the occasion. A dozen men milled about hurrying, scurrying and getting things ready. Some set the tables, some arranged the chairs, and some swept the ground.

It was a warm afternoon. Neither torturing hot, nor pressing. Pleasant.

A wind blew.

A warm and nice river-wind.

Gulabi brought the little girl out when the sun had sunk in the west, and the sky was yellowish like water with a dash of turmeric, in the dull glow of its last rays. The baby was dressed in a chalk-white frock and a pair of white socks. Her scalp, which was now bare of hair, was topped with a laced-edged hat. From under the serrated edge of her hat, her two dark eyes looked curiously around. Around her soft neck, hung a garland of garlic cloves.

Gulabi walked past the gathering crowds to hand the girl to Azad Chaudhury. He took the baby, and went up two steps to the Imam who was sitting in the middle of the dais. By then, the guests were divided into two groups according to gender — each standing on either side of the parapet, listening to the Imam. Sitting on the dais, he read aloud a few selected verses from his Quran in the velvet coat, and then proclaimed firmly how very important it was for every Muslim to carry a name denoting his or her religious and ethnic origin. These were all very familiar words to the listeners, but still they couldn’t help but feel the solemnity of the moment as people always do on such occasions. It was all very quiet but for the Imam’s grave voice.

The child in Azad Chaudhury’s arms dozed off, but the function proceeded as planned. All suggested names were painted in different colours on a wicker-tray that was set in front of the Imam. By each name a candle was lit. Above, in the evening sky, the fair moon had become a little brighter by then and the stars shone like tinsel. As the candles melted, everyone made the utmost effort to catch sight of the tray; some stood on tiptoe, some asked the person in front to make a little room, someone else very simply took a chair or a stool and stood on it. They held their breath with eyes fixed on the candles. The twelve candles burnt, wax melted, wicks shrunk, smoke rose. The Imam’s face bent over the tray and took on a reddish tint. Candles began to go out. One after another. Slowly but surely they flickered and died in succession till only one was left. It stood there now dwarfed and fat, but still burning, illuminating the name ‘Daria’.

Jharna Begum’s face shone with delight, caught by the golden moon-dust-light. Long before Daria’s birth, during those magical mornings, she had decided to call her daughter Daria, for the word daria meant river. Daria was a child of the river, a water child. And, her own name, Jharna, meant source, fountain. Jharna, the source. Daria, the river.

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ABOUT WOLF PROTECTOR

A woman with a secret…

The Federal Paranormal Unit is an elite squad of supernaturals dedicated to solving missing persons cases. Erica’s gift allows her a special connection with the crime, but it comes at a deep personal cost… Until now, she’s kept her gift a secret, even from the other members of the team. But this case will throw her together with Agent Trent Buchanan. He’s the object of her secret desires, but he’s also a cocky womanizer. She’d rather swim in shark-infested waters with a paper cut than admit she has feelings for him.

A man with one desire…

Wolf Shifter Trent wants Erica more than he’s ever wanted any woman. He’s spent years patiently waiting for her to admit that she wants him too. Working one-on-one in a race to find a serial killer, Trent’s patience and Erica’s resolve wear thin. When Trent discovers the truth about Erica, will he accept her for who she is? And can he protect her from the horrors that her gift brings?

A case that pushes them to the edge…

Erica will have to risk it all if she wants to stop the killer, and when she does, Trent may have to put his own life on the line to make sure his mate is protected…

AMAZON | BARNES & NOBLE | ALL ROMANCE EBOOKS

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ABOUT MILLY TAIDEN

Want to know about this author? Milly Taiden (aka April Angel) was born in the prettiest part of the Caribbean known as the Dominican Republic. She grew up between New York, Florida and Massachusetts. Currently, she resides in New York City with her husband, bossy young son and their little dog Speedy.

She’s addicted to shopping for shoes, chocolate (but who isn’t?) and Dunkin Donuts coffee. She loves hearing from readers so feel free to connect with her.

Her latest book is the paranormal romantic suspense, Wolf Protector.

Visit her website at www.millytaiden.com.

TWITTER | FACEBOOK

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Emma Clay is a writer who shares her own experiences about her encounters with self and her bad decisions. She shares how she transformed a life that seemed hopeless and seeks to give answers to your own questions.  She is dedicated to sharing her true stories with others, in the hopes they will avoid the same pot holes, pitfalls, and detours in their own lives.

She loves people, and her need to share this love will hopefully encourage others to find their own way.

Her latest book is the Christian inspirational memoir, Revived by Grace.

Visit her website at www.EmmaClay.com.

Q: Thank you so much for this interview, Emma!  Can you tell us where you are from?

I’m from Tennessee.

Q: How did you come up with your title?

I originally had given the book a different title, but my editor said, after she read it, that she saw so much grace in it and that might be what to focus on for the title. Then the title Revived by Grace came to me, since that’s exactly what had happened in my own life.

Q: They say you can judge a book by its cover.  Can you tell us a little about your cover and who designed it?

My editor designed it. I gave her the theme, and she did the rest. She is awesome.

Q: Can you tell us something about your book that would make me run out and buy it?

The book will give you hope, either for yourself or maybe for that lost loved one you always worry about.

Q: Are there any messages in this book that you want the reader to know about?

The main message is that we can change—we aren’t trapped in our mistakes forever. There’s so much hope in that.

Q: What was your most favorite chapter to write and why?

The beginning of the book was my favorite because it was based on good memories, before I had lost my way. The middle was difficult because it was based on really painful memories. And then the end was wonderful to write too because it was about how I was found by God again.

Q: Why did you feel you had to write this book?

I felt very clearly that the Lord told me to write this book. It felt like a genuine calling from Him, and I’m more certain of that now than ever.

Q:  Now, some fun questions – What deep dark secret would you like to share with us?

I don’t really have any except that I have seen good and evil, and evil is very much alive and haunting this world.

Q: If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would it be and why?

I would like to go to Peru and see Machu Picchu.

Q: Are you a morning person or a night person?

I can go either way if I have to, but I prefer to be in bed by 9:00pm.

Q: Are there any members in your family who also like to write?

My daughter also writes.

Q: As a child, were you a dreamer?

Yes, I was definitely a dreamer as a child.

Q: Last but not least, the magic genie has granted you one wish.  What would that be?

I would wish that the whole world could be saved and know Jesus.

Q: Thank you so much for this interview! Do you have any final words?

Don’t wait to make the changes you know you need in your life because time is running out.

A Grandma Too Soon is Still a Grandma

By Becky Trundle, When the Morning Glory Blooms

I’m Becky Trundle from When the Morning Glory Blooms. You can read my story within the pages of that book. But there’s more. Some of it I didn’t dare tell the author. Some of it I didn’t dare tell myself until now.

I became a grandma too soon. I wasn’t ready. My daughter really wasn’t ready. I don’t know how I expected to hear those words, “Mom, I’m pregnant.” Maybe over Thanksgiving dinner ten years from now. Maybe I’d open a Christmas gift and find a tiny pair of booties or a pacifier or a bib that says, “I’m a heart-stealer. I’ve already got Grammie’s.”

I didn’t expect those words to come out of my only daughter in the middle of her junior year in high school. The picture in my mind didn’t match that one in any way. Lauren ran for the bathroom twice during breakfast that morning. She didn’t have the flu. She wasn’t bulimic. Whew.

She was pregnant.

Oh.

She thought I was angry. That wasn’t it. I was sad. Incredibly sad because of the bucket of hardships that stood beyond the pronouncement “Mom, I’m pregnant.” How would she finish high school? Was college out of the picture now? Could she sustain a job and a decent grade point average? Would her crash course in parenting turn her into a real parent? Teen moms can become awesome moms. They can have amazing futures. I wasn’t sure Lauren was that kind of teen mom, or that I could help her become one without one of the two of us losing our sanity.

And—you’re the only one who will know—I felt cheated of the Moment, the one where Lauren and her husband would whisper to each other, fighting hard to hold back their smiles, then wait as Gil and I opened the envelopes with matching keychains—World’s Best Grandpa, World’s Best Grandma. Or mugs. Or aonesie emblazoned with the message “First Grandchild…explains a lot, doesn’t it?”

But a grandma too soon is still a grandma. And none of this is unsurvivable. She’ll get through high school. She’s brighter than recent decisions would reflect. And she has a mom who may be inexperienced at parenting a teen mom, but I’m fiercely determined to learn how it’s done.

When I took Lauren to her first prenatal visit, we exited that department following a stoop-shouldered woman about my age with a baby-bumped daughter even younger than Lauren. They walked in silence on opposite sides of the hall, clinging to their respective walls, it seemed. Lauren and I watched as the mom eventually stretched her hand across the gap and the girl tentatively reached to take it.

Lauren and I were already holding hands. We’ll be okay.

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Cynthia Ruchti is an author and speaker who tells stories of Hope-that-glows-in-the-dark through her novels, nonfiction, women’s events, and outlets related to the Heartbeat of the Home radio broadcast she wrote and produced for thirty-three years. She and her plot-tweaking husband live in the heart of Wisconsin, not far from their three children and five joy-giving grandchildren.

Her latest book is the Christian fiction, When the Morning Glory Blooms.

You can learn more about Cynthia and her writing and speaking at www.cynthiaruchti.com.

Val Stasik shares a home in eternally sunny Santa Fe, NM, with her aging mixed terrier, Sugar, who allows her to sleep in his queen-size bed as well as sharpen her culinary skills for his benefit. Stasik spent many years as a writing teacher, helping other writers find their voice and tell their stories, and is a consultant for the Northern Virginia Writing Project. INCIDENTAL DAUGHTER is Stasik’s debut novel.

Stasik studied drama and English at the University of Pittsburgh and then transferred to the University of Maryland, College Park, graduating with high honors and a B.S. in Secondary Education, Communication. The year she attended graduate school was filled with student protests, bomb threats, and military helicopters.

Stasik became an editorial assistant for THE PHARMACOLOGIST in Bethesda. She then moved to Harpers Ferry where she taught for five years and participated in the Old Opera House Theatre onstage and behind the scenes.

In Harrisburg, PA, she became a groom and mutuels clerk at Penn National Race Track and, later, a commercial lines underwriter for Pennsylvania National Mutual Casualty Insurance Company. Right before her son was born, Three Mile Island happened. So far, neither glows in the dark.

In Virginia, Stasik enjoyed the enriching experience of teaching writing and literature in the Loudoun County Public School system, instructed other teachers in assessing student writings, and helped develop various English curricula. She also participated in the Fauquier Community Theatre on and off stage. From 2002-2004, she developed a part-time hypnosis practice. She then retired to Santa Fe where she has been writing—a few film scripts that have been produced (Café Destiny, on the Web,  Spring 2013, www.cafe-destiny.com) and a couple of award-winning play scripts.

Stasik is currently a member of the New Mexico Book Association, the New Mexico Book Co-Op; Southwest Writers; the Independent Book Publishers Association; the Small Publishers’ Association of North America; the Small Publishers, Artists, and Writers Network; and Pennwriters.

Visit her website at www.ValerieStasik.com.

Q: Thank you so much for this interview, Val!  Can you tell us where you are from?

I lived in Pittsburgh until I was twenty and have lived in Maryland; Harpers Ferry; Harrisburg, PA; and Virginia. I’ve been an editorial assistant, a commercial lines insurance underwriter, a racetrack groom and mutuels clerk, and a teacher. I’ve also dabbled in theater. I took early retirement from teaching a few years ago and moved from Virginia to Santa Fe, New Mexico. I’ve never looked back.

Q: How did you come up with your title?

My critique group and I brainstormed several titles. My working title was The Boating Party because of the protagonist’s fascination with the Mary Cassatt painting of the same name. It represented family to her. I then ran a contest asking people to vote on the title that appealed to them the most. (I randomly selected three winners from the pool of entrants.) The majority of entrants voted for our favorite, Incidental Daughter. The protagonist has been incidental to so many people in her life.

Q: They say you can judge a book by its cover.  Can you tell us a little about your cover and who designed it?

I designed the cover using a template provided by the printer. Normally I would hire a designer, but I found a template and photograph that fit the story perfectly. The woman on the cover represents the protagonist’s mother facing the window through which she ended her life. It represents the major turning point in the protagonist’s life, and the window also suggests opportunity.

Q: Can you tell us something about your book that would make me run out and buy it?

Readers tell me they couldn’t put the book down, and that the characters really touched them. It’s full of twists and surprises.

Q: Are there any messages in this book that you want the reader to know about?

Eileen Arnesson from the book says, “Fear is the root of all evil.” Also, no matter how negative circumstances are, there are people who will reach out to help you. Perhaps one of the things Liz Michaels, the protagonist, learns is that one shouldn’t rush to judgment, and that sadness makes a deeper well for your happiness.

Q: What was your most favorite chapter to write and why?

There are so many I enjoyed, it’s hard to say. I enjoyed Detective Shannon’s interrogation of the suspect in Liz’s ex-husband’s death because it revealed aspects of both characters’ personalities. Shannon disguises his cleverness behind a façade of polite interest until the suspect has nowhere to go and then pounces on him. He also wings it without a tape recorder or reading the suspect his rights, and then manages to get the suspect to write a confession, a risk he took based on his assessment of this particular suspect.

Q: Why did you feel you had to write this book?

I have been thinking of this story for many, many years, even creating character and setting charts as well as an outline. I abandoned it, but it kept surfacing and wouldn’t let me go. Many of the elements are based on my own life and the lives of some of my friends although it is not autobiographical.

Q:  Now, some fun questions – What deep dark secret would you like to share with us?

I’m pretty much an open book (no pun intended). What I don’t like to admit to is that I often stay up way later than is reasonable—not very dark or deep. Oh, sometimes—not often, you understand—I spend the day in my nightgown.

Q: If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would it be and why?

New Zealand. Some years ago, I read a travel article in The Atlantic about this country. It sounded like paradise. Perhaps the author of the article was an exceptional writer, and I’d be disappointed if I ever visited. However, I’m quite content to stay in Santa Fe, New Mexico, which has its own magic.

Q: Are you a morning person or a night person?

Definitely a night person although I’d like to change that (fat chance) because early morning is such a lovely time of day. I suspect I’m like this because my grandmother let me stay up when I was very young so that I would sleep late the next morning. Apparently, I was a handful, and it was the only way she could find time for housework.

Q: Are there any members in your family who also like to write?

My father’s mother liked writing about the family history. Her grandparents were homesteaders in Sundance.

Q: As a child, were you a dreamer?

Oh, yes! I would wander off in my head in just about any situation where I was bored. I finally had to break myself of that habit because as I got older, I realized I was missing out on some real living.

Q: Last but not least, the magic genie has granted you one wish.  What would that be?

Dear Magic Genie, please send me a housekeeper and a secretary so that I can spend all of my time writing.

Q: Thank you so much for this interview! Do you have any final words?

Visit me at

http://www.valeriestasik.com

https://www.facebook.com/vstasik

https://twitter.com/VStasik

http://www.amazon.com/author/valstasik

http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6907934.Val_Stasik

and let me know what you think of Incidental Daughter.

As a boy, Joseph Spencer immersed himself in the deductive logic of Sherlock Holmes, the heroic crime fighting of Batman and Spider-Man, and a taste for the tragic with dramas from poets like Shakespeare and Homer.

Before Joseph took to spinning his own tales, he pursued a career in print sports journalism, graduating summa cum laude from Southern Illinois University-Carbondale. He covered such events as NASCAR’s Subway 500 race in Martinsville, the NBA Draft Camp in Chicago, the Junior College World Series, and Minor League Baseball’s Midwest League All-Star Game during a ten-year career throughout the Midwest. Now, he works as an emergency telecommunications specialist with an Illinois police department. The combination of years of writing experience with a background working with law enforcement professionals gave rise to his writing aspirations.

Joseph was married Dr. Amy (Waggoner) Spencer, an accomplished veterinary doctor, on March 14, 2012. He received word his debut novel was accepted by his publisher, Damnation Books, the next day. Joseph and Amy look forward to their honeymoon in Paris in September 2012. Murphy, a 15-year-old orange tabby, is perhaps the most vocal member of the family. The Spencer family enjoys reading Charlaine Harris, George R.R. Martin, Mary Janice Davidson, and most paranormal stories. The Spencers also enjoy quoting movie lines from “The Princess Bride”, “Rain Man”, “Bridesmaids”, and “Office Space”.

His latest book is the paranormal crime thriller, Grim.

Visit his website at www.JosephSpencer.com.

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Q: Thank you so much for this interview, Joseph!  Can you tell us where you are from?

I’m from Peoria, Illinois. It’s one of the largest downstate cities in the state, located about 3 hours southwest of Chicago. When I was a journalist, I also briefly resided in Martinsville, Va., Grand Junction, Co., and Burlington, Iowa.

Q: How did you come up with your title?

It’s sort of a Shakespearean double entendre. Grim is the last name of one of the main protagonists, but it’s also an apt description for the gritty narrative.

Q: They say you can judge a book by its cover.  Can you tell us a little about your cover and who designed it?

Damnation Books’ artists Dawne Dominique, an author and artist, turned in a fantastic effort with my cover. I’ve been to horror conventions and people who know nothing about me or the book stop by on the strength of the cover. My title character, Heath Grim, has gruesome scarring and rosacea which turns the color of the skin on his face red. The cover accurately rips his face out of my imagination on to the cover.

Q: Can you tell us something about your book that would make me run out and buy it?

It’s Dexter meets The Exorcist while trying to contend with a mob boss straight out of The Sopranos.

Q: Are there any messages in this book that you want the reader to know about?

The narrative of the book plays out as a morality tale about being able to cope with death and obsession. Many of the characters have an obsession that drives them and makes them capable of unspeakable acts.

Q: What was your most favorite chapter to write and why?

There’s a chapter where my title character, Heath Grim, loses control of his body to the supernatural entity possessing it. I had chills on my spine when I was writing it because it felt creepy to me.

Q: Why did you feel you had to write this book?

I wanted to prove to myself I could do it. I used to be a newspaper journalist and always said I thought I could write a book without putting my feet to the fire. That and I wanted to create a character every bit as creepy as Heath Ledger’s Joker character in Dark Knight, but provide more of the story from the point of view of the tortured madman.

Q:  Now, some fun questions – What deep dark secret would you like to share with us?

I’m fortunate to be alive. I was born premature, with my umbilical cord strangling me to the point where I was turning cyanotic. Doctors told my mother I’d likely be brain dead. I’ve also had a gun pointed at my head twice, once during a domestic fight between my mother and birth father and once when I was robbed while delivering a pizza. I feel I’ve beaten the odds, and am thankful to be alive.

Q: If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would it be and why?

My wife and I want to explore Rome and Egypt. We’re both fascinated with ancient civilizations. We recently traveled to Paris for our honeymoon last year. It was my first time leaving the United States. I’d recommend it for anyone who has never traveled overseas.

Q: Are you a morning person or a night person?

I’m more of a night person because of the odd hours I work as a supervisor at an emergency 9-1-1 communications center.

Q: Are there any members in your family who also like to write?

My entire family likes to read, but no one else writes. I have begun trying to plan a book with my wife, who reads several books a month. We’re trying to come up with a new take on a serial killer tale.

Q: As a child, were you a dreamer?

Sure. I loved to read, and that kept my mind busy with stories of what  all sorts of characters achieved when they put their minds to it.

Q: Last but not least, the magic genie has granted you one wish.  What would that be?

I’d like to be in attendance at Wrigley Field for the clinching victory of the Cubs’ first World Series Championship since 1908.

Q: Thank you so much for this interview! Do you have any final words?

I’d like to let readers know that the next chapter in my Sons of Darkness series, Wrage, picks up where Grim left off. Damnation Books will release Wrage on June 1^st.  Damnation Books (www.damnationbooks.com) is offering 28 percent off all of its ebook titles all year with promo code 289snake. Also, Damnation Books offers ebook versions of new releases for free on the first day it is released, and the price only goes up 25 cents with each copy purchased until the ebook reaches its full retail price. So, readers of your blog can capitalize on great savings on many titles from up-and-coming horror writers.